Stalked By Stormy Weather – Getting To Bodmin Moor (Cornwall Chronicles #14a)

The rainfall became more rapid as I walked away from Restormel Castle. The walk back from the castle to the car park only took five minutes, but during that time the rain fell harder than it had all day. Despite wearing a parka, I was soon saturated. Walking around Restormel had been more of a slog than a stroll. The weather was turning more miserable by the moment. Everything was given a good drenching. Returning to the car, I found its interior oppressive. The combination of human body heat and moisture made me feel slimy. My companions were in no better shape. We were soon turning on the heat to help us dry off. The humidity was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. The windows fogged up in less than a minute. The weather called into question continued travel on this day. The rain had gone from being a distraction to an impediment.

Vanishing Magic – A Change In The Weather

It is said that misery loves company. My dour attitude was one with the weather. I have always felt that rain is one of the worst types of weather for travelers. If it is too hot, you can at least rest in the shade. If it is too cold, wearing a few more layers will usually make being outdoors tolerable. There is no way to avoid the rain. It seeps into shoes, drips off the brow, and makes clothing stick to the skin. Rain makes itself a constant reminder that there is no escaping it. In Cornwall, much like the rest of Great Britain, rain is a fact of life. While the locals have learned to live with it, I was having trouble making the necessary adjustments.

What made the rainfall worse was that ever since I set foot in Cornwall, the weather had been spectacular. The blue sky and sunshine that greeted me on my first five days in the county was more than I could have hoped for in late September. The arrival of autumn had been delayed. Unfortunately, I assumed the glorious weather would continue. I naively let my guard down, until I woke up to rainy weather. It had returned with a vengeance. I reminded myself that the weather could have been worse. At least the temperature had yet to plummet, but the drenching rain was a reminder that the weather in Cornwall is capricious and prone to change in a matter of minutes. Expecting the unexpected weatherwise is a way of life here. There is never a dull moment in a land where climate change means is an hourly phenomenon.

The rainfall added an element of misery to the Cornish countryside. The hillsides dotting the horizon were blurred or blotted out by the rain. The bucolic greenery of the countryside was cloaked in a veil of gray, part cloud cover, part mist. Much of the magic found in this landscape had vanished, washed away by sheets of rain. The waterlogged environment made me despondent. What could be done in a downpour? That was the question put to the lone staff member at Restormel before leaving the site? He mentioned the Hurlers at Bodmin Moor. I had no idea what he meant. It sounded like a sports bar or a cricket match in the middle of nowhere. It was neither.

Deep Forebodings – A Strange Disturbance

The Hurlers are standing stone arranged in circles found on the southeastern edge of Bodmin Moor. This sounded mysterious and intriguing. Visions of a mini-Stonehenge began dancing in my head. A visit to a neolithic site was the kind of place that would be enhanced, rather than degraded by stormy weather. Stretching out a map, the man pointed the way there. On a bleak day, what could be better than visiting a moor. Moors are mysterious and magical, but they also have a malevolent air about them. These boggy, brooding landscapes can be fascinating and frightening.

Moors are one of the great semi-wildernesses in Great Britain, places of generally low economic value that due to their forbidding nature never underwent intensive development. Visiting Bodmin Moor was an idea worth pursuing, if for no other reason than because it fit with the weather. Moors are places where the footprint of humanity is relatively light. They have a reputation for being wild and sometimes sinister. The primeval nature of moors makes them a national treasure in Great Britain. They offer open space and an environment that lends itself to contemplation.?

On a personal level, moors brought back a memory from several decades ago when I journeyed to the remote reaches of the Scottish Highlands. On a loathsome stretch of highway through a treeless landscape, I was shaken by the sight of a large body of water surrounded by boggy grassland. I felt a strange disturbance pass through me. One look told me that I could disappear without a trace there. I have scarcely felt so vulnerable in my life. I had the deepest forebodings of something truly terrible happening to me in this landscape. I hurried onward, but that memory has never left me. It was a nightmare in broad daylight. There was something so elemental there that it terrified me. I knew that place could have been the end of me. To this day, I still believe it is possible.

Confronting Fear – A Dangerous Seduction

I was glad to learn at Restormel that Bodmin Moor was nearby. This intrigued me. It would be an ominous undertaking under the current weather conditions. There was a dark allure that I found dangerously seductive about the place. Sometimes we cannot explain our deepest fears, nor understand what gives rise to them. The idea of Bodmin Moor brought me back to that feeling of danger in the Scottish Highlands. For as frightening as that moment had been, I was still mesmerized by it. While I did not think Bodmin Moor would be the end of me, I wanted to see something similar. To contemplate just what the place meant to me. This was an opportunity to confront fear on my own terms.