Winter Is Coming

The turning back of the hour with its shuttering of days is always a melancholy time, made more poignant by the need to close up the biscuit tin by the sea until next spring.  Because how do you keep your spirits up without this?

Today a couple of bunches of flowers laid the far side of the fence at the highest point of the Ness headland at Shaldon was a stark reminder that for some poor souls there isn't even the prospect of next spring, and I thought of a girl I remember now only as Katie, who was one of my sister's peers and who died at that spot - or rather 80 feet below it - in the late 70s.  

A cormorant lying dead on the Ness beach made me feel sadder still. 

But Ted was having a great time, fearlessly chasing his ball into the sea and out again (funny how still, deep pools cause him great anxiety but swimming out of his depth in crashing waves holds no terror whatsoever), and this pairing of poems on the wall of The Ness House Hotel always raises a smile.  

Winter is coming. Bring it on. 

The Long White Dress of Love

And so to Lydford Gorge for a return visit, at the request of Son the Younger, who was five years old the last time we were there.  But first a visit to Lydford Castle, built in 1195 and notorious as the courthouse and dungeon of Dartmoor prison.  

I have an interest in the prison, as it features in my novel, Dart, which is set on the moor during the Black Death.  Back in the day, Lydford Law was a synonym for injustice.

'I oft have heard of Lydford Law,
How in the morn they hang and draw,
And sit in judgement after' 

wrote William Browne of Tavistock in 1644.

'One of the most annoious, contagious and detestable places wythen this realme,' said Richard Strode, an imprisoned MP in 1510.

Far more agreeable is the neighbouring Castle Inn, which dates from 1550.  

It has some modern stained glass on an ancient theme ... 

... and a very appealing snug, my favourite place to eat lunch.

The gorge is just up the road but another world once you are there.  The first part of the walk takes you through Lambhole Wood, a stretch of ancient oak and hazel woodland along the top edge.  At this time of year it's enough to say that it's breathtaking and let the camera take care of its poetry.

        

Every now and then water spilled across our path and on down the hillside ...    

... and then a longer, sunlit vista over the gorge would open up through gaps in the trees.  

Eventually we wound our way through Watervale Wood to the River Lyd at the bottom of the gorge, and headed back up stream as it tumbled to meet us.  

Above the mine adit, we saw a fallen tree, evidence of the storm which had hit earlier in the week ...   

... and then the magical 100ft White Lady waterfall.  

Oldcleave Wood

A fallen tree trunk hammered with coins

Tunnel Falls  

We were now approaching Devil's Cauldron, the other highlight of our walk through the gorge. 

Lydford Gorge is deep and so full of dripping mosses and ferns that you could imagine yourself in the rainforest.

And then the short climb back to the car.  So beautiful.  I shall try not to leave it another 14 years before I return.  

Halloween on Dartmoor

A late gig followed by a 5am wake up call and I found myself heading to Devon without my lovely anti-arthritis pillow and, more alarmingly, my extensive library of Dartmoor walking books.  'Never mind,' said my companion, 'you can buy one in the Tourist Information Centre in Postbridge'.  Except that when we got there, I discovered that I already owned all of them and baulked at paying £8 for a duplicate.  So we'd be making it up as we went along.  

First, though, a coffee in the East Dart Hotel and a visit to the bridges over a rather full looking river ... 

... and the pleasure of a chance encounter with copies of my novel, Dart, on sale in the post office, right in the middle of the moor and a few miles from where the story is set, in Hexworthy. (Apparently it's been a bit of a best seller in Postbridge this year.)

Then on up the road for a couple of miles where we parked near the pub and set out over Water Hill, which soon turned out to be very well named.  

Sloshiness notwithstanding, there were some grand views in all directions, back the way we'd come (such colours!) ... 

... and looking ahead to Meldon Hill near Chagford. 

 And given that the walk was of an ad hoc nature, it was great to come across the standing stone and very well preserved double stone row on Hurston Ridge.  

The top end of the stone row.

The end stone.

We headed for the drift lane past Metherall on the edge of Fernworthy Forest, the general murkiness of the day proving to be quite photogenic.  

After stopping for a time to watch a kestrel hovering against a background of darkly dripping conifers, we headed down the lane off the moor, Meldon Hill now less than a mile away.  

Then we mountaineered over a stile and negotiated the signposting around Lower and Higher Shapley, before heading back up onto the moor at Hurston.  

At times it was quite hair-raising with fields of cows to cross with Ted (Ted does not like cows) and paths that were more like rivers, complete with waterfalls.  It would appear to have rained a lot on Dartmoor lately.  

Back on the moor we leapt Hurston Water in a feat of derring-do, only to discover that the swollen stream was flowing right alongside the wall below the aptly named Lakeland and we had to cross back over again.  

Eventually we managed to cross it for a third time and gain some higher, drier ground.  

It was a bit rainy from time to time but still very beautiful in a wuthering sort of way.  

We hit the road at  Bennett's Cross, which dates from the 13th century and is one of my favourites.

 View of Cosdon Hill and Kestor Rock.   

And then up ahead loomed the welcome sight of the pub, the third highest - and reputedly the loneliest - in England.  

It being Halloween, we were relieved to see that despite having a spiffy new pub sign, it still goes by its old familiar name of the Warren House Inn, rather than the Slaughtered Lamb.   

Let's take a closer look ... ah yes, the Three Hares. Welcome to Dartmoor!