Tuesday, September 11, 2018
We woke to a thick mist that quickly turned to pea soup fog.
We hadn’t realized how close to Land’s End–the westernmost point in England–we actually were: less than two miles. The path from Sennen Cove is broad, with asphalt or stepping stones for a good bit of the way.
It turned out that the fog didn’t matter too much at first, in fact it wasn’t bad at all, because we soon reached Lands’ End, the site of a really miserable theme park. The fog spared us from the most garish parts of the park, and the crowds that normally swarm around here.
The fog soon began to matter, however, because the seascapes to the east of Lands End are absolutely spectacular, and they were totally shrouded in the mist.
Although it wasn’t exactly raining, it wasn’t exactly not raining either, and there was a very strong headwind coming off the water.
Much of the walking here was very close to the sea; there was a precipitous drop the water at one point that didn’t make Sue particularly happy.
After about six miles we reached a hamlet in a lovely sheltered valley above a beach with golden sands called Porthgwarra. There was a little tea room and since we were a bit tired and chilled, we stopped in for a really good cream tea. Needless to say, it wasn’t quite as sunny as it is in the photo of the cafe that I found somewhere.
Another mile brought us to the little village of Porthcurno, famous for the Minack, a theater carved out of the stone on a headland overlooking the sea. There was a performance when we arrived, and we weren’t able to see anything.
My virus had proven to be a full-blown flu-like cold, and I was just about done in. We bailed out and took a cab to the next village, Lavorno, where we rejoined the coastal path. The guidebook described this section as easy, so I thought I could make it after a good rest. But the path was a roller coaster, and I was soon out of gas–with no filling station in sight. Much of this section of the trail is sheltered, and it brought us into a remarkably different kind of vegetation. Often described as sub tropical, we walked through a lush landscape with wild fuchsias, hydrangeas, campion, and fruit trees.
I was relieved when we finally reached the extraordinarily picturesque village of Mousehole (pronounced mow-zell_– don’t ask). Our lodging, The Ship Inn, is a 300-year old pub right on the little harbor: it oozes character.
We had booked a table at 2 Fore Street, a well-regarded restaurant. It beat pub food, but wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The troll through the twilit streets, though, was unbeatable.
