Writings from a Cornish Seascape

My happiest of places…

What motivates and inspires me…

The sea always the sea. I’m spending my days in Cornwall wandering salty seascapes and seeking out places to swim. Robinson Crusoe beaches. The crumbling unforgiving undulations of the Southwest Coastal Path as it scrambles windswept between Mousehole and Lamorna. Overwhelmed by the granite stone structures off the headlands carved by the eternal ebb and flow of the mighty waves of the Atlantic. But look inland from the ocean to the pathway and suddenly you are immersed in Kemyel wood. This ancient woodland clings doggedly to the cliffs off the pathway. The sun suddenly disappears beneath the canopy woven by the trees, bluebells are abundant here right now. And there is such a pungent smell of wild garlic so strong it all but knocks you off your feet.

Hidden here in this wild space this ecosystem life is thriving doing its thing! Nature will always adapt and change and survive its we humans that are bound for utter self-destruction. But here in this hidden glade serenity prevails. All is calm, all is exactly as it should be. And then suddenly the sunlight hits your eyes, and the voice of the waves are calling you onwards towards Lamorna, the wood is behind you as you press forward. I scramble down the path as it steeply descends into Larmona Cove, a perfect picture card Cornish Beach and harbour. Lamorna is the muse for countless artists and writers unburdening their souls in oils and words. But for me? The perfect place to swim.

I make a quick decision that with the sun shining and sea calm I will swim in skins [my swimsuit] and leave my wetsuit behind. I want to feel the water as I immerse in it. Hot and salty with sweat after my scrambling’s I want to cool down. Wetsuits give you buoyancy for sea swims essential if you are heading off on a big swim. But today I want to bob in the ocean. I want to feel the ice cream freeze of my brain inside my skull without a swim hat offering protection. I quickly change and in I go. Walking slowly towards the horizon. I feel the sand drop away under my feet and there it is that moment of utter surrender to the cold. The sea temperature is still only 10-11c so it's nippy. The involuntary whoop that always leaves my lips as I feel my shoulders slip into the waters is a release an exclamation of joy. I am here! I am present!

For once the voices in my head are stilled as my body tries to work out what exactly it needs to do to survive this moment and that is all that matters. I turn and swim freestyle goggles on, head in observing the underwater world of which I can only ever temporarily be a part. Sometimes I swim out that little bit too far and turn to face the shoreline as the tide carries me and waves lap around me and I wonder will I make it back? I love this feeling of being on the edge. The sea is unforgiving, it holds me now as I glide through perfectly aligned with my stroke. But get caught in a rip and you could be thrown against the rocks abandoned by the very body of water that you love. And for me that is the glory of the moment. The sea motivates me to lose myself. To realise that I am small, but I am not insignificant for I have a place here in this ocean. A place where I can swim and feel held by something so much bigger than me. The sea. Always calling me back like a siren’s whale. Windswept. Westerly. Wanderlust.