It's late September, and the biggest tourist season in Newquay since about 1997 has cooled off. Kirstin celebrated by running the Scilly 60, a 60 km ultra-marathon around the five inhabited islands of the Isles of Scilly, each leg connected by a boat ride. Which you would miss if you didn't make time.
As a spectator, something about the combination of metronomic movement by the sea, with only yourself, (some wearable tech, 5G connectivity, a VHF radio) and some energy snacks to rely on, inspired me to set off on a micro adventure of my own when we got back to the mainland. A weather and time window opened up so I took one of our Tarpon kayaks down to Falmouth Bay, an area I know quite well from SUP touring, racing, and spearfishing. With a neap high tide around 1pm and light north west wind, the setting was perfect to finally tick off a section I'd been eyeing for years: round St. Anthony's Head at the end of the Roseland peninsula.
When you look at a map of the Carrick Roads, St. Anthony's Head is the most southerly headland that guards the precious, expensive village of St. Mawes like a tiger's paw. At the end of one claw is the Fraggle Rock lighthouse (real name St. Anthony's lighthouse), it warns ships approaching the huge deep water harbour of the terrible Mannacles stones close to the eastern side of the Lizard. Up along the forearm is Porthbeor Beach; a 400 m bar of golden sand that is only sensibly accessible by sea. At the elbow is Steer Point, and after that, you're onto the sleepy white sand beaches of the Roseland.
I set off from Maenporth Beach for two strategic reasons: the car park is right at the edge of the beach, and a straight line crossing from here to St. Anthony's Head puts you a mile offshore from Falmouth, and two miles offshore from Flushing. I'd hoped to see some megafauna on this paddle and guessed being 'far out' might increase my chances. Spoiler: I didn't see any megafauna offshore. The run across the bay was straightforward, exactly what I was looking for. I wanted to feel the glide of the kayak and concentrate on paddle stroke without the rebounding swell, wind and tide that typically affect the north coast. I diverted slightly for a close up view of the lighthouse; strangely, I think this is the closest I've ever been to a lighthouse. The run from there to Steer Point feels like you're paddling along a coast. The tide started to drag against the wind a little and after 4 nautical miles I was keen to stretch out my hip flexors.
At the far end of Porthbeor Beach lies a small cove that can't be seen from the coastpath above. I landed and turned around to drag the kayak up the beach to see five curious snouts break the surface. I'd stumbled on a seals' lair. They came right in, I thought they might try and climb into the kayak. On the way back out, they followed alongside, gliding belly up just below the surface, their whiskery muzzles seeming to smile up at me. Seals are a common sight but that does not detract from their charm, and one's joy in seeing them. They were nearly extinct in the early 20th century. Now, the British population is over 120,000. But that amounts to 40% of the global population; so there's only about 270,000 grey seals worldwide. On a planetary scale, a visit from a grey seal is a rare encounter.
The natural half-way point for this mission was the 'tiger's elbow' at Steer Point. There were views up the Roseland in front of me, while just offshore an interesting looking ketch was pressing along. I made an effort to intercept it for a closer look, but as I got closer I could hear and smell its diesel engine knocking away so I veered off in favour of natura sounds and fresh ocean air. Still, it was a great looking boat and maybe 120 or so years old. These boars were used for shipping coal and ore, and sometimes for trawler fishing. Crews of the latter regarded seals as pests and would shoot them, contributing to their catastrophic decline. Grey seals are now protected. The first piece of legislation - The Grey Seal Act 1914 - was a temporary closed season on hunting and culling them to protect mothers nursing pups over winter.
On the run home, the ebb tide flowing to the SW was picking up out to sea, which I'd have to work against to stay on track. Instead, I steered towards Swanpool to run towards Maenporth as inshore, that tide was running parallel to the coast rather than perpendicular to it. This was a welcome assist for the final run home; I'd burned through two litres of electrolyte, a caffeine / carb gel shot, flap jack, and half a bag of Haribos and still had to lift the mighty Tarpon 140 onto the roof of the truck.
This was a 10.8 nautical mile (NM) loop, or 20 km, in about 3.5 hours. Cruising speed around 3 kts. The Phase 3 seat in the Tarpon is a miracle; no numbness or cramping. I think if you were planning a long-haul along the coast and conditions allowed, you could cover 20 NM in a day comfortably enough. Leaving Maenporth, that would put you somewhere near Fowey. Two days and you'd be in Devon, maybe a mission for another time.
You can find out about our privately guided kayak tours here https://www.surfsanctuary.co.uk/kayak-tours-newquay Non-essential etymology: The word 'Mannacles' given to the treacherous rocks fits, as it suggests something unpleasant and trapping. It's actually a corruption of the Cornish Mean Eglos, meaning 'stone church'. I'd originally heard this was because the pinnacles vault up from the sea floor like church steeples. However, I've just read that it refers to sailors looking to spot the steeple at St. Keverne's church to mark a safe approach, hence 'church stones'.
Meanporth meanwhile means 'stoney cove' or 'stoney beach'. Which is interesting, as today it is completely backed by sand.