14 June 2016 - Tavistock Club Site, Moorshop, near Tavistock, Devon

Again this morning, we were off out the camp site gates at 7 am, as soon as they opened. Again, lunch was packed in the eski but unlike two days ago, we had no intention of overnighting elsewhere, no matter how full our day.

I had planned our route for the day, again to travel west and then south, but by a more interesting route, however considering the hideous weather that confronted us on rising, I decided we would upend the plan, and start with the end and end with the beginning.

So today we travelled south on the A386 toward Plymouth, then turned west onto the A38 crossing the River Tamar on a bridge no older than twenty years or so, a toll bridge for those travelling east. That was inadvertently clever of me to avoid that charge! We passed Saltash, all part of Plymouth and mentioned in my post after our day in Plymouth. We left the A38 at Liskeard, turning onto the A38 for a short time, repeating a part of Sunday’s route, then turned south west to St Austell. From there we travelled north-east across the peninsula to Newquay, then hugged the coastline as far as Padstow, before turning a little inland, around past Wadebridge which played host to the annual Cornwell Show last week which was pretty much washed out by the weather. Then back along the north of the Camel Estuary as it joins the Padstow Bay, to Rock, directly opposite Padstow. To continue the itinerary in a nutshell, we proceeded up the coast as far as Port Isaac, then up to Tintagel, before travelling back across the countryside via Launceston, and south east to Tavistock, arriving home soon after 5.30 this evening. 

As we approached St Austell, we looked for cone shaped slag heaps mentioned in one of our guide books.  Coincidently we had been watching a television programme just a few days ago about train travel along the south coast presented by the pony-tailed Scotsman and he had mentioned the kaolin clay “mined” in the area. I spotted only one of the conical shapes as we came toward the coast, but I was probably distracted by my search for a road to the sea shore, a futile exercise.

In the 19^th century, the china clay, kaolin clay, a fine white clay also mined north of Kerikeri in New Zealand’s Northland, was discovered. This is an essential ingredient in the production of porcelain and until then had been only produced in northern China. The clay is still extracted, or excavated, for export, a vital part of Cornwell’s economy, which by all accounts is held up by EU contributions (that might be just political spin as the “To stay or leave the EU” vote looms large.) The clay is apparently used in the manufacture of paper, as well as paint and medicines.  As we headed away from the city, and passed the settlement of St Stephen, we noted what looked like a quarry and spoil from the kaolin process. I have yet to check this out, but am fairly confident that our guess is correct.  

Newquay

We found the town of Newquay perched on the edge of the steep shore, the quay not new at all. The relatively small walled port area was built in the fifteenth century, although the fishing port was established long before then. The rail arrived in the nineteenth century and the harbour was expanded, to ease the shipment of the kaolin clay. With the rail, came the tourists who soon found the many beaches along the Atlantic coast here a real draw card; the fine golden sands below the high cliffs, and later the appeal of the surf. The tourists still flock here, today with their surfboards, filling the backpacker accommodation and patronising the many takeaway shops along the shore. Today on such a dull day, everything looked so shabby, so down at heel. Still, we were inspired to wander down to the beach and then down to the port, and to buy a punnet of wedges that turned out to be a disappointment.

As we drove north along the cliff tops from here, we passed through several of the intimate little seaside settlements tucked into little gullies. Between these little gems, the coastline is so very rugged. We pulled into the National Trust’s cliff top attraction, the Bedruthan Steps, slate outcrops said to be the stepping stones of a giant by that name, visible from the cliff top path. As we pulled in we were handed a pamphlet warning us of the dangers of the cliff, the tides, the waves, and anything else they could associate with such a natural feature. We did not stay long, only to take the obligatory photos and then take refuge back in the car from a squall that came in from the sea.

We had intended to spent time in Padstow, a small fishing village reported to be as popular as Newquay, and the genesis of Rick Stein’s restaurant career. It seemed that even on a Tuesday, a dismal wet one at that, everyone else had decided to do the same. The car parks were full, the streets were packed with people, and we could do nothing but drive on. We did notice on leaving that there was a Food Festival on in the town today, which would have accounted for the excessive crowds, but I think that all these seaside places are bound to be the same. It is just as well we have not left our exploration of this south coast any later in the year.

As we drove around the bay and back west to check out the coastline further north, I suggested to Chris that we pop into Rock, a small settlement opposite Padstow for lunch. This too was busy but there were a few spaces left in the car park where we sat to eat our picnic. There is a ferry between the two places so we could, in theory, have travelled across the bay to Padstow without the worry of parking, however we had other plans. I did notice mention in the guide book that John Betjeman is buried very near here, at the Church of St Enodoc.

Lovely Port Isaac

Nine miles on up the coast, we arrived at Port Isaac, a crab and lobster fishing port wedged in a gap in the cliffs. This too is the fictitious Portwenn, the scene of Doc Martin and his fellow characters. I would suggest that the tourists who come to walk on these now famous streets contribute hugely to the area’s economy. 

A very large parking area has been established at the top of the cliff well clear of the village, and a shuttle service operates at £4 a person one way to take those up or down to the village shore. 

We walked down with the hundreds of others, and wandered up the hillside to the “surgery / residence”, really a private residence, and to peer over the wall at Al’s restaurant, also really a private residence, down onto the beach between the fishing boats and crab and lobster pots, up along the opposite shore past the “school”; really a hotel, although previously a real school. We bought ice-creams to celebrate the occasion, always keen to find an excuse for such decadence. On the way back to the car park after an hour and a half wandering about, we got caught in very heavy rain and arrived back like drowned rats.

The Old Post Office in Tintagel

Our Tomtom took us out to Tintagel on the most direct route, but unfortunately it was by the narrowest road we had ever travelled, bordered with high stone walls covered with vegetation. There were some near misses, and much reversing and giving way, all taking ten times as long as it would have had we gone by the more official road. We agreed this should be a one way road, and also marked as being not suitable for anyone apart from residents and service vehicles.

Tintagel also had adequate parking for Tuesday visitors, of which there were many foreign tourists. Firstly we checked out The Old Post Office, a slate built rickety roofed construction dating from the 14^th century, now restored by the National Trust to its appearance in the Victorian era. Sadly the proliferation of information leaflets related entirely to the quilts littering the house, all of which were quite lovely, but both Chris and I would have been more interested to learn the history of the house.

The Ruins of Tintagel Castle

 The ruins of Tintagel Castle lie on the seaward side of the village, or rather the ruins of the gatehouse and mainland courtyards perch on the valley side while the rest of the castle lies on the headland beyond on the other side of a deep chasm. Richard, Earl of Cornwell, built the castle in about 1230 at a location that already had strong connections to the legend of King Arthur. When the castle was built in the 13^th century, there was a narrow but level approach to the headland, probably with a second gatehouse. A major collapse in the early 15^th century created the huge chasm between the mainland and “island” courtyards.

The site is managed by English Heritage and is quite an extraordinary place to visit, however is not easily accessed, or at least by those who are less fit and able than myself. We walked down to the sea, then up the steps to reach the bridge, then up the many high wide steps to the headland, then up again to the top of the hill, then down again to the bridge, then up to the top of the gatehouse hill, then down again to the entry level, then back up to the village. My legs were like jelly, as no doubt your brain is after all that!

After all that walking up hill and down dale, we had had enough for the day and headed home, satisfied we had done our best to explore this mid and southern section of Cornwall, although there was still plenty to do if we should have another opportunity to return; St Ives, Padstow and Bocastle (just north of Tintagel) for starters!