Day 30: Cadgwith Cove to Porthoustock

Weather: Cool with a strong southerly and showers
Distance covered today: 19.4km (12.1mi)
Last night's B&B: The Harbour Inn, Porthleven
% Complete: Cumulative distance: 53.9%: 546.4km
Total Ascent/Total Descent:  804m/825m
GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 30 (click!)

The weather forecast wasn't great, but in the event, it turned out OK. The rain pelted mostly overnight and the strong southerly mostly blew from behind, helping me up the climbs, and keeping my jacket hoody firmly planted on my scalp so that I hardly noticed the odd shower that quickly blew past. There was also more sunshine than previously on this trip and it was good to see the Atlantic glowing again in its blue and silver splendour.

The inevitable upward trudge out of Cadgwith Cove was at least rewarded by lovely views of this unspoiled and quintessential Cornish fishing village with its thatched roofs and authentic architecture, but soon I was lost on the cliffs and in my thoughts, balancing myself against the gale, and preparing to trudge down and up four or five fearsome coves (see the profile below).  In compensation, I was listening to the first skylarks of my spring, not that I could see them, let alone photograph them. The weather was just too wild.

Besides, I had a new bother to consider. Today was undoubtedly my muddiest day on the Coast Path, no doubt precipitated (forgive me!) by the higher than average rainfall we have experienced this spring and by heavy falls last night.

As I negotiated the mud, feeling less unsure of my footing and less discontented than you might imagine, I reflected that much of my walking expertise is self-taught. Since most of my walking has been solitary, it follows that I have learned few techniques and little methodology from experienced walkers who would no doubt have improved my walking education immeasurably. Yet there are one or two little techniques, self-taught of course, which have made a difference, and one of them is how to negotiate mud.

If you watch the casual weekend walker negotiating a muddy path which is sunken into surrounds that allow no easy escape, the inexperienced walker will do his best to avoid the mud, either by choosing to tip-toe along a sloping edge of the path or perhaps by trying to straddle the mud with a foot planted intermittently each side of the mud. Sometimes, he may even leap at widely dispersed stones in the hope of treating them like stepping stones. These are losing strategies.

The evidence lies on the path. The sloping path edges are generally the slippiest element of the path and the evidence of scary skid-marks is always there. While the technique of dancing from edge to edge has more merit, in that at least each boot is striking the slippy edge perpendicularly, this form of dancing is hugely energetic and fraught with its own dangers since inevitably, sooner or later, one or other bank of the mud-stream will cease to exist or the width of the puddle will simply become too great for the hop, with tragic consequences. As for inadequate stepping stones, say no more!

As I realised a few years ago, and well after I should have, closer observation of the mud-bath would have yielded useful information. Almost always, the muddiest bits of the path are littered with footprints. Of course! The experienced walker simply ignores the mud. After all, boots can only get so muddy, after which new mud replaces old and the boots will have to be cleaned anyway. What is more, if the mud-bath contains shallow water, this is probably the best place to head for, both because most humans and animals will avoid it, and that means the underlying soil is likely to be firmer, though tentative prods with walking poles may prevent disastrous engulfment!

This strategy is energy efficient and safe. What's more, it can actually be pleasurable. Provided the mud isn't too wet or too gloopy, the mud cushions each step; gently giving way, while firmly holding the boot.

The other tip, and this I did receive from an experienced walker,  involves the technique of ascending a challenging uphill climb (there are certainly enough of those in these parts!). Most people instinctively try hard and then take a break to get their breath back before pushing on. In fact the best method is to plod along at a sustainable pace, as slow as is necessary, but without stopping until the summit is reached. This certainly works, but the question is why?

It seems to me, and this is speculation, that the answer lies in evolution. My Neanderthal ancestors, those with the staring eyes and sloping foreheads, were clearly unable to catch their much swifter prey in the African Savannah. To catch a young impala, the only method available would have been to pursue it at a steady, rhythmic pace, hour after hour as the animal fled in panic and then stopped again and again, until in the end it was too tired to escape and became dinner.

Clearly we have inherited this genetic disposition.Today we are obsessed with rhythm, whether it be in music, dance or weight-loss class. Eliza Doolittle could have danced all night, though that may have had more to do with elocution than evolution! There is though no doubt that the human body reacts well to rhythmic repetition and so it is with walking. The key is to get into a constantly repetitive rhythmic cadence and the kilos just slip away, both grams and metres! Rhythmic plodding through the mud is less life-enhancing, but rhythm even helps here!

I had reason to think of these things today as I plodded through the mud and encountered yet another major diversion just beyond Coverack, which itself had been so badly damaged in last year's storms. This added more kilometres to my day. It meant I was an hour late to meet Veronica, but she was there; unpanicked, sensible and welcoming, and it was a delight to see her.

Unfortunately, she returns home tomorrow night, so I will once more be on my own, trying to be rhythmically sensible. Tomorrow is a rest day (at last), so no blog!

Unspoiled and lovely in the sunlight; Cadgwith Cove

That distant point was my first objective of the day: "Black Head". Coverack lies a couple of kilometres further on

A Shetland Pony for Veronica. The National Trust uses them to maintain the coastal grassland

Some pretty garden escapees. Rhododendrons?

Blue sea and yellow gorse

And daisies underfoot in the sunlight

This is more like it!

The mud begins! Rhythm my boy, rhythm!

Suddenly, a sculpture park, comprising sculptures by Terence Coventry

He was apparently a pig farmer before taking up sculpture full time and making quite a name for himself, with exhibitions in London and elsewhere. Unfortunately, he died almost exactly a year ago on 20th April 2017

I particularly liked this bird sculpture. I wouldn't have seen or even been aware of this sculpture had the path not been diverted before Coverack because of last year's storm damage

Coverack comes into view

With even more path diversions

The village is quaintly attractive

More Coverack coast damage

During the final long diversion, I found this house flying the Cornish flag in St. Keverne.

The house is called Camelot. Camelot in St Keverne? Now there's a thing!

These stones, naturally atop each other are called "The Giant's Quoits". They stood for centuries at Mannacle Point until the quarrying company moved them inland for preservation in 1967.

Fierce waves on the breakwater greet our return to Porthleven for the night