Introduction


When we started walking the coast of England we had no intention that this would become a major lifetime project. Having to make a last-minute arrangement for our summer holiday in 1987, we said "Let's go to the nearest piece of coast and see how far we can walk along it." It turned out well and we started adding further stretches of coast, initially once every two years, but soon annually, or even twice a year.

We had always enjoyed the coast - there is something refreshingly "edgy" about having the sea always at our side, and one of us was into marine molluscs. We also enjoyed long-distance walking and had long been involved in general natural history recording. This project enabled us to combine all three interests.

You soon discover when embarking on a project like this that you need a few rules, which evolve from the first experiences. Our main rule was that we should walk as close to the coast as possible, which meant beach-walking whenever we could (unlike the official coast paths that largely remain above shore, recognising that at high tides the beach may be inaccessible). The route should also be capable of being a continuous walk, so that when we came to an unfordable river we walked inland along its banks to the first place at which we could cross, whether a bridge or a ferry.

We only carried light packs, so that at the end of each day's walk we had the problem of getting back to our car where we started. Initially we walked back, but soon realised we would be walking the coast twice this way! We used public transport whenever this was available - buses or trains, sometimes adjusting our start and finish points to make this easier. Failing this - and it was often not possible - we would phone for a taxi (an increasingly costly option over the years). Having our car with us gave us more freedom as to where we could stay at night - and after a day walking and only light food we were usually ready for being spoiled by a good meal and a comfortable bed! Even so, we stayed on the coast itself whenever there was a decent option.

Each walk was made for enjoyment, it was not a route-march to see how quickly we could get it finished. We therefore took it gently at times when passing through pleasant scenery or where there were many plants or creatures to record.

In terms of biological recording, we systematically noted every bird, butterfly, creature or sea-shell that we came across, sometimes spending time searching for the shells. We could not record every plant in the same way - there are too many common ones - so we were more selective, noting all coastal plants and any others that were not run-of-the-mill.

In our daily posts, edited from our original diaries, we include a star-rating from no star to **** according to our subjective estimate as to how special that day was from the point of view of natural history. This score (and our daily records) will, however, have been affected by the weather - it is difficult to appreciate the environment fully, for instance, in torrential rain, and there are many more butterflies and other insects to be seen in warm sunshine!

A summary of all our natural history records on the walk can be found using this link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1LLGD55lKRHYXd1SGU1QndrcUU/edit?usp=sharing





Friday 17 January 2014

Cornwall: Church Cove to Caerthilian Cove 23/8/1998****


 

Jackdaw in the wind
 
Prostrate dyer’s greenweed
 
Sting winkle
Dense cloud and thick sea-mist attended our walk to the coastguard station at Bass Point and round a steep inlet to Pen Olver.  At the end of the promontory was a short-turf rocky area where we found the very rare sea asparagus for the first time, one clump of which was flowering.  Being still on hornblende schist there were few Lizard specialities except rupturewort, common here and yet rare beyond the Lizard.  Housel Bay is sizeable with a small cove at the back.  Being low tide, we could easily walk below the rocks, home to limpets, mussels, winkles and their enemies, the dog whelk and sting winkle.  Large Laminaria holdfasts were scattered along the beach. 
      We climbed steps at the end, walked through a wood of tamarisk, and began the climb to Lizard Point, past Lions Den Chasm, where a cave had collapsed in 1842, and the lighthouse.  This is the most southerly point in Britain.  We walked down to the beach of shingle and seaweed, through the fishing harbour, to the rusting disused lifeboat station.  The whole scene, with the crashing waves and the derelict building, at the very end of the land, was doom-laden - the “Boathouse at the End of the World”.  Although there were many people, the strong winds ensured they all kept active, walking down and up the concrete slipway.  We were now in the rocks of the “Lizard Head series”, tipped by granite-gneiss at the most extreme headlands.  The rocks are very contorted and variable, including lavas and sediments altered by volcanic intrusions.  We decided to lunch at the most southerly café in Britain, trying our best to shelter with our sausage rolls and teacakes, watching the gulls, jackdaws and sparrows trying to compete with the rising wind.  One teenager had to hold down his mother’s flying skirt to save her embarrassment.  After realising what he had done he covered his head with his anorak in embarrassment himself.  On the Point we found early meadow-grass Poa infirma growing on the bare path-sides. 
      The wind got even worse as we set off up the western side of the peninsula and became very wearing, as there was no escape from its buffeting.  From here to the Caerthillian National Nature Reserve we found the prostrate form of dyer’s greenweed and a stream-bed with lots of needle spike-rush and brookweed.  As it then began to rain, we walked up the stream valley to Lizard Town.  After changing we ventured out for a supper at the Top House pub.
 
 
 
 
Sea asparagus
 
 
 
 
 
Boathouse at the End of the World
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