Day Three: Crackington Haven to Tintagel


Walking down the slipway deeper into the harbour, the scent of salt and seaweed is carried on the wind.

The river gurgles over its stone bed, smooth pebbled.

The morning sunlight falls in the small tugs and fishing boat strung from the harbour walls, greyscale of permanent damp marking the high tide.

The jagged cliffs rise up behind, the small harbour a bowl carved from the earth, the meeting point of land and sky.