SWCP 2017 Day 1: (Newquay) Perranporth to Portreath May 11th

As the Wheal Turns
I really didn’t plan on hiking again this year. It felt a little selfish to use so much of my vacation time without Kat. On top of that, I’d roped myself into chairing ArmadilloCon (the Austin SF convention) again, and it seemed risky to be out for so much of May when the Programming work would be hot. Yes, I’d agreed to set up the schedule for the program, as well, which is probably the most time-consuming job on the Con. And then there were the demands of my actual job…
Late winter, however, I started to get antsy. If I only hiked every other year, I’d be 70 by the time I finished. Would my knees hold up? I set out a timeline for the convention work, and decided that if I could get the participant survey sent out before hiking, the results would be back by the time I returned, and I’d have June to actually put together the schedule. (Didn’t work out quite like that.) So I talked to Kat, booked my tickets, and invited my friend and former boss Rob to join me.

Late afternoon of May 10th I was back in Newquay, checking into the Great Western hotel near the rail station. Not Best Western, mind you (although I stayed in a Best Western hotel in Pangbourne while hiking the Thames Path). Great Western as in the historic and now restored railroad — no coincidence that it was near the station. I had dinner at an Indian restaurant next door that had caught my eye last year as I walked into the town last year. I’d kept on walking that time, and had two of the best dinners of that hike at the Harbour, but the Harbour was several miles out of my way, and considerably more expensive.
Didn’t sleep well, woke up early and gave up on getting back to sleep. This was on top of a night with only 5 hours sleep before flying — too much to do and then an early drive to the airport — and maybe 3 hours sleep on the flight. I was pretty tired. Didn’t look like too bad a walk at a little over 12 miles, so I was waiting by the bus stop out front by 10:38.
At 10:41, my bus drove right by.
OK, it’s a request stop. I swear I made eye contact with the driver and waved at him; I must have lacked sufficient enthusiasm. What does it take, interpretive dance? Fuming, I hoofed it down the street towards the rail station, thinking there might be a taxi waiting, but the trains are few and far between and not worth a taxi’s time to wait. However, there was a sign nearby for a taxi service, and up a flight of stairs I found the dispatcher, who called a cab for me. Not too long a wait, and a much more pleasant conversation with the driver than likely on a bus. He had moved to Cornwall from Leicester, and told me about their football team which had been at the bottom of the Premier League since moving up to that level. Then the bones of Richard III were found under a parking lot in Leicester, and the Miracle of Richard led the team to the championship. I think there was a star player acquired along about then, too… The driver had been to Spain to see his team in the Champions League recently. We also discussed Brexit; he had very mixed feelings and had voted Stay, but felt that the immigration situation was unsustainable. I think that’s a much more defensible position in the UK with its NHS and other social benefits than in the US.

Anyhow, I was in Perranporth a little after 11, in time to wave enthusiastically at the departing bus. Well, I waved at least one finger. Stopped at Boots to buy some Compeeds plasters and other foot supplies, better than what I’ve found in the States. After a couple of blocks to get back to where I had left off last year, I was soon climbing along a road up to the clifftop and a large sundial in a park by the trail. From there I could get a glimpse of an arch in the rocks standing next to the cliff. I had considered walking along the beach for a better view of that formation before starting the trail, but with the late start I had decided not to, hoping the view from above would be as good. It wasn’t.
The day was dreary but not actually raining. The temperature was great, around 60, but then Texas had been unusually cool in late April / early May, so I wasn’t quite as desperate for relief. Very soon I was walking a classic SWCP clifftop, with some shear drops near the trail. The landscape is pocked with abandoned mineshafts; those close to the trail are protected with tents of steel bars, “bat castles” to keep people from falling in but allow the bats access. Looking down one cliff, I saw a gaping shaft in a terrace below, and remarkable azure water beyond. Wildflowers were not as profuse in this stretch as some places, but there were plenty of thrifts (Sea pink), particularly coating every fieldstone wall. Rounding Cligga Head, I could just see the Bawden Rocks aka “Man and his man” in the distance offshore. They ended up being long-term landmarks for the day.

The trail along here followed the fence line of a little-used airport. There were a few ruins of recent mines, not nearly as interesting as the centuries-old engine houses a little further on. Approaching Trevaunance Cove and St. Agnes, I had a view down and across a tidal shelf of broken rock with a nice beach at the southwestern end. Then the trail dived down a steep descent and turned inland to cross the stream flowing down to Trevallas Porth. I stepped aside from the trail to take a video of the stream, the heart of the Blue Hills Tin Streams historic mining complex, where I got my first close look at this industrial archeology. I walked around one engine house and by several chimney stacks, then stopped to change my socks. If I’d had more time, I could have seen the nearby (small) working tin mine, more of a visitor attraction than a profitable mine. The trail climbed back up the far side of the valley before descending again to the back of Trevanaunce Cove. St. Agnes spills nearly to the coast here, and I stopped for lunch at the Driftwood Spars, getting a remarkably large filet of fish with chips. The center of St. Agnes is a short walk inland from here, but I stayed to the trail. From somewhere around here I counted seven separate stone chimneys, each presumably the site of a mining engine house.

From here the trail climbed back to a cliff top and stayed there for several miles, west to St. Agnes Head, then south to Porthtowan, with one descent at Chapel Porth. But before that came the highlight of the day for me, the Wheal Coates engine house. There’s something about this example dating from the 1870s that makes it the poster child for the whole category, a cleanness of line approaching geometric ideals. The trail splits into several parallel branches with lots of choices, permitting choices of angles for photography. I took a route that went right by it, allowing me to look at the shaft down into the earth immediately in front of it, and to look up into the shell of the structure, and see the arched windows one above the other on the far side. (See also my Prisma version of the scene at the top of the post.) The Cornish mines are significant to the history of the Industrial Revolution because some of the very first commercial steam engines were used here, for pumping water out of mines, or for lifting ore and slag.

The descent at Chapel Porth included a visit to a popular beach café, featuring their famous “Iced Hedgehog”. I had fond memories of Cornish ice cream from the last trip, and had to try this. It’s an ice cream cone coated in clotted cream, and then rolled in hazelnuts. Delicious! After climbing back up to the cliff top, there was a view back over Chapel Porth to Wheal Coates and other engine houses and chimneys of the area.

The trail stayed on the clifftop until the small community of Porthtowan tucked into another valley; down there and right back up. The next valley was intriguingly known as Sally’s Bottom, then the trail climbs back up and again follows the perimeter of a former RAF base (and, for a while chemical weapons facility) at Nancekuke, then down again to Portreath. One last valley, Hayle Ulla, caught me by surprise.The final stretch descending to the town followed a road above some picturesque landscaped homes. I snapped a few pictures of a magpie among these gardens, and another of an interesting folly. At the bottom, I found the Portreath Arms (my destination for the night) easily, and had a beef stew in brioche for dinner.
And discovered, when I emptied out my pockets in the room, that I still had a key from the Great Western — shades of my departure from the Yeo Dale last year! Was this to be a pattern for starting my hikes? Not a good one! This time I had hiked all day before noticing. In my defense, the hotel had given me 2 keys, for the room and the outside door. I’d turned one in at checkout, and the clerk didn’t ask about the other… Anyhow, I gave it to the publican in Portreath with a few pounds for postage. This had been a “challenging” day according to the trail guide, but only a little over 12 miles (14 miles by my new Garmin GPS watch), around 2400 feet ascent. Tomorrow would be far longer, as I was committed to making it all the way to St. Ives, over 18 miles.