The Cheesewring

A few posts back I related how I fell into a gorse bush in North Devon, scratching face, hands and legs, and leaving me with a potential scar on the front of my face, between nose and upper lip. I'm happy to say that nearly all the scratches have now healed, and that any facial blemish will be unnoticeable. It's already nothing to worry about - and of course nobody can see my rapidly-healing wounds underneath my mask when I go shopping, or fill Fiona up with fuel.

I'm now tempted to think that I had become a trifle hubristic about my mountain-goat abilities! For only four days previously I had been clambering around on massive granite boulders on the south-eastern edge of Bodmin Moor in Cornwall, and I accomplished that without falling. I suppose there was one key difference: I wasn't wearing my ultra-stout Alt-Berg walking boots, but my lighter and more stylish Dubarry boots, which are essentially posh leather wellies, and at their bottom end far more like a conventional shoe, able to flex, and not nearly so clumpy to wear. I wouldn't want to walk very far in them, not as much as five miles, but for shorter distances in cool weather they are fine. I've never yet stumbled while shod with them, and didn't on this occasion on Bodmin Moor. Here's my feet with the boots on. I bought them in 2011, and they have lasted very well.

So what was I doing on Bodmin Moor? I wanted to take another look at the remarkable stone circles known as The Hurlers (last seen on a cold, wet, very misty afternoon on 27th December 2010) and then walk over to the amazing natural pile of stone boulders called The Cheesewring, perched above a disused quarry on nearby Stowe's Hill, which I had never visited before. All of this was close to a village called Minions. Here are some location maps:

Minions was once the centre of an important mining and quarrying industry in this part of Bodmin Moor, and hosted a network of tramways established in the 1840s to take the extracted goods away, known as the Liskeard & Caradon Railway, as shown in these screenprints of an old six-inch Ordnance Survey map from 1907 (regard them as joined together to form one map):

By 1907 industrial operations around Minions and Caradon Hill were already in decline, as revealed by the number of 'disused' shafts, pits and quarries shown on the map. The whole tramway system north of Moorswater near Liskeard was abandoned in 1916. The truncated line at Moorswater, which had china clay traffic and connected to the Looe Valley line (and Looe quay), carried on, and still operates. A train from the main line goes there once a week on Wednesdays to collect the clay via a weird steep loop from Liskeard station. I was parking Fiona at Liskeard station on 23rd September, and actually saw this mineral train without realising what it was, although a linesman explained its purpose to me shortly afterwards. My adventures at Liskeard - or more particularly Coombe Junction down in the valley at the other end of that loop - are coming up soon in another post.

Strangely the 1907 map doesn't name The Hurlers, nor the outlying pair of stones known as The Pipers. But it does show The Cheesewring. 

That winter afternoon at Minions in 2010 had been something of a disappointment. Weather conditions were dire. It was bitterly cold, misty, the light was failing, and the ground was squelchy from a thorough and prolonged soaking from melted snow. There was even some unmelted snow here and there. I was determined to get some good shots of the stones, but had to admit that my efforts were not successful. They were defeated by the mist and the dull light:

Yes, these shots had atmosphere of a sort; but they were still substandard pictures. I thought that some of them actually looked better if I experimented with the editing tools I had, to produce monochrome and false-colour effects:

All well and good, but I promised myself that I would return one day and take proper pictures in better weather. Thus it was on 23rd September that I arrived at Minions, parked Fiona, donned those Dubarry boots, and had a good walkaround. Once again, not in the best weather. But bright enough, even if rain got ever likelier.

Minions itself is just a small village in a semi-bleak setting, a focus for outdoor types with dogs to walk, and those interested in industrial archaeology, as well as the more conventional sort of archaeology. Normally you can get tea and cake here, and visit the Heritage Centre (which I didn't find, but I think was in a conspicuous old engine house with a chimney, in the moor north of the village centre). Here's a flavour of Minions, including a shot of a house that made reference to the Minions in the movies. (Not my sort of movie, you'll understand)

Let's leave The Hurlers and The Pipers for last, and go straight for the jugular. The Cheesewring. 

The approach was easy. Literally just a walk through the rough grass, vaguely following where others had trod. The Cheesewring is a pile of flattish or pillow-shaped granite stones balanced on top of each other in a stack arrangement. Presumably the eroded remains of a jointed and fissured rock outcrop, now seen after a very long process. It's perfectly solid and stable, but with further erosion - or a local earthquake - might become less so. It now stands on the edge of a man-made cliff, one side of a quarry hewn out of the rock. Its not the only pile of stone slabs up there, but it's the main one, and it caught the eye as I came ever nearer. 

Although its silhouette was distinctive, I can't say that I was especially impressed when seeing it at a distance, but closer up it seemed mighty. It got rockier underfoot as I neared the quarry, and some clambering was needed to get a good view across the quarry to its perching-point.

Then I had to make my way carefully over the rocks, on rising ground with no very obvious path to follow, and then steadily upwards to The Cheesewring. It wasn't difficult, but it took a good effort, and it felt like a proper achievement to finally get there, as you can see from my expression!

The Cheesewring, at last. Massive rocks, certainly. Astonishing to think that they must be the weathered remnants of something much bigger. I took photos from various angles.

I have said that The Cheesewring was natural, but I couldn't help thinking that a rocky pile like this could be made with discarded quarry stones and a big strong crane! Perish the thought.

I then went over to another pile of rocks nearby that stood at an even higher point on Stowe's Hill. I thought that I might as well get to the summit, and survey the landscape around. I climbed up only so far, nearly onto the topmost slab but not quite. It was too much of a step up, and besides the wind up there was fierce, and I wanted to avoid being blown off. Great views all the same.   

This particular pile of stones was pitted with little rainwater basins, places where rainwater had collected over millennia, eventually creating a circular bowl with a drainage outlet. In very hard rock.

A thirty-something couple with dogs came into view, and we had a short chat. The man was keen to get his feet atop the slab I had only rested my arm on. And he did, with one of the dogs too. I saw them up there as I started my decent.

One last look at The Cheesewring as I left the hill. I don't suppose I'll ever go back. 

And so to The Hurlers and The Pipers. On the way I looked out for signs of those old tramways. I saw some well-graded green grass tracks of likely width, and decided they must be track-beds of the former tramway lines. I really thought I could see stone sleepers with spike-holes in them. But when I traced my route afterwards on the old OS maps, I saw that I'd been mistaken. My direct route to the stones took me off to the west of where the tramways had actually been. 

The Hurlers, and their outlying stones, form a complex of three stone circles. How I wished it were a fine sunset, as I contemplated them on the day.  Oh well. More nondescript shots. At least it was fairly dry underfoot and not freezing cold!

I paid more attention to The Pipers this time, partly because I could see where they were. They reminded me of a pair of blunt fangs.

As before, I think the monochrome shots, enhanced, look better. But you may disagree!

That was that. The rain, threatened all afternoon, had started to spit a bit, and by the time I was on my way northwards towards Launceston, and ultimately Great Torrington in North Devon, it was raining steadily. I didn't care. I cooked a good meal and settled down for an evening of photo-editing with the radio for company - LBC until ten, then Classic fm.

All the shots in this post (whether from 2010 or 2020) were taken on the same camera, my little Leica. The perfect companion for a moorland trek, I think!