The view from Lizard Point
Today was going to be a bit of an epic one, and certainly the busiest of the break so far, possibly of the holiday itself. We planned to explore the whole of the west of the county, taking in St Ives on the north coast, Land’s End in the south western corner (and the western most point in England), St Michael’s Mount and Lizard Point on the south coast (Lizard Point being the southern most part of the UK), and the Goonhilly Downs, to see giant satellite dishes against a sunset sky.
St Ives had come recommended by a fair few people, although we were disappointed with our first stop of the day. We had to park in a very crowded and expensive car park, overlooking the harbour, which is actually more than a fair walk away. When you we did get there, the little beach and harbour wasn’t as pretty as some we’ve seen this week, and the place is full of seagulls.
Now, this wouldn’t be quite so bad in itself, as the birds seem to be part and parcel of Cornish ports and fishing villages, but the ones at St Ives seemed almost of a different breed (and not a nice one). As day-trippers made sandcastles on the golden sands beneath our promenade seat, I had tomato stolen out of my baguette sandwich, twice. With a swoop of which a superhero would be proud, the blatantly upfront and hungry seagull glided in and picked the fruit of the bread in a carefully calculated move.
The rest of the town was pleasant enough, just nothing special, and even the Tate St Ives didn’t tempt us in, as unlike London, entry isn’t free. I wonder if the man and his seven wives from the nursery rhyme actually knew where he was going, and wasn’t in fact going to this St Ives at all?
Motoring down to Land’s End, we stumbled across an old tin mine in the countryside. Scores of these litter the Cornish green fields and hills, and while this one provided us with a few pictures, we were keen to move on. We had a lot to fit in after all, and it was already close to lunchtime.
St Ives tin mine
We’d been told not to go to Land’s End, but as we were close, we thought we’d give it a look. But, those friends’ tales of a tourist trap seemed to be true. Lots of cars turning around from an expensive car park told their own story, and while there were many more visitors actually inside the complex and behind the barriers, we decided to seek out our own version of the great landmark later in the day, when we’d visit Lizard Point.
It may not be either the western most point in the UK, or even remotely as famous, but it is a notable landmark being the southern most part of the UK, and stunning scenery with no tourists would prove too much of a peaceful haven to miss.
Driving further along the coast, we stopped at Porthcurno. An unexpected stop, we weren’t really prepared for it to wow us as much as it did. Our favourite beach of the break so far, its golden sands really are golden, made up from tiny shell fragments, extending below the water line, giving the clear water a glossy, turquoise appearance. The contrasting granite cliffs hold anther secret; the Minack Theatre is the most famous cliff theatre in Britain.
The golden beach at Porthcurno Bay
It’s hard to take this fact in, but it was reportedly made by hand by Rowena Cade in Victorian times, and although we didn’t see it for ourselves, the pictures we have seen would seemingly tell another story. Carved into the cliff overlooking Porthcurno Bay and the beach, the theatre can be accessed by a dangerous and rocky cliff path, which although a little hairy at times, is well worth the climb. The views out to the Channel and to the moderately empty beach below are truly stunning.
Stairs on the cliff face to the Minack Theatre
Porthcurno is also well-known on communication circles, as the first undersea cable was laid by a cable ship from the cove to Bombay in 1870, which instantly connected the British Empire to the rest of the world. By 1900 Porthcurno had the largest telegraph station in the world, and during the Second World War its strategic importance led to the construction of secret underground tunnels, which now house the Porthcurno Telegraph Museum. Breathtaking scenery, an almost empty beach, and the freshest, most sparkling sea make this place a must visit on any Cornish trip.
The tidal island of St Michael’s Mount was as pretty as it is in pictures, even though we had cloudy weather for picture-taking and couldn’t get across the causeway, due to high tides (even though we’d checked our tide tables first).
The causeway links the imposing outpost to the coastal town of Marazion on the mainland, and although it is still owned by the St Aubyn family, visitors can explore the island courtesy of the National Trust. It was shame the tide was out, as we would have liked to have seen more, but as time was precious today, we gazed out to sea, and contented ourselves with its rich history.
St Michael’s Mount in the afternoon cloud
A draw for Pilgrims as early as the 15th century (just like Lindisfarne which we visited earlier in the year), a castle and chapel sit atop the granite pyramid. Historically linked to the similar Mont St Michel in Brittany by way of visions of the archangel, it was a spectacularly eerie yet calm sight in the mid-afternoon sun, with the cloud-darkened sky, the dank-looking sea lapping the shore, and large birds circling the mount itself.
The Lizard Peninsula is an area of land measuring 14 miles by 14 miles further east along the southern coast. Famous for its local serpentine stone, some villages still have serpentine turners working during the season, even though the fashion for ornaments made from the metamorphic rock died out in the Victorian times. We journeyed to the southern most point of the peninsula, and indeed the UK, and by the time we’d reached Lizard Point, the sun had started its descent below the horizon.
We reckoned that we had at least an hour before if disappeared altogether, and so did a planned geocache (dropping off a travel bug to start its journey around the country), and stood on the cliffs to take a few pictures of the burgeoning sunset. I love a good sunset, and this was one of the best I’ve ever seen.
Snapping the Lizard Point sunset
Just like Porthcurno, Lizard Point isn’t swamped by tourists, and as the craggy rocks and calm waters were lit by the fading sun, silence was literally all that could (or couldn’t) be heard. The lapping of the waves was almost hypnotic, and the sunset was glorious. It was one of the best – and most romantic – moments of the holiday, and will stay burned in my memory for a very long time.
Before the sun disappeared, we made a dash to the car, for our appointment with the satellite dishes on the Goonhilly Downs. We had have to move fast, though, as the sun was fading fast.
Owned by BT, the Goonhilly Earth Station dominates the skyline from some distance away and is the largest satellite tracking establishment in Europe. Over 60 dishes track geo-stationery satellites 36,000km away in space, and the largest (and first-built) dish, Arthur, is 46m high, and weighs 1,100 tonnes. Now Grade II listed, it is now protected against any closure plans which may threaten the site.
Sunset at Goonhilly Earth Station
As stunning on the landscape as any natural beauty we’ve seen this week, the silence of the downs was punctuated by the occasional whirr of these huge space communicators, as they turned to get the best signal beamed back down to them.
Did we get our pictures? Arriving a little too late, unfortunately the dishes were set back from the perimeter fences by quite some distance, and were facing the wrong way to catch any sun at this time of day, be it golden orange, or not. But, it didn’t matter; it was arguably more memorable to see them at that time of the day, in the silence.
We didn’t stay long, though. As the deserted road snaked past us, to the dark pink skies in the distance, we soon headed along it. We had a lot of villages to drive through before we got home. It might have been a long and tiring day, but it was a very memorable one, too.