Starting the day calmly i was eager to make my way around the next headland all the way to Plymouth which was a fair hike. As i hiked i was accompanied by Butterfly's dancing a wilderness waltz. I hadn't seen many the year before whilst making my way up the east coast but now they were everywhere.
It was really hot and i sweated as i approached portwrinkle. I guess that if Scotland was crinkly then for Cornwall to be wrinkly stood to reason. From portwrinkle i headed on towards the end of the headland passing an unusual community of wooden huts perched on the edge of the cliffs. They were most likely to be holiday homes. Some looked quite old and others new, one looked very modern indeed and quite caught my imagination. It's roof was styled like the waves and grass was growing on its roof.
Leaving the community behind i carried on towards the headland passing through a small cliff side woodland. Reaching the top of the headland i could see St Michaels chapel a small lonely building built upon the top of a hill at the very end of the point. I took my bag off and climbed the steps for a closer look. From here i could see far, the coast i had been and the coast i would be walking next. The chapel itself was very old. Inside it was small and the stone work was weathered. Cornwall seemed to have quite a thing for st Michael although i wasn't entirely sure of the connection. After taking a few minutes to look around i headed back down the steps to retrieve my bag.
The path to Cawsand was easy going in comparison to what I'd had to negotiate for the previous weeks. Cawsand was another quaint sea side village with narrow streets and a lovely old world feel.
From Cawsand i headed through the botanical gardens and arrived at the beach opposite Plymouth. It was late but still light and with very little wind i decided to risk a crossing to meet up with duct tape stu the lad who'd walked the cornish coast I'd met a couple of weeks earlier.
Landing on the slipway on the far side after quite a pleasant paddle i quickly packed hoolley away and began to walk into the city. Passing a pub i noticed the sign painted on the wall outside. "The first pub in Devon" i had now left Cornwall and crossed the border into devon. I hadn't realised the significance of the crossing til that moment. The pub was closed. It didn't matter i called stu and arranged to meet him at the barbican for a celebratory drink on the harbour promenade.
After our drink among the hustle and bustle of the Plymouth nightlife we headed back to his flat on the way grabbing a frozen pizza from tesco. While i sat enjoying my treat we watched a documentary on tv about ants.
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