Lasting impressions...

The Dartmoor, without a doubt, has had a huge impact on our stay in Devon. We've explored it on foot, by car and bike, and still we experienced just a small part of it. We've been romanced by its history, lured and seduced by its landscape and wildlife. 

Low growing western gorse and heather make a beautiful and
spectacular colour combination on the Dartmoor

The Dartmoor ponies, in particular, hold a special appeal for me, taking me back to my younger days (aged 10-12) when I fervently read every English-based 'Jill' pony book I could get my hands on. Now the lanes, the cottages, and countryside I once read about all become clear.

The Dartmoor ponies are an important part of the landscape. Archaeological digs found that descendants of these ponies roamed the moors around 3500 years ago. Today, ponies on the moor are likely to be a mix of 'native' Dartmoor and Shetland. They, along with 'Scotch' sheep and various breeds of cattle, help with conservation grazing, keeping the pastures and vegetation in check.








We are amazed at how placid these ponies are when it comes to tourists with cars and cameras. We even find some are very cheeky - pushing there muzzles in through open car windows, looking for a tidbit. We also learn that it is illegal to feed the ponies. 


This is fine with Max as he shoos away a pony that tries to steal his lunch - just a little too close for his comfort.

Below are some of the inhabitants of the moor...

Autumn has somehow sneaked up on us. When we first arrived in Ashburton, the evenings were drawn out - daylight until nearly 10pm (half past nine before the hens were ready to go to their cozy bed) and the days were warm. Now the evenings have closed in and the days are often wet and cold - darkness descending upon us by 8.30ish.

It's our final few days of our homesit in Ashburton and this particular day we take in the last of the sun's rays by moving the outdoor chairs into the sun before it disappears over the hill.

It's late afternoon, we each have our novels, something to drink, cheese, olives, and a handful of Pringles chips, as we soak up the warmth. Then Max declares he'd like to go for a walk. Let's go up the Terrace path, I suggest, we could even take our books.

So off we go, books in hand and, of course two cameras. The Terrace path basks in sunlight as this little town slowly succumbs to the shadows. We find a bench seat luxuriating in the sun and make ourselves comfortable, leaning against each other for support.

It's a glorious spot, overlooking the outer parts of Ashburton, rolling hills and farmland. The late afternoon sun beats down on us warming our bodies and our hearts. A light breeze appears out of nowhere and plays with our books, pulling and tugging at the pages.

From below, we hear familiar sounds, all unseen: a rooster crows from the farm directly below us and then another replies from across the valley; children shout while at play in their backyards; a dog gives an intruder bark to a passerby; the clip clop of a horse's hooves as it trots along the lane; the see-saw drone of a lawnmower; a tractor as it chugs its way across a field; the raucous 'crawk' of the crows; the soft croon of the doves; and the gentle shushing sound of the breeze as it rushes through the trees nearby. All this, as the sun casts long, finger-like shadows across the green patchwork of pastures and the Dartmoor becomes a blue-grey silhouette against the sky.

It's been an amazing five weeks, living in another family's home and caring for their pets. We have had an insight into others' lives. Staying in a 300 year-old house is an experience, one where we learn to live with all its idosyncrasies and to appreciate its past. It's a good reminder that we are, afterall, just caretakers of these wonderful old buildings.


We have gained insight, too, into the lives of the little animals we have cared for and got to discover their individual characters and quirky natures.

But it is now time to move on. The next stage of our journey takes us to Scotland...

It's just a little pony, Max...

Moor adventures…

The Dartmoor National Park is truly 'as old as the hills' with its hills and valleys having been formed some 400 million years ago. All over the moor are granite relics from past lives when people, since the Early Bronze Age, settled on its wild and rugged landscape. 

Having this big outdoor playground so close by to explore is a great sense of delight and intrigue for us. Its history is so old and no matter where we travel on the roads or paths, we see traces of its ancient past. 

On different outings we climb and explore three different tors (a tor being a rocky outcrop on top of a hill), each in different parts of the the moor. But no matter when we head out to the moors - week day or weekend - there is always a steady stream of cars and people out doing just the same as us. 


Every tor has one or two carparks close by and you can see parked cars glinting in the distance from one tor to the next.

Our first is Sharp Tor, located near the road. Here we find ourselves walking downhill before we actually start to climb towards a pile of rocks outlined at the top of a hill. From a distance, we can see the grass tracks leading up but when we are amongst the silvery green bracken and brightly flowering gorse, it's easy to lose sight of them and find ourselves in a prickly situation. 

It takes only 30 minutes or so to reach the pile of large granite boulders - some stacked untidily against each other and dug into the hillside and others with deeply etched wrinkles that make them look like elderly pancake stacks. We clamber to the top of the pile and realise we are quite high up with hills and valleys spread out all around us.

To my great excitement, we discover a letterbox - our first. This is a favourite hobby of people (known as 'Boxers') who visit the moor. Letterboxes are little waterproof containers that hold a booklet, pen, stamp and stamp pad. There are literally hundreds hidden all over the moor amongst the rocks and other strategic locations. True letterboxes hold map co-ordinates to take you to the next letterbox - for this sport you need a map and reasonable knowledge of the moor. 

I stumble upon this one by accident, as it catches my eye, wedged in between granite stones. We sign the book and stamp a page in our notebook - it will be our little souvenir of Sharp Tor. Letterbox enthusiasts can collect 100 stamps in their notebooks and become a member of the Letterbox 100 Club. Amazingly, Max finds another one on our way down. Of course, he is fairly non-plussed about it all but checks it out anyway.  

On our way back to the carpark, I spot a circle of stones peering out from the bracken. This must be the remains of a hut circle, I suggest, focusing my camera. Sure enough, it is exactly that - a circle of large stones that once formed the outer base for a hut built from poles meeting at the centre with a thatched roof - they looked like big round tents, with a hole in the very top of the roof to allow smoke to escape.

There are 200 or more tors on the Dartmoor; they are all different heights, shapes and sizes - most are named - some due to their shape, others by their location or from folklore.

Another outing takes us to Haytor Rocks. There is a visitor centre by the edge of the road, toilets, and plenty of cars in the carpark. Dartmoor ponies and their foals graze nearby, oblivious to the numbers of people trekking up and down the hillside. Instead, they continue to forage for grass amongst the gorse and bracken, ears forward and heads down. 

We set off up the hill - it's a long steady climb but quite easy. Haytor is an imposing granite formation. We watch as some scramble up and over its boulders while others, with ropes and climbing equipment, attempt to crawl up its steepest rocky face. 






I read somewhere that visitors scrambling over the tors wear away the granite faster than what nature does. 

Behind the tor, we make our way down the other side towards an old quarry and discover some very unusual granite tramway lines. In 1820, eight miles of rectangular, flanged granite track was opened to transport quarried granite to Stover Canal, where it was then taken by boats to Teignmouth docks. With a lofty elevation of nearly 1,500  feet above sea level, horses were used behind the wagons to slow them down as they were moved down the hillside.

Large quarries were left behind with huge gaping holes in the ground. Haytor Quarry is one such quarry that has been taken over by nature (it was worked until the 1860s). It now sits like a secret garden, peaceful and sheltered, tucked into the hillside complete with pond and trees - the perfect picnic spot.

Another outing takes us to Postbridge where we plan to join a 2 & 1/2 hour guided walk through Bellever Forest to see Dartmoor ponies. After an early start to reach Postbridge, we find the walk has been canceled as a group of young people have broken in, camped out in the forest and had a 'rave' overnight.


So it's time for coffee, to rethink our plans, at the Postbridge Post Office.

While still deciding what we will do, we visit the medieval 'clapper' bridge across the road. The word clapper is thought to have originated from Anglo-Saxons with the word 'cleaca' meaning stepping stones. It's an amazing construction with two central granite piers and spanned by three large flat granite slabs which form the bridge. 


Back in the carpark, we watch as a group of people, clad in walking boots, leg protectors, jackets and clutching hiking poles, get themselves organised and then head off down the road and through the paddocks.

Not wanting to miss out on a walk on the moors, we consult the Dartmoor Info centre, who sells us a map book and sends us down the road and through the paddocks on the Waterfall Walk. It's about 5 miles (8km) to do the circuit, following up through the East Dart River valley. After around 3/4 of an hour of trudging through stinking mud, sinking in bog up to our ankles, and fighting our way through gorse - some over waist height, we finally understand why the group was so well prepared. 


Getting nowhere fast, we realise that we didn't leave a note on the dash to say where we were heading. We have water but no food. With stinging legs and wet feet, we decide that we didn't really want to see the waterfall afterall and don't really want to get lost. So we trudge our way back to the carpark for a hearty picnic lunch in the sun but not before emerging our stinking, muddy feet and sandals into the cool, clear stream for a quick wash.

The Dartmoor, we know, is not a place to be underestimated. While the sun may shine back in Ashburton and the moor seems docile enough, it is often several degrees colder, shadowed with cloud and blowing a brisk gale. 


Maybe a pair of good sturdy walking boots is in order and might just come in handy when we head to Scotland.

We drive on to Hounds Tor determined to have a successful outing. The carpark is almost overflowing. A small caravan calling itself the Hound of the Basket Meals is on standby with snacks, icecreams and coffee at the ready. 

We follow others up a grassy track leading to the top and, once there, enjoy a full 360 deg view of moor and farmland. We also visit the remains of an ancient village in the valley below. The granite skeleton remains of what once were houses are now a pretty sight covered in grasses, moss, flowering heather and gorse. It's hard to imagine what it was like living in this beautiful but remote and, sometimes, inhospitable land. 

Animals also shared lodgings in these primitive homes...

Before we leave, I manage to convince Max that we should go look for a roadside 18th century grave belonging to a poor young servant girl, Kitty Jay, who became pregnant and was so ashamed that she hung herself. Because she committed suicide, she wasn't allowed to be buried in a churchyard but instead was buried at a crossroad where her troubled spirits could not find their way back. 


After a 15 minute brisk walk along a country road, we find Kitty's grave. Someone has laid some fresh flowers against the worn headstone.  Fresh flowers are left regularly but no-one knows who puts them there. 


The Dartmoor reveals its many mysteries and curiosities, like this, to keep visitors, like us, both amazed and intrigued...

Fresh flowers and coins offer a little cheer on 
Kitty Jay's lonely roadside grave...

Flags, flowers and history in the towns of Devon...

Our base in Ashburton is perfect for exploring the towns of Devon. Each town has its own inner beauty and local attractions. 

English towns suffer from the same problems that New Zealand towns do. Smaller towns and villages must find ways to keep their communities alive, using history, specialised businesses or industry to attract people. Ashburton is a mecca for antiques and is well known for its boutique shops. It has just won a  fight against a supermarket chain from setting up on it's boundaries - a victory for the survival of small businesses here. 

One thing that stands out in both England, and France, is the picturesque floral decorations in their towns. Flowers in baskets, flowers on windowsills, huge towers with tiers of flowers - petunias are popular, geraniums and pansies too. All lending their bright and beautiful colours to make these towns attractive to visitors. Pubs are especially good at providing an attractive floral facade. 

These are a few of the towns we've visited: Torquay, Newton Abbot, Exeter, Oakhampton, Tavistock and ....

Totnes: Here we visit our first A & P show one sunday afternoon. It's a reasonable day out - a good part of it spent waiting, with hundreds of others, in traffic to reach the grounds. It's a typical country show - people and animals everywhere. A voice booms over the loudspeaker - a horse and gig driving display in this ring; a dog race in that ring; Jacobs sheep, which Max describes in colours vanilla, chocolate and caramel, in those pens; rabbits in this tent; poultry in that tent; and don't forget the craft tent and the wild bird display!

This barn owl is much bigger than it looks,
just under two feet high!

Totnes, the second oldest borough in England, is delightful. It's small town centre offers alternative-style shopping with an abundance of art, health, and organic food shops, plus a big outdoor market every Friday. 

Totnes is also home to Norman Castle, which towers above the town on its steep mound

Young hopefuls wait for the crabs to bite...

Salcombe: This quaint seafaring town tumbles down the hill to a tiny, narrow shopping area and harbour. Salcombe is a popular resort for holidaymakers and those with a passion for all things boating & sea related. Fishing for crabs is a favourite past-time for kids and their adults. We watch as lines are lowered into the water with rotting bacon tied to the end to tempt the cautious crustaceans. 

Dartmouth: Another seaside town, a pretty little port, which is home to the Dartmouth Castle and the Britannia Royal Naval College. Unfortunately, it's a little late in the day and we stop only for a  coffee. 

Teignmouth: On suggestion from a friend, Neil, we visit one of Devon's oldest seaside resorts. Big waves crash on the award winning sandy Town Beach.  An old Victorian pier still stands and is a focal point. A quick peer into the amusement arcade tells us that its Victorian-style leisure activities have long been forgotten in exchange for modern technology. Colourful beach huts line the Point towards the estuary and along Back Beach, boats line up on the sand. 

Art trail: Butterflies made from recycled CDs

We try crab sandwiches and, shelter under umbrellas (it's raining again) as we explore the streets and wander along the waterfront, following an art trail as we go.

Brixham: A charming fishing port with colour-washed houses stacked neatly around it's hills. A statue of Prince William of Orange guards the Quay. It was in this little port that the prince first set foot in England - he later became King William III. It's a Thursday and Pirate Day - pirate  music, games, and dress-ups gives this pretty seaside resort a fun and festive atmosphere. Combined with a sunny day (becoming a little rare these days), it's a lovely outing.

Bovey Tracey: A Dartmoor village, Bovey Tracey is small but what it lacks in size, it makes up in floral decorations. The village centre is a pretty and colourful sight for visitors. Here we visit the The House Of Marbles, an extraordinary museum and studio housed in an old pottery factory. It's completely free to visit and park, and even has a cafe. We spend over an hour here, glossing over all the different types and sizes of marbles, reminiscing about old times when we had our own marbles as kids. There's also a glass blowing studio and a pottery museum.

Moretonhampstead & Chagford: Both Dartmoor villages lie in some of the most beautiful English countryside we have seen. Rolling green hills and valleys with roadsides full of summer's bounty with flowering hemlock, golden rod, tansy, Queen Anne's Lace, and aster to name just a few. Stone walls crisscross the land and thatched cottages suddenly appear out of nowhere.

Chagford is charming and based around it's small square and the distinctive octagenal 'Pepper Pot' Market House. We discover two of the most amazing, well- stocked hardware shops we have ever seen, here in the middle of nowhere! James Bowden and Webbers stand side by side and both are full of everything you could possibly need - farm clothing ( an entire room dedicated to gumboots) tools, kitchenware, sports equipment, and so much more. 

Each shop is like a cavern and reaches far back into the building. Up little stairways, we discover secret rooms, to the left and right, all full of stock. It's a magical find and we learn that these two shops are famous and bring visitors from afar.

Princeton: At 1300 feet above sea level, Princeton is the highest town on the Dartmoor. It is famous for it's ties with Sir Arthur Conan's novel, Hounds of the Baskervilles, and for its Dartmoor Prison. The prison is an austere and forbidding looking collection of stone buildings - prisoners must have thought and perhaps still do think that they've been sent to another world - such is the isolation and drab landscape of the area. After being shown around the area by young man whose surname was Baskerville, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's mind got to work and the first few lines of hi famous novel were written while he stayed at Princeton. We visit the prison museum but neither of us are inspired to buy any prison momentoes - if anything it's mildy depressing and we are pleased to leave and find a nice stream to have our picnic lunch.

Widecombe in the Moor: A delightful little moor village not far from Ashburton. After driving through winding roads to reach it, we are surprised to find it bustling with visitors and a couple of tourist buses tucked into its carpark. 


There are at least three little shops dedicated to souvenirs, a pub, two cafes, a visitor centre, a church (the Church of St Pancras, also known as the Cathedral of the Moor) and a handful of houses.

Buckfast: This tiny village is home to the Benedictine monks in Buckfast Abbey, a living monastery  in a truly peaceful setting. Here we enjoy strolling through the gardens, viewing an art exhibition and browsing in the three shops - gifts, books and a monastic produce shop. The produce comes from monasteries and convents from throughout Europe. We buy a jar of French creamed honey  - yumm, and some French perfume - all made by monks or nuns.

Plymouth: The Flavour Fest is on when we visit this large seaside town. Brightly coloured stalls offering all types of yummy food is on offer. We share a spicy sausage wrapped in a bun and some delicious Thai. We explore Drake Circus, a huge shopping centre with everything you could possibly want. A walk up through gardens takes us to the Plymouth Hoe where we view the entrance to the harbour and overlook the newly restored Tinside Lido, a seaside salt water swimming pool. 
















We continue our walk around the bay to the Barbican, Plymouth's historic port. Here we find the wharf busy with yachts and people taking part in the 2011 Fastnet Race, sponsored by Rolex. It's a hive of activity and yachts all sizes.










Without the use of our trusty Renault Scenic, we would not have been able to discover the heartland of Devon - its wonderful towns and its crowning jewel, the Dartmoor. A big thank you to our homesit hosts, Anna, Ian, Isaac and Angus, for loaning us their car.