St Nectan’s Waterfall
The Place That Called Me
Some places just call to you, and that is exactly what St Nectan’s Glen has done to me for the last five years.
I have searched for this waterfall on Google countless times, visited the website and stared at all the photographs. But none of that research could have prepared me for what I actually experienced.
My wonderful friend drove us an hour and a half to the Glen. We parked during one of the hottest parts of the day, then began walking what seemed like miles, hoping we were going the right way. We followed a small winding road through the most beautiful landscape, with Tintagel Castle visible in the distance.
Finally, we entered the forest.
We followed the stream up a huge hill and, after what felt like forever, arrived at the site. Straight away, we could feel the magic.
There were lots of people around, but one man told us to walk beyond the main area and the artwork. There, he said, we could sit quietly in the stream, away from everybody else, and surround ourselves with its magical water.
And magical water it was.
We paddled and became water fairies, nymphs and goblins. Then it was time to walk towards the main attraction.
It felt as though we were stepping through a tiny portal. The trees sheltered us from the blazing sun and the birds sang their songs like magic into our ears. The steps down into the valley formed a seemingly endless, winding path into the unknown.
It was breathtaking.
Finally, we passed through the last spinning gate and found ourselves surrounded by pools of water in every direction.
Then I walked around the corner.
The children disappeared. The other visitors disappeared. The whole world around me disappeared.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of it: the biggest hag stone I have ever seen, carved into the rock over thousands of years, with the waterfall tumbling straight through its centre.
If that isn’t magical, I don’t know what is.
It looked as though the rock had opened a portal especially for the water, allowing it to pass from one world into another.
Suddenly, it was just me, the stone and the water.
The water had been there for thousands of years, simply doing its job and blessing the world with its beauty, without ever knowing how magical it really was.
The valley felt as though it was filled with the wishes and hopes of all the people who had stood there before us. There were dedications to loved ones who had passed away and coins of hope pressed into old logs.
It was one of the most breathtaking experiences I have ever had.
Words failed me.
Before we left that morning, I had written about the eclipse due that evening. Here in Cornwall, roughly 95% of the Sun would disappear behind the Moon. I thought a day of waterfalls, hag stones and darkened skies would be the most magical combination imaginable.
But when evening came, the eclipse was nothing compared with what we had already seen.
Even the Moon passing in front of the Sun could not match the feeling of watching that ancient water fall through stone. The greatest magic of the day did not happen above us in the sky.
It happened down in that valley.
I don’t know what name to give the feeling I had there. Some might call it God, energy, nature or magic. I only know that, for those few moments, I felt connected to something ancient—something much bigger than me.
I didn’t need to understand it or explain it.
I could simply stand there and feel it.
That waterfall, doing what it had always done, changed me.
It filled my entire body with peace.
We stood there, taking in everything around us. We spoke about the history of the place, the intensity of our feelings and the impossible beauty of the waterfall.
I had waited for years. I had planned, dreamed and asked people to take me. But none of that could explain how beautiful it would be in real life—or the way it would intoxicate me.
Standing in that valley, watching the water fall into its pool, I felt peace and wonder fill my soul.
The waterfall was simply doing its job.
It didn’t even know how magical it was.
