Brown Willy. The highest point of Cornwall is called Brown Willy. The original Cornish name of the hill is Bronn Wennili, meaning the slightly more family-friendly ‘Hill of Swallows’. This was the first high-point ascent of the Shire Checklist.

Once I parked up at the rocky deserted area of Bodmin Moor where Brown Willy resides, I nonchalantly said to my girlfriend (who wisely stayed in the car) “Won’t be a minute!” and then optimistically bounced along the stony footpath.

Cruise control 

I was so optimistic that even though I was just wearing some chino shorts and casual trainers, I decided to break into a jog whilst on the first incline. I knew from my downloaded map that I simply had to reach the top of the first hill, go along to the right, and then the next hill would be Brown Willy.

As I puffed my way towards the summit, flocks of sheep stared and politely shuffled to the side and I looked back to see a fantastic view of the moor. I was really enjoying myself; ‘connecting’ to nature, ‘connecting’ to this Shire – simply running about the Cornish countryside had me filled with a giddy glee.

I reached the first summit, or at least I thought I had, as it seemed to roll up even further in different directions. It had also become slightly cloudy and breezy now, and although I was still in a splendid mood, I started to become a little more pragmatic. Luckily, a dog walker was on his way past me – expert local knowledge awaited, to efficiently steer me to a quick conquering of Cornwall’s highest point.

“Hi there! Which way is Brown Willy?!”, I exclaimed, ignoring all innuendo in what I just said.

“I’ve got no idea to be honest with you, I just go this far with the dog as it gets a bit windy further on”, replied the incredibly tall, ginger dog walker.

“Ah ok, no problem, I’ll find it”, I said confidently.

“Well…I wish you luck, pal”, his sincerity rang alarm bells in my head.

Turbulence

I pushed on past more flocks of sheep and then conditions changed, quickly and dramatically. Just as the dog walker warned, the wind really did pick up and a heavy fog suddenly crashed all over the hills. My visibility was reduced to about 20 feet, rain and moisture swirled into my face, and heavy blows of wind became the only thing audible. I zipped my jacket right up to my chin and put my phone away – this had become a mission.

I began to lose my bearings, but I knew that I had to turn right at some point to reach Brown Willy. As the fog around me grew thicker, and my clothes wetter, I decided to turn right and go off-piste. I stomped resolutely through bushy clumps of grass with my feet occasionally fully submerging in swampy puddles. The sheep, my consistent companions during this journey, continued staring whilst idly chewing the grass – I’m sure I caught one of them grinning at my struggle. 

Finally, an area of jagged rocks came into view and I excitedly slalomed my way towards the visible highest point. Once I reached the peak, a vast chasm appeared before an even higher point – that I believed had to be Brown Willy. I slid down into the chasm, getting totally soaked in the soggy grass, and then trudged towards the next high point…and then froze to standstill.

Thirty enormous horses stood directly in front. Silent, dead still, and all staring straight at me, their wet manes blowing in the wind – it felt like some form of Mexican stand off. It was intimidating, the sheer size and power of the horses quite daunting whilst stood in the middle of the open chasm. 

I tip-toed my way around the horses. For all their brute force, I couldn’t imagine a horse catching me once I climbed up upon the colossal boulders of Brown Willy. I evaded the moorland horses and clambered up towards the summit of Cornwall’s highest point. I had done it.

Jubilation?

When atop the highest point, a Frenchman appeared. He was dressed in full hiking attire and well-prepared for his ascent here, he looked professional and so I asked for confirmation.

“Is this highest point? Is this Brown Willy?”, I shouted in the wind.  

“Yes! This is the highest point on Bodmin Moor and in the whole of Cornwall”.

“Great!”, I said. The Frenchman took a quick selfie then disappeared into the sweeping fog.

I was now exhausted, I had been more than the “minute” I had predicted, and so began my descent in the vague direction of the car – but then I noticed something horrifying. 

A metal sign. A metal sign just in front of the summit that said “Rough Tor”. I was totally dejected. Rough Tor, I learnt from my research, was the second highest point in Cornwall. Brown Willy was probably 20 minutes further on. I was ringing wet, my phone had packed up in the wetness (and never recovered) and I really was quite lost. It was a failed mission.

Back to the drawing board 

I’ll be frank, this was a highly unsuccessful attempt to scale Cornwall’s highest point. I woefully underestimated the English weather and its potential for erratic ferocity. However, the laughter of the sheep on the way down has only inspired me to prepare properly next time.

So, this part of the Shire Checklist remains unfulfilled for Cornwall. I will make sure I do eventually conquer Brown Willy (and get rid of this innuendo-laden challenge) but this was an excellent learning curve for future climbs.