Lazing the SWC Path to Lizard

With its miles of coastline, Cornwall has many sections that are prime surfing regions for England, and Lizard Peninsula, where I’m staying, is home to many water-loving Brits. I was reminded of this on my walk to the grocer this morning, early enough to catch the mail being delivered. This part of the world doesn't use a typical “Royal Mail” red van and starchly uniformed postperson. Here mail is delivered via bicycle--a Royal Mail red bicycle--by a tanned, blond surfer dude wearing shorts and a red Royal Mail T-shirt. He climbs off the bike and walks up to each house with his bundle of mail.

Today began as a setup day--washed my jammies in the bathroom sink and draped them over a hydrangea to dry; shopped for a week’s worth of groceries--eggs, muesli, milk, jam, bread, butter, chicken, peas, fresh vegetables; scoped out the layout of Mullion village, pubs, shops, galleries, etc.

After a nap, I armed myself with trekking poles, Snickers bar, apple, and water and headed out at 3:15 for a walk south on the Southwest Coast (SWC) path, just to see what it was like. I kept stopping for photos, it was all so beautiful and interesting. New coves every half mile, meadow flowers blowing in the wind, changes in the trail, stiles to clamor over, gulls to watch dive over the cliffs.








I was about an hour and a quarter out when I paused to photograph a woman in red coming down one of the hills. When we passed to say hello, she said, "Who'd have thought we'd be meeting again this way?"

I looked more closely. It was Manuela from Carthvean Farm! She was walking north from Lizard. We exchanged notes about distances from our starting points. She had hopped a bus to Lizard and had spent about two hours, plus lunch break, to get to where we were. She gave me the return bus times from Lizard, and I decided to continue walking until I reached that village at the end of the peninsula, then bus back. We figured it was about four miles, corroborated by a mile marker I found a few minutes later.



Manuela had an Ordnance map of the region--the closeup, 25,000-scale version that shows practically every boulder on a trail. I wondered whether I was stupid to be heading out without a map, too, then decided that it was unlikely that I’d get lost on this path. Keep the Atlantic on my right, and even I couldn’t go wrong.

She mentioned that the route from Lizard wasn’t too hilly, mostly flat. She hadn’t, however, warned me about the group of highland cows that were waiting in one of the several gullies I would go down and up on the way. They have a lovely caramel coloring and horns like a Texas longhorn steer. One was an older calf. I'd already seen warnings posted to beware of cattle, especially those that had babies. I swallowed my nerves, said hello, and they let me pass through their little group about 15 feet from them.


The day continued to be scorching hot (I’m getting a serious tan on this trip), and I was happy to reach Kynance Cove, a beach on the trail just outside Lizard. The tide was coming in, and the coastline had been reduced from sand to an expanse of black rocks piled at the base of the cliffs. Ocean waves broke over the boulders and swept between a corridor of stone onto the only spit of sand still left. I stripped off my boots and socks to wade into the water. Ah, icy cold. Yow, my feet were numb within a minute. I took a video of the waves coming through the corridor. They made a great slapping sound with each advance.

When I got to Lizard village, a bus was waiting--the 7:04, and I'd arrived at 7:01. Perfect timing. I skipped a fish and chips dinner in Lizard and took the ride back to Mullion. What had taken me took me three-plus hours to walk took about 10 minutes by bus.

I stopped for dinner at The Mounts Bay pub--local ale and local fish pie. The pies here don’t have a crust per se--they’re served in baking dishes--but it was delicious. Dill and cream sauce, salmon, shrimp, crab, sliced potatoes. Over the rooftops I could view the Atlantic. It feels odd to see the Atlantic from this side--to me it's the “wrong” side; to UK it's the “right” side--sort of like what Tim and I each call the “front” and “back” of Mt. Hood--he lives to the south of the mountain, and I live to the north. I suppose it’s all in the perspective.

Church bells rang in the distance as I ate--the happy bells that peal around 7:45 and go for half an hour. I think it's the same melody as I recorded at St Clements in London. Next to me a family of a mum and three early teens share the sunshine over their meal. Sunset is still about one and a half hours away, and I’m feeling proud of my journey today, perfectly content to be right here, right now.