Day 20: Portreath to Hayle

Weather: Cloudy with a cool headwind

Distance covered today: 19.1 km (11.9mi)

Last night's B&B: Cliff House B&B

% Complete: Cumulative distance: 37.8 %:  382.8 km

Total Ascent/Total Descent: 402 m/ 396 m

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 20 (click!)

Unexpectedly, today’s walk was probably the easiest of the trip so far. The planning stats showed a long 20km (12mi) walk with almost 600m (2000ft) of climb, which would have made it reasonably similar to the last few days, but in practice it turned out less onerous. After the initial lung-clearing ups and downs, the path lay along a relatively flat clifftop, affording views back to yesterday’s St Agnes Head, with “Man and his man” just still visible, and in the other direction St Ives Head lurking through the mist. However after a brief attempt to observe some seals at Godrevy Point, I decided to walk along the beach to Hayle. The tide was out, and the sand was hard. The walk into a stiff breeze was exhilarating and immensely enjoyable and of course, by avoiding the dunes, I escaped a combined climb of fully 200m (650 ft). 

There was a slight sting in the tail, as I had to exit the beach before arriving at the Hayle estuary, because of the location of tonight’s hostelry. When plotting my route, I hadn’t realised that this would entail me shinning up a 60m (200ft) vertical sand dune, which was marked on the OS map as a public footpath. You know the drill; for every foot you try to climb, your boot sinks back 10 inches! I passed a whole lot of annoying signs telling me to beware of steep sand dunes; as if I wasn’t aware! The net result though was that I arrived at my destination by 2:30pm, almost an hour earlier than I had anticipated, with the immediate and early prospect of a hot cup of tea and a hot shower!

The only disappointment of the day was that the seal display at Godrevy Point was almost non-existent. There were hordes of people trying to catch sight of them, which is slightly puzzling because they don’t do much out of the water and in any case, this really isn’t the season for seeing them. I was laughing a little loudly with a young German couple about how ridiculous we all looked, when I belatedly noticed a sign asking observers to keep really quiet because human noise disturbs the seals. I slunk away rather guiltily under the disapproving gaze of one or two elderly visitors….

Soon my embarrassment was forgotten on that beautiful beach. It was as flat as a snooker table and I was rolling along like a cue ball with topspin! Also, because the tide was so far out, I was significantly cutting the corner and reducing the day's distance. Talking of snooker, you will almost certainly be uninterested to learn that Mark Selby retained his World Snooker Championship in a thrilling final against four-time winner John Higgins just after I started this series of walks.

I mention this because it just happens that my annual blog-walks tend to take place in early spring because of the weather, and they just happen to coincide, more or less, with the annual snooker world championships at the Crucible in Sheffield. So it happens that as I lie exhausted on my bed penning these inanities, some earnest swashbuckler is seeking glory and financial independence in a snooker match on the TV in front of me. Snooker is ideal for these purposes, because every good or bad shot is replayed with commentator gusto, and while I have every respect for the commentators, they have a small canvas to play with and they tend to repeat themselves endlessly and can thus safely be ignored during endless normal play. What is more, much of the action happens on the BBC “red button”, a sort of sneaky, alternative channel that the BBC uses when its programming is crowded, so that the games can proceed endlessly without interruptions for election announcements or weather forecasts.

There will be those of you, who have heard me drone on about snooker before, and to you I apologise, but for the rest, I owe an explanation. At school, I performed badly in the sports that required physical talent and power and a little better at the sports that required hand-eye coordination and some thought. Snooker was ideal. Of course it wasn’t regarded as a sport, just as recreation, but it received my rapt attention and I got quite good at it. I remember so well that feeling when you just knew the ball would go into the pocket and the feeling of elation when on a significant break, every shot was going in. After I left school I kept it up in a desultory sort of way and was the champion of the officers’ mess during my conscription call-up and champion of my residence at university (at least, I think I was, but the table was in the bar, and I don’t remember the end of those championships all that well….)

With that background, I have followed snooker in the UK with more attention than most. I find the annual build-up to the world championships endearingly similar each year. Basically, the same men turn up year after year, say earnest things, dress more or less tidily with strange hairstyles and achieve much the same results, with the odd exception being big news. It is a sport invented by the military, but owned by the working classes. It is played with exceptional good manners and the players are invariably scrupulously honest in obeying the rules. They will even override the ref to their own disadvantage if they think he hasn’t spotted an error.

It was once upon a time big TV in the UK. I remember the 1985 final very well when Steve Davis was beaten by Dennis Taylor while a record 18.5 million watched the show well after midnight as the champion Davis lost on the final black ball. I was sitting in our flat in Teddington while trying to keep Veronica awake and interested. (We had a one year-old baby. I probably failed!)

The biggest change in the sport is that the Chinese are enthusiastically and ever so politely starting to dominate it. In a few years’ time, the champions of this most English of games will be predominantly Chinese, just as with so many other quintessentially English sports that now have their best players elsewhere.

Well, for this year, the world championship is over and Mr Selby from Leicester is champion for the second year running. I sincerely hope to be walking again next year as he tries to retain his title for the third year running!

Rest day tomorrow, so no post! Then Veronica arrives! Best behaviour!

Louise and Nick: we enjoyed a final meal together, because now our paths diverge (I have a rest day and they plod on!). Louise told me that there was no truth in Nick hanging up his boots. She said he had just been feeling exhausted, but he would walk till he dropped!

The lighthouse at Portreath

Portreath from Western Hill

The Horse at Ralph's Cupboard

A lovely waterfall at Carvannel Downs

Lovely little fellow. no idea what he is?

The first foxgloves of my spring

Looking down the coast to Navax Point

Camborne in the haze to the south

Navax Point from Deadman's Cove

This beautiful bird had a remarkable song. What is he?

Hell's Mouth

The islands at Navax Point. No seals!

The lighthouse on Godrevy Island

Some of the seal-searchers!

Finally, I spotted a head. Just....

Glorious flower. What is it?

Godrevy lighthouse

The beach under a glowering sky

Looking back to Godrevy Point 4km away along the flat beach from the top of the nasty sand dune