England,  Photography,  Travel Blog,  Walking,  Wildlife

Cape Cornwall 

Monday March 14th, and suddenly it’s Spring. As we descend the stony path alongside the cascading brook, warm sunshine kisses our faces and the air hangs heavy with the pungent scent of wild garlic. The blooms of gorse, celandine and wild daffodils paint yellow splashes amongst the green foliage as flocks of goldfinches scatter across the clifftop, maybe just arriving for the summer. Rabbits scurry beneath hedgerows and, across the field, a pheasant squawks and races away like a sprinter with his hands in his pockets.

Cape Cornwall

Majestic cliffs tower over the deep blue Atlantic, birds carry twigs towards nesting sites, the colours are impossibly sumptuous and if it is remotely possible for us to fall in love with Cornwall all over again then it’s happening right now. Just look at this, I say to Michaela. Just look at it.

Cape Cornwall

Our hike today is along the coast path from the promontory known as Cape Cornwall northwards to Botallack, then turning inland to return through fields and farm tracks, past herds of cows and through sleepy hamlets, back to our start point. Every walker we pass does the typically British thing and comments on the weather, but today of all days it’s a worthy topic, so glorious is the day.

Cape Cornwall was the beating heart of the tin mining industry in bygone times and these cliffs are dotted with the characterful and unmistakably shaped ruins of the mine buildings. These sleepy hollows where now only the babbling brook and the sound of the sea break the silence, once resonated to the sounds of heavy industry as the heavy duty “stamps” pounded the ore and the winches hoisted the goods up to the surface from beneath the ground.

Wow…

Tin miners of the 19th century had a pretty raw deal, working up to half a mile below the sea bed and up to a mile and a half from shore, grafting at the face of the mine before trudging back through miles of shafts and being hauled back to the open air. Even then they may have had to walk miles to their home village, after of course facing extreme heat, and danger, through every working hour. Seriously hard work in an extreme environment. Many lost their lives, many more lost their health and saw their lifespan shortened.

Tin mines on the rugged coast

Know how the mining companies guarded against failure of lamps in the deep shafts? By employing a blind miner who would be able to lead colleagues safely through pitch darkness, should there be no light. Incredible. Very different times huh.

Iconic Cornish coastline

Today the engine houses stand silent and half ruined, chimney stacks survive at various heights and shaft entrances gawp wide open behind safety fencing. At one point, the uneven ground around a chimney is the only clue to the “arsenic labyrinth” which lies below, effectively a chamber for extracting that deadly poison from the very ore which the miners had handled all day.

It must have been unfathomably tough back then, but the scenery now is a thing of beauty, the iconic shadowy mine buildings silhouetted against the shining sea, making proud statements of an erstwhile industry as if knowing that the sight of the mines is as typically Cornish as you can get.

Our hike is brilliantly designed and thought out (the iwalkcornwall app is exceptionally clever) but the combination of scenery, location and weather is as perfect as it gets. This is Cornwall at its most spectacular.

“You look like you caught the sun”, says the lady at the car park when we return, “and like you had a good walk”.

Oh boy. Did we ever.

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