Dartmoor - The Final Chapter
I’ve never made any secret of the fact that Dartmoor has always been a special place for me: If you’ve been following my posts, you would have learnt how the iconic tors were formed, delved into some of the moor’s spooky myths and legends and even got an insight into its notorious prison: You would have also explored some of the quaint villages, fascinating pubs and the upper reaches of the River Dart, and in this final look at ‘Southern England’s last great wilderness’ I’m going to leave you with a few more reasons why I regard Dartmoor as somewhere special.
The Dart isn’t the only Devon river to begin life on Dartmoor and that’s because the high rainfall leaves behind a boggy morass on the high plateau. Depending on who’s counting them, figures vary as to how many rivers there are, but about a dozen or so begin their journey seeping out of the peat bogs, with the majority travelling south and ending up in the English Channel.
As excess water gradually oozes out of the saturated mires, it trickles downhill creating a myriad of brooks and streams that eventually become these infant rivers.
Just as a word of warning though, if you’re walking in areas like this, it’s best to know about quakers, as I learnt about them the hard way. They usually occur in blanket bogs where sphagnum moss thrives. It’s not usually a problem, but sometimes it can be found growing where deeper water has accumulated, and for the unsuspecting walker (like me) you can end up in deep water yourself.
I’ve only come a cropper once, but that’s once too often as far as I’m concerned. One minute I was hopping around trying to keep my feet dry, and then the next I was up to my knees in a quagmire, but just like quicksand, the more I struggled to get out, the deeper I went in. To begin with, my walking partner was about as useful as Joe Biden’s autocue, and before I knew it, I was in it up to my waist. Eventually, by moving my body backwards and forwards, I was able to create a vacuum which gave me enough leeway to spread my body out and grab hold of a stick that my mate had managed to find. Where he got it from I’ve no idea, but when I got out I could have given him a kiss worthy of a Spanish football president. I’m not saying that I was on my way down to meet Hades or anything, but it was an experience I could have done without. When I got home, all the wife could say to me was “look at the state of your clothes”. Just for the record, a quaker appears bright green – not that much different from the colour I was at the time.
Once the rivers leave the high ground, they start to make their way towards the sea by tumbling over rocks and boulders, sometimes creating a cleave or gorge where waterfalls cascade down through the natural broadleaved trees that cling to the hillsides.
Following the course of these rivers is not always straightforward, and some people use canoes to navigate their way through. That said, there are others that are suitable for everyone, such as the path from Shipley Bridge to the Avon Dam, although I did once meet an adder who had other ideas about which way I should go to get there.
Hopefully, I haven’t put anyone off of exploring the moor, because as long as you don’t stray into a live military firing range, you shouldn’t encounter too many problems. Having said that, it’s obvious that anyone venturing out onto the open moor should take sensible precautions. People often imagine Dartmoor in fog, and you really don’t want to be lost if one suddenly descends, but equally, you don’t want to be out in the wilderness on a hot summer’s day without any water either.
There’s a lot of talk these days about global warming, but the climate was much warmer before prehistoric settlers arrived: Until then, most of the moorland was covered in trees, and to make the land more productive, they began a programme of deforestation.
There is evidence of human activity on Dartmoor dating back at least 8,000 years, but most of the prehistoric remains come from the Late Neolithic to Middle Bronze Age Periods (c2500-1500BC), and there are numerous locations where they can be found. Some are more accessible than others, and if you fancy yourself as a bit of an Indiana Jones, then you could do worse than to head for Merrivale: Not only are there some good examples here, but it’s also easy to find, as it’s just off the Two Bridges to Tavistock Road (50.554836, -4.043158).
There are also some great views up here towards Plymouth Sound, and perhaps even better ones from a viewpoint at Cox Tor car park, a short distance down the road towards Tavistock.
Seeking out Prehistoric remains may not be for everyone, but if it is, then you really shouldn’t miss Grimspound, a settlement that was inhabited around 4,000 years ago. It consists of the remains of 24 stone built round houses surrounded by a massive stone enclosure, and it’s worth taking a bit of time out just to contemplate what it must have been like to live here back then.
-
- Grimspound from Hookney Tor
-
- Hookney Tor from Grimspound
-
- Entrance into the Grimspound Enclosure
-
- Remains of a Round House at Grimspound
Around 3,000 years ago, the climate started to get colder and wetter, consequently making it harder to live at the higher levels, and as time progressed, the landscape started to have other uses. By Medieval times, Dartmoor had become a ‘Royal Forest’, and contrary to what people think, it wasn’t an area full of trees anymore. In this context, a royal forest was an area used by the monarch for hunting game, but there are still plenty of deer roaming around today. For many years, I worked in a factory that was close to the edge of Dartmoor and we often had deer come to pay us a visit. Today, the Ordnance Survey still refers to the area as Dartmoor Forest on its maps.
By now, other uses were found by those living on Dartmoor, including mining for minerals and quarrying for stone, both of which benefitted from a gunpowder factory that was built during the 19th century, about a mile west of Postbridge.
Serious accidents at the factory were thankfully rare, even though Eric Hemery in his excellent tome High Dartmoor, tells us that Silas Sheep, a worker at the factory, took his breakfast and dinner to work and ate both at breakfast in case he got blown up before dinner time. The remains of the factory are still here, and there’s a fairly easy walk along part of the Lych Way if you want to take a look around.
The Lych Way is also known as The Way of the Dead or Corpse Way, which refers to the route parishioners had to take in order to bury their dead at Lydford Church. For some, it meant a journey of twelve miles across open moorland, and today, the Lych Way runs from Bellever to Lydford for 12 miles along the same route. Sometimes the route is discernible, and sometimes it isn’t, but there are way markers every so often if you can find them. I used to imagine that the coffin would have been transported by a carriage pulled by a hardy Dartmoor pony, but apparently not. Instead, it was carried by a team of pall bearers, but how they managed to carry a dead body over miles of rough and boggy terrain and across rivers without a compass or O.S. map is beyond me.
If you’ve got a minute, you might like to take a look at West Country folk group, Show of Hands singing Chris Hoban’s The Old Lych Way.
Talking of Dartmoor ponies, it would be impossible to finish talking about Dartmoor without giving them a mention. I don’t think anybody knows for sure how long they’ve been here, but archaeologists have found hoof prints that are around 3,500 years old.
In more recent times, they were used in tin mines as pit ponies and in quarries for transporting granite, but as their use in these industries diminished they were used on farms before being released out onto the open moor. Not all the ponies that can be seen on the moor these days are true Dartmoor ponies as other breeds have joined them and cross bred for different reasons.
A true Dartmoor pony can be distinguished by its flowing mane and tail with a strong, compact body. Its colour, as recognised by the Dartmoor Pony Society, can be bay, brown, black, chestnut, grey or roan.
Like many young girls, our daughter was mad keen on horses, but for a long time we were in no position to let her have one, but when the time came that we were, it was a Dartmoor pony that she got. Arron was a typical example: He had a good temperament, calm and less than 13 hands high. He looked sturdy – and was, a requirement for surviving the harsh Dartmoor winter weather.
The number of ponies on the moor has drastically reduced during my lifetime, and there are many reasons for it, but we can all do our bit by not feeding them. The reason of course is that it entices them to come down to the roadside, and every year there are a number of fatalities when they get hit by cars, mainly on the B3212 which crosses the moor between Moretonhampstead and Two Bridges.
It’s only natural to want to feed and smooth them and I should know. I once had a foal follow me for ages, and no matter how I tried to make him go away he just wouldn’t. How I never picked him up and put him on the back seat of the car I’ll never know.
There are many aspects to Dartmoor that I haven’t even mentioned yet, but I think it’s time to move on, but I hope you can now see why I think it’s a special place. Even Stephen Spielberg thought so when he said “I have never before, in my long and eclectic career, been gifted with such an abundance of natural beauty as I experienced filming War Horse on Dartmoor”.
Where My Treasure Is
Eternal Mother, when my race is run,
Will that I pass beneath the risen sun,
Suffer my sight to dim upon some spot
That changes not.
Let my last pillow be the land I love
With Fair infinity of blue above;
The roaming shadow of a silver cloud
My only shroud.
A little Lark above the morning star,
Shall shrill the tidings of my end afar;
The muffled music of a lone sheep-bell
Shall be my knell.
And where stone heroes trod the moor of old;
Where ancient wolf howled round granite fold;
Hide Thou, beneath the heather’s new-born light,
My endless night.
Eden Phillpotts – 1905
Eden Phillpotts put it much better than I could, but I share his sentiments, and when it’s my turn to say goodbye to Dartmoor for the last time, I won’t be lying down on a granite pillow. As Show of Hands sang in The Old Lych Way “I’ll never cross the Dart again” and that’s because I’ve arranged for my ashes to be scattered in the River Dart itself, where they’ll begin their journey down through South Devon and then on out to sea. The perfect ending I would say.
POSTED – SEPTEMBER 2023
Originally posted 2023-09-01 11:31:30.
I have a lovely blogging friend who lives in Exeter, Malc, and she always promised me the Dartmoor experience if I ever visited. It hasn’t happened yet, and likely won’t, but you’ve given me a great flavour of it. There are many similarities with the York Moors, my more natural habitat, including sinking in peat. Not as dramatic as your experience, I’m not sorry to say.
Yes, there are similarities between the two I agree Jo, but if you ever did get to Dartmoor, you would see that there are also differences. Thanks for commenting. It’s very much appreciated.
Whoa, Malc, what a post. I started enthralled by the descriptions of the landscape and the journeys of the nascent rivers flowing ever down to the Dart and bit my lip and stared wide-eyed through your ordeal in the quaker. Then there was such fantastic prehistory and history to learn and see before that beautifully haunting Old Lych Way song, which I listened to whilst I read about those gorgeous Dartmoor ponies (I’d have had a hard time not taking the foal home too). But what I hadn’t bargained for was that spellbinding poem and your achingly poignant closing paragraph, which I read – literally – through watery eyes and with a serious case of goosebumps! So yes, I can see exactly why Dartmoor means so much to you, particularly after this very moving final chapter.
You have become a master of your art, Malc. No one does it like you.
And if anyone can make me want to continue blogging Alli, then you certainly can with comments like that. I’ve just been checking out the Jetpack stats and did you know that you have made 656 comments on my posts, and so it’s not just a big thank you for your lovely comments here, but for all of them 😊
I’m honoured to have commented on so many of your blog posts, Malc, it shows how long we’ve been friends! 🙂 I’ve always been a big fan of your work, ever since I first found you. And despite the many distractions and issues that have got in the way of my forays into the blogsphere, that will never change. In fact, it just gets stronger and stronger. 🙂
I’m really chuffed to hear that Alli. Blogging just wouldn’t be the same without your input, and I don’t need to need to tell you how much I enjoy your posts too. By the way, that’s 657 now 😊
…when it gets to 700 we’ll have to have a celebration! 😀
42 more comments to go in that case, so I need to keep going a bit longer 🙂
Please do. We’ve got to get to at least 1000. Think of the celebration we could have for that milestone! 😀
Most of the stats on WordPress are not that important to me if I’m honest Alli, but some are, and that one would be far more important to me than if I had a thousand followers.
Aww, thanks Malc. I feel the same in return. Besides, I don’t even understand my stats! 🙂
😁
If anyone’s writing can ever produce a range of emotions just in one post then it’s yours Malc. Your photo of the Cherry Brook made me feel like I was there, having a picnic in the peace and quiet of my surroundings, while the poem and your last paragraph made me feel quite sad. That said, your flashes of humour made me laugh, especially your wife’s comment about the state of your clothes – I’m glad you survived the quaker anyway. The ponies? Beautiful, and the foal looks really cute, but my favourite is the close-up of the dark brown one, it’s a great shot 🙂
What a smashing comment Eunice. Thank you so much, and I’m really pleased that you enjoyed this one. Although we should keep the ponies at arm’s length, it’s easier said than done isn’t it? Just in case you were wondering, my clothes didn’t go in the washing machine, they went straight in the bin instead 😊
I think if you had come home to me in that state you would have gone in the bin along with the clothes! 🙂 🙂
Ha! Ha!
Lovely photos. Thanks for the beautiful stroll. Mel
Thanks Mel. It’s much appreciated.
Loved the tour, through your words Malc, and the pics are phenomenal! Love to travel there, especially with your guides, it’s a passion of mine, like football… 🌞
I could take you there with a footbal match to finish with at Plymouth Argyle – or perhaps not 🙂
Sounds good Malc!
I’m not so sure. Argyle bring the worst out in me as they’re arch rivals to my team.
Who’s your team?
Bristol City. A team that never wins anything and never will, but I’ve supported them ever since I went to my first match at 5 years old
That’s the spirit of a true fan! I’ve also been a lifetime Barcelona fan…
Lucky you!
Another outstanding post with so much information, history, music and wonderful images❣️❣️❣️
It’s good to see you back Luisa. I hope you enjoyed your break – and thank you for your lovely comments
You’re more than welcome, my dear Malc 🌺
😊
A wonderful post, and great story about the quaker. Beautiful photographs too. I have visited little bits of Dartmoor, but probably need to do a rather more comprehensive trip while I still can!
And that’s the point Stephen isn’t it?. It’s too late to do the things you want when you can’t. Thanks for the smashing comments too.
I hope to reduce my working week and free up a bit more time for things like this.
Good move if you can do it.
Wonderful photos, especially of the rivers and waterfalls, and of course also your very readable accounts of history and details of the landscape here. Your love of the place shines through, although that incident with the quaker must have been scary – I’m glad it didn’t put you off visiting!
Thank you Sarah. We’ve all got our special places, and that’s how life should be. As much as I’ve enjoyed travelling, I’ve always though we’ve got so much to offer in this country. It’s just a shame about the weather sometimes. That said, I think we could be receiving climate refugees as well soon, if places become unbearably hot elsewhere.
Another excellent piece incorporating your wonderful dry humour which makes your entries so readable. Spectacular countryside and those ponies are a major plus.
Thanks Albert. I’m glad my humour doesn’t get missed, but then again, you’re an expert yourself 🙂
Haha – I feel my writing since coming back to blogging has been a bit bland and flat but I sense a change to my less reverent self coming soon :-).
I can’t wait 🙂
Let me start by saying, Malc, that this post is a masterpiece to retain and read again and again. Even at the beginning of your post, your wonderful sense of humour came up with the connections to the recent absurd events. Creating tense feeling in your readers when writing how you survived falling into a quagmire is worth award, especially as if you were walking by yourself, we would not be reading about it now.
You have covered Dartmoor’s every single fascinating aspect diligently; from the ancient and medieval history, military connections, nature (ponies, deer), archeology and many more. I have seen many documentaries about Dartmoor but your post is above any of them. I love the poem by Eden Phillpotts, and your last moving reference about arranging for your ashes to be scattered on the Dart, made me think where mine should go.
Your pictures, Malc, are just spectacular, as always and make your readers feel that they are walking with you.
I added a picture of my study to show you the framed photos of Dartmoor’s stone formations I like very much, and I hope you have received my email. Most important is that your post illuminated how unique Dartmoor is on the par, in my view, with the most revered places on the planet.
Joanna
You say that I lift your spirits when I comment on your posts Joanna, but you’ve just done exactly the same for me. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I really don’t warrant such high praise, but I’m really grateful all the same. Thank you so much.
I did receive your email with the photo attached and I’ve replied to it. At least you can see Dartmoor every day with those pictures on your wall 😊
You are far too modest, Malc!!
I have email to you two more pictures of the books, I hope you can see it.
Joanna
Yep. I’ve got them Joanna.
Thank you!
Joanna
Absolutely lovely ode to Dartmoor. I howled when I read your desire to kiss your mate like a Spanish football president after you were rescued. Hope that doesn’t get Francisco back on his hobbyhorse.
Thanks Pat. Francesc has been on the case again today and I couldn’t resist replying to him. He responded with the same amount of passion as Rubiales did 🙂
LOL, Malc. I’ll have to look it up. He is normally quite rational, and this has really thrown him into a tizzy.
Spaniards are passionate about their football Pat.
Now hre’s a surprise a family emergency means we never got away. SO this armchiar tour is a rare treat and I would love these paths. And even the adventure…. Look at your pal. He got you out of that. That is what I love about the outdoors.
I’m glad you got to reading this post in one sense today Shey, but so sorry to hear that your trip didn’t take place. I hope it’s nothing too serious that prevented it from happening.
Older girl who was in the play had a missed misscarraige. Between them my two have racked up 6. Anyway we knew on Wed and we had spent Thursday as had her sister saying we would and should not go, cos she had no idea what she would be facing. But no no no. Anyway we manged to re-arrange the booking which we didn’t know we could do. So.
Oh dear! What a nightmare. I hope she’s ok, but at least you’ve been able to re-book. It’s not quite the same as Mr’s birthday treat though. I’ll raise a glass to him all the same 🍺
I’ll make him a guid tea the night. Thank you Malc.
You know what they say. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach 🙂