Day 4: Logan’s Rock and Porthcurno
I clamber over rocks to the promontory on which the Logan Rock perches, precariously balanced, high above the cliffs. Squeezing through tight spaces and heaving myself up boulders that are difficult for my legs to reach, the crystalline granite scrapes at my fingers. Panting, I reach the end of the headland, catch my breath, and look around. Tiny, olive green, lichen grows closely to the rock. It has dried to a hard crust. Tufts of drying grass manage to find a crevice to grow and sprout out like a hairy chest. Looking out there is so much blue.
At Porthcurno, a bit further along the coast, we wander along the beach. The sand is made up of very large grains of shell. If I put my hand down it comes up covered. The grains stick to my skin and are really hard to brush off. Small white shells are scattered across the beach. They are shiny and smooth; their edges and surfaces sanded by their coarse environment I’ve looked them up and I think they are the Surf Clam, Spisula Solida.