The cape.jpg

‘Going down west’ has become its own thing. The end of the land is its own place, its own definite part of Cornwall, itself a land apart. Its magnetism is its uniqueness, capricious and ubiquitous ocean, moor, glens, wells, ancient sites, stones and occult auras all converge in Penwith.

To journey around this little nub is to be pulled in all directions, there is intrigue and interest in every sign and place name. Scour the OS map of Penwith and you will see every inch has something of note. It is an old, curious place.

I always seem to end up in St. Just and Cape Cornwall, always drawn to the end. This was just a brief foray, in search of tidal pools. A clear and colourful late October day and we made it only as far as Kenidjack, as we watched the Atlantic at rest allowing the Scillies to show bold on the horizon.


A small walk is enough sometimes. It is enough to just be somewhere else, and that is in itself an apt description of Penwith.