Walk to Ruan

A birthday and dry weather gave another excuse for the usual mix of Sunday, fresh air, walk and pub. This time it was a walk to the King's Head at Ruan Lanihorne (you will note that this blog is also becoming a guide to eating places in Cornwall). Feeling that we needed a bit more than a stumble from car park to pub, we parked in the middle of nowhere: well actually it is called Gare, a dead end on the Tregothnan estate (which does not narrow it down much). Here a rather large house and mature shrubs hints at past prosperity.

The bridle path took us down muddy tracks into the depth of Lamorran woods which are mostly beech, oak, sweet chestnut and birch - all bare at this time of year - emerging on the banks of the upper reaches of the Fal. Work had taken place to clear some of the undergrowth but it was clear that not much sunlight reached the woodland floor even in high summer.

A short detour led to Lamorran church, founded around 1261, refurbished in the mid 19th century and unlikely to have been used except for funerals since then for there are only three houses alongside and one of those is the rectory. It is undeniably pretty though, tucked away on a small muddy, tidal creek, and has an unusual, detached belfry. Upstream is a damned pool whose purpose is unclear but is home to two swans.

On from there to Sett Bridge, effectively the head of navigation of the Fal from where we canoed home on one occasion. Here we met Judith and Richard and headed off for a celebratory and yummy lunch in the King's Head (highly recommended). We had barely got past item seven on the agenda before we had to cut short Any Other Business and Date of Next Meeting for there was a threat of dusk in the sky. The world will have to survive a bit longer without our having put it completely to rights.

We headed back for the thirty minute hike uphill to walk off our pudding. Such is the charm of the Roseland that GPS signals do not reach that far and so I can only report that we walked for 90 minutes.

Happy birthday to the younger one of us.

St Michael's Way - part 2

Last week we left you, gentle reader, poised on the top of Trencrom Hill, staring blankly into the low cloud expecting stunning views of St Ives Bay across to Godrevy Light and southwards towards St Michael's Mount. This was harsh and so, this weekend, we returned to the hill for the third time this  year to prove that it really is a hill worth climbing and that there are indeed great views. From the top of Trencrom (or Trecrobben) you, or the giant that once lived here, could easily toss a bob-button over towards St Michael's Mount. From here, Iron Age man could control the isthmus between St Ives and Marazion. But enough history, let us get on with this week's walk.

There were four of us, one sporting some brand-new Chinese wellington boots, plus one four-footed friend who had thoughtfully fragranced the car so we were all in need of fresh air. The day was bright, the wind brisk and cold; ideal for walking. A quick climb up the hill followed by a check on the well and hut circles before we set off towards a charming converted chapel at Ninnes Bridge. Here there was a delightful small garden with a row of standing stones with their own little celtic cross.

Before long we found ourselves adopted by a large and friendly black labrador who decided he needed to show us the way. Nothing we could do would persuade him to return home and he confidently headed off in the right direction at every stile. Before long, we crested a rise and there was the Mount, directly due south of us. What a sight this must have been for the pilgrim heading for Compostela: evidence that Cornwall was a country of faith and beauty.

The path crossed fields, down into valleys and up the other sides, with stunning views down to Mount's Bay almost all the time. In the distance kites and a windsurfer suggested that even on a brisk January day some hardy souls were taking advantage of the conditions.

Ludgvan was our planned lunch stop but the pub was packed and food would take an hour. The black labrador was obviously a regular for he went straight into the pub as though he belonged. This gave us the perfect excuse to leave him there to drink his fill as we set off for the last leg towards Gulval.  No doubt someone would carry him out at the end of the day.

The country changed and we soon found ourselves on what must once have been the pre-A30 main road with sandy Mount's Bay fields on either hand, following the contour between the two villages, the roar of traffic a constant companion and nothing to ruin the view except for B&Q, Curry's, Halfords and the shambles of buildings that is Long Rock industrial estate. On the distant hilltop, Paul church beckoned us on.

Gulval is charming and clearly something of a Bolitho model village from 1895. We did not regret missing the White Hart in Ludgvan one bit for we discovered the Coldstreamer whose food was top notch, the soup, cake and coffee all being remarked on; in other words, everything we ate. Highly recommended.

Oh, all right, if you insist, here is another picture. Has earth anything to show more fair: Cudden, the Greeb, St Michael's and wonderful memories all on a crisp winter's day?

5.9 miles in two and a half hours.
The St Michael's Way story in pictures
The St Michael's Way map

St Michael's Way - part 1

On a day when the cloud was down to ground level - an Englishman might say it was almost raining - we tackled the northern end of the St Michael's Way. This runs from Lelant to St Michael's Mount by a route which is said to be the part of the route to Compostela if you are Irish. Landing at Lelant at the head of the Hayle river, you would walk across to Mount's Bay and from there catch a boat across to Brittany.

Anyone who followed the marked trail had serious geographical problems as it starts by going along the coast for 3km northwest when you really want to go due south. We ignored the northerly bit, parked in Carbis Bay and headed uphill to Knill's monument, raised to celebrate the life of a former mayor of St Ives. His motto was Nil Desperandu (sic) and we were glad of the reassurance having been promised spectacular views over St Ives Bay towards Godrevy light.

The views, as you can probably see, lacked the promised clarity. Onwards along paths and roads, across a camp site and paddock; past a barn and out into a field where the Beersheba menhir stood 3m high.

From here there is a charming little downhill path, everything a Cornish path should be: squelchy mud underfoot, a stone wall either side and covering shelter of black and hawthorns. This took us past a lonely cottage where camellias blossomed until we emerged by the bowl stone. This magnificent stone was one of many tossed by the giant of Trencrom hill: a perfectly smooth pebble no doubt collected from the beach.

Crossing the road, we made our way uphill once more in a field which was full of other smaller pebbles the giant had tossed aside and a large herd of bulls who had so churned and manured the ground that boots got stuck and panic nearly set in. Emerging on the far side, we thankfully mounted the grounds of the hill itself, entering the fort through the eastern gateway with its large gate posts. The fort has a lovely surface of short-cropped grass with rock outcrops and the hints of hut circles to tantalise the archaeologist. Around the crown of the hill is a well-brackened defensive wall.No doubt on sunny days one can enjoy the views of Mount's and St Ives Bays but this was not one of those days.

A biscuit revived us before a short exploration of the 300BC fort including one of its wells (the other is said to be too well hidden and anyway, we were tired after our fight with the mud).

The return journey took us back to the menhir, thoughtfully obvious on the crest of the opposite hill, through the camp site and then across country on a contour walk through more Cornish paths before emerging tired but refreshed in Carbis Bay three hours after we had started.

No doubt someone will explain why, as well as camellias, we saw osteospermum, campanula, lithodorum and campion in flower in the first week of January.

New year ...

Our guests have had enough. They have left and the new year has arrived with rain and a watery sun. The rubbish monster has been honoured with yet another dose of empty bottles, cardboard, bin bags and dirty nappies. Henry has been fed, refilled, fed again (Raisins 476, Cheerios 505; dead flies 535). Bathrooms re cleaned; towels washed; cots moved; floors scrubbed; Christmas cards, tree and lights removed.

Tomorrow is a work day once again as the cycle of the year begins again and the memories of the past festivities become dimmer with time. Images remain to jolt our us to remember.