The forecast for the next couple of days was markedly better, and it seemed a shame not to take advantage. So I made plans to stay another couple of days. This would be solo though, as Paul had to go … Continue reading Getting Back On The Horse: Part 3 – Pole to Pole
The plan was hatched, with anxious looks at the weather forecast several times a day. Ok for a couple of days then a brief bad spell at some point over the weekend. It was good enough to book the train … Continue reading Getting Back On The Horse: Part 2 – Dartmoor Bimbles
Last weekend was the first trip to Dartmoor of the year, as a combination of illness and uninspiring forecasts made me decide to forego the now traditional Dartmoor New Year. Consequently I was itching to get out to camp somewhere I didn’t have to hide, both overnighters so far this year having been in lowly Essex.
I arrived at Paul’s midday Thursday, dumped the car and headed up onto the moor by way of the East Okement and the Tarka Trail. Not having come this way before, it proved to be a pleasant way up onto the moor. Continue reading “Dartmoor: Not Quite as Forecast”
Just as I arrived at Paul’s, he had the news on and a general election had been called. I took this as an omen that there could be no better time to lose myself for 3-4 days in the middle of nowhere. Continue reading “The Quest for a Furthest South”
Cath was safely dumped at Exeter St Davids, Jim was heading home, and Paul and I had a camp planned. The mission was twofold: a camp at a favourite tor, and a return to pick off a rock formation that eluded me last time I was in the area. Continue reading “Another New Year on Dartmoor – Part 5: A Night at a Favourite Tor”
The group had by now broken up, Paul and Jim heading north to Paul’s house, Phil and Sarah heading home to the Far North and the arctic wastes of Bristol. Cath too was heading home, but as her chauffeur I … Continue reading Another New Year on Dartmoor – Part 4: Blackslade Down
The New Year started with a massive dilemma Continue reading “Another New Year on Dartmoor – Part 3: Familiar Ground”
No day’s walking on Dartmoor is complete without a visit to the Fox Tor Cafe, and especially so when you’re staying next door. Being on winter opening hours, it didn’t open until 10am and Cath and I were first in the queue at the front door for when it opened. Looking through the window we could see Paul and Jim at the back door also occupying position 1. They opened up and all 4 of us headed straight to the counter to order. A leisurely breakfast was had, but our route had been decided in advance and it wasn’t far to go. Continue reading “Another New Year on Dartmoor – Part 2: The Far West”
The New Year walking trip has now been going since the 2013/14 trip to the Lakes (so the rule says it’s now a tradition), but after that first midwinter foray north, each one has seen me head to Dartmoor. The … Continue reading Another New Year on Dartmoor – Part 1: Butterdon Hill and Uppacott Down
Drewsteignton to Ivybridge – 38 miles, 2½ days
Paul’s feet seemed to have got a second wind, and he was back in the lead as we climbed up out of Drewsteignton onto the Castle Drogo estate. Familiar territory now, and I’d visited all of these tors earlier in the year, so it wasn’t a long visit. We dropped down onto the path that runs by Sharp Tor, spent a few moments there and then carried on to Hunter’s Tor. We had brief notions of a detour to the cafe for breakfast, but the few metres ascent in the wrong direction lost out to the idea of seeking sustenance in Chagford instead. And so we continued. Continue reading “A Different Coast to Coast – Part 3: Dartmoor”
The forecast seemed OK and diaries were lining up like soldiers on parade, so I headed down to the Moor on the Friday to squeeze in a solo walk and camp before the Saturday meetup. Parking in Lydford, the plan was to do a walk linking up two patches of unbagged tors – 5 on Sourton Common and 3 immediately east of Lydford. This meant I’d do the vast majority of the walk on the Friday, leaving only a short walk out to the car on Saturday morning. At least that was the plan… Continue reading “The Weather Window”
Looking down from Lynch Tor, I see the valley spread below, lush, green and beckoning us onward. Legs tired, water running low, and still a fair way to walk. The map shows a well-defined path leading down a valley between two ridges, and seeing the same on the ground we take it. Some way down the path, the next turn per the map just isn’t there and so we improvise. In a rapidly escalating instance of muddled thinking we try to fight our way down through the fields where the path should be. Cows block our route – my 11 year old companion is frightened of the lumbering beasts which are many times his size. Field boundaries on the so-called path have no crossing points and we are eventually coralled in the corner of one field by the bovine hoard.
My water is exhausted, the demands of liquid to lubricate the brain to navigate our way out of this fix having taken their toll. I have to broach the boy’s supplies, or we won’t get out of this mess. Miraculously, his Camelbak is still well-topped up – the boy is a camel himself. We battle back through the field to a recognised path and my brain now better oiled scrutinizes the map once more. Suddenly it comes to me what has happened – we wanted a path heading down into the valley with a ridge to the right, and seeing one we took it. Unfortunately, it was one ridge too early. We’re in the wrong valley. White Tor, now correctly identified as such, looks down on us seemingly mocking our derisory efforts to find our way off the moor. A decision is made to correct the situation by climbing the Tor. We stumble our way up as the sky begins to weary of supporting the sun. We barely pause at the top before we head down, finding the security of the path very quickly. But it’s the path to Cudlipptown we’ve hit and we find ourselves on a road there soon after. A slow sunset trudge along the lanes to Peter Tavy and the campsite ensues. Darkness is closing in and mountain rescue are close to being called as we make it back to the camp site. My several calls and texts back to base have either gone ignored or undelivered. Hot sweet tea is the order of the day as I try to make sense of what happened. Blame is set fair and square on the Harvey’s Dartmoor map for not showing field boundaries. Of course, whilst the lack of detail just when we needed it didn’t help, the real fault is in not reading the terrain, not judging distances properly, and simply seeing what I expected to see. Even so, I’ve never used a Harvey’s map for critical navigation since. And that evil Dartmoor, lying there looking so innocent, but really just lying in wait to catch you out…
That of course was a tale from my first foray into walking on Dartmoor in 2008. Things have changed since then. For one, I’ve done a lot more hillwalking, I’ve developed better skills, and gained more confidence. I’ve also been back to the Moor (you may have noticed), and the old fear of the place has long since vanished. Dartmoor is not the evil malicious trap that I perhaps once thought it is. Sure, what looks like a benign rolling landscape can catch you out if you are foolhardy, or if it’s in one of it’s dark moods, but it’s not lying there with the express intent to ambush me.
A few recent walks have taken me close to White Tor, but it has remained a disturbing memory of the past. Today though is time to confront my nemesis…
There’s really not much to tell about this walk. It simply involved lots of trees. Ducking, diving and twisting around them trying to find odd bits of rock secreted in the depths of the forest. Some of them may even have been a touch naughty to visit. The Tavy was crossed a few times before we finished with trees and walked up to Boulters Tor to retrieve our chariot. Probably best if you just watch the video…But if you do want some words, then Paul has conveniently provided some.
I sit in the car awaiting developments: Jim is on the last stretch from Exeter, Paul is due a little later. The rest of my flask of tea is sipped while the car doors are pressed into service as a … Continue reading A Camp above Belstone
There’s a nasty rumour making the rounds that I like bagging Dartmoor tors from the comfort of the car – so much so that tors very close to a road have been dubbed “hillplodder tors”. Obviously there is no truth … Continue reading A spot of Dartmoor “Carbagging”