Up at 6:54am to leave Coriandre slumbering peacefully. Into the kitchen to put away last night's dishes while the kettle boiled and BBC 2 played. Dull and overcast outside so took a look at the BBC Weather site I'd bookmarked for South West England: http://www.bbc.co.uk/weather/
Reading the Forecast Summary I was pleased to learn the following: "A largely dry day for most, especially in the east, with variable amounts of cloud and sunny spells. However through the afternoon western parts are likely to become increasingly cloudy with a few showery outbreaks of rain developing." Very good news as Gudrun and Steve were to collect us at 10:30am to drive to The Lizard (Cornish: An Lysardh), a peninsula in south Cornwall. The most southerly point of the British mainland at grid reference SW 702 115, for those of you sceptics with your own Garmins at the ready!
Showered and fed when Famiglia Cothey arrived right on the dot of 10:30am. They had suggested visiting Camel Valley Vineyards on Thursday of the coming week so before we left I booked our tour. A cursory glance at their website indicated that the winery specializes in sparkling wines. Once the tour had been confirmed, (£12 per person), we packed ourselves into the car, a very snazzy and comfortable Nissan Primera, (2005 but kept in almost mint condition by Mr OC), with Sat/Nav screen and crystal decanters, filled with rare malts, set into the burled walnut dash, and headed almost due south, via Redruth and Four Lanes, (The original five pin bowling alley, one assumes!), Trenear and Wendron.
And then Helston, enjoying the villages and the changing countryside and getting to know more about Stefano, (The Sisters were confabulating in the back seat), and his siblings and their families. Near Helston we drove past Royal Naval Air Station Culdrose serves the Fleet Air Arm's front line Sea King and Merlin helicopter squadrons and provides search and rescue for the South West region. While passing this massive complex, (We drove for miles and miles along its perimeter, guarded by a high, heavy chain-link fence topped with nasty looking coils of razor wire), we mentioned that Gavin, Corinne's brother-in-law had piloted Sea Kings at one point during his flying career in the Canadian Forces. Have been past some large military bases, particularly n the US, but the scale and extent of Culdrose was pretty impressive. Apparently it is the largest helicopter base in Europe with some 75 aircraft and 3,000 personnel. It is the biggest single-site employer in Cornwall, pumping £100m into the local economy every year. Talk about Ike's Military-Industrial Complex!
Leaving the helipads and hangers and barracks behind we proceeded through Cross Lanes and Penhale and Ruan Major to arrive in Lizard itself. (When I first heard Derek and Gayle mention the name, shortly after we arrived, I assumed it was a nickname of sorts for the region and didn't realize that it is the name of the village. It is Cornwall, after all, Dear Reader!) Parked in a large open grass/gravel parking lot, more of a field, around noon, I think. Just as we pulled to a stop Stefano's phone chimed and when he answered it it was to receive devastating news. His niece, Anna, who had been battling breast cancer for the past year, had died! While everyone in the family knew that she was terminally ill this heart-wrenching turn of events was quite unexpected. Although she had recently been moved to a hospice Gudrun and Steve had understood that she was in palliative care for respite, not realizing that her health had deteriorated to such an extent that death was imminent. No matter, a horrendous blow. We offered what slight comfort we could and left him alone to come to turns with the dire news.
While giving Steve time to compose himself, we took advantage of the toilette facilities and then read a bit about the The Lizard National Nature Reserve on a sign posted nearbye. When Steve was able to rejoin us we strolled through the quaint village , following a sign post which directed us towards the "Most Southerly Point", enjoying the charming cottages and their colourfully painted doors and window frames, their blooming gardens and hanging flower baskets. We soon left the small village behind, following a well-worn, gravel path, at times between high hedgerows to Lizard Point. As we descended towards the coast, we saw what we later learned was the largest lighthouse complex in the world. I remarked, once it came into view, that I had never seen such an extended set of buildings associated with a lighthouse before. Looking south, to the left was the lighthouse proper. At the opposite end an identical tower without the light structure its twin boasted. Joining the two ran a lower building topped by seven chimney stacks, five, the most attractive, sported two chimneys apiece.
Past the turnoff to the Lighthouse the path became rather steeper and we descended a series of steps which eventually led us to the stunning cliffs, (not quite as precipitous as those at Tintagel but perhaps less hostile with their mantle of golden yellow and rusty orange lichen, (Thanks, Colour Consultant Cora Lee!), and sheltered coves of Lizard Point itself. The latter, with their wondrously massive, slanting, corrugated or striated stone slabs disappearing, slithering into and under the chill, clear water of the English Channel towards a last few rocky outcroppings, the knuckles of the Brobdingnagian hand of the the outstretched colossal peninsular arm, stretching out to grasp who knows what fabulous, subaqueous treasures, were simply mesmerizing.
We spent our time drinking in the incredible views and scenery, the shining sun and few fluffy clouds, the light breeze all adding to the magical experience. While here Steve pointed out the now abandoned life boat rescue shed and jetty, ("The Lizard station was extremely exposed and in certain conditions launching lifeboats here was a difficult, and at times a dangerous operation and the cost of repairs together with the general upkeep was very expensive. Therefore in 1958 it was decided to construct a station at Kilcobben Cove which lies half way between the former station and 1¼ miles east of The Lizard lighthouse. In 2009 this station was demolished to make way for the current station which was completed October/November 2011."), and we even posed, a step away, from the edge of one of the sheerest cliffs, (Stefano is not comfortable with heights!), for The Shutterbug Sisterhood.
Paparazzi satisfied, I went into a small gift shop perched higher up on the promontory to look for fridge magnets. Found some that passed my rigorous standards and while I was paying I asked the friendly woman behind the small counter about the Choughs on one of the magnets. She replied, asking me, in turn, if I had a few moments to hear their story. Curious to hear what she had to say I pretended my companions were not waiting for me and said I had all the time in the world!
What follows. Dear Reader, is an admixture of what she related, rather animatedly, I hasten to add, and snippets purloined from then RSPB
website she suggested:
http://www.rspb.org.uk/ourwork/projects/details/223656-cornwall-chough-project
After a long decline because of habitat loss and persecution, the last chough disappeared from Cornwall (and England) in 1973. They had last successfully bred in 1947. In 2001, there was a small influx of wild choughs to southern England and three birds stayed on the Lizard in Cornwall. Since 2002, the now famous pioneering pair has nested every year at Southerly Point raising a total of 32 young so far. Many survive and some have raised their own young.
Choughs are vulnerable to disturbance and egg collectors. (Apparently a chough's egg would be worth thousands of £'s to unscrupulous collectors!) RSPB staff and volunteers protect nests night and day, and closely monitor the expanding population. Historically, the southwest of the UK, especially Cornwall, was a stronghold for choughs. Their return is a milestone in terms of UK range recovery for this captivating crow.
The Project ensures the future for choughs by working with landowners to restore grassland and heathland habitats along the coastal fringe. Grazing by suitable stock provides a chough-friendly mosaic of open, short grasslands where they can forage for invertebrates. With choughs from the Gower turning up in north Devon and Somerset, and other Welsh birds visiting Cumbria and Lancashire, it may not be too long before they breed outside Cornwall.
My local expert provided much of this "backstory" but continued to expound, still passionately, about the startling events of this past breeding season. Apparently, a great nephew of the now famous "pioneering pair", (RSPB tag each chick so it is possible to follow genealogy of subsequent offspring.), insisted himself into the family and after a few days the two males began to fight. Staff reported that the last macho battle was a brutal affair, the two combatants locked together, squawking and shrieking and clawing furiously, finally tumbling down the cliff face near the nest to land on the rocky strand below. The older male bird appeared to be injured, the younger unharmed. Observers reported that the great grandfather eventually disappeared, as did his female consort, a short while later. RSPB staff were more than distraught since the couple were still feeding their chicks.
But wait, Dear Reader, do not despair for this already incredible story has a fairy tale, everyone lives happily ever-after, ending. Our rebel with a cause was no Deadbeat Step-Dad and immediately assumed the parenting role, feeding his distant cousins and caring for them until they were ready to leave the nest! If this doesn't bring a tear to your bird-watching, tree-hugging soul, you probably have shares in BP or work in the Alberta Tar Sands.
When she finished there was a line-up which stretched behind me, out the front entrance and onto the sidewalk outside. I apologized to those waiting but those closest said they didn't want the storytelling session to end, so engrossing, so dramatic was the this tale of struggle and survival, tenacity and caring. In short a fable we could all do with holding dear to our own hearts and minds for we and the choughs are inextricably linked. To ignore their plight, and, it goes without saying, the rest of all other endangered species, is to condemn our own children and grandchildren to a future that already looks bleak and foreboding enough.
Thanking her, I took my prized magnets and went to rejoin my not so patient, mildly cranky companions. They happened to be sitting on a wooden bench, (one of many with attractive images of local flora and fauna carved into the surface), and as I recounted my newly gained knowledge, the lady from the shop appeared and pointed out the exact location of the nest. Although the nest site itself was not visible, a large, triangular shaped boulder, almost completely covered in golden yellow lichen, about halfway up the lower cliff face, pointed towards the cave where the choughs had chosen to nest.
Thanking her, once more, I reminded her that the children's book I had suggested she write after hearing her account, once published, would necessitate some royalties being apportioned to me! She smiled and laughed good-naturedly and we waved goodbye and made our way, via an alternate, narrow footpath, along the coast, towards the lighthouse. Passed a couple picnicking on a slab of rock, enjoying both their sandwiches and the grand view. Asked if there was enough food for me and they replied it was all gone. I countered with; "In spite of the obvious fact that you so inhospitable, I'll immortalize you anyway!", and proceeded to snap a picture of them. Onward to drink in more spectacular views of the rugged, iconic, green-topped, cliff-faced coastline to stroll around the fenced lighthouse grounds. When we came to the driveway that led to the museum there, we decided we'd not go in but save the viewing therein for a later visit. We will probably return with Ayn as we knew she would be as enchanted, as enthralled with the place as we most certainly were.
Bit of a light drizzle as we reached the first houses of the village and as we had decided it was time for lunch we stepped inside the Witchball Bar and Restaurant, on Lighthouse Road, the most southerly pub in mainland Britain, (Everything, and I mean everything is the most southerly something in mainland Britain in these parts!), to enjoy a delicious meal. While we waited for our food the Sisterhood had half pints of clear Somerset cider, (stronger than the local cloudy, Cornish cider), while Stefano and I quaffed extraordinarily tasty pints of bitter from the Cornish Chough Brewery, just down the road.
Chatted with two Italian couples, and their three small children, at the table opposite, (They were on a three week camper-van holiday, all the way from somewhere near Venice.), so it was fun to banter and joke with them over the course of our meal. I enjoyed a Ploughman's Salad with West Country Ham to help soak up the bitter.
Was so taken with the ale and the glasses it came in that I asked if it was possible to buy some souvenirs. Bar staff were happy to oblige so I ended up taking four, much to the consternation of Cora Lee as she wailed I wouldn't be able to carry them back to Canada. She was only concerned that I would rope her into Sherpa duty, Dear Reader!
Settled our tab, said "Arriverderci" to our new friends from Venezia, and toddled our way back to the car, The Sisterhood stopping en route to examine the serpentine, (The Lizard Complex is the best preserved example of an exposed ophiolite, [a number of green-coloured rocks, one being serpentinite, make up many ophiolites], complex in the United Kingdom. The rocks found in The Lizard area are analogous to those found in such famous areas as the Troodos Mountains, Cyprus, [Interesting connection!], and the Semail Complex, Oman.), jewellry found in most of the local shops.
Stefano wasn't quite sure where the brewery was located and directions we managed to extract form those we quizzed were of little help as we couldn't find brewery where we had been told it should be so I repressed my disappointment and we headed north, more or less retracing our earlier route, turning back towards the coast at Helston, making for Porthleven. What else, Dear Reader, but the most southerly port in England!
Not quite sure what I had imagined place would be like but I was almost bowled over by this quite remarkable port town with its unbelieveably massive harbour walls, jetties and quays, constructed from huge, dressed stone blocks. Never really seen anything quite like it, at least in terms of harbour construction and pier surround. When we arrived the tide was out and the inner harbour was but a large mud flat, filled with sailboats of all types, resting on their sides on the sand/mud bottom.
The relatively small harbour is so constructed as to provide additional protection to the vessels it is meant to shelter from the unbelievably fierce storms which can savage this particular stretch of dangerous coast. Two thick walls protrude, jetty-like, across the harbour, from opposite sides of the natural inlet to meet, almost. The opening between, to allow access to the inner harbour, can be sealed off by winching six or seven huge timbers into iron slots affixed to the ends of the walls. In addition, another sea wall protrudes from the north side of the harbour, its arm creating a middle harbour of sorts. This structure, with a wide launching ramp as part of its design, together with its much smaller twin, sans boat launch ramp, provide additional protection, from the ocean seething beyond the outer harbour. Here a single quay pushes out for some distance from the shore. Near the far end stands a pole on which a red ball is raised to signal that the pier is closed, warning the unwary of the extreme danger of breaking seas.
Not a matter, to which Stefano could attest, to be casually disregarded, Dear Reader! On December 13th, 1978, two police constables, Joe Childs and Martin Reid, were drowned when their police car was swept into the harbour during a violent storm! One of them was going off shift and the other, coming on, suggested he drive his friend home, stopping by harbour first to take a look at the angry seas. The accident was not discovered until one of the bodies was found in the inner harbour, some time later. Local HQ couldn't understand why the officer who was working the midnight shift had not reported in at the end of his shift, (At that time officers did not communicate with HQ every hour. If a shift was without incident they simply carried on with their assigned duties.), and the wife of the constable who had finished his evening shift was sleeping and didn't realize her husband had not come home. Steve didn't know anything about the bizarre incident in its immediate aftermath. (He was not walking the beat, something he did for many, many years, but was assigned to traffic control, and only learned of it when a friend he happened to pass on the the street said she was pleased to see him alive. She had heard a news report of the freak drowning and knew Steve might possibly have been one of the victims, based on the fact that Portleven came under the jurisdiction the of the district force he was assigned to at the time.
Steve showed us the plaque which commemorates the death of the two officers, inset into the harbour wall not far from another. This one to read: "REMEMBERING/Fred and Edgar Giles/Sons of Porthleven/who perished/in the Titanic disaster/April 15th, 1912" Grim reminders of the unforgiving nature of the Atlantic whether mid-ocean or near the shores it can lash with lethal fury.
After stopping at a busy ice-cream parlour for a coffee/tea, (I had a tasty cappuccino with delicate, concentric hearts, dusted with chocolate, artfully crafted out of the milk foam.), we stolled along the narrow street, past a local church with its clock tower, which followed the coast south, noting the pretty holiday cottages, across the road from the sidewalk on which we walked, forming an almost unbroken line of dwellings, a common wall shared with its neighbour, (as is often the case with row housing, of course), or but a narrow passageway separating adjacent buildings. Gudrun and Stefano had visited a few years ago and they noted much of the new construction/renovation, fueled by those able to afford a second, holiday/country property, as we meandered.
Gudrun had worked in Porthleven for a number of years so she pointed out spots where she used she eat her lunch, weather permitting, lovely perches overlooking the sandy, crescent beach, the strand stretching for some distance away from the harbour. Some brave, wet-suited souls were enjoying the small waves breaking on the gentle shore but most of the hardy holidayers were wrapped in towels, parents, sheltering themselves from the reasonably strong breeze in the lee of the gargantuan slabs of relatively smooth rock which abutted the arm of the lone, brave pier, flimsy in comparison, while their charges, heedless of the cold and the clouds, dug in the sand or fished for crabs, small crabs themselves, scuttling over the rocks, shrieking with delight, calling to one another as they scrambled in and out of the small tidal pools which dotted the pock-marked surface of this primordial stone.
Retracing our steps we made our way back around the harbour. By this time the tide had started to run and the once beached boats were now bobbing in the inner harbour. Our guides had suggested a visit to a pub might be in order so we were making for the north side of the harbour when we chanced upon a man with a splendid British Barn Owl on his heavily gloved left hand. We learned that Thor was but a few months old and the man's daughter worked in an owl sanctuary up the coast and the fledgling owl was one of a brood that needed a home.
What a truly magnificent creature he was! I had never seen one but for photographs and in the odd film, so to be eye-to-eye, face-to-face, so to speak, was rather thrilling. His snow-white, oval face, widening to form arches above his piercing eyes, separated by a rather fierce, formidable-looking, needle-tipped beak, camouflaged, for the most part, by innocent, soft feathers or down, had a quizzical, highly intelligent cast. I can hardly begin to describe his magnificent coat, (I apologize, in advance, for my clumsy, more than certainly innacurate representation.), and know I will do but poor justice to the truly resplendent plumage, fit literally for royalty.
I was immediately reminded of an ermine cloak that might have graced the shoulders of some queen or king about to be crowned. The light brown undercoat of the back and wing feathers is covered with whorls of dove grey, patches of white, interspersed or otherwise showing through. All this flecked with what look like, to me at least, tiny chili pepper shaped markings, (oriented with black stem above a white body, itself outlined in black), tiny, lustrous jewels which shimmered whenever the wind ruffled the imperial coat, its exquisite softness in telling contradistinction to the harrowing talons, wonderfully suited to tearing the unfortunate creatures of the field unlucky enough to attract his attention. A terrible beauty, indeed!
Thanking Thor's owner for allowing us the rare opportunity to observe his charge, we continued around the land end of the harbour. On the way, Stefano pointed out two gigs. As he explained, and I describe with Wikipedia's help:
The Cornish pilot gig is a six-oared rowing boat, built of Cornish narrow leaf elm, 32 feet (9.8 m) long with a beam of four feet ten inches. It is recognised as one of the first shore-based lifeboats that went to vessels in distress, with recorded rescues going back as far as the late 17th century.
The original purpose of the Cornish pilot gig was as a general work boat, and the craft is used for taking pilots out to incoming vessels off the Atlantic. In those days the race would be the first gig to get their pilot on board a vessel (often those about to run aground on rocks) got the job, and hence the payment. Today, pilot gigs are used primarily for sport, with around 100 clubs across the globe. The main concentration is within Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly.
Sleek, attractive craft and a delight to learn more about the gripping maritime past of this captivating part of the world. Continuing our journey into the fog and mists of time, we climbed the rather steep steps leading up the hillside from Mount Pleasnt Road to the Ship Inn, a true Cornish pub built into the rocks at the entrance to the harbour to serve the smugglers of the day. Now the clientele are mostly local folk but the grog and ambiance remain. A real "snug" and we squeezed into a booth off the busy bar and Steve brought us drinks, white wine for The Sisterhood, pints of Doom Bar for the lads. Toasting each other we thanked Gudrun and Steve for such an amazingly delightful day trip, filled with stunning sights and savoury food, not to mention the local hootch! Walls are covered with historical photographs, (as well as more recent ones), of the many, many shipwrecks which have occurred along this treacherous coast, while the ceiling is completely covered with bar coasters, stapled into the plaster, to form a mesmerizing collage of drink from around the country and the world. What a fitting way to end such an astonishing day.
Drinks finished, banter exchanged with those standing next to the bar, we made our way back towards the car, noting a handsome, dazzling whitewashed lime kiln that had been restored by a local man. Heard the young daughter belonging to a family passing by ask her father: "Dad, what's a lime kiln?" Dodging a complicated explanation he answered: "A kiln for lime!" Both Stefano and I chuckled at his expedient ploy and I shouted back at them, "And why is the sky blue, Daddy!"
Traffic was even lighter by this time and we were home by 7:30pm. Hd been a long, busy day so our marvelously knowledgeable and attentive tour guides declined a drink and only stayed long enough to allow Cora Lee to put their home address into Maps so that we could find our way there on the morrow. They had very generously invited us to have dinner with them on Sunday so we needed to know how to get to Pool, a community between Redruth and Camborne, not really all that far away.
Thanking them, once again, for such a perfect day, we said goodnight. Cora Lee's back really quite sore by this time so she settled down, her feet raised, to watch TV. Not all that hungry after wonderful lunch, I worked away on The Diaries for an hour or so. Taking a short break, I prepared a turnip or was it a swede, ("Turnips are smaller and with whiter flesh than the swede which has a yellow flesh and is a lot larger."), Dear Reader? After the Brassica napus or B. napobrassica was tender enough to mash, I worked butter into it and, salted and peppered, took a small bowl to the Canadian Patient. Quite taken with my simple dish she managed to leaver herself off the sofa for a second helping!
After I'd eaten myself, I sent a few messages and then washed up. Cora Lee had taken another pain killer and was fast asleep by the time I had brushed and flossed. Just before I was about to pick up my book, Jamie called from London and we had a long chat. He thanked us again for the lovely stay and we talked about what we'd both done over the weekend. By the time we said goodbye I was too, too sleepy to read a word so I turned off the hallway light and crawled into bed to drift off, thoughts of Choughs, the pier at Porthleven and pints of bitter sending me to sleep.
To be continued...
Pat, Certainly some stunning views. That
particular area must be unique to the UK and usually a bit warmer if I
remember rightly. Great shots around Tintagel Castle.
I'd fogotten all about Dinky Toys.
Looked it up and they were an offshoot of Meccano originally and were
made in Liverpool. Eventually couldn't compete and had to fold. That
somehow led me to the car I once owned with my
dad ( a Riley) which I'll send you a picture. Sent it to a friend in
London and he replied with details of trips we had made in it as well as
detailed specs of the vehicle.
Sylvia and I cycled to Jericho on
Friday and swam there in the newly formed bay. Few people and great
swimming temperatures. We intend to cycle to Steveston tomorrow to pick
blackberries. A friend gave me a flat of bluberries
earlier in the week. They were terrific and so many that we had to
freeze a batch. The garden is great and we're eating well from the
produce. Ripe tomatoes now which taste wonderful. Planted more seeds
this afternoon after removing the rest of the bush beans.
Did the Steveston ride with Pete this morning and had to have an hour
nap after lunch.
Hope things continue as well on the west coast. Ray
Pat/George,
This is the car I owned with my dad when I was a teenager. The only difference being the wheel coverage at the back.
Finished the Lee Child book you passed along earlier and about to start Jeffrey Archer's newest. Hope travels are going well for both of you. Ray
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