The Lighthouse Keeper
BY DANIEL W. DRAKE ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER LETTER FROM ENGLAND ON THE TRAIL
The South West Coast Path extends for 630 miles from Minehead, Somerset on the Bay of Cardiff to Poole, Dorset on the English Channel. According to one guide, it takes seven-to-eight weeks to walk the entire path and the total height climbed would be greater than that of Mt. Everest.

That being a bit more than we were prepared to undertake, we settled for five days of walking on a stretch of the Cornish coast to the east and west of Falmouth. Following our visit to Dorset, we met the two other couples who were our walking companions and found our way to a very pretty fishing village called Mevagissey. From there we established the pattern of using the hotel as our base for one day and then, on the next day, walking to a new hotel, with the luggage following us in a taxi.

We learned early on that the Cornish coast can be very benign in some places, and quite rugged in others, with lots of ups and downs. The walks were frequently interrupted by stiles or gates which traverse the hedgerows separating pastures or delineating property boundaries. The gates mostly are "kissing gates," a very efficient way of separating fields as long as the person going through the gate is skinny and has a backpack that isn't too big. The Coast Path is (usually) well marked; the symbol to differentiate it from the many other walking paths that traverse the countryside is an upside down acorn. Nowhere does that seem to be explained.

The coastline is beautiful, with the sea breaking against the rocks and cliffs, and the vista slowly changing as one makes one's way along. From time to time, the rocky coast is broken by a beach, some tiny, many virtually inaccessible and some large and clearly waiting for the onslaught of summer visitors. More occasionally, one would come upon a small village, the life of which still revolved around the sea. By contrast, villages a mile or two inland from the coast focused on agriculture and, in most instances, there was no indication that they were anywhere near the ocean.

In many places, the path was along the edge of a pasture which ran right down to the coastline. There were lots of sheep, with newborn lambs wobbling beside the ewes. Occasionally, one came face to face with a herd of very large cows. The pace of some of us picked up considerably one afternoon when the Hereford cows with which we shared a field, started running in our direction. It turned out that they were chasing a pheasant across the field, but the prospect of getting up close to a thundering herd of bovines was enough to get us moving, even at the end of a very long day.

One day we came across a large granite cross on the tip of a headland. It had been erected in 1897, so it said, in anticipation of the second coming of Christ at that millenium.

Another day, we passed a lighthouse, which was at the bottom of a very steep hill. In the days before electricity, paraffin was the fuel used to power the light. The paraffin was stored in a building a respectful distance from the lighthouse. The thought of being the lighthouse keeper there and having to tote all that paraffin first down the hill, and then from the storage building to the lighthouse itself, made my back ache.

Most days, we walked six or seven miles. The first day, we ended up at a fabulous garden with rhododendrons as big as a house in full bloom. Another day, we stopped for bangers and mash and a pint of lager in a pub in a seaside village. Another time, we took a ferry from St. Mawes, where the second hotel was, to Falmouth (across what is billed as the third largest natural harbor in the world, at the mouth of the Fal River), poked around Falmouth that morning and after lunch, headed out for the last hotel.

The second day we walked ten miles. We wanted to get to a castle and garden which had been recommended to us and we pushed hard to make it in time for the last tour. As we walked around the last point, the castle appeared, looking like it had been overseeing that stretch of coast for centuries. The gardens were beautiful, or so I was told by the others who reported back to me as I nursed my sore feet in the tea room. The castle itself, it turned out, had been built in the early 19th century and rebuilt in about 1860, so in a sense, it was a bit of a fake. It was still fun to see. It continues to be owned and lived in by a family who may be distant relatives of mine, dating back to Wales, but they didn't kill the fatted calf for us and we still had to pay for the tour. The house's guest book was conspicuously open to a page which had only the signature "Elizabeth R" in a large bold hand, with a date in 1983.

One very nice thing about the trip was that we got to stay at some wonderful English country hotels. One very bad thing about the trip was that we got to eat (and drink) at some wonderful English country hotels. Any of the good effect on our bodies from the walks was almost completely offset by the calorie intake from each morning's Full English Breakfast and the excellent dinners, not to mention the pub grub at lunch. (Yes, they call it "pub grub.")

Over the course of our visit, we learned a little about Cornwall and its history: that it has its own language, its own flag (a white cross on a black background) and its own independence movement. Apparently, King George III let his troops practice on an unarmed band of Cornishmen who marched to London for their cause in the early 1770s, before he sent the redcoats off to try to save the American colonies.

After the walks finished, we made a brief visit to St. Ives, a village on the north coast of Cornwall which is known as an artist colony and resort town. The setting is spectacular; you can actually see the tide come in (the difference between high and low tide is more than 15 feet); the pub food adheres to the region's high standard; and the art is, to me, mediocre because most artists paint in the same style.

Nantucket's art is much better. Its potential as a place for walking is just now being developed by the Land Bank and others. It may not have the rugged coastline of Cornwall or herds of cows or sheep anymore, but Nantucket is spectacular in many other ways - and it is flat! As always, it is

great to be home. I

The "Lighthouse Keeper" reflects the views of the author and does not necessarily represent the editorial position of The Nantucket Independent. Please send any ideas or comments to drake@nantucketindependent.com.