I get my early call from the sea, its cool air stroking my face and in the first seconds of waking I get the tingles from knowing I’m in the wild. It is a reminder of my earliest camping trips with dad down on the moors in Somerset with his orange tent and his lethal flamethrower of a stove ‘making a brew’ with Carnation milk.
I stare at the mackerel sky over St Ives bay trying to retrace the steps of my dreams – I think it was about school – the school that I left in July to make a change.
I’m lying on a concrete base beside a lifeguards hut and I was almost sheltered from the gusting autumn wind last night. I even had the use of a portaloo around the corner from the hut. It was positively luxurious compared to some of my previous sleeping spots.
Even in my sleep I was aware of the sea next to me. When I was in Carbis Bay it was like a breath. Last night it was a roar. And in the dark I could still see bands of white surf forming on the beach while the moon appeared and disappeared from behind fast moving clouds, its light alternating accordingly like a dimmer switch being turned on and off.
This morning the white lines and the roar are still there and the sleek shapes of surfers amongst the lines are like seals bobbing about in the water. Across the bay St Ives is under a cloud but lit up by pale sunlight.
Yesterday I worked my way through the vast stretch of dunes known as The Towans that stretch for 3 or 4 miles from Hayle to Godrevy Point. It was like a mountain range in miniature. There were the same dips, peaks and valleys and as the sun started to go down I’d get to the top of one ridge and see the path sunk into the shadow of a valley before rising up to another ridge the top half of it lit by sun. The shapes and contours were all there; the only difference being that that valley is 30 feet across and that mountain 15 feet high.
The Towans are ‘Cornwall’s second biggest sand dune eco system’ according to a board I find en route. It informs me that during Summer ‘The Towans are a riot of colour as many plants flower now. Look out for swathes of yellow bird’s-foot-trefoil along with numerous pink flowers if Pyramidal Orchid.’ It sounds wonderful.
This weekend has been a final blast of summer as high pressure hit the UK and brought warm weather across the whole country. Once again I started late and after two miles I had to buy some shorts from Asda in Hayle as it was so warm.
The Towans took a few hours to traverse and after my obligatory dinner at a pub (The Red River Inn at Gwithian) I thought I could walk through twilight and the first part of the night as I did in Carbis Bay. As I turned off the road from the pub I passed a woman with a head torch who was surprised to see me and said ‘Gosh, it gets dark so quick now.’ And so it was.
As I tramped towards the cliffs at Gwithian Towans I could see strange low bobbing green circular lights on the cliffs. It took me a minute or more to realise it was two dogs with luminous collars running across the cliff tops, the same as those necklaces they sell at fireworks displays. Then other gently pulsing lights next to the path. Glow worms. And the first few stars are appearing in the sky. Stars in the sky. Stars in the earth.
Beyond this the dips and tufts of grass were becoming difficult to get across and the night was much darker than two weeks ago at Carbis Bay. At one stage I was suddenly close to the cliff edge and was brought up short. My breath was coming harder now and my legs were starting to shake. At a point where I felt my fears starting to grow stronger and start to take over, the path widened and the land grew flat. A sign appeared welcoming me to Gwithian Beach and like a godsend I saw the angular outline of the Lifeguards hut.
Now it’s Saturday morning and the sun is out and there are pockets of surfers all along St Ives bay. At Godfrey car park I see a guy in his thirties with shoulder length dreads and an olive hoody hastily paying for his parking while others clamber up the dune to have a look at the waves. A middle aged chap already in his wetsuit is getting ready at the back of his grey VW transporter which has only one sticker ‘Born to surf not to work’. Another chap has a very small board and smiles at me and says keenly ‘Morning – you all right?’ You can sense the anticipation amongst them. And how I like these brief moments of communication.
What a day and onwards I roll with a spring in my step and a little grin and imagine having my own bumper sticker:
‘Born to walk not to work’.
The Slow Walker 