This year will definitely go down as … winter, spring and summer — feels like half the year has been shrouded, occulted, drained and drowned in fog.
Here condensing in jewels, as is its wont, on an alchemilla mollis in the yard.
Is that a colour combo to die for or what? Furtive little nasturtium weaving its way through the herbs.
Humans are uniquely crap — unique in the natural world — we alone deplete our habitats to the point of our own destruction … errr … or not.
This week’s high point was Penhale Point looking at the uniquely-named Gull Rocks … errr … or not. I have noticed a certain lack of imagination or perhaps just a plain literalness in Cornish nomenclature.
One of the many beautiful engineering installations in and around the army camp.
Purposeful, beautiful and Brutalist. Bond villain lair cum power station. I could live there.
Looking back, North East, to Trevose Head.
The wild thyme was covered in hundreds of gorgeous cinnabar moths … which are not as easy to catch on camera as you might think.
Their stunning yellow and black hooped caterpillars infest ragwort — I remember them from childhood summers in Wales — and infest is the word — to such an extent that few survive to adulthood as they rapidly exhaust their food supply and resort to cannibalism. Charming.
How quaintly human of them.
So we’re not unique after all? I’m shocked. We’re as natural as cancer.
The forecast was wonderful and yet … once on the road … oh the wind and the rain. Aye aye aye.
So, after lunch, we just kept going, chasing the fleeting gleams of sun and blue sky.
The lovely day eluded for an age and miles and miles … but we were exploring by now … there’s something almost maniacally addictive about un-mapped cruising, choosing the smallest road, the steepest hill, the darkest vale … the un-signed fork in the road. And so we “discovered” Trebarwith Strand and Gull Rock. Another hidden gem … honestly. Well, it was new to us … and early in the season — wonderfully quiet.
The great thing about Cornwall is that you can never really get lost. You can get quite anxious, feel as though you’re in the middle of nowhere and then you see the sea. Facing North; turn left — south; turn right … sorted. There’s only a couple of places you really wouldn’t want to run out of fuel. I would never say where. But … they WILL eat you. Seriously.
We declined even to dip our toes in the water and, as the tide was high and rising, we scaled and clambered around the shattered rocks and cliffs.
And then, when the sun did finally come out … OMG … the light was beautiful.
So tempting. Last night … long after sunset. Spinning … dizzying … promising a cleansing dip into the whirlpool.
First day back on shift — man cold has wiped me out for nine days — sheesh.
And a short walk is as much exercise as I can handle.
Wandering along forgotten paths … spring already lush even without rain.
Spent the afternoon clambering around the post-apocalyptic scifi, giants’ legoland desolation of the St Just Mining District (a World Heritage Site).
Must have been hell on earth as men delved far out under the sea, digging for tin, copper or whatever was profitable this week, and men women and children processed the stuff up on the cliffs above, smashing rocks and scraping arsenic with their bare hands … at the edge of the world … spending their lives making money for scum.
And thankfully there have been no attempts to prettify or sanitise anything.
It is hard and raw and grim and still wild and beautiful …
until it all disappeared into the gloaming and the fog.