Rough Tor. Not quite the highest point in Cornwall, but it only comes second by a couple of feet to its neighbour, Brown Willy. Several times over the last few years we've planned to go up it, but either the weather has been too awful or I've just not been fit enough - sometimes both - and I had almost come to believe it was unachievable.
The 'easy' walk consists of a long fairly gentle haul across wide open moorland up to a ridge, then turn right along the ridge to the summit. We got as far as starting out a year or so ago in horizontal driving rain - down to the stream and through the gate was OK, but as we started to climb up to the ridge I became aware that despite all the proper waterproof gear my right ear was full of icy cold rainwater. The prospect of turning my face into the weather to do the last steep bit was too much, and I chickened out and turned back. I have to say that my companions didn't bother to carry on without me, either...
Yesterday, though, was different. Glorious weather, hot and sunny with just a welcome hint of breeze. Walking fairly slowly but steadily straight up the slope to the col and along the ridge to the war memorial to the men of the 43rd Wessex Division at the top of the tor (but not quite the highest point) took about an hour. The view was every bit as impressive as I'd been promised; out to the Atlantic to the north, Dartmoor miles away to the east, many familiar radio masts and hilltop monuments identifiable in all directions, sapphire lakes concentrating and focusing the colour of the sky above.
Someone said how wonderful it was that however many people were up there walking the place always seemed empty, and we were almost immediately joined by a large party of ladies on a proper walking holiday, complete with official guide (male) who reached the top a few minutes after his group did. After exchanging pleasantries we moved along the ridge a bit and became the only people in the world again. Photographs were taken and a picnic was consumed in the lee of the rocks before we started down.
The ground underfoot was completely dry; even the normal boggy patches had dried out and much of the grass was crackly white underfoot. Not a lot of grazing for the few animals that were up there. We only saw a couple of small flocks of sheep (with only one lamb between them) and several ponies, quite a few with very young foals. There were lots of skylarks around and one cuckoo in the distance - the first I'd heard this year.
Back down at the bottom of the hill there's a small stream which the dogs much appreciated. We walked along it for a while and were amused to see how many ponies had decided to go for a paddle too!
Altogether it was a much easier walk than I'd been expecting; every failed or aborted attempt had increased the height and steepness exponentially in my mind until I'd decided it was almost impossible. I was - and am - inordinately proud of myself for getting up there, especially as next week I'll be reaching a birthday three beyond the one I didn't expect to see. No one else seems to understand, though. I keep telling people 'Ty and I climbed Rough Tor' and they just say 'That's nice.'
In fact, it was such a gentle walk that we went for another one after we got home, down to the creek and round to the waterside to meet Ron and see if he'd got any fish, and Ty took it upon himself to teach a young retriever to swim, spending almost an hour in the water while I had a well-deserved glass of cider.
1 comment:
Well done Hazel!!
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