Exmoor Lockdown Diary 109 - The Day I Broke Lockdown I Travelled Across Dartmoor
On Friday I missed an Exmoor Lockdown Diary because I had to go to South Devon for a meeting - a socially distanced meeting of course - but on the way back I chose to drive over the roof of Dartmoor. The route took my up the side of the Dart and I recalled writing about the river a long time ago.
Here’s the first half of a two-part article I wrote about one of the loveliest rivers in Southern England…
The Dart is the doyen of West Country rivers. I can't say precisely why the Dart is in some way superior, but there is undoubtedly something up-market about it compared to many of its riverine neighbours. For a start, it lends its name to the region's largest moorland. You can't imagine the great wilderness being called Teignmoor, Tawmoor or Okemoor.
Then there's the magnificent estuary and its regal port. When writing about Dartmouth for my WMN harbours series I described the place as Queen of Westcountry ports. Something to do, perhaps, with the enormous Naval College that overlooks the town with an air of imperial majesty. If buildings could wave, the exalted pile would do one of those little wrist-shaking jobs so beloved by the royal family. Perhaps thoughts of the river's up-market image are inspired by the classy shops that line the streets of both Dartmouth and Totnes, and the posh accents which ring out in the picturesque villages down in Dart-country.
Furthermore, the superiority thing is probably encouraged by the prospect that the river is, arguably, the most beautiful in England. Arguably. As a professional explorer of rivers, I wouldn't dare make the claim - but I would put the Dart there or there abouts.
The Victorians lauded it as Britain's answer to the River Rhine and excursionists have been cruising up and down the sylvan tidal reaches ever since. I'll be taking the boat ride next week, but in this article we'll explore the upper reaches of the West and East Dart Rivers which rise in the heart of the great moor that bears their name. I had rather a jolly time getting to know the West Dart. A book editor wanted to take me to lunch but, when she learned of my riverine mission, exclaimed: "Perfect.”
We will picnic at Whistmans Wood." And so I spent a few hours in the sunshine in the company of two charming women who told me wonderful tales about things like crossing the Sahara on camels and building mud houses in Southern Spain. It was strange to hear of such exoticism in a place so wild and quintessentially Westcountry. We met at Two Bridges, which is where the Cowsic River flows into the Dart, and bearing olives and lashings of other foreign morsels, we plodded upstream, along the footpath past the farm at Crockern, until we reached the celebrated wood. It is one of three primeval oak groves to be found on Dartmoor.
They're all at high altitude (in Westcountry terms, at least) and all are found on west facing, clitter-strewn sides of steep valleys. Each is dominated by stunted pedunculate oak, and each can be regarded as a sort of historical oasis. It may well be that most of the region's highlands were once covered in such woodlands. Whistmans Wood, Black Tor Copse (which we came across while exploring the West Okement River) and Piles Copse are all that remain of the great antediluvian forest. Their survival might be something to do with the almost impenetrable clitter (Dartmoor speak for boulders) that covers the floor of the woodlands.
By the way, readers may have seen a Saturday Spook article I wrote in the WMN recently concerning the mythical Whisht Hounds. Some people believe these supernatural dogs from hell may have given the magical wood its name, and there may be something in it - Devil's Tor is within barking distance.
Others think the name derives from the old Saxon word 'wealas' which was applied to anything that was foreign - including the Celts - so Whistmans would have been "Wood of the Celts". It's miles of nothing but empty moor from the wood up to West Dart Head. We're in the huge vastness of Northern Dartmoor. Anyone wishing to get a good view of all this can follow the advice of the Dartmoor writer William Crossing - he recommends climbing Longaford Tor high above Whistman's Wood. To be precise, he recommended it 100 years ago, but the vista will be more or less identical today.
Nothing much changes up here in the great waste. Crossing described the view as "exceedingly fine". Having climbed it you may as well proceed along the ridge up to Higher White Tor which has the impressive altitude of 1,712 feet. From here you can see up to the actual source of our river. And far below, directly to the north, you might spy the ruins of a long lost dwelling. It's called Brown's House and of it Crossing says: "This situation of this dwelling is such as would certainly satisfy the greatest lover of solitude."
Back to civilisation. The West Dart passes under the road at Two Bridges and swings east into what Crossing calls Dartmoor's 'Great Central Depression'. Along the way it picks up tributaries such as the Blackbrook River (which tumbles down under the moor's infamous prison), the Cherry Brook (which has made its journey from the north) and the River Swincombe (born in the bogs of Foxtor Mires in the southern part of the moor).
And so to Dartmeet. The name says it all and introduces us to the sister river - the East Dart. This stream is born in a place that could be described as the number one nursery for West Country rivers. East Dart Head, Taw Head and West Okement Head are all within a stone's throw of one another smack-bang in the middle of nowhere. The source of the Teign is just a few hundred yards south. There is only one way to get to this lonesome bog, and that is to walk. For miles. No road comes anywhere close.
The East Dart avoids the Teign (just) and proceeds in its southerly course to a place called Sandy Hole Pass. "Here the Dart is confined within walls built of large granite blocks," says the inexhaustible Crossing. "Apparently for the purpose of storing the water, a dam or hatch, having probably been placed at the lower end." Why should anyone have gone to all this trouble in the back-end-of-beyond? In a word: tin. If you have the good fortune to visit this remote place, you will see the remains of tinner's huts and one or two other relics of their lonesome calling. After making a severe turn to round Broad Down, the East Dart arrives at its most famous moment. Postbridge is on the Mortonhamsptead road and is known to just about anyone who has visited the moor.
The clapper bridge is the thing people stop to see, and most tourists would be unaware that this remote community was home to Britain's last horse-mounted postman. Mr Jack Bellamy delivered the mail around here on horseback until the mid-1960's. Perhaps that's not the most fascinating fact this series has discovered, but it does go some way towards highlighting the wildness of this highland place. But the wildness is about to be tamed just a little.
Now the river becomes less of a pure moorland stream as it enters the vale that passes the hamlet of Bellever and its giant forest. Laughter Tor looks down upon all this but there's nothing to giggle about up there - the name is a derivation of the word 'lough' which referred in some way to the subject of agriculture. A mile or so downstream on the opposite bank is a place called Rogue's Roost.
It is believed that a band of rogues did indeed live here - sheep-stealers who'd bring their four-legged booty to this remote outpost so they could dispose of the unwanted bits and keep the flesh. Hooves, skins and the like were said to have been hidden in a cave, but Crossing looked into the matter and was told by a local worthy that such a place had been discovered and it contained not a single gruesome remain. Dartmeet is, unsurprisingly, a popular place and the big car park is often full. I never cease to be amazed at how few of these folk put one foot in front of the other and take to the hills - there is a superb walk down the Dart from here, known as Dr Blackall's Drive. You have to walk up over Yartor Down to find it, and cross Sharp Tor, but the hike is one of the best moorland treks in the region. It follows the northern rim of what is commonly known as the Dart Gorge. The river has certainly dug itself an impressively deep channel along the five mile section between Dartmeet and New Bridge.
Dr Blackall was Lord of Spitchwick Manor (just north of the nearby hamlet of Poundsgate) and he had this splendid route laid out sometime in the late 1800's. People who walk along it are treated to distant views of Torbay and the South Hams, as well as the vast, featureless bulk of southern Dartmoor's main quarter, with Holne Moor climbing gently toward lonely Ryder's Hill. You can glimpse small and comely Venford Reservoir perched in a twinkle of light above its dam - and between you and it is the great, dark, and beautiful void of the gorge itself. You can hear the river rumbling and grumbling far, far below between the trees and you can cogitate on the plight of Jan Coo.
Jan was a farmer's lad from Rowbrook and thrice one day he descended to the river and three times he heard strange voices that spoke out to him. As far as I understand it Jan returned back up to the farm where he told family and friends of this strange audible apparition. Naturally, they warned against his returning to the haunted, sylvan scene - and even escorted him to hear the wonder for themselves. Of course, not a whisper reached their ears but, as I say, Jan Coo went back not once, but twice, to make sure that he was not going daft. The third visit was his last.
He was never seen by a living soul again and it was widely held by the people of Dartmoor that the river-pixies had had their way with him. Just before it reaches New Bridge the Dart has a change of heart. It veers to the north and keeps up the new course for a mile or so in order to round the wooded immensity of Holne Chase. By the time it issues from the great forest it is free of the moors and on its way south again through patchwork fields and woodlands to eventually reach Buckfastleigh. Under the eaves of the Benedictine Abbey we leave the river to pass under the A38 dual carriageway - what happens to it after that is the subject of next week's exploration. ends
