A visit to Penberth cove

We payed a visit to Penberth Cove this weekend, it's been a few years absence but this Saturday Penberth called. Charles wrestled the Landrover off of the road to Porthcurno at a tortuous "beyond-right-angled-junction" and we followed the stream down through the wooded valley before parking beside some Gunnera and walking the rest of the way to the cove. We couldn't help stopping to admire a thatched cottage on the way with white doves in the dovecot under the eaves and the traditional fishing cottages with massive buttresses and deep dark doorways.
Penberth is one of the only remaining working fishing coves in Cornwall and the boats were up out of the the sea that was already starting to toss below the slipway.

We climbed up again out to the cove into the strengthening wind with the idea of eating our picnic on the headland -stopping to admire the cluster of cottages as they grey smaller below us

and making our way out along the ravaged cliffs swept by centuries of storms, serene in the summer and now settling down to withstand the winter gales

we walked on across the heathland our boots scrunching a gritty rhythm on the dark granite laced soil towards the Logan rock before turning once again back to the cove

We found a sheltered bench to eat our picnic of cheddar cheese and pickles watching the sea heave against the cliffs with high plumes of foam. Why do sandwiches always taste so much better watching a growing storm? But time to go, returning up the valley and realising as the roar of the sea diminished we still had the company of the little stream burbling daintily across the smooth stones of its bed and our waiting car to carry us home.