Moorland Ramblings

It was one of those rarest of rare occasions – myself and my wife were off work, and our daughter was in nursery – we had the day to ourselves to do whatever we wanted (within reason). Obviously, my mind immediately went to hiking over Dartmoor.

However, any thoughts of all day hikes cross miles of open moorland were soon put to bed by my wife, who, recovering from a nasty virus and being firmly in the first trimester of her second pregnancy did not want to do anything that involved a lot of effort. This meant any walk we did would have to be relatively short distance, along a path and definitely flat. As such, I set to the task and found us a relative short walk that was along a decent(ish) path and was definitely (mostly) flat.

And so, driving away form the nursery we headed to the beautiful little village of Belstone. Now, Belstone has many attractions – an amazing pub, a really good tearoom and has some stocks (for those who step out of line). Perhaps most importantly though, Belstone is the start of numerous, wild and beautiful walks.

Perched in the middle of two valleys and two rivers, the small village is inhabited by free roaming cattle, horses and sheep (and humans) and is full of history, curiosity, and a warm welcome. The village itself is well worth a visit but for today, we parked near the Tors Inn and walked south out of the village towards the moor.

Taking the righthand side of a small fork out of the village, you enter onto the moor and are immediately greeted by the sight of Belstone Tor rising majestically and imposingly ahead of you. The temptation to climb to its height is strong, but I remember this is an easy and flat walk and so simply follow the path around its eastern base.

Following this path, trying not to panic the newly born lambs, we come across our first intriguing feature. The base of the tor is strewn with the abandoned clutter of a previous stonecutting industry (the abundance of rock that was easily accessible form the village was too big a draw for many in the past). Catching my eye from the path is a sail shaped rock that I have to investigate further. Surrounded by evidence of the stonecutting works this stone stands tall and proud. I have absolutely no idea what it was for. I’ve googled a lot since I got home and can find no reference to it nor any evidence that it even exists. Whatever it was for (and I speculate it was used as a water run, and angle setter, a sharpening block – all my wife patiently listened whilst wishing she was anywhere else) the curiosity it fostered in me was soon replaced by awe.

As we continue along the path, rounding the corner into Taw Marsh, the true wonder of Dartmoor opens up. The view of open moorland, being grazed by sheep and cows, bounded by Higher, Oke, Steeperton and Hound Tors was spectacular if not slightly arrogant in its splendour. Dartmoor wasn’t quite finished there however, this view was then set to the soundtrack of a cuckoo, providing an ever-present reminder of the emergence of Spring.

We continued along this path for a few (3 to be precise) KMs and then but down to the river next to the ford noted on OS Maps. From here, a clear path that has been created by the footsteps of those that went before us took us back to the village along the river’s edge. The River Taw has been immortalised in Henry Willamson’s ‘Tarka the otter’, after which the Tarka Trail (which we weren’t on but does run along much of the River’s length) is named. Our walk alongside the river came just a few days after the BBC ran a feature on the pollution of our rivers with sewage (released by Water Companies – I suspect I’ll write a post on this one day but honestly it makes me so angry I probably won’t be able to write anything that isn’t swear words) and as we amble alongside it, being calmed by the meandering, calm waters, I can’t help but reflect on the apparent clarity the water displays.

We follow the course of the river back into Belstone village, returning to our car to begin the journey home to an afternoon of gardening and housework (for me – my wife went for a nap). But not after one last view of Cosdon Hill and the Taw Cleave, one last reminder of the beauty of this area.