Here’s a curious corner of Cornwall.
For one thing, the little village of Perranuthnoe, perched on low
cliffs a couple of miles east of St Michael’s Mount, looks more
like Devon than anything else west of the Tamar for another, it
smells of cabbages.
Not that either fact is enough to detract from the humble delights
of the place. The Devonshire link comes from my favourite Cornish
walks writer JRA Hockin who mused: “Perranuthnoe, clumped on the
hillside at the end of this stretch of Cudden Point, has a thoroughly
Devonian flavour with its cob and whitewash and its solid little
cottages and farms.”
Basic hike: from Perranuthnoe (a mile south of
the A394 Penzance to Helston road) south east to Cudden Point then
inland along footpaths back to village before continuing down to
Trenow Cove before returning along coast path via Maen-du Point.
Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 102
Land’s End. Distance and going: five miles, not too steep but muddy
in places.
Note that all maps on this site are only indicative.
You should never set out without the correct OS map.
The link is more to do with the geology
of the place no mighty granite bastions here, but a low-slung
mud and wattle cliff that is constantly being eroded by the pounding
sea. Nowhere else in Cornwall, perhaps, has such gentle contours,
presumably created by the softness of the rock.
As for cabbages well, this is Brassica Britain. Whether it’s
cabbages, cauliflowers or broccoli the local fields seem to be
growing it, with the resultant aroma. An aroma which speaks of winter
soups and other warming dishes. It speaks of the fact that in some
corners of this land we still grow our own produce, and do not have
to rely on the labours of some far-flung farmer from Kenya or goodness
knows where else.
I had never been to Perranuthnoe before, having ignored the stretch
of coast between Marazion and Porthleven simply because it does
not have the obvious delights of the neighbouring Lizard or West
Penwith. I went there to meet two men whose job it is to look after
the South West Coast Path in Cornwall, and they wanted to show me
how they’d had to move the route of the path inland to avoid cliff-falls.
Having admired the newly directed path, I began
to realise just how nice a place I was in and without more ado
I devised a short but sweet impromptu walk. This took me from the
car park that’s situated between the village and the beach, south
east along Trebarvah Cliff.
This is the bit that’s rotting away, so to speak. At closer inspection
I discovered that it wasn’t so much a cliff, but a tall steep mud-bank,
interposed with stones. You can dig a finger nail into it with ease,
so it is hardly surprising this exposed place crumbles into the
sea with such alacrity.
The newly routed path takes walkers up through gorse across some
fields and eventually sweeps them around to Trevean Cove. Next comes
a tiny headland which is marked on the map as Favel’s Hole (this,
I guess, must refer to some cave down in the cliffs, but I didn’t
see one) and then we are introduced to Stackhouse Cove.
By now the weather was closing in fast, so I wasn’t
able to appreciate the next bit in the same way as Hockin did some
75 years ago. He wrote: “Only those who have walked a long, long
way can really appreciate the revelation of Cudden Point granted
a sunny day, of course…”
So I intend returning to do the walk around Cudden, Kenneggy Sand
and Sydney Cove. For now, I turned inland and climbed the footpath
up past the National Trust car park and along the lane until I found
the path which took me past the Acton Castle Hotel and along a track
to Trevean Farm. Beyond this another path followed the contours
north west, first to Trebarvah, and then back to the higher end
of Perranuthnoe.
I am told that the ancient village is central to the well known
local name of Trevelyan. The surname keeps cropping up in the long
history of the place and one is reminded that the Trevelyans are
said to be the one family to have escaped the lost land of Lyonesse.
Maybe it was made of the same crumbly rock as Perranuthnoe.
Like so much of Cornwall, this was
once a mining area, and long disused mines and shafts dot the local
fields. There was copper here and silver but it was never very
profitable. Perranuthnoe’s worst day was in 1861 when the boiler
at Wheal Charlotte exploded killing many men. Locals say you can
still hear their cries to this day in the rare moments when the
wind and the waves aren’t pounding the shore too loudly.
The clouds seemed to lift as I approached the upper half of the
village so I decided to extend my walk to the west. I strolled along
the lane past the church and followed it all the way to the sea.
The route afforded fantastic views of Marazion and St Michael’s
Mount.
I ended up on a flat, tamarisk-lined plain perched on the top of
yet more cliffs of a low and muddy nature. For some reason I cannot
quite determine, I liked this forgotten corner it must be one
of the most untouristy bits of the Cornish littoral.
The feathery tamarisk adds an exotic Mediterranean
air to proceedings. My liking of the place might also have something
to do with the slung-together shack I found after I’d rounded Basore
Point the owner had even added a Heath-Robinson-style wooden ramp
that led down to the boulder beach. The whole caboodle looked impractical,
and inelegant, but picturesque nevertheless.
Now it was simply a matter or rounding Maen-du Point and walking
the flat, dog-messed, path back to Perran Sands. As I’ve already
mentioned, this must be the only beach in Britain which smells of
cabbage more than seaweed.
Somehow the whole scene looked cosy and delightful as the owners
of the surrounding cottages began to turn on their lights. As the
winter’s eve began to fall with all the haste of an invisible gale,
for some reason, all I could think of was soup. A thick, cabbagy,
winter-warming sort of soup substantial enough to glue together
a crumbling cliff...
West
Cornwall
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