West Cornwall’s rugged coastline, mercilessly ravaged by the Atlantic’s awesome power, is a photographer’s dream.  Rocky coves nestle beneath towering granite cliffs, providing scarce shelter from the almost unceasing winds.  Long, sandy beaches entice, leading to azure waters that become mighty, terrifying cauldrons as the swells deepen, braved only by fearless, neoprene-clad surfers.

We have been visiting the far south west of Cornwall for years; it is rich with family memories and the stark contrast to our Fenland home ensured it was a place we could visit to truly unplug.  It was the last place we were in during 2020 before the lockdowns forced us back to East Anglia, and it was the first place we visited the second (literally!) that travel restrictions were lifted over a year later. 

Porthgwarra, just a couple of miles around the coast from Lands End, is wonderfully remote.  A narrow, winding road descends from the headland around Sennen to sea level, offering stunning views over the moorland to the distinctive conical daymarks atop the cliffs, helping seafarers navigate around the treacherous [obstacle name], some [distance] out to sea.  The tiny hamlet of Porthgwarra is perched above a rocky inlet, a popular shelter for inquisitive seals, and a small slipway, draped with heavy iron chains and seaweed-covered ropes, serves the local fishermen.  But the most distinctive feature of Porthgwarra is the tidal tunnel leading down to the shore, dug by fishermen to store live shellfish and bring harvested seaweed up to the shore for use as fertiliser.

 Notwithstanding its very practical purpose, the Porthgwarra tunnel is unmistakably Cornish, evoking scenes of smugglers stashing their illicit cargo on moonless nights.  Standing at the foot of the tunnel on this gloriously clear October night, as the waves lapped at its entrance, I could sense the history witnessed by the light granite walls, history that played out beneath the same stellar backdrop that hung brilliantly above my head that evening.