By Stephie, on Friday 5th March, 2010 at 11:43 am
Well now, this was a killer, but oh so worth the rewards. My limbs were a bit achey from Tuesday’s foray into road running, but I ignored that inconvenient truth and headed for the rocky cliffs of the north Cornwall coast in the UK. The wind was blowing an arctic gale that morning but I felt determined to brave the elements and push myself a bit. I donned my sensible running clothes (see last 2 posts!), hat and ipod and off I went.
 The first part of this 3m run is up a fairly steep cliff  I made it 1.5m to Porthtowan, but I have to admit some of the very steep parts of the cliff path became a real slog and I had to walk up those! I cursed my aching limbs. At this point I did a (planned) u-turn and ran back.  I keep forgetting to stretch after a run, so I decided to go down to Chapel Porth beach and do some stretching there, before getting in the car and heading back home (3m or so). That cliff is the first (and last) part of the run, you can see how steep it is!  But I was distracted by something that had been washed up on the beach.  It had a surreal beauty that I found completely fascinating.  I poked and prodded it  I smelt it  I inspected it  I marvelled at the structure of it  I stared in awe at the scale of it  I wished I could take something home of it.  This beautiful fin whale, 2nd largest mammal on earth, washed up on my local shore, was a wonder I would never expect to surpass on any other run. I took a day off from running yesterday, not intentional I just kind of run out of time, but I went for a good walk, which compensated a bit. My plans for today are another road run, around 3 miles or so. Taking it easy at the moment, edging myself back into it before any serious training regimes are thought about…
By Stephie, on Friday 30th October, 2009 at 02:52 am
I had no plan to walk today, but when I woke up and saw that the day looked mild and sometimes sunny I knew I had to head out. Actually I have Bec Thomas to thank for the idea. She’s off on a photo hike in Washington (US not Lincolnshire!) up Mt Pilchuck, and it made me very nostalgic for some mountain hiking myself. But in the absence of any mountains around here, that ain’t gonna happen in a hurry! The next best thing in this part of the world is the rocky coastline of the north Cornish coast. While snowy Mount Pilchuck may have an elevation of a fantastic 1,628m and St Agnes Beacon a paltry 192m, it still gives a breathtaking 360 degree view from the trig point on the top! Not to be sniffed at.
I started my walk near Wheal Coates (OS 104 SW703500) above Chapel Porth and headed east along the coast to St Agnes Head where I sat and sketched for a while. There were a lot of people out – something to do with the half-term holidays I guess. The next stretch was eerily quiet though, which I loved. I watched the black backed gulls and finches and listened to the waves crashing below as I marched along at a brisk pace. By the time I got to Trevaunance Cove (approx 3 miles from the start), there were a lot more people about – some nutters even surfing! From here I made my way up to St Agnes village, for the most tasty ricotta and spinach slice I’ve ever tasted, and then on up The beacon to take in the misty panorama before heading back down to the car and home. Sometimes I forget just how much of a passion for walking I have. Note to self: do more.
 Come along the path with me  and marvel at the autumn bracken.  Look over the russet fronds towards Perranporth  and take in the wow factor of lichen on the rocks at Trevaunance Cove  where we can stack it up  before we pass the ageing beauty of an old telephone box  and climb a hill to catch a last view of the Cove  We'll cross the fields to The Beacon rising on the horizon  and we'll catch our last burst of surreal colour in this muted landscape: an anonymous dahlia memorial.
By Stephie, on Monday 5th January, 2009 at 22:00 pm
 Trebarwith Strand, near Tintagel This year was probably the best start to a New Year I can remember for a long time. Kim and I were invited to stay with friends for a couple of nights in Tintagel, a sleepy village (in winter) on the north Cornish coast. In summer it’s riddled with emmets stuffing pasties and ice cream and naff tourist shops (thankfully closed for the winter season), and should be avoided at all costs. It’s famous for being the supposed birth place of King Arthur, his supposed castle (in ruins), and a medieval ‘post office’, but the real treasure is the spectacular coastline. I could splatter my sentences with hackneyed superlatives to describe it to you; suffice it to say it’s rugged, exposed, windswept, awe-inspiring, beautiful, elemental… Ahem, pass the gin and tonic – before I’m recruited to the Cornish Tourist Board.
Kim and I drove east on New Year’s Day and arrived after dark to meet up with Hilary, one of my oldest friends. She was down from ‘up country’ and staying with other friends in a rented holiday home in the village. From the outside the Edwardian house looks like a dilapidated, dull, unremarkable abode with a hideous double-glazed front door and a front garden that gave way to concrete some decades ago. On the inside it was wonderfully warm and pleasantly furnished, in a minimal, leather kind of way. We spent the evening sat around the large dining table catching up over red wine and pasta before heading to bed in the wee small hours. Kim, of course, being only 10 years of age, was not allowed to imbibe, so took to swapping trading cards with a new friend until it was time for his bed.
 Kim rock-pooling On Friday we woke up to crystal clear skies and a sprinkling of frost and knew we had to head to the beach: it would be criminal to waste such a rare and perfect winter’s day. Rather than Tintagel itself though, we got in the car and headed down the road to Trebarwith Strand. This act was in itself criminal: we should have walked the two miles. Not so easy though when you’re with friends that can’t wait to go scrambling on the rocks and skimming stones across the quiet tide (‘cos they don’t have any where they live), and who spent much of the previous day walking before you even got there… I’m not complaining though. No, seriously, I’m not! It was wonderful to sit in the sun and poke my fingers in to the soft, unsuspecting sea anemones so that I could feel their tenticles stick to my skin. It was wonderful to explore the rocks and watch my footprints disappear into the wet sand. It was especially wonderful to sit quietly and watch Kim run along the shore line, dodging the waves, pretending to be who I can only guess was Luke Sky Walker.
 Is that Luke?  Low tide This really was the best start to 2009 I could hope for, and I had only three regrets about the day:
- that I don’t have a better camera;
- that the photos I took with my phone really don’t do the place any justice and
- that I didn’t draw instead.
By the time we’d got to the Mason’s Arms in Camelford for dinner though, I’d forgotten them entirely.
Happy New Year.
(Click on the images to see larger versions.)
And just in case you did think this was a page for the Cornwall Tourist Board, here’s something you might find interesting…
Links to pictures and information about Tintagel and nearby areas:
By Stephie, on Tuesday 18th March, 2008 at 22:18 pm
 Gwithian beech Well, how about this for a location to do it in?! This is Gwithian on the north Cornish coast and luckily it’s only a short drive away. I spent an hour or so beach combing for driftwood with Chantal this afternoon and it was the best cobweb remover going – and it’s free! Well, that is apart from the council’s plan to fleece everyone: “Oooh, it’s Easter let’s make a load of money out of the tourists and charge an arm and a leg to park a car for a couple of hours, that’ll pay for the dustmen for a few years”.
 The offenders Then it was back to the cottage on the cliffs for lunch – and evidence that spring has well and truly sprung… Chantal was not amused. The frolicking lambs had breached the hedge into her garden from the neighbouring field, again, and munched their way through all her lovingly tended seedlings. She’s considering eating meat once again. Personally, I think she ought to consider cannibalism and taste the farmer…mmmm!
By Stephie, on Sunday 11th November, 2007 at 14:17 pm
I watched a solitary bee collecting pollen, the little orange sacks on its legs loaded with its industry. The scent of lavender was strong and I could hear the sound of the sea carried on the breeze. I was lying there on the grass imagining a man walking across the sand, he’d walk up the cliff path and come and find me. Without a word he’d lie down next to me, link my fingers with his and we’d close our eyes. I was wearing a loose white dress that moved gently across my skin with the breeze; it felt as soft and light as a butterfly landing on my shoulder.
I knew it was you.
The bee, its work done, flew high and out of sight across fields and moor. I thought I would see it, joining a swarm and finding its way home. Dreaming about bees is sign of good fortune; as hard as I might, I never remember my dreams.
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Narrative Self in pictures
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I'm running a 28 mile marathon in memory of Josie this February. Come and find out why.
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