Ruth Livingstone
My book: Walking the English Coast
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Winfield’s Award
Killer Cows: Killer Cows
Keith J’s story: charged by bulls
When they saw me, they charged.
Maxine’s story: rammed by a cow
We both fell on the floor.
Alison’s story: sprint to the stile
I made it to the stile just in time.
Category Archives: 10 Cornwall
136a Morwenstow to Marsland Mouth
Robert Stephen Hawker, one-time Vicar of Morwenstow, built this hut from wood scavenged from shipwrecks. He was also a poet and opium smoker. Continue reading
135b Bude Bay to Morwenstow
This is coastal walking at it’s best. The sun is shining, the air is clear, the views are wonderful and there is that slight tingle of danger. Continue reading
135a Bude to Northcott Mouth
The 15 mile walk from Bude to Hartland Quay is graded “severe” and would take me well over 10 hours at my usual walking speed. I only have 6 hours of daylight. Continue reading
134 Crackington Haven to Bude
The path plunges down and seems to lead straight off the edge of a cliff. The friendly acorn of the South West Coast Path is set right alongside a warning triangle showing a person plunging to their death. Continue reading
133b Boscastle to Crackington Haven
I’m walking to Cracklington Haven. Ahead are two beaches called The Stranglers and Little Strand, and a rock with a hole through the middle, called Northern Door. Continue reading
133a Tintagel to Boscastle
There is a steep cleft in the coastline, where the Trevillit River has carved a mini-canyon through the rocks. Rocky Valley. Far below, a stream falls in a series of waterfalls towards the sea. Continue reading
132 Tintagel
On Penhallic Point I meet a cyclist and I take his photograph. I thought I had managed a secret snap, but he obviously heard my camera clicking. He calls out and walks back towards me. Oh, no! Is he angry? Continue reading
131 Port Isaac to Trebarwith Strand
This is the most challenging and difficult section of walk I have ever done. By the time I make it to the top, I am sweating and shaking with fear and fatigue. Continue reading
130 Padstow to Port Isaac
Port Quin turns out to be a tiny hamlet, consisting of a winding road, a car park, a slipway and a small collection of houses. My husband’s car is not here. There is no café. It is pouring with rain again. Continue reading
129 Trevone to Padstow
I look to see if I can scramble across the rocks. The water is only three or four feet deep. What if I carried my rucksack on my head and waded across? But I hate soggy boots. What if I carried my socks and boots on my head too? While I am considering this, a dark and angry rain cloud is creeping up behind me. Continue reading
