Sand in my Sandals

This has been a good weekend for walks in the rain. After yesterday's epic, a nice flat eight mile or so Hessenford-Seaton-Downderry and beyond and back was a cooldown, no more.



Although the forecast was for showers and the ground was wet from the last couple of days' rain I wore sandals - it's almost always possible to do that walk with dry feet, whatever the weather. The local council have done their best to make the path through Seaton Valley as easy as possible, with duckboards over the muddiest bits, and although it isn't completely successful it did make a lot of difference. The old country park bit of the walk is tarmaced anyway, and the beach is the beach. My sandals filled up with nice damp sand as we struggled back from Clayden into the wind and the rain - the heaviest rain of the day was, of course, when we were walking straight into it.



There have been even more home improvements at Seaton Beach Cafe over the winter, and a cup of tea and rock cake in an elegant beach shelter with its own woodburner was very welcome. On the way back through the woods the sun came out, gilding all the new green until it was almost too bright to bear.

Liskeard-Looe Walk

Liskeard is nine miles inland from Looe and much higher up, on the edge of Bodmin Moor, in fact. So a stroll down the Looe River valley should have the emphasis on the down, don't you think? Nice and peaceful and come back on the train, lovely day out.

There was an article in one of our local free papers last summer waxing lyrical about 'our Cornish rural heritage, woodland, meadows, fast rushing streams and unspoilt green lanes where only a distant tractor may disturb the sound of bird song.' Pisky wells, Cornish Crosses, herons, Giants' hedges - it all sounded quite inviting, so we thought we'd give it a go. The first minor difficulty was that the trains (for getting back uphill) don't run on Sundays until mid-May, but not to worry, Saturday will do instead. Then, of course, the weather, which has been beautifully springlike lately, turned against us, with very heavy rain and gales overnight. By morning it was still very windy but the rain was only occasional, so I packed the lunch, dug out the boots, fleece, rainhat, lightish jacket but an extra waterproof poncho (not needed) and off we went.

The walk starts at Liskeard station, and the first mile or so was down lanes but very busy ones. Since they built the new Dobwalls bypass anyone wishing to visit the Farmers' Co-operative at Mole Valley either has a five mile detour or zips down one of two lanes out of Liskeard - and all Liskeard was going shopping this Saturday morning, it seemed. Down the bottom of the hill by Coombe Junction the road got quieter, although it was still a metalled lane which went uphill for a very long time. Proper high banks, though, with lots of flowers coming through. At the top we turned left, as instructed, and looked for 'an unsignposted lane by a house named Lunghwa.' We found a signposted lane (to Scawn) near an estate with no visible name, went down a while but it didn't quite match the description, went back up to the road, carried on a bit further and found a gate with the name Lunghwa on it, decided it must have been the right road anyway and retraced our steps. About half a mile and a whole village further on the instructions caught up with the road again, happily, and from there on we were mostly walking through woods and along streams. It wasn't exactly glorious sunshine but it was pleasant enough, and the occasional flurries of rain weren't much of a problem at all.

At a place where we were instructed not to cross the river but to take a track along it instead we stopped on the stone bridge for our lunch. Ty was pleased - the river under the bridge was deep enough for swimming, and stone bridges echo so well! There was some activity in a field right next to where we were - tents and some vehicles and a few people. We couldn't work out what they were doing so far from civilization, and when a couple of people walked out of the field on their way back up the hill I just had to ask them. It turned out that the sister of the gentleman I was talking to was getting things ready for her golden wedding anniversary party, which was to take place in the field that evening. They'd had a bit of difficulty with the tents blowing over during the night, unfortunately, but were carrying on. Posh frock, extra underwear, fleeces and wellies the dress code, I think.

After lunch we carried on to a ford which offered, as well as the actual ford itself, a log bridge to the left and a very narrow wooden footbridge with missing planks to the left. The footbridge actually felt quite solid, although it had an apologetic notice on it from the parish saying they'd mend it as soon as they could. From the ford the instructions said 'Climb the track steeply uphill for several hundred yards to a stile on the left.' The track was very steep indeed, slippy slate with most of the earth covering eroded, requiring great concentration to get up without mishap. Such great concentration, in fact, that we totally missed the stile on the left and carried on right to the top of the hill. A kilometre of unnecessary steepness, according to the map I consulted when I got home. In retrospect, we had seen the place where we should have gone off the track but it was a gate, not a stile, with a 'no cycling' notice on it. Anyway, we took another lane back down to the left another kilometre or so and got back to where we were supposed to be. From there it was all quite tame and flattish, although very pleasant, along the river watching it gradually become tidal then wider and almost estuarial in nature. The last part of the walk is through Kilminorth woods, a popular excursion from Looe, with waymarked paths and different coloured routes. We took the flattest and shortest!

As we got into Looe the weather started to deteriorate, such that I changed my mind about treating us to an icecream and we went straight to the station, just in time to catch a train back at 16.07. We had met in Liskeard at 10.30 and set off almost immediately, so it was quite a long day. I reckon about 12 miles, and not by any means all downhill as promised. A good day, though, and a walk we may repeat later, now that we know the way.

Things I have learned today: Not only should one make sure one has plenty of the right kind of clothes (I got that right!), one should never be without a map, even (or perhaps especially) when following instructions. Things change, landmarks and signposts are altered, and that nasty feeling that one is going the wrong way is very unnerving. Not that we had that feeling clambering up from Plashtown Ford - we had had experience of the distances being a bit vague and guesswork, so we just carried on. Next time, I'll try not to.

Dartmoor - a Different View

Yesterday we walked on Dartmoor again - and what a complete contrast to our last visit, only six weeks ago! This time everybody had spare clothes, waterproofs, extra boots etc, and we didn't need them at all.

The meet was at Meavy this time, and the day was not only bright and warm in Saltash but just as nice when we got there. I knew it would be good when I got out of the car to see the first swallows of the year on the telephone line. We set off uphill (naturally) up on to the moors to a marvellous viewpoint looking over Burrator Reservoir then came down through the woods, alongside the reservoir and back to the village for lunch. The reservoir is surrounded by conifer plantations which are rather more airy and attractive than most, to the extent of having flowering plants such as wood sorrel and violets, and we walked down along a leat where a lot of felling had been taking place, so the warm air was redolent of hot pine and resin.

This part of the Dartmoor National Park is extremely popular with visitors - there were many walkers but also picnickers and others who weren't venturing too far from their cars. We had an enjoyable and well deserved lunch sitting outside the village pub in Meavy, watching the local chickens cross the road in search of scraps. On the village green is an Ancient Oak. The centre has completely vanished leaving a three columned arch rather taller than I am, but with a healthy looking crown above. It is supposed to be almost 1,000 years old (known to King John), and gives its name to the pub.

Why aren't bluebells always blue?

When I came to live here in 2002 there was a small clump of Spanish bluebells in the front garden which had one white flowerspike among the blue. This year the rather larger clump has nine white flowerspikes, which is roughly one more each year. They are evenly scattered through the clump, what's more, not all in one place. Over the years I have looked, idly, at other clumps in other people's gardens, and have never seen any white ones.

In the coombe there are quite a lot of native bluebells, as there should be, but there are some Spanish ones as well. I suspect that some kind soul has attempted to improve on nature in the coombe in the past, as there are a few other not-quite-native species. Daffodils and narcissi, for example, which although naturalised are definitely not the native daff. The garden bluebells. Pittosporum, that NZ import which scents the nights so strongly this time of year. A lone clump of cyclamen. There have been at least two bouts of tree planting, probably coinciding with the storm water drainage that was put in there; at the top of the coombe, the earliest planting, there are still trees, both native and non-, with support stakes either side, and down at the bottom a later session which have been given the marginally less ugly curly plastic protectors. Luckily, however, there's been more neglect than 'management' over the years.

However, I digress. A couple of years ago I noticed that one patch of native bluebells had a couple of pink flowerspikes. Not barbie pink, more a delicate mauve, but definitely not blue. And again last year; same patch, same pink bluebells in among the normal ones. This year they are there again, but now there's another four pink flowerspikes, some three feet away from the originals. I could understand a mutation spreading in one place, but a yard away seems quite adventurous.

Now green. I saw the first green caterpillar of the year today, quite well grown. There are more and more butterflies about - an orange tip last Sunday at Hessenford, for example - and quite a few crane flies. I seem to have mosquito bites on both arms, but just in case they aren't mozzies I've given Ty a dose of Frontline. It's coming up to tick season, after all, and we are going on the moors at the weekend.

I think my white jasmine is definitely dead, which is unfortunate. Poor little cutting wasn't strong enough to resist the unnaturally cold winter. On the other hand, last year I shoved half a dozen lily of the valley in here and there, and thought I had lost them all to slug attack, as they didn't really flower, just dwindled. But suddenly at an inch or two a day there are at least two in the back garden and the one in the front garden has become three!

May is Out...

...or at least there are flowers on one particular Hawthorn, a red flowered tree in Kings Road, Plymouth, which always seems to be a few weeks in advance of the rest. People are casting clouts all over the place - the sun is shining, true, but the wind's still cold and the temperature in no way justifies the shorts and suntops I am seeing all over the place. The nearest I will get to 'summer' clothes for a while is the replacement of the woolly hat by a cotton one and a slightly thinner fleece!

The last few days have been wonderfully springlike. Every day there is more and more evidence of the changing season - that Hawthorn is a case in point, but it is happening everywhere. This year, as so often before, I promised myself that I would faithfully record the 'firsts' of spring, but as usual much of it has got away from me and caught me by surprise. There are bluebells now on the sunnier hedgebanks, although not yet in the woods. The hedges are white with blackthorn blossom, gardens pink with flowering cherries. The smallest wild cherry in the coombe, not much taller than I am, is already in bloom, as is the despised cherry laurel. Primroses, celandines, violets, campion, are all competing with the ramsons for ground space among the trees. Cuckoo-pint has come up overnight, seemingly.

One 'first' this afternoon - the first lizard I have seen in the wild in England. A male common lizard walked across the path in front of me in Seaton Valley and I was able to follow its movements for quite a while through the undergrowth. It can only recently have come out of hibernation.

It's almost midnight, and there has just been some consideable commotion outside in the coombe. First a jackdaw started chattering and scolding, then a female tawny owl screeched back. The jackdaw and the owl argued for a minute or two (I guess the owl woke the jackdaw up, rather than the other way round). Now the male and female owls are calling to each other up and down the coombe.

I don't know where the sparrows are nesting this year - not in the escallonia, or at least not yet, and not in the eaves and soffits of the empty house in Frobisher Drive because it isn't empty any more and it's all been repaired. They still seem to be going round in groups at the moment, although most of the other birds I see are courting or fighting. Blackbirds are being particularly aggressive at the moment. I keep seeing one blackbird which is brown but with a bright orange beak - is it male or female? No clue in any of my books...

...and a butterly fluttered by...

... A comma butterfly to be precise, which landed right in front of me in Hessenford wood this afternoon. The first one I've seen this year. And there have been other 'firsts' this week. In the Coombe the ramsons (wild garlic) are already coming into flower, although in Seaton Valley (and at Polkerris yesterday) there are still no flowers. I saw the first flower in the Coombe last Wednesday, and now there are hundreds. Although we have bluebells, daffodils, primroses, celandines and snowdrops locally, none of them do that English Heritage, home counties, picturesque carpet thing apart from the ramsons. In a couple of weeks the woods will be knee deep in white stars and wonderfully flavoursome. I always feel spring is really here when the garlic overpowers the cherry pie scent of the winter heliotrope. And yesterday, out on the cliffs the gorse, which has been flowering odourlessly all winter, was seriously into bee attraction mode with great dollops of coconut scented pollen.

I like this time of year. Every day something has changed, grown, burgeoned a little bit. One cannot but be optimistic...

What a beautiful day for a walk! We started from Polkerris today and did a round trip, following a bit of The Saints Way to Ready Money Cove, where we had a picnic on the beach, then back along the coast path by way of St Catherine's Castle and the DayMark at Gribbin Head to where we started from. A long walk - we took about five hours to do the 7 or 8 miles, but it was far too nice to hurry.

The first (and shorter/easier) half of the walk is mostly through farmland along the Saints Way. After a steep climb to begin with it was fairly easy walking, well trodden and well signposted. On the way we passed a small herd of Large Black pigs, as black as their name with muddy highlights and long floppy ears. One or two of the younger ones were curious and came over to touch noses with the equally curious dogs. By the time we got down to the delightful Ready Money Cove with its turreted shelter we were ready for lunch, parked on the rocks in the sun. The dogs went straight to the water and did their various usual things. Ty swam loudly round in circles, Jake stood in the water with his head on one side, patiently waiting for someone to throw something, Meg raced madly up and down the surf line. As usual, they attracted playmates. We watched Ty patiently lure one woman from the top of the beach to the waterline with a heavy piece of driftwood which was quite unsuitable for throwing. Still, he persuaded her to throw it and patiently corrected her every time she threw it away from the water until finally he had her with her boots off paddling and correctly throwing the log into the water for him.

Back on the trail there's a steep climb (naturally) up from the cove to St Catherine's Castle, part of the Henry VIII's coastal fortifications against the French, now ruined but with lovely views. Past there it got very breezy with the wind in our faces along the cliffs. We heard our first skylark of the year. Five minutes later we could hear half a dozen all round us. Another steep down, this time to Polridmouth, where there is a rather odd obviously man made lake (three mallard and a swan) and a bit of concrete wall passing it with stepping stones. Odd enough for me to have googled it. It appears that the lake was built as a decoy for Fowey during WWII!

Up again, down again, up again, up a bit more on to Gribbin Head, where the DayMark tower was locked so Bob couldn't climb to the top. Shame. I had no intention of trying, me. I was quite high enough up already, thank you. From there it's cliff top all the way, very narrow and very close to the edge in places, but fairly flattish until you get back to the steep bit through the woods back down to Polkerris. And now that I'm home I see (and feel) that my face has gone a delightful shade of salmon pink.