Thumbsticks and Moors

There are some days when all you need are a thumb stick, a good pair of walking boots and a dog to keep you company. At 52 years old the thumb stick now plays a major part of my walking componentry, literally a third leg! The history of the walking stick, the varieties, and usage is pretty fascinating and some very basic research will show you that they can be traced back to ancient Egypt. Between 3 - 6 feet and used purely as a symbol of power or prestige, by the 11th century Marie Antoinette would be seen with a shepherd's crook at special occasions and by the 15th to 18th century the walking stick is firmly placed amongst a fashion accessory amongst the ‘Upper Crust’ and accompanied with their own set of etiquette rules, like not brandishing it in the air or putting it under your arm, whilst I’m convinced that through the ages every shepherd in the world might be laughing at the spectacle, By the 19th century they could be now seen, or accepted as a walking aid, for the partially sighted or physically impaired,  and by the 20th Century we can thank boxers like Chris Eubank for bringing the  ornamental walking stick back into fashion, or Prince Charles seen walking with his Crook, dressed in full Harris Tweed. My personal usage of the thumbstick is firmly and happily rooted amongst the 19th century, a walking aid category, occasional pheasant shoot, beating stick or tripod for my air rifle. In general and not to ramble on about it but mine is the functional accessory of a man who’s eligible, yet still waiting for his SAGA catalogue. Lastly, and probably why I sought out my own from the hills above where we grew up in Sussex, my old man never left home for a dog walk without one. In fact when he passed away at 94, his trusty hazel thumbstick was cremated with him, so he's probably still walking somewhere now.​

Anyway, with my wife and lad away, I was a man with no commitments, no football or weekend cooking duties; the weekend my own. The day began heading out of Sennen for Bodmin Moor, extending my Radius and heading for Brown Willy (Bronn Wennili in Cornish) with trusty Border Terrier, Kylo.  Brown Willy as it's commonly known is the highest point in Cornwall, and a Marilyn, at 1378ft  (420metres) above sea level. What's Marilyn I hear you ask? A Marilyn is defined as a hill that is above 150m above sea level. The nearest to me is Watchcroft in the heart of the Mining World Heritage Site and overlooking the North Coast near Pendeen, Cornwall, and one of five in this county. 

If you choose to visit, the easiest way to find a 452m high hill in the heart of Bodmin Moor is head to Camelford on the A39 (the Atlantic Highway), drop down the High Street and turn right just after the Chip shop! Seriously, there is a lane on the right, head up there and keep going until you come to Rough Tor car park, a beautiful spot to get your flask out and have a cuppa right there. I would have boiled up a fresh cuppa on the stove but left that on the kitchen table, after we used it during the power cut caused by the recent Storm Eunice. Visitors could sit here and feel like you have checked out for the day, as the view in front is ShoweryTor and Rough Tor, and if you can only manage to walk to the latter peak then you will not be at all disappointed. Rough Tor, standing at 400m, is a spectacular rock formation with a 360 degree vista, and as beautiful as any I’ve seen around the world. 

The walk to Brown Willy is not a long walk as such, but it’s worth taking your time, it gets pretty boggy in places, and it’s a walk for a fine day, the clearer the better I reckon. Walking with a smile on my face and an overwhelming feeling of ‘this is f..king amazing’, we didn’t rush, we sat for a while between Rough Tor and Brown Willy, and while Kylo drank from the narrow 'De Lank' river that flows down through the valley, I had a swig of Lidls finest Spiced Rum from the hip flask. The second to last stile before heading up to the highest hill in Cornwall is a lovely spot,   out of the wind down there, and very peaceful. 

My last visit was a wet and snowy one,  enjoyable,  but a very soggy December day, and visibility was not the greatest. In total contrast, this visit was a beautifully sunny February day, albeit a  windy one with gusts of 40mph. In fact when reaching the top of Brown Willy it was pretty difficult to actually stand steady, it was howling, literally breathtaking. My thumbstick was firmly planted, propping me up as I took a couple of photos, but even holding the camera steady was impossible. My bobble hat (standard walking issue) blew off a couple of times so we got out of the wind and found a little shelter below the ‘summit’.  Over another tot of rum, a bar of chocolate a buttered hot cross bun, and a handful of treats for Kylo, we soaked up the  landscape that surrounds this iconic landmark,  and came to the immediate conclusion that this place is nothing short of spectacular, if you like open vast spaces. The quarries off to the East glistened in the sun, and the endless farmland with patches of monoculture forestry breaking the expanse went as far as the eye could see. The China Clay Slag heaps way off to the South looked like a set of dark mountains and the Cornish stone hedges divide the land into healthy parcels, each field filled with arguably the healthiest, clean air breathing, free range sheep in the land. The remote farmhouse below  seemd to be only linked to civilisation by the longest gravel lane, and the derelict barn, possibly shepherds' outpost, was a reminder of how isolated it must have been, working livestock on Bodmin Moor.  

That’s what I loved about it right there, the isolation. Only a few miles from the nearest manin road and town, local pub (where I sampled a post-walk pint), cafe, Co-op, and chip shop; Bron Wennili is there for everyone to enjoy, to get that piece of remoteness, that sense of immense space around you and have a good few moments of being completely in the present in the great outdoors.  ​

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