There are ways to benefit from pilgrimage’s healing properties without taking on a tough multi-day walk. Cornwall’s 14-mile trek is equally charming
We get off the train at Lelant, a town tucked away in a bay close to St Ives, at first light. This peaceful part of west Cornwall is awakened by the unmistakable, repeating call of a song thrush, and the early morning light is still growing stronger.
I’m in Cornwall with a friend to retrace my steps on the St. Michael’s Way, which connects Lelant and St. Michael’s Mount. I did this walk a few years ago. I was alone myself, just out of a bad relationship, and trying to start over in the midst of trauma that kept coming back. Even so, I had long since grasped the power of these old routes, so I didn’t feel depressed when I arrived. Furthermore, as someone who is not at all religious.
When people hear the word “pilgrimage,” they often envision extended weeks-long walks. However, a pilgrim’s path can be as long or as short as you desire, as I learned while researching my new book on Britain’s ancient paths. There are numerous examples of meaningful journeys among documented pilgrim paths that can be completed in a single day, or shortened sections of longer routes that can be just as fulfilling as multi-day adventures. The key criterion is that they are a “walk with a purpose.” I believe these walks can help us all discover meaning, regardless of our beliefs.
I have walked many of these “micro-pilgrimages” over the years, such as the final five miles of the St. Birinus Way in the Thames Valley, the 3½-mile St. Thomas Way in Llancarfan (one of 13 identically named daylong circular pilgrimages between Swansea and Hereford), and one of the two 15-mile loops of the Porlock Pilgrim’s Trail in Exmoor. Each time, I have been truly amazed at the clarity I gain from these trails, regardless of their length.
As we begin our stroll along St. Michael’s Way, we exchange a quiet nod that conveys a lot about our friendship—a silent roset of purple viper’s bugloss. We pass a sign with a scallop shell on it, saying that this is an official part of the Camino de Santiago (since 2016), one of around 300 paths that travel through 29 countries and cover more than 50,000 miles to get to the ultimate destination for pilgrims.
St. Uny’s Church, which honours a Celtic missionary who converted the Cornish pagans to Christianity in the sixth century, is located next to the sign. Not just St. Uny dared to cross the ocean to get here. Although the path was only made official as a pilgrim footpath in 2014, old shipping records show that, rather than sailing the dangerous waters off Land’s End, passengers from Wales and Ireland would be ferried to Lelant, where they would walk south to St. Michael’s Mount, and some would continue their journey as far as Spain.
We keep our speed slow, knowing that it will take us about 14 hours to cover little under 14 miles. Before giving up and choosing to have coffee at the water’s edge, we take our time looking for the holy well above the cliffs of Carbis Bay, gathering and stamping our “pilgrim passports” (available in the church). Heading inland, we climb Worvas Hill and use the opportunity to talk about recent occurrences in our lives, such as job projects, personal growth, and our shared love of the great outdoors while taking a momentary break from the grind.
We have retraced our ancestors’ footsteps, stood atop hills that once towered like giants, and tracked the last steps of wolves on a single walking trail.
We stumble upon Bowl Rock, a huge granite landmark that is said to have been thrown by two giants who were playing bowls. Atop Trencrom Hill, we stop for a packed lunch while taking in the ruins of a Neolithic enclosure that was converted into a hillfort during the Iron Age. Here, on the tidal island near Marazion, we reach our target, the Camino de Santiago, and we have our “Monte do Gozo” moment, or the Hill of Joy moment. Its Cornish name, Karrek Loos yn Koos, which translates to “hoar rock in woodland,” implies that it was formerly dry and covered with forest.
I had heard a tale from the locals during my last visit about the enormous Trecobben who used to throw stones at his lethargic Cormoran neighbour up the coast. Sadly, Trecobben’s wife was fatally struck by one of these stones by accident. Her tomb is marked on the Ordnance Survey map, a testament to how deeply ingrained these stories are in this place’s historical fabric.
As we journey from the Celtic Sea to the English Channel, we intertwine a tapestry of stories. I share personal experiences from my past, including the loss of my mother as a teenager and my journey to overcome an eating disorder. We also delve into the natural history of Rospeith, where the last wolf in Britain was reputedly slain. Additionally, local lore comes alive with the discovery of a pirate’s grave, complete with skull and crossbones, at Gulval church.
Weary, we arrive at the promenade on the edge of Penzance and turn east toward Marazion. Revitalizing ourselves with a sampling of wild brassica nigra, our feet ache from the journey. However, we reach Marazion too late to catch the last boat to the Mount, and the tide is too high to cross the causeway.
Reluctantly, we head towards All Saints Church, a little disheartened by the thwarted plans for our intended destination. While we don’t come to pray, a sense of meditation descends upon us as we settle into the pews and contemplate our journey.
We’ve laughed a lot, revealed secrets, and dived into stories about saints and sinners. Traversing the footsteps of our ancestors, tracking the path of the last wolf, and standing atop hills that once towered like giants—all of these experiences are united by a single walking trail. We have been able to connect the dots in our own life thanks to this voyage, which is something I’ve frequently observed on numerous micro-pilgrimages.
We reach the passport stamping station before we leave and are shocked to see not one, not two, stamps, including the last missing stamp from St. Michael’s Mount. These additional stamps are reserved for people who have approached but were unable to board the island’s boat. What at first seemed like a failure to arrive at our goal became a surprising chance for us to complete our purpose.
