Day Twenty Four: Polperro to Downderry

Rope, raincoats, boots, sails, tents : things we come into contact with every day. Things that are sturdy. Things that have long lives and short tempers. When it comes to battling with the elements, I am grateful for these things.

The weather changed as quickly as the landscape today:

Passing through each bay we came across heavy rain, into soft mist, into hot sun.

The walk was short and sweet, we are weather beaten, glowing, tired.

Day Twenty Three: Charlestown to Polperro

A smack of lightening blessed the sleepy sky with energy this morning.

Filling my view, from the top of my vision to the bottom, from sky to sea: the brief, bright crack split the horizon, a slit down from directly above.

The day was damp and all pastel blues, greys and purples. The sharp slit of electricity broke the dull, broke the blur; the land, sky and sea sewn together in this great stitch of light.

Day Twenty Two: Gorran Haven to Charlestown


The moon is bright, whiter than usual, and full. She feels close, and I feel drawn to look at her, watch her.

Emma said you can't stare at the sea because it is always moving, you can only gaze.

I am moon gazing, night gazing, slowly rotating with the earth, gazing at this moon which is orbiting us on it's elliptical pathway. Gazing at this sky with its celestial bodies, all travelling further and further apart from each other.

Planets follow pathways just as we follow the coast path.

Everything is interwoven on the minutest level, an intricate choreography.

The moon only shows herself in our reflection. The longer I gaze the wider the halo seems to reach, as if the moon is growing in energy. Her edges soften and start to blur, a blue crescent cupping one side.

Day Twenty One: Portloe to Gorran Haven

Porthluney Cove

Sitting on the beach sandflies swarm towards me over the cratered sand, an army of thousands.

They are everywhere- persistent.

Maybe they will strip the skin from my bones, picking them clean, and my skeleton will be left to weather and shrink, molecule by molecule, eroded by the wind and the rain until I come to rest amongst the sand, soothed by the lullaby of the ever present tide.

Day Seventeen: Porthleven to The Lizard

I found a rubbery strip of seaweed and bound it, like a leather belt, around the middle of a fist-sized grey-white rock. The rock I balanced upon a stack of slate and grey-white rocks, poised and striking on this flat promenade. A beach, a catwalk for walkers; the strip of sand runs between lake (Loe Bar) and sea on this grey, damp morning. I think briefly about whether or not the lake is salt water before I imagine tasting it and remember that I am parched and that my head is heavy and my feet far away and I must press on.

-Mat later told me he had tasted the water, as we crossed the sand pathway, and that it was fresh, not salty.

Day Fifteen: Mousehole to Penzance

I've noticed the boats more than ever today.

The short walk has allowed us to slow down and I've seen detail in the harbours that I hadn't acknowledged until now:

The lines across the sand on the sand in Mousehole harbour, the knots in ropes in Newlyn, the bobbing of tiny wooden vessles in Penzance; all of them weathered after years of being bleached in the sun and battered by the sea.

Day Fourteen: Sennen Cove to Mousehole

By Lamorna

The wooded cove comes as a surprise. We walk through the gate, a portal into a magical woodland world. An earthy tang pervades the air, a rich spiciness.

Dappled sunlight dances all around, a natural disco ball created by the leafy canopy above. It mimics the glinting sea, a verdant underwater grotto.

Midges dance in the dusky light, motes of dust caught in a singular shaft of sunlight. Velvet blankets of moss cover every tree trunk. We follow the brook down to the beach, a mass of smooth rounded pebbles the size of my torso.

Day Ten: Portreath to Hayle

Black Cliff

Sitting in the dunes it is very peaceful. A huge swathe of golden sand sweeps out before me, curving around the headlands to my right. 

A huge grinning bay, St. Ives on one side and Godrevy Point on the other.

The tide has left its markings along the beach, strands of seaweed and shingle patterned by the currents.

The sun is warm on my back but the breeze is cool enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up. Hairs bleached blonde by the sun.

Two fishing boats are making their way into Hayle, gliding up through the mouth of the estuary.

Day Six: Polzeath to Porthcothan

Three miles from Polzeath, we had the pleasure of crossing from Rock to Padstow by boat

The blue bay looked magnificent as we walked up out of Padstow towards our next stop, Stepper Point where NCI (National Coastwatch Institution) keep watch over the boats coming in and out. It was great to hear stories of joy and loss from the local volunteers in the NCI lookout.

We had a long walk over to Porthcothan, but the sun shone for us and we had a warm welcome from lovely Jane Darke, who'll we'll stay with for two nights and whilst she makes a short film, as part of our WONDERLUST journey