Camping in Cornwall

Hello all! With just a couple of days before work and school were to start the lovely P had an idea - a last-minute camping get-away to Cornwall. How could I refuse? We haven't camped as a family for a few years: as the children had got older camping had not worked so well at a time when the teenagers needed their space. A family of five for a week in a tent was not very conducive to this, so as the years have passed our holidays have evolved into staying in cottages with differing combinations of whoever is available/wants to go at the time, and this works well. B has graduated now and is enjoying a new job and spending time with her boyfriend, and J is getting ready for his second year at University, while D is in her final year of GCSEs and has a busy social life. As a result we have to be very flexible about planning our holidays.



Most summers we go to Cornwall at some point, and usually to our favourite holiday destination of St Ives, but as this year we were camping for just one night and the weather forecast for the weekend wasn't great, we decided to go a bit closer to home. We decided on the North Cornish coast and J found us a lovely campsite in the pretty coastal village of Tintagel. Most of my photos look rather gloomy as it was overcast for most of the weekend with the odd burst of sunshine, but it was very warm, despite this. Here's one of the many dry stone walls which I love. They're always full of wild flowers and covered in lichen.



The campsite was a good one and we woke to a shimmering silvery sky the next morning.

 I love all the little rituals of camping: the unzipping of the tent in the morning to see what the weather's doing, that first good lungful of fresh air, walking across the dewy field in wellies to the shower block, lighting our little stove (we travel lighter than we used to), boiling the kettle to make our first cup of coffee, saying 'good morning' to other campers. It's a holiday experience which runs right through my childhood, our pre-children years and our time with a young family and we hope to have many more.

After breakfast we packed up and headed for the village, and this beautiful NT property, The Old Post Office. Over 600 years old, it was originally a medieval farmhouse and has the most amazing undulating roof. A sweet building, it made a refreshing change from the usual stately homes owned by the NT.

The inside was fascinating, with very low ceilings and a calm, whitewashed simplicity.

The beams on the ceiling were very low, and the rooms quite small.

These slate ladder steps led to a platform where the unmarried women of the house would sleep, hence the old expression 'left on the shelf'. They look a bit dangerous to me!

The hearth and oven downstairs exuded homeliness. 

I was impressed by the intricate stitches made by the young lady who sewed this.

At the back of the house the garden was a lovely retreat.

We left the Old Post Office and decided to head to the beach down a steep path which wound through a valley, a little rushing stream to our left.

Wonderful orange crocosmia grows wild throughout Cornwall and here was no exception.

When we reached the Beach Cafe we stopped for lunch, and very yummy it was too.

And then began to climb down the steps to the beach below us.

As we looked up we could see the bridge taken by everyone visiting the castle (myth has it King Arthur's castle) on the cliffs high above.

Down on the beach the stream cascades over the cliff in the form of a lovely waterfall - it was very cooling to paddle in the icy water at the bottom.

The tide was just beginning to come in and the water whooshed and rushed around the rocks with great force.  

Red and pink seaweed lay scattered along the strand-line, and was thrown by owners for their dogs to chase and catch.

There are a couple of caves in the cliffs and one, Merlin's Cave, is easy to walk into at low tide.

A different view of the beach presented itself from inside.

At shoulder height on the rocks there were limpets, showing how deep the water gets when the tide's in.

The sun came out for a while, making the cliffs greener and the sea bluer.

I got out my seaside journal and sat jotting my thoughts, as is my custom at the coast.

Soon it was time to leave, and we headed back up the steps to the top of the cliffs.

We decided to take advantage of the Land Rover rides back up the steep valley and piled into the back of one along with lots of other hill-weary tourists. It was a bit of a squash!

We also went to Trebarwith Strand. J and P wanted to swim, and were hoping for a beach. Instead we found a very dramatic place. This area of coastline is made up of slate and it's very evident here. Great shelves of slate make up a pavement here down to the sea, layers and layers of rock with natural steps at their edges.

The beach was submerged, but there were plenty of surfers here. It seemed a wild place and was evidently very popular.

I was fascinated by this little cottage cut into the cliff. I'm not sure I could relax in it with all that rock hanging over it!

We finished up at Polzeath, a place we've never been before. It was a lovely beach, very sandy and with huge rolling waves crashing onto it. It was also a very busy place, full of families body-boarding and masses of surfers too. As a result photography was difficult so I only managed one photo. 

As we drove home after a day and a half away we were really glad that we'd squeezed in this little camping trip. We were so lucky with the weather and the camping was great. We saw some bits of Cornwall that were new to us and loved being by the sea again. There was a wonderful sunset as we drove, the perfect end to our mini-holiday.

A Microadventure

This week my son and I went on a microadventure. Now generally speaking I'm not the most adventurous sort, but I do enjoy a spot of camping. I grew up on camping holidays, and my husband and I took our children camping a lot as they were growing up. We haven't camped as a family of five for a few years, but all three of my kids regularly go camping with school and friends. My son has always had an affinity with the great outdoors, and is at his happiest setting up tent somewhere remote and wild. I, on the other hand, like to know that life's comforts are not too far away and that there are some reasonable facilities available (clean showers and loos are non-negotiable, a little shop useful, and launderette optional in my opinion). 

For his birthday we bought my son a copy of Alastair Humphreys' book, Microadventures, which suggests all sorts of ways to fit little adventures into everyday life. Now I'm not sure I've got the stamina for sleeping on a mountain-top in a bivvy bag (although that would be amazing), but I do like the idea of having a 5 to 9 adventure. So, straight after work on Friday, my son and I went camping at a sweet little campsite not too far from here. We packed minimal equipment, and were set up on our pitch by 6.30. There weren't very many other campers, now that the school holidays are over, but enough to make a friendly atmosphere, and we pitched our two tents near some willow trees, next to a hedge.

I had borrowed my youngest daughter's old pink tent. It's very bright, but extremely comfortable. We visited a nearby shop to buy provisions for tea and breakfast, and sat outside our tents as the dew began to fall eating our evening meal together.

 We chatted as it began to get dark and the moon rose, and I was reminded that it's dark by 8.30 nowadays, so we headed off to an old pub across the road for a warming drink. It was very quirkily decorated inside, and we sat in the corner and talked the evening away.

Back at the tents, it was completely dark and I looked around me, aware that I am rarely outside at night away from streetlights and traffic. My eyes gradually became accustomed to the dark, and although there were few stars to see, the trees were outlined against the night sky. I slept well that night, and was woken the next morning to the sound of crows cawing and a myriad of bird song in the trees around my tent.

I lay in my sleeping bag and inhaled the lovely smell of camping; that wonderful aroma of grass and tent which is so evocative for me of all the previous camping trips I've ever had, stretching right back into childhood. The sounds are so familiar too - the unzipping sound as campers undo their tent doors and step outside, other people chatting across the field, dogs barking, the low whoosh of camping stoves being lit and kettles whistling.

 When I emerged from my tent it was a cloudy morning and the grass was very wet with dew. As I walked across the field I regretted wearing sandals as my feet tingled in the cold wetness. We boiled the kettle for a cup of coffee, and after that fried vegetarian sausages on our little stove. 

The smell of the cooking was so appetising in the open air, and we made them into sandwiches with tomato ketchup, so different from my usual bowl of cereal! After breakfast we sat outside and chatted, and then packed up our things and drove the short distance home again, back by late morning.

I felt energised and happy, and had really enjoyed my son's company. It was hard to believe that it was only Saturday morning, and I vowed to break my routine more often to do life-affirming things like this. Hmmm, what other microadventures shall I have?