In an effort to know more of the area we have moved to, one evening my mum explained my step dad wanted to go fishing off the coast. So at 7pm
we set off down to the village to walk round to Chynhalls Point, an area
unknown to me but owned by the National Trust.
Dogs in tow
we scrambled up and then down the rocks to get to the shoreline. The tide was
much further in than I think we all anticipated and the wind was particularly
strong creating the most beautiful white horsed waves but we persevered. As I soon
found out, when my mum said that “we” were going fishing, this actually
transpired to my step dad fishing whilst we sat with the dogs reading and
taking pictures. If this was fishing, then sign me up! After a few minutes, it
became clear that there would be no fish caught tonight as the waves were far
too choppy so we left the sea bass to swim on their merry way and headed to the
small pebbly beach around the corner.
We had been
visiting this area for about 3 years before we moved and yet I still didn’t know
all of its hidden gems. Completely private and perfectly proportioned, Chynhalls
beach probably wouldn’t appeal to the typical holiday maker with its pebbles
galore and a nightmare to get down to, why would anyone choose this when there
is a sandy picture perfect beach around the corner? But for me, this was
Cornwall; remote, rugged and untouched. It wasn’t until a wave came crashing up
and over the rock I had been sat on reading that we decided we would become
trapped if we didn’t head home there and then.
It was a surprisingly
lovely evening with my parents; just us, the dogs and good ol’ mother nature. It
reminded me that sometimes, the best times are spontaneous and slightly outside
of my regular comfort zones.
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