Day 7 -- Trevarrian to Harlyn Bay

The day started out with the usual full English breakfast – bacon (ham), tomato, hash browns, mushrooms, egg, baked beans, toast. I could have had sausage also, but why overdo it? That’s the main course. It’s preceded by cereal, milk and yogurt. Top it off with a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice, and I’m ready to float to the next destination. And you thought this would be hard work.

Ruby, Mary Jane and Maisie

The past few days I’ve been coming across an incredible number of people walking their dogs – most of which are either Labradors, golden retrievers, or border collies. The dogs are wonderfully friendly, maybe because I smell like them. But I smelled like them when I was in Ireland, and the dogs there kept attacking.

Dogs aren’t the only thing I smell like. I decided to leave the coastal path today due to high winds and spitting rain. I turned inland through the farm country, and almost immediately distracted the cattle from their grazing. They must have thought I was another cow leading them to greener pastures. I’ll spend more time in the shower tonight.

The English treat their animals very well.  I'm a little concerned about their children, however.

I’ve been seeing more and more Volkswagen buses. Many of them had surfboards on top. I thought I was in a time warp back at UCSB in the '60's (that’s University of California at Santa Barbara for anyone challenged by abbreviations). The west coast of Cornwall seems to be the surfing capital of England. The Beach Boys should do a gig here.






© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 6, June 6,2011 -- Perranporth to Mawgan Porth (Trevarrian)



Observation post/pill box

 It was 17 miles to Mawgan Porth today, over grass-covered coastal bluffs scoured by coastal winds. The weather was dry, sunny and windy, but I never really noticed the terrain or the weather. All day I was consumed by an eerie presence.



Gun emplacent looking towards ocean


Sixty-seven years ago, hundreds of thousands American, British, and Canadian troops were gathered in southern England undergoing training. Reminders of their presence remain all along the coast. England was a dangerous place back then.

On this date in 1944, the troops left England for a more dangerous place – the Normandy beaches of France. They were boys, really – 18, 19, 20-year old boys breaking through the surf. By the time they reached the top of the beaches, they had become men.

Barracks

They left this place long ago, yet I could still sense their presence. I could sense their tobacco smoke. I could hear their chit-chat, their nervous laughter, their silent prayers. They knew what they were facing. I could hear their pencils scratching out final letters to parents, sweethearts, wives – to children they would never know.



Munitions bunker

 Three thousand of them lost their lives on that one horrific day 67 years ago today. The ensuing days, months, years, decades have taken many more. Some are still living. A few have changed into toothless old men, now confined to wheelchairs. Others can still drive a car. Or a golf ball. But not one of them has the same vitality he had on that fateful day.

Saying thank you seems so inadequate, but what else can we do? Thank you for your valor, your sacrifice. Thank you for making it possible for me to walk where you once stood. Some day I may walk where you fell, where you got up, where you did your job.

Because of you, tomorrow was a better day.


© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 5, June 5, 2011 -- Portreath to Perranporth

I stayed last night at the Cliff House B&B in Portreath. It seems that some B&Bs have improved over what I have come to expect as the typical bathroom set up. Cliff House had modern facilities, and conveniences for traveling guests – like mixer faucets and a heated drying rack for guests who wash clothing. The shower was actually large enough so I didn’t hit my elbows on all the walls. Too bad I stayed only one night.

Today I felt like an ant walking a washboard must feel, constant ups and downs all day. I prefer the ups, because my knees don’t like the downs. But all in all it was a good day, with sunny, clear weather.

One of the descents took me to a busy café on a small beach where I had a fresh crab sandwich – a nice departure from the pasties (pronounced past’ – eez).  One of the ascents took me across long-ignored tin mine tailings.  It was not very picturesque - indeed it was ugly, but it served as a reminder that everything we have comes from the ground, and there need to be places like this if we going to have even minimal comforts.

Except for the tailings, the scenery was outstanding all day, and I met quite a few walkers, including a couple from Pittsburgh who have been hiking 100 mile segments on the South West Coast Path for several years. Regrettably, I didn’t write down their names, so if they see this posting, I’m hoping they’ll send me an email so I can add more detail. (Actually, this is a good way to find out if all the people I meet actually look at the blog like they say they will.)

Tim and Simon

Two men, Tim and Simon, were walking the coast path for charity. Simon’s daughter, Octavia, has spinal bifida and they are raising money for advancing treatment. Incredibly, they have already raised £120,000 – almost $200,000. I overlooked taking their picture, which would have made a nice addition to this blog. I’m hoping they will email me a picture of themselves in their “walking for Octavia” shirts. (My mind was on scenery mode today, so I wasn’t even thinking about photographing people until Tim and Simon and I were 100 yards apart. I wasn’t about to chase them down.)  Here's the link to their blog.

Even with all of the trail chit-chat, I arrived at my Perranporth accommodation at 5:30, tired but happy. Fish & chips for dinner tonight – maybe I’m becoming English.

© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 4, June 4, 2011 -- St. Ives to Portreath

Today was a long day – 17 miles and 9 hours. I departed the B&B in St. Ives at 9:30 and arrived at the Portreath B&B at 6:30.

The weather was warm and sunny. There were many people on the beaches, and a few families on the trail, but I couldn’t identify any true hikers. Nobody had backpacks or water, and everybody I saw on the trail was within a half mile of a parking area.



Hayle at low tide

 I arrived at the village of Hayle at 12:30, so decided to look for a bakery to buy a pasty for lunch. Near the end of town was the only bakery, with a long line of customers out the door and down the sidewalk. “This must be the spot,” I concluded, so I joined the line. The fellow in front of me told me this is the best bakery in the area; he himself drove from St. Ives just to buy a pasty. The wait took about 10 minutes, and as I approached the counter, the fellow from St. Ives said to me, “Order a medium steak pasty.” Well, OK. I added a liter of milk. The St. Ives fellow also ordered a medium steak pasty.

We walked outside together and I sat at a picnic table, but he couldn’t stay, muttering something about wives and cats.

The medium steak pasty weighed about 2 pounds, or maybe 2 kilos. Although it was absolutely delicious – the best pasty I’ve ever had – I could eat only half of it and placed the other half in my backpack for later. I also could drink only half the liter of milk, putting the other half in my pack. So the pasty and milk offset 7 maps which I had mailed yesterday.

Resuming the walk, I grew lonely not having anybody to talk with. I came upon a churchyard, and decided to talk with some dead people. They listened politely, but didn’t have much to say.

A little later, I talked with a cow. She was not friendly and told me to mooove on. Then I came upon a steer, but he just eyed me suspiciously. I think he doesn’t trust people any more.






With nobody to talk with I just plodded on and enjoyed the scenery.  I hope you do too.

© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 3, June 3, 2011 -- Trewellard to St. Ives

While I was traveling to St. Ives
I met a man with seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks.
Each sack had seven cats.
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, wives;
How many POUNDS were going to St. Ives?

I don’t know the total weight, but it’s about 10 fewer pounds than it might have been. (4.4 kilos, but I can’t remember how many pounds a kilo is. Maybe I should take up smoking.) I mailed the maps today, and that’s a story in itself.



Gypsy Caravan

 But let’s start with the beginning. Last night I stayed at Gypsy Caravan B&B. The accommodation is a restored old Gypsy wagon (or caravan to the English), which was a 19th century (or maybe earlier) camping trailer, pulled by horses. I had seen a few of them in Ireland. This one has seen its last horse, but staying in it was quirky fun and comfortable. Those old trailers, of course, had no bathroom facilities, so the owners remodeled an old storage room for the bath. Without a doubt, it was the best, most modern bathroom facility I’ve ever seen in England.



Levant Tin Mine Ruins

 After a good night’s sleep, I was awakened by singing birds at 5:00 am. I like arising early, so took advantage of the opportunity.  I packed into the duffel the items to ship ahead, and then went for an hour-long walk to visit nearby ruins of a tin mine. Followng breakfast, I headed off to the post office in Pendeen, pack on my back and duffel in hand. But the post office had no shipping boxes, and no shipping envelopes. The postmaster suggested I ask at Pendeen’s only grocery store, a Co-op, similar to 7-11 in the US. The clerk was able to find one small box, which he gave to me. Now I had a problem, what do I send ahead? Sending the maps I had planned to send to Donald Gray meant carrying everything else, and with the weekend approaching, the prospect of sending the remaining stuff anytime soon was not good. But I couldn’t send everything to Donald, because some items will be required before I see him.

In the end I decided to send everything to the B&B where I’ll be staying before I get close to the Mendips. That means I’ll have to carry all that stuff again a week earlier than I anticipated, but at least the weight is off my back for the next two weeks. I have time between now and then to solve the future problem. Don’t worry, Donald. I won’t withdraw your title.



View from Coastal Path

 With the weight off my back, I moved along comfortably and swiftly. That is, except for the time consumed in conversation with virtually ever other hiker on the trail. (Hey, we all have our weaknesses.) That, plus the late start after the post office fiasco, caused me to arrive in Zennor (6 trail miles from my destination St. Ives) at 3:00. The trail between Zennor and St. Ives is reputed to be extremely difficult and correspondingly slow. With the prospect of arriving in St. Ives at 8:00 or 9:00 pm, I decided to take the faster route by walking the road.



Pauline, Roger and Nora Too!

 Roads are usually boring and unpleasant, and this was no exception. But I moved along rapidly until I met Roger and Pauline, from Devon, who were parked alongside the road in their beautifully restored 1972 VW bus. We had a nice conversation and made tentative plans to have dinner together when I’m in Barnstaple in mid-June. Maybe they’ll even treat me to a ride.

I arrived in St. Ives at 5:30, tired but happy.


© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 2, June 2, 2011 Land's End to Trewellard

The Angel of the Mendips


The Start



The signpost says 874 miles to John O’Groats. The joke around here is that 874 miles is the straight-line distance – a straight line passing through the Irish Sea. Today, I felt as if I walked (or swam) the full 874 miles. The trail passes through excellent coastal scenery, and many historical tin mines. I was not in a mood to enjoy any of that, and was totally wiped out by the time I reached my destination.

There are many possible reasons: jet lag, difficult terrain, age, etc. But the real reason is that my backpack is too heavy. The other conditions may have contributed, but the weight is just too much. The sole reason for my pack being over-weight is the quantity of maps I am carrying.



Directional Sign

 George and Ann are holding the maps for northern England and Scotland, and will deliver them to me when we meet. That accounts for 1/3 of the total maps, and I’m carrying the other 2/3 – 20 maps. When I walked across Ireland, I had a total of 12 maps, and I didn’t have the added weight of a computer. It’s pretty clear that I’m not going to be able to finish this walk carrying all those maps.

Some End to Enders solve the weight problem by having the maps mailed to them at various points along the route. That requires local assistance, which George and Ann can’t presently provide since they are in Utah. Other End to Enders use electronic mapping programs on their I-phones, which requires technical skills that I don’t have. I can mail a few maps ahead and pick them up when I arrive at a destination, but that requires having room reservations farther in advance than I want to do.



Lunch -- Cornish Pasty and Cornish Milk

 Yesterday, Donald Gray, who has been corresponding with me for over a year, sent me an email offering to be my map depository for Southern England. Donald is an avid walker, and lives in the Mendips Hills southern England. He has developed a delightful reputation for unannounced appearances on the trail and walking for a day with other End to Enders. He obviously anticipated my problem, and offered to provide in Southern England what George and Ann are providing in the north.

So tomorrow, I will mail to Donald 10 maps, and will mail six more to a B&B at which I will stay in a few weeks. I’ve already got a plan in place to mail George my used maps. I’m also going to send him the duffel bag which was necessary for checking my gear for the flight over. The total reduction will get me below the maximum I can comfortably carry.

In addition to being a depository for my maps, Donald Gray is also a repository of history of place names in southern England. The origin of place names has long been of interest to me, and I have studied the source of Yosemite place names. Southern England has some wonderful place names, and I’m looking forward to Donald’s explanations when he returns my maps in a few weeks.

If I'm successful in completing this walk, it is because there are many people who will make it possible.  At the conclusion I will acknowledge all of them. For now, though, I want to thank Donald Gray, the Angel of the Mendips.

© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 1, June 1, 2011 -- Pirates in Penzance

My flight to London arrived 7:45 am. After clearing immigration and customs I took the Heathrow Express train to London’s Paddington Station, where I bought a one-way train ticket to Penzance. I arrived in Penzance mid-afternoon. My B&B was a mile from the train station. Since time wasn’t an issue, I opted to take the walk rather than take a bus or taxi. The weather was cool, breezy and dry.

After checking into my B&B, I decided to look for Penzance’s famous pirates. These aren’t the same as the so-called pirates of Somalia, who are nothing more than terrorist thugs. No, Penzance’s pirates are the real thing, the fabled swashbucklers of yore, of Errol Flynn and Robert Louis Stevenson.

I’m not one to suffer from romantic delusions, so I anticipated that modern medical techniques had probably relieved pirates from peg legs and hooks. But I still expected to find rugged men with sabers, wearing 3-cornered hats sporting big feathers. And an eye patch wasn’t totally out of the question. Aargh.



Pirate's Inn

 Alas, I couldn’t find a pirate anywhere in Penzance, until I spotted the Pirate’s Inn.  Where better to find a real pirate than at their own inn?  I know that some of my detractors would assume that I was more attracted by the “real ales” sign than the prospect of meeting actual pirates, but some people always look for the worst.



Maria, Becky, and Richard

 So to prove them wrong, I went to the beer garden, where I met Richard, Becky and Maria. They denied being pirates, of course, but they were drinking beer just like real pirates. Then they happened to mention that – get this, Danielle F. – they mentioned that they learned to roll their own cigarettes on Mauritius. It doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to know that the Indian Ocean is a hotbed of pirate activity. And pirates always roll their own cigarettes.

In her defense, Maria said she was starting to design and sew clothes. I knew better; being a trained lawyer, I interrogated her until she let it slip that she’s actually using purples and pinks – which we all know to be colors fancied by pirates. Richard and Becky have their own car-parking business, catering to “people who sail to the Scilly Islands” off the coast of Penzance. Now I ask you, who do you think is sailing off the coast of Penzance, if not pirates.

So, bolstered by my success in finding actual pirates in Penzance, I’m looking forward to starting my walk tomorrow. Coincidently, I’ll be staying in St. Ives on June 3. I wonder what my detractors will make of that.

© 2011 Ken Klug