15 March 2013: 35.6km. Started 08:15. Arrived 18:15
Full cooked breakfast was indeed ready at 07:00 with my bed and breakfast hostess eating her muesli at the same time. Her husband appeared wearing a jacket and tie – off to judge the Flower Show – and suggested that I might go to view the show if I had time!
Unfortunately after two hours of walking in dry weather, it started raining. I was only at Marazion and knew that the forecast was that the rain would continue all day. I was walking now in full waterproofs. The easy flat path around Penzance where I thought I would make good time, was in fact a battle against driving wind and rain. However, I reached Mousehole for a late lunch (inside a cafe with Mousehole cat prints on the walls) and a not altogether welcome comment from a shopkeeper regarding rain making us a “Green and Pleasant Land”.
Lunch over, I emerged into pouring rain and took my wrong turning of the day down a dead-end alley. Having back-tracked and successfully navigated the maze of alleyways, I emerged onto a lane which became a path. It became very wet and windy and the path was narrow, slippery and rocky with a fair bit of exposure. One slip could spell disaster.
I only met one other person all the way from Mousehole to Porthcurno. In places the path was washed away. There was lots of mud and pooling water plus the constant concern of being on the edge of precipitous drops. I realised that my estimated time of arrival was becoming later and later.
Eventually I arrived at the village of Porthcurno and knew exactly where I was going as I had stayed there before. This was a cottage owned by a keen walker who was not only on the committee of the South West Coast Path Association but had walked LEJOG himself (albeit by a shorter route than I was planning) the previous year. Of course this meant that dripping wet clothes were of no adverse consequence. Everything was efficiciently put on clothes horses to dry and I was soon wallowing in a bath and applying vodka grape bath gel kindly given to me by my host’s wife. I even had a lift to the pub in the next village. Here I heard tales from the landlord who had been there thirty years, arriving shortly following the famous Penlee lifeboat disaster. My notes reveal that was the evening that I was drinking in the pub surrounded by the Cornish Pirates Rugby Team. After consuming my excellent fish pie, followed by treacle sponge, I was collected again by car to return to my overnight accommodation for a well earned sleep.
Where's Kathryn? 