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.

Moorish pursuits...

Each day we settle into the routine of letting the hens (two Sidney Silkies, one Bantam and two bigger hens - one black and one brown - all named) out by 8.30 in the morning, checking their water bowl, and giving them their daily rations of wheat and corn mix; checking in on the rats to see what they have been up to overnight and then checking the guinea pigs - refreshing their water and chopping up a little gourmet breakfast of carrot, corn, red capsicum, apple or orange and then topped with a handful of parsley. 

The little pigs munch into theirs with great relish while the rats come out to see what's on offer and then one (the oldest) will grab a tidbit and rush off down the ramps to the bottom of the cage and into a plastic tunnel to munch away in private or store it away for an afternoon snack.

It is with a great burst of energy that we venture out on the bikes to explore the Dartmoor for the first time. Little do we realise how high the moor is and how steep the lanes become, rising hundreds of metres above sea level. With map in hand and an outline of our destination, we set out for Buckland in the Moor. It doesn't look too far on the map and we decide we will do a round trip through Widecombe in the Moor and come back to Ashburton. 

We pedal up Bowden Hill, behind Ashburton, and past Lavender House Hotel, a nondescript building - not the cute lavender encased cottage that I had imagined. We wind our way through narrow stone-banked lanes, watching out for traffic from both front and behind - ready to dismount at a moments notice if a massive tractor or vehicle should suddenly appear around a blind bend. A crossroads of sorts takes us onto a wider road but starts to climb rather steeply. I manage to stay on my bike as we rise above the village though avenues of tall, leafy trees. 

Needing a breather, I make an excuse to photograph the valley below and scramble up a bank to a fence line only to be stopped in my tracks when I actually lay eyes on my first fox. 


Sadly, this fox is in a very bad state of decomposition - I clearly see the remains of its furry red body and its once cunning jaw of teeth. I imagine that it has been hit by a car and crawled up this bank to die or perhaps some ruthless farmer had tossed its dead carcass or injured body up off the road out of the way. 

Not everyone here likes foxes. It is illegal to hunt foxes and kill them but from I poster I see recently of a fox savagely torn to pieces by hunting dogs, it still continues. Animal rights groups do their best to bring an awareness to locals and visitors alike to protect this little animal from its human predators. Needless to say, I have readily donated to their cause.

We continue up the hill through dappled sun and twitching shadows that reach across the road. Finally, I get off and push my bike when the gradient reaches something around 20% or more. Once at the top, we then find ourselves sailing downhill in a short-lived euphoria - with me oblivious to the fact that I will have to pedal back up again. Max loves the hills, whereas I endure them but am secretly pleased I have developed some good muscle tone over the last few months with all our walking. 

We wind our way, whizzing to the bottom of the hill into a small valley, passing a sign that says Buckland in the Moor. We are desperate for a coffee but there is no cafe and there is no village that we can see, without having to climb up yet another hill. 

We stop at a bridge and there nestled into the hillside is a hamlet - a cluster of three, very cute, thatched cottages. One is being re thatched and we chat with the owner, who takes pity on us and invites us into his garden for a glass of grapefruit juice to quench our thirst.

We meet his wife and family, and watch the thatchers at work with great interest. The stacks of reeds for this home come all the way from Turkey and it costs 25,000 pounds to renew, lasting just 20 years due to the dampness of the surrounding landscape. 

The cottage, his wife tells us, is over 1000 years old and was left to her by an old aunt. It was originally a one up and one down before they extended it to house their growing family, building on the original foundation excavated during an archaeological dig. 

We decide not to carry on to Widecombe. Our ride back home is much shorter than the hour or more it took to reach our destination - after an initial climb, it's all downhill and takes us barely 30 minutes to get back to Ashburton again!

A drive back out this way a few days later reveals St Peter's Church and more thatched cottages just around the corner and up the hill a bit but, alas, still no cafe at Buckland in the Moor. 

The church, however, reveals a few curiosities: its bell tower houses a clock with, instead of the usual gold Roman numerals, the words: MY DEAR MOTHER; and a recent newspaper article tells about young local people taking an interest in learning the art of bell tolling.

And judging from the bell ringing that bounces off the hills that surround Ashburton, sometimes coming from both churches, it wouldn't surprise us if there was a bit of fierce competition. 

So it really isn't surprising to discover The Guild of Devonshire Ringers exist - a group of folk, dedicated to the melodious art of bell ringing, who come from all parts of Devon. Each group with their own style of ringing and bringing together all age groups.

It all adds to the unique experience of living in a small English country village...

A taste of English life in the countryside...



Siouxsie, with her cute little dumbo ears, is friendly
and inquisitve, and a favourite of mine...

Our travels take us to Ashburton, Devon, where we will house and pet sit for five weeks (until the end of August, while the owners have a well-deserved break). We have a menagerie of three guinea pigs, three rats and five chickens to look after. Between cleaning, feeding, petting and breaking up pig fights, it keeps us busy enough but not so that we don't have time to explore this beautiful countryside.

Ashburton is a small, picturesque town nestled in a little valley within the boundary of the Dartmoor National Park. Around 4200 people live here, and among the 78 shops that service the town, a large number, all independently owned, sell antiques or specialist gifts. And my mission, should I  choose to accept, is to make sure I visit each and every one of them, before we leave!

Located on North, West and East streets, along with the butchery, bakeries, fish deli, greengrocer, pharmacy, cafes, pubs, and many others, this ecclectic collection of shops most certainly adds to the heart and soul of the town and is a magnet for holiday makers as they explore the Dartmoor and its surrounding areas.

The town has an ancient background. Pre-historic man once lived in the area, according to items found, i.e. flints, arrow stones and other objects. The Saxons also settled here as they set about conquering Devon from the Celts in the seventh century.

In later times, Ashburton was designated as a 'Stannary Town', when the mining of tin in the moors created a 'tin rush'. It prospered not only in tin but also as a market and woollen mill town. Now, of course, it is known for its antiques.

For us, to stop and spend some time in one place is a welcome relief. Our homesit hosts very generously loan us their car and bikes, which gives us some independence to explore Devon and the Dartmoor, all of which is right on our doorstep.

Our new home is narrow but three-storeyed and was built c1700s as part of a bigger house which was split into two in 1841. All the houses along our part of the street are neatly stacked against each other - some sharing roof lines and others narrow passageways that lead to the backyards as does ours. The yard has some original cobblestoning and shares an old stone building with a neighbour. All the houses in our block back onto the River Ashburn, a small stream that meanders through and under the town.

A local tells us that our passageway with its lockable door, is public and can be accessed by anyone who wishes to draw water from the stream. However, our backyard doesn't appear to have an opening to the stream but others, we discover, along the street, do have half-hidden little gateways that once opened directly into the stream.



St Gudulas Cross is also where the
Ancient Galwell is located - this was
 the site of a well where its water was
 said to have healing powers and
could help people with eye problems

To find out more about the town and keep busy, I join the library and set myself the task of researching, locating and photographing some of the old historical sites around the area. There are many pathways and we love to explore these whether they take us deep into the woods, across farmland or weave through old houses and laneways. Each day we find a new path or lane to explore and build up a circuit of walks around the town.



Stapleton Lane, once known as
Shame Face Lane



The upper North Street, near where we now live, was once a poor part of town.

We discover, on one of our many walks, a little lane that winds up the hill and skirts around behind the shops. In the old days, it was the lane that these poor people used to avoid the shopowners and thus paying their overdue accounts - locals called it Shame Face Lane.

Just four doors away, and to the left from our house, is the Victoria Inn and to the right, perhaps six or seven doors along and across the street, is The Bay Horse. Our house is vegetarian, so to get our meat fix we visit the old Vic for Pie night on Wednesdays (Pork & Sage or Beef, Pork & Stiltern) and Steak & Wine night on Saturdays. It seems to works quite well.





We are also within easy walking distance to the shops and visit daily for fresh bread at the Co-op, fresh vegetables from the greengrocer or fresh fish from the Fish Deli.



There are at least five pubs in this small town. We've been to three and enjoy meeting and chatting with the locals and listening to their diverse accents and stories. We are always surprised to find dogs in the pubs. Canines are privileged over here. In the UK, they go everywhere with their owners. We see dogs in pubs, dogs on trains, dogs in cafes, dogs in clothing shops and dogs on buses. We can't ever imagine it happening in NZ.

We also see a small sign at the Co-op: Home wanted for a small, deaf white collie dog; one year old, good-natured, short-haired, toilet-trained - can be let off in fields and woods - won't go far - comes back easily. Owner unable to keep.

It's a huge temptation to give the number a call and just take a look. But after checking out how much it will cost to transport it back to NZ and put a dog in quarantine, we decide not to call, therefore avoid all temptation. It's not easy, though.

One day, while giving my hair some love and attention, I chat with the hairdresser. She tells me she has just acquired a plot where she will keep a variety of animals - hens, ducks, pigs and even some geese to keep guard. Geese are particularly good at making such a din that they scare away foxes. She says she will also line her fence with some human hair to keep the wiley red critters at bay.

Another client joins in and chats about the difficulty of eating animals she has raised (she leaves them in the freezer until she can't remember who they were) but the hairdresser is quite adamant that she won't have a problem. And I pipe in that, back home, all our farm-type animals got to retire on our farmlets - we couldn't bear to eat them. They both smile politely... what strange people live in NZ, they must wonder.

Every opportunity to talk to a local is a window into daily life experienced here in Ashburton and one not to be missed.

Over the next few weeks we will explore the little villages in the moors, experience an English A & P show, walk the tors, bike the hills, go letterboxing, have close encounters of the hoofed kind, find the friendliest cafe in town, and visit towns and sights in Devon... stay tuned... we might even see a little red fox!