Cornwall – A Call by Gautam Malaker

Following is a narration based on a letter to my father after my visit to Cornwall in March 2002

On 28th March 2002 I boarded the morning train from London Paddington to Cornwall, a journey that took about 5 hours through some breathtaking scenery on Britain’s South West region of Somerset, Devon and Cornwall. Cornwall is a county in England’s South Western most coast and is surrounded by the Atlantic from three sides. Unlike the Anglo Saxon English the Cornish are Celtic who had their own Cornish language. The Celtic races such as the Irish, Welsh and Scots are a more emotional bunch than the reserved English. I remember when I visited Ireland I found Dublin a most friendly city.  One particular taxi driver bared his soul when he deeply resented the English domination of Ireland since the 17th century, until it got its independence in the 1921. However we are now heading for Celtic Cornwall, one of the most scenic counties in England where many painters and artists settled. Initially we passed through picturesque green English countryside weaving our way past the World Heritage City of Bath. You may be aware that the Romans had invaded Britain in the 1st century BC, in fact London was initially named Londonium by them. Bath was one of their centres and you still have the Roman Baths here. It also has some striking Georgian architecture.

But once we entered Exeter in Devon the countryside was magical. We crossed the castle of Devonshire. Everything was gorgeous with lush green beautiful contoured hills and trees with hues ranging from shades of brown, yellow and green. And if this northerly delight was not enough we were overlooking the majestic Atlantic ocean to our south. All very exciting and one was spoilt for choice, but then you have pleasant memories of Devon even though you visited it half a century back.

We then crossed Plymouth and its harbour. The train journey from Devon to the adjoining region of Cornwall was spectacularly stunning. God’s own country and I am afraid the books of Sri Aurobindo and Mother that I had brought with me to read on the train had to take a back seat while I gazed through the window into the distance. I disboarded at a place called St Erts where a bus was tantalisingly waiting to transport the train passengers to the famous Cornwall resort of St Ives.

My B&B (Bed & Breakfast Guest House) lady, Liz was also quite nice. In fact due to the Easter high season coupled with the fact that I was booking late there were hardly any rooms available in St Ives. That too for a single room, which are more difficult to find. On my last travels, to Athens, I tragically discovered from my room mates, that I can be quite a good and sound snorer, which meant that I had to forgo the privilege of staying in inexpensive dormitory accommodation in Youth Hostels, for the thought of demonstrating my nasal versatility to my dorm-mates was a bit embarrassing, to say the least. I guess fate wants me to travel in style, even though I am a pauper. Now to get back to the story of Liz who fortunately was a tip off from a rival i.e. another B&B lady whose B&B was fully booked. She not only agreed to accommodate me at a decent price but even refused to take an advance, when it is a norm to prepay during the high season. So you see, the Cornwall hospitality sailed across to me in London even before I embarked on my journey.

A Cornish colleague of mine, wife of a Royal Navy officer, had directed me to this coastal town. A pleasant place on the seaside with quaint little cottages dotted along. I took an exploratory walk in the afternoon and was pleasantly surprised that people were quite amiable and as a staid Londoner I warmed to the idea of friendly people. Later I visited the tourist office to chart and plan my treks over the next few days. I approached a lady in the tourist office and mentioned that I need some serious help. She lighted up and keenly gave me her attention. For good measure another lady joined in too. Perhaps an Indian traveling alone and intending to wander around their countryside aroused their interest, for this is a rare species. My first project – there were others in the pipeline - was to do an ambitious trek next day from St Just and returning to St Ives, a distance of nearly 20 miles over rugged coastal cliff terrain. The only slight hitch was that the first bus from St Ives reached St Just at 11 AM, a rather late start for a long trek considering the coastal hilly route had its fair share of ups and downs. The bus drive is one of the prettiest in Cornwall and considered amongst the top ten in Britain. It sure lived up to its name. To top it all it was a double-decker bus. It is easy to imagine a double-decker bus in a busy city to enable it to accommodate its  abundance of citizens, but in the countryside with a handful of passengers I surmised that it must be to give one a panoramic view from the top. I climbed up to the upper deck and sat on the front seat to get a 180 degree birds’ eye view. Presto soon there were two other passengers who joined me in the front seat. Never ever in my experience in the UK I had co-passengers sharing my seat and chatting whilst the whole large bus was empty. The countryside was picturesque with rolling grassy rocky hills of different shapes and colours. The lush green scenery was punctuated with lovely bright flowers swaying to the sunshine. And at opportune moments when there were gaps in the hills or a trough in the horizon we got a glimpse of the bright blue sea. There were small quaint villages that blended with the countryside and had an element of mystique and beauty about them.

Once I reached St Just I made my way from the bus stop to the coast, about a kilometer away and found the coastal path which runs along the coast of Cornwall and also leads to St Ives. Three people I met warned me that the trek was long and were cautious. The first was the tourist information lady who advised me to take my mobile and to call the coastal guards in case of an emergency. The second was Liz who reckoned that I should take a torch in case it gets dark. The third was one of my co-passengers’ in the bus who too was a walker and subtly tried to dissuade me from my walk on the pretext that it was too long and there was substantial climbing to do though he himself had not done the full walk. However, I was hell-bent on completing a challenging adventurous trek and had a back-up strategy in place. My map indicated that 6 miles short of St Ives was a village called Zennor and once I reached this point and if it was getting dark I could make a decision whether to abandon the coastal path and then take the inland tarred vehicle road from Zennor to St Ives. This would at least save me from getting lost in the dark or worse still falling off a cliff into the vast Atlantic expanse.

The coastal path was a humdinger of a trek and would rate amongst the finest though so different from the twenty odd Himalayan treks that I have covered. The trek was on the cliffs of the north coast of Cornwall known for its slightly rugged  undulating terrain which meant that it was not always a level walk but liberally interspersed with ascents and descents from one cliff-top to another. The slopes and the meadows on my right were blazing with colours with glowing grass with different hues of green, yellow and browns dotted with pretty wild flowers in an array of colors. The birds and insects added to the charm and the landscape was literally bursting with life and so was I. To balance the dazzling surroundings on my right was the vast turquoise blue ocean on my left which added a dimension of tranquility, immensity and calm. Indeed a steadying influence in such exciting and bubbling environs. The sea had an amazing range of blue shades, the further you saw the deeper was the blue. Bordering the sea were wonderful rocks of all shapes and sizes as if they were exquisitely designed and they even had elegant colours. Perhaps it was the Sea Goddess’s rock garden. I slowly tried to absorb the surrounding beauty Mother Nature had on offer. From high on the cliffs I saw pristine beaches and secret coves down below. A special treat was seeing a seal swim in the shallow azure waters near a cove. Though I was high above, the water was so clear a turquoise blue that I could see its underwater acrobatic antics. Just then I also saw a wild rabbit who on seeing me hopped away to oblivion.

I had a long day and had to reach St Ives before sunset otherwise I would be stranded on the coast. I reached Zennor at 5 PM, delayed slightly by the birds, butterflies and flowers which beckoned to spend a while with them. I decided to take a risk and continue my coastal route as I reckoned that I should just make it to St Ives at 7.30 PM i.e. just after sunset. A couple of hours of anxious walking had passed, the sun had set and twilight dawned. Suddenly, Eureka, I could see a bay with all the shining lights. I had almost reached St Ives. I had walked for almost 9 hours non-stop with a 15 minute mini lunch break. I reached a bench along the coast and suddenly the path was covered with grass. I made an error of judgment for I should have continued walking along the edge of the cliff and the path would have reappeared. Instead I veered right on a narrow track, away from the sea, and started climbing a hill for I could see a street light on top of it. The narrow track was actually a cow trail and it took me to a muddy stream which I crossed with some difficulty at the peril of my shoe almost getting unstuck in slushy mud. Perhaps it would have been wiser to revert back to the bench but by now adrenalin had kicked in and I was determined to reach the hilltop street light and get to the safety of the road. After crossing the stream the trail vanished and I weaved myself through thorny gorse bushes. Unfortunately the gorse was unending and I got stuck in a maze of gorse bushes from which there was no escape route. I frantically searched for an exit point but in vain. It was dark now and in this hopeless situation I reconciled to the idea that I will have to spend the night here. I took courage from the fact that once in the Indian Himalayas at the Indo-Tibet border I got lost and spent a sleepless night alone at about 2500 metres, without any adequate warm clothing. That this isolated wild mountainous terrain was frequented by leopards was another aspect of this Himalayan adventure.

I was carrying my mobile and called Liz to inform her that I would not be arriving today. After all you would not like your guest house owner contacting the police to state there is a missing lodger. I told her not to call the coastal guards as I did not want to inconvenience them and embarrass myself. She told me to descend to the bench but I was hedged in by all these thorny gorse bushes. It was now 8.30 PM and the moon was rising. It started to get cold and I lay down to sleep and gaze at the crystal clear star clad sky. It started getting very cold and I began to shiver and tremble. I did not have adequate warm clothing and was dehydrated (there was no fresh water on the route) and had eaten only a sandwich. I slowly realized I was in deep trouble and am going to get sick. As luck would have it Liz called again to say she has informed the Coastal Guards to contact me as it can get very risky in the night due to the wind from the sea. I think she did not want to take the responsibility of not informing the Coastal Guards in the event of a mishap.

The coastal guard from St Just called me and was quite amazed that I had even attempted this trek and that too with such a late start. I told him I thought the trek was about 13 miles to which he retorted it was not 13 but 30 miles. He called again to correct himself and said it was 18 miles and to inform me that the St Ives Coastal Guards will be contacting me soon. When I reached out to express my genuine thanks he gruffly and warmly said “pleasure.”

Soon Bob Charlston from the St Ives Coastal Guard called me and to get an orientation where I was, he asked me what I could see in the front and on my sides. Due to the cold I knew I was in trouble and it was a relief that the Coastal Guards were contacting me. He was quite jovial and this gave my adventure a comical touch. I really did not believe that they would find me as I was badly trapped in thorny bushes. I saw a shooting star and remembered the Mother.  I had a long walk, thirsty, had little to eat and was very cold & I was dreaming that I could get back to my B&B to get some comfort and good food. In my anxiety I took a few risks and ultimately was resigned that I may have to rough it out. By now a headache had also crept in and I lay down but could not do justice to the lovely clear star dotted sky as my body was trembling. I did not anticipate the risk and discomfort. This was more difficult than my Himalayan adventure as the cold had got the better of me and I knew by the time daylight set in I would get very sick. A while later I saw three beams of light near the bench and I guessed there were three coastal guards walking on the coastal route looking for a lost Indian tourist. I almost rubbed my eyes in glee. Soon after Bob was on the phone and by now was quite near me. He was soon blowing his whistle and miraculously found a way to reach me. Bob told me that I was dehydrated and with little food it would have been extremely difficult to bear the cold wind from the sea especially since frost sets in at the night. It was 10 PM now. Bob then guided me to a track which went up the hill onto a road where a jeep was waiting for us. Once we reached there I told him I wanted to complete my trek but he politely refused. Instead he gave me the privilege of sitting in the front seat of the jeep whilst he sat behind. They dropped me at my hotel. My shoes and trousers were so muddy after crossing the stream that I could have thrown them away.

Bob Charlston was my saviour for he not only rescued me but was jovial right through. I was grateful and embarrassed but a small part of me was proud to have naively endeavoured what many would not. I invited Bob and his team for dinner. He could not make it but called me when I had returned to London. As a small gesture of my gratefulness I wrote a letter to his superior appreciating his sterling performance. I have my reservations about certain aspects of materialistic English culture but they have some fine facets. Amongst them are the rescue services and on another occasion I remember, how the fire service had acted so promptly when our building where I was staying in London had a serious fire.

I realised a spirit of adventure should be tempered with a bit of caution and reason. I remember when we did the Nilgiris trek in Mukurti sanctuary I had a very lucky escape when I tried to do the Mukurti/Pandiar/Pykara route in a day. I was all alone with not a soul in sight and the tracks were very confusing. I would have certainly lost my way if it had not been for two locals who were going to a tea garden and guided me through a 25 km stretch where we saw no other human but elephant dung and leopard scat. We reached the tea gardens in the evening and I caught up with you at Pykara at 7.30 at night.

To my disappointment, I had to abandon plans for another long trek the next day as I had to wait for the shops to open to buy a new pair of walking shoes. However I was recompensed as I went sailing on the deep blue sea. When we boarded the boat the tide was low and so we had to wade a fair distance where a motorboat took us to the sailing boat. The wade was long & tough as the water was ice cold – like a Himalayan stream fresh from a glacier – but it was fun and I got soaked to my thighs. It was my first experience of sailing and I sat in front of the boat with the sea winds hitting my face before ricocheting onto the sails. It was a great thrill to cut through the sea and yet be enveloped by it. And what a lovely blue – literally face to face and then meandering into the far distant horizon. Just above sea level were those tall towering rugged cliffs which I had trod on the day before. We went to a seal island and spotted a couple of seals.

In the evening I walked to the bench where I got lost the previous day. I realised that I was just 10 minutes away from the car road along the coast. I was pipped at the post and that too after a 28 km non-stop trek (barring a 15 minute halt). Next day (30th March 2002) the daylight saving summer time, where the clocks are advanced by an hour, came into effect. In retrospect I should had done my trek a day later as it I would have given me an extra day light hour to complete my trek.

On 31st March I went to Land’s End by bus (needless to say it was a double decker) and then trekked to St Just – a much shorter trek of course ! Land’s End is the westerly point of mainland Britain and is surrounded by the Atlantic on three sides. My strong itch for the rugged coast was undiminished and next day again took the front seat of the top deck of the double-decker bus to Land’s End to soak in the idyllic Cornish countryside. I then trekked from Land’s End to a long beautiful cove village called Sennen. It’s so beautiful at the Cornwall coast. One is all alone with Nature and God (i.e. if one is not thinking of oneself). The same afternoon I had to take the train back to London. I bought Liz the biggest box of chocolates I could find and thanked her for informing the Coastal Guards. “Part of the service she quipped.” That was Cornwall – pleasant, friendly, helpful people coupled.

I shall always remember the Coastal Guards - for they took pride in their work – and Cornwall – the land of landscapes, hills & cliffs, coast, coves, deep blue seas, quaint villages and amiable people. However, I have a sneaking feeling that some of the town folk (for stories spread fast in small countryside towns) may have had a smile at a lone corny Indian tourist and his gaffe of an adventure. I wonder if my departure from Cornwall on April Fools day had anything to do with it.