' CHAPTER VIII.
FROM PADSTOW RIVER TO MAWGAN FORTH.
STEPPER POINT - PEPPER HOLE AND BUTTER HOLE - GULLAND - SHOOTING SEALS - TREVONE - HARLYN BAY - TREVOSE HEAD - CONSTANTINE : A CHURCH IN THE SANDS - CORNISH PlES - TOM PARSONS, THE WRECKER - CONSTANTINE BAY - PORT GOTHAM - A SMUGGLERS' CAVE - GRAND CLIFF SCENERY - BEDRUTHAN STEPS - QUEEN ELIZABETH - MAWGAN FORTH.
BIDDING farewell to Padstow we take the path that follows the shore of the estuary running along the edge of low cliffs, through gently sloping pasture land and fields of corn - corn that is not more yellow than the bright sandy beaches across the river. I have before referred to the hue of these sands, and, at the risk of repetition, do so again. Never have I seen sands more golden. Even on an overcast day they light up the prospect, but when the sun strikes upon them the effect is really brilliant. Against the shimmer the bold height of Bray Hill looks dark and melancholy, and the lonely spire of St. Enodock rises over the towans more woe-begone than ever. The view seaward closes with the bold cliffs of Pentire, while, out to sea, the green-blue waves break into foam round the island crag off the extremity of the promontory.
Beyond the little battery and Harbour Cove rises the headland that guards the southern shore of the haven - Stepper Point. It is a lofty green hill sloping steep to the waves that ever wash its feet with restless swirl, for here river and ocean meet. On the top is a Daymark, a serviceable but not handsome structure, like a mine stack cut short. But possibly those making for the haven, to the entrance of which it serves as guide post, do not concern themselves so much about its appearance as do we irresponsible tramps. To them the Daymark is a friend - very often, when they are driving up channel dangerously near a lee-shore, a friend in need. When the sea-mist is tearing along every cliff top from Trevose to Tintagel, there must be something very comforting in sighting" this ugly dark beacon showing for a moment through a rift in the wrack. " Starboard ! my son, starboard ! there's the Daymark, sure enough ; and hooray for Padstow River! "
Passing up the fields at the back of the headland, we find ourselves facing the open Atlantic, and on the brink of a grand line of cliffs stretching away to Trevose Head, a far-projecting promontory connected with the mainland by a low peninsula. For some distance these cliffs fall sheer to the sea, and in a heavy nor'-wester the crash of the great Atlantic rollers against the dark wall must be grand beyond description. Even on this bright day, with nothing but a fresh breeze to drive them.... '
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