New Valley Hills

Away at 0720, early in case the bad weather arrives sooner.

Soon enough I manage to find a weak phone signal. Enough to squirt Lisa an update message – I’m still alive and making progress.

What’s slipperier – mud or shale slate?

Wet grass from the off, I resign myself to wet feet for the next 22km.

I’m contacted by Tina. I met her a few days back near Zennor. She’d found a pair of headphones on the trail and thought they were mine. We’d traded tips on good boozing in St.Ives – she mentioned The Pilchard Press micropub and I’d mentioned Scarlett Wines and I knew the proprietor. She had popped in to get my number. Good work Tina! Sadly they weren’t mine.

Tina and co were sitting across the path on a slate bridge over a stream. Invoking the Norwegian fairytale of trolls living under bridges waiting for prey to pass over I’d said fee-fi-fo-fum to get them moving. We all had a laugh and a natter in the sunshine.

I hear there’s a horny bull on Saturdays section terrorising walkers. He’s broken through a fence to get to the cows but can’t get through the final hedge to them. He’s on the footpath and angry. I hope he’s back in his place before I get there

Tregardock has a good memory for me. Way back I’d visited the beach with friends for a day out. As the tide receded I started exploring the massive boulders on the unspoilt sand beach. I came across a not very clothed young woman. She was posing for a photographer for I’d guess what you’d call glamour shots. A most unusual sight on a North Atlantic rugged beach. Anyway the highlight was the phosphorescence on the waves after the sun went down. A truly memorable event.

My shoes are so wet and heavy they feel like clown shoes.

This is a tough section.

Mud 3, shale/slate 0. A few days ago I’d been wishing for less rock to walk on to save the soles of my shoes. Be careful what you wish for I thought ruefully as I slid around in the mud.

Morning mist turns into fog at clifftops level, then light rain and wind into Tintagel.

As I ponder the map to decide whether to walk 1km into town for a cafe or walk on to Boscastle, an English Heritage employee tells me their cafe is on the path. You made my day I say. She grins.

Easier next section to Boscastle and as the fog has lifted to inland hill height the views improve a little.

Briefly.

Simon is on holiday. Living just the other side of the Mendip Hills from me we share memories of home. It’d taken him two hours to drive here, me 37 days.

My hotel for the next 2 nights has internet provided by satellite link, SpaceX Starlink specifically. I’m impressed at the low latency – I was expecting it to be laggy.

I’ve avoided the news and too much of the outside world. Trimming existence to the path – weather, food, footsteps, sleep, water, and connections with people – is a rare opportunity.

When I left Russia was still attacking Ukraine. It still is. Yesterday Peter told me about Israel being attacked by Hamas. I’m reminded of being overseas 22 years ago when 9/11 happened. The feeling of helplessness in a strange land as the world as I knew it pivots for ever. A gentle Muslim called Osama I worked with for 15 years retired back to Palestine. How has his world changed?

Events closer to home are occurring, life changing events.

I tussle with these.