A Sunday afternoon stroll

A short shopping session in Plymouth for some items for our forthcoming Norwegian trip and then off to Dartmoor for a Sunday afternoon walk. It seems ages since we've been on the moor and it was a treat to get out and into the landscape again. Just three miles but a walk that took us through an area replete in 5 millennia of human history, from 3000BC to today. All that and a stop in a pub at the end. What could be better? Walking, talking, thinking, living: our adventure our way.

Our starting point was the Scout Hut at Gutter Tor. Although not that far from the honeypot of Burrator Reservoir, it is a lonely part of the moor and has an alluring isolated feeling. One of its attractions, really. Our route was quite straightforward and relatively easy as we didn't feel like being adventurous and walk 'off piste' when it was so wet underfoot. We headed due east along the track to the Eylesbarrow Tin Mine but turned south before we got that far to go across Ditswworthy Warren, through Drizzle Combe, down to Ditsworthy Warren House, thence back between Gutter Tor and Gutter Mire to our starting point.

The open moor looking west-ish towards Sheepstor on the left, with Sharpitor to the right. Fairly typical terrain for our walk and typically overcast skies.

Every now and again in this part of the moor you'll come across a granite pillar such as this, with PCWW 1917 cut into one side. It's a Plymouth City Water Works marker, delineating the catchment area for the nearby Burrator Reservoir. I've read that there are 30 or so of these and some people make a habit of 'bagging' them. Not quite as exciting as trig point bagging, methinks.

The iconic resident of the moor, the Dartmoor pony, but I don't think that this one is a pure bred. It doesn't look stocky enough to me but what do I know? Do these ponies sense a connection here with their equine ancestors?  Probably nay.

Although we did not walk as far as the main complex of the old Eylesbarrow tin mine, we did pass the erstwhile smelter building. What can be seen in this photograph is the granite-covered flue that lead to a smoke stack at the end of the run. The flue took away the fumes and smoke from a smelter and a blast furnace, which worked with the assistance of a water wheel powered bellows. 

Some more structures around the smelter area. I wondered whether these columns carried a launder at one time, possibly taking water from the leat that fed the water wheel already mentioned. The old miners toiled hard in almost unimaginable conditions, whilst we moan when we lose a data connection or our new Gore-Tex boots rub. We have very little to complain about really, do we? Not when standing here with an open mind.

A leat with a mysterious purpose. Mysterious in the sense that we couldn't figure out where it was going as there didn't seem to be any discernible industrial activity on its route.

No, not another PCWW marker. Not too sure what this is there for but, given the effort involved in erecting it, there must have been some purpose. In the background is Drizzle Combe Down with its Bronze Age stone rows and circles. Look carefully and you should be able to make out three upright stones. These mark the extremities of double rows of shorter stones, which are some of the longest on Dartmoor. This present stone doesn't seem to line-up with these in any way so is unlikely to be connected.

Look carefully at the hillside and you can make out an oblong structure. This is an artificial 'pillow mound' or 'bury' built to provide easy burrowing for rabbits. From mediaeval times, rabbits were 'farmed' in warrens for their meat and fur. The advantage of using marginal land on Dartmoor is that the rabbits were kept well away from cropped fields and they could also be kept in reasonable control by natural features such as rivers, streams and ditches.

This is the 'back garden' of Ditsworthy Warren House, showing one of the two dog kennels incorporated into the stone walls. I'm pretty sure that they were more comfortable for the dogs than they might appear at first glance - out of the wind, dry and probably quite warm. I wouldn't feel sorry for the occupants, which would have been hardy working farm dogs not pampered pets.

Ditsworthy Warren House, where the warriner lived. Next to the main house is the barn where the rabbit carcasses were stored. The house, dating from around 1800, ceased to be be used for its original function at around the time of WW2 and is nowadays used by the MOD as sshelter for troops on exercises on the moor. It has a reputation for being a disturbed location and rumours say that someone or something paces here, restless and relentless.

Around these parts, it can be quite difficult to make out the original landscape due to the hundreds of years of metal-ore seeking activities. Here's a typical 'valley' produced by tin streaming, possibly dating from the middle-ages. Just imagine, if you will, that all of the excavations were done by pick and shovel, or their medieval equivalents.



Lots of snowdrops around now and these were in the graveyard of the church at Meavy. Sadly, the church was closed but the pub next door was open. A drink and a bag of roast beef crisps - we know how to live on the edge.





And this will be the last time that I'll start and end a walk cursing my GPS and ranting about getting a new one. I am and it should be with me in time for our next walk. Toys for the boys? Oh yes but they are very useful

Four seasons in a day walk from Crow's Nest

Waking up to drizzle was not a particularly inspiring start to the day, but it was forecast to be reasonable for the morning, deteriorating in the early afternoon. However as we drove up the lanes towards our starting point just off Bodmin Moor, the clouds and mist descended and we passed through a very heavy downpour of hail. But, despite that, it was not cold and to my surprise, seventeen of us turned up for the walk, all well clad with waterproofs and walking sticks. And a good walk it turned out to be, even if we did experience four seasons on the way around - sunshine and blue skies, rain, hail, sleet and thunder and lightning. It was one of those walks where you feel very virtuous for getting out there and doing it.

The walk involved a climb up onto Bodmin Moor from the Crows Nest Pub which was the former Counting House for the huge Caradon Mine system that we'd be going through. We did around 5.5 miles, with a lot less mud than we had anticipated.

The transmission mast on the top of Caradon Hill loomed over us as we set off. An unusual angle for us as we normally see it from the other side. We've got a good view of it from our garden.

Jope’s Shaft, Clymo’s Shaft, Rules' Shaft, New Engine Shaft and Kittow’s Shaft - all part of the Caradon Mine complex in the Gonamena Valley, our route leading up to the moor. This whole area was given World Heritage Status for its mining remains in 2006 and is a place we never tire of walking through.

A new addition - a safety grill over an old shaft. Previously it was open and this, and others, always gave a frisson of excitement when walking around this area. Will we lose someone into a hole or not? Better do a headcount. Where's Mary?

On one side of the Gonamena Valley you are flanked by fascinating mine relics and engine houses, on the other a desolate moonscape of spoil heaps. The route is right through the middle of all this in a lush wooded stream valley. A stream that later becomes the River Seaton, notorious for its lack of fish and sparse invertebrate life due to contamination from the minerals still leaching out of the spoil heaps. 

This might look like a stream, and for all intents and purposes it is, but it's actually one of the tracks down the valley. Luckily our route brought us onto the track through the stile on the left and a delicate balancing act on the bank kept our feet dry.

We've passed this house many times and have invariably muttered something along the lines of "this would be great if someone would do it up". Perhaps the solitary ladder is a sign of someone doing just that? The house itself is at the top of the steepest part of the inclined trackway and has stables around the back of it for the horses that worked the ropeway for the trucks.

The last few hundred yards of the inclined trackway are relatively flat and the old sleeper beds are convenient stepping stones.

Just outside of the village of Minions, the engine house of the South Phoenix Mine now contains an exhibition of local history. It's also a convenient spot to stop for lunch as it offers some cover and warmth.

Poor proof reading on one of the posters in the exhibition. It would have been corrected if I'd had a marker pen with me. Perhaps I ought to carry one in my rucksack for future transgressions?

"Ellen Louise Ashton. 1971-2010. Live your life". I do, Ellen, I do. And I hope you lived yours.

Starlings on a telegraph wire. No doubt wondering where the rain had gone. They didn't have to wonder too long as it was soon back.

Looking roughly northwards, the granite quarry of Minions is clearly visible, with the iconic Cheesewring to the top left. The last time we were up there Mrs P was blown off her feet and broke her wrist.

Almost at the end of the walk and a convenient arch under which to shelter from the rain.

As seems to be typical of our walks recently, we get a downpour just as we get back to the cars. I missed the bolt of lightning that whizzed across the sky in front of us but certainly didn't miss the loud clap of thunder that followed.

 

What the artist was really thinking

A few more, probably the last, reworking of the titles of some Old Masters. What the artist was really thinking as he daubed paint on the canvass.

Sorry for the confusion, folks. These are my thoughts on the current political situation in the UK. If you are looking for the 'Fire and Fury' book on Trump, you might try our favourite bookshop in Liskeard. They'll have a copy.

Henry VIII doing a Harvey Weinstein.

Franz Joseph I after 6 weeks attending Weight Watchers.

When you are halfway across the Alps and you realise that you forgot to pack your Imodium.

Prince Albert showing off his 'Royal Family Employee of the Month' awards.

Attention all. Before we start marching, there's a few Health and Safety matters I need to bring to your attention. First, in case of a fire, the exits are .......

Louis XIII leading his court's mandatory sexual harassment training.

Henry VIII pulling a Harvey Weinstein.

And Caesar thought that the senators were throwing him a surprise retirement party.

Not the best day for a walk but we did it!

Given the less-than-attractive weather forecast, sensible people stayed indoors in the dry and warm. But as six of us were not sensible enough to be daunted by the prospect of getting wet and cold, our regular monthly walk went ahead. And, at the end of it, we were very glad that we did. What could be better than getting out and enjoying the countryside?


Our route: starting and ending in Milton Abbot and negotiating a mixture of fields (wet fields), country lanes and green lanes (wet green lanes). Clocked at just under 7 miles, it felt more because of the leg-sapping tramping across soggy fields and a few generous inclines. But it was enjoyable and one to be repeated when the sun is shining.

St Constantine's church at Milton Abbot. It dates from the 14th century but we didn't have time to visit. Something for the future?

Looking west towards Bodmin Moor. It struck me just how many man-maid things were reaching up from the landscape - telegraph poles, storage silos on farms, the tower of Dunterton church and the ever increasing number of wind turbines.

In the hamlet of Meadwell, we came across a group of cottages with this name. Who was Sophia? Who had named the cottages after her? Some doting husband? A secret admirer?

Across the way was the mirror image called Arthur Cottages. Arthur? Who was he and what was his relationship, if any, to Sophia? I haven't been able to find out but I'm speculating that these are the names of two members of the Kelly family, the local 'nobility'. It is probable that it was the Kelly family who built these houses in the first place for their estate workers.  I could be wrong but it seems reasonable.

Roadside artwork, with no visible attribution. It's always pleasing to come across something quirky.

Despite the overcast skies, rain clouds, rain showers and whatever else nature threw at us, one constant feature of the walk were the views. Here's one to the east-ish with St Michael's church at Brentor, with Dartmoor beyond.

Finger post signs are, of course, not uncommon but, as a relatively rare feature, it was interesting to come across this one that had the points of the compass marked. At some point in the past, before decent road maps and sat navs, it was obviously important for travellers to know the direction in which they were going, as well as the names of towns en route.



The snowdrops are getting into their stride now. Although there has been lots of rain, the temperatures have been relatively mild, resulting in a burst of activity in the plant world.



Almost missed this trig point lurking in the hedge by the side of the road. Quite a big chip off the top but otherwise in good condition.

The flush plate gives the number S5681. A quick Google reveals that it's located at Ramsdown Plantation and dates from 1950. It's a third order point, that filled in the gaps between the second order stations, that filled in the gaps between the primary pillars. So, now you know. There's more to these concrete blocks than meets the eye.

On the scale of trigophilia, I reckon I'm pretty low down, although my writings might suggest otherwise. Take a look at Trigpointing.uk to see how obsessive some people are. As an example, I give you the young lady above who, when she saw S5681, "just had to give it a hug". And upload a photograph of this romantic moment onto the Trgpointing website, just one of many such episodes in her life. Although I will appreciate a trigpoint if I come across one, I wouldn't go too far out of my way to find it. Unlike some people who seem to spend all of their spare time 'bagging' them. Having said that, bagging them is a great incentive to get out into the countryside and take some exercise.

Mud, mud, glorious mud. A pretty typical paddling-in-the-mire part of the walk. Hooray for good boots. Lots of sloshing but completely dry feet.

Looking west-ish towards Kit Hill, just above where we live. Looks like the weather there was not good when this photograph was taken. Not a surprise as the weather was not good everywhere.

With superb timing, the final shower came on just in time to get us wet before we got in to our cars to go home.