Lost Hat: Lamorna to Marazion (9.4 miles)

Ankle was terrible on eventually standing up but after hopping around for the first 30 minutes I could start to bear weight and then it seemed back to normal (for me!). So far so good. All is as expected. And Curt's legs seemed to be moving again as well.

Blue skies as well. Fortune is shining down on us. Here's our first campsite with the YHA behind.



Taking the bus to this campsite yesterday gave us the clever idea of basing ourselves here for another day. We could take the bus back to the start of the hike and a bus back here again at the end of the day. This meant we could leave our tent set up and only take day packs, allowing our sore areas to heal and breaking our bodies in more slowly - Curt's concept really, he is so much more practical than me, I'm more apt just to threw myself in at the deep end to see what happens (we balance each other out nicely, hence our long marriage).

After the bus driver misinformed us, we ended up travelling all way to Land's End again and then taking another bus back to Lamorna where we had picked up the bus yesterday and where the hat saga began today. Curt left his $37 Columbia sun/rain hat on the seat in the #1A bus. He had deliberated for hours in REI whether he should purchase such an expensive item but I kept on extorting the benefits of wearing a brimmed hat and saying how handsome he looked in it, that he felt obligated to buy it. It was this scenario that kept playing in his head and made him hurl out expletives every few minutes as we walked down the road into Lamorna Cove and relocated the SWCP.

Please note that in the picture below, I still have my hat, causing Curt much jealousy


The path took us over the cliffs to the picturesque fishing village of Mousehole where we stopped for a while to check out a very cool bird hospital containing some very lucky hens, ravens and seagulls.


In an attempt to get curt's hat back we would call the bus people at every opportunity, whenever we got a phone signal. Cell phone service is very sketchy down here and in the villages and coves it is virtually non existent. Up on the cliff works best but there it's windy and difficult to hear. Every time we called we would get directed to someone else until we had amassed about ten different numbers in Curt's little note book. We finally got through to the bus depot in Penzance and talked with a Helen, who turned out to be not very helpful. Guess the bus drivers don't have radios here so we have to wait for the buses to be checked at the end of the day.

Then began the long trek around the next bay dominated by St Michaels Mount. St Michaels is a craggy island, connected to the mainland with a cause way at low tide and has an impressive castle on top. The St Aubyn family have owned and lived on the island since the 17th century but gave it to the National trust back in 1954 with a 999 year lease for the family to remain living in their castle. This fairy tale castle dates back to the 12th century and after the Norman invasion it was granted to the Benedictine Abbey of Mont St Michael in France. It was at one time a busy port and had an island population of three hundred. There are still about 30 people living on the island in the cottages.


This was flat walking on a combination of roads and urban, seaward tracks. We passed through Newlyn, a working fishing town with a large harbour, historic sea front warehouses and fish markets. The ease of walking without packs on roads and flat tracks should have translated into a fast walking speed and a quick arrival at our destination. But we continued to move slowly - not because of Curt's legs, that had made a miraculous recovery but because we were tempted by the multitude of bakery's selling delicious items and made frequent stops to buy pasty's (hope this wears off as there must be at least 1000 kcals each) [FYI Sharon, the vegan thing is not happening]. Then on into Penzance where we delayed our trek further by stopping in an outdoor shop to buy a gas canister for our stove and found ourselves tempted by a two for one sale. I came out the proud owner of two walking poles. You may remember my trustee walking stick featured in my last blog? Well, I have it with me again but Curt decided to try the two pole, Nordic style and when I tried this out today, I was sold. Two poles not only stabilise but propels you forward. So my walking stick has been surpassed by the two pole method and I will be sending it onto Jill as soon as I can. Also stopped in at the bus depot in Penzance to meet Helen in person and find out that the buses were still busing around and no hat had been turned in. Every time a bus passed us Curt would say "there goes my hat" followed by a string of expletives.

The path out of Penzance continued on around the bay along a seaward concrete track, squished between the railway lines and the beach. Despite magnificent views of St Michaels mount, the walking became a little mundane, so Curt and I started to entertain ourselves using our walking sticks. With two sticks each, we noticed that they made a pretty significant clickerty clack noise. We started to march in step to some great rhythms, complementing each other and then advancing to some jazzy off beat stuff. This had us in hysterics, got us some glares from passer by's and made us walk ten times faster.






At Marazion we contemplated visiting the island but decided on fish and chips instead. Curt had the extremely greasy slab of haddock and I had the extremely greasy chips, soaked in vinegar topped with heaps of salt.

Then we bused it back to the YHA campground, stopping in one last time at the bus depot to ask 'Helpful Helen' if the hat had been turned in. But of course not.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad