The days were shorter and a chill was in the air, but Tom and Susannah Blachly and their son Adam(a.k.a. Hamlet) came to visit Lane End, London, the wilds of Dartmoor, and diverse other countryside attractions. One day off the big bird, they bundled into the car with us for a drive down to Ken & Daf's B&B over the hill from Widecombe-in-the-Moor, Devon, in the middle of Dartmoor Park. Ellie and I had been here in April, and were overtaken by the smell of pina colada: the gorse in bloom! But it was an autumn landscape we found: beautiful, but we were glad to have wool jumpers and a fire to come back to.
We hiked up into the foggy heather and made our way to Grimspound, a huge walled complex in a vale, with the remains of stone huts there since before human memory. What is it? a temple of the Druids, an Iron Age fort, a Roman town, a Phœnician settlement, a medieval tinners camp, a transhumance camp for shepherds, and a pound for stray cattle -- those are just some of the answers.
On a brighter day we determined to go on a goodly high moor hike. We set off on the back roads to an old churchyard, from which we would walk up to Bowerman's Nose, a rock of strange visage offering excellent outlooks. Having seen ponies and sheep grazing in the unfenced moorland expanses, we were amused by the local signage.
From the great lookout we hiked more miles: down through the heather, back up to a Tor over-run with tourists, and down a challenging trail through medieval ruins into a shaded mossy glen. Continuous consultation and comparison of maps didn't prevent some feet from getting wet; all were pleasantly tired by evening.
We had other adventures in Dartmoor; perhaps the most unexpected (and sadly unrecorded) was the finish of a hearty dinner in a country pub on the edge of the village. All were feeling sleepy when under the low sooty beams in front of the fire two fiddles started tuning. Soon joined by guitar, squeezebox and a medieval oboe (yes, we had to ask), the fiddles struck up traditional country dance music. The locals danced and clapped, enjoyed the enthusiasms of the American tourists, and a good many pints were downed by all.
Oh yes. . . we left Dartmoor resolving always to believe the wisdom of local signage.
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