Image credit: Lily Bertrand-Webb
We explore the landscape from Artists House without a car, from catching the ferry, exploring waterside woodland before walking the coast path to the sea for a swim at Readymoney Cove…
It’s July, peak season in Cornwall. Chevrons of water ripple, spread and fade as a pair of swans and their three young glide past on the calm water. The trees in the woods on either side of the creek move with the wind, and we watch as dozens of house martins dive to the water before flitting back to the nest they’ve made in the roof of the old boathouse. White bellies catching the light, a relay in flight.
“To get to Pont, we caught the ferry from Fowey to Bodinnick, and walked along a trail with moderate ups and downs.”
A bustling quay in the 18th century that saw limestone, fertiliser and coal unloaded from sailing barges, Pont Pill today is deserted. Fowey meanwhile, only three-and-a-half miles away, is busy with visitors by now – one reason we’ve headed upstream. Sometimes, it’s good to find a place to have to yourself. We find a patch of grass on the bank of the creek, sit down, and watch the swans as they float languidly upstream.
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Image credit: Lily Bertrand-Webb
How to get there
To get to Pont, we caught the ferry from Fowey to Bodinnick, and walked along a trail with moderate ups and downs. It’s known as the Hall Walk. The day started off overcast and cool, but as we made our way through the woods the sun broke through, casting dappled light through the tree canopy.
The views over Fowey are of sailboats lined up all the way down the river as it winds its way to join the sea and clusters of buildings spreading up the hill.
“It’s late afternoon and the crowds have thinned but there’s still a good buzz in the town. It rains, slowly at first, then a downpour, so we make a run for Mardy Bakery on Lostwithiel Street.”
An hour and a half has passed, and the swans are still meandering on what’s left of the water – the tide is on its way out. A family of loud ducks has joined them, along with a couple of gulls. We look around, and we still have the quay all to ourselves.
We could carry on walking along the trail to Polruan to get the ferry back to Fowey – or even opt for a long diversion by first heading towards the South West Coast Path for stunning views out to sea. Rumbling stomachs mean we opt for the shorter route. Golden fields of tall, shimmering grass, Red Admiral butterflies taking off as we wade through, and then more woodland.
Image credit: Lily Bertrand-Webb
And back
Another ferry ride and we’re back in Fowey. It’s late afternoon and the crowds have thinned but there’s still a good buzz in the town. It rains, slowly at first, then a downpour, so we make a run for Mardy Bakery on Lostwithiel Street, a traditional French patisserie. We say hello to Agathe, the owner, and ask how the day has been. Hectic, but good, she tells us. She’s nearly sold out, but not quite so we order a couple of white chocolate Viennese and a cinnamon roll before the other customers get their orders in.
“On the pontoon, a young couple laughs as they bob up and down, mirroring the motion of the water.”
Next stop: Shrew Books, one of Fowey’s many beautiful independent shops, which includes the seaweed pressings and prints at Moleswoth & Bird. At Shrew Books, we spend a good half an hour browsing the shelves, and step out clutching some new books to add to the holiday reading pile. Cutting edge literary fiction, elegant nature writing, compelling non-fiction plus poetry and your next thrilling beach read – the shop may be small, but the range is mighty.
Image credit: Lily Bertrand-Webb
Evening swim
It’s almost dinner time, but after the baked goods we’re unsurprisingly not hungry. So, we set-off along the Esplanade as the sky clears and the day turns towards the evening. We pass young families on their way back to their holiday houses carrying buckets and spades and bodyboards, the outside patio of a restaurant packed with diners as Latin music and the smell of seared meat and garlic drifts out of the open door.
Image credit: Lily Bertrand-Webb
The road starts sloping downwards, and eventually we reach Readymoney Cove. It’s a small, sheltered cove, the first of several choice swimming spots as the estuary meets the sea, with a fair-sized beach when the tide is out, as it is now.
It’s early evening and the beach is empty. On the pontoon, a young couple laughs as they bob up and down, mirroring the motion of the water. We change into our swimming kit (which we luckily remembered to pack), and wade into the water. It’s a little chilly and it bites, but it’s refreshing, and I start to feel the beginnings of the cold water swimmer’s high.
In the water, in between the land and the open sea. I gaze at the horizon. A boat idles along, its engine droning, and the sun begins to set.
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The beach at any time, coast paths to uncover, ferries to board – leave the car behind for the day when you stay by the sea…
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