July Days Away

You don’t always have to jump on a plane or sail across the seven seas to find paradisiacal corners. If you’re looking for secret spots during the claustrophobic summer months in Cornwall, it’s just a matter of a packing your rucksack and setting out on the coast path. Seek and ye shall find untouched valleys inaccessible except for on foot, meandering streams deep enough for a cold water wash and unforgiving oceans where the sun melts into the horizon before a thick blanket of stars is pulled across the inky blackness above. 

Tired of the traffic and tourists, three friends, three dogs and I strapped our tents to our backpacks and set out in search of some mid-week solace. The places we discovered did not disappoint. 

It was a hot day in July. A strong, warm wind was blowing from the south. We’d driven from our home in north Cornwall towards Land’s End, stopping where we thought we’d find waves and empty beaches. Clare, Emma, Evie and I hunkered down in the sand, surrounded by our dogs, boards and bags, wondering which way we were going to walk. To the north, the path wound between ancient granite tors, in the opposite direction we could see the end of the county. Salty and sunburnt we gathered our belongings as the sun began to sink and set out on foot. 


Golden hour on the path and everyone’s hair shone with heatwave highlights. The dogs ran on ahead, winding between silver boulders. Bare feet kicked up dusty sand and a small swell lapped at the land. We shielded our eyes as we walked towards the sunset. There is something meditative about walking. One foot in front of the other. Falling into a gentle pace, in unison with companions. Not in a hurry and with no concrete destination, Emma and I silently dreamed on ahead whilst Clare and Evie stopped to photograph the dramatic landscape, completely engulfed in sisterly conversation. Em let her tanned fingers trail through long sea grasses as a gentle wind rippled past. Gulls wheeled quietly overhead. A sailing boat coasted along the horizon, heading north. Time seemed to be moving as slowly as our feet along the coast path. July felt like it would last forever. 

We set up camp in a valley. A river ran through the middle, pooling amongst natural dams at intervals and crossable by a wooden foot bridge. Tall reeds grew on the mossy banks, screening each pool from view of passers-by. Taking it in turns we peeled off our clothes and sunk into the freezing water, naked nymphs washing the salt and sand from our freckled skin. I lent back and let the water rinse my crispy hair, soothe my sunburned shoulders, work the mud from between my toes, held in the gentle flow of the stream. 

After setting up the tents on the flattest land we could find we settled ourselves onto the little bridge. Tin mugs of wine, crisps and rice crackers ended up being our evening meal as the sun sunk into the distant horizon. A full moon was rising from the origins of the valley and Evie played her wooden flute whilst the dogs howled along. We felt truly wild, sitting with our feral fur babies in the middle of nowhere, women of the water and winding paths. 

(Darkness set in and we headed to our tiny homes. Slightly drunk and sunned out I realised I had forgotten my sleeping bag. The crisp clear night was growing colder. By the light of the moon and accompanied by Evie I started the long hike back to the car.)

The next morning I lay awake in the tent, side by side with my dog. She was lying on her back, her head on my pillow. We listened to the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky beach. The wind buffeted the canvas. The outdoors sounded so alive. I held on to the sleepy, slow warmth of the night, thinking about this and that, the thoughts passing through my mind like clouds through the sky. Summer had been full on so far. Work and drinking and anxiety was getting the better of me and I had been desperate to switch off from it all, but unable to distance myself. A phone-less, commitment-less trip down west had been just what the doctor ordered. Here we were free from social ties and heart ache and work deadlines. We were surrounded on all sides by nature in it’s purest form. Entirely untouchable and disconnected. 

I unzipped the tent door and watched Emma scooping water from the stream in a small tin teapot, picking fresh mint from the banks. I could hear Clare and Evie giggling in the tent pitched above mine, partially hidden by rugged granite, Evie’s puppy crashing around inside. A stiff westerly wind blew into camp. Over instant noodles for breakfast we decided to take shelter on the south coast of Cornwall. 

The sea was dramatically different on this side of the peninsula. It had changed from rolling mauve, speckled with white horses and diving cormorants, to tranquil turquoise, not a ripple playing on the surface. We made our way down the steep, dirt path that hugged the sheer, dramatic cliffs. The ocean glittered invitingly and the granite rocks were hot from the morning sun. Naked bodies were lying flat against the rocky shelves, tanned bums and discarded clothes scattered around. From above we saw a man wearing nothing but a snorkel and a pair of flippers dive into the crystal clear water. Racing down and stripping off we did the same. 

The girls, dogs and I spent the whole day jumping in and out of the ocean. Relishing in the feeling of cold water running over our bare skin. Soaking up the hot sunshine from the sky and the rocks below us, reading and quietly chatting, eating avocados and apples, lapsing into silence and sleep. We felt refreshed and rejuvenated, grasping onto the last moments of wild freedom, knowing we’d return to the real world still harbouring this feeling of calm within us. 

Photo by Clare James Photography

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Lottie Lewis