The continuation of the bright weather tempted us out again to link up our recent walk to Gunwalloe to one we had done earlier from the Lizard. The sun was shining brightly and the light wind came at us across the land from the east.

This was a really lovely walk along some pretty remote stretches of coast where we saw few people. The going was easy: fresh bouncy turf with heathland on our landward side. The sea was calm and as clear and blue as one could wish.

The first delight was Kynance Cove: little more than a narrow spit of sandy beach linking a large rock to the mainland. Balanced precariously at the bottom of the cliff is a small and popular cafe. It is hardly surprising that the cove is so popular when it can look as beautiful as it did for us. 

We could not dally to enjoy the sight and headed onward across the cliff and down a steep drop to Soap cove. This is a long narrow inlet where the tide was turning over in a desultory fashion and we could easily imagine a small boat running contraband ashore. Or had we been watching too much Poldark again?

Climbing up the other side deserved a reward and we sat down, to admire the stunning view, wondering why we should bother to carry on. But we did.

Predannack airfield was to our right and we found ourselves sharing the peace and solitude with a helicopter which was doing circuits and bumps over the airfield, or possibly keeping a watchful eye over us should we be contemplating some illicit activities.

In the distance loomed a distinctly un-Cornish sight. We are more accustomed to cows, barns and the occasional farm. The vegetation, accustomed to the prevailing salt-laden winds, could raise itself only a few feet above the land. Windyridge Farm, perched just back from the cliff seemed aptly-named.

Rounding Predannack Head, we came upon Mullion island which provides some slight protection to the little harbour. This led to a discussion as to when a rock becomes an island. If it involves the ability to live on it then Mullion island certainly qualifies although it would be a brave soul who chose to do so.

The going, by now, had the air of a National Trust-cared for estate with stepping stones and helpful advice on signs. We were clearly approaching civilisation again.

The drop down into the cove was steep but the charm of the cove is considerable and we sat eating our lunch, admiring the recent repair of the harbour wall, watching visitors walking to the end, looking over and re-tracing their steps. It would be good to say that the building work being done to the cottages was as historically acceptable. Sadly, we felt that they might be being altered to the detriment of the natural charm of the little cove. It remains to be seen.

The climb out of Mullion cove was steep and took us up to a large white building which, inevitably, was a hotel: the Mullion Cove hotel. Large blocks such as this were built all along the coast in the days before planning conditions which would not allow them today.

This was a tough part of the walk, involving several descents – which are the easy part – and then steep ups. The first one was the descent below the ‘large white’ Polurrian hotel, down a set of steps which became spine-shuddering as much as anything because of the large drop entailed with each one. We walked them in the opposite direction later in the day and quietly cursed their creator who clearly had longer legs than us.

Throughout the walk we had been enjoying the wonderful flowers which were shining with all their might. The thrift was in luxuriant flower, creating great carpets of bouncy vegetation which invited relaxation.

As we approached the top of Angrouse hill, we could see a large monument on its crest. This was Poldhu where Marconi carried out his famous experiments which culminated in the message to America and then to the South Atlantic. A humble field alongside the path was where the aerial had been erected. I looked at the mobile phone in my pocket which seemed a far cry from those early days, just over 100 years ago, when he achieved so much pioneering work from this remote Cornish cliff.

In front of us was another large white building, presumably once a hotel but now converted into a care home: another home for old people to look at an empty sea in an inaccessible place.

Crossing Poldhu cove was easier on the legs and we soon found ourselves looking down on our destination: the much photographed little church of Gunwalloe which we had visited a few weeks before. Touching the church closed the loop and meant that we could claim to have completed the Lizard to Porthleven stretch. It deserved an ice cream before we set out to find our car.

We had walked  over 8 miles in a just under 4 hours.

The problem was that we could remember leaving Portreath on foot, but could not remember arriving at Hell’s Mouth up behind Godrevy point. There was no alternative, and on a sunny but windy day we set off from Portreath again to see if it jogged any memories.

The climb out of Portreath was steep but, once up on the top, the going was wide open and flat. This was an area under agriculture right up to the edge of the cliff: easy going.

Fairly soon we came to the horse which we first identified as looking more like a cat. This is just one of the many collapsed pieces of cliff on this section: great chunks of green appear to have been broken off by a giant. More likely, they have been undermined by the great storm seas of winter.

A couple of nasty downies and uppies tested our muscles and endurance but if a Jack Russell and Labrador could do it then so could we.

We missed Crane castle – finding cliff castles is not easy when the gorse is thick – and marched on across Reskajeage downs which were fairly featureless, the views east and west making up for the dullness of the cliff top vegetation. The path was flat and dry, and easy to follow with no surprises.

Just as we were getting into our stride, we found ourselves at the Hell’s Mouth car park where our car was waiting for us. On the way, we had found where we originally turned off on a circular walk through Tehidy Woods. Importantly, however, we could now say that we had covered the stretch from St Agnes to Godrevy without any sense of cheating.

There is no better time to be on this stretch of the Coast Path than on a bright sunny day. The walking is easy and the proximity to the sea makes it a joy.

What one forgets is that this coast was feared by sailors of tall ships. The prevailing wind is from the South West and a large sailing vessel could easily find themselves unable to sail to windward, out of Mount’s Bay. If so, then they stood little chance of survival in a storm. The wind would drive them straight onto the lee shore: the long expanse of sand known as Loe Bar.

It was the wreck of HMS Anson which moved Henry Trengrouse to invent the ship-to-shore rocket carrying a light line as a precursor to a rope. This technique, so simple in concept, eventually led to the saving of many lives.

Loe Bar itself was once connected to the sea and was the entrance to the harbour of Helston. The harbour silted up and the Bar formed, leaving a fresh-water lake behind it. The remnant of the original river is now a boating pool near the old cattle market beside the A394 in Helston.

The two miles from Porthleven to Gunwalloe fishing cove is a single beach of sand, still famous for its steep shelving undertow which has taken lives even recently. At its end, a small open space pretends to be a cove which still retains some vestiges of its fishing past.

Beyond the fishing cove, the land rises over Halzephron cliffs.

What a lovely word is Halzephron. According to the equally lovely pub, it is derived from the Cornish words for strong wind: hardly surprising given that it is face-on into the prevailing wind and that wind has crossed the Atlantic, undisturbed.

Over the headland, it was a short walk to the objective of our walk: the glorious church of Gunwalloe, surely one of the most televisual of churches in the county having featured in series from Wycliffe to Poldark.

Apparently tucked into the back of a sand dune and with a beach on either side, it looks as though it might be overwhelmed during any storm. Its separate tower is all that holds back the sand.

A tour of the church was essential before heading for the pub for lunch. Then the return journey which included the mandatory paddle on the very edge of the sea on the Bar, the soft sand crunching beneath our toes.

One answer to the problems of shelter on this coast was the creation of the tiny Porthleven harbour: somewhere a ship could tie up in safety. It would be a brave captain who attempted to take his ship in through the long arms of the entrance in anything other than a calm sea for it is far too narrow and dog-legged.

Really good walks contain a pub and church but this time we went one better: ours ended with an ice cream on the Porthleven harbourside. What a day.

A sunny Sunday tempted us onto the South West Coast Path once again. As we are trying to link up a number of short walks, we had planned a stiff walk from the Lizard up to Dean, or Porthoustock, quarry.

The journey started by the exquisite St Wynwallow at Church Cove, surely the most southerly church in Cornwall, with its calm interior and serpentine lectern.

Leaving the cawing rooks, we headed onto the lovely cliff path which wound its way northwards.

It was a lovely time of year with the vegetation emerging in yellows, whites and blues. The blackthorn was in full blossom, the wild garlic a profusion of white; the gorse and primroses in yellow and the bluebells out. In places, the red campion was starting to appear.

The route was a delight: high cliffs and a calm sea hundreds of feet below. Once we had cleared the area of the Lizard we were fairly solitary and could walk along the cliff’s shoulder on a dry path.

Small cove after inaccessible small cove hinted at the opportunities for landing contraband late at night. It would be a steep climb with brandy for the parson on one’s back. Or had we been watching too much Poldark?

Our first sign of population was at Cadgwith, surely the most photogenic and famous fishing cove, tucked into a corner facing east: everyone’s idea of a Cornish fishing village from generations of calendars and chocolate boxes.

The reality of life is very different of course but on a sunny day it is hard not to enjoy the illusion of tranquility.

Shortly afterwards, we passed the tiny Poltesco cove, once the centre of the serpentine industry but now a calm ruin close to the beach. The National Trust has tidied the place up and add a charming bridge, bench and the obligatory explanatory panel.

A long trek on a south-facing cliff followed, relieved only by the existence of the large sandy beach of Kennack Sands where large Britons did what Britons do on a beach: sit on picnic chairs and wrap themselves up in rugs or behind windbreaks.

Close by was one of the less welcome eyesores of this part of the coast: a staggeringly unimaginative holiday camp. Seen from a distance it looks like a serried rank of simple ‘units’, each of which has its own balcony: to keep the occupants in or other guests out being unclear.

From the air, the true horror is revealed.

It was something of a relief when someone pointed out a basking shark out in the bay as it turned our attention from the land.

The stretch to Black Head was the most remote of the walk. We saw few people and enjoyed the proximity of the gorse-laden heathland that spreads northwards towards Goonhilly. A tiny valley garden was an unexpected bonus with camellias, azaleas and even clematis in flower, protected form the gales in a fold of the land.

Approaching Chynalls point we could see yet another large white ‘former hotel’ now converted to some other use, probably a care home. This promoted us to wonder at the way we put our old people in remote places with empty views of the sea when it might well be company and activity that they really desire.

Coverack is no Cadgwith and is something sub St Mawes in style but the houses were immaculate in the heart of the village and most managed to retain a genuine Cornish architectural style. The words ‘second homes’ and ‘holiday homes’ were on our lips.

Leaving Coverack, we headed onwards around the aptly named Lowland Point. Here, the landscape changed dramatically with the path no more than a few metres above the beach on a wide area of raised beach covered with large rounded boulders. This was not an attractive area of the path and we recalled the walk from the other direction, past quarries and destroyed landscape.

Just before the quarry, we found a familiar path and headed up around the excavations and back to our car.

We had covered 12.2 miles in 4.5 hours.