I thought I was an expert on Dartmoor. As a young child I rode my godfather’s ponies on his land at Buckfastleigh. A few years later our family spent time with our good friend Lizzie who had a caravan on the banks of the river Walkham near Horrabridge, I can remember swinging over a dark pool on a rope then falling in. We watched dippers and kingfishers.


One night, with my brother and grandmother, I watched the moon rise above a certain standing stone; I can’t now remember why.

My grandad’s best friend lives near Tavistock and they go hunting with hawks on the Moor, flying goshawks at rabbits. I have been to the mews lots of times and played with the dogs and ferrets.

Also, on one of our visits I met a prison warden who worked in Princetown, but still I had not been to the capital of Dartmoor or seen the prison.
A bird's eye view of the infamous Dartmoor Prison

On another visit I tried yet again but still failed to reach Princetown. We had camped at Lydford within sight of at least three tors, and spent our time walking the difficult Gorge - three miles up and down the ravine, crossing narrow boardwalks and descending to the pool where the River Lyd crashes down 90 feet at the White Lady Waterfall. It was an extremely tough walk totalling five miles. Thank goodness for The Castle pub at the end of it.

Lydford, once an important stannary (tin-mining) town, is now a pretty village with a moat and bailey castle, a 12th century prison and an ancient church. In the church there is an epitaph inscription to a long dead watchmaker, George Routleigh. It concludes:

He departed this life November 14th 1802 Aged 57
Wound up In hopes of being taken in hand
By his maker And being thoroughly cleaned, repaired
And set agoing In the world to come

On top of the moor　
Yet another attempt to come to terms with Dartmoor, came when we camped near Peter Tavy alongside the River Tavy. Once we had crossed the cattle grids, dodging loose sheep and ponies along the way, we knew we were getting there. We started our walk flanking the Grimstone and Saltridge leat, a mini canal taking drinking water to farms and towns; because they have to run along the contour lines regardless of the terrain they sometimes look as if they are flowing uphill.


Vixen Tor

Across the valley we could see Vixen Tor. The ground was boggy as little rivers criss-cross the land. We passed a massive circular stone once used as a template for wheel making - apparently in the 19th century this was a blacksmith's work place. Eventually the leat turned right, but somehow a tiny stream ran straight ahead. This is achieved by the use of a bullseye stone, a square piece of granite with an inch diameter hole in the middle to control the water flow to farms.

Also at this point is Windy Post Cross, a granite cross standing seven feet tall employed as a marker for the paths used for hundreds of years by travellers crossing the moor.

It occurred to me that the moor is not deserted but full of significant treasures waiting to be found - like the standing stones, henges, cists and circles of Neolithic times. And so it is today, as the moor evolves to meet modern needs. I hate to think what today’s army manoeuvres are leaving behind.

Princetown is the highest, coldest and gloomiest town on the moor and the site of the world famous Dartmoor prison originally housing French and American PoWs from the 19th century. Across the road is the Visitor Centre which used to be the hotel where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stayed whilst he researched his book, The Hound of the Baskervilles. It also includes a small museum about the geology and archaeology of the area and touches on the history of Edward of Woodstock, the hero of Crecy, first Duke of Cornwall, also known as The Black Prince.


Pointing the way - a Dartmoor signpost

We saw Dunabridge pound, one of the most important pounds on Dartmoor used to hold stray animals (a tax or poundage had to be paid for their release). A burst of rain drove us into a strange and ancient granite shelter built into the stone wall. And on to Bellever Bridge sitting beside one of the oldest clapper bridges on the moor, and where the East Dart River meets the West Dart River at a pretty little village called…Dartmeet.

We set off behind Yellowmead Farm, walking along the granite sets of a long since abandoned railway line eventually arriving at water filled Foggin Tor quarry. From here we went across country and up to Swell Tor quarry.

So high were we that we could see the River Tamar and its bridge over 20 miles away. Down below us we watched a Chinook helicopter slowly making its way up to us, the pilot waved.

Much of the previous London Bridge was made from Dartmoor stone and when, in the 1960’s, it was shipped brick by numbered brick to its new home in America a few pieces were found to be missing. Then somebody remembered there was still some dressed stone from the original build on the moor. The Americans took what they wanted but there are still some huge granite corbels left.

Dartmoor is huge - 365 square miles, it is also treacherous. I like to keep my eye on grandad, he’s a silver medallist at falling into bogs, especially when he is with me - although he can do it solo. We continued along the old railway for a mile or so and then dropped down into some boggy land, jumped a few streams with me holding onto grandad to stop him going into the mire. It was bad enough that he had a two foot tear on the left leg of his trousers. It caused a stir in the pub where we had lunch.


River Plym

Camping by the Plym
Our next campsite was in view of the River Plym. Lizzie had found a cycle route that would take us from the outskirts of Plymouth onto the Moor. The Plym Valley Railway path ran for six miles, crossing four giddying viaducts, through a long tunnel, passing the Cann Quarry and Plym Bridge, near the top we nosed around some spooky, derelict workers' cottages. Eventually, we reached Clearbrook on the Moor. Its attractive little pub, The Skylark, was having a real ale festival and the customers were all dressed as cowboys or Indians for a charity walk. To reach Clearbrook it took 1 hour 45 minutes; but a mere 45 minutes on the way down.

A Dartmoor cottage

Lizzie had one more trick up her sleeve. From beautiful Shaugh Bridge where the River Meavy crashes into the River Plym we climbed up from the green coomb following an old slurry pipe, used in Victorian times to transport china clay, all the way to Cadover Bridge. On the way we frightened ourselves looking across the valley at the sheer cliff of the Dewerstone but we didn’t catch sight of the Devil’s giant dog that is supposed to haunt the region. It is usually pictured as an enormous Westie that isn't the least bit frightening. From the bridge, we changed course over Wigford Down past yet another granite cross, nearly getting mown down by a charge of some very frisky cattle.

We were now on a headland at the top of Dewerstone rock. The view towards Plymouth was staggering (as was grandad!) and there was still a terrible descent ahead of us. It was like jumping down an endless cascade of boulders until we struck an old quarrying track surfaced with granite before finally reaching the roaring confluence of the River Meavy and the River Plym at Shaugh Bridge.


Chat Tor

Basically, Dartmoor is a big, beautiful waterlogged plateau fringed with tors. It has lakes, reservoirs, rivers, becks, burns, rills, streams, leats, gutters, bogs, marshes, mires, swamps and all kinds of mud. There are few roads across it, so driving is no good but there are a few set cycling routes. However, nobody has yet invented the bog bike.

If you want to experience the moor you have to walk it. But take care, it doesn't take prisoners - well, only those already in jail at Princetown.

Visit www.dartmoor-npa.gov.uk