Hike #2: Hell's Mouth to Portreath
4.3 miles
This hike, right here, our second of a hundred or so more to come, is the where we begin our crazy stupid habit of skipping from section to section as if we had not a strategy in mind, leaving gaps of all sizes between paths we'd finished and those still left to do. There is truly no sensible explanation except that sometimes bus routes and timetables dictated where and when we walked. Mostly though, sadly, it was just whim.
Because of the landslide that happened right here, at the beginning of this spectacular hike, we will always remember this section of the path. Not that we were there on the day of the actual landslide you understand, but we were there just one year after—a blip in time geologically—so we feel entitled to be a part of it all. Special, don't you know. Here's what happened:​

​Monday, 9/19/11: Hiker reports a large crack on the coastal path. Later that day, Cornwall Council diverts the path. 

Tuesday, 9/20/12: This is where we come in! Only one year later! We walk right by the same spot and take a picture. 

Thursday, 9/22/11: Cornwall Council completes more surveys; notes that large tension cracks are opening up.

Friday, 9/24/11: Throughout day hikers report material falling from cliff. At about 4:50 p.m., Cornwall Council engineers Richard Hocking and Brian O'Connell happen to be onsite with a camera. This is what they filmed:
According to Environment Agency spokesman Paul Gainey, "Coastal rock falls like this are caused by a combination of factors. It's wave and wind action: the waves erode the foot of the cliff and undermine it. Wind buffets the cliff and erodes it away.” Now we know. Who says science is hard?
And here is Bob standing right there where all the excitement went down. Helpfully, there's a South West Coast Path website with a page that lists known path diversions, tricky spots, and maintenance being done. Guess we should be checking this in the future.
Whoa. 
The climbs along this section of the coast path are the don't-look-up-just-watch-your-feet-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-surely-this-will-end-please-God kind, and the scrambles down make you sharply aware of just how many individual components make up a knee, and that each part hurts and complains in its own special way. 
Those paths that look so innocently like shortcuts? They're not. This photo is looking back, bent over catching our breath after painfully barreling down that shortcut and then slogging our way up the steps from hell. We'll be bent over here for awhile. Go on without us. 
But the views make it all worthwhile. Usually. Many are the times we just want the path to end already.
Finally, we see Portreath. And not a moment too soon as we're both a bit grumpy after getting into one of those God-knows-what-we're-fighting-about marital arguments that hit the best of us from time to time. We're actually not talking to each other at this point. That's how mature we are. 
I find these fellas a bit disconcerting. I've not heard of a wild pony attacking a human, but they are watching us pretty closely, probably guarding that one on the ground who is...taking a snooze? Giving birth? Dead? We don't stay around to investigate. 

Further reading informs us that the ponies aren't there just for fun, or to give birth, or to die. They play an important role in managing the heathland habitats because their grazing helps keep the more vigorous plants in check and creates a balanced mix of taller bushes, bare ground, and close cropped areas. Who knew? That circle of life stuff is everywhere.
We flag the next bus to St Ives, where we slosh down a few drinks and some seriously unhealthy portions of fish & chips. We're talking again by the end of the meal.