Category: Secret season

Twelve Stories for Twelve Sections takes you on a journey into Cornwall’s unique land, culture and heritage. Discover a new Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty with every tale.

Seeking to explore a new side of Cornwall? Find inspiration in the pages of Twelve Stories for Twelve Sections. This anthology brings together a series of short fictions set in Cornwall’s twelve Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty, each written by one of the county’s gifted storytellers.

From tales of grief and hope in Gwithian’s rolling dunes, to family May Day traditions in ‘the forgotten corner of Cornwall’ Rame Head, these stories take you deep into Cornwall’s land, culture and heritage. Find a quiet nook to sample these stories of sand and sea.

 Section 05: St Agnes

Stretching from the southern edge of Perranporth to the north of Porthtowan, in this section you’ll find wide expanses of sand, swell, dunes and heathland. Derelict engine houses and mining industry remnants are scattered across the landscape on craggy rocks.

Perran In The Sands by Emma Timpany is set in Perranporth’s dunes and tells the story of St Piran, Cornwall’s patron saint. Timpany takes us from the 5th century to modern-day Cornwall, exploring how faith twists and turns over time – but a powerful history remains, with St Piran’s earliest followers laid buried in the dunes.

“In early spring, the people come to stand and sing, carrying his flag and, for us, armfuls of sun-bright daffodils. We ask them to talk to us, and while they talk, we listen. We have always listened. We take their prayers to keep, to echo amongst us like precious shells whispering with sea-sound. We keep the secrets of their souls, their hopes, their fears, their anger, and their pain. We lie in their blood like mead and stir them fire warm. When they leave, we nestle in their clothing – a spring of mint, a swirled snail shell, a tiny speck of grit. We understand that faith moves like the sand, that it both comes and goes.

“The track leads down to the dunes. By a small stream hedged by hawthorn and elder, the budding spires of musk-pink agrimony. The sky’s unbroken blue is a portent of late-morning heat. The tall pole on the dune is stark, its true shape hidden until the bar comes into view. A cross. A magpie stops to rest on it, its piebald feathers wet with sun. Nearby, snug in their towans, the stone bones of two ruins lie open to the sky.”

St Piran’s Oratory is one of the oldest known Christian sites in Britain. It was covered by shifting sands in the 10th century but dug out in 2014 so you can visit the remains in the expansive dunes of Penhale Sands just outside Perranporth.

Section 06: Godrevy to Portreath

Sheer slate cliffs, Red River valleys and mazes of wild dunes make up this stretch of coastline in north west Cornwall, where surfers flock year-round for the Atlantic swell. If you’re seeking ocean adventure or a rugged clifftop walk, this stretch is hard to beat.

Little Lights by Clare Howdle is a tale of two lost souls, Violet and Nina, of different ages and backgrounds sharing the ebbs and flows of grief set in this section. These disparate souls find connection to each other – and to the healing power of nature on Gwithian’s towans. Here, Violet takes the newly arrived Nina to explore the world surrounding her home for the first time.

“Outside the sun is already high and hazy. Seagulls wheel and screech. The girl shades her eyes and looks out to sea. Breathes.

Violet leads them to the cliff edge where tourists and daytrippers park, carry their brightly coloured windbreaks past the lifeguard hut and through the rocks, to the beach.

The track here used to go straight down, Violet says, pointing at all the cars lined up along the top. When my mother was little, they would drive right onto the sand.

She hadn’t meant to say it, wishes she could take it back, but the girl’s expression has already lifted with the hint of a smile. She leans in.

It has changed a lot?

Violet watches the lines of swell advance, dark shadows rising, peaking, then toppling to the shore.

In some ways, she says hurriedly, moving them along. In others, not at all.”

Follow Violet and Nina’s footsteps: walk the coast path above Gwithian Beach, continuing past Godrevy Lighthouse, the inspiration for Virgina Woolf’s To The Lighthouse. Pause with your binoculars on the headland at Mutton Cove to spot its colony of grey seals hauled up on the beach below.

Section 11: Rame Head

The Rame Peninsula is tucked away in Cornwall’s far south east, overlooking Plymouth Sound and the River Tamar. It’s sometimes dubbed the ‘forgotten corner of Cornwall’ – which is a shame because Mount Edgcumbe Country Park and the laidback seaside villages of Kingsand and Cawsand are well worth a visit.

In The Black Prince by Edward Rowe, we meet David and his mother and father preparing for Kingsand’s and Cawsand’s traditional May Day celebration: The Black Prince Flower Boat Festival. His aging mother Sarah is losing her eyesight and fears this may be the last time she’ll get to witness the boat launch and street parade.

“Your nan loved the May Day celebrations, dear of her. She’d be up before dawn dressing the house. Whistling the Flora Day tune, Mum says.

That’s where you get it from I expect, Mum.

Yes, I ‘speck so. Comes around quick.

I let her gaze into the pictures without saying a word, and her toast runs cool on the table until all the butter has run through the bread.

Come on, let’s drink these outside.

Okay. Where’s Tony? She says, and I shrug. Where’s your father? she says again.

Not sure. Maybe out the front? I think he was feeding his roses before dressing the house.

He better get a wriggle on, she says. Won’t be long.

We walk slowly into the small back garden where she tends her sweet peas, which she has sown into every available bit of earth. Like the family photos, she has to work with the earth and seed close to her face.

A young boy runs down Garret Street with a cornet in his hand. I can just about hear the band warming up on the harbour, minus a young cornet player.”

The maypole dancers, traditional outfits, town procession and flower bedecked boat are a colourful spectacle to behold. Visit on the May Day bank holiday to join in the community celebrations and welcome the sunnier days of spring.

Order your copy of Twelve Stories for Twelve Sections here. Discover more inspiration and places to stay in north, south and west Cornwall.

A different side of Cornwall has drifted into view. It’s the season for uncovering shoreline secrets, from the easily overlooked shifts in coastal flora and fauna – those unique sights and experiences you can only find by the sea – to digging into local art and culture, and how to serve the freshest catches made out in the wild seas.

This week, we dive into the secret life of kelp…

Kelp is often overlooked in nature, controversial in food, and infrequently understood or appreciated. Yet this alga holds more interest and potential than you might imagine.

Take a walk along the beach, and look…down. Away from the birds floating easily overhead and the white ribbons of the waves as they continuously crash over each other. At your feet you find kelp among the varieties of seaweed spread out by the tide in unpredictable bundles and twists. This mass of water plants is evidence of a storm now past that had the strength to move the waves to tear the body of this seaweed from their root-like holdfasts attached to the rocks.

“In a flat clear sea when there’s lots of sunlight the kelp moves back and forth almost hypnotically with the movement of the tides, swells and currents”.

KELP CONSERVATION

These strands formed a part of the kelp forests under the tide line, sheltering a vast array of sea life: food to others and protecting the coast from erosion by absorbing the power of the waves. Like forests they also act as carbon sinks, and new research is attempting to prove the significance of their environmental contribution. Katie Maggs – a Penzance-based snorkel instructor @tonicofthesea on Instagram – is working to progress conservation with Mounts Bay Marine Conservation Group – @mountsbaymarinegroup. The group are “currently working with Cornwall Wildlife Trust monitoring kelp in the bay using a snorkelling method with GPS.” This work includes areas that have been inaccessible to previous efforts that solely use equipment attached to boats.

Because she has been snorkelling in the same places almost daily, Katie has become easily attuned to changes in patches of kelp along the coast, changes that are so important to monitor and understand as the first step in any conservation work. Katie also took part in the award winning film Green Ocean Gold which illustrates some of the ways kelp and other seaweeds are being used to imitate plastic, and provide solutions for the climate crisis.

FOREST SWIMMING

But for Katie, the real joy is to catch sight of these forests underwater. “In a flat clear sea when there’s lots of sunlight the kelp moves back and forth almost hypnotically with the movement of the tides, swells and currents”.

After all, it is here that it serves as a habitat for marine life. A snorkelling trip with Katie may uncover “slinking baby seals, colour changing cuttlefish or curious octopus”. Details like this contribute to the mental health benefits of Katie’s snorkelling sessions, which are socially prescribed by the NHS for well-being.

Recently she has also begun a project “using [her] own handmade seaweed ink to create drawings that reflect the narrative of research on kelp’s abilities as a carbon sink”

Image credit: Sarah Jane Humphreys (seaweed painting)

HIGHLY PRIZED

Washed up on the beach, or carefully foraged, kelp is a prized find for many, to be processed into health supplements, beauty products, fertilisers, plastic alternatives, art or food. This versatility is thanks to the mineral rich sea environment they are grown in, which gives them a higher nutrient mix than land plants.

Sarah Jane Humphrey – a Falmouth-based artist @sarahgalerie – enjoys using kelp in her cooking at home as it “brings food to life and has so many health properties”. When she can’t forage for it, she uses a dried version from The Cornish Seaweed Company. Having realised the broad benefits of sea plants, the company has been a pioneer in the UK seaweed industry. They have developed a range of products, all sustainably foraged and handled to preserve their nutrients and help people to use this in their everyday cooking. The complex flavour these plants bring to food is also being realised by a growing number of chefs too, like Jude Kereama at Kota who uses seaweed in his mussel fritters with seaweed tartar dish.

Image credit: Sarah Jane Humphreys

GOLDEN TONES

Sarah’s work as a botanical artist closely draws on her love for the sea. She creates intricate depictions of seaweed found in intertidal zones along the coast. Recently she has also begun a project “using [her] own handmade seaweed ink to create drawings that reflect the narrative of research on kelp’s abilities as a carbon sink” by creating a tangible connection to the sea.

When working with seaweeds in the studio, Sarah’s days spent freediving and photographing rock pools are a continual source of inspiration. It is in these moments, as the quiet hush of the sea fills her ears, that the sea and kelp forests come together, and the kelp begins to move like flames as they slip through pools of brightness, to highlight their “golden tones and flowing forms”.

If you find yourself surrounded by seaweed storm trails this Secret Season, and you stumble across the telltale ribbons and holdfast of kelp, look upon it with a new appreciation.

Eager to explore more? Watch Seaweed Foraging on Film to learn about finding and cooking seaweed or get rock-pool ready with Dr Ben Holt at The Rock Pool Project.

Stay by the sea this Secret Season…

West of Port Isaac, the cliffs and coves reveal echoes of the vanished people who once called this stretch of the Cornish coast home

Framed by the twin headlands of Doyden Point and Kellan Head, the narrow channel of Port Quin is a quiet place these days: a cluster of National Trust cottages, a stout harbour wall, a stone slipway. But two centuries ago, it would have been a hive of activity.

“On the cliff, a huer, or watchman, scans the horizon, looking for the shadow of the next shoal”

Imagine, the smell of fish and tobacco smoke, a boat hauled up on the slip. Up the lane, men are scooping salt into cellars to preserve the morning catch. Others work on seine nets, patching the mesh in the sun. There’s banter, laughter, salty cursing. On the cliff, a huer, or watchman, scans the horizon, looking for the shadow of the next shoal. When he sees it, he shouts ‘Hevva!’ and the men drop their tasks, clamber into boats and head out to sea. They’ll stay out as long as their nets can hold fish.

Beyond the postcards

Sometimes it’s easy to forget places like Port Quin had a past beyond the postcards. Port Isaac local John Watts Trevan makes some fascinating fishing observation in his 1834 memoir. But apart from the old cottages and pilchard drying sheds (colloquially known as ‘palaces’), little remains of the industry now. What happened?

“In the cliffs around Port Quin, mineral streaks the rock like veins.”

According to legend, Port Quin’s fishermen were all drowned by a terrible storm – perhaps as punishment for fishing on the Sabbath – and the village was abandoned. In fact, Port Quin was a casualty of economic decline. In the mid 19th century, dwindling fish stocks – particularly in the key species of pilchard and herring – and the slow collapse of Cornish mining forced thousands of families to emigrate – mostly to South America, Australia and Canada. The people of Port Quin were probably among them.

Signs of times past

While the industry is gone, the coast path from Port Quin looks much the same as when the pilchard fishermen and the miners still worked here. Two shafts at Gilson’s Cove Mine, on the coast path from Doyden Point, can still be seen, marked by rings of slate stones. Lead, tin, silver, zinc and antimony – a whitish metal used to make pewter, paint and make-up – were the principal ores mined here. In the cliffs around Port Quin, mineral streaks the rock like veins.

“From Trevan Point, the path descends to Epphaven Cove, a rugged little inlet that’s good for rock-pooling, which also has a small waterfall and natural plunge pool for cooling off on a hot day.”

Near Gilson’s Cove Mine stands another oddity: Doyden Castle, a mock-Gothic folly, built around 1830 by a Wadebridge merchant called Samuel Simmons, who’s said to have used it as a private pleasure den for partying, drinking and gambling.

From Doyden, the coast path climbs up and over Trevan Point – a natural watchtower at 213ft above sea-level, serving-up a fine panorama stretching west to the craggy headland of The Rumps and the offshore island of The Mouls.

From Trevan Point, the path descends to Epphaven Cove, a rugged little inlet that’s good for rock-pooling, which also has a small waterfall and natural plunge pool for cooling off on a hot day. The slate here has sometimes yielded fossils, too, so keep your eyes peeled.

Hidden hideaways

Around the headland to the west lies Lundy Bay, another rocky beach where you can climb down via wooden steps. The cliffs and fields around here are managed by the National Trust for wildlife, cutting back the hawthorn hedges and preserving grassland habitat; it’s a good place for spotting wildflowers, butterflies and birds of prey.

Just above the western edge of the beach is Lundy Hole, where you can peer down and watch the breakers booming under the rock arch: this sea cave is said to have been the hiding place for St Minver fleeing the devil.

A little further west is a cleft in the cliff known as Markham’s Quay. Here, sand and gravel were hauled up from the beach by horse-drawn carts. It’s also a fabled smugglers’ haunt, where contraband was landed under cover of darkness. Was Markham a smuggler, or one of the Preventive men who patrolled the coast and tried to catch them? No one remembers now.

“Nowadays, the headland is a cracking spot for a picnic. In summer, the rocky island off the point, The Mouls, hosts squawking colonies of gannets, kittiwakes, fulmars and sometimes puffins (lundy derives from the old Norse word for puffin).”

Pathways to the past

From here, you can choose either to turn back to Port Quin or hike out another couple of miles past Carnwether Point to The Rumps, which snakes seawards like a sleeping dragon. During the Iron Age, one of north Cornwall’s most important promontory forts stood here. You can make out the outline of the ditches and embankments that protected the fort from assault. Archaeological excavations have turned up artefacts suggesting the people here traded with the Mediterranean.

Nowadays, the headland is a cracking spot for a picnic. In summer, the rocky island off the point, The Mouls, hosts squawking colonies of gannets, kittiwakes, fulmars and sometimes puffins (lundy derives from the old Norse word for puffin). It’s also an infamous shipwreck spot: in 1995, when the Maria Assumpta, the world’s largest square-rigged sailing ship, went down while trying to make Padstow harbour, with the loss of three crew.

All told, the walk from Port Quin to the Rumps is a 6.5 mile return journey – a three-hour hike, there and back. To ease tired limbs, you can book a shipping container sauna courtesy of Cornish Coast Adventures, overlooking the beach where the fishermen once worked. Times have certainly changed at Port Quin.

Discover stays along Cornwall’s storied north coast this Secret Season.

Colder, but not unwelcoming, what is it about the atmosphere of the coast in winter that draws us in? And why is maintaining our connection to nature year-round so important?

Summer is the peak of coastal activity: as temperatures drop, t-shirts are swapped out for woolly jumpers and the shore empties out. The sea turns an icier shade of blue, and as nature winds down around us, we often follow suit. But what do we miss if we miss out on time by the sea? And what draws us to the coastline in the colder months?

Image credit: Abbi Hughes

“Perhaps we can see nature at its rawest when we’re standing on the edge of the land…It taps into our desire to experience the sublime.”

EXPERIENCE THE SUBLIME

There’s beauty to be found in the cold, especially along rugged stretches of coast. A change in the seasons doesn’t have to keep us away. In fact, this darker, cooler atmosphere can be what draws us in.

Writer Wyl Menmuir’s book Draw of the Sea examined people’s relationship to the coast. For Wyl, winter is a time to appreciate the shifts in the landscape – nature is exposed and heightened. And by the sea, we’re at a boundary line: “Perhaps we can see nature at its rawest when we’re standing on the edge of the land, rather than in the middle of it. It taps into our desire to experience the sublime, which is something I’ve always been interested in.”

“And it’s those times where I see people riding really challenging waves, and, for me, the sea is just more interesting to watch when there’s a lot more movement in it.”

The sea might be turning colder, but the waves get bigger, and its colour becomes deeper, more complex. Weather patterns shift, affecting the way water moves, and all of this becomes so much more noticeable.

A SENSE OF PERSPECTIVE

The sea during winter can put things in perspective, says Wyl. This comes with being at odds with nature at its most volatile – and that’s exciting, whether you’re right there in it, or watching from afar. “I can sit on the cliffs and watch surfers riding enormous waves in the autumn and winter swells, here in Cornwall on the north coast,” he explains. “And it’s those times where I see people riding really challenging waves, and, for me, the sea is just more interesting to watch when there’s a lot more movement in it.”

Against the high winds, dramatic cliffs and outcrops, this is where comfort is found. Wyl finds that the long views of the coast, the water, give a sense of perspective. Against the backdrop of something as expansive as the sea, our problems and fears feel smaller, more manageable.

Wyl compares that feeling, of standing on the cliff face, looking out at the water, to staring up at a dark sky full of stars. After confronting the enormity of nature, we feel more comfortable in our place within it. There’s a certain meditation to be found.

“The coast encourages us to get outdoors, dressing for the weather to enable us to take in the fresh air and embrace the elements, creating a primal sense of nature connectedness that promotes stress reduction and improves sleep.”

Image credit: Abbi Hughes

MOVING WITH THE SEA

The wind, the skies, the sea, all have a profound effect on the mind and body. The human connection to nature is a powerful one – for many, it’s the key to surviving through tough times, a way to keep centred. Lizzi Larbalestier, of Going Coastal Blue – a blue health coach, spends time in blue spaces all year round, and encourages others to do so too, whether it’s actually getting into the water, or simply walking alongside it.

Movement, Lizzi says, is crucial for mental and physical health. “The coast encourages us to get outdoors, dressing for the weather to enable us to take in the fresh air and embrace the elements, creating a primal sense of nature connectedness that promotes stress reduction and improves sleep.”

WINTER WELLBEING

As the coastline quietens down during winter, transforming into a more peaceful and quieter environment – it is a great place to pause and reflect on the year, with plenty of space to absorb the sweeping horizons, vast open skies, and glistening shoreline. “Spending time in blue space,” Lizzi says, “allows us to breathe well, to slow down, to think more clearly, to feel much more connected with ourselves, with each other and with the planet.”

With the approach of winter comes a desire to hunker down, sink into creature comforts, embracing warmth and light wherever we can find it. As Lizzi notes, getting natural daylight and spending time outdoors during this time of year is incredibly important for our wellbeing and that includes our physical and emotional health. But sunlight can be scarce mid-winter, so we should embrace and enjoy it where we can.

Spending time by water is great for our mental health. Water, in all seasons, in all forms, is inherently soothing. We are drawn to its feel, its colour and sounds. Lizzi explains that simply watching the waves can calm us down, creating “attention restoration with less complex and frenetic landscapes allowing our mind to drift into a more meditative state.”

“We gain a lot from a strong connection to the coast, but our relationship with all of nature is symbiotic”. We can gain from it, but also need to give back.”

“We breathe differently at the coast,” explains Lizzi, “positively impacting our heart rhythm, lowering blood pressure and enabling our nervous system to move into a parasympathetic state of rest and recovery.”

Image credit: Abbi Hughes

NATURE AND NURTURE

Lizzi depicts the sea as a “therapist or health practitioner, a partner for our lives to guide our intuition and keep us well”. “We gain a lot from a strong connection to the coast, but our relationship with all of nature is symbiotic.” she says. We can gain from it, but also need to give back.

“Take three for the sea,” recommends Lizzi. “Conduct a mini beach clean or get involved in a large community beach clean with the local community – these organised collective events not only help the ocean but being part of something purposeful in the form of community activism and advocacy can boost positive ‘feel good’ neuro chemicals like oxytocin and dopamine associated with what is known as the ‘helpers high’.”

From experiencing the sublime to feelings of perspective and breathing in the physical and mental benefits of being by the sea, there’s much to draw us to that unique beach atmosphere in the colder, quieter months.

This #SecretSeason, stay footsteps from the coastline: experience the beach atmosphere benefits.