It was even warm on Dartmoor...

We've been having an early preview of summer the last few days. I've no idea what the temperatures have been but it's been warm, properly warm, so that walking has become a real pleasure again. And this weekend has had more than its share of pleasurable walking (and dining) experiences. On Friday afternoon we foregathered at the Borough Arms, Dunmere, near Bodmin. Six humans and four dogs strolled along the Camel Trail in a leisurely manner for an hour or two, working up an appetite for dinner. The woods were full of violets and anemones, although very few bluebells yet, birds were singing and the new leaves were almost too bright to look at in the sunshine. Ty insisted on a swim, and Megs and Harvey joined in for a splash about. After rounding off the evening with a pleasant meal I went home thinking that we'd been very lucky with the weather, not expecting it to last. But it did. Rather earlier on Saturday afternoon, much the same gang plus a couple of extra humans met at the very first car park on the very edge of Dartmoor from the Plymouth direction. We were guided on a circular route, crossing the Devonport Leat (dry) then across country to the Drake Leat (also dry but in better condition) which we followed for a while then back after a couple of hours to the Dartmoor Diner for a Cream Tea in the garden. Our guide knows the area well and was able to explain a lot of the history on the way round. It was such a lovely day that I had to dig out the sunhat and the trekking sandals for the first time this year. Spring isn't quite as advanced on the moor as down by the shore where I usually walk, but what we lacked in spring flora was made up for with fauna. Our first surprise was a young adder sunning itself on the path. It was noticeably aggravated at being disturbed and hissed a bit before moving off to a quieter spot. None of the dogs noticed it, luckily, and were easily persuaded to go in the opposite direction to the snake. We saw quite a few ponies scattered here and there, grazing quietly, but then we saw several all converging purposefully and rapidly on the same point. Where we discovered a lady throwing apples in all directions for the ponies to pick up. This would seem to be a regular occurrence, as we saw her later in a different place where another small herd were waiting for their treat. Buzzards and skylarks overhead, robins and chaffinches in the bushes, many different butterflies, bees and other insects. After two long walks in two days running with the other dogs and pretending to be their age rather than the ten year old he really is, Ty didn't even get all the way upstairs when we got home, collapsing on the landing for a nice long sleep. By morning, however, he was completely restored and ready to start again. Sunday's walk was a little more ambitious, about five miles around Lydford. Lydford is a village roughly halfway between Tavistock and Okehampton on the western edge of Dartmoor, situated in a fold in the hills, not up on the open moor. It was historically one of the most important places in the area, with a silver mine and a mint, stannary courts and a medieval jail, but these days is a popular with tourists coming to visit the famous Lydford Gorge. We didn't do that, though, but went on a circular route first travelling towards Okehampton on the old railway line, now a cycle track known as the Granite Way, then cutting across country and down to a ford (with a plank bridge) and back up through pretty woods and eventually round to the village again. As we had a little time to spare before lunch we also inspected the 'castle' (actually a 12th century jail) and walked down the hill to a bridge over the Gorge, peering down at people walking up and down the tortuous paths to admire the various waterfalls. Where it goes under the bridge the gorge is almost narrow enough to reach across from one side to the other but very deep. To me it seemed dank and claustrophobic, but I am assured that it opens out and is really very pretty. It's looked after by the National Trust these days and the paths, though steep, are perfectly safe. I'll take their word for it, thank you... The Castle Inn has a garden, a very nice beer garden. At the back, through a hedge, can be spied a slightly separated glade under a big alder where there is a large round table perfect for our largish round party of seven and a dog to take lunch. And a very good lunch it was, too. It was also a very pleasant place to just sit and put the world to rights for an hour or so after lunch... I'm told the weather is about to change. Well it would, of course, as the Easter holidays are starting soon. But I'm very glad I've been able to have this little bit of premature summer, and look forward to many more pleasant walks to come.

Summer finally comes to Dartmoor

Not the wildest part of Dartmoor, just the edges, but warm enough for shorts and a shirt for the first time this year. A circular walk, generally gently down on the way there and gently up on the way back, nothing strenuous, lovely after the long day I had yesterday.
We started from the carpark at the edge of Roborough Down, behind the Paperweight Centre in Yelverton. Getting there was a bit of an adventure in itself - as I was driving through Yelverton a large black bird dived into the front passenger window of the car. Luckily (for me) it was shut at the time. Yelverton was full of some sort of cycle event, including tandems and bikes with kids on the back, so I couldn't really stop to check on the state of health of the crow (almost certainly, but possibly jackdaw or rook).
According to the map, the first part of the walk was a National Trail Recreational Route but it wasn't at all obvious, and our leader led us through the gorse bushes with a compass. When we were due to turn off the downs onto a public footpath leading to Buckland Monachorum, we found that the waymarker at the beginning had been deliberately sawn through and cast aside. Which is not good. Even worse, five minutes later, was the discovery that a short section of green lane between two fields was so overgrown as to be almost impassable, especially for the shorts wearers amongst us. One wonders which came first, the removal of the waymarker or the failure to keep the path clear. And is it worth reporting it? Probably, yes...
The path was in better condition further down, although some of the stiles were difficult for the dogs as they had been wired up. Another black mark for the landowner. Ty, who learned the hard way by spending a lot of time on boats, can work out how to get over most obstacles, and he'll also trust me to show him the way by tapping the places I think he should put his feet. Jake, who spent most of his formative years in kennels and didn't know how to get up steps at all when he was first liberated, isn't very agile at all and struggles. He's also the heaviest of the pack. Megs has a tendency not to see the paw traps and sometimes gets caught up. Harvey's a spaniel, with a totally different technique - dig through if possible, if not let yourself be picked up!
We entered Buckland Monachorum from behind the church, which has what seemed an excessively large graveyard for a small village. The village was decked overall in bunting, but it wasn't to welcome us; we'd missed the village fete by a day. A stroll round, a quick visit to the pub (two minutes after opening time) to use their facilities, then upward and onward. Coming out of the village the path leads around the edge of The Garden House. From what we could see by peering over the bridges and through the fence this probably deserves its 'magical' description, but apart from a bit of 'Do you know what that is?' and 'I'd love one of those' we had to pass it by. Going round the garden proper would have taken too long, and, of course, is not free.
After the Garden House we met a lot of horses. Proper horses in small fields, not loose ponies. I'd never seen horses in beekeeping helmets before, but I was informed by someone who knows about horses that they are for the prevention of flies, and can be seen through from the inside perfectly well. I believe this. Ty was several times sniffed by curious horses again, and Micheal was pursued like a pied piper by a couple who wanted to go home with him!
Around Axtown we had a slight diversion. We were following the footpath signs until our leader's trusty compass indicated that we were going in the opposite direction to the way we should be, so we had to backtrack a little and find the right path (not so well signposted) up back to Roborough Down and across to the car park.
For lunch we drove to the 16th century Who'd Have Thought It Inn at Milton Combe. I was intrigued by the blue cheese, spinach and walnut bread and butter pudding, which proved to be delicious, served with an imaginative and delicious salad featuring more walnuts, grapes, apple, cherry tomatoes and green things. It was surprisingly filling too, which was a pity in a way because there was Eton Mess on the dessert menu, and I didn't have room.
After lunch we had another little adventure, driving down to Lopwell, where the River Tavy is dammed to form a reservoir which provides water for Plymouth. Below the dam it's possible at low tide (which it was) to walk across a wall to the salt marsh on the other side. It isn't possible to swim, not even for dogs, although it's possible for spaniels to find quite stinky mud to frolic in, apparently.
And so home, tired, but happy. A lovely summer day out.

Sunshine, blue skies - can this really be Dartmoor?

What do you call a Cornish Hedge when it's in Devon? At the risk of offending some sensibilities, I'll have to call it a Cornish Hedge as I know of no other name for a double stone wall filled with earth, covered with grass, hedging plants and sometimes even whole trees growing on and in it. How do you get over a Cornish Hedge? With a fair amount of difficulty, even on a public footpath where some slight concession to accessibility has been made.
Yesterday's walk, in glorious sunshine, began with an obstacle course which nearly finished one of the dogs and most of the people. We were nine humans (more than half of whom have bus passes) and four dogs. We met at the Elephant's Nest, Horndon, near Mary Tavy on the edge of Dartmoor. Immediately opposite the pub there's a footpath sign next to a five foot stone wall. A few hundred years ago when it was built across a footpath, three of the stones were turned round to offer slight projections as footholds, now precariously worn. A flat grass bit on the top, then a similar descent into a field. All the humans managed it, some with greater agility than others. Of the collies, Megs flew over, Ty was workmanlike, and Jake struggled because he's a bit heavier. Harvey-the-spaniel had to be given a bit of a bunk up but got down unaided. Regroup with a sigh of relief, now we're in the country, off we go...
Well, not quite. This barrier was only the first of half a dozen between narrow grassy fields. The first field contained two horses and a donkey, then we clambered over another giant wall before a second, empty field. To get into the third and largest field there were two separate walls with a stream between to jump, and here the access had been 'modernised' by providing sloping ladders either side. Easier for humans, but trickier for dogs. In the third field there was a large flock of sheep, all with very small lambs, which required some interesting logistics; one person passing a dog up on a lead, a second on the other side catching. Just throw walking sticks and poles over and retrieve later. The sheep ignored us, but their minder, a wild white woolly llama, danced over to investigate, legs flicking out in hamstring kicks. Not too close an investigation, thank goodness - he just stood about 20 yards away, keeping between us and the sheep, and stared spittily until we were safely across this field to the very last barrier - ladders again. And this time Megs managed to get one of her back legs hooked over the top and swung helplessly till rescued. Didn't even squeal, and wasn't hurt at all, luckily. Thence across the final field, through a farmyard and out a gate into a lane. There was a sign leading back the way we came - 'public footpath to the Elephant's Nest public house'. I wonder how many merry souls have struggled over the obstacle course for a well deserved pint or two, and how well they managed to negotiate it on the way back!
Out of the farmyard into a lane and up (and up) on to the open moor at Kingsett Down. Did I mention that the weather was glorious, warm sunshine and blue sky? On the moor it stayed glorious, but with the addition of bracing cool breeze. Visibility was as good as I've ever seen it - we could see back into Cornwall as far as Caradon Hill and Kit Hill on Bodmin Moor.
From up on the Down a gentle descent through green lanes (wild flower spotting - celandines, primroses, violets, wild strawberries) to meet the River Tavy at Hill Bridge. There's a new concrete weir there, with a salmon ladder to one side and what we thought was a take off to a reservior. Below it there was a pool just deep enough for the dogs to have a bit of a swim. We walked along the leat which starts there through Creason Wood, watching and listening to the river fall away downhill to our left. And so back into a lane which led us back to Horndon village and back to the Elephant's Nest for lunch. I have to say that their steak and kidney pudding (cabbage with pancetta, boiled new potatoes drenched in butter and parsley) was one of the nicest I have ever tasted, and even more enjoyable for being eaten in the open air in the garden.
It was well worth all that effort at the beginning, a really good day out on Dartmoor.

Caravanning - A New Adventure

It is a fact, boring but true, that when life is so exciting there is lots to write about there isn't enough time to write, and when there's lots of time there are fewer adventures to talk about. Caravanning was a Proper Adventure, though, so deserves a mention even a few weeks late.

In mid September Ron bought a touring caravan. We've never had one before, but this was a bargain not to be missed. A lovely little thing, 12ft long, in very good condition but an empty shell, not equipped at all with anything. After a week of dashing around acquiring replacements for all the useful stuff we sold with the boat - a chemical toilet, melamine plates and cups and stuff, cutlery, corkscrew, pots and pans, - we set off for our first adventure the last Friday of September, taking full advantage of the proper summer weather we'd been having.

The caravan lives in Weaver's Field, and to get out to the lane it has to go steeply downhill through two field gates, one to keep the geese in and the horse out of the caravan-boat-van field, the next to keep the horse in and the traffic out of the lower end. I opened the first gate and watched Ron driving through. The caravan tyre was flat! Absolutely flat, even at the top. Half an hour with a mini air compressor later it seemed all right so we set off, pausing regularly at laybys to check for the first few miles. In fact, the tyre stayed up and is still perfectly OK, so the lack of air remains a mystery.

We only ventured just to the edge of Dartmoor, a holiday park called Langstone Manor between Tavistock and Princetown. Less than an hour in a car from home, but quite far enough, we felt, for our first venture as 'shed-pullers'. The sun shone, the sky was blue, the people were friendly, the food was good (I didn't cook much, as evening meals were available in the bar). Ty and I strolled among the gorse and the heather, but didn't venture very far as I don't trust the moors enough to go exploring alone, even when the weather is good. We did lots and lots of walking sedately and carefully through flocks of sheep, but even more just sitting in the sun and soaking up the silence. I watched a pair of ravens flying in formation for hours, wingtip to wingtip, spiralling across the cloudless blue, while in another sector overhead a buzzard was being mobbed by jackdaws. When the two groups met the ravens just soared effortlessly and carelessly above the mob.

Ron did adjustments to the electrical system, wiring up batteries and getting things working properly, and a lot of reading. So did I actually, more than I have for months. We had no TV, no radio (the one in the caravan didn't work), no internet or email. I'm not sure if the mobiles worked; I don't think I tried to talk to anybody. We took the laptop and some DVDs in case we wanted to watch a film - we didn't bother. Oddly enough, Ron missed the internet more than I did, and insisted on acquiring a dongle as soon as we got home, ready for the next adventure. (I have actually used it on the train now, but that's another story!)

We came home on Monday hooked on the whole experience. Obviously we will need to make improvements (and remember the tin opener next time!), but in general it was good. It's like boating only a lot more comfortable, and probably rather safer...

Drenched on Dartmoor

The new boots and waterproof jacket finally got properly roadtested today - and passed with flying colours. Lovely warm, dry feet I had, and I was warm and dry under my jacket too; the only slight problem being that I had once more underestimated the force of the Dartmoor microclimate and forgotten the waterproof trousers and rainhat. Very damp indeed about the legs and the ears, I was. I can't wear a hood without a hat underneath because I become blind and deaf, which isn't a good way to be walking on the moors.

The forecast was for a gentle drizzle and it was quite dry at home, but the weather closed in more and more as I was driving up to Postbridge. Visibility on the moor road before Princetown was only a few feet, and most of the sheep and cattle had chosen to follow the road. Past Princetown it cleared a little. Postbridge itself was another first for me - a nice big car park, information centre, loos, little shop without rain hats, coach loads of German tourists, lots of driving rain. Still, booted, jacketed and wrong trousered I followed the gang up from there to Bellever Tor and back down round again. About a five mile walk which was actually mostly very enjoyable, if a trifle bracing. Once or twice it almost stopped raining and we could see a little way, just occasionally it blew up a proper hooley and we couldn't. After having had to negotiate through herds and flocks of loose livestock on the road, we didn't see any at all through the walk apart from a small group of alpaca in a field. Oh, and a shrew which ran across the track about six inches in front of my boots.

Back at Postbridge I changed into dry trousers and sandals before driving up to Warren House for lunch, which was very good when it finally arrived. We'd booked a table but had to wait a while for earlier eaters to finish their meals before we could start. A very popular watering hole, Warren House, allegedly the highest inn on the moor, and full today of extremely wet walkers. I was feeling quite smug about my comparative dryness by the time we left until I discovered that an injudicious choice of windows left open for the dog in the car meant that I had to sit in a puddle all the way home. How can so much water get through such a small space? One of the insoluble mysteries of Dartmoor.

Summer at Last!

I take back what I said about it always being winter on Dartmoor. Today it was definitely summer up there. About time, I suppose - I'd like to think that I triggered the recent spell of glorious sunshine being enjoyed over much of the UK by taking possession of the winter waterproofs a week or so ago, but I don't suppose anyone will give me that much credit. Anyway, walking on Dartmoor today it was t-shirt, sandals and sunhat time, and very pleasant it was too!
The meet was at Cadover Bridge, a new name to me. A quick Google revealed that it was right on the edge of the Dartmoor National Park, up at the top of the Plym valley. Getting directions was a bit vague - Google just had quite a lot of 'after 1.3 miles, turn right' without road names, RAC, Multimap and the Satnav couldn't find it at all. I reasoned that as it was only fifteen minutes from Plymouth city centre it would be well known enough to have signposts from the main road, which proved to be the case, so, having allowed half an hour for getting lost, I was there half an hour early. Ty didn't mind - there was a whole river to splash about in while we waited. I was a little surprised by the amount of car parking space available for such a remote spot; at 10am there was only one other car in what I took to be the main car park, and several other empty car parks within sight.
It turned out that we were only three and a dog for walkies. In glorious sunshine and a pleasant breeze we started from Cadover back up the road and along a lane to Brisworthy then up onto the moor proper, past a stone circle and ever upward to the top of Legis Tor. Not too high, not too difficult - even I got to the top for a magnificent view of the moor and the China Clay workings at Lee Moor. From there we descended gently to ford the river at Ditsworthy. This was fun - I had my proper trekking toe protecting instant drying sandals and rollup trousers, so I just walked on through - my two companions were both wearing boots, but our leader had thoughtfully rolled up a pair of wellies in his backpack for use at the ford - he crossed first then threw them back for Bob. It's as well I didn't need them, as I would have been able to put them on without taking my sandals off but probably not walk, let alone wade in them.
The original plan had been to climb to the top of Trowelsworthy Tor, where there are interesting stone works and such, but we had people to meet and lunch to eat, so we went half way up and then followed the leat along the side of the hill. This didn't exactly prove to be the easy option, as it was sploshy in places to say the least... Wet black stuff sucking the sandals off one's feet isn't the nicest feeling, but walking through nice clean green wet moss afterwards cleaned them off a treat and they dry quickly. Proper boots proved slightly inadequate and they don't dry the same.
About six miles we did, in the round. When we got back to Cadover at lunchtime I discovered the reason for the car parks - the river bank was full of picnickers, with kids in wetsuits (or just swimsuits) happily splashing about, windbreaks up, sunbathers, BBQs; it seemed like half the population of Plymouth indulging in general summer Sunday frivolity and every parking space taken. I might never have heard of Cadover Bridge, but everybody else obviously knows it well!
Lunch had been booked at the Moorland Hotel, Wotter, which enjoys a magnificent situation on the moor with actual sea views. We were joined by five non walkers and had a very fine lunch indeed. Good food, well presented in pleasant surroundings with friendly service and congenial conversation - and it wasn't even expensive.
Days like today easily make up for the occasional spell of bad weather and help remind me that I live in one of the loveliest corners of the world. Variety, as they say, is the spice of life, even as far as the climate is concerned.

Dartmoor - a Different View

Yesterday we walked on Dartmoor again - and what a complete contrast to our last visit, only six weeks ago! This time everybody had spare clothes, waterproofs, extra boots etc, and we didn't need them at all.

The meet was at Meavy this time, and the day was not only bright and warm in Saltash but just as nice when we got there. I knew it would be good when I got out of the car to see the first swallows of the year on the telephone line. We set off uphill (naturally) up on to the moors to a marvellous viewpoint looking over Burrator Reservoir then came down through the woods, alongside the reservoir and back to the village for lunch. The reservoir is surrounded by conifer plantations which are rather more airy and attractive than most, to the extent of having flowering plants such as wood sorrel and violets, and we walked down along a leat where a lot of felling had been taking place, so the warm air was redolent of hot pine and resin.

This part of the Dartmoor National Park is extremely popular with visitors - there were many walkers but also picnickers and others who weren't venturing too far from their cars. We had an enjoyable and well deserved lunch sitting outside the village pub in Meavy, watching the local chickens cross the road in search of scraps. On the village green is an Ancient Oak. The centre has completely vanished leaving a three columned arch rather taller than I am, but with a healthy looking crown above. It is supposed to be almost 1,000 years old (known to King John), and gives its name to the pub.

Dartmoor in the 'Spring'

The weather has been quite mild for the past two or three days and this morning dawned bright and blue, in spite of the forecast for heavy showers, so an executive decision was made to go a little lighter on the heavy weather gear for the scheduled walk. This decision was wrong, very wrong. I went to Dartmoor wearing only jeans, a T-shirt, a wind/waterproof fleece lined jacket, sensible boots and a last minute woolly hat I only grabbed on the way out because it was a bit breezy down in the woods. No gloves, no vest, no inner fleece, no fleecelined waterproof trousers...

I picked up Micheal and Roz, similarly lightly clad, and the dogs and we made our way to the meeting point in Peter Tavy, right on the edge of the moor. As we arrived it suddenly clouded over and the brisk breeze turned into a howling gale while we were milling round the car park gathering the group together. Not too bad, though, and seven of us set off uphill, making for Stephen's Grave and White Tor with the wind behind us. The wind got very wet very quickly, a combination of hail and sleet hitting us more or less horizontally, but still from behind, so not unbearable. Or at least not until it had soaked through the jeans. It was only a short(ish) shower and we carried on climbing. The higher we got the stronger the wind and the sleet returned in earnest near to the top of White Tor. On the lower slopes we passed several small flocks of sheep sheltering behind rocks or walls; higher up the ponies were doing the same. Nothing was actually moving across the open ground except ourselves and the weather!

We made it all the way up to White Tor, where Roz, Vanessa and I promptly squeezed ourselves into a very small cave to shelter, leaving the men and the dogs to play. Ian found enough snow to make a very small snow figure (more duck than man, we decided) which was duly photographed by those whose fingers were not too cold to take pictures, the precipitation ceased (though not the wind, alas) and we made our way back down from the moor by a slightly different route which took us through farmyards and along a pretty stream back to the pub car park. I'm not sure how far we went, but we were out two and a half hours which was quite enough.

I had at least been sensible enough to take trackies and trainers to change into after the walk. When I took my jeans off in the ladies I found that my legs were absolutely bright red as if sunburnt, and as they thawed out they were quite sore. Lunch was good, though, and well deserved. As always, the conversation more than made up for any discomfort suffered.

This time I have learnt my lesson. I should have known better, I've been caught out before. On Dartmoor, ALWAYS dress for mid winter; that's what it's like up there. Invigorating.