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.

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...