marks of day, sock sog, & wreckage

Thirty-one miles covered on the pins today plus yesterday.  Weather challenging:  the norm of late.  Yesterday we left Fowey, running many of the 11 miles to Charlestown as the terrain allowed.  A constant soaking drizzle and landward gusts kept us cool and vista-free for the most part.  The red and white stripes of the Daymark loomed out of the mists at some point on the way to Polkerris and Par.  Got wind blasted on the beach of the latter before winding around the local china clay works.  (Too grim weatherwise to snap photos for most of the morning.)

Rain sporadically eased up in the afternoon south of Charlestown and through Trenarren and Pentewan.  The light in the intermittent sunny spells lit the coast luverlie en route.  Very sock-damp by the time Mevagissey came into view, mind.

This morning we left the harbour of Mevagissey and wandered over to the village of Gorran Haven, called into their tiny village church, and spent a few minutes sipping overpriced, underflavoured hot drinks by the harbour.  Then a slow climb out in increasing windspeeds to the end of Dodman Point, marked with a fat, stone cross.  The gusts after turning right and northward were something else, but once again we were treated to superb views when the showers temporarily buggered off.  Pleasing aquatic light diffraction around there too due to the intermittent precipitation.

Swinging westward again, we passed through Caerhays and the castle, stopping briefly out of the breeze at the Estate’s stone lookout.  Thence to Portholland and its sweep of flat, low-tide sand.  A fairly arduous, muddy, winding route took us to our destination for the day, Portloe, nestled between the cliffs.  Dinner at the Ship.  Portloe B&B landlord just regaled a tale of a 1914 shipwreck off of the coast here, the Hera.  He has an original hand-written account of the doctor who was on the scene that night.  The wreck is still commemorated by both locals and foreign-born families of both survivors and those drowned.  Gull rock was the chunk of land that sunk her (seen in the distance looking like a fin in the penultimate shot below).  The very small number of survivors clung to the last and sinking feet of mast sticking out of the water, rescued by the Falmouth Life Boat (rowed in those days).