I had not realised how much the wind during the previous nights camp had affected me on a subconscious level. It must have done, its the only explanation I can come up with for sleeping in a damn great hollow in the ground.
It was not on the map as any archaeological feature, it did not look like a lost tomb. It was about seven foot deep and ten foot across. The top of a mine shaft did not seem likely but that thought only came to me the next day for which I thank all that is fortunate. If it had occurred to me at 3am, for example, I am not sure how I would have reacted.
There was evidence of sheep activity at the bottom. As I settled in the thought of being rolled on by sheep occupied my thoughts.
Sleeping in a bowl like depression got me out of the wind but had the distinct disadvantage of being the exact opposite of flat. It was damn uncomfortable.
Morning arrived and I emerged to a glorious day and startled a few sheep grazing nearby in the process. I was glad not to have been crushed by any of them during the night, it would have been rather unfortunate.
I was back on the Red Lake Railway with the simple plan of letting it carry my feet back to Ivybridge for the next part of my excursion.
The routine of the trip was now imposing itself. Things within the rucksack came easily to hand and went back in the right place without much thought. The “kitchen” and “cupboards” of the camp had re-established themselves. My back was getting comfortable with the rucksack on it and the tensioning straps on the rucksack itself made sense once more.
My shoulder was sore, but it was nothing that was going to cause an issue. I had slept on it awkwardly (no surprise to me at all) and its full arc of movement was restricted and it was uncomfortable holding any significant weight out at arms length. This actually persisted for some weeks afterwards, annoying rather than problematic, I am still stretching it out now.
As I headed back to Ivybridge, I toyed with the idea of exploring Piles Wood and the considerable prehistoric stone rows that awaited. I could just about see the Stone Circle on the crest opposite.
Princetown was my next destination though, I was sticking with the railways of yore and I had unfinished business in that section of the moor.
There was much to see along the old rail route and so I set about seeing it having given it a glance on the way to my destination it was time to give it some thought as I travelled back.
It deserved some thought because there is probably no reason to ever walk this path again.
Every so often I would catch a glimpse of a structure relating to the pipeline which brought the dredged contents of Red Lake back to Ivybridge. This viaduct in miniature caught my eye more than most. Dotted along the way were rusting inspection hatches which I imagined opened portals to realms I had no desire to know about.
Left Lake though was nice to see as we passed it by on a little bridge, the other of the bridge being the remains of Left Lake Clayworks, a very bumpy gouge in the landscape. The water in it looked very nice. A sign it was already hot and water was beginning to occupy my mind.
Retracing a good many of my footsteps, the day promised to get hotter. I was looking forward to reducing my packweight after this shakedown stroll.
It was downhill a lot of the way and soon enough I had passed the stone rows marching up Piles Hill and the oddly contoured area which must have been where the turntable and railway gubbins did its thing.
There was not a cloud in the sky, the air was still, the sun beat down. The views stretched out and faded into blue. You could see the sea. The moor can certainly have its bleak days but those are few and far between. The scenery in this bit of the moor is not the dramatic weathered tor it is more relaxed than that.
I took a last look around before I lost altitude. I hope to be back to walk the other side of the Erme Valley.
Crossing the new railway line I left the moor behind and entered the modern world as imagined by Ivybridge.
Back in the car my navigation skills instantly abandoned me and the country roads led me a merry dance. I was happy to play along, the weather was nice and the sensation of speed was nice.
It really was only a sensation of speed, as 30mph was the limit of my speeding. Given the foals and lambs jogging about the road with guardian parents standing in the middle of the road driving was a good deal slower than that usually. Lovely, all part of the charm. I curse every moment spent in a jam for roadworks but can sit happily for however long it takes for a pony and foal to decide if they want to move out of the road or not.
Princetown.
Once again I was concerned about the parking situation. It had been a few years since I had any business at all in Princetown. On that occasion I did not stop but simply drove through it. I was left with a very poor impression of the place. Grey dull and essentially a town very much in terminal decline with the granite face of the prison dominating all the granite of the town.
Parking turned out to be a delight, simply parked in the main street up the hill (is it the main street? it is such a funny place).
I got out and collected my bearings. Walking down the hill, more than aware I would have to walk up it, I heard small children laughing. It was an infant school, next to a children’s playground. Both seemed to have slipped through a tear in the fabric of time.
The playground was dominated by apparatus I was familiar with, not the diluted rubbish health and safety have left children with nowadays. An iron gate was painted in candy stripes (albeit a fair time ago). It was my childhood right there being played out in front of me. They were even walking along the tops of stone walls using iron railings as support for this endeavour.
There were a lot of coach drivers, whole gangs of them in their black and white uniforms. No sign of coaches though and quite where their passengers had gone was the next mystery.
I soon solved it, their “passengers” were in the prison where they should be, these were prison guards.
Strolling on, I met the first of the 3 large pubs. The paint was peeling off it alarmingly and the windowsills were very worn. It looked in poor shape.
The “central” bit of Princetown seemed to have been tidied up and the visitor centre is well worth a look.
I bought the National Parks Dartmoor Badge there among other things. It might seem daft but it had been something I intended to get around to for the last 5 years, but never actually quite got around to tracking one down. I could have bought one on the internet, but the purchase needed a sense of place not just another internet transaction.
The visitor centre makes a good deal of Dartmoor’s Sherlock Holmes connection. The building the visitor centre is housed in was once the Royal Duchy Hotel. Conan-Doyle stayed in the hotel before writing his most famous novel. I lapped it up.
The Railway Inn (the railway closed in 1956) looked run down too. Princetown was giving out mixed signals. Generally I was much more favourably disposed to the place than I had been previously. Perhaps two nights sleeping on the moor had softened my attitude.
Between the two large pubs a big group of DPM clad men and women appeared. They had just come off the moor and looked like it. The OC was getting them into shape and getting them on buses.
Having given the place the once over it is back to the car to sort out the re-supply for this bit of the walk. It was about 15:00 and I wanted to be on the moor again.
I left behind a number of things which clearly were not going to be needed.
Firstly the book went, I simply was not going to read it and it was not worth the “just in case” weight. I had audio books on the mp3 player.
Food got dropped off. I don’t know why it is but I always over-estimate the food I am going to eat. Packing it simply never looks enough and to that I add the “I might get peckish” allowance and the “I am being more active than usual” allowance and the “that looks tasty” quota. I had also wildly over-estimated how much dog 2 was going to eat. Also left behind was the larger of the trangia pots. I was not going to eat that much and wholesale water boiling was not on the cards. Somewhat wiser and lighter I set back off to the moor.
Next time:
I am back on the moor, but due to one of those happy navigational mishaps not quite where I intended to be.
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