Three short walks at Christmas
Godrevy, Porthtowan and Tehidy Country Park, Cornwall
Of course the weather doesn’t make or break Christmas – but no one’s dreaming of a grey Christmas.
And if you’re spending Christmas in Cornwall, just one bracing clifftop walk under a blue sky and above a blue sea would at least help lift the listlessness brought on by overindulgence.
Any hope of that this year was smothered by a wet blanket of mist and mizzle.
But ho (ho ho) hum, there’s no such thing as a disappointing walk …
Christmas Eve: Godrevy
Christmist 2024 starts with a wander round Godrevy, where it’s not just human winter visitors that have joined the locals. Resident grey seals and oystercatchers are sharing the headland with overwintering ringed plovers and water pipits.
Sixty oystercatchers have gathered on the beach and capture the mood brought on by the mist that clings to the sea. Usually bright and chirpy, they are quiet and hunched, collars turned up against the damp. “It’ll burn off in a minute,” they seem to be saying.
Somewhere out there, on Godrevy Island, is the lighthouse that inspired Virginia Woolf to write To The Lighthouse. Had Woolf visited today and relied on what she could see for inspiration, then she might have written To The Lifeguard Hut – which isn’t quite so catchy.
The 26-metre tall lighthouse has been sharing the island with seabirds and seals since 1859, protecting sea traffic from the jagged Stones reef. Originally staffed by two keepers at a time, with a team of three each serving two months on the island and one month off, it was automated as early as 1934. And since 2012 it has been a lighthouse in name only, with the now solar-powered lamp being moved from the tower to a steel structure on a nearby rock. Can’t see that either today.
Christmas Day: Wheal Charlotte, Porthtowan
This is only the second time Clare and I have spent Christmas in Cornwall rather than travelling to family upcountry. And for the first time it’s just the two of us on Christmas Day. Even in the Covid Christmas of 2020, the permitted number of friends came round for the day.
A bonus of the slimmed-down festivities is that we’ve eaten and washed up almost unacceptably early for Christmas dinner. And that leaves enough time before it gets dark for a walk on the cliffs behind our house.
We see some old friends out there: a chattering of eight choughs and a pair of ravens. As the ravens fly east along the coastline, one makes a familiar quirky call: “puh-clock”. Female ravens often make knocking sounds to communicate with their mate or warn off other birds. But this is such an unusual noise that I expect this is the same bird I hear puh-clocking from the top of a tree near our back garden in spring and summer.
Less familiar is the trill of a whimbrel from somewhere down on the beach. If it is a whimbrel then it’s a very early bird, making its way to the northern breeding ground well ahead of schedule. Two were seen by a proper birdwatcher at Falmouth on the south coast of Cornwall a couple of days ago, though, so it’s possible.
Boxing Day: Tehidy Country Park
The grey squirrels are out in force today. We’ve barely left the car park before one is bounding up to us with a Boxing Day deal: “The entry fee is usually ALL your nuts but for one day only it’s just all your nuts.”
But we know Cornwall Council owns Tehidy Country Park, not the squirrels, and there is no entry fee.
Besides, we don’t have any nuts. These guys don’t need any extra food and the sight of them feeding from people’s hands makes me uncomfortable. It does nothing for the squirrels that chucking food on the ground wouldn’t do, and leads them to be overfamiliar with people – to the extent that one starts to climb Clare’s left leg.
The rooks are also keen to see what the humans have brought, but they keep their distance, lurking menacingly in the trees in their hooded black cloaks and plague masks. Once they brave ground level to hoover up the squirrels’ crumbs, their menace fades as a beautiful blue sheen to their feathers becomes clear.
Unmasked at this time of year are the black-headed gulls that bicker around the lake. Their name only really fits when they develop black heads for the breeding season. Even then it’s actually more of a dark-brown face.
For now, all that’s left of their summer look is sooty smudges on the sides of their heads – like those pesky squirrels have pranked them by putting ink on their noise-cancelling headphones.
In the treetops, jays glide between branches and a woodpecker drums. On the ground, a squirrel chases us out of the park.
Basking sharks seen on this walk: 0
Total basking sharks seen to date: 0
You're right about squirrels, a friend of my husband's got bitten on the finger. Although, I suspect she was actually feeding them, so...
Another good read, Andrew. Thanks.
I am very familiar with the Godrevy area and have often enjoyed watching the seals frolicking there (or sleeping, in most cases!) A gorgeous part of the country. Even in the mist.