Poem: A Cornish Adventure

A Cornish Adventure

“Let’s Go” he shouts as we leave Heyl, start of the estuary,

up to River Allen, which shines in shimmering mystery,

towards the crooked river, called in Cornish, Kammel,

rising source in Bodmin Moor, now the River Camel,

draining itself and its tributaries into the Celtic Sea

we follow too the geography, with our bicycles, him and me.

At Padstow famous for people, fish and food,

fishing boats sit, bottoms in thick mud,

in the early morning dawning sun

we leave that charming, bustling town.

Leave the ebb and flow of harbour life,

Leave the muddle of market strife,

Leave the rugged coastline coves,

Leave the pure clean sandy beaches,

Leave the seaweed kelp and bays,

Leave the commerce for natural days,

Leave the muddy harbour and fishing port,

Take a gentle challenge of the two-wheeled sport.

Off we go cycling along the trail, once a working railway track,

reach the grand old Bodmin Jail, pedalling there and back.    

Alongside the estuary 
partake of cups of coffee

Chocolate cones for creamy ice cream 

Blackberry ice to make us scream

Scones and jam with Cornish cream - a treat for thee and me. 

Sea fret on a sparkling sea.

Tide is risen high with glee.

Seals moan mournfully in the bay.

Sun shines on the sea all day.

Returning to our starting point

we watch in twilight setting sun

fishermen board their colourful boats

in yellow dungarees and coats

head out of harbour on a rising tide

slip the ropes fearlessly with pride

to harvest mackerel from their schools

providing people with salient Omega oils.

Earlier a river bed

with driven deep rivulets

was a muddy chocolate brown.

Later a river flooded

with sea whilst white sailed yachts

come to restaurants in town.

The estuary ebbs and flows, 
in and out, 
without a doubt

reflecting twinkling fishing boats.
  

Yet cyclists are never at sea

For they're eating mackerels grilled for supper or their tea.