Sometimes I find writing a poem about a special time or trip helps me to capture a moment better than prose. Maybe it’s because a poem is more striped back, a condensed snapshot focused on the essence without added noise. It’s a very different process and I enjoy the creativity and added reflection it entails, although it often feels like a continual work in progress. Almost every reading seems to lead to a little tweak, change of phrase or streamlining of the superfluous, but I also like how this allows me to revisit the moment again and again.

This is the current iteration of a poem I wrote about our first proper family adventure; a multi-day hiking and camping trip along the Cornish coast path when our little boy was 6 months old. I previously shared another poem that expands on a specific part within this poem that I thought deserved its own spotlight. Perhaps it’s overkill to write two poems about the same period of time, but hopefully it demonstrates how profound an effect any time spent completely immersed in nature can have.

THE PATH

Pendeen to Treen, it’s got a ring,
Let’s make this camping hike a thing!
The plans are made, the tent is pitched,
Cold night concerns and roll mat switched.
Heavy bags stuffed to overflow,
“Are we mad to give this a go?”

Baby perched in his backpack,
Starting out on unknown track.
From lighthouse to ruined mine,
“A day walk might still be fine!”
Then lofty views over Botallack,
Time to play and have a snack.

Bodies primed and spirits high,
As agile choughs that overhead fly.
Soon, Cape Cornwall comes into view,
Refuelled, we dip in Priest’s silky blue.
A hidden world of kelpy delight, 
Glimpsed underwater out of sight.

Now, boots relaced and path refound,
To Cot Valley’s eden onward bound.
Tucked away, a coast path holy grail, 
Steadily filled with campers from the trail.
Socks on hands against the cold,
Sunset, tawny hoots and stories told.

Cliffs of granite on our next leg,
Smoothed below to dinosaur eggs.
The sky transformed to vivid blue.
Rippled imprints through turquoise hue,
The water calls from Gwynver’s sand, 
That makes an hourglass of our hand.

Familiar faces we soon greet, 
At Sennen as we break to eat.
Then tourist trickle becomes a stream,
As we near Land’s End selling the ‘dream’. 
An irksome diversion to overnight,
And scuppered plans to find a bite.

But, ready meals save the day, 
Devoured in its last glowing ray.
Buoyed by trodden path on waking, 
We disregard the miles awaiting.
Elated for making it through,
Our stride steady to Land’s End view.

A feeding frenzy unfurls offshore,
Leaping tuna, seals, choughs and more.
Luminous cliffs under bluebird sky,
Almost unglimpsed by human eye.
Next up, a dip under seal’s watch,
At Nanjizal before we step up a notch.

Our taste of victory proves premature,
As we face divergent contours.
Oft surging waves now mirror calm,
Instead we undulate with growing qualm.
But, choughs above and seals below,
Against craggy cliffs ramp up the show.

Porthgwarra at last, to dip in its cove,
A final lunch tucked in Poldark’s alcove.
Continuing on, we can taste the end,
Instead another beach around every bend.
‘Are we sure this is still England?’
We demand of Porth Chapel’s fine sand.

Soon we find drama is not contained,
To The Minack’s stage, and feeling drained, 
We snake down steps for a last swim,
Revitalising our flagging limbs.
Adrenaline boosted we hit overdrive,
And at old Pedn Vounder we finally arrive.

“We’re here! We did it! We deserve a drink!”
Into Logan Rock’s garden we swiftly sink.
Accomplished and basking in its rewards,
To contemplate our journey, we take pause.
The best of times, we’re sure of that,
Shared with our baby in his backpack.