Land’s End to Falmouth

Tuesday 20 January 2026: Land’s End to Mousehole, 13 miles.

I’d booked everything the week before, in which time the weather window retreated, enough for the sleeper to be delayed half an hour for a tree on the line.

Rainfall radar showed though that the wet stuff would disappear by late morning, so I caught a later bus. As I left the café at Land’s End, the last spots ceased.

Almost immediately, there was a short diversion away from the official route. Nothing too surprising; landslips are a fact of life on this trail. Back on the path proper, there was a good view back, with the rock arch of Enys Dodman clearly visible.

For most part I was on low cliff edges, 200ft or so above the sea, around coves like Nanjizal Bay, with occasional dips down to sea level or close to it. The sun made an appearance from time to time; maybe my weather window was realistic after all.

Just before half way I came to the open-air Minack Theatre. I’d hoped a peek at the stage, but not surprisingly that’s closed off. And I’d been there before; 1968 or thereabouts. Dad took us to see Marlowe’s Dr Faustus, and I still remember the sudden beam of a spotlight illuminating Helen of Troy high upon a rock. For the next few yards I was auditioning:

Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!

Round the corner from the Minack lies Porthcurno, an important stop off for tourists both for its beach – the first since Sennen Cove, coming anti-clockwise – and telecommunications museum. It was from here in 1870 that the undersea telegraph cables first left Britain’s shores, as indeed their modern fibreoptic equivalents still do. It’s a good place for a stop, but we’d spent time here in 2024, so for me it was a quick munch of sandwich.

I’d been making reasonable time so far but with an 11am start and 5pm sunset knew I couldn’t hang around too much – 13 miles is not far by my standards, but I was expecting 2500ft of climbing (in fact, it was to be closer to 3000ft). Indeed from Porthcurno my speed dropped to 2mph or less, not because of extra climbing – that was pretty consistent over the whole day, though there was a rare visit to the beach at St Loy – but because of the technical difficulty of the trail.

On long sections, there was never any chance of getting a stride on. Awkward rocks on the path called for extra care, and once or twice a pull up on the granite made sense for safety. I’d not seen a walker since leaving Land’s End, just a few day trippers at Porthcurno, so it would not have been a good place to twist an ankle, or worse.

But exhausting though it might have been, I do retain a sense of pride with being still, in my mid 70s, able to cope with this sort of territory, indeed – and not everybody understands this – to enjoy it. It takes a very particular skill with trekking poles to maintain momentum.

That said, I hadn’t expected the five miles from Porthcurno to Lamorna to take three hours. From Lamorna, I would have forty minutes before sunset to complete the two-and-a-bit miles to Mousehole. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen, but Mousehole’s western fringes straggle up the the hill towards the SWCP, and I reached them and their street lights just before twilight closed off any last rays the sun might have had to offer.

Tuesday 6 August 2024: Penzance to Mousehole, 3½ miles; Thursday 8 August 2024: Marazion to Penzance, three miles.

Mousehole

Barbara and I enjoyed a short break to the Scillies in summer ’24, and on the way back spent some time in Penzance.

The SWCP either side of Penzance is straightforward, and while there’s plenty of interest, it’s hardly gripping in the way that the coast around Lamorna is.

So I took the opportunity to walk this section while I was there, with a view to making my logistics later on much more straightforward – which it certainly did.

The western half we undertook together, as part of a circular walk that after Mousehole took us to up to the village of Paul and then back down to Newlyn. Newlyn, half way between Penzance and Mousehole, has a proper working harbour and fish market, so it doesn’t do twee.

A couple of days later, we took the bus to St Ives for a day out, and on the return I jumped off at Marazion to take the coast path back. The Mousehole leg was pleasant enough, if hardly peak summer; I walked the Marazion stage in the sort of conditions that give English summers a bad name.

Marazion, of course, is the jumping-off point for St Michael’s Mount, linked by tidal causeway. It’s never been part of the SWCP, as one can hardly walk round it, and in summer it’s a paid attraction anyway.

On and off, there was rain blowing in my face, and when it wasn’t, the wind whipped up sand from the beach. An occasional train lumbering past was the highlight. But it was to save me an hour on a long winter day in 2026.

Wednesday 21 January 2026: Marazion to Mullion, 18 miles.

The first thing I look for is St Michael’s Mount.

It’s different to my last time; Storm Goretti, which had battered Cornwall a couple of weeks before, had stripped dozens of trees from the Mount. I’d been a little concerned that the storm would have caused difficulties on the SWCP, but thankfully not.

Then there’s a trudge along the road to start with, and then a few yards along the first footpath the day’s diversion sign. Crumbling cliffs apparently.
The diversion kept me inland for a while, past cauliflower fields, some recently picked, others not, all with a vegetable stench.

Barely an hour in, at the village of Perranuthoe, a sign points up to the Peppercorn café, ‘open every day’. But it’s not. If I’d looked right rather than left, I would have found the Cabin café, which is doing a decent trade on a so-so day and proves a good coffee stop.

Luke the artist

Above Prussia Cove I meet a young artist, Luke. A few days before I’d finished reading a 70s novel, The Book of Ebenezer le Page, set on Guernsey; its denoument sees a great friendship develop between the elderly title character and the young Neville Falla, once a tearaway, now a gifted artist. It’s something I should have told young Luke; seeing him was almost like having a dream break.

Beyond Prussia Cove, above Kenneggy Cliff, my heart sank. A Cornwall Council sign stated: ‘This public footpath has foundered. No further access.’ No hint of a workaround, and I knew there had been nothing on the official website before I left. I glanced at the map. An extra mile or so detour could be worked, through the two Kenneggy farms, but look – the bootprints keep on. Clearly others continue, so why not I?

Primed to retreat at the first hint of a rockfall or landslip, I marched on, and there was never any concern. When I got home, I had a moan about this, but whether anything will be done I don’t know. Either it’s dangerous, really dangerous, and this being a major National Trail they sign a diversion – or it’s not. What do less experienced walkers do, apart from panic? And perhaps the next diversion really shouldn’t be ignored …

Before I’d set off, I’d noticed that a belt of rain was forecast for late morning, and showers thereafter. That’s what they said yesterday, I told myself, so I didn’t expect that to happen. But it did, pretty much right on cue, and indeed went on a bit longer than expected. It meant that my progress through Praa Sands, where I went down onto the sands as I thought it might be my only chance of a beach, was rather damp, but it’s an easy section.

Things get a bit rougher thereafter, enlivened by a couple of old mines, Wheal Prosper and Trewavas, tin and copper respectively. It’s been many miles, and many years, since I had passed the collection on the north Cornwall coast, and it was nice to be reminded that south Cornwall had them too.

Things ease nearing Porthleven – rain stops, paths become more gentle if muddy – and the town, the biggest between Penzance and Falmouth, looks good. It’s time for a late lunch, and this being Cornwall, and ten miles under my belt with eight still to come, a sandwich won’t do. Philps pasty shop is the answer. Being a good boy, I choose the cheese and vegetable, and from first bite it’s in a different league than the mass-produced pasties available in shops and supermarkets elsewhere. Real good fortifying food.

A lane takes me out of Porthleven, then a track heading to the Loe Bar, which separates the sea from the lagoon of The Loe. It’s rough sand, not as bad as shingle, but still not quick to pass, though it’s only half a mile or so and a different sort of walking texture, something I don’t recall from my SWCP so far.

Ahead lies the hamlet of Gunwalloe, and all the waymarks give it as a mile further on than I was expecting. As I approach, it seems that there are two Gunwalloes, a fishing cove where the pub and houses are and hence my waypoint, and the Church Cove which just has the church. Distances are to the latter. Even on a grey day like this, there’s a few people around at Church Cove, and it’s undoubtedly a pretty place.

Poldhu Cove, where the sea channels in to give good surf, is next. On a headland not far away I can see a large hotel and I wonder if it’s mine but no, too close – it’s the Polurrian, not the Mullion Cove. But mine’s not much further. Twilight is just gathering when I reach it. More good timing.

Thursday 22 January 2026: Mullion to The Lizard, seven miles.

Thoroughly accustomed now to my pace in this weather on this trail, and an estimated 1500ft of climbing, I reckon three and a bit hours is a safe allowance.

With at 12.40 bus to catch, leaving at 9 should be fine. Weather radar says it should be dry. Weather radar is wrong barely 100 yards from the hotel, so I’m a few minutes donning waterproofs at a bench halfway down into Mullion Cove.

This is a walk of splish-splash pretty much all the way, with the plateau downland being saturated with standing water. Having waterproof boots is a must, and my excellent Altbergs are very much up to the task, making this rather fun.

And there’s drama too, notably in and around Kynance Cove. It’s a place of great rock formations, one of which named as Asparagus Island, and one of the few places on these three days where I’m down at sea level. There’s a café too, amazingly open today, but though I’m on schedule more or less, I can’t afford the time – missing the bus would be one thing, not honouring my advance rail ticket quite another.

It’s lowish tide, so I can take the hundred yards across the boulders rather than the zig-zag of the approach road, surf crashing against the cliffs nearby. Easily the most dramatic leg so far.

Back up on the top, Lizard Point is clearly in view.

This is my second visit, after a 2011 holiday when Barbara and I had walked a circular west from the village, around the headland, and back via Lizard Church Cove. If I’d been tight for time, that would have allowed me a shortcut. But it’s gone 12 when I’m at Lizard Point, so I turn inland, and I’ve got a quarter-hour at the bus stop to remove waterproofs.