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 Ty's friend had wandered on by then but been replaced by other equine panhandlers...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.

These Boots Were Made For Walking

The nicest thing about shopping on the Internet is that Christmas feeling when the parcels arrive. Today I took delivery of new guaranteed waterproof walking boots and a new, bright blue, waterproof jacket. Never again will I walk all day with soaking wet feet as I did a couple of weeks ago round Lanlivery - or at least that's the plan.
The boots fit, the jacket's lovely, all I need now is an opportunity to wear them, but sadly the rain has gone and been replaced by bright sunshine and a strong, drying wind. Ah, yes, but... up on the moors it's always winter, so it's OK to wear all the new gear!
I took a quick hike with the dog up and down the coombe to test the boots for comfort (great) then took them for a proper test up at Minions, on Bodmin Moor with the usual walking gang. The wind was cold but the sky was bright, the tracks were pretty dry but the grass was swampy, the feet were snug, the new jacket kept the wind out, result!
We went to Goldie's first, mostly for Ty's benefit. I think it's his favourite swimming hole in the whole world, and he was off down the track at full gallop, pausing occasionally to look to see if I was calling him back but not quite giving me time to actually call him. When he had made sure the pool was there where he remembered it was he came racing back for the other two dogs. By the time us slow humans caught up all three of them were in the water.
There were campers there, including two young men in wet suits who were walking around, finally climbing up to the jumping cliff and looking down. Thirty years ago, for two whole summers Goldie's was THE place to go and play, jumping off the cliff, swimming, picnics. One year there was even a scaffolding to make it fifteen feet higher, and a pulley across and down to the other side for sliding down and letting go half way. I never did it myself, being more the sort of person who held the towels and made the sandwiches, but I have several reels of super8 film somewhere I really should dig out and get put on DVD. And the sun always shone, the water was always cold, none of that global warming nonsense then! Anyway, back in 2009, one of the young men did jump. Well done!
From one former granite quarry we walked across to the next one, Cheesewring, intending to follow the old railway track back to the village, only to discover our way barred by some high fences keeping us away from a very, very big hole in the ground where a new mineshaft had apparently opened itself up. Bit of a detour then back on the track and back down to Minions to the Cheesewring pub. It was getting dark by the time we got back about eight; soon it will be impossible to walk in the evenings.
We had a good meal, too, to round off the evening. No Eton Mess, but a non messy even sweeter equivalent called a Big Gooey Meringue. Quite an accurate description. That's my pudding allowance over for another month...