Along the Avon & the Chew: Bristol- Keynsham- Woollard

-Walk past the traffic that's always on Blackswarth road to get down onto the Avon river path. Someone's dumped a 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks' boardgame near the path entrance and the quiz cards are scattered everywhere.

-In front of me are two guys maybe on a walking date, or a walk the morning after a succesful date. One describes to the other growing up in Burnham-on-Sea; "Everything's grey, the estuary's disgusting, and it kills people every year... there's three lifeboats named after drowned little girls... It's all very melancholic."

The Little one yaps at every passing dog on the river path.

-As soon as I started down Blackswarth Road I have 'No Diggity' by Eminem in my head.

-Trees in form of towering majesty against the blue sky. Blossoms in bursts. sounds of tiny wings and river babble. willows cracked, fallen, surviving regardless where they may. barely half an hour in I buy a coffee, a compulsion more than a need. something to hold and sip and pretend for a minute I'm strolling lightly.

View South-East across the Avon coming up to Hanham lock from Crewes Hole

-Squabbling and chattering from the heronries perched atop the absolute height of some willows on the south side of the river, one of the birds nestled against the bone-white of a standing dead ash vulture-like.

-The sudden alienness of a poplar plantation, tall and straight and ordered among the lively tumble of green all around. I'd always thought there something abandoned feeling about this small plantation. There's a ruined building close by as well.

The Small Plantation of Poplars, Incongruous with its wild woodland surroundings.

-After listening to a podcast series about the Norman conquest of England, I look around at the fecundity & fertility of these hills and rivers and see what the Norse, Normans, Danes, German tribes, Romans, all came for; there own lands lacking or suffering. Across the river a new build estate on a flood plain; this is what we've done with it.

Along the Avon after Hanham lock.

-Walking under a bridge in Keynsham I see a puddle of dog piss and 'Dog Dribble' by Getdown Services gets stuck in my head.

-I take the unfamiliar path alongside the river Chew out of Keynsham, passing through a mausoleum-like converted mill where my footsteps echo and there are myriad signs forbidding entry.

-Burble of the river consumed by the quiet of the fields between Keynsham & Compton Dando. Just birdsong, flies, pheasant calls, all birds, trees creaking, the very distant and occasional sound of rushing cars.

The path lined in the golden flowers of buttercups.

-I'd previously done this walk in maybe June or July, and am now struck by all the May flowers. Pinkish haze of a patch of flowering grass in a meadow.

-For a brief moment the path takes a dive up out of the sun-baked fields into a woodland. I'd been here before, and a lot of trees have come down since then. Heavy smell of garlic, as the woodland floor is covered in wild garlic, giving out scent to the air as it goes to seed and wilts in the dry sun. I hear mice rustle & squeak away in the undergrowth at the sound of my footsteps.

A willow completely falling apart, exposing the heartwood.

-Coming downhill into Woollard I pass through a sheep paddock. It is the closest cropped field of this entire journey, nothing left to even hint at a meadow. All been cows until now. Then I pass the alpacas sleeping or grazzing at Bell Farm. Radio 4 playing in an empty wood shed with a red massey ferguson tractor. Geese eating grass under an orchard. A couple of geese eating vegetation on the bank of the Chew as I pass over the bridge, like a Ladybird book snapshot, except when I start crossing the bridge they immediately hiss until I'm well away.

Bell Farm alpacas.

Geese in the Chew at Woollard.

-Swim in a pool of the Chew by an old bridge.. It's a lovely, deep cold, felt in the bones and joints. My first river swim of the year. I find a decades old crushed can, with a triangular opening, and the rubber heel of an old boot, still with jack nails, an imprint reading "Fussells of Somerset." 

-Serious blisters starting to set in now. Because I'd set in my head that I was doing this walk in a day rather than making camp anywhere, I had kept to a high pace. If I'd thought I was walking all the next day as well, I would have probably stopped more, taken my shoes off to let my feet breathe and rest, applied plasters as soon as I felt the slightest rub. But no; I just powered through. That being said, I walked the short stretch from the swimming hole in Woollard to the field gate, and the grassy, earthen path compacted flat by walkers felt extremely pleasant underfoot. 

-A tiny stretch of road is swallowed up in someones private property in Compton Dando, blocking off one foot path from another, meaning that you have to completely circumvent the entire village. It's only small and quite pretty, but still, it doesn't feel right.

Circled in red is the small stretch that is gated off, forcing a complete circumnavigation of the village to continue onward.

-Less notes on the backwards leg. The cold dip in the Chew and the new pain from my blisters quieten my thoughts. I walk up the hill in Keynsham, devour a snickers, and get the train to Temple Meads accompanied by two screaming babies. When I get off the train, my blisters have kicked up the pain a notch, and so the longest feeling stretch become the 10-15 minute walk from Temple Meads to my front door. 

Who sets the tables when there is no one? A note on objects and environs in the 'Silent Hill' franchise

Your character, whether Harry, Heather, James, Henry, or many others, steps over the threshold between worlds; sometimes more than one. In many instances, this horrifying world is now a familiar world in utter ruins. Ruins unwitnessed before; shades of rust and blood spattered and growing where they wouldn't if the hospitals, malls, prisons and apartment blocks you visit now were simply abandoned. In these instances, you understand that this rot and decay is the very nature of these worlds. A mirror that shows too much, perhaps. 

We come to understand that these worlds with their access point in the unassuming town of Silent Hill are directly influenced, even manifested, by a characters psyche. This can create symbolic creatures, inhabit representative locales, and even 'set pieces' in the form of environmental puzzles, art, setting. Puzzles can also have a plot source, often relating to the works and scriptures of the occultist 'Order' who operate in Silent Hill and have a presence in most of the series. 

In this understanding, this ruined world is a set; everything in it, every object, being and colour, is seeking to say something. And yet I find myself distracted with thoughts of ecology; we encounter demonic, abhorrent creatures eating. They have specific dwelling places (easily seen as 'props' of that particular 'set',) that suggest they have habitats. Sometimes these creatures are eating what are recognisably human corpses, (SH2 has some ambiguity as to whether these could also be thought of as 'props'... this isn't about that,) suggesting that unwitting others, residents or visitors to the town have ended up as prey.

Additionally, I am distracted by furniture: The world is just 'The Ruined World', not a world after it has been ruined; by its very nature as a manifestation or reflection it cannot have been anything else. It is historyless. It is wrong to think or believe that the buildings and objects are left over from any prior, different instance of that world; yet there are objects that appear to have been actioned, rather than swept around or dilapidated into place. Doors are blocked off with heavy objects such as wardrobes and other furniture, as if someone blocked them off before you, as if they were there for an event. 'Reflected' rooms may have the furniture laid out understandably, albeit now gross with rot, whereas some will be void of the expected furniture or it may be haphazardly cast about. Who moved it? 

I hope you do not think that I trying to imply any of this is bad design. To me at least, it's jarring and unnerving for these oddities to occur. Why would a supernatural creature with such set dressing as cloth, metal and bandages also exhibit behaviours recognisable to 'normal' biology? Why would environs appear lived in, interacted with, when there is no one else to do so, and actually no existing history to explain it either? Going back to the understanding of this Ruined World as a set, and everything in it a prop or an actor, this is malicious intent to generate further feelings of uncanniness and discomfort. Even the comfort of rules suggested by this world are bent and broken. 

Walking a Tin Coast: Hayle- Land’s End- Penzance- Hayle

 

The route I followed was more or less the ‘toe’ of West Cornwall; looks small on a map, but as a walked loop felt pretty dramatic, with each day offering a differing terrain.

8/10/2024 Day 1: Hayle- Gurnard’s Head (roughly). Approx. 15 miles

Zoom

Barely slept on the overnight coach from Bristol. A bit of an uncomfortable seat yes, but more that there were a crazy amount of beeps and alerts. What did they all mean? A trio of lads who’d spent all day coming back from Bangface (very “yes mate no mate yeah nah mate nah yeah mate”) Rob at the wheel- seemed a sweet guy.

Begin walking out of Hayle in the dark, with the sun rising over the south quay. The rain started before I got to Carbis Bay. A few ups-and-downs in terms of elevation,  but mostly maintained path and steps.

Looking back towards the Hayle estuary & the rain clouds approaching.

As I hide from the rain off a road near Carbis Bay, an autistic man carrying a body board very angry with the rain comes shouting down the hill; “I’m sorry but I’m really cross! Can’t get the laundry dry like this! It’s running the bills up!” He softened, and apologised very heartfeltly. I felt he deserved nice weather to dry his laundry. Later as I walked back up the rise at Porthminster point I could hear him shouting as he got in the sea.

Feel this stretch between Hayle and St.Ives was characterised by a huge amount of people walking their dogs- almost all spaniels to a one.

The sun emerged from the clouds for long enough to entice me to a swim at Porthminster beach in St. Ives, and then it began raining as soon as I’d got out. Had two coffees and a pastry in St. Ives, and marched out past Barnoon cemetery and properly into a rugged coastline.

Here the path becomes much wilder, away from the settled stretch of coast Hayle- St. Ives. This time of year (October) the bracken die off has left the headlands and coastline an excellent shade of rusty red against the azure sea. A strong Westerly wind coming in unchallenged from the Atlantic. First filter water top-up at a spring near Zawn Quoits, though I worry with all the rain that it may be mixed with agricultural run-off etc.

Have lunch near Economy Cove looking out at the Carracks, a collection of rocks in the sea. Watch two seals. Saw one in the sea early in the day from Porthminster Point bobbing in the sea. Will also see many, many ponies in conservation grazing across the areas of the Coast Path maintained by the National Trust.

Stone circle near Zennor.

The rain really picks up and I am scrambling from headland to headland, the path winding up, around, and down with each ripple in the coastline. Despite my soaking wet feet I’m still in awe of the dramatic crashing waves and beauty around me. Pass an unsigned stone circle, no idea if ancient or modern. Drawn like a magnet to the Tinner’s Arms in Zennor, to shelter, call my girlfriend, have a pint- and then, as I was enjoying the dry still, a coffee too. My walking shoes, already a more ‘trainer’-esque design, had been thoroughly used for over a year, and now the many large stones on the path had exacerbated the holes already there. If I could change a single thing about this whole trip it would be my choice in footwear. I idly wonder if I’ll pass a shoe shop while drinking my pint. While sheltering, my resolve to wild camp faltered a bit; relentless, changeable weather accompanied by an ever-present westerly wind, hard terrain in the stretch St. Ives- Zennor, and residual exhaustion from the overnight coach journey all addled me. Still, once back out in it, I persisted.

Weather eased off around 3/4pm. Was advised on a place to camp by a fisherman from Treen, a sheltered spot somewhere on Gurnard’s Head, but ended up carrying on for a small stretch and camping on the other side of Gurnard’s Head on a hidden outctop at Zawn Duel (I think.) Set up camp early, first cooking a meal around 5pm and, seeing no one come around the path, decided to get the tent down. I used an OEX Phoxx I, which did the job in terms of shelter and size in the pack, but offered no way of sitting up and could be slightly confining. In the dying light from my secret spot, I had a full view of the path on the other side of the headland and saw no one come around, probably deterred by weather and the isolated area. Prayed for dry shoes the next day.

First Night's Camp.

9/10/2024 Day 2: Gurnard’s Head (roughly)- Trescean, Land’s End. Approx. 16 miles

Days 1 & 2 I mostly resembled a walking clothes horse.

Very windy overnight in my isolated little nook. The inlet near me had a cave, that I swear on three occasions I heard bats. The charge of the sea into that inlet was a steady thunder. The Westerly wind battled against my tent, which was half-exposed, but guttered out sometime in the early hours and threw an hour of rain at me instead. The night before I had unpacked clumsily, leaving my waterproof bag outside but not sealed so the contents were slightly damp. Both my pairs of socks were wet after I stupidly got out the tent in the night to check the pegs without taking my socks off and my shoes were still wet. I still felt good about the walk though, thinking more that these were all mistakes I could rectify in the day and not make again. I broke camp and followed a tip I’d heard somewhere to get an hour of walking in before making breakfast or coffee as you might find somewhere much nicer or even a bench than the area you camped in the night before.

Bosigran Castle ruins

Drier today. I had breakfast and made coffee in the ruins of Bosigran castle, taking shelter in those ancient footings and walls. Walking on the coastline near Levant and Pendeen there’s lots of ruins of mines, smelteries and industry. Monolithic tin smelteries, many still with their tall chimney stacks, keep watch from the fields just a little inland. The ‘Tin Coast’ as I’ve heard it called since. I have lunch taking shelter from the wind this time by the walls of an arsenic works. Older tourists make their way around the ruins; the men almost always have a flat cap on. Looming high above the levant mine is a huge modern gravelworks.

After the rugged and bracken covered coastline from St.Ives to the Levant mine, the mowed grass areas around Pendeen feel suddenly alien, like the isolated lawns and environments of a dream. Lots of birders, which I would see again along the Hayle estuary. Gentler path to Cape Cornwall. Filled up water at the café at Cape Cornwall, and was informed by an incredibly friendly national trust volunteer that Land’s End was just two hours away. Her friendly voice felt odd after a couple of days of barely talking to anyone.

Dealing with cramp in the arch of my right foot. I have very high arches, so this could be a problem; I stretched it out as much as I could and watched where on my foot I put my weight. (Over the coming days I found proper lacing technique would by-and-large save me this cramp.) On reaching the beach at Sennen Cove, I walked the length of it to the village barefoot, which felt blissful. I thought on having a swim, but it was too windy and the beach was full of jellyfish which put me off. A pint at the success inn, where I was served by someone dressed a little like a pirate, a character of which I seem to witness on each visit to Cornwall, as if the like of Shakespeare’s Pirates of Penzance has seeped into the cultural subconscious.

Almost all day I have had my swimming trunks, towel, raincoat and a pair of socks on the outside of my bag in an attempt to get it all to dry. In a carpark in Sennen Cove a guy tells me about a secret track he uses to get to Lands End (which I won’t need as I’m heading one-way) but also about a shipwreck slightly off the path, which I took up on.

Ship wreck near land's end.

I feel I didn’t witness Lands End itself, as in the rock formation or headland; coming up the path I was struck by the enormity of the hotel there, like a colonial outpost or compound. It was like the hotel was trying to claim the significance of that nipple of coast for themself. I veered away, inland to Trescean, to the Land’s End hostel where I was enticed with the thought of somewhere cosy for the night, somewhere I could dry off my shoes and gear. I end up being the only guest as they’re in the middle of a deep clean, and so I have a very quiet space to eat my dinner, sort my gear out, and have an incredible sleep.

Zzzz

 

10/10/2024 Day 3: Trescean, Land’s End- Penzance. Approx. 17 miles

Wake at 6:30AM from a dead deep sleep, feeling a little dehydrated. Raining first thing so I take my time to get ready. Last night, after carrying it and getting it smashed about in my bag, finally started reading James Joyce’s Dubliners.

Waited an hour for rain to abate and headed out 8ish in wet gear across fields around Trescean after deciding against doubling back to be completionist about the coast path around Land’s End.

Rain completely stopped by 8:30 and actually gifted some sun at 9- still amazed how fast my blissfully dry shoes got wet in the fields. Beautiful flower blossoms in the fields left fallow and gorgeous, huge skies with the autumn sunrise blasting the clouds into drama.

Instead of the South West Coast path, I walk some public footpaths from Trescean to Porthgwarra, but get mixed up and used the bridleway and country lanes for a short while. Made coffee on a bench near Porthcurno. Satisfied looking at my hobo cooking set up, the alcohol stove made from a beer can and the wind guard just tinfoil. When I get home I immediately bin my cooking pot, realizing the Teflon coat was degrading and I’d probably ingested some.

Not long after I meet Rowan and Chris, walking Penzance- St.Ives and wild camping. Was very joyful to meet people with the same ambitions and I wish I’d met them on day one to bolster me for the journey ahead.

Despite being October the heat sometimes puts me in just a t-shirt. Sheltered by mainland Cornwall from the Westerly wind now. Was feeling dehydrated and peaky all morning after my deep, deep sleep but after 2 coffees, ibuprofen and a rehydration tablet in my water bottle I feel loads better.

A proper blunder- I overtake an older French couple and come out on St. Loy’s Cove, a beautiful beach of huge rounded boulders. The signpost just pointed over it, so I began scrambling over each massive rock thinking to myself how odd it was that the path went this way, wondering how the old French couple were going to manage. I even stood in a rock pool. Like a true idiot I just carried on, never thinking that this couldn’t possibly be the right way, climbing awkwardly over a point into Paynter’s Cove. It was here I had the calm thought of ‘oh, the tide’s coming in.’ The tide was coming in fast to this small cove with no exit on the cliff on the other side. I could have, and should have, safely doubled back into St. Loy’s Cove and found the actual path entrance, but, as adrenaline began setting in a bit and also concerned about making it to the campsite I’d booked in Penzance, I made out the path of least resistance- up.

Entering St. Loy's Cove

With my pack weighing my back down, I miraculously, and quite quickly, made it up the cliff, into some scrubby undergrowth of nettles and blackthorn, and, hearing a pair of French voices, determined my way back on the path. I plunge up and out of the undergrowth, to the surprise of the French couple I’d overtaken earlier on. I remember the lady had a very unimpressed facial expression, whereas the man was a little jovial, as I gave them a panicked smile and laugh as my heart thundered with adrenaline, I felt hot and sticky and my legs now tingled with the touch of many stinging nettles.

The tide coming in, and halfway through my climb.

I walked a little further before stopping to recuperate with a quick lunch at Boscawen Point. Though rocky at times, the path is noticeably gentler in gradient. Begin seeing more people around Lamorna, maybe on holiday in the busy stretch of coast Mousehole- Marazion. Lamorna cove is itself very beautiful. Not long after, the path enters the Kemyel Crease nature reserve, which I found quite memorable though it was small. Sheltered from the sea air by non-notive Monterey pines planted to provide protection for cultivation in the fields behind, the stretch of plantation later became a novel ecosystem as trees were brought down by forest and non-native shrubbery (rhododendron, privet, hydrangea etc.,) seeded themselves in the freed up spaces.

A little oddity near Lamorna- a celtic cross with a pile of coins rusting at the base.

Pint at the Ship Inn, Mousehole, then walk to Penzance. Even though I was still along the coast this stretch felt positively urbane. The campsite I booked is on the outskirts of Penzane in Heamoor, so I have to walk up through the less glamorous side of town to get there, which makes a welcome change after much gentle tourist-friendly places that make you wonder where all the locals live their lives. Walking past the chip shop in Heamoor a young lad says to me “alright dick” which makes me double take. Still unsure if meant as an insult.

I think I’m the only one in a tent at the campsite, Stream Valley Holiday Park. I am surrounded by caravans and campervans. Unable to sit up in the tent, I cook and eat outside in the drizzle, before getting into my sleeping bag to read for a while before trying to sleep.

Final night's camp

 

 

11/10/2024 Day 4 Penzance- Hayle. Approx. 18 miles (St. Michael’s Way 12 miles, South West Coast Path 6 miles.)

Here I go

Cold night’s sleep in the tent, and end up wearing all of my clothes, draping my waterproof on top of the sleeping bag and wrapping my puffy coat around my waist- a little googling tells me that you should let your torso exude heat into the sleeping bag rather than keep it contained. Despite some tossing and turning, which feels loud because of my inflatable sleeping mat, I manage a good few hours. I have some breakfast and coffee in the early hours while everyone sleeps a while longer in their campers, still wearing all my clothes, and find that keeping baselayers on while breaking camp is a good way of warming up.

St. Piran, seen here painfully transmuted into a locomotive

I’ve found I have worn the skin on my hands more than my feet from regularly wringing out wet things; towel, socks, trunks, etc. Although by this last day I’ve accumulated a couple of blister plasters. Every morning and night, and on a few stops along the way I have applied Vaseline to my feet, my hands and my lips, and I think this slick first layer has helped a great deal.

St. Michael's Mount in the early morning.

On this, the final day, I have the best weather of the entire trip. I have my second dip in the sea, this time in Marazion near St. Michael’s Mount. It felt great. I generally felt much more spirited, I think in part because the day was fairly more defined; I’d follow the St. Michael’s way and get back to Hayle. It didn’t feel the intimidating and unknown journey I embarked upon on days one and two. I bought a pasty in Marazion that I wolfed down as I started the way.

I’ve recently become more interested In pilgrim paths, and can now say I’ve ‘completed’ one (or near enough- more on that later). I can’t remember where I heard it, but I vaguely recall learning that pilgrims from Ireland would take a version of this route when they landed by ferry on the Atlantic coast, to access another ferry to mainland Europe to continue to Rome or Jerusalem.

The St. Michael's Way Pilgrim's Path marker.

I wander around Ludgvan churchyard for a moment, taking in all the Cornish surnames on the old gravestones; Rowe, Trebarrow, Curnow. Really I had got a little turned around in the Church grounds, thinking I was looking for a public footpath entrance, but found from my map I had to cut back onto the road and away, out of Ludgvan and back into the fields.

Definitely less hills; still some hills, but nothing like the intense cresting flint paths that tumbled over each headland after St. Ives. Despite a lingering damp and the odd leaf starting to turn, it felt like late summer again, with a warm sun and large butterflies everywhere, which gave me some hope after a low bug count this summer nationwide.

I come over the hill up past Trembethow dairy and feel that old Westerly wind hit me, and can actually see the coastline I started out from. The land between Ludgvan and Carbis Bay is dairy country; twice I touched an electric fence, walked many paths of sucking mud and had to walk through a smashed up farmyard under the suspicious gaze of two smoking workers.

Seeing the sea at Carbis Bay on the final day.

The fields and valleys become taken over by buildings that I can’t decide are for locals or tourists, and I come to the settlement of Carbis Bay. Here, I lose the pilgrim path which would’ve taken me to the Knill’s monument near St. Ives, through Steeple Woods and then to Carbis Bay near Porthminster Point. Instead, I think I got taken up by a public footpath, into the Carbis Bay settlement, down a couple of roads then another footpath coming out in the Carbis Bay beach hotel area. Another needed barefoot walk across the sands, and then a walk up some steep steps that apparently also double as a cliffside spring, to rejoin the South West Coast Path to Hayle.

This Is gentle walking now, especially in comparison to all traversed before. Sandy pathways, lots of flats, and, if any gradient, downhill. I laugh a little looking at the wide vista of Porthkidny sands in the sunshine; four days early I’d looked back at this view under grey rainclouds.

Although easy going on the feet and legs, the stretch from Lelant Church into Hayle feels very long as you have to make your way all around the Hayle estuary. Lots of birders present along the walls for wading birds. Also tonnes of pampas grass, growing in spurts along fencelines and in the estuary, and in places entire acres of it. I’d heard it was invasive before, and I suppose Cornwall’s milder climate lends to its spread.

I feel a little giddy re-walking this familiar path back the other way, and, while walking along the cycle path along the Causeway spy the Hayle town sign, and feel emotional; I’d made it, I’d completed the loop.

Waiting in town for three hours for my train home, I cook my last batch of noodles on a bench, have a pint and a coffee, and use the asda toilets, remembering that I’d actually been to Hayle before, once, to use this giant asda.

When the train stops at Camborne, someone plays Jethro’s ‘We don’t stop Camborne Wednesdays’ bit for their friend loudly on their phone. So long, Cornwall.

Gear:

·       Patagonia stormfront bag: I’ve used and abused this bag for years. It’s not ultra light, but its durable and very waterproof. Lots of ways to utilize outside storage as well. I only wish I’d found a water bottle caddy to attach to the side.

·       lightweight sleeping bag: wish I’d brought a liner as this is a Spring/ Summer bag

·       lightweight OEX Phoxx I tent: first use of this, did the job albeit a bit pokey.

·       Big Agnes inflatable sleeping mat: have used multiple times and always does well.

·       Beer can stove + bio-ethanol fuel: old trusty, a stove I made while a student. Takes learning the ‘knack’ but decent for bringing water to boil and simple cooking.

 

·       Sawyer Squeeze water filter: used at least once a day. Unsure if this was wise, as the springs I encountered all came through agricultural land and it had rained heavily, so I probably ingested run-off which the filter can’t cope with. I did have an upset stomache for a few days when I was back, and this could’ve been the cause.

·       a 750ml plastic waterbottle and a 500ml plastic waterbottle: nothing fancy, just empty drinks bottles.

·       Lifeventure microfibre towel

·       Microfibre dishcloth for wiping tent condensation down

Clothing:

·       thermal underlayer; one big stitched rip in the knee.

·       Canterbury rugby shorts

·       Very moth eaten & stitched up black cashmere jumper

·       Cotton baseball cap

·       Beanie for sleeping

·       Two pairs of walking socks

·       Two pairs of pants

·       Two T-shirts

·       Battered pair of adidas Terrex shoes

·       Penfield puffy jacket my friend found while working as a train cleaner.

Cornish geographical words:

·       Carn: a pile of rocks (like Cairn)

·       Zawn: Chasm or deep sea inlet

·       Quoits: a Kind of Megalithic structure

·       ‘Nan’ Prefix: Valley

·       ‘Tre’ Prefix: farm or hamlet

 

Finally, here’s a poem I wrote on the train back.

Mines Near Levant

Despite the Westerly

The air must’ve been thick

With voices

And smogs

As they toiled at tin or arsenic

With wool plugging their nose

And painted with clay.

 

Now, a ghoul coast

Littered with chimneys

And tourists who drift

To see about what when

While the machines of the gravel works

Sit giant and smug a little inland.

Gallery of left over pictures

Penberth Cove

I think that's Pendeen Lighthouse over there.

Plantation of Blue Atlas Cedar (Cedrus atlantica 'glauca') on the St. Michael's Way.

Near Trembethow Dairy.

Some views from the footpath from Trevescan.

The last look back after crossing the beach at Carbis Bay.

Daidō Moriyama's 'Stray Dog' Looks At You

Stray Dog by Daidō Moriyama

As a dog you are dead

But as a look,

A spirit shine in the eye,

With what passes to humans 

As a wan smile

Cast back over a 

Trunk of uneven fur

You ask hard questions 

Of us for years to come.