A confused set of fences and gates at the edge of access land appears to bear no relationship to what the map is showing me and I emerge into an area of limestone outcrops and broken pavement, in which somewhere - so the map tells me - are two cairns, the first stop of the day. Rather overshadowing everything is the panoramic view to the northeast, sweeping across the reservoir to the central Beacons peaks.

I wander around amongst the limestone for a while, not really looking in the right place and finding nothing cairn-ish. Eventually I come across the northern cairn, a turfed-over mound with limestone blocks protruding here and there. The centre of the cairn has been scooped inevitably, but not recently if the covering turf is any indication. Treasure seekers rather than walkers have disturbed this one, it seems. The view of Pen y Fan is obscured by a small stand of trees, but would otherwise be the perfect backdrop. I fail to find the other cairn and eventually decide that bigger and better sites await.

To the north of here the map shows an enormous expanse of quarry, so my route cuts directly east up the slopes of Cefn yr Ystrad. This proves to be much harder going, the grass masking lumps and bumps of limestone and hollows that could turn an ankle with ease. I'm relieved to reach the ridge and even more relieved to see the day's main objective, the enormous bronze age cairn of Carn y Bugail ("Cairn of the Shepherd"). It's still some way off, and the intervening terrain is not the easiest to cross. What looks like a smooth grassy plateau actually takes a tiring 10 minutes of route-picking and step-watching even in this dry weather.

But the effort is entirely justified. The OS map shows two named cairns here, but our friends at Coflein are not content with that and have added another two. The named cairns are the real beauties, despite the efforts of many visitors to hollow out their interiors. Carn y Bugail has been moulded into a rather peculiar shape, two piles of stones heaped up on top of the mound giving it an oddly horned shape, like a toad or lizard. Despite this, it's a huge cairn, 3m high, as big as any I've visited and boasting terrific views to the central Beacons and across to the Black Mountains to the northeast. The view north is blocked by the equally massive Garn Felen. ("The Yellow Cairn") and the prominent mound that Garn Felen III sits atop, forming the end of the summit ridge. Beyond that Waun Rydd fades into the deepening haze as midday approaches. To the immediate northeast of Carn y Bugail are a collection of enormous (presumably natural) limestone blocks that form the outer extent of the cairn.

To the east of Garn Felen is a small pyramidal modern cairn, with a wooden cross set into its top. This monument to the crew of a Wellington bomber, marked in Gladman's fieldnotes, is indeed poignant. Even more so when you see that small fragments of twisted and melted aluminium surround the base of the cairn, the remains of the plane itself. Cause to stop a while. Despite the sadness of such a sight, there are worse places to be remembered. And remembered the fallen airmen obviously still are.

Garn Felen cairn is a match for Carn y Bugail in size. The top has been similarly scooped, but without the pointy rebuild. It remains a seriously impressive monument though, the plentiful limestone scattered all over the mountain's top being an easy source for such a monster. From here the obvious focal point is actually Garn Felen III and the Waun Rydd summit beyond, with a deep valley in between. So it's to Garn Felen III that I head next.

The obvious cairn here is a small, pointy, modern thing, but it sits on a great rounded mound of limestone blocks that forms the northern end of the long summit ridge. Coflein has recognised this for another bronze age cairn, although the OS don't mark it. Beyond, the ground falls steeply away, to a lower shelf where Garn Felen enclosure is visible. The landscape below the cairn is a weird, pock-marked sea of natural sink holes and possibly some human intrusion, like a turf-skinned holey cheese. The bigger scarring of the modern quarry is just visible over the ridge beyond.

I head back across to the SW to the summit trig point. I think this marks the highest point of the mountain, but the substantial nature of the main cairns means that they may rise above it. The trig has been well placed for the better sight-lines over to the west though. From here the three big cairns are laid out in profile, and what an impressive trio they make. Interestingly there is a flattened, circular patch of limestone blocks surrounding the trig. Could this be the remnants of yet another cairn? It certainly seems possible, although the Uplands Survey recorded the trig pillar but didn't comment on this in doing so.

Looking westwards, the ground drops away into a little cwm. On the slope opposite are the remains of Garn Felen II, a shattered cairn in a slightly odd situation. All that remains is a turfed over doughnut, with a scatter of exposed limestone blocks on the downslope side, the whole thing perched halfway down the slope. Compared to the other three cairns it is slight and has no impressive views either to or from it (although the prominent bump of Garn Felen III is in clear view). But it does make for a nice sheltered spot to sit and contemplate the minds of the people who came to this exposed, rugged mountain top millennia ago. They left behind monuments that survive so well and I'm sure they would be pleased to know that the places still exerts such a pull on this visitor.

I head across to the enclosure. Oblong in shape, the stonework of the walls still stands to a few courses high. Much more limestone lies around and about, so building material was certainly not an issue. What is rather less clear is why the structure has been built around a shake hole. I assume (geologists, please help) that the hole was already there when the walls were put up around it. It's not very big, so its mysterious portal-to-the-underworld qualities are fairly limited. Odd.

Our first stop was east of Penrith at Winderwath, to check out the 2 stones on the road to Winderwath Gardens. The first stone is unmissable, lying on the roadside and what a fine piece of stone it is. Sturdy and magnificent, it sits proudly on the side of the road, emerging from the hedge as you approach. However, had Fitz not mentioned the 2nd stone lying in the field behind we would never have realised it was there, so thick was the hedgerow! We tried and tried to find a place to peek through and see it clearly but in the end I had to crawl through some nettles and brambles, poke my camera through the fence, point it in the general direction and just hope something came out! Luckily it did, but we couldn't see enough of this 2nd stone to tell how similar (or otherwise) it may have been to the one still standing. However, the weather had cleared, the sun was shining and we were starting to get stone-fever, so we continued on to the next site.

Heading back towards Penrith, we soon found ourselves pulling into a weird little industrial site just off the A66. We followed Fitz's instructions, and right enough, there was our 2nd upright stone of the day! What a strange situation and how lucky that the stone survived the industrial units being built all around it. Similar in size and shape to the one at Winderwath and no longer sitting amongst some bushes, this has the air of abandonment about it – only nettles and thistles were in the way today. As we were poking around, the local farmer came over and stared chatting; he said there had been a 2nd stone close by that had been cleared some time ago and mentioned that the original roadway had run from Eamont Bridge (where Mayburgh & Arthur's henges are) following the watercourse and came out here. This started lots of ideas whizzing round our heads, wondering if this roadway had followed an ancient route, marked by these lovely big monoliths??? Vicky and I love theorising about such things and often convince ourselves of stuff that we have no evidence of – and here we were again – we got out the map and starting trying to find an obvious route, linking various sites in the area. Oh, what fun we can have with a little knowledge and such fertile imaginations!

This really whetted our appetite for more, so we set off to the next site – the standing stone at Sewborwans. There is a handy wee layby right by the fence into the field, so we pulled in and hopped over the gate. As we approached this lovely, big stone - again, sturdy & squat just like the other 2 we had seen today, and sitting on a raised piece of land – we noticed 2 smaller stones in the hedgerow. These weren't the scattered, fallen stones Fitz had mentioned but were still upright. Our minds went into overload at this point, with Vicky convinced that they were just missing the recumbent stone lying between them and me wondering if they had been some kind of entrance stones? One of the things I love most about prehistory is that, a lot of the time, we just don't know the answers so you are able to make things up, argue with yourself, talk yourself out of said theory and then change your mind again and decide you were right all along! This stone reminded me of the Googleby Stone at Shap but that may have been the setting and the fact that it was standing in bright sunlight, with a dazzling blue sky – the exact same conditions when I first saw the Googleby Stone? The strewn large stones in the bank behind are interesting and Vicky decided that this had once been a magnificent circle of stone, standing on the plateau, linked to the henges at Eamont by large processional stones; it certainly has some credibility, with the references to stone avenues in the area. It is also of note that there are 3 cairns within spitting distance of this site at Mossthorns and this site would be visible from there. We had a quick peek at these from the roadside but didn't attempt to get to them, as our heads were already overflowing with stones and the fields were rather inaccessible. Another time.

Our last site of the day was to be Holme Head; one I knew could be difficult to access due to the railway line being in the way! What I can't even begin to explain is this; how have Vicky and I, who have spent the last 25 years whizzing up and down this line to each other's houses, managed to miss these huge, hunk of stone, sitting right by the side of the line? We must have both passed it hundreds of times!! Anyhoo, we tried to get a decent picture of it from the "wrong side of the tracks" and then we attempted to get to it through the filed on the other side – this would be quite easy if a) there wasn't barbed wire on the gate and b) it hadn't been full of cows who seemed very curious. This is not usually an issue for me but I had a train to catch and didn't really have the time to dodge playful bullocks and barbed wire. This is now firmly on my list for "next time".

The first prehistoric site of the day, the earthwork is prominent enough to find it even in the gloom (well, principally because the forestry path comes out right next to it). The views from here, when there are some, would be obscured to the north by the trees. It may be possible to see the Black Mixen summit from here. Who knows? A round barrow is shown on the map a little way to the northeast, but today isn't the day to investigate.

Instead, I squelch southeast, heading towards Black Mixen (OE: Black Dunghill), the second summit of the day. At least this section follows a clearly defined track. On a normal day, the enormous radio mast that tops the summit of the mountain would provide a foolproof landmark, but I can't even see that today. Like the summit of Great Rhos, this a flat, boggy area, characterised by spongy peat and tussocky heather. The radio mast finally emerges, and close by I can just make out the trig pillar. This one stands on a confirmed round barrow, although in truth it looks almost identical to the mound that the Great Rhos trig rests on. The top of the barrow is flattened, presumably by the usual digging and erosion rather than just from the incorporation of the trig pillar. Not a spot to linger on a day like this, with wet feet and a long way to go still. I head off and the barrow vanishes behind, real or imagined I cannot truthfully say.

To my south, barrows appear on the top the Whimble and the western summit of Bache Hill. By now I'm too tired to leave my main route and visit them, so they'll have to wait for another day. But the summit of Bache Hill itself now looms ahead, just a matter of climbing the grassy field and I'm there. The barrow here is magnificent. Much larger than the Black Mixen barrow, although similarly topped with a trig pillar, this is as fine a specimen of a round barrow as you could hope to find, especially on top of a Welsh mountain.

I collapse at the barrow, wring my socks again, have some lunch. As I sit, the surrounding gloom begins to lift properly, revealing an astonishing view to the south. First of all, patchwork fields emerge across the farmland below, finally acknowledging the elevation attained up here. Then, much further south, a black ridge of hills becomes visible: the Black Mountains escarpment. As the sharp profile of Mynydd Troed clears, I have an warming sense of place, with another piece slotted home into my Welsh jigsaw. I must come here again, when the views are clearer and my feet are drier. But in some ways the all-covering mists, giving way to a tease and a slow reveal, has heightened the satisfaction of making it up here.

There is a further barrow to the east of the main one, less impressive in itself but perfectly situated on the edge of the summit ridge overlooking the farmland below.

I have been to Kinnerton once before and visited the round stone in its field, but didn't know about the second stone tucked into the verge to the north of the field gate. I only find this now thanks to Postie's pictures – it's very overgrown and nettles sting me in my efforts to clear it sufficiently to photograph.

As has been commented by others, the stone in the field mirrors the conical top of The Whimble, visible to the west from here.

Heading south along quiet lanes, the Crossfield Lane round barrow can be seen over a field gate. Although once a large barrow, over 30m across, it's now been ploughed down to little more than a rise in the field.

Arriving at Four Stones provides an emotional punch in the guts. The last visit here was with my Dad, on one of our last days out together in 1999. Coming back here is nearly overwhelming and I find myself in tears, thinking of all the things we never said and all the things we never had time to do. I will experience something similar at Mitchell's Fold the following spring, showing that the healing we think time brings isn't either as complete or as secure as it seems. These sites bring such thoughts into sharp relief.

But although Four Stones has the power to open me up, it also has the power to bring a stupid grin. The four boulders, so closely spaced as to enclose the visitor in a tight embrace, exert a strong pull on the senses. The proximity of a nearby house and occasional passing car, the recently cut hay in the field, all fade out of mind as I sit here. The views of the now-revealed Radnor mountains, that I was so recently stumbling across in the mist, add to the overall feeling that this circle is a small part of a grand landscape. And we sit in it, briefly, then we're gone and it endures, for the next visitors. Long may that continue.

I'm thinking about it all and I'm sorry and I'm not sorry - our time was made up of confused emotions and little whirlwinds and all those things we couldn't really talk about but, most of all, it was sealed in sacred moments like these and then it was gone.

Carfury menhir is one I've intended to visit for years, but somehow never quite made it. It's not on any footpaths and its location is a bit obscure. I have seen it, across the valley from the southeast, where it stood out grey and stately against the brown autumn bracken. But my only attempt to actually visit it before was from the west, after a trip to Nine Maidens some years ago. That was a summer walk and progress down a vegetation-choked track ground to a halt after not much distance. I am more confident of the approach from the valley, particularly as, once again, I spy the stone surrounded by vegetation from across the valley. How hard can this be?

At this point I don't really know where the stone is in relation to the features on the OS Explorer map, so I'm looking for clues from this initial vantage point. As seen across the valley, a line through the vegetation runs up the hillside behind the stone, which I remember stands in a low wall. I take this feature to be the narrow track shown on the map as running NE-SW, assuming then that the wall in the description is the southern boundary of the track itself. Boy, would that turn out to be wrong…

I follow the minor road past Carfury itself, where it drops down gently into the valley, cutting off any further views of the stone. The road bends round to the east at a wide gateway and at the point, almost hidden, the narrow track I'm looking for heads off southwest. I follow it, almost immediately entering a green, leafy world with the sun creating dappled patterns on the soft surface beneath the trees. After a while, the path reaches a blockage of vegetation and wire, where a gate on the left leads out onto the hillside. Because I'm thinking the stone is to the left (or south) of the track, I happily take this, thinking the stone will be close by alongside the track.

I emerge into an area of narrow stock tracks surrounded by thick bracken and other vegetation. I head uphill, following parallel with the track. No stone. I head into an area of very dense vegetation, trees and bushes snagging my backpack and sleeves. I come back out near to Mount Whistle, by now thoroughly confused and starting to get a bit irritated with myself. This thing's nine feet tall for goodness sake! I've already seen it! But none of that helps very much. A heavy shower comes winging in, forcing me to take cover once more in the dense vegetation and I realise I must be back "inside" the track again. I wander around the area in ever-decreasing circles for a while, but still no stone. Eventually I start to despair and decide to head back down the hill. At this point, just before giving up, it occurs to me that perhaps the stone is on the other side of the track…

So I head back to the track, looking for an opening to the north. Lo and behold, a muddy cattle run leads off the lane, into the bracken-covered hillside on that side. It leads upwards for a while and suddenly, looming out of the bracken ahead of me, there it is! I've never been so happy to find a stone in all my wanderings. I've wasted the best part of an hour in completely the wrong place, but this was worth it. Tall and slender, the stone stands with its base in the remains of a low granite wall – which of course I now realise was the linear feature I saw, not the track at all. Doh! Castle-an-Dinas with its hillfort can be seen across the valley to the east, as can more distant Castle Pencaire on the way to the Lizard.

I spend a while here, dodging a further rain shower under nearby hawthorn bushes. Although I'm now running late for the other sites I hope to visit, I'm not going to rush off after all the efforts of finding this bloody stone.

Eventually I head off, back the way I came down to the track. It'll be easier next time…

At Bay of Biscay, a minor road heads northwards to the hamlet of Mulfra. From here a footpath wends along between high walls, leading slowly uphill. It reaches a rusting iron gate, and beyond this can be seen the remains of houses in the Mulfra courtyard settlement. The site is cleared by the Cornish Ancient Sites Preservation Network (CASPN), an excellent organisation who have taken on responsibility for care and monitoring of a number of the sites in West Penwith.

The best house of the group is fairly well-preserved, with its thick outer wall surviving to several courses high. A single, megalithic gatepost marks the entrance. At least one other house stood in this field, but the remaining stones are a jumble and the form is not easy to see. But an excellent spot to sit for a while, looking out over the farmland of the area. I suspect that Carfury menhir may be visible from here. You probably won't be disturbed on a visit.

Other houses of the settlement lie in much thicker vegetation on the east side of the footpath, but I don't see anything and feel that I've had enough of bracken for one day (although that will come back to haunt me later)!

The footpath heads on up to the top of Mulfra Hill. You can't really miss the quoit, because it's right in front of you! The slipped capstone faces me on this approach. By now the sun is at its midday and indeed midsummer peak. Obligatory photos taken, I set my back against the capstone and eat the biggest vegetable pasty I've ever had. Yum! What a spot it is, with excellent views over Mount's Bay to the south, taking in St Michael's Mount. Castle-an-Dinas is prominent to the east. Over to the west the Nine Maidens ridge and Ding Dong engine house are clearly visible. Perfect.

Crossing the route of the Tinners Way, the path becomes increasingly faint in amongst the thickening heather, which in turn gives way to ankle-taxing gorse. I have decided to visit the two barrows on The Beacon, even though this turns out to be a rather foolish idea. Progress becomes very slow, and the scratches on my ankles are now bleeding underneath my thin trouser legs. The things we do.

Eventually I reach the southern barrow, only to find it hidden under deep gorse. No thanks. I press on, painfully, trying to find patches of grass to cut through rather than more gorse. This takes a huge amount of faff, but eventually I reach the northern barrow, a low and very wide mound, covered in bracken. Which would be fine, except that there is a ring of deep gorse encircling the whole thing. I push through this, into the centre and onto the mound. This is definitely "it", but it's not possible to see anything much through the bracken. Humph. I then have to push back through the gorse to get back out. These sites do not repay summer visits at all.

I have been here a couple of times before, but I was aware that CASPN had been due to carry out one of their volunteer-assisted clear ups, so I was hopeful that it would be easier to make out some of the stones. And so it proved to be. I am still unconvinced by this as a stone circle. It bears no real similarity to the four marvellous stone circles that can still be seen in West Penwith. It's much bigger in diameter and the stones do not seem to have been carefully selected for their aesthetic quality. On the other hand, the stones all stand alone, none of them are placed contiguously with the others. The solitary stone on the south side wouldn't be out of place in a "proper" stone circle. To my mind, this seems more likely to have been an Iron Age enclosure or pound, now largely robbed away to leave a ring of individual stones.

I leave the enclosure and onto the road. My original plan had been to go down to the cliff castle on Gurnard's Head, but time is against me now and I don't want to ruch a visit. So content myself with a stop-off at the southern of the two Treen entrance graves. More overgrown than I remember from my previous visit, this is a great site, full of character and interest. The chamber is almost hidden behind a curtain of bracken fronds, but once inside it's a cool and damp space.

The stone at Porthmeor is one that we've seen dozens of times, as the bus ride from St Ives round the coast goes straight past its field. Despite that, we've never once gone in for a closer look. Animals usually surround it – cows, horses, chickens, geese, dogs, cats and a fox have all been seen in its company over the years. But today there's nothing, just us. A footpath runs across the field, right past the stone, so access is as easy as can be.

From the road, the stone presents a chunky, but gently curving aspect. Once closer at hand though it becomes apparent that this is one of those great standing stones that changes its appearance from each direction (not as markedly as Boswens Croft, but nevertheless). The close proximity of the houses and farm buildings does detract somewhat from the setting and atmosphere, but this is still a fine stone, worthy of your attention. Looking inland, the craggy northern edges of the moors form the backdrop, and over from that direction the sky takes on an angry complexion, promising that rain is not far away.

First though, a quick stop at a minor landmark that many visitors to the area pass without a glance. At the meeting of several paths, a large recumbent boulder marks the boundaries of four parishes, hence its name! A crude cross has been carved into the surface of the boulder, but I strongly suspect that it has been used a meeting point – either of people or of territory – for a Very Long Time. Both Men Scryfa and some of the barrows up towards Nine Maidens are visible from here.

We stop off briefly at the best-known barrow, north of the Nine Maidens stone circle and boasting an impressively pointy array of kerb stones. It is cleared regularly now by the CASPN volunteers, making it much easier to see than in years past. The "V" stone (which has an angular quartz vein running through it) is easy to spot now.

And then it's on to the stone circle itself. Despite many, many visits over a dozen years, this circle never fails to bring a big grin to my face. It remains my favourite of all, lonely and windswept on its moorland ridge. This is my first visit since I watched the sun setting here on my birthday the previous autumn. But first, the bad weather.

Within seconds of arriving at the circle, the next band of rain has caught up with us and we spend five minutes trying to shelter in the excavation scoop of the round barrow that intrudes into the side of the circle – not the best place to get out of the rain. But don't you worry, it's only a shower. Blue skies return as quickly as they went and we spend a good while here.

In any weather, this circle delivers on its promise. The re-erection of the stones on the northern arc has greatly added to the feel of the site. The setting is wonderful, with Carn Galva the most obvious feature of the surrounding landscape. There are views eastwards to Mulfra Hill (where Mulfra Quoit is visible) and further to Castle-an-Dinas. On a clear day you can see beyond Penwith, upcountry towards Carn Brea. To the northwest, the twin summits of Watch Croft, the highest point in the peninsula, are close by. Further west Chun Castle sits, flattening the top of its hill. Only to the south are views obscured by rising ground – the top of the Ding Dong chimney peeks out.

Although over the years we've seen dog walkers, dowsers and horse riders up here, but in truth we rarely see anyone and today is no exception to that. Although close to Men-an-Tol, the circle remains a largely stone-head destination.

Eventually we head off back the way we came, past the barrow and down to the Four Parish Stone again. From here a track between low hedges leads southwestwards. Men Scryfa is in the first field on the right, with a gate at the southern corner allowing access (there is no public right of way into the field and there are often cows pastured here). Today is a cow-free day, so we pop in to say hello. There's no doubting the stone's Dark Ages provenance – it's written all over its face. But in truth is also makes a very convincing Bronze Age menhir, shapely and tall, set in a landscape bursting with the remains of the period.

We return to the path and carry on south-westwards. Here we see the first people we've seen since getting off the bus – it's time to visit Men-an-Tol, where you rarely get a summer visit to yourself. We seldom come here for that very reason and today I almost take us past the stile before deciding to brave the contact with Other People. The other people in question turn out to be Germans – it's an internationally renowned site, this. When they leave, we have maybe ten minutes to ourselves before the next visitors and we leave them to enjoy it – the ones after that are probably five minutes behind on the path. So don't expect peace and quiet, but it's still an intriguing site. The famous holed stone and flankers are generally accepted as being part of a stone circle now, and other stones in the arc are readily visible.

Along with Merry Maidens and Men-an-Tol, Lanyon Quoit is the most visited and most picture postcard perfect of West Penwith's many ancient sites, despite being the least authentic of the four upstanding Quoits that the area boasts. Not much remains of its original mound and the capstone's supports are rather shorter than they used to be. But so what? This is still a great spot and what's not to like about a giant stone table?

At the western end of the mound, a cluster of stones may mark the position of a cist or small chamber that was built into the mound. But there's too little left to really get any sense of what there might have been.

This wonderful circle remains an absolute favourite, no matter how many other places I get to between our visits here. Its location offers a feeling of space and solitude, with views stretching away to the unmistakable Carn Kenidjack outcrop to the north. We rarely see anyone else here, although it's easy enough to get to. Tregeseal has somehow escaped the tourist trail that takes in Men-an-Tol, Lanyon Quoit and Merry Maidens.

The summer bracken is much lower than usual and the stones are surrounded by large numbers of (thankfully dry) cow pats. The cows themselves are not in evidence. I can't really say whether any of the stones are leaning more than in previous years. Although it's nice to see the stones without the depth of bracken, it still seems that other ways of achieving this are available. I desperately hope that sense is seen and that a solution can be found to the issues presented by the longhorn grazing. This place is far too special to be mired in controversy or surrounded by barbed wire.

We had seen this barrow across the field on an autumn walk a couple of years back, but never got any closer. It's not the most impressive of barrows, low and ploughed down. But it has the inevitable scooped depression in its top, indicating that excavation took place at some point.

Kenidjack Castle is one of several Iron Age cliff castles making use of the natural granite fastnesses of West Penwith. For some reason we have never been here before, despite walking this stretch of the coast path a decade ago. A small stile gives access to the headland itself, and then the rocky "spine" looms ahead. Approaching from the northeast, the most impressive part of the fort's defences is readily visible.

The neck of the headland was protected by a triple row of ramparts, dropping steeply from the spine before terminating abruptly at the edge of a near vertical cliff, above crashing seas. On the northern side, this triple rampart is very well preserved. The outer and middle ramparts are covered in vegetation, but protruding stones indicate that the construction uses granite blocks rather than earthen embankments. This is writ even clearer in the exposed inner rampart, the stones of which have been scattered into a fan shape. I pick my way down to get a closer look, discovering quickly that the footing is somewhat treacherous, as the grasses and succulent plants hide the position of potentially ankle-twisting stone blocks beneath.

At the bottom end of the ramparts, the drop off the cliff-edge is somewhat vertigo-inducing and I don't get too close. Heading further seawards, the remains of hut circles have been found, but I don't see anything of these in the area I cover. Instead I head back up onto the central rocky spine, where an easy scramble gives access to the sloping tip of the headland, facing westwards down to the sea below. This is a brilliant place, wild and desolate. Most of the visitors are of the avian variety. There is a real feeling of being at the edge of everything, especially as this really was the edge of everything for the Iron Age people who inhabited the headland.

Surrounded by spoil heaps and yet another chimney, the setting is still stunning. The hills of Bartinne and Chapel Carn Brea are the dominant features inland, while Land's End and the Longships beyond form the seaward backdrop. It's almost exactly ten years since my last visit here and I had forgotten what a brilliant monument this is. It's been heavily messed about with, exposing central spaces that were not originally there (the space between the collar and central mound). But it remains magnificent, huge and beautifully sited.

The entrance grave, set into the southern wall of the outer collar, is partially hidden by summer vegetation giving it a cool, leafy feel. It would be impressive in its own right, but here it simply serves to enhance the much larger mound above. Climbing over the outer collar, the well-preserved southern cist is set into the inside of the wall at almost the same position as the entrance grave is in the outside (see plan from info board). It is the only one of several original cists that retains its capstone, as the others went "missing" after Copeland Borlase excavated and exposed the inner workings of the mound. The circular space between the outer collar and the inner mound is not an original feature, having been inserted by Copeland Borlase to allow visitors to see the interior more easily. Walking around this narrow passage gives a great sense of the scale of construction, as the drystone walls are at head height on either side. Foxgloves grow in the light soil. At the northeastern part of this passage, a second cist can be seen, sadly now lacking its capstone. There is also an unexplained "pit" set into the outer collar on the east side. A climb over the wall of the inner mound gives access to the central chamber, with a deeper pit – a grave? – at its northern end. There were further cists here, but they have also gone now. Even without a roof, it's an intimate, enclosed feeling place, hidden away from view from outside.

We sit and enjoy the quiet for a while, as clouds form overhead. Eventually, we leave, heading back to nearby St Just along Carn Gloose Road. First fix of the holiday greatly enjoyed!

The lane winds onwards, dropping down into a shady valley before re-emerging into the sunlight. And there, in a field on the left hand side, is Wern Derys stone. Not much changes in this part of the county. I don't know if many other TMA-ers have been to visit this stone since Baza's fieldnotes almost 8 years ago, but what I do know is that there's still a sign saying "Stock – please close the gate", and still no sign saying "bugger off". Thus encouraged, a closer encounter is had. This is a shapely, tapering stone. Herefordshire's tallest, just beating the Queen Stone to it (in the face of not much other competition, it has to be said).

The view of the stone from the lane presents its widest face, clad in yellow lichen. The north and south sides are narrower and face down the valley towards Ysgyrd Fawr (sadly hidden by trees from the stone itself). The whole of the south-western vista is taken up by the Black Mountains' escarpment. It hardly seems likely that the placing was indifferent to such a brooding presence.

I head northwest to Llanrosser, where my route runs between the higher ridges of Cefn Hill to the west and Vagar Hill to the east. Keeping on for another mile or so, I reach a sign-board on the left, telling me about Cefn Common. Opposite, a bridleway gate leads onto a permissive track running eastwards.

This little track, running along the south side of Mynydd Brith wood, is the way to approach the Mynydd Brith stone. Sadly, as it comes into view, my first thought is "is that it?" I had expected something taller, especially after the lovely Wern Derys stone whetting my appetite earlier. But this is a much smaller affair, only about four feet tall. SMR has it down as hesitantly "prehistoric?" and I can see why there is doubt. It has clearly been worked. The angles are very sharp, despite weathering. It has a "W" carved on its top (could be an "M" I suppose) and looks like a boundary stone. Oddly, although it is actually on a parish boundary, the reports I have read suggest that this is coincidental and the stone was not known as a boundary marker. Which seems very unlikely. "Disputed antiquity" I think.

But fear not, because it's still worth coming up to see it, for another reason entirely. Walking further ESE along the track, it emerges onto Vagar Hill near a telecoms mast. And it becomes apparent that, unadvertised at all, Vagar Hill is quietly one of the best viewpoints in Herefordshire. At 433m, it hardly towers above the surrounding countryside – even nearby Cefn Hill is higher. But it's situated Just Right. To the south, especially on a day of cloud, sunshine, rain and shadow, the Black Mountains escarpment is spectacular. To the east, the jagged ridge of the Malverns and, inevitably, May Hill (which you seem to be able to see from everywhere). Northwest, the mountains of the Radnor Forest – Great Rhos, Black Mixen and Bach Hill, for once not shrouded in mist and cloud. Further NNW, something more prominent, which must be one of the southern North-Walian ranges. North-east, looking down a straight-as-an-arrow enclosure road, are the South Shropshire hills of Brown Clee and Titterstone Clee. Magnificent. So, the stone may not be the most exciting, but it's still a very worthwhile trek to come up here.

And suddenly it's right there, the capstone the first thing to appear over a little hump in the road. There's a small motorhome parked up alongside, and a chap sitting quietly by the chamber. We say hello and then I get on with being utterly impressed with this place. First, the monument itself. What an astonishing size the capstone (now broken) is, what a feat of engineering it was to have built this. It's supported, table-top like, on a number of upright slabs, which look barely big enough to cope – but obviously do. A couple of upright stones at the south end may mark a false portal, while an entrance passage (roofless) leads away from the north of the chamber before turning to the west. As I do, to be even more awestruck by the views. I don't think the photos and descriptions I have read really prepared me for the views from this monument. The Black Mountains north-eastern escarpment fills the horizon, from Ysgyryd Fawr (The Skirrid or Holy Mountain) to the south, right up to Hay Bluff (Pen-y-Beacon) at the northern tip. Wow. No-one is telling me that this monument wasn't sighted with this in mind – particularly when you realise that the western curve of the passage faces Hay Bluff and the orientation of the chamber faces Ysgyryd Fawr.

Obligatory photos taken, I chat to the guy with the van. He tells me he's staying here tonight, with the prospect of sunrise and sunset to look forward to across this wonderful landscape. Lucky man. He lays a bet that I will be the only person he sees here today. As I haven't seen anyone but him for about three hours (cars excepted), I'm prepared to believe this. Then, while we chat, another couple come in a car, take some pictures and leave. Then another couple, who tell us that they've just been to see the lovely (and very pagan inspired) Saxon church and Kilpeck. They also come and go. It rains and the chamber makes for a neat shelter for a few wet minutes. The sun shines again. Van man tells me he intends to spend to summer in his van, crossing Wales to look for interesting places. Maybe we'll meet again!