Dartmoor Wanderings

I returned from Dartmoor a few days ago , having spent a couple of nights out with my two long-suffering Springer Spaniels. Below is a short account of my trip

Grey Wethers Stone Circles

As roads drew me closer to Dartmoor  a veil of cloud stretched from one side of the horizon to the other. The colour of slate, the cloud blocked out the sunlight that had accompanied my drive southwest. My tyres crunched over the gravel of the car park as I reached my destination of Belstone. As the sound of the engine died fat drops of rain spattered on the windscreen. The wind tugged at the bare branches of the trees. A pony turned its back into the strengthening breeze. My dogs got up from their slumber of the last 220 miles and looked out of the back window of the car and then at me. Have we really driven over three hours for this they asked? 

The forecast was for gales. The car rocked gently with each gust. I can't just go back home I thought. I'd pinned my colours to the mast. People knew I'd set out on an adventure. Turning tail for home just would not do. 

I shouldered my pack.  My Spaniels and I set off under lowering skies. Snow streaked the hollows and gullies on hillsides overlooking Taw Marsh. We forced the pace into the wind  as we climbed the slopes of Metheral Hill. Some hours later we descended Manga Hill towards Teignhead Farm in search of a camp. My dogs  hunted for shelter from the wind that cut with a savage chill. Each time we stopped so I could check the map their eyes turned to meet mine. Not quite there yet I said. Not quite the right  mix of flat ground and shelter from the all pervading wind. 

Approaching The East Dart River

At last girls, we've a home for the night. My dogs flopped down into the shelter of some reeds as I assembled our tent. In they crept, free at last from the chill wind. 

Fur Tor - Queen of the Tors

Dawn brought a new day and new ground. We headed along the East Dart River, a fantastic walk. We floundered over bogs and sank to our knees as the green moss quivered under our feet. We picked our way up the maze of peat cliffs of Cut Hill. We lunched on Fur Tor - the Queen of the Tors - and then descended her slopes north into a wild desolate landscape.  For two days we saw no one. And we felt cleansed by the experience as we pitched for a second night near Dinger Tor. 

The following morning we headed back towards Taw Marsh there was a new ight behind our eyes, which was born from time spent under endless skies, energy drawn from the ceaseless winds, the empty spaces and tumbling streams.