St Ives
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Day 8 - Gwithian - St Ives
Author: Jason
Statistics:
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Beer, Prog Rock & Fajitas
On paper Today was going to be a reasonably easy day, being only eight miles of flat walking. It was also likely to be fairly dull as most of the route was through urban areas.
The day started reasonably well though with a pleasant stroll across the beach on the eastern side of St Ives Bay. We could see St Ives directly in front of us, no more than 3 miles away as the crow flies. Unfortunately, we weren't crows, meaning the direct route was blocked for us by the tantalisingly narrow mouth of the River Hayle. At the mouth of the river we spent a few minutes debating if it was fordable, but in the end decided that it probably wasn't; at least without getting completely soaked up to the waist. We therefore had to take the much less direct route to St Ives via Hayle/Lelant.
The day started reasonably well though with a pleasant stroll across the beach on the eastern side of St Ives Bay. We could see St Ives directly in front of us, no more than 3 miles away as the crow flies. Unfortunately, we weren't crows, meaning the direct route was blocked for us by the tantalisingly narrow mouth of the River Hayle. At the mouth of the river we spent a few minutes debating if it was fordable, but in the end decided that it probably wasn't; at least without getting completely soaked up to the waist. We therefore had to take the much less direct route to St Ives via Hayle/Lelant.
St Ives Bay
Hayle is nothing to write home about. In fact I'd go as far as saying it's a bit of a dump. The footpath entered the town via a messy industrial scrapyard, which sadly was the scenic highlight of the place. It was also raining lightly, which gave the whole town a rather run down miserable vibe. We decided to stop for a brew in a local cafe to see if that would cheer us up. It was either that or find the Hayle branch of Dignitas.
The cafe was run by a strange hippy lady, and was in the style of what I believe is called "Shabby Chic". In other words tatty, complete with peeling paint, plaster falling off of the walls and designer rising damp. They'd probably spent a fortune getting an interior designer in to mess the place up. That said, the Tea and cakes were good, and the hippy lady did refill our teapot free of charge.
After Hayle if was a pretty uninspiring trudge along busy roads and through housing estates for a few miles. Finally the footpath re-appeared, and we entered more scenic surroundings through sand dunes and a golf course. On our right we could see the mouth of the River Hayle, which looked even narrower and more fordable from this side. In the distance I'm sure I could hear a murder of crows – yes, that's the collective noun for them – mocking us.
A few miles further on we arrived at the outskirts of St Ives, and headed off to find our hotel. As per the previous year we'd decided to book an impersonal hotel for the last night, rather than a homely B&B. There were a couple of reasons for this. Firstly, at the end of the week we are generally at our most skanky, and it's nice to not feel inhibited about washing your entire collection of used underwear in the sink, then drying it on every available hanging point in the room; decondly, we generally have a “late one” on the last night, and don't want to disturb a B&B owner when we returned at stupid o'clock half-cut.
The cafe was run by a strange hippy lady, and was in the style of what I believe is called "Shabby Chic". In other words tatty, complete with peeling paint, plaster falling off of the walls and designer rising damp. They'd probably spent a fortune getting an interior designer in to mess the place up. That said, the Tea and cakes were good, and the hippy lady did refill our teapot free of charge.
After Hayle if was a pretty uninspiring trudge along busy roads and through housing estates for a few miles. Finally the footpath re-appeared, and we entered more scenic surroundings through sand dunes and a golf course. On our right we could see the mouth of the River Hayle, which looked even narrower and more fordable from this side. In the distance I'm sure I could hear a murder of crows – yes, that's the collective noun for them – mocking us.
A few miles further on we arrived at the outskirts of St Ives, and headed off to find our hotel. As per the previous year we'd decided to book an impersonal hotel for the last night, rather than a homely B&B. There were a couple of reasons for this. Firstly, at the end of the week we are generally at our most skanky, and it's nice to not feel inhibited about washing your entire collection of used underwear in the sink, then drying it on every available hanging point in the room; decondly, we generally have a “late one” on the last night, and don't want to disturb a B&B owner when we returned at stupid o'clock half-cut.
Dave gets the beers in
After checking into the hotel we headed out into the town for a few pre-dinner beers. One thing St Ives isn't short of is pubs, so it didn't take us long to find one. The first one we went in was the Sloop Inn, which is apparently the oldest and most famous pub in St Ives. Unfortunately it also turned out to be the busiest and most expensive pub in St Ives, so we beat a retreat after just one mediocre pint of Betty Stoggs. We then found a pub on the harbour wall - predictably called the Ship Inn - with a good window seat where we were able to watch the world go by. Highlights included some atrocious car parking and a group of seagulls – a squabble in case you were wondering – eating some discarded chips out of a bin.
After a few beers we found a nice Mexican restaurant for dinner where we indulged in the house special platter and a nice bottle of red. We then headed out to discover the rest of the town's pubs. We eventually ended up in a pub that had a live band on, the name of which escapes me - the pub and the band.
After seeing the excellent Whisky Thieves in Bude the year before we had high exceptions. Unfortunately, this particular band was a disappointment. Although they were technically proficient, they committed the cardinal sin for a pub band by insisting on only doing their own material. I'm all for a local band throwing the odd original into their set, but like most pub punters I really want to hear songs I know. The band also showed very little in the way of stagecraft. For some bizarre reason they insisted on letting a "friend of the band" play an acoustic song between each of their own numbers. This killed any momentum they had built up, and caused the whole gig to lack any cohesion. Blimey, I'm starting to sound like a critic from the NME! Finally things reached a low point when a song was introduced as being a “conceptual piece” in three parts, each of which would be ten minutes long. We finished our beers and promptly left before St Ives answer to Yes/ELP/Genesis could unleash their epic upon us. On the way back to the hotel we passed the hotel bar which had an open-mic folk night. We decided to give it a miss as it didn't sound very inspiring. We'd find out the following year how wrong we were.
After a few beers we found a nice Mexican restaurant for dinner where we indulged in the house special platter and a nice bottle of red. We then headed out to discover the rest of the town's pubs. We eventually ended up in a pub that had a live band on, the name of which escapes me - the pub and the band.
After seeing the excellent Whisky Thieves in Bude the year before we had high exceptions. Unfortunately, this particular band was a disappointment. Although they were technically proficient, they committed the cardinal sin for a pub band by insisting on only doing their own material. I'm all for a local band throwing the odd original into their set, but like most pub punters I really want to hear songs I know. The band also showed very little in the way of stagecraft. For some bizarre reason they insisted on letting a "friend of the band" play an acoustic song between each of their own numbers. This killed any momentum they had built up, and caused the whole gig to lack any cohesion. Blimey, I'm starting to sound like a critic from the NME! Finally things reached a low point when a song was introduced as being a “conceptual piece” in three parts, each of which would be ten minutes long. We finished our beers and promptly left before St Ives answer to Yes/ELP/Genesis could unleash their epic upon us. On the way back to the hotel we passed the hotel bar which had an open-mic folk night. We decided to give it a miss as it didn't sound very inspiring. We'd find out the following year how wrong we were.
