'Unlike anything else in the country': Exploring the UK's surreal 'Alps'

The "Cornish Alps" are home to vivid green lagoons and man-made pyramid-shaped peaks. Now, a series of new trails are opening up this vast industrial area to travellers.

Clawing at the gravel, I pull myself onto the summit and brush chalky dust from my legs. The wind tugs at my hair as I survey my "kingdom" below. A car appears from the north, speeding towards the village, and I drop to my knees. Pulling back an imaginary bowstring, I take aim and release my arrow towards the passing vehicle before ducking out of sight.

It's the late 1990s, and I'm playing with friends on Flatty, one of two towering heaps of china clay waste on the outskirts of St Dennis, the Cornish village where I grew up. Pointy, its conical companion, rises nearby. Together, these surreal snow-white slopes form part of Clay Country, known affectionately by locals as the "Cornish Alps". 

Here, more than 250 years of mining has transformed a 35-sq-mile (91-sq-km) expanse of small farmsteads and former heath and moorland uplands into a landscape of vast pits, vivid green lagoons and man-made peaks. It's a far cry from the surfy, sandy south-west of England printed on postcards.

Today, the Cornish Alps are changing. As old pits close, vegetation is taking over, wildlife is returning and new multi-use trails are opening up areas that have long been off limits. On a recent autumn weekend, I returned home to walk these routes, explore new corners of my hometown and see what's changed as the land is handed back to nature.

In 1746, Plymouth chemist William Cookworthy identified a source of china clay, also known as kaolin, near Helston while searching for materials to replicate the porcelain imported from China. Tin miners had long used the heat-resistant clay, known locally as moorstone, to repair cracks in furnaces. Cookworthy recognised its potential for making porcelain, later identifying purer and larger deposits near the town of St Austell. In 1768, Cookworthy patented his formula for hard-paste porcelain.

As demand for china clay grew in the 19th Century, mining expanded rapidly around St Austell, transforming the landscape and providing livelihoods for generations of Cornish families. Prized for its commercial value, the clay became known as "white gold" and was used in everyday products from toothpaste to cosmetics. By 1910, Cornwall was producing around 50% of the world's china clay – roughly one million tonnes a year – and exporting about three-quarters of its output.

"You could hear the sirens going in your classroom and hear the blasting," recalled Clay Country native Steve Hawken, referring to the industry's mid-20th-Century heyday, when working pits were right outside homes and schools.

Today, Hawken works as a volunteer guide at Wheal Martyn, the UK's only china clay museum. Set within two former Victorian-era clay works near St Austell, the museum tells the story of Cornwall's china clay industry and its impact on local life. It also serves as an information point for visitors exploring the nearby Luxulyan Valley and Charlestown areas of the Unesco-inscribed Cornwall and West Devon Mining Landscape.

At 15, Hawken began a 37-year career in the clay mining industry, cycling to nearby Littlejohns Pit to run errands as a "kettle boy". Just beyond the car park, he pointed out the old, water-filled Lansalson Pit. "To go down deep, you have to expand [the pit] wide, or else it gets too dangerous," he explained in a broad Cornish accent.

Today, flooded pits like Lansalson are a defining feature of the landscape, their milky turquoise waters reminiscent of the glacial lakes of the Canadian Rockies. But don't be fooled: swimming here is dangerous and strictly forbidden.

"It's roughly 50 yards (46m) deep, about the width of a football pitch, but there's probably about 48 yards (44m) of china clay [underneath the surface], which is why it's that colour."

Despite its significant contribution to Cornwall's economy and industrial heritage, Clay Country is largely overlooked by tourists.

As novelist Daphne du Maurier once wrote: "These hills beyond St Austell, where they work the clay, are unlike anything else in the country."

Today, the best way to explore the Alps' industrial heritage is on foot. In 2025, Imerys, the French corporation that owns the land, opened up previously inaccessible areas by adding 21 miles (34km) of  footpaths – many also open to cyclists and horse riders – bringing its network to 38 miles (62km). These permissive paths (publicly accessible trails on private land) are scattered around old mining sites, with some linking to the larger Clay Trails that connect to places like Par Beach and Luxulyan Valley along the National Cycle Network.

Starting at Wheal Martyn, I traced a five-mile (8km) Clay Trail that begins along an old railway siding where china clay was once loaded onto steam engines bound for Cornwall's Par Docks. Passing gardens with fluttering Cornish flags, I followed waymarkers along sandy tracks, spotting fungi-dotted grass as I neared Carn Grey, a rocky outcrop near the village of Trethurgy.

After circling the paths and flooded pits of Pentruff and Baal, I stopped for a sandwich. There's nowhere to buy food along the way, so walkers should do as the Cornish do and pack "crib" (a mid-morning snack). The green scrub and autumnal foliage softened the slopes, and bird calls echoed across the water as several small gulls bobbed on the surface.

In the distance, Great Treverbyn Tip, known locally as "Sky Tip", has stood here since the 1930s. For every tonne of clay extracted, up to nine tonnes of waste were left behind, creating at least 100 pale, pyramid-shaped peaks that dominated the skyline. Today, only a few remain. Once considered eyesores, they have become familiar landmarks, framed in the windows of local homes for generations. When Imerys proposed flattening Sky Tip in 2014, residents rallied to save it. Today, Cornwall's flag flies from its summit, a symbol of local pride and victory.

Although mining here has declined, there are still decades of china clay reserves to be worked, supporting local jobs and generating an estimated £40m ($53.9m) a year for the local economy. To appreciate the industry's continued importance, I headed up to nearby Caerloggas Downs for sweeping views across St Austell Bay, where, on a clear day, you might spot ships leaving to transport china clay around the globe. 

The permissive paths crisscrossed the former quarry, and I followed one to the top through patches of purple heather. On the horizon, the Sky Tip's symmetrical silhouette looked entirely out of place, like an ancient monument transplanted to the Cornish coast.

Our conversation turned to our childhoods and how radically the landscape has changed. "Nature always finds a way," she smiled. 

It got me thinking about one place I hadn't yet revisited: Flatty and Pointy. Walking back towards St Dennis, I realised how sentimental I was about these two old tips.

To the kids of Clay Country, they were our wild, unruly playgrounds. As we grew older, they became markers of home, familiar shapes we search for while driving along the A30. Standing between them, they seemed smaller than I remembered.

When people ask where I'm from, I often say, "near Newquay", a place they're more likely to recognise. But reflecting on the past few days, I've come to appreciate how much this corner of Cornwall has shaped the county. Perhaps it's time I stopped giving the easy answer. From now on, I'll proudly say I'm from the Cornish Alps. 

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