IT BEGINS – 3 AUG, 2018
Day 1 Land’s End to John O’Groats – Land’s End to Zennor
Distance: 25km
Cumulative distance: 25km
Land’s End is typical of geographical tourist sites across the world where there isn’t a human settlement. There’s the tourist info centre, the usual smattering of expensive shops and cafes etc and then the busloads of tourists turning up throughout the day. I beat most of those, so had the signpost just about to myself. You can’t actually get down to the water’s edge, the most south-westerly point in mainland Britain is actually a cliff, so I took a couple of photos, had mine taken at the sign by a European chap, returned the favour and pointed myself towards Scotland.
I was off! I’m not sure what my pack weighed exactly but I’d done everything possible to keep the base weight down. I’d grabbed a bunch of gear in London a few days earlier, a light weight tent, a light weight sleeping bag, backpack, cooking gear, and left for Cornwall on the bus with a much lighter wallet. I reckon with camping gear, clothes, food and a few extras I was somewhere around the 12-14kg mark.
Anyway I was too pumped to be feeling any weight at this early stage. As I began I picked up a little rock and figured I could transport it to John O’Groats. Already the coastline resembled jagged clifftops and within five minutes I’d spotted the wreck of a boat in a tiny cove. I soon came to Sennen Cove and resisted the urge to stop after just one mile, surging on through the little village and then across the beach for a little while past the surfers to establish a decent rhythm. That sand walking was tough! But nothing compared with what was ahead. A sign on the other side told me Cape Cornwall was just four miles away. The guidebook had mentioned Sennen Cove and Cape Cornwall in the same paragraph so in my head they were virtually neighbours. I can assure you this was not the case. The guidebook was also full of words like strenuous and invigorating, and almost immediately I could see why. There was a lot of hauling up and down over rocky surfaces, and one stage the path I was on ended abruptly beneath a pile of boulders. Not one to backtrack, I looked up and figured it was time for a bit of bouldering…made a little bit tougher with a 12kg pack, and a drop of about 50m down to the sea below. Anyway, it was all sweet, and I pressed on at the top going up and down, then up and down again to the point of breathlessness until I spotted a signpost ahead which no doubt would announce my arrival at Cape Cornwall.
The signpost told me I was still two miles off. Good grief I should’ve trained more for this. Immediately I decided I was embarking on some kind of preseason to beat me into shape for what was ahead. I eventually made it to a carpark which announced I had arrived at Cape Cornwall, a cape being a point on the coast where two bodies of water come together (I think). This is the only point in England where this occurs apparently. The cape was a popular tourist destination it seemed, and produced a headland which jutted out to offer sweeping views out to the Celtic Sea.
I met a lady at the carpark who refilled my water bottle, then told me all about the sea mist that was descending on the coastline as we were watching. There was a lighthouse on a small island several miles off the shore which kept appearing and disappearing through the fog. Even the headland was shrouded to the point of it disappearing at a distance of only a few hundred metres. She told me the Cornish word for sea mist was haar, and was particularly enthusiastic about the phenomena. I eventually cleared off and stopped for lunch a bit further off the road, chatting to a lovely Cornish couple.
I went past a ruined stone building and spent the next several miles passing through the remains of Cornwall’s old tin mining industry. It was fascinating stuff and the sea mist gave it a very eerie feel. The hilly terrain continued, and by now the path was surrounded by gorse and blackberries which did their best to tear away at my legs as I went. By mid afternoon I was spent and decided to have a 10 minute lie down. I realised that I was starting to run very low on water…I can carry about 1.5L at a time, and had clearly underestimated my refilling options along this stretch. I had maybe 250mL left and still had several miles to Zennor where I’d planned to stop. Hmmmmm, I stopped drinking for a while to kickstart the rationing process, but it was tough going in pretty searing heat with an elevated heart rate. But then I received a momentary morale booster. Cows! Just as the ground began to turn boggy, I stumbled across about 6 or 7 cows just hanging around the rare water source. One beautiful old girl had established herself on some high ground just above the deepest bog – the only way past without having to wade through bog water. She had no intention of moving either, so I had a bit of a yarn to her and she eventually let me jump up onto the little outcrop with her and let me on my way. That had me on a high for about 20 minutes, but pretty soon the dehydration started to come back, especially after running into a group who said they’d set out from Zennor four hours ago! Surely they jest I hoped, and a signpost further on said it was only 4.5 miles away…probably two hours I figured over this terrain at a good clip.
I decided to eat a few blackberries from the side of the path to get some saliva going but they weren’t overly ripe and if anything that just dried my mouth out even more. Then I started chewing on a few jelly beans and this worked much better. But my bottle of water kept dwindling away so when I came to the next stream I filled up just as an emergency supply. The water looked fairly clean, running down the hill over mossy rocks and it tasted fresh enough. Just in case I thought.
I pushed on two Zennor, getting lost a few times on the high clifftops but kept finding my way back to the track. The first few hundred of miles I’m on the South West Coast Path which is waymarked by yellow arrows, and a little sign that looks like a speech bubble. Seeing a yellow arrow or a speech bubble is an extremely welcoming sight I can tell you.
These signs and me are BFFs 
Seems simple enough
Eventually the turnoff to Zennor appeared, and I turned up it. I thought Zennor was about a kilometre off track and I didn’t have much left, but knowing I was close gave me another boost. I soon emerged at a beautiful white house which looked abandoned and strongly considered camping in the front yard. I figured it was probably a holiday home and no one was there. But I knew there was a pub in town called the Tinner’s Arms and I was hanging for a big feed. Just to be sure I’ll go and knock on the gate, I thought, this could be a decent back up if I can’t find a pitch in town. As I turned back around towards the gate I noticed a tap. A TAP! Oh dear God, what a sight for saw eyes that was. I went over and gorged myself forgetting about all my aches and pains. I refilled both of my bottled and pressed on looking for a sign pointing to the pub. Soon enough I sat down on the verge of a road and whipped out my map. There was no sign of the pub, or even the town. An old couple stopped and offered assistance, pointing me through a fence, and saying cross over four fields and you’ll see the town. I tried to do this, but lost my way pretty quickly and approached a fella in a pick up in one of the fields. Gary was his name, and I picked him for a South Yorkshireman from a mile away. Sure enough he was from Barnsley, and better still he told me that if I knocked on the famer’s door he would probably let me stay in his field. I pressed on towards the farm, and got chatting to a worker in a high viz who said there was a field up the road where people occasionally camp. Not entirely sure that qualified as camping permission, I headed down the street towards the pub I’d just spotted and settled in for a pint and a break. I got chatting to Aaron from Hull who’d recently moved back from Australia, and who was in Cornwall on a lads trip for the weekend with a bunch of rugby league fans. Good blokes! But I still had work to do, so I drained my pint and headed back up the hill.
I knocked on a door and spoke to an elderly lady who told me to go to the farmhouse, then took me outside to point out the exact property which was very kind of her given her best walking days probably left her about a quarter of a century ago. I ambled up to the farmhouse and was greeted by Dave, a shirtless Cornish man in his mid 30s, and one of the friendliest blokes you could ever hope to meet. Just head up the road and pitch up in the field on the bend, he said, you’ll probably have it to yourself. He also offered bread and milk, which I declined, and after a bit of a chat I went up the road and set myself up for the night. Success! I had a place to stay. Now back to the pub for a feed.
The Tinner’s Arms is a nice place, very rustic with a good crowd and good craic. I got chatting to a few girls while I was eating and it turns out one of them was just about to get up and provide the musical entertainment for the evening. Her friend told me about a festival in St Ives the next day and suggested I should attend, but I knew I needed to get some more mileage if I was going to complete this walk in 80 days. It sounded fun though. Anyway, Polly Jones was the singer/guitarist and she was absolutely fantastic. Exactly what I needed after a looooong day on the trail. I also got chatting to Steve, an old rocker with an ACDC shirt and long white hair and he was a right laugh. I bumped into Aaron and his crew again and had a bit of a yarn about all things Australia and rugby league, but declined their offer to buy me shots – I had almost 30km to tackle tomorrow. Solid first day!
