Boat Transport Fail

A simple task. Pick up smallish boat and trailer from dinghy park, drive round to Millbrook, hand over boat, come home. Nice day out, take the dog, perhaps stop off for a pasty and a pint on the way back, lovely. Or not...

It started well enough; Ron had already checked that the boat was secure on the trailer, tyres blown up, bearings greased, trailer board tied on and working, etc. All we had to do in the morning was hitch the outfit to the back of the monster truck. A little bit more pushing and heaving than I really enjoy, but we were soon ready to go. The road that runs along the shore and up to the main road is fairly narrow, often has cars parked on either side, and is furnished with speed bumps every hundred yards or so. At the second set, Ron told me he was going to take them awkwardly as a roadworthiness test. Fail. Absolute, abject, utter fail. The offside stub axle on the trailer snapped in two, the wheel fell off and the trailer tipped over.

So there we were, monster truck with eighteen feet of trailer and a ton of boat, stuck in the middle of the road not going anywhere. Luckily, very luckily, we were still within the shadow of the two bridges, so I went walking back down the road to try and round up some strong men with toolboxes, while Ron looked for trolley jacks in the back of the truck. I found two likely looking lads in the carpark; one under a car with a spanner (he'd got a trolley jack and a toolbox!) and another 'helping' him. Off they went to the rescue while I carried on under the bridges to the pub, where I found another 'volunteer' just about to take the first sip of his first lunchtime pint. Into the fridge it went for later. Another kind person didn't just leave his coffee, he left his child on the shore (under supervision, of course). Posse rounded up.

By the time I'd walked back lots of things had happened: the police had stopped by and told him to get his triangles out (!), he'd jacked the trailer up and a couple of little green trolleys had been produced. They proved not to be quite robust enough, sadly, although they did just about serve to get the whole rig turned round and pointing back towards the river. And I had the presence of mind to start taking pictures, beginning with this one of the broken wheel and one of the broken trollies.

The next bright idea was to use a trolley jack as a roller skate under the broken axle. This looked quite good but didn't work - it just kept swinging round, even when anchored with half a mile of rope.

The final plan involved turning one of the broken trollies upside down and just skidding along on it. This worked, just about, until we had to go up the half inch kerb into the dinghy park, but generated a lot of noise, a vast cloud of smoke and an extremely unpleasant smell. It has also left a deep scratch gouged in the surface of the tarmac.

And so, finally, the trailer was backed down the slip and the boat was set free. This is the dead trailer on the slip.

And this is the boat on the river.

That was yesterday's adventure. It had a happy ending thanks to the people who were willing to drop what they were doing to come to our rescue - we'd have been in deep trouble without them. Friends are wonderful...

I declined the opportunity to take part in today's adventure, delivering Millie by water the couple of miles down river to Millbrook - it was raining and it meant starting before dawn to catch the tide. It was, I'm told, quite unadventurous - a two boat convoy went downriver, tied Millie to a buoy (possibly the wrong one) in Millbrook lake and got home in time for brunch.

On the trailer, by road, the scenic route is almost forty miles. It would have been easier to go by water in the first place, but the new owner had bought the boat on the trailer, so that was what we tried deliver. We'll send the trailer on later, when it is rolling under its own steam again.

Boot Test - walk from Liskeard to Looe

The German word for glove translates literally as hand-shoe. When footwear shopping, I like to look for the opposite - the foot-glove which is so comfortable that you can forget you've got feet. Not too tricky with normal shoes, perhaps, but hiking boots, which by nature have to be rather more robust than a carpet slipper, are more difficult. It's possible, though; I found some in Holland about ten years ago, long worn out, and I think I've done it again now!


The new boots arrived on the Thursday, purchased online after consultation with friends, looking at Which? reports, and trying some on in a shop. They got taken down the Coombe to the creek and back on Thursday afternoon and for a very quick walk on Friday morning, then I was away to meetings and didn't have the opportunity for a longer test until last Saturday morning. A long-planned trek down the West Looe valley from Liskeard, starting at the station there and ten or eleven miles later returning back up the East Looe Valley line by train.

This may sound like a gentle downhill stroll but it isn't! In fact, it starts by going quite a lot higher up to the start of the valley. Like most Cornish river valleys, it is steep sided and mostly wooded. The paths descend to and often cross the river, but also rise up the valley sides in places, making an interesting but fairly strenuous walk on many kinds of terrain - decidous and coniferous woodland, steeply sloping grass fields, swampy valley bottom by the river, exposed rock (mostly upended slate), some bits of tarmac lanes and wide forest tracks and finally, where the river becomes tidal at Watergate, some low-tide-only muddy shore. The heavy overnight rain ensured that conditions underfoot were as treacherous as they get, although the day itself was gloriously sunny apart from a couple of short sharp showers. The river was full and fast flowing and we came across one unfordable ford (over knee depth). Luckily the map showed an alternative path on *our* side of the river, although our first attempt at it involved climbing a steep rocky path almost to the top of the valley only to have to retrace our steps...

A good test for the boots, then. I ended the walk with warm, comfortable, dry, happy feet which didn't even feel tired. I was even just as happy to put them on again the next day for another walk.

But the day wasn't all about new boots. Much more important was the walk itself, being out in the changing seasons. The sun was still quite intense, and after the heavy rain of the night before it intensified all the autumn colours - at times it seemed that we were walking on carpets of scarlet and gold satin - and particularly the autumnal smells of pine forest, cut wood, fungi, wet grass; an olfactory feast! The dogs enjoyed the swollen river, too. We stopped for our picnic lunch on a mossy stone bridge where I suppose a road once used to be and Ty was able to indulge one of his favourite sports, swimming really hard to get upstream, barking all the while, then turning round to allow himself to be swept back down under the bridge at speed before turning to start the whole game again.

It was a glorious day - possibly the last really nice day of the season - and most enjoyable, especially with new boots and good company.

Tamar Valley from the 'Wrong, Side - Bere Alston

I like it when a ramble in the countryside throws up questions - what's this plant? what's happening here? I like it even more when I find some answers. Last Sunday's circular walk from Bere Alston railway station, along the Tamar on the Devon side and back was one of those days.

It was a beautiful day, almost too warm in the sun but pleasant in the shade. No wind, no clouds, not at all October-like. Knowing that it was quite likely to be the last fine walking day till spring also added to that enjoyable holiday feeling. I was a bit indecisive about whether to bother with boots or just stick with the trekking sandals - there was no mud, but there turned out to be quite a lot of wet, almost frostily cold grass, so I'm glad I opted for the heavier footwear in the end. The fleece was hardly necessary, though.

From the station our party of eight humans and three dogs walked north, downhill, to the river Tamar and turned left, downstream, along it. Several of us had never seen it from that side before, pointing "Ooh, look, there's Calstock", "Look, there's Cotehele", "Doesn't the viaduct look odd from here", as we recognised landmarks from the 'wrong' direction. After travelling about three miles along and above the river we turned inland to circle round and return to our starting point.

Most of the highlights were flora, this time. Unknown flora. The first stange thing we came across were beautiful deep pink seedcases in a hedge - the seeds inside being bright orange. None of us had any idea what it was, but Google did, of course, when I got home. Common or European Spindle. An unremarkable hedgerow tree, so inconspicuous as to be invisible except for these few short autumn weeks when it is gloriously, surprisingly beautiful. One of my fellow walkers took this picture.

Another oddity we came across was almost recognisable, but not quite. Resembling a potato (which would not be in flower, indeed would have withered by now) or it's cousin the deadly nightshade (which has bright purple flowers) but covered in small white blooms, it was another one which had me reaching for the reference books on my return. Black nightshade, apparently. Why black nightshade when it has white flowers? The book didn't say...

The third vegetable mystery remains a mystery, for now. We walked round the edge of a large field planted with a root crop. The leaves of the plants appeared to have been cut (or eaten), but the roots themselves were mostly still in the ground, although quite a few were plainly visible or lying on the surface. About half of them were turnips. The other half were dark red in colour, white fleshed, with an unusual waisted, almost hourglass shape. Thus far not even Google has revealed to me their identity, nor their purpose, although I'd guess they were destined for cattle feed.

Other highlights of the walk included a heron posing in a field right next to the path, a totally unexpected "Ramblers Rest" area with tables and benches overlooking the river, a bright red microlight overhead in the brightest of blue skies, and an abandoned orchard where delicious apples fell into our hands - just one each for munching as we walked. Just enough, indeed, to keep us going till lunch, which we took in the beer garden of the Olde Plough Inn, Bere Ferrers, an excellent traditional Sunday roast.

From Bere Ferrers one can look down the river to Saltash. It's so close, so very close, less than a mile away on the wrong side of the water, but there's no way to get there so it was back in the car for a 16 mile drive home.

Autumn comes to the Creek...

Down at the top of the creek this morning, there where the rain-swollen stream meets the rising tide, a kingfisher was fishing. It didn't see me approaching along the stream until I got within about five metres but then flew across to the far bank, calling quite loudly. As I could still hear it calling I stood quite still - even the d0g was being quiet behind me - and the bird came back to the same perch. It was a perfect photograph, silhouetted against the sun on the water. Unfortunately, by the time I had carefully eased the cameraphone out of the pocket and switched it on, the kingfisher had seen a fish, dived and was gone in a flash of blue over to the bank again.

It's not often I see kingfishers down there - they only seem to fish there just when the rising tide fills the creek and sweeps the little fishes up towards the mouth of the stream, and although it is my normal morning destination it doesn't often coincide with fishing hour. Today I also saw a sandpiper - a sign that winter is on its way - and a couple of jays, as well as the usual gang of blackheaded gulls in winter white. And having remarked to a friend a couple of weeks ago that it seemed the grey wagtails which used to nest by the little bridge seemed to have moved on this year, I've seen at least one every day for the last week!

In the garden, too, the balance of feathered visitors is changing with the season. The largest group now is the goldfinches, who often arrive ten or twelve strong and quarrel loudly and aerobatically over the niger seed feeder. The 'losers' aren't that bothered, though - they just move over to the 'normal' seed feeders and fill up from them. On the other hand, the sparrows, who keep together in a group through the whole of the spring and summer, split up and go their separate ways more at this time of the year. They still visit the garden, of course, but one or two at a time rather than in a flock. The largest number I've counted this year - about when the second brood was fledged and independent - was between thirty and forty strong. (They just won't keep still to be counted accurately!) Now, as well, the blue tits, chaffinches and great tits are reforming their loose winter flocks and including the garden on their daily patrols. In the summer they stay in the trees in the coombe, mostly.

There has been so much rain lately that all the winter springs have suddenly started flowing again in the coombe. Because the sides are so steep, it's not unusual for trees to fall occasionally, and we've lost two in the last week. A substantial young oak fell and blocked the path on the north side completely until the Council came and cleared it. They've left the fallen tree; just sawn through the trunk and branches which were blocking the path. On the other side, up at the top, a rather foolish badger had dug a new sett in the summer. At the edge of the path and under the roots of an alder, it was already beginning to undermine the path itself - my walking stick went through into a tunnel only last week - and now the tree has gone, down into the valley. I suspect it to have been a young one setting up home for the first time, and it will either start again in a better place or perhaps move in to one of the three big setts. The tree itself probably won't die, either - when they fall down the slope like that, with some roots still in the ground, they usually resurrect themselves. I hope so, anyway.

Chester Weekend - September 2010

Chester is a lovely town which we've visited many times over the years as we have very good friends who live there. The last time I was there I broke my wrist - dancing in flipflops - but this was to be the official Annual Gathering and I wasn't going to do that this time!

We had planned a nice gentle drive up on Thursday afternoon, and all went well as far as the other side of Birmingham. There were ominous signs warning of delays due to an accident on the M6, but there wasn't much alternative choice of route, so we carried on into the inevitable traffic jam. Creeping along in first gear, in the middle lane, I began to hear a rattling noise. While I was still trying to convince Ron to stick his head out of the window and listen a car came alongside in the outside line waving and mouthing 'exhaust'! Oh dear. It's impossible to do anything when you're creeping along at five miles a fortnight, and by the time the traffic cleared we were a couple of miles short of Stafford services, so I carried on to there, very carefully, and stopped to investigate.


In the carpark it became apparent that the entire exhaust system had come unstuck and was touching the ground. Ron felt that he would have been able to improvise a replacement bracket if I'd had a metal coathanger or two concealed about my person, but I hadn't, sadly, so we had to fall back on the tender mercies of the RAC. Who came up trumps, absolutely. It took an hour and a half to reach us, mind, and by the time that welcome orange van arrived it was dark and raining, but the mechanic was marvellous. He got underneath the car, got Ron to help with pushing and pulling bits back into position and clamped and bound and glued everything back into place so we were able to carry on our journey. All with a smile on his face, too. Absolutely first class service, for which we were very grateful. There was no noticeable difference at all in the way the car was driving and we eventually arrived in Chester just in time for last orders!

We were staying with a friend but the Gathering I'd come to Chester for was based in the Queen Hotel, opposite the railway station in the centre of town. It was, I was assured, only about a ten minute walk, so early Friday afternoon I decided to check it out. Ty needed a walk, I needed to find the hotel, so off we set together. I forget, I suppose, what cities are like, as I visit them so rarely. Walking along the main road into the centre was uncomfortably busy, loud and smelly. Still, we are not such yokels that we can't operate pelican crossings or memorise a Google map, and we found our way there without incident. But not our way in. There on the steps of the Queen Hotel I had the whitegloved hand of a tophatted doorman shoved rudely in my face - dogs were not permitted through their pseudo roman door. So dog got tied to their highly polished brass railings outside while I went in to check in, briefly, and then we took ourselves home.

Perhaps it was the less than friendly welcome that started it, or perhaps it was the severe backache which started on Friday morning, but it seemed to me that the whole weekend continued in a similar vein. When I returned without the dog for the official start of proceedings I met some old friends, and was very pleased to do so, but the usual air of relaxed friendliness seemed absent, somehow and I never really got into the Gathering mood at all.

Our hostess had mentioned casually that the cycle path which runs behind her house had been extended, so on Saturday morning I took the executive decision to ignore the AGM business meeting and go for an explore. Up until now, from Lime Wood Fields one could turn right and follow a nice made cycle path along an old railway line past the centre of Chester and a little beyond it, or turn left and follow the abandoned railway line under rubbish strewn bridges and through mud or across rubble. We had been in that direction once a couple of years ago out of curiousity, but decided that it was too uncomfortable and dangerous to repeat.


Now, however, as part of what I have learnt is the Chester Millenium Greenway Project, the path has been improved and opened offically all the way to Mickle Trafford, some 2.5 miles past Lime Wood Fields. Not only is there a decent surface underfoot, but rubbish has been cleared, undergrowth cut back, new plantings made in some places, and imaginative wooden sculptures put in place. My personal favourite is this willow horse, which is just beginning to come alive. On the way we met a working party of volunteers who were continuing with the landscaping by digging a large shallow hole at the side of the track which will be allowed to fill with rainwater and become a natural pond, hopefully attracting even more wildlife to the area. The whole project is a wonderful example of what very little money but lots of enthusiasm and imagination can do to transform urban ugliness. And nice, flat, easy walking makes a pleasant change from Cornwall!

On Saturday afternoon I went back for more Gathering but just couldn't work up enough enthusiasm to stay for Sunday, so we made our way home Sunday afternoon. The journey home was comparatively uneventful, apart from the pouring rain and dreadful visibility for the first hundred miles or so - for once, the nearer we got to Cornwall the brighter the weather became. The car stayed in one piece, the roads were quiet, it was nice to be home!

Tamar Valley Train Ride Plus

After last year's debacle struggling on and off the train to Bristol I swore I'd never take a train again, but the Tamar Valley Line is sufficiently non-mainline not to count, and I'm glad I changed my mind. Only fifteen miles long, it goes from the centre of Plymouth to Gunnislake and back through an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and justifies its claim as 'one of the great scenic railways'. One second you are moving through cuttings so deep they seem like green tunnels, next you are way up in the air looking down on river valleys a long, long way below. If you can look out of both windows at once it's possible to catch glimpses of both rivers - the Tamar and the Tavy - at the same time.

But ours was primarily a walking day, with the train just a different way of getting there, so we didn't go to the end of the line or take a break at the Tamar Belle railway visitor centre at Bere Ferrers (it was noted down as a place to take nieces and nephews, though) but got off at Calstock, just on the Cornish side of the Great Viaduct over the Tamar.

Plan A was probably (I think) to walk along the river to Cotehele Quay, perhaps up through the grounds and look at the house (from outside only because of the dogs) and wander back, perhaps even taking a ferry ride. But we got a bit carried away with 'I wonder where that path goes?' and took a long loop up and behind the Cotehele estate, finding some fascinating bits of 'industrial heritage' on the way, then had a panic because some paths were closed and set out cross country for the folly/viewing tower which marks the edge of the estate. This strategy resulted in some rather muddy feet (that special mud that young cattle churn a perfectly respectable field into), a difficult gate or two and a scramble over the wall behind the tower in a place which had obviously been used for the same purpose many times in the past but was still protected on both sides by barbed wire and on the top by brambles. Between the six of us we own (I checked) three copies of the relevant Ordnance Survey map, but none of us had brought it because we all thought we were familiar enough with the area not to get lost. Another lesson learned! When we got back to the Quay and looked at a map it was obvious that the official public footpath doesn't go anywhere near the estate at that point.

Having broken in to the estate, so to speak, behind the folly we then took a leisurely stroll round the edge, looking at the newly planted Mother Orchard with its 270 tiny trees of old apple varieties (and a splendidly organic sculpture of a hand holding an apple), past the picnic area and the car park, down through the woods to the Mill and along the river to the Quay, where we thought we'd get a spot of lunch. No such luck; after queueing for some time at the place of refreshments, which promised pasties in several flavours and other delights, we discovered that he had nothing left but icecream. One of our party had gone home for lunch by then, but we rustled up two apples and two muesli bars between three, and the other two had icecream. The daft thing was that having realised en route that nobody had thought to bring dog treats, an emergency diversion had been organised to get some in Plymouth while waiting for the connecting train; shows where our priorities lie! Yet another lesson learned - always take emergency food, just in case...

We then headed back to Calstock along the river. Or rather up a very long hill and down the other side while the river meandered flatly through reed beds below us. We got to Calstock after the pub had stopped serving lunches (it was that sort of day), but luckily the local shop had a few cold pasties still in stock. Pasties were always intended to be eaten cold, of course, and these were actually very good ones, eaten on a riverside bench before we climbed wearily back up the hill to the station for the return journey.

Wildlife highlights of the day were mostly butterflies: not all that many, but a good variety including peacocks, red admirals, fritillaries, various whites, gatekeepers and a few more. There was some seriously competitive photography going on, too, with elbows and worse being used by two of our party to be the first to get to the perfect openwinged shot. I, too, took a photograph - there was a Jersey Tiger moth clinging quietly to the noticeboard on Saltash station, and I captured it with my phone camera. It was obliging enough to stay still while I worked out how to use the zoom, even...

After catching the train from Saltash to Plymouth in the morning without incident, and the lovely trip on the Tamar Valley Line, it was a pity that Great Western rather blotted their copybook right at the end, by putting on a wholly inadequate two coach diesel for the main Sunday evening train from Plymouth to Penzance. To say it was packed would be an understatement; and the vast majority of the passengers seemed to be either returning students or holidaymakers, with vast quantities of baggage. Dogs don't like people walking on them from three directions at once, and nor do I. At least I had a seat - a pull down one in the space between the coaches - the rest of our group were even more uncomfortable. And I was only on the train for fifteen minutes. Still, even that unpleasantness didn't really spoil the day...

Across the seas to Lundy

Lundy Island sits in the middle of the Bristol Channel. It's had a chequered history, having been owned by, among others, in the thirteenth century a gentleman who plotted against his king, lived by piracy and was eventually hanged, drawn and quartered, in the eighteenth century by a corrupt MP who got a contract to transport criminals to America but took them to Lundy and used them as personal slaves, and in the nineteenth by a gentleman whose life's ambition was to build a church. Long (3.5 miles) and thin (half a mile) it also presents a hazard to shipping and boasts three lighthouses, one at each end (working) and one right on the top (abandoned because it was too often above cloud level).

Before yesterday all I could have told you about Lundy would have been where it is and that is has puffins. That's what we went for, basically, looking for puffins, but what we got was much, much more. It's a long way, too, from here to Bideford - a two hour drive - for the 7.30am boat ride, so the adventure got extended to an overnight in Barnstaple beforehand. Four of us set out from Plymouth on Monday evening, arriving in Barnstaple in time to have a very pleasant and reasonably priced meal in a lovely old place called The Cedars, which sadly was closing for refurbishment almost immediately afterward. And an early night for a 6.00am start for Lundy!

The weather's been settled, hot and sunny, for weeks now - it has become my habit to cover my face with factor 50 sunblock straight after my morning shower - but the forecast for Tuesday was a little uncertain. There was nothing uncertain, however, about the downpour which woke me just after 3.00am. And it was certainly still raining when we got up at 6. Still, we'd come all this way to visit Lundy, so I turned my sunhat inside out, put on all the layers of clothes I'd brought and off we went.

The Oldenburg makes regular trips from Bideford to Lundy. It takes supplies, passengers, post, everything. Assembled on the quay yesterday morning in the pouring rain were 262 souls, all a little dejected. Most, like us, were taking a day trip, a few would be staying in the holiday accommodation on the island. The other members of our group consisted of two from Exeter who had driven down in the morning and a family of five from Salisbury who had only arrived back in England from Sri Lanka the day before and were a little jetlagged, to put it mildly. We all filed on to the boat. Due to the inclemency of the weather, the interior accommodation was very quickly bagged by the people at the front of the queue and four of us found ourselves squashed on a bench for three outside by the aft gangway, sitting on a wet wooden bench in the wet air.

And we were off. The captain announced the sea state was 'slight' by which it quickly transpired he meant slightly choppy. A young crew member spent the whole two hour journey walking round solicitously dispensing sick bags. Our small corner of the deck quickly became even more crowded with unhappy clingers to the rails. On the plus side, it stopped raining, and there were bacon sandwiches to be had. A bacon sandwich, I always find, helps in a choppy sea. We reached our destination just after ten. As we arrived the captain announced that a (voluntary) round-the-island trip would be available in the afternoon before the scheduled departure back to Bideford - I didn't see much enthusiasm for the idea.

Our whole trip had been organised around the availability of our own personal guide to the island, and he was waiting for us on the quay. He was brilliant as a guide, was Simon, both knowledgeable and enthusiastic about all aspects of the island, its past, present and future prospects, the wildlife (puffins and other birds) and the introduced life (sika deer, soay sheep). After some brief introductions and a quick check on preferences as to what we'd like to see, off we set.

It's in the nature of islands, particularly small ones, that one arrives at the bottom and all the interesting bits are at the top. Four hundred feet up, to be precise, which was a bit of a challenge, but I got there. It helped that it was in short stages with stops for explanations. At the first stop, only fifty feet up or so (Trinity House landing stage) I was happy to get rid of the waterproof and fleece I'd started the day in, by the time we got to the Village (about two thirds of the way up) my sunhat was back the right way out, but I waited rather too long to get the anti-sun applied and went a bit pink in places by the end of the day - so did almost everybody else!

In the village there's a pub/tea room and a shop, and a mini museum which consists of wallboards with highlights of the island's history and a small display case in the middle. On top of the display case is a stuffed gannet in a glass case. I like gannets, but when I later enquired whether we would see any I was told that they don't nest on the island any more. I wonder whether this is in solidarity with their poor motheaten brother in the glass cage.

Upward and onward from the village to the central plateau of cultivated fields. As we passed through a gate there were a small herd of sika deer (a stag and a dozen or so hinds and young ones) posing beautifully on the skyline. They were far enough away to be unworried by us, but close enough for inspection through binoculars and photographs. Eventually they wandered off, down to a fence which they leapt in turn into an area of bracken and bushes. We went on through fields of sheep to a more open moorland area where there were Lundy ponies. These were originally a cross between New Forest ponies and a Welsh Mountain stallion but are now classed as a breed on their own. Tall for ponies, quite elegant, with beautiful gold or copper coloured coats.

By now we had crossed to the cliffs on the west side of the island and our guide took us to a clifftop where we had our picnic lunch and puffin watch. I must admit that given the amount of fuss they make about the puffins - almost every item in the shop was puffin branded, for example - I was expecting a large colony. Our guide explained that the colony had almost been wiped out by black rats, and was only just now recovering after the eradication of the rats. There are appoximately fifty birds, with about ten active nests, that's all. But they posed for us nicely on the other side of a little cove, halfway up a cliff. There were other birds on the cliff as well, guillemots and razorbills and a few gulls, but the puffins were the prize.

It's interesting that everybody present accepted the need to get rid of the rats to preserve the puffins without demur. When I mention to people that my nephew in New Zealand is working on the eradication of hedgehogs from his islands they are usually horrified. But the hedgehog in New Zealand is just as much of an introduced pest destroying the native wildlife as the black rat was on Lundy, surely?

After lunch we walked back inland, across moorland full of wheatears, skylarks and chocolate brown soay sheep, up to the original lighthouse on the very highest point. Built in 1819, designed by the same man who created Dartmoor prison, it wasn't a great success because it was too often invisible due to fog or low cloud. It makes a great vantage point, though; the one member of our party who made it to the top claimed he could see America! From there it was time to descend a little way back to the village for a most welcome tea break in the welcoming Marisco Tavern, which had a generous library of reference works, bird and wild flower field guides, and I amused myself by identifying an unknown pink flower we had come across as Centuary, one I'd not met before. One or two of our party opted for the trip round the island (they saw seals!) but most of us stayed on land, checking out the church and the castle, looking down on the South Lighthouse (unreachable from where we were) and generally wandering about until it was time to go home.

There was no sign of the sick bag dispenser on the way home; an altogether much more peaceful crossing. I did see one gannet and a few cormorants but, alas, no exotic marine creatures at all - I'd hoped for a basking shark or two. Altogether it was a memorable and thoroughly enjoyable day. The weather was kinder to us than we had anticipated, the deer and the puffins posed nicely, the island lived up to expectations. But it would not have been anywhere near as good a day without our guide. On the cliffs we met quite a few disappointed walkers who hadn't seen a single puffin, mostly because they didn't know where to look. Simon took the time to steer all of them in the right direction, as well as treating us to a proper display. But there was a lot more to the trip and the island than just bird watching, and it was thanks to him that we were able to get so much out of it.

I'd love to go again, I'd love to stay and explore Lundy properly. Unfortunately, however, the one strict rule they have there is that dogs are forbidden. And a day trip is about as much as I can manage without my dog. Or my man, come to think of it...

Following the Camel Trail (didn't see any camels!)

Once upon a time there was a railway which ran from Padstow inland to Wenford Bridge, a matter of about 18 miles, running alongside the River Camel and carefully engineered to follow the river valley as levelly as possible. Since it ceased to function as a railway back in the 1960s it has been resurrected as a hiking and riding (bike and horse) trail and is hugely popular with visitors to Cornwall. Or at least part of it - the 8 miles from Wadebridge to Padstow, largely along the estuary with views of golden sand and seabirds when the tide is out and the possibility of fish and chips or something posher on the coast at the end of the journey - is hugely popular.

Go the other way, though, and it's a completely different story. Inland from Wadebridge the trail passes mostly through woodland along the river valley, although the river itself is often quite a distance below the path. There are sunny stretches and (welcome) shady patches, birds and flowers and butterflies abounding but hardly any people, and those that we met were well worth meeting.

The day began with one or two minor logistic problems involving motorbikes with dead batteries (lifts can be arranged) and no reservation for lunch (picnics are nice). A somewhat reduced party of four dogs and three humans convened at the car park by the Borough Arms at Dunmere to walk, well, as far as we felt like, really, which turned out to be a nicely appointed picnic area in Shell Woods, just a bit less than five miles from our starting point. Because this end of the trail is so quiet we were not constantly having to marshall dogs at the side of the path out of the way of careering cyclists, and they were freer to explore, dashing down to the river wherever it was possible and generally racing about as they do. At Helland Bridge the path crosses a road, but apart from this it is flat, gently curving and free from hazards all the way.

Since joining our pack the spaniel, Harvey, has become quite adventurous. He has discovered a passion for swimming, and having been taught by the master swimmer, Ty, he follows his favourite technique of barking all the time he is swimming. Which got us into a little bit of trouble, just past Helland Bridge. The dogs had dashed down to the river. Ty and Harvey were swimming (loudly), Jake and Megs were paddling. We were joined on the path by two more people and their three dogs, who also went down to the river to play. Lots of fun was being had by all until a lady on the opposite bank asked us to stop, as the noise was scaring her piglets! Very embarrassing.

We joined packs then for a mile or so, until they turned back and we stopped for our picnic lunch. The return journey passed pleasantly but without incident, although we did try to visit a pottery but it turned out to be shut. We had done almost ten miles in about four hours, including our lunch stop and several dog paddling stops. Nice easy strolling, enough to be tiring but not too exhausting, and on the flat I can keep up quite easily!

We took a slight diversion on the way home to join Ron and the gang at the Inn on the Shore in Downderry. Ty insisted on being taken down to the beach, but when he got there he was quite happy to come back and lie down after five minutes. The beach was quieter than I would have expected, with very few people playing, considering the perfect seaside weather. The sea was looking beautiful, flat and blue and inviting. Sadly, (!) I had forgotten to pack a swimsuit, so I settled for liquid inside on the pub terrace instead of a refreshing swim. So did Ty, so he must have been tired.

Day Out in Somerset

A very long day out, as it happens. Sixteen hours of nonstop activity, and all thoroughly enjoyable. But not my usual sort of thing, not like a normal Saturday at all.

It was a sort of a party; a gathering, anyway, of people from all over the south west of England. From Salisbury and Saltash, Bideford and Bristol, we all converged at a cider farm near Taunton. Entertainment was to be provided, and one of the entertainments was to be bell ringing.

There is a mini belltower, complete with bells, which converts to flatpack for transport and can be taken anywhere. It looks like this when assembled. The problem was that it needed a vehicle large enough to get a 7ft heavy box of bits on the roof and six bells in a frame inside. My car, in other words. So I got up before dawn, walked my dog, fed the birds, had a quick coffee and was on the road at half past eight.

Picked up the organiser in Plymouth, picked up the belltower in Kingsteignton. Was instructed in the method for fitting the bits together like a jigsaw in the case for transporting, but as it was on my roof and above my eyeline I didn't get it all...

And then I drove very slowly and carefully to Three Bridges Farm, where Sheppy's Cider comes from. Because the weight on the roof was all on one side, corners were quite interesting. So, given the total weight of about five tons (perhaps a tad exaggerated, but quite heavy), was going down Telegraph Hill. I was quite glad to get there, to be honest.

A few willing volunteers got it up and running just as easily as I'd been told it would be, and it was a successful part of the day. We also had a talk on bellringing in general which was interesting, a very nice lunch (for 60 in a smallish room) and various other activities, most of which I missed. Although I did try my hand at Smite. A little known (because rarely televised) sport, Smite involves throwing one piece of wood at other named and numbered pieces of wood to achieve a perfect score of 50 and win the game. I'm not very good at it, although other people were pretty impressive. Somebody took a picture:-

After a long and enjoyable afternoon messing about, talking to people I haven't seen for years and some I'd never met before, it was time to disassemble the bell tower for transport home. About ten people helped to take it to bits very quickly, but then spent hours arguing about how to do the jigsaw of getting the bits in the box. We got it wrong, but it was functional. I only had to take it somewhere in Taunton and wait for someone else to come and collect it, but it took hours - long enough to have a meal in the town, then sit watching swifts circling until it got dark and they went to sleep to be replaced by bats - finally it was collected and I could drive home. I arrived at half past twelve, tired and ready to sleep. Ty, however, who had been out with Ron all day running round and going to beaches etc, was worried in case I hadn't been getting enough exercise, and insisted on taking me out for a good walk before bedtime. After he'd had the cookies he deserved for being abandoned, that is.

Oh, it was nice to lie down, when I finally got there...

Summer finally comes to Dartmoor

Not the wildest part of Dartmoor, just the edges, but warm enough for shorts and a shirt for the first time this year. A circular walk, generally gently down on the way there and gently up on the way back, nothing strenuous, lovely after the long day I had yesterday.
We started from the carpark at the edge of Roborough Down, behind the Paperweight Centre in Yelverton. Getting there was a bit of an adventure in itself - as I was driving through Yelverton a large black bird dived into the front passenger window of the car. Luckily (for me) it was shut at the time. Yelverton was full of some sort of cycle event, including tandems and bikes with kids on the back, so I couldn't really stop to check on the state of health of the crow (almost certainly, but possibly jackdaw or rook).
According to the map, the first part of the walk was a National Trail Recreational Route but it wasn't at all obvious, and our leader led us through the gorse bushes with a compass. When we were due to turn off the downs onto a public footpath leading to Buckland Monachorum, we found that the waymarker at the beginning had been deliberately sawn through and cast aside. Which is not good. Even worse, five minutes later, was the discovery that a short section of green lane between two fields was so overgrown as to be almost impassable, especially for the shorts wearers amongst us. One wonders which came first, the removal of the waymarker or the failure to keep the path clear. And is it worth reporting it? Probably, yes...
The path was in better condition further down, although some of the stiles were difficult for the dogs as they had been wired up. Another black mark for the landowner. Ty, who learned the hard way by spending a lot of time on boats, can work out how to get over most obstacles, and he'll also trust me to show him the way by tapping the places I think he should put his feet. Jake, who spent most of his formative years in kennels and didn't know how to get up steps at all when he was first liberated, isn't very agile at all and struggles. He's also the heaviest of the pack. Megs has a tendency not to see the paw traps and sometimes gets caught up. Harvey's a spaniel, with a totally different technique - dig through if possible, if not let yourself be picked up!
We entered Buckland Monachorum from behind the church, which has what seemed an excessively large graveyard for a small village. The village was decked overall in bunting, but it wasn't to welcome us; we'd missed the village fete by a day. A stroll round, a quick visit to the pub (two minutes after opening time) to use their facilities, then upward and onward. Coming out of the village the path leads around the edge of The Garden House. From what we could see by peering over the bridges and through the fence this probably deserves its 'magical' description, but apart from a bit of 'Do you know what that is?' and 'I'd love one of those' we had to pass it by. Going round the garden proper would have taken too long, and, of course, is not free.
After the Garden House we met a lot of horses. Proper horses in small fields, not loose ponies. I'd never seen horses in beekeeping helmets before, but I was informed by someone who knows about horses that they are for the prevention of flies, and can be seen through from the inside perfectly well. I believe this. Ty was several times sniffed by curious horses again, and Micheal was pursued like a pied piper by a couple who wanted to go home with him!
Around Axtown we had a slight diversion. We were following the footpath signs until our leader's trusty compass indicated that we were going in the opposite direction to the way we should be, so we had to backtrack a little and find the right path (not so well signposted) up back to Roborough Down and across to the car park.
For lunch we drove to the 16th century Who'd Have Thought It Inn at Milton Combe. I was intrigued by the blue cheese, spinach and walnut bread and butter pudding, which proved to be delicious, served with an imaginative and delicious salad featuring more walnuts, grapes, apple, cherry tomatoes and green things. It was surprisingly filling too, which was a pity in a way because there was Eton Mess on the dessert menu, and I didn't have room.
After lunch we had another little adventure, driving down to Lopwell, where the River Tavy is dammed to form a reservoir which provides water for Plymouth. Below the dam it's possible at low tide (which it was) to walk across a wall to the salt marsh on the other side. It isn't possible to swim, not even for dogs, although it's possible for spaniels to find quite stinky mud to frolic in, apparently.
And so home, tired, but happy. A lovely summer day out.

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!

Good day, Bad day...

Yesterday was a Good Day. The sky was blue, the sun was actually warm for the first time this year, spring was really getting on with it. Down at Latchbrook the rookery is being loudly refurbished, smaller birds are racing round madly chasing each other in and out of the bushes - and there was so much frogspawn in the little marsh that I didn't feel at all guilty about taking some home to populate my little pond. A Good Day.
Today started well, too. The weather was wet and miserable, but we had an excellent meeting at Rilla Mill this morning and I was still quite cheerful when I left there to come home at 12.30. I got as far as Callington before the day turned Bad. I got a puncture. Right in the middle of the town where the main A388 is constricted by all the old buildings and the articulated lorries, tractors, buses and other traffic are all struggling to negotiate their way through. I managed to get half off the road, but I could sense the lorry drivers thinking evil thoughts at me as they struggled past.
The RAC took an hour and a half to get to me. Then the spare tyre was soft, and when the RAC man tried to blow it up the valve exploded, which meant even more standing around in the cold and rain while he blew up the punctured tyre and put it back for (just) long enough for me to drive up the hill and round the corner to a tyre place. It wasn't repairable, naturally; there's a cut over an inch long right across the middle of the tread. Goodness knows what I ran over to cause that. So now I have two new tyres on the front, and the best three of what was left on the back wheels and as a spare. I am rather less solvent than I was this morning, and consider the day to have lost its bright promise. I haven't even been to check up on my frogspawn!

Rats!

I belong to an email chat list where no subject is taboo, discussions get very involved and topics quickly get diverted into all sorts of interesting byways - almost like being in an old fashioned pub but with a couple of hundred people chipping in with their own points of view.
A couple of days ago a conversation which began (I think) as a discussion of what is and isn't VATable segued into an explanation of what fat balls are. One person pointed out that in his experience all fat balls did was attract rats to the bird table and the birds never got a look in.
Smug clever me responded that the rats don't get at my fat balls, housed as they are in a hanging cage, and someone else continued with another more complicated method involving old CDs - sounds fun.
Then I moved from my computer at the front of the house to the kitchen, glanced out of the window - and there was the brownest, sleekest, fattest, biggest rat I have ever seen, spread across the crumb tray scoffing homemade brown bread crumbs with gusto! He still couldn't get at the fat balls, though...
The crumb tray is the lowest item on the feeding station, but it still at least seven feet off the ground. There's a vertical pole to climb to reach it, but it does go up through the hebe, which would assist in climbing. Also, I've pruned a lot of the branches to make it easier for me to climb and reach up for refilling purposes. As soon as the rat sensed me at the window it scurried down the pole and across to the other side of the garden, taking refuge under a loose pile of unused plantpots behind the compost bin. Immediately it vanished, a dozen sparrows that had been waiting chattering on the back fence flew straight down to the feeders in what almost looked like desperation, but is actually just normal for them.
After a few minutes the rat came back, ran across to the base of the feeders, turned straight round and back under the pots. And vanished. It hasn't been seen since, although I am well aware that that doesn't mean it isn't there, just that it's being a bit more careful.
I'm a bit equivocal about rats; I admire them as intelligent and resourceful animals, and if I'm having a wildlife garden then there should be a place for all wildlife, but I still have this feeling they're not quite safe to have around. So I've compromised. I'm taking Ty down into the garden with me a couple of times a day, in the hope that that's enough to make my new friend move along. And I've stopped putting out breadcrumbs for the birds, which means disappointed pigeons gathering on the roof and protesting quite loudly. So perhaps I'll have to start again - perhaps I'll try the old CDs dangingling trick!

Cross Country City Walk

Walk across Plymouth without crossing a road? Ian said it could be done, so we tried it. Actually in our four or five mile walk from the Tesco superstore at Woolwell to the Beefeater at Marsh Mills for lunch we had to cross three, although the first to get from the nearest car park to the entrance to Cann Woods shouldn't count, and the last two little ones on the way from Coypool to Marsh Mills wouldn't have counted either if we hadn't wanted to go to the pub for lunch. I reckon Ian passed the challenge with flying colours, and we had a very enjoyable stroll through the woods. I had no idea that the woodland along the river Plym came as close in to the city centre as it does, nor that it was possible to get under all the flyovers and round the islands at Marsh Mills so easily on foot.
It was gentle walking, too, all along good paths and tending downhill all the way - we started at about 500ft above sea level and got right down to the tidal part of the river. There was plenty of water for the dogs to stand, play or swim in according to their mood and some interesting industrial ruins. I was intrigued by the information board by the water wheel pit at Cann Quarry. Apparently it was built and opened in 1865 to replace a steam winch used for hauling slate wagons up from the quarry. Even then, it would appear, the green faction were trying to provide cheaper, less fuel hungry alternatives. Unfortunately it was not a success, and closed again after only a year, being replaced by the original steam winch.
At the Coypool end of the walk we travelled alongside the three quarter mile stretch of restored railway line which is part of a project to get all the way to Plym Bridge (twice that far!). From there we were back near, but not in, traffic and bustle. There are footpaths parallel to the road but hidden from it, and then a fascinating view of the A38 flyover from underneath, then more secret footpaths to Sainsbury's and a very long footbridge over the Embankment to the Beefeater, where we had lunch. Normal lunch, not the St Valentine's Special.
Eight human and three canine walkers today, joined by three more humans for lunch. The weather was, well, pleasant enough but undistinguished. The walk and the company were of the best.

Avian eating habits

It's always exciting when a non-sparrow comes to eat in my garden. Bluetits, great tits and longtailed tits, chaffinches, goldfinches, blackbirds and starlings all pass by fairly regularly, and I still have my (hopefully) resident robin and wren, but it's the sparrows that come in the greatest numbers and most frequently.
At this time of year the fat balls are probably the most popular food on offer, but as those nylon nets they come in seem to me to be nothing but claw traps I have a special container for them. It's about the same size and shape as the traditional peanut feeder, but made of a much larger mesh - big enough for the sparrows to get their whole heads through. It also makes the fat balls accessible to larger birds such as starlings, which love them, especially as I have modified the original feeder by fixing a substantial twig across the bottom for birds to perch on.
Sparrows attack with gusto, frequently dropping bits, concerned to get in first and eat as much as possible as fast as possible. And three or four starlings in a concerted feeding frenzy can (and do) demolish a whole new fat ball in just over an hour. The feeding behaviour of this afternoon's new visitor appeared very strange by comparison.
A blackcap. A beautiful slim bird in shades of grey, almost blue on the breast, with a neat black crown, the first I've seen in my garden. Perching on the fat ball feeder, quietly enjoying a snack.
So what was strange about that? As it was feeding, every so often a crumb would fall onto the hebe about four or five inches below. And the blackcap would swing upside down on the perch, stretch out and very delicately retrieve it. The most elegant, fastidious eater it has been my privilege to watch from my kitchen window. I just hope it returns and that the sparrows learn some manners by example!

Sunday walk with snowdrops

There are basically two ways to start the day as far as Ty is concerned. The first is that the alarm goes off, I get out of bed, shower, dress and take him down the Coombe. After that I have a cup of coffee and do things with keyboards before changing my clothes, combing my hair and going out. Somewhere around the hair combing stage he goes to bed and lies there, sulking, knowing he's going to be leftat home. This happens three or four days a week.
The second plan is that I get up when I wake up, sit about in a dressing gown drinking coffee and staring at a computer screen (sometimes for hours), before eventually showering, dressing and taking him out. I don't think he's all that bothered which we do, as a general rule.
Today was different, though. With the first ring of the alarm he jumped on the bed and pointed at it, wound up tight waiting for me to switch it off. Usual routine, dress, drink of water, off down the Coombe. Back again. Make a cup of coffee, sit down at keyboard. Instead of lying down quietly somewhere as usual, though, Ty took up station by my right elbow, sitting and staring, poised and ready... Coffee finished, I started gathering bags and stuff together as usual. Picked up my comb. Instead of going to bed for a sulk, he ran to the front door. I sat back down at the computer, he started with the nose under the elbow 'get up, get up, I want something...'
Eventually the phone rang, our lift was outside, and off we went for a day's adventure. But how had he known that today he was going with me? The routine was absolutely normal. I was careful not to say anything about walks. I didn't even put my big boots on, but still he knew.
It was a good morning's walk, too. From Pentewan, halfway between St Austell and Mevagissey, we took a valley trail along an old railway track (this one carried iron ore, I believe) by the side of the White River, so called presumably because its bed is mostly china clay. From there we took a diversion uphill through and round the King's Wood, a bit of ancient woodland now well looked after by the Woodland Trust with maps, waymarks and boards with bits of history, see http://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/en/our-woods/Pages/wood-details.aspx?wood=4357 then back along the riverbank to an excellent carvery lunch at the Ship Inn.
We saw lots of snowdrops and winter heliotrope in flower. The heliotrope had been starting to flower before the big freeze at the beginning of January blighted and shrivelled the leaves, but it's grown new smaller ones and is filling the banks with odour of cherry pie. Here in the Coombe the wild garlic is well grown, but there have been very few celandines this year - the freeze caught them too.
In spite of the greyness of the sky today and a chilly wind I do feel that spring is on its way - I'm just not sure when!

Luxulyan Valley Walk

I almost always come home a little wiser from our walking days; there's always something to learn. One lesson I took from last Sunday's expedition was never to rely on the driver knowing where we are going, even if he 'has' got SatNav! I'd quite deliberately decided that it wasn't necessary for me to look up the details of where the meet was - the person who'd kindly offered me a lift had decided he'd rely on my local knowledge and hadn't bothered to check the exact destination to programme into his machine. As a result we actually went past where we should have stopped and spent some time wandering around the village of Luxulyan trying to find the Treffry Viaduct, which was a mile or so back down the road. We'd been so busy concentrating on whether to turn right or left at the bottom of the hill (Ms Garmin was silent on the subject) that we hadn't even noticed the carpark!

I'm not all that enamoured of the SatNav, anyway. On Sunday it took us to the village, yes, but along the very narrowest of lanes with grass and 'cornish hedges' ( high vegetation covered rock walls) either side. There are wider, more travelled, signposted lanes to choose from. Later, when directing us to a nearby village for lunch, the SatNav chose a lane so narrow that there wasn't quite room for a toddler on a pony on a leading rein to squeeze past the wing mirrors of our stationary procession of three cars, and a man in a hi-vis jacket and a stetson leapt up the 'hedge' rather than risk us driving past! What was wrong, I asked myself, in going up the hill to Luxulyan and then taking the signposted lane to Lanlivery - single track it may have been, but at least it had passing places.

But I digress. We went for a walk. The fog was thick and the air was icy in Saltash, but at Treffry Viaduct the sun was shining and the sky was blue and it was almost warm enough to take my gloves off! Luxulyan Valley follows the river Par deeply and steeply down to the coast. There were quarries there and tramways to take the granite and the clay out. Quite a lot of work has been done there on improving paths, clearing leats and making some of the industrial remains safe, making it a pleasant place for a walk even in midwinter. One's boots got muddy, of course, but the mud was china clay white, which is much superior to the usual brown stuff... The Friends of Luxulyan Valley have a website at www.luxulyanvalley.co.uk with photographs and a history lesson which I wish I'd looked at before we went.

We were six people and four dogs on Sunday. At one stage the conversation turned to wondering how many dogs made a pack and whether our motley group of collies-and-a-spaniel would count. Almost immediately afterwards our path was crossed by a 'real' dog pack - seven identical golden retrievers bouncing around in a friendly manner, accompanied by four or five assorted humans.

We followed one tramway down from the viaduct on the left side of the valley, starting high above the river and the railway line, descending steeply past cataracts, water wheels and mysterious remains of buildings, to meet another tramway which took us back up alongside the boulder strewn white water rapids they call the river Par to our starting point, in nice time to repair to the Crown at Lanlivery for an excellent and very welcome Sunday lunch.