This time it has just been my slightly over half-a-century. Former readers of my old blog the Daily(ish) Millbrook might remember that a year ago, on turning 50, I was for a short time the highest man in England having spent a fair portion of the day in question slogging up Scafell Pike with a selection of good friends.
This was in the year 1BR (Before Rusty). Here's a couple of shots from back then. Facebook friends who are curious enough (bored enough?) to want see more can find loads in my photos there.
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Which brings me to this year's birthday celebrations. There was no great planning or organising involved this time, but I still fancied doing something a bit climby to mark my slipping gently into my dotage. I decided that this year, instead of being the highest man in England, I'd settle for being the highest man in Cornwall. And so an expedition to climb Brown Willy was set up.
We had a slightly smaller contingent of climbers than that for Scafell Pike: Mrs the Millbrooker, Betty Slobb, MinorEarthQwake, His Rustiness and me. Rusty was too short to appear in this multiple selfie (by MinorEarthQwake) at the beginning of the trek. It is now year 0AR. Year 1AR will begin on the 17 February 2015. Work it out for yourselves.
As we've had nary a single glimpse of the star of the show yet, here's an entirely gratuitous one of His Rustiness at the start of the birthday hike, just as we left Rough Tor car park. For the benefit of non-Cornish readers, it's pronounced "Row Tour", not "Ruff Tor". Amusingly, this is because "row" is Cornish for "rough", apparently.
It almost goes without saying that our four legged hero pretty much got the day off. We were walking over rough moorland - he just ain't built or trained to guide in that sort of terrain.
Objective number one was Rough Tor Holy Well, which we found without much difficulty by following a line of reeds marking its outflowing stream down the moorside.
Legend has it that the weather on your birthday is an indicator of how good you might have been in the preceding year. Sunshine and you've been good all year. Hissing down in ropes, you've been a bit naughty. We got a fair mixture of both. Here's a shot of the sort of stuff that mostly skirted us by and occasionally hurled itself down upon us.
As a consequence, our waterproofs were on and off like a bride's nightie.
After summiting Rough Tor and walking the ridge to Showery Tor (which lived up to its name) our route took us down into the valley between Rough Tor and Brown Willy. Just in case there are any juvenile sniggers from the cheap seats, Brown Willy is the highest point in fair Cornwall and its name is a corruption of the old Cornish Bronn Wennili, meaning "The Hill of Swallows". Perhaps that's every bit as snigger-worthy, depending on how your mind works.
Interestingly, there is also a weather pattern named the Brown Willy Effect, in which warm air flows inland from both the Bristol Channel to the north and the English Channel to the south, converging over Brown Willy as the highest point and creating a long thin stream of rain sodden air that can reach as far as Oxford.
Anyway, back to the narrative. We crossed the stream at the valley bottom; most of us used the bridge. Rusty liked the water, which was just as well as we'd discovered several areas of peat bog that he'd also enjoyed and a bit of cleaning off was a good thing.
From the stream it was a straightforward steady climb to the summit.
And, eventually, in a howling wind which very nearly took all of us straight back off the summit again in something of a tumble, I was able to give my now habitual summit speech: "Ladies and Gentlemen, I was born (insert number of years here) ago and today I am the highest man in (insert county, country, continent here)". And those members of the party with an approximation of humanoid vocal chords kindly sang me the traditional song on occasions such as these, which I decided would be best if conducted by the recipient from the highest point in the nation of Kernow.
It was just after leaving the summit to begin the return trek that the weather gods decided that the occasional shower that we'd seen off thus far wasn't enough and the heavens well and truly opened. We took shelter as best we could behind granite outcrops in the lee of the wind. Unfortunately, MinorEarthQwake took shelter some distance from the rest of us along with Betty's waterproofs. So she and I had to share my poncho for a while. How very cosy.
The rain eased marginally and MinorEarthQwake rejoined the party, bringing with him a birthday treat of a couple of litres of my favourite Cornish beverage: Skinner's Heligan Honey.
I'm informed by my nearest and dearest that this is the official 51st birthday portrait. Heligan Honey, in the rain, at altitude (well, about 420m which is as high as it gets in Cornwall).
As we rounded the base of Rough Tor on the return trek to the car, the rain eased back nicely and we were all pretty well dry by the end of the walk. Except MinorEarthQwake, who'd not worn waterproofs during the downpour on Brown Willy as we shared our liquid gold. It is believed that was a misguided attempt to win the non-existent wet tee-shirt contest.
Which brings me to the question posed in this post's title. I reckon that, having now climbed something two birthdays in a row, it's become a habit. If I do it again next year - it'll become a tradition. Do you know what? I'm going to make it a tradition. Plans are already afoot to climb Great Gable from Seathwaite next year on the appropriate day. Anyone from last year's Scafell Pike expedition is very welcome to join us again, perhaps some newcomers might come along too. Expect accommodation to come in at around the £100/£120 mark for the week if you self cater with us in a holiday cottage, plus you'll need food and drink money and a stout pair of walking boots etc........do let me know if you're up for it (assuming I actually know who you are!)
There was still a right old slap up at the Bistrot Pierre to be had (the second time in just over a week - huzzah!) As before, we all got very well fed and His Rustiness remained spark out under the table throughout.
I was very pleased, amongst other cards and gifts, to get a hand made card from NooNoo and his mummy Dozybean, suitably addressed to yours truly.
And, finally, I shall draw this probably over-long wittering to a close with the shot that I'd rather prefer was the official 51st birthday portrait. Sadly, Dozybean had left us for her own pad by the time it was taken and equally sadly Reece the ferryman didn't get Rusty in shot. But here us is in our birthday finery, before things got rather silly back at home when we were joined by Slocombe and Shazzerooneypoos. Cheers.
Three years in a row = tradition. Definitely.
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