Walking, Backwards.

It occurred to me as I walked the crest of Row Tor, both coasts visible, that there are few places, patches and pieces of land left here that I have not traversed over the years.

Actually, as I walked southwards towards the under visited Hawk’s Tor along the bottle-brown, gin clear De Lank river, the other thing that occurred to me (repeatedly) was how the waist high quaking marsh would be a pretty perfect place for a sheep guzzling cryptid to stalk its unwitting prey. This, alongside of recent readings of Dinofelis (an infernal early hominid eating specialist) and the unhelpfully graphic image I associate with it (see fig 1.) main-qimg-6a9918fdc46276c65f8f27cb11f4ba72Fig 1. (Sheeet)

made it a slightly quicker walk than usual, infused with a new found sympathy for sickly wilderbeest.

For those of you who might not know the long running saga/fable of the ‘Beast of Bodmin Moor’ then I suggest you have a gander. Suffice to say if she’s anywhere, it’s around the scrub of Hawk’s tor.

This is Hawk’s Tor by the way. Looking towards Row (Rough) Tor on the left and Brown Willy on the right, the highest points in Cornwall respectively. When you are unused to real mountains they start to seem impressive.

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The Moors here are endlessly fascinating and there will be much more to come on their intrigue, oddity and underuse.

I make it my prerogative to motor about in my beloved, laughably small and frankly unstable van at least once a week. This mostly adhered to policy provides a modicum of sanity and relief from my field – teaching – it has also meant that I’ve seen a great deal of my county.

Here’s a map I made whilst I lived in the capital.

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I started adding place names about a year ago.

Among other things – my mind tends to wander as much as my body – I aim to work backwards and colour my meanderings in on these pages.

In a land that rests its entire being on the visits of others I hope that these visitors might start to wander and meander from the trodden paths of the tourism trail. I have places and I want to share them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Begin.

Wasson?

Pulled and pushed back to Cornwall 3 years ago from our glorious capital I found myself, an adult of sorts, blinking at my surroundings.

Born here, I was a child here, raised on the South Coast, a cowrie throw from the soft south coast sea. In the long summers of every (hopelessly nostalgic) adult’s mind I traversed cliffs, fished, swam, lifted rocks and picked out the blennys and the crabs, nursed sunburn and shook the sand out of my clothes. In the quiet grey winters we watched storms play out on the ocean from the window.

Cornwall is this for many. You do not have to be born here to have those memories. It is a the vestige of innocent, home grown childlike happiness. A land of sun and ruminative nostalgia for generations. That is why it remains perennially popular as a destination.

The jaded, career worn parents those children have turned into bring their own offspring here to experience the same, to inevitably follow the same cycle. That is beautiful in its way. Whether you return to your second (or third) home in Port Isaac or a faded caravan in the Pentewan valley, the concept remains the same and you share it with everyone else who traverses the bleak arterial roads to get here.

I am a Cornishman, I have my own nostalgic fragments and as much as I rebelled against it, this odd, conflicting, sane, insane, small minded, hugely ambitious, guileless, tactless, stylish, entrepreneurial, ancient, modern, dead end, inspiring, mediocre and ultimately indefinable fist of a county, reaching into the Atlantic with its gnarled granite claw, it lured me like a mackerel and now I live here.

A Cornishman in Cornwall.

This blog is not a travel blog, it is not a guide, it is not a social commentary, it is not romantically overblown, it is not realistic, it is not a plea, it is most certainly not aimed at anything. It is just Cornwall. Through my eyes.

I resolved to explore every crevice of this little place. If I was going to be residing here again I was going to make damn sure I knew the bugger.

This is the result of that resolution.