Dawn was breaking when we stepped off the train in Lelant, a village tucked into a loch near St Ives. The early morning light is still thickening as the distinctive, repetitive shrill call of a robin wakes this sleepy corner of West Cornwall.
I’m in Cornwall with a friend to walk a pilgrim’s path (St Michael’s Way from Lelant to Mount St Michael), which I first walked a few years ago. At the time, I was alone, fresh out of a toxic relationship, and trying to piece together my life against the backdrop of resurfacing trauma. However, I did not feel melancholy because I had discovered the power of these ancient ways some time ago. And I say this as someone who is not religious in any way.
When people think of pilgrimage, they usually think of long walks lasting weeks. But a pilgrim’s route can be as long or short as you want. And there are many examples of meaningful meandering found among recorded pilgrim routes that can be completed in a single day, or on shortened sections of longer routes that can be just as rewarding as multi-day missions. The main criterion is that they must be a “purposeful walk”. I believe they can help us all find meaning, regardless of our faith.
Over the years these ‘micro-pilgrimages’ have taken place, including the last five miles of the Way of St Birinus in the Thames Valley, the 3.5 mile Way of St Thomas at Llancarfan (one of 13 day-long circular pilgrimages of the same name between England and the 1920s). I walked most of my journeys. Swansea and Hereford) and one of two 15-mile loops of the Porlock Pilgrim’s Trail on Exmoor. And each time, no matter the length, I am truly amazed by the clarity I get from these trails.
With a silent nod (the kind that means so much between two old friends) we begin our St Michael’s Way walk alongside the purple rosettes of towering vipers. We pass a scallop-shell-adorned sign marking the route as an official section of the Camino de Santiago (as of 2016); it’s one of nearly 300 trails covering more than 50,000 miles across 29 countries that people can walk to reach their final destination. .
Next to it is the church of St Uny, named after the Celtic missionary who converted Cornish pagans to Christianity in the sixth century. He wasn’t the only one who crossed the seas to get here. Although this route was only designated as a pilgrim’s path in 2014, ancient shipping records indicate that souls bound for England from Wales and Ireland would be dropped off at Lelant rather than risk the treacherous seas around Land’s End, and then head south to Mount St Michael. It shows that he will walk towards. Some even continue to move towards Spain.
We are at a relaxed pace as we have approximately 14 hours to cover the distance of just under 14 miles. We grab and stamp our “pilgrim passports” (available at the church) and spend time searching for the holy well on the cliffs of Carbis Bay to grab coffee by the water before abandoning the hunt. Heading inland, we climb Worvas Hill and share current life events as we ascend: work projects, life changes, and our love of being outside, temporarily away from it all.
We have stood on the hills of giants, we have followed the last wolf, and we have followed in the footsteps of our ancestors; all on one walking path
We pass the massive granite boulder of Bowl Rock, said to have been thrown by two bowling giants, and stop for a packed lunch at Trencrom Hill to admire the traces of an ancient neolithic enclosure reused as a hill fort in the iron age. . Here we have our “Monte do Gozo” – or Hill of Joy on the Camino de Santiago – moment: we can see our destination, the tidal island off Marazion, whose Cornish name (Karrek Loos yn Koos (“country stone in woodland”)) was once forested and out of the water It shows that you are pure.
On my last visit I learned that the giant Trecobben threw stones at his shore neighbor, the lazy Cormoran, but accidentally hit and killed his wife. These legends form such an important thread in the fabric of history here that his grave is even marked on the Ordnance Survey map.
Our walk from the Celtic Sea to the English Channel sees us piece together more stories: from my own past – losing my mother when I was young, overcoming an eating disorder – and the natural history of Rospeith, where we are said to be the last wolf in Britain. to have been killed. And a pirate tomb filled with skulls and crossbones in the Gulval church revives the local legend once again.
Our feet hurt as we reach the promenade on the outskirts of Penzance and head east towards Marazion. We reinvigorate ourselves with the taste of wild brassica nigra, but we are too late to catch the last boat to the Mountain and the tide is too inland to cross the pass.
Instead we reluctantly head to All Saints church, feeling a little dejected, our supposed destination rejected. We didn’t come here to pray, but as we sit on the pews and reflect on our journey, we both fall into a meditative state.
We learned about saints and sinners, confessed secrets to each other, and shared a lot of laughter. We have stood on the peaks of giants, followed the last wolf, and followed in the footsteps of our ancestors. And we connected it all on one walking path, giving ourselves the space to reconnect the dots in our own lives; I’ve seen this happen on many micro trips.
Before we leave, we locate the passport stamping station and find not one but two (including our last lost stamp from St Michael’s Mount) left there for souls who came this close to the island but missed the boat to it. We thought we hadn’t achieved our goal, but here we were, given a second chance to complete our mission.
A Catholic might call this divine providence, but I call it the magic of the pilgrimage.