I have heard it said that the second day on a long distance walk can be the toughest, but we have walked the Cornish coastal path before and whilst acknowledging that the walk from Pendeen to St Ives is challenging, we were not phased about the challenge. However, the weather was against us, with gale force winds of up to 70 mph! The day was eventful from start to finish: we took the wrong path out of Pendeen, ending up struggling through bracken and brambles to get back to the coastal path; we had to navigate fast flowing streams; then once we were back on the SW coastal path the wind was so fierce that we couldn’t stand upright, let alone walk! We finally realised that it was impossible to continue, so we made our way to the road, grateful to discover a roadside pub for hot chocolate and recovery time.

By this time I found that my phone was out of charge, and when we switched to David’s phone there was no signal. We discovered later that both Ruth and Lizzie were consumed with anxiety (sorry girls!) when they couldn’t track us or make contact!

We finally took the ‘coffin path’ from Zennor, rather than the coastal path. Legend has it that this path was used to transport coffins across fields, linking farms, from Zennor church to St Ives! The winds were still fierce and Otto was frequently swept from his feet – but unlike us, he found the whole walk exciting!

Once we reached St Ives, after a quick, very necessary bath, we met up with the family for supper. I was too tired to really enjoy my very tasty fish chowder, but enjoyed the company of family.

The final drama of the day was experiencing a power cut in our lodgings – just as I had unpacked and started to sort our luggage! The Inn was unable to make the necessary repairs, so we were given an upgraded room in the adjacent building!

A backward glance

Todays leg started with a shortcut to the coast path contrived by Grandma which turned into a bramble ramble on the steep slopes down to the sea. After an hour, I decided to try and find a way towards the coast path now visible but inaccessible due to raging torrents of water cascading around us. I stopped as the way became perilously steep thinking Otto wouldn’t be able to manage this, then when I turned there he was! Grampy, I think there’s an easier way across back here. He lead the way to the edge of a falling wall of water, pointing to a small round stepping stone which he saw as a bridge but I saw as a slipping hazard. After much deliberation, a steadying hand from Otto and a poke from Grandma’s walking pole I reluctantly stretched my leg and closed my eyes. I was there and quickly onto a generous rocky shelf on the other side with only one boot full of water, courtesy of a moments panic. Then looking back grinning heroically, shouted “it’s easy”. Next came Otto, who gazelle like stepped across taking my hand firmly with a steadiness greater than the granite on which I was standing. I could see in Grandma’s eyes and by the hold she’d taken on her walking poles that she was going to resort to her go to kamikaze style manoeuvre reserved for occasions like this. She made it! Relieved, we congratulated each other then scrambled up a bank and were immediately back onto the coast path, but now the wind had got up and the rain had turned to face stinging hail. The path descended closer to the sea into a wide depression giving a spectacular view of crashing waves being atomised against defiant towers of jagged rocks. As we continued, the wind rapidly became stronger then, near the bottom, walking became impossible. We were all struggling to stand when like skittles fell over. Grandma first, then Grampy on top of Grandma, then Otto beside them. Grandma shouted from under Grampy that if we wanted to die we could try and push on along the path or alternatively try and get onto a road about fifty metres above us. Decision was unanimous, and at first crawling then with wind behind, staggered upwards and onwards towards a mining monument and tarmac road. About thirty minutes along the road we stumbled into a pub where it was pointed out that we’d not booked so we couldn’t eat. After some pleading we were granted a cup of hot chocolate each. Noticing that poor Otto was shaking uncontrollably and spilling his drink all over the table we thought he must be trembling with fear, but then quickly realised he was shaking with laughter. Never did find out what caused the convulsions, but believe it could only have been the comedy of having to look after Grandparents in a crisis. Off the coast path now, we completed our walk to St Ives along the ‘coffin path’ where we were met by our anxious daughters.