Moorland Ramblings

High on the hills of the moor, watching over the village of Manaton, are the spectacular granite outcrops of Bowerman’s Nose and Hound Tor. The curiously shaped Bowerman’s Nose naturally piques the curiosity of those who wander upon it, and as such has sparked a number of stories as to its origin. The most famous of which is the legend of the Bowerman the Hunter.

Today, Dartmoor is known as one of the most beautiful areas of the UK and its tranquillity and peacefulness have made it a sought-out location for those looking to live among a slower pace of life. This however, has not always been the case. The legend of Bowerman takes us to a time when life on the moor was harsh, before the prosperity brought through tin and wool, and to when life on the moor was dictated by changing seasons, strange tidings and mysterious events. It is in this environment that we find Bowerman and from where our tale begins.

Bowerman was known to the local folk as a tall man with the strength of ten and the speed of a horse. He was known as a hunter whose skill was unmatched and would ride across Eastern Dartmoor with a pack of Hounds so fierce that they were relentless in the pursuit of their quarry, and merciless in the kill. Despite his ruthless nature in the hunt, Bowerman had a generosity and kindness to match his size and strength and as such, he was well liked and respected by the moor folk who often prospered through his skill, with meals of meat and stories of the hunt told around a fire.

Despite his popularity among the moor folk, not all who lived on the eastern moor felt positively towards Bowerman. The sloping hills of the eastern moor provided fertile hunting grounds for Bowerman, but they were also known to be home to a coven of cantankerous, lice-infested and careworn witches, whose malevolent mischief struck a combination of awe and fear into the hearts of the locals who lived in the hamlets and villages of the eastern moor.

The witches revelled in the anguish they caused. They would summon plagues of rats to disrupt market days, leaves the eyeballs of dead sheep in the beds of those who farmed them and inflict terrible bouts of sickness and disease on any whose misfortune took them into the glare of the witches. Understandably, the moor folk were scared senseless and the horror held so strong that they dared not even talk about the strange going-ons, for fear of the occurrences increasing. That is, all except for Bowerman, who revelled in telling how he was “afraid of no one, not even the Devil himself”. Through his stories, exaggerated by beer, Bowerman would laugh at the witches and dismiss their evil and encouraged those around him not to do the same.

Naturally, the witches heard of Bowerman’s ambivalence towards them and this made them angry. What made them angrier though, was the growing ambivalence he was fostering in the town folk. You see, witches draw their power from fear. The less they were feared, the less credible they became and so slowly but surely, the power they held over the local folk dwindled. They were becoming immune to even the most powerful brews and fiery spells they could muster.

Although they would never admit it, the witches were scared of Bowerman and what they saw as the strange magic he inspired in others. Something needed to be done. It is for this reason, that late one Autumn evening, with a setting sun behind them, that the witches met with a mist strewn valley. It is a strange quirk of fate, that the topic of their meeting, Bowerman, happened to be hunting in the area at the time. As the witches spoke amongst themselves a brown hare was grazing on the vegetation and the bark of bushes found amongst the clitter of a hill. No sooner had Bowerman’s hounds caught the scent of the hare then they were giving chase.

The hare bolted, twisting and turning as it ran, sprinting down the hill towards a misty valley where the shadows cast large in the ever-fading light, in the hope that this might provide some shelter and protection from the ever-growing inevitability of death. Cheered on by Bowerman and baying eagerly, the hounds continued their deadly chase. As the hunt looked to be nearing its end, the hare burst from the mist into a clearing. It was closely followed by the hounds and just a short way after, Bowerman. Now he was free of the mist, Bowerman could see what lay ahead of him and him hunting pack. There, ahead of him stood the coven of witches, huddled over a bubbling cauldron which seemed to be generating the mist which shrouded their gathering.

Bowerman reigned in his horse to come to an immediate stop but this action was not mirrored by that of the hare of his hounds. Instead, they continued on straight through the middle of the grotesque, repugnant hags. As he saw the chaos this caused, Bowerman himself pushed on straight through the scene, bundling the witches aside and spilling the mist forming contents of their cauldron. To this, the witches cried out a curse with a rasping, wheezy effort and in response, Bowerman laughed and rode off in pursuit of Hounds and their prey.

After gaining back some composure, the witches reset their cauldron and, with a weakened mist forming, resumed their mutterings of revenge on Bowerman, motivated even more by the events of the evening. Amongst the coven was a witch, known from then on as Witch Hare, who held the ability of transforming into a hare, a skill she had gained in exchange for her soul in a meeting with the Devil. Witch Hare, alongside Levara, Vixana, Mary Ann, and the others gathered hatched a dastardly plan of revenge.

Several moons later, as the warmth of autumn faded and the frost started to creep across the moors, Bowerman set out on his final hunt of the season in the hope he could catch enough meat to see himself, his hounds and the village folk he supported saw winter. It was on his return home from the hunt, from which he felt slightly dejected with the size of his catch, that a brown hare ran across his path. This animal was magnificent. It had long black-tipped ears; large, long and powerful hind legs and was of a size Bowerman had never before seen. The capture of this beast would more than make up for the meagre return he had already caught. Immediately therefore, Bowerman let loose his pack who set off, wild with the anticipation of engaging in their favourite game one last time.

The chase did not go as expected however, as the hare continued to outwit the hounds and their huntsman leader. The hare appeared to have an endless energy and led the pack across all the moor, around tors, through bogs and mires and over hill after hill after hill. The flailing pack relentlessly, endlessly and unquestioningly gave chase until finally, the hounds collapsed with exhaustion. Bowerman kept on going, not wanting to accept defeat, but eventually, about a mile further on from his pack, he too fell to his hands and knees in acceptance that today, he had been better by an animal of immense quality. It was at this point that the hare transformed into Witch Hare. It was at this point, that Bowerman realised he wasn’t chasing his prey, but was in fact the target of the hunt.

With a sense of finality and a defiant smile on his lips, Bowerman rose onto his knees and looked round at the faces of the coven he so readily disregarded. With an effort and glee that was born through years of frustration, the witches chanted in unison and cast a most powerful spell of petrification over both Bowerman and his hounds. To this day, you can see the results as the granite outcrops of Bowerman’s Nose and Hound Tor. It continues to be said that on dark, misty, moonless nights Bowerman and his dogs come back to life and can be heard rampaging across Hayne Down, finding a joy in death that sustained them in life.

If you fancy seeing Bowerman and his Hounds for yourself, check out my post Hound Tor and Bowerman’s Nose Walk: Folklore, History, and Panoramic Views for a lovely walk.