Very strong winds overnight, Beaufort 6-8. I slept in until 0700. Groggy slow start. Hand washing then putting on a wet shirt isn’t fun to begin with. Pop a middle layer over, walk hard for 20 minutes , then eat breaky in the sunshine makes things warmer and dryer.
This morning over laundry I chatted to a young Seattle student over here for her jollies. She likes it so much she’s clown over twice, camps and wanders around on foot. Camborne is something she’s looking forward too. I’ve never seen the appeal myself, maybe I need to look with fresh eyes.
Only a 20km walk today, I need some rest.
A gaggle of attractive young people, mainly men, assemble on the beach for a morning swim. They’re tougher than me. Suddenly I’m surrounded by women of the village, gazing out to sea!
An elderly women perches on the next bench. She takes umbrage at my observation of what she has come to view, though she is gentle and we engage a few words. Telling me she slipped on a leaf yesterday and wouldn’t be doing the distance today I am, she laughed at my comparison with British Rail and leaves on the tracks. Politely pointing out my pants are hanging from my backpack from which they might fall, she is intrigued by my backcountry washing line holding my shorts and socks, hand washed this morning, drying as I walk.
Kingsand is quaint. Nice buildings, coffee shops and pubs. With a ferry to Plymouth it’d make a nice base to explore from.
Yesterday the first ferry was full, there was a 30 minute wait. A Canarian woman from Tenerife opened conversation with me. A cook on a tourist boat out of Plymouth she was finishing her 5 month work before returning to Tenerife for education. The conversation took a turn when she started chatting me up. She wanted her photo taken many times which she examined, each time getting closer to me and more familiar in my space, laughing at my words, hiding behind her big sunglasses. At the point of her saying I didn’t reciprocate the connection she felt for me, she abruptly ended it saying I preferred my own company. Bemused I pay the ferryman. We sit apart on the crossing. At the quay she waves goodbye at me a little sadly. Later I felt homesick and missed my family.
On Rame Point I pass a film crew setting up a shoot. They wouldn’t tell me what for. Later I pass a car park full of big ‘Movie Maker’ trucks. There is a certain book being filmed on location I’ve heard.
A buddy from home asks how I’m faring. “Walking type 1, getting up each day type 2, howling gales overnight type 2-3. Legs not a problem, determination questioned daily.”
I’m struggling to enjoy the daily routines outside of the walking.
I’m having tent erection issues. The beauty of this model is it’s adjustable. It’s not a throw it up drunk tent, and I’m still learning. I reach out to the fan club group on Facebook. As usual a crowd of helpful people gather round with hints and tips. Even the inventor pops in. I’ve much to learn.
My camp spot is windy and sloping.
New Valley Hills 
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