![]() There’s a black and white photograph in the hallway of my childhood home of my dad surrounded by Dartmoor ponies. I realised then that Dartmoor was in my bones. I would climb to the place we knew as the ‘top of the world’ that was just less than a 20 minute walk from home and look out over the expansive horizon - green for as far as the eye could see. I would return to my mum and dad's in Yelverton and get up at 5am just to watch the sun rise over the moors. While I would often accompany him on these walks, excitedly following the clues between lone trees and granite outcrops with my map and compass, it was only when I grew up and left home that I realised just what a special place Dartmoor was. In my hazy memory, he was in the 1000 Club - never mind the 100 Club - and I would proudly tell passing ramblers about my dad's tally of Dartmoor Letterboxes that he'd found. A phenomenon known only to Dartmoor fanatics, like my dad, who had badges sewn across his rucksack marking the number of small plastic Tupperwares he’d found in the crannies between ancient granite rocks. I do have vivid memories of family walks on Dartmoor - scampering up Pew Tor picnicking and leaping across the stepping stones at Bellever fearlessly clambering up the rockface at Haytor and racing my sister to the top of Widgery Cross.Īnd letterboxing. Read more: Map of Dartmoor wild camping and why there is a ban Other days, our horizon was topped with a light dusting of snow.īut the landscape meant little to me. Some days we couldn’t see the tors for the fog. The landscape would turn from greys and browns to the purple of heather to a full green colour palette interspersed with the yellow of gorse flowers. We saw Dartmoor at its wildest and at its most lush and beautiful, in its bleakest winter and its full summer glory. ![]() ![]() ![]() From our living room we could count 11 tors (10 when the summer foliage obscured Brentor from view) with the iconic mast of North Hessary directly in front of our window.
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