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...