A Day by the Sea

Cornwall has got more miles of coastline than any other county, and a coastpath which faithfully follows the ins and outs and ups and downs of it all the way round. I don't suppose I'll ever manage it all, but I walked another little nibble out of the south coast yesterday.

For a late spring bank holiday the weather forecast was pretty dreadful - I took a sunhat, a rainhat, waterproofs and sunblock, not knowing quite what to expect. In the event the weather was bright but breezy, not too warm but with strong enough sun to merit the use of protective measures.

Porthlune Cove was our rendezvous. A popular tourist spot, obviously, with a large carpark. Golden sand in copious quantities, a bit of gentle surf, safe for children to splash about it and that increasing rarity these days, dog friendly. And we had a full complement of friendly dogs. They had a splash and a dash about on the beach but the coastpath beckoned. Which way? East towards Goran Haven, or west to Portholland? In the end we did both, going east first and climbing up to the top of Black Rock to look down on Lambsowden Cove. Back to base then, for a snack in the beach café and another paddle, then west towards Portholland. In both directions the views from the cliff tops were magnificent and the flora interesting, although probably not very pleasant for hayfever sufferers; we could actually see the clouds of pollen rising from the meadows as we walked through!

There was one puddle in the car park when we arrived, and a large group of martins were determined to take full advantage of the building material it provided. The arrival of cars didn't put them off very much at all; they just circled round until the cars stopped, then straight back to work. Later in the afternoon they had moved on to the field next door, feeding on the insects stirred up by a rambling herd of half-highland cattle, a herd which included some very small calves.

One (probably the main) reason why such a small insignificant cove as Porthlune has such a large, well-organised (and not cheap) car park is its proximity to Caerhays Castle, which has a convenient entrance to the grounds right over the road from the cove. It looked quite attractive viewed from the beach, if you like your castles to be large victorian gothic houses, but we decided not to tour the grounds or the house on this occasion. Maybe another time. There are also some circular waymarked walks available from the cove, but we didn't try those either yesterday. It was a good day with enough walking as it was...

Rough Tor conquered, finally!

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.

Sunshine, blue skies - can this really be Dartmoor?

What do you call a Cornish Hedge when it's in Devon? At the risk of offending some sensibilities, I'll have to call it a Cornish Hedge as I know of no other name for a double stone wall filled with earth, covered with grass, hedging plants and sometimes even whole trees growing on and in it. How do you get over a Cornish Hedge? With a fair amount of difficulty, even on a public footpath where some slight concession to accessibility has been made.
Yesterday's walk, in glorious sunshine, began with an obstacle course which nearly finished one of the dogs and most of the people. We were nine humans (more than half of whom have bus passes) and four dogs. We met at the Elephant's Nest, Horndon, near Mary Tavy on the edge of Dartmoor. Immediately opposite the pub there's a footpath sign next to a five foot stone wall. A few hundred years ago when it was built across a footpath, three of the stones were turned round to offer slight projections as footholds, now precariously worn. A flat grass bit on the top, then a similar descent into a field. All the humans managed it, some with greater agility than others. Of the collies, Megs flew over, Ty was workmanlike, and Jake struggled because he's a bit heavier. Harvey-the-spaniel had to be given a bit of a bunk up but got down unaided. Regroup with a sigh of relief, now we're in the country, off we go...
Well, not quite. This barrier was only the first of half a dozen between narrow grassy fields. The first field contained two horses and a donkey, then we clambered over another giant wall before a second, empty field. To get into the third and largest field there were two separate walls with a stream between to jump, and here the access had been 'modernised' by providing sloping ladders either side. Easier for humans, but trickier for dogs. In the third field there was a large flock of sheep, all with very small lambs, which required some interesting logistics; one person passing a dog up on a lead, a second on the other side catching. Just throw walking sticks and poles over and retrieve later. The sheep ignored us, but their minder, a wild white woolly llama, danced over to investigate, legs flicking out in hamstring kicks. Not too close an investigation, thank goodness - he just stood about 20 yards away, keeping between us and the sheep, and stared spittily until we were safely across this field to the very last barrier - ladders again. And this time Megs managed to get one of her back legs hooked over the top and swung helplessly till rescued. Didn't even squeal, and wasn't hurt at all, luckily. Thence across the final field, through a farmyard and out a gate into a lane. There was a sign leading back the way we came - 'public footpath to the Elephant's Nest public house'. I wonder how many merry souls have struggled over the obstacle course for a well deserved pint or two, and how well they managed to negotiate it on the way back!
Out of the farmyard into a lane and up (and up) on to the open moor at Kingsett Down. Did I mention that the weather was glorious, warm sunshine and blue sky? On the moor it stayed glorious, but with the addition of bracing cool breeze. Visibility was as good as I've ever seen it - we could see back into Cornwall as far as Caradon Hill and Kit Hill on Bodmin Moor.
From up on the Down a gentle descent through green lanes (wild flower spotting - celandines, primroses, violets, wild strawberries) to meet the River Tavy at Hill Bridge. There's a new concrete weir there, with a salmon ladder to one side and what we thought was a take off to a reservior. Below it there was a pool just deep enough for the dogs to have a bit of a swim. We walked along the leat which starts there through Creason Wood, watching and listening to the river fall away downhill to our left. And so back into a lane which led us back to Horndon village and back to the Elephant's Nest for lunch. I have to say that their steak and kidney pudding (cabbage with pancetta, boiled new potatoes drenched in butter and parsley) was one of the nicest I have ever tasted, and even more enjoyable for being eaten in the open air in the garden.
It was well worth all that effort at the beginning, a really good day out on Dartmoor.

Standing right on top of the wildest, most open, bleakest, emptiest space in Bodmin Moor in a hailstorm is not top of my list of ways to spend Good Friday (or any other day), but that is what I did today.
There was a walk planned, from St Breward to King Arthur's Hall and back, and the day had dawned sunny, warm and deceptively peaceful. The last few days have been dreadful everywhere (except, apparently, in Canada) and although we haven't had the heavy snowfalls they've had in Scotland it's been pretty wild, with rain, sleet, snow, hail, very strong winds and general unpleasantness. So when it was so warm and bright in the morning I was inclined to believe the forecast that said the worst of it had passed, with only a few showers remaining.
I *know* about the moors now, I prepare for the worst. There *will* be walking, but I will wear; from the waist down, leggings, showerproof trousers, heavy duty socks, waterproof boots; from the waist up, pique shirt, fleece, Swedish loggers' fleece lined waterproof coat (passed down from my sister-in-law's brother) either a fleecy hat or a waxed rain hat (took both, opted for the warm one), and good gloves. I *will* be weatherproof. And, in view of the fact that we are going to be eating in quite a nice establishment afterwards (with a 'touch' of just-in-case) I will also take some spare trousers and spare footwear.
St Breward is a long way from everywhere. It's right up on top of Bodmin Moor - it claims the highest pub and highest church in Cornwall, and although there are other contenders for both it is definitely up there with them. Ty and I left Saltash at lunchtime in lovely weather. There's a place where I had to cross the main A30 road and had to wait for ten minutes for a gap in the traffic going west for the weekend (nothing going the other way at all) and as I waited there it started to rain. Across the road it stopped, but a couple of miles further on there was a flurry of hailstones - heavy, but only for a couple of minutes.
We got to the meeting place first and I had plenty of time to get all the heavy weather gear on. When JakeMegs(Harvey) finally arrived they brought a new walker with them - come all the way from County Cork for her very first visit to Cornwall and straight off the plane onto the moor. She'd been warned, of course, and had the waterproofs, and even looked as if she was going to enjoy it! King Arthur's Hall and back, that was the plan.
King Arthur's Hall is a megalithic place of stones and bog, sort of house shaped, right on the top of the moor in the middle of nowhere, with Roughtor and Brown Willy (two of the hills I have never actually got to the top of) looming in the background. The way there was fine, good walking, bright sunshine, wonderful views. You can almost see the sea on both the north and south coasts from there. Well, you can see the St Austell china clay slag heaps to the south, and the Delabole wind farm to the north, both of which are within a mile or so of the shore. It is really and truly on top of the world.
However. As we stood there, within sight of King Arthur's Hall, checking out the visibility in several directions, a line of squalls suddenly appeared to our left. We looked right - another line of squalls. Within five minutes they had converged and the horizontal hail started. Nothing we could do but stand there with our backs to it. It was stinging my legs even through trousers and leggings. It was impossible to look into it. And that was the exact moment that Ron chose to phone and see where I was and if I was having fun! So I told him...
It seemed to last forever but was probably about ten minutes. But by the end of it I was wet in places I didn't think the weather could reach. (Down the back of my neck, for example.) Still, the sun came out and we gradually dried off as we walked. The ground was a lot boggier than it had been half an hour before, though. Down from the moor to a ford which was flooded (but passable in proper boots). Up the hill the other side and we could see the church in St Breward, although we couldn't get there in a straight line. We were on lanes for a while and round one corner all the dogs went to look at something - the three collies turned away, but Harvey-the-Spaniel didn't leave it until told twice. It was a dog fox. It had been shot, with a rifle, one shot through the heart, and left there at the side of the road. Within the last 24 hours or so. Why? Why shoot it in the first place? Why leave it lying there? One wondered whether to report it to somebody, but then what good would it do? Shortly afterwards we went past some sheep. Although all the dogs are well behaved round sheep, we were shocked enough by the sight of the shot fox to put them on leads just in case the farmer with the rifle was still around.
Upward and onward through a farmyard and several muddy fields then back to St Breward and the pub. We'd booked a meal for six, and we got there at five to. Which isn't bad at all. I was glad I'd had the foresight to bring dry, non muddy trousers because the Old Inn is a very nice, clean establishment. The food was very good, too, and we had a pleasant couple of hours eating and putting the world to rights.
Suitably restored, I drove home. Just between the A30 and Cardinham, suddenly the road was covered with half grown rabbits, the first of the year. From there, of course, I spent about ten miles avoiding rabbits, until I got back on the main road home.
It was a good day, although I could have done without the hailstorm. Perhaps next time we'll get a chance to actually explore King Arthur's Hall...

Walking with wild ponies

(picture by Vanessa)


Bodmin moor wild ponies aren't quite as wild as they're supposed to be. This one - the shortest, gingerest, hairiest of them all - has quite obviously worked out that the Foredown car park is the most likely place to profit from the visitors. It is the first car park past the cattle grid, coming out of Liskeard on to Bodmin moor, and very popular with walkers, kite flyers and people with interesting things in their pockets.

Yesterday, Sunday, was shining spring - three days of nonstop rain (good for the gardens) gave way to proper spring weather, and Caradon Hill beckoned. Round it rather than up it, a nice long moorland walk with proper Cornish mine workings (the picturesque stone kind) ponies, sheep, buzzards and skylarks, pools full of frogspawn, streams full of weed, ankle deep mud, gorse in flower, new grass being nibbled as fast as it can grow.

We started at Foredown, and as soon as we opened the car door the pony trotted over. Nose to nose it went with Ty, pony and dog breathing each other's breath for a good five minutes before Ty turned his head away. I got the treatment next, being thoroughly investigated in all the places I could possibly have pockets (all empty, alas!). I eventually gave in and gave the pony half a dog biscuit for sheer cheek, although I know this is not to be recommended, gets them into bad habits, etc. Duly rewarded, it strolled off and was last seen nudging a young girl in pink three cars down.

So to the walk. Five people, four dogs, from Foredown anticlockwise round Caradon Hill. The plan was to go to Crow's Nest but we got diverted by some really attractive mineworkings and the dogs' insistence on playing in every pool, puddle and stream we came across, so went up past Gonamena instead to Minions.

Minions itself was very busy with parked cars and serious mudrunners in lycra, but we had a very welcome pasty and cuppa sitting outside the teashop before moving on. From there we made our way back to Foredown along the old dismantled railway track to complete the circuit. Ty's friend had wandered on by then but been replaced by other equine panhandlers...

The weather wasn't perfect, or even very consistent. One moment the sun was blazing down and fleeces were being tentatively unzipped, the next the clouds came over and the cold wind made its presence felt - hats back on! Bracing, I think they call it... To complete a very pleasant afternoon we had a couple of hours sitting on the terrace at the Copley with Ron and the Old Codgers until the sun went down.

I think it may be spring, finally...

Mid-march, and finally the weather is turning. Skylarks, primroses and heavily pregnant sheep were the outstanding natural features of today's walk, far outweighing (for me, anyway) the 'sights' we went to see. No hat, no gloves, boots worn but not necessary (no mud); I wimped out and changed my fleece for a waterproof in the car park as we assembled because a Big Black Cloud appeared overhead, but it went away again and we had glorious spring sunshine and a gentle breeze. Lovely. What Sunday morning walks 'should' be, but so often aren't...
We assembled in the car park of the Miner's Arms at Hemerdon for a walk planned to include a visit to the workings of Hemerdon Mine before lunch. It was a one-way walk rather than circular so involved a bit of logistics carrying eight walkers (and one dog) to our planned starting point in a helicopter flying field. Model helicopters, but definitely flying, which led to minor misgivings in the part of our drivers as to what precisely they'd tell Churchill if we came back to find one of the whirlybirds had whirled into a car!
Uphill from there across a long stretch of recently burnt moorland. Surely they don't burn it deliberately this time of year? Skylarks show up astonishingly well against a black background, anyway. Then down through woods to a ford and back up again to the old mine. My expectations of old mine workings have become Cornish, it would seem - I was expecting stone buildings and chimneys, perhaps a waterwheel or two - but Hemerdon was a tungsten mine of 20th century origin, all broken concrete and metal reinforcing, crumbling but not at all in a picturesque way. There are, apparently, plans to expand and renew the mine on an open cast basis in the near future, so our walk leader kept reminding us that this could well be the last time we could walk that way.
All downhill from there back to the Miner's Arms, across a couple of fields of pregnant sheep, through pretty woods which are, apparently, a paintball jungle (complete with forts, graveyards and other scenarios to satisfy the inner cowboy or indian that all men hide within them) and down a quiet lane to the pub for lunch.
The Miner's Arms looks from the front like a typical old stone country pub, although it has a suspiciously large car park - and the bar part is old, traditional, flagged floors, low ceilings, the lot - but there's a large modern restaurant built on to the back. When the weather is slightly warmer than today they open the glass wall up and serve food on a big terrace as well. We'd not realised the significance of the date when we booked it a couple of months ago, but of course it was Mother's Day and therefore very busy. With a special Mother's Day Menu or nothing. The food was lovely, though, and the company as always even better.
It's been a long winter, this. Flowers, trees, birds, tadpoles, all delayed waiting for the sun. And today it happened, at last.

March Winds and Daffodils

"March comes in like a lion..." is the saying. This year the wild winds are a couple of days late arriving, but here with a vengeance this morning. A pair of woodpigeons are trying to build a nest high in an ivy-covered alder right at the top of the coombe as it sways in the breeze. Down at the creek the tide is just retreating from its highest of the year, leaving behind a thick mat of twigs and vegetation funnelled in by the wind. And there where the coombe is steepest, nearest the shore on the south facing slope, the first daffodils are in flower. Always there first, but within a week they'll be flowering everywhere. Spring is definitely, positively, on its way!