We’d barely made it out of the car park at St Ives station when the heavens opened, and my rucksack decided it wanted a proper Cornish soaking. One zip had come undone on the train, so half my waterproofs were already damp before we’d even reached the steep lane down to Bayside. By the time we turned the last corner and caught sight of the little white cottage tucked just above the sand, I was laughing so hard I nearly slipped on the wet cobbles. The mishap set the tone: we’d planned a gentle coastal stroll straight after unpacking, but the weather clearly had other ideas.

Still, the first glimpse of Bayside made the soggy arrival worthwhile. From the front windows you can see straight across Carbis Bay’s curve of golden sand, and even with rain streaking the glass the view felt instantly calming. We dumped our bags, made a quick cuppa, and watched the clouds scud across the bay while deciding what to do next. The forecast promised a break in the showers by late morning, so we pulled on our slightly-less-damp layers and set off along the South West Coast Path that starts practically at the bottom of the garden.

The path climbs gently at first, winding between bracken and low stone walls with the sea glinting below. We’d only gone a mile or so when the sun broke through, turning the wet gorse into a thousand tiny mirrors. It felt like the whole coastline had been freshly washed just for us. We paused at a bench overlooking Porthminster Beach, sharing a slightly squashed pasty we’d grabbed at the station, and realised neither of us minded the earlier downpour anymore.

By afternoon the sky had settled into that soft, pale blue that seems unique to Cornwall in early summer. We carried on towards Hawks Cliff, boots crunching on sandy paths, stopping every few minutes to watch the turquoise water surge against the rocks. A family we met coming the other way warned us the wind could pick up later, so we turned back earlier than planned, content to potter along the lower coastal trail that hugs the edge of Carbis Bay itself. The tide was out, leaving wide stretches of damp sand perfect for beachcombing, and we spent a happy half-hour collecting tiny shells while the seagulls wheeled overhead.

Back at Bayside we kicked off sandy shoes on the little patio and watched the evening light slide across the bay. The cottage felt like the perfect base for exactly this sort of flexible wandering—close enough to the path that we could duck out whenever the weather allowed, yet cosy enough to wait out showers without feeling cooped up. I’d come expecting long, ambitious hikes; instead we’d had a patchwork of shorter walks shaped entirely by the changeable Cornish sky. Oddly, that felt more memorable than any rigid itinerary could have been.