I have just returned from a visit to Dartmoor with a friend to go walking and revisit some sites. The landscape of the moor is particularly late greeting spring this year after the snow and ice of winter. Snowdrops were in profusion in the pretty moorland churchyards and hedgegrows but daffodils had yet to trumpet the return of Spring. Nevertheless, there was plenty of sunshine and in places out of the breeze it was really mild for this time of year. The sunshine, dappled on green boulders showering the many dancing streams and rivers, was particularly beautiful and the High Moor was bleached blonde almost like a desert.
We walked from Scorhill stone circle on the moor above Gidleigh and Chagford to the Tolmen stone - like our Cornish holed stones it is a large granite block with a hole through it caused by water erosion as it rests above the racing Teign river. This stone is famed like Men -an- Tol for healing rheumatism and whooping cough should you manage to crawl through it.Scorhill is a stunning stone circle with tremendous power and energy. It is nearly 90ft in diameter and comprises of over 30 stones with the tallest menir at 8ft high.It is in a dramatic, wild spot looking out upon the moor with wilderness on all sides. It is special in that it has not been restored but some stones have been removed to line the leat further in the valley. i have visited here on a number of occasions and find it a particularly energising circle, well worth a visit and within easy reach if all you want is a short stroll.
From this area, we walked towards Kestor rock. passing over two clapper bridges:Walla Brook and Teignon Teign-e-ver. Kestor Rock seemed as if it would be a bit of a climb, but on approaching it it was like alot of the Tors, easy to get up once you had clambered a few granite boulders.It was a dramatic rock, scored by wind and rain, the wind blowing away the cobwebs of winter as we stood and nearly took flight with the buzzards on its peak. The views over the High Moor were fantastic and its skirts were strewn with granite boulders and the remains of Bronze and Iron age occupation: field systems, hut circles, and also a round pound, possibly a smithy dating from 500BC. On the top of the rock was an unusually deep rock basin filled with water like a giant's ink well with the sun shining so brightly. In Victorian times it was rumoured to have been used as a place of sacrifice by the Druids....a pretty common yarn amongst God fearing folk attached to most cairns on high ground it seems.
From the desolation of the High Moor, we were content to amble down hill at last through a magical conifer wood lit with dappled light to Glassy Steps and across the rushing River Teign again. These woods would be pretty ominous in mist or damp but in sun they cast a more benevolent, elven magic. This sense of timelessness permeates this landscape and gives it an other worldly, ancient atmosphere. One can feel the primeaval energies in ancient woodland and Tor, as well as sense the faery realms in the sylvan riverside valleys and trees.
From Glassy Steps we walked uphill and out of the wood on to the winding Dartmoor lanes. It always feels very easy to get lost on these when driving and one mile seems to last an eternity. We followed the sign posts for Gidleigh and came to rest at its pretty churchyard with 15th century church; with its banks covered in beds of snowdrops and the stream running through, it felt deliciously warm in the melting afternoon sun. Blackbirds sang and there were Blue tits darting through the branches overhead. The sun felt like honey on the skin and the peace of the place imbued it with a timeless quality. Through the iron gateway after the church we could see the remains of the tower of Gidleigh Castle, a fortified manor house built by Sir William Prous around AD1300. It did have a feudal feel with the church so close and spring lambs in the pasture nearby.
From the peace and tranquility of Gidleigh, we wound our way up hill still tracing the end of the ambiguous Dartmoor 'mile' we seemed to have begun an age ago to eventually, after probably another 'mile' at least up hill, reach the car park at Scorhill where we had begun at midday. There were still icicles hanging on the bowl of a stream where the sun had yet to reach reminding us of a faery crystal glade.There was a rare magic every where in this area which had touched us both that day.
Blessed Be xxx
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