Escape from Lockdown: Dartmoor

In the dark, wet, late December days just before the Alpha lock down, we managed to escape to a isolated 17^th century barn near Manaton, in the heart of Dartmoor. We nearly didn’t arrive. Taking a wrong turn on the sat nav at night in a yellow warning rainstorm sparked a real adventure. Careering down tiny, single lanes, which had turned into cascading streams, trying to not skid into the eight-foot hedges and praying that no cars would come the other way. The water hit the windscreen in such buckets that the wipers gave no rest bite. We resorted to driving as much by the map as the road, calling out turns rally style (quarter turn left in 200 m….). Without a doubt the most treacherous driving I have ever encountered in the UK. We were very relieved to arrive and the wrong side of frazzled.

We spent the next four days in isolated bliss. We trekked for hours, over tors, across moors and down through pockets of ancient oak rainforest. The place had a real mythical touch to it in the mists of winter. We would arrive home just before dark, knackered and soaked, but happy, having barely seen another soul all day. We had brought enough food in the boot to last our stay, so spent the evening fuelling up, playing board games and decompressing.

First up was a trek straight out our door. One turn and we were on to a high banked farm track, leading us gently to the foot of Bowerman’s Nose, via irregular shaped fields and the odd cow. The lower slopes were covered in a moss strewn wood, the trees seeming shrunk by their epiphyte burden. We emerged onto more open hillside and trekked upwards, slipping on the sand and stone. It felt so good, to be away from home. Hitting the peak, the wind was up and up, momentarily washing away some of the troubles of the past months. It was the type of wind that pins your hair back and flaps against the cheeks. Standing was a struggle, especially for the small ones. Leaning far forward into the gusts and grasping the kids’ hands, we drove forward and found shelter behind the giant bounders, peering out now and then to take sight of the vast expanse of bleak moors to the West.

Of the several peaks we visited, my favourite was Hound Tor. It was both the far point and highlight of a wonderful 15 km circular trek from our barn. The trek up through the sodden moor was relieved by sunshine at the summit, a brief god send in the dark months. Complete with spectacular views over the shifting land and adorned by huge hunks of granite that the kids could clamber over, the peak proved a perfect place for a well-earned lunch (which we took sheltered under the rocks). Coming back down the other side, but still high on the hill, we fell upon the remains of an abandoned medieval village. As the kids crawled all over the abandoned stone walls, I felt a sharp eeriness to the place. Lonely, wind swept and long forgotten. A strange place to visit in such strange times.

The peaks were balanced out by walks along the farmed valley floors, rivers and ravines. Eastern Dartmoor is such a wonderful patchwork of contrast. Nothing was though quite like our trek along and above the river Bovey. Running through old woodland and steep ravine. Without knowing it at the time, we had stumbled upon one of the rare remaining patches of British Atlantic rainforest. Oak, damp, and overarching branches covered in dripping moss, lichen and fern. A place to inspire fantasy. I am not religious, or even spiritual, but this placed stirred something inside. Leaping from boulder to giant boulder to cross this forest river still stays with me as a photo-crisp memory of time.

In short, Dartmoor was wonderful. In the depths of winter, it had cleansed our covid weary minds.

Escape from lockdown: Discovering nature in our own back yard

Like for so many, Covid was a very tough time for our family. One of the few positives from months of lock down and loss was a unique opportunity to trek like never before and discover local nature on the way.

We are lucky to live in a town in the North Downs, with countryside opening from the end of our road. We had often gone for walks with the kids before, but in fits and starts and rarely for more than an hour. That changed and somewhat.

Early on we decided to insist on a family walk every morning come what may (I think we only missed two days over all lock downs combined) and despite not infrequent mini tantrums on the way out the door, this was a mental health lifesaver. Many mornings were limited to 40-minute walks around our local arboretum, but even this proved a real eye opener, watching a landscape change day by day, season by season and learning about its flora and fauna inhabitants.

Other trips took us around the grounds of our local university with its concrete, lakes and wildfowl. This proved rather freaky at the start of lockdown. We had the place to ourselves, except for one or two rather lost looking, mask wearing Chinese students (this was before many people in the UK took up the eminently sensible habit). After a couple of months this though changed as more and more local families discovered the place and the university discovered a multitude of visitor it would probably never see again.

The best walks were though into the hills and beyond. Starting with 5, then 10, then 15 km treks over our local hill and then in every direction. From the chalk, down into the fields of clay and onto to the sand strewn heath. Through the forests of oak, across farmland and along the meandering river Wey, overhung by weeping willows and flanked by flood plains grazed by muntjac deer and hovered over by kestrels. It was a strange (and necessary) gift from bad times that we got to know our local land and nature so well 

Without exaggeration, our children were inspired. Each day they would write lists of all the animals they had seen, take photos of anything new and follow up learning about species that particularly took their fancy. We saw countless deer, raptors, wildfowl and passerine birds. There were frogs, rabbits, heron, fish and numerous insects and bugs in the air and in the undergrowth. Highlights included a slow worm crossing the path below our feet (spotted by Niko), a large stag charging off across the wood and red kites soaring below our vantage point at the top of a down. This was supplemented by footage from our garden camera trap, which allowed us to identify each of our four local foxes.

Having got through the first lock down, we decided to take advantage of any gaps in restrictions to take our nature exploration to the next level, discovering our national parks. It in some ways a sad reflection on me that I had visited more national parks in each of Oceania, Africa, Asia and the Americas than in my own backyard. We did our best to change this, taking our kids to six before the next summer was done. It was eye opening, beautiful, refreshing and needed. 

So to remember the good times as well as the tough, I am going to record some of the highlights here.