Day four: Gwithian to Portreath

The tent is flapping like crazy. I can hear the waves crashing on the rocks below and I have to admit I am feeling, not scared, but definitely out of my comfort zone. It's my first night of "wild" camping and it does feel pretty wild to me. I am up on the cliff tops, just outside of Portreath.

I only walked 6 miles today. When I arrived in Portreath I found a great cafe with free wifi posted on the window and I ended up staying there all afternoon, checking emails, looking at Facebook etc. It didn't seem like there was anywhere good to camp and because it wasn't raining I didn't want to do a b&b. I have a new rule (one that I am sure to break) - if it is raining, I can get a b&b but then not eat out and if it isn't raining I have to camp and then I can treat myself to eating out. This will keep the cost down a little

So with lack of campsites and feeling as though I hadn't done that much today (as remember 6 miles is now a piece of cake for me) I decided to walk out of town and camp up on the cliffs. I went to the nearest "cost cutter" my new favourite shop and bought some noodles to cook up for dinner. I also thought it was about time I used the stove and pots I have been carrying around with me. I finally got a canister for the stove the other day but I was unsure if it was the right one and hadn't wanted to cause an explosion (could that happen with the wrong gas?) in Porthminster b&b as I had liked it there too much. So anyway I got Pete to try it out last night and it didn't explode.

I struggled up the cliff with a bag of food and full bottle of water to add to my load. Couldn't find anywhere appropriate to camp. Those perfectly mowed flat areas I had been seeing along my route so far, and noted as so perfect for camping, were no where to be found. All I could find were steep, lumpy banks of gorse, heather and thistles. There was a flat area I considered but it was very close to the cliff edge and it was awfully windy. I had visions of the wind picking up the tent in the middle of the night, with slumbering ali inside and acting as a parachute, it would float gently down to the sea below. I would awake as the cold Atlantic entered my sleeping bag and in a confused, panicked state I would drown, trapped in my REI quarter dome tent that had become my coffin in the sea. Oh my god, now I am scaring myself.

Anyway didn't camp there. Jumped the little stone wall instead and I am camped in a farmers field. Now I am worried that a crazed farmer will beat me to death in the middle of the night or stick his pitch fork in me, finally tipped over the edge by the millionth illegal camper on his land. Or perhaps another herd of bulls (this time with rings in their noses) will stampede my tent in the night.

Enough of that, but weird how we become accustomed to having civilisation around us at night. It is ok to be out in the wild during the day but at night well, that's different. Do guys have these thoughts when they are alone or is it just us women? I just wish the tent would stop flapping, it's unnerving.

So I turned on the stove, ready to cook my noodles but it was so windy, sitting on uneven ground in long grass and I felt a little uncomfortable when the blades of grass started to ignite. So I scrapped dinner and ate the avocado sandwich Pete had so kindly made me in an effort to improve my diet and supplemented that with salted peanuts and a star bar (I really love these!)

Now I am considering taking a sleeping pill pilfered from the sample cupboard at work. I need to sleep well tonight as I have a big day tomorrow. Please, PLEASE, don't let it rain in the night or tomorrow.

If I go missing, don't bother looking down the mine shafts, I will be floating on the sea in my green and orange REI quarter dome.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Day three: St Ives to Gwithian

09 June 2010 - Left my new home at Porthminster view and strode out once more into the unknown.

But not before I had enjoyed the massive breakfast and big French press of coffee (fulfilling the second B in B&B) and having wonderful conversations with the owners and the guests. My first cup of coffee for a few days and for those of you that know me well, will understand the significance of this for me!

Ah, the great British breakfast and vegetarian too.





Alfie watching TV











The weather yesterday was actually beautiful but I decided to stay another day in St Ives and try to get a little more sorted - I was feeling as though I had been on the go since I left Salt Lake. I ended up taking a bus back to Pendeen to collect my all important plug adapter and mobile phone charger that I had left in the pub. I could not understand how I could have possibly left them in the pub as I was being especially careful, knowing that these items were the key to my connectivity with the rest of the world. Despite this I left them plugged in the wall. Let this be a lesson to me.

Interesting to travel via bus the section of the trail that I had slogged along the day before. I thought it would minimise the achievement for me but actually it still seemed a bloody long way! Funny to think though that I had felt so alone and remote, when actually, the road had never been too far away.

Anyway here I was on the coastal path again and glad of it. Why was this feeling so good? Before leaving, the other guests had all taken a turn to pick up my rucksack and had all wondered how I was possibly walking with it and I had no answer for them. It hurt at first to put it back on and it was a painful reminder of the day before but once walking I was thankfully able to overcome this discomfort. My body was dealing amazingly well with all this abuse.

I followed along side the beautiful stretches of sandy beaches through dense vegetation on a very well defined path. I walked across a golf course, through an an ancient church yard and the middle of a funeral, along the A30, around the estuary, across the oldest draw bridge in Britain. It was so much more civilised than the previous days hikes but somewhat difficult to navigate. I frequently stopped to ask directions and got very complicated answers "go along here, turn left, turn right, through the housing estate, over the bridge, dip through the hedge, you can't miss it". I was always very proud when I would look up at just right time to see a miniscual acorn sign (for the SWC0) pointing through a hedge and with a quick jog through, I would be back on the path again.

I reached Hayle with relative ease. I had initially planned to stop here but feeling good, I decided to carry on just a few more miles to a campsite.

It seems as though 6 miles has become my limit of comfort. After that, it all becomes so much more difficult. I found the next 4 miles very hard and the pack once again became unbearable. I had the choice of either walking across sand dunes and cliffs or walking along the beach. I decided along the latter but the tide was not out all the way. I had to remove my boots and paddle through sections until those sections became too deep with crashing waves and then I had to climb back up onto the cliffs and dunes.





I was especially excited to get to Gwithians because I was meeting my good friend Pete who had driven down from Plymouth to see me. I met Pete 24 years ago when I was 19 years old, living in Plymouth, unemployed and a rock climber.

He reminded me of all the climbs we had done together and I did not realise that I had walked right by some of them the other day on route to St Ives. He had brought an old Devon and Cornwall climbing guide and pointed out the new route we had put up together in 1987. A Bonner (that's me!) - how impressive is that?







Me and climbing seem a long time ago now. My arthritic fingers and feet would make it impossible for me to climb and anyway, I have a major fear of heights now. As for Pete, he is still climbing, better than he ever has. He has overcome a terrible illness and is still an extreme climber - most impressive.

We spent a wonderful evening together, watching the sun set over Godvrey Island, reminiscing and finding out that we had the same opinion on many different philosophical issues. For instance we both have chronic diseases but have decided not to sit and wait for them to progress but to live life to it's fullest. I am very aware that this walk may make my RA worse but i am not about to sit around and wait until I am incapable of walking.





Thanks Pete for coming :)








- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Chynance,Portreath,United Kingdom

Day two: Pendeen to St Ives

I awoke at 4:00 a.m. and decided to get up and start walking. Good thing, as It took me until 5:45 to get on the road.

I was initially unable to put any weight on my right ankle but once I put my boots back on and had worked it in a bit, it miraculously improved (I am putting a lot of faith in that cortisone shot you gave me Dr Rhodes - so far so good :)) as it has so often done at home.

So I set off in overcast, damp weather and it felt great. Confidently, I strode off down an unknown footpath that seemed to go in the right general direction back to the coast line and sure enough it spat me right out onto the SWCP. Although my shoulders felt bruised and my body generally hammered, I felt amazingly good and didn't seem to notice the weight of my pack for the first 7 hours! - comforting to think I may be used to this already.

The trail was deserted and absolutely spectacular. I didn't see a soul for the first 5 hours and then only bumped in to two other couples and one lone guy. This could be partly due to the atrocious weather that ensued. The damp mist turned into a gentle drizzle then an absolute downpour for the remainder of the day.









The first few hours were my dream come true. From plan conception I had romantic visions of walking along the cliff tops on the edge of britain, at one with the wind, the sky and the ground; taking in the scenery, the nature, the smells and the history of my homeland. Well that dream became my reality and I was immensely happy. And I wasn't just talking myself into this state, I was honestly feeling it!

















I walked with and without Ipod, listening to a variety of music but was most inspired by the Celtic songs that fit the scenery so perfectly. I was happily belting out the lyrics to a Nora Jones song and had just got to the part "come on home and turn me on" when I literally bumped into the lone guy I had mentioned earlier. I smiled a toothy, embarrassed grin but he
understood that anything went up here on the cliffs and he seemed as happy to see me as I him. Coming from the opposite direction we were anxious to exchange news of the path ahead. I had been walking for about 5 hours at this point and was thinking It had been wonderful but I was ready to stop walking sooner rather than later. He told me I was half way and I felt devastated and psychologically things went down hill for me from that point forth!

Physically there were down hills too but just as many up hills. Up and down the cliffs I walked, over bogs, rocky sections, parts where the trail was so skinny I could hardly place two feet together in it. The overgrown ferns and long grasses on either side of the skinny trail would drench me as I brushed through them. That, and the pouring rain proved too much for my gortex jacket, boots and gaiters. I was soaked through to the bone. I wanted to stop, rest, snack, take off my pack but every time I tried, I would freeze, so it was better to keep on walking.

The Ipod eventually died and instead I talked to myself, usually words of encouragement and it seemed to really help.

I even found myself talking to the signs. There were not many of them, so I was always glad to see them, even if they brought me bad news. Initially it would be "thank you mister sign post" but later it was "f ###, not another 6 miles still". But I would make a point of pausing for a few minutes in front of the sign, brushing them off if necessary and hoping to glean more information out of them but of course never did. But they did tell me I was heading in the right direction and I was luckily doing much better with route finding today (probably because the path was so much more remote and there was not a multitude of them to choose from, unlike yesterday)

Some did make me laugh. This farmer has a sense of humour.









And more hazards......








Because of this











This is the only private property sign I have seen. Great idea - snakes instead of Alsatians!








During the last few miles I have to admit, I felt desperate. I did consider putting up my tent and spending a night out on the trail, but everything, including my tent was soaking wet. The thought of being in St Ives, warm and dry, was driving me forward and I had already decided I was taking a B & B for the night.

The trail was becoming increasingly slippery and I was very aware that one fall could be the end of me. Along with the signs, my walking stick had become my close friend. I had deliberated over whether to bring it, but now it was indispensable, allowing me to balance on stepping stones crossing the bogs and helped to get me up the hills and over the rocks. But one mile from St Ives, in my frenzy to get there, I slipped and fell forwards. My shin hit hard on a pointed rock and the weight of my pack kept me pinned down. I thought something must be broken. I howled in pain and assumed I was doomed. But I saw no bones protruding from my leg and thankful of this, I almost ran the last mile into St Ives.

St Ives - a gorgeous, picture perfect pirate town. But all I wanted was a B&B. Despite the rain, tourists were out in hoards, paddling in the streets and chatting to each other from under umbrellas and huge bag like ponchos like it was all completely normal. Water poured from the roofs and drain pipes of ancient buildings, amassing into a flash floods down the tiny cobble stoned streets and alley ways.



























Therefore, I did not look out of place as I turned up at the tourist information centre, looking like I had been sitting in a bath for 10 hours with my clothes and back pack on.

Although I must have looked like I needed help as I was given a cup of tea,
they booked me a B&B and even drove me to it! The very kind lady said her daughter was currently in Chile back packing and she hoped someone would do the same for her daughter if she needed it. I assured her that good karma was coming her way.

I experienced elation and relief on a magnitude that I have never experienced before as I walked through the threshold of Porthminster bed and breakfast and was greeted by the nicest man in the world - David Hodge. He had already turned on the central heating in anticipation of the weary, bedraggled traveller's arrival.










I am still here now, in my wonderful cozy room, overlooking the bay. I have been made to feel so welcome here and it feels like home - I will have a hard time leaving tomorrow. David is now following my blog and is all excited to get a mention on it! Please check out this link www.porthminster.com and you must come and stay if you are ever in St Ives.






-Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:St Ives,United Kingdom

Now I am here

-
Finally! Internet access. What a hassle this is proving to be. I have just posted my blogs so far, although it seems I have lost one, entitled "in the beginning". So if anyone has seen it? It is kind of important as it explains my trip over and how I ended up being on my own here, without Curt.

I have posted this question/problem on the forum, so I am hoping that some clever person will have an answer and I can retrieve this blog ASAP.

But for now I have lots of stuff to do other than blogging. Can't wait to tell you about my epic Day Two, so stay posted. You are all going to have to be patient with me regarding postings because it seems as though this Ipad does not pick up wifi signals very easily. And I still don't have the data plan working properly - off to Truro now to try and sort this out.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:St Ives,United Kingdom

Day one: Lands End to Pendeen

I am sitting in the North Inn, at Pendeen, Cornwall. Just finishing up with a "Tribute, premium Cornish ale" (wish you were here Curt to share this with me).

Feeling absolutely brilliant and very proud of myself because I have completed my first day of LEJOG. After having so much difficulty just walking approximately two miles to the Case the other day (yesterday??), I was seriously doubting my capabilities. My pack is just way too heavy.

After a five hour train journey and arriving in Penzance yesterday, I set up my tent outside Castle Horneck youth hostel and then proceeded to enjoy the excellent facilities within. A beautiful Georgian house recently remodelled with a full on bar, cafe, lounge with TV and some great people talk to. Finally got to talk with Curt but still have to figure out all my communications and technology, because despite eventually getting a data plan set up with Vodaphone for my Ipad, I still can't get Internet access. Once I get access I will be able to publish these blogs.





Took an open top bus to Lands End this morning. I can honestly say I did not know if I was going to be able to walk even a mile but living in the moment, I didn't care because the bus ride was beautiful.

Had my picture taken in front of the legendary sign pointing towards John O'groats and indicating the mileage from whence I had come (cheesy but obligatory!)





And then started off walking along the cliffs. And promptly got lost. I was mapless but presumed it would be easy enough, walking along a coastal path. My only plan was to walk from the very end of England, north eastwards, keeping the sea to my left and england to my right. Then turn right at Pendeen light house and find somewhere to stay. How difficult could it be?

Pause....... to pet the pub dog walking under my table. God I love pubs.

The southwest coastal path (SWCP) turned out to be a well worn path as expected but perhaps a little too well worn as there was a multitude of them to choose from. There were neat little sign posts indicating the way to go when it was completely obvious and none when absolutely necessary. This drove me nuts and a wrong turn invariably meant a detour up another massive hill and eventually back down again when I caught sight of the main path meandering below me or visa versa. I never seemed to make the right choice (kind of like changing lanes in a traffic jam).

At one point I realized I was obviously following the wrong trail when I became "cliffed" out and was forced to bushwhack up the cliff. I arrived at a barbed wire fence, presumably to keep people from the cliff edge that I had been walking along. It was either go all the way back or scale the fence. With an almighty heave ho, I hurled my pack over, not in the least confident that I was going to be able to get my self over it. But, feeling very light without all that weight, I climbed over, gingerly avoiding the barbs on top and landed proudly on the other side to join my pack. However, I also joined a pack of bulls. Ten off them to be exact and located right where I needed to walk. They didn't have rings in their noses and didn't look too terribly threatening but they did all have massive pointy horns. I put my head down and tried not to make eye contact as I walked amongst them, so close I could feel them breathing on me.

Tin and copper have been mined here since the mid 1700s and ruined mines and chimneys litter the coast line.





Mine shafts are everywhere and walkers such as myself are in danger of death.





I could fall down this hole





Apparently they think this poor soul did.





Do you think they looked for him down the hole? Made me start to think about what would happen if I went missing. A missing poster would probably go up, like this one, and I can just imagine all the reports that would come flooding in with sightings of me. "oh yes, I remember her, she was staggering a bit, carrying this massive pack she was" and "she asked me where she could get a cup of tea" or "she stopped us and asked where the next ice cream van could be located" or perhaps even "I remember seeing her, looked lost, kept on back tracking and asking if she was going the right way".

I think I made a point of talking to everyone I passed as it made me feel better. Most people were just out for leisurely walks and not one person seemed to be doing what I was doing.

I did find a refreshment stand and had the most fantastic cup of tea.











Knackered!








Ten miles and six hours later I caught sight of Pendeen light house and turned right into the village.

So here I am camped in the field next to the pub. I did it. I walked my first day and lived to tell the tale.

Tomorrow I will walk 14 miles to St Ives and it is supposed to be the most "challenging, rugged and remote" section of the SWCP. Tomorrow I will have a map, purchased this evening from the minute but fantastically stocked (way better than any huge supermarket in Salt Lake) village shop in Pendeen. I had twigletts and ribena for dinner. Did I tell you that I love this country?

Good night, from my REI quarter dome tent. Wish me luck tomorrow.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

London

A light rail system took me and my extremely heavy, awkward back pack through the East London docklands. A juxtaposition of ancient ware houses, to newly renovated lofts; traditional rows of tiny terraced London homes with neatly aligned terra cotta chimney pots on cobbled stoned streets, to housing projects of gross apartment buildings, grotty and scary looking, cement and graffiti clad, washing strewn from door to door and barbed wire enclosed playgrounds. The Thames river flowed to the left of the train tracks, warehouses ominously gracing its banks and barges afloat it's murky waters, carrying goodness knows what - but a living memory to a by-gone era when London was the industrial capital of the world. And finally, this description would not be complete without mentioning the pubs, dependably situated on street corners, adorned with hanging baskets flowing with flowers and wrought iron signs distinguishing each one with a fantastic name such as "The Artful Dodger" and "The Fox and Hound".

Switching from light rail to the London underground at Bank (home of the
bank of England?) station, things became more familiar and I made my connections with experienced ease, up and down the escalators and tunnels enjoying the talented buskers. I headed through central London and northeast, out to my childhood stomping grounds and felt very emotional as I passed through my local station and eventually alighted at Ruislip station, a place where I knew I could do my errands - and I had big list of things to do.

Walking down Ruislip high street with pack on my back was very strange. This was still my home away from home until last year when everything changed - when my dad died and my family home was sold. I had nowhere to go and I was a "traveller" here now. And I was about to experience what that felt like.

Ironic to think that I left here 22 years ago with the very same back pack to find adventure on another continent and now here I am returning home for an adventure.

Firstly, in order to feel a little more connected with the world, I had to charge my UK mobile phone. I went into a phone shop, bought extra minutes and left it there charging. I went into another phone shop to buy my data plan so I could use my Ipad remotely but I needed a bank account with a UK address - damn- but I did leave my back pack with them as I was beginning to buckle under the weight and surprising warmth of the unusually sunny day. Not to mention that I was feeling a little odd walking in a London suburb with this massive pack adorned with walking stick and tent and various other articles (spell checker just automatically filled in this word as "artichokes" so if there are some odd words in my blogs it is probably because i haven't proof read it sufficiently and the computer wrongly thought it could read my mind). Then I went into a shop called mail boxes to try and set up my complicated arrangement for mailing my RA meds that need to be kept cold. Didn't quite achieve this either but did manage to leave my meds in their fridge (as my ice gel pack had long since defrosted), give the wonderfully helpful guys there my blog and received a promise that they wound send my package out on Monday. Next I went into the grocery store called. "ice land" and deposited my gel pack amongst the frozen peas and pizzas.

Once I had succeeded in depositing my belongings along Ruislip high street, I went to the bank and had a panic attack - or nearly. It was hot in there with a long queue, all waiting for help from three very slow tellers. I was, by this time extremely tired, having been up hours and the 100 year old man hunched over next in line, with cane in hand was doing a better job of standing than me. It seemed that everyone In front of me just wanted to withdraw money, so why was it taking so bloody long? It's the UK banking system, so tightly controlled that you have to go to extreme measures to prove you are who you are. I heard one poor customer say, "but I have been in here every week for years withdrawing money and never had a problem before". The reply "I am sorry sir, but your must have had your hair cut and I don't recognize you anymore."

Finally it was my turn and I told my teller that I had some questions about my account. He said I had to make an appointment for questions and that wouldn't happen until Tuesday. That's when I had the near panic attack. I would be penniless until tuesday? The teller at the next window must have seen my look of horror and heard my moaning and fidgeting as I stood in line because she took pity on me. This lovely said she would answer my questions and personally help me. Therefore I got all my questions answered and my money sorted - yeh!! There is a god. But I hate British banks.

Wow, brill. Just passing right next to the Tamar bridge, built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. The border between Devon and Cornwall occurs in the middle of this bridge. I am on the train heading towards Lands End. But back to London because I am not finished yet....

So once my cell phone was somewhat charged, I could call my sister Jill. It was so wonderful to hear such a familiar voice and I instantly felt better. It had only been about 30 hours since I had left Salt Lake City but I it was plenty of time to question what in the hell I was doing. Sitting outside Costa coffee on Ruislip high street was one of those times and my ensuing exhaustion was making me feel very emotional. What was I to do next? Who should I call? Where was I staying tonight? Despite my fatigued brain I was beginning to realise that all of these questions were pointless. I was not in control of my destiny and like it or not, that was partly the intention of this trip. I was living in the moment, something I couldn't generally achieve in my "normal" life.

Without intention, I gathered my stuff together and starting walking towards my old "local", the "Case is Altered" pub. I had a few weeks ago emailed a a handful of friends to meet me there, the evening of my arrival. Being so disorganized before departure, I had not confirmed this with any of them and doubted that anyone would be there.





I sat in the corner of the busy pub and reminisced about past evenings spent in the pub when I was much younger. Last year we had come here after Dad's funeral and everyone had piled in, to drink to the memory of my Dad. To my surprise Karen suddenly appeared before me and any loneliness was instantly gone. Karen had driven up 2 hours from Portsmouth without even knowing that I would be there, an old school friend that I hadn't seen for over 15 years and I can't begin to tell you how happy I was to see her. The evening took off, with more friends arriving and it couldn't have been a more perfect start to my trip.







Everyone that showed at the pub agreed that my LEJOG idea was utterly ridiculous, especially when they tried to pick up my back pack, but they all said they would support me and I felt loved and did feel as though as I had come home. Thank you, thank you everyone for coming. You all mean so much to me :)

I didn't have to set up my tent on the cricket field opposite but instead spent the night in a real bed at the home of Karen's parents, Beryl and John Evans.

Best not to plan. All's well that ends well. Brilliant evening.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

I am here.

How cool is this? Cheers. Hic...

Ipad GPS has located me at the pub.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad