Church Cove and one of the many cottages Jason stopped during his holidays as a kid.
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Day 6 - The Lizard - Porthhallow
Author: Dave
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Halfway point
Church Cove showing it's sub tropical side with this Elephant Rhubarb
These leaves were over 8 feet high.
Today was the day we would reach the official halfway point. We retraced our steps of the previous evening down to Church Cove to pick the path back up. We passed the giant rhubarb like plants (elephant rhubarb) which gave Church Cove the semi tropical feel that comes from the exposure to the constant gulf stream. It was a hazy start but we could see we were in for another hot day with scenery similar to yesterday, with the high cliff top moor land feel looking down at typical rugged Cornish rocky coast line.
We worked our way along the path until we reached the Devils Frying-pan which is a large hole with a small arch on the seaward side where the waves came through. Sitting on a bench overlooking it was an old fella called Keith. Keith normally worked in a factory somewhere in Lincolnshire but was on holiday at a nearby caravan park where he came this time every year. I would say we spent some time chatting to him but it would be more accurate to say we spent some time listening to him. Mostly he moaned about Polish workers, the welfare state, the government and pretty much anyone else he could think of. I should have guessed where the conversation was going when he kept referring to himself in the third person (aka Bomber from Auf Weidersein Pet). We made our escape and had a chuckle hoping we never ended up that bitter and twisted. Jason looked at me and pointed out that for one of us it was already too late. I don't think he meant himself.
We plodded on round the coast and as the morning wore on it began to get rather too warm for me. Water was running low again and there hadn't been anywhere on route to replenish. We were putting our hopes on Coverack for our lunchtime refreshment.
We worked our way along the path until we reached the Devils Frying-pan which is a large hole with a small arch on the seaward side where the waves came through. Sitting on a bench overlooking it was an old fella called Keith. Keith normally worked in a factory somewhere in Lincolnshire but was on holiday at a nearby caravan park where he came this time every year. I would say we spent some time chatting to him but it would be more accurate to say we spent some time listening to him. Mostly he moaned about Polish workers, the welfare state, the government and pretty much anyone else he could think of. I should have guessed where the conversation was going when he kept referring to himself in the third person (aka Bomber from Auf Weidersein Pet). We made our escape and had a chuckle hoping we never ended up that bitter and twisted. Jason looked at me and pointed out that for one of us it was already too late. I don't think he meant himself.
We plodded on round the coast and as the morning wore on it began to get rather too warm for me. Water was running low again and there hadn't been anywhere on route to replenish. We were putting our hopes on Coverack for our lunchtime refreshment.
The Devils Fryingpan
Just as the clock stuck twelve we reached the outskirts of Coverack. We passed the a couple of small cafes that looked OK but a bit upmarket for two sweaty, stinking blokes that were wearing clothes that had been inadequately washed in a B&B sink each evening and then not dried properly on a radiator or windowsill. We thought we would see what was on offer a bit further round the Harbour. It was then that eagle eyed Jason spotted a bloke walking back to his works van clutching a bunch of paper bags that looked like they contained pasties. As we drew level we saw a small 'A' board out the front of a little thatched cottage saying Elizabeth's homemade pasties. Liz had a garden table on her front lawn so we dropped our packs and knocked on the half open stable style front door. Liz came straight away and it turned out she also did pots of tea so we asked -
"two pots of tea two pasties please."
"Sit down lads and I'll bring them over"
Now, it's fair to say we both consider ourselves as pasty connoisseurs having eaten our fair share- some good, some very good and some pretty crap really. Now, Kynance cove from the previous day had been a good pasty but it could in no way compare to Liz's. Home made pasties are a common claim, especially down this way, but these really were straight from this nice old ladies kitchen and it's fair to say that it remains, to this very day, the finest pasty I have ever eaten.
Suitably nourished we wandered round the harbour stopping briefly for Jason to replenish his funds from a cash machine in a small local shop. Shortly after the path turns inland for a way to work it's way round some mine workings. The detour took us through a cattle field which fortunately was dry but would have been a nightmare after even so much as a bit of drizzle. We then dropped down into Porthallow across a field and down the road for the last leg. This all actually made for pleasant change. We arrived in Porthallow just down by the beach. There was a pub (The Five Pilchards Inn) and few houses. None looked like a B&B and the village had the feel of being shut. We wandered up the hill and came to our B&B tucked into the side of the hill. We wandered to the front door but wondered if anyone was in as the whole village was incredibly quiet. This wasn't on the way to anywhere. No one would have reason to pass through. We knocked and waited and then a fella looking just like King Arthur came round the corner. He had been digging in his garden. He showed us our room which even had a balcony overlooking the houses down to the beach. The balcony proved very useful for drying out our skanky washing after we had finished swilling around in the sink.
We wandered down to the only pub for our dinner and had a superb meal. While Jason was at the bar an old couple started talking to me. I won't go into the details and don't want to be unkind - but she was slightly nuts. She moaned about everything and anything. By comparison, our man Keith from earlier in the day was a positive, happy go lucky kind of bloke. Why do I always seem to attract the nutters ?
"two pots of tea two pasties please."
"Sit down lads and I'll bring them over"
Now, it's fair to say we both consider ourselves as pasty connoisseurs having eaten our fair share- some good, some very good and some pretty crap really. Now, Kynance cove from the previous day had been a good pasty but it could in no way compare to Liz's. Home made pasties are a common claim, especially down this way, but these really were straight from this nice old ladies kitchen and it's fair to say that it remains, to this very day, the finest pasty I have ever eaten.
Suitably nourished we wandered round the harbour stopping briefly for Jason to replenish his funds from a cash machine in a small local shop. Shortly after the path turns inland for a way to work it's way round some mine workings. The detour took us through a cattle field which fortunately was dry but would have been a nightmare after even so much as a bit of drizzle. We then dropped down into Porthallow across a field and down the road for the last leg. This all actually made for pleasant change. We arrived in Porthallow just down by the beach. There was a pub (The Five Pilchards Inn) and few houses. None looked like a B&B and the village had the feel of being shut. We wandered up the hill and came to our B&B tucked into the side of the hill. We wandered to the front door but wondered if anyone was in as the whole village was incredibly quiet. This wasn't on the way to anywhere. No one would have reason to pass through. We knocked and waited and then a fella looking just like King Arthur came round the corner. He had been digging in his garden. He showed us our room which even had a balcony overlooking the houses down to the beach. The balcony proved very useful for drying out our skanky washing after we had finished swilling around in the sink.
We wandered down to the only pub for our dinner and had a superb meal. While Jason was at the bar an old couple started talking to me. I won't go into the details and don't want to be unkind - but she was slightly nuts. She moaned about everything and anything. By comparison, our man Keith from earlier in the day was a positive, happy go lucky kind of bloke. Why do I always seem to attract the nutters ?
Coverack Harbour
Jason at the official halfway marker in Porthallow.
Today was a landmark day. Not because I had managed to attract the attention of two boarderline mentals, but because we had reached the official SWCP halfway point.
While this was an official milestone it did have the feeling of being secondary to the rounding of Lands End. There's something psychological about the walk changing from being predominately eastwards to westwards as you come round the tip of Cornwall.
We did both have to have our photo taken with the tombstone style plaque though that we had stumbled across while walking down to the beach before popping to the pub for dinner.
While this was an official milestone it did have the feeling of being secondary to the rounding of Lands End. There's something psychological about the walk changing from being predominately eastwards to westwards as you come round the tip of Cornwall.
We did both have to have our photo taken with the tombstone style plaque though that we had stumbled across while walking down to the beach before popping to the pub for dinner.
