Thursday, January 2
DARTMOOR DAY 4: Tuesday 10/9/2024 HOLLWELL TOR (return home)
Sheltered from the wind the evening's entertainment was to watch construction work on the saddle between Haytor Rocks. No idea what the pair of diggers were up to, although I did find signs of path works near Saddle Tor the following day.
It may says something about the locality that the machinery was eventually locked down in a strange configuration, hard up up against the eastern wall of Haytor, bucket and arm high in the air to lean against the rockface. Although whether this was as protection from the weather, or to deter potential digger thieves, was unclear.
The weather turned overnight, as it always seems to hereabouts, with gustier wind and gathering rainclouds.
All part of wandering across high ground - it goes, quite literally, with the territory.
I made my way across to the Granite Tramway, still defiantly standing despite two centuries of existence amidst a hostile environment.
They knew how to lay a rail track in those days.
A clear path leading onto Holwell Tor (750 776) for a brief visit, at which point the rain finally arrived.
Towards Holwell Tor
Cutting back between Haytor and Saddle I headed for the car and the trip back home, now eager to be finally out of the wind.
Back at the car, hopping on one foot whilst trying to change out of waterproof trousers and boots, the wind had a final laugh, picking up my other sock from the car boot and blasting it across the car park. As the rain hammered down.
(Haven't we all been there?)
Always seems happens at precisely the right moment of personal exposure.
Only quick action on my part prevented it disappearing away with the wind and down into Haytor Vale far below.
Perhaps to start a local legend of the one-legged figure, hopping across the desolate moorland, everlastingly searching for the other sock.
Or not.
I can't recall a single night when I've wild camped in this immediate area without wind gusts, despite the map topography indicating protection from the prevailing south westerly airflow.
But as a simple start/stop jumping off point for my car journey from Dorset, with a quick and low risk access to a tortop wild camp, whatever the conditions, it’s worth the irritation.
Now that I've eventually visited the area behind Haytor Rocks I've little interest in returning, and my initial instinctive avoidance of the vicinity felt validated.
Great for a family day potter about, but compared to open moorland - not particularly attractive.
Now, with only a couple more Tors to tick off that's the majority of this area now complete, except for an occasional daytrip to visit the few outliers left.
Labels: dartmoor, National Park, wild camping
Sheltered from the wind the evening's entertainment was to watch construction work on the saddle between Haytor Rocks. No idea what the pair of diggers were up to, although I did find signs of path works near Saddle Tor the following day.
It may says something about the locality that the machinery was eventually locked down in a strange configuration, hard up up against the eastern wall of Haytor, bucket and arm high in the air to lean against the rockface. Although whether this was as protection from the weather, or to deter potential digger thieves, was unclear.
The weather turned overnight, as it always seems to hereabouts, with gustier wind and gathering rainclouds.
All part of wandering across high ground - it goes, quite literally, with the territory.
I made my way across to the Granite Tramway, still defiantly standing despite two centuries of existence amidst a hostile environment.
They knew how to lay a rail track in those days.
A clear path leading onto Holwell Tor (750 776) for a brief visit, at which point the rain finally arrived.
Towards Holwell Tor
Cutting back between Haytor and Saddle I headed for the car and the trip back home, now eager to be finally out of the wind.
Back at the car, hopping on one foot whilst trying to change out of waterproof trousers and boots, the wind had a final laugh, picking up my other sock from the car boot and blasting it across the car park. As the rain hammered down.
(Haven't we all been there?)
Always seems happens at precisely the right moment of personal exposure.
Only quick action on my part prevented it disappearing away with the wind and down into Haytor Vale far below.
Perhaps to start a local legend of the one-legged figure, hopping across the desolate moorland, everlastingly searching for the other sock.
Or not.
I can't recall a single night when I've wild camped in this immediate area without wind gusts, despite the map topography indicating protection from the prevailing south westerly airflow.
But as a simple start/stop jumping off point for my car journey from Dorset, with a quick and low risk access to a tortop wild camp, whatever the conditions, it’s worth the irritation.
Now that I've eventually visited the area behind Haytor Rocks I've little interest in returning, and my initial instinctive avoidance of the vicinity felt validated.
Great for a family day potter about, but compared to open moorland - not particularly attractive.
Now, with only a couple more Tors to tick off that's the majority of this area now complete, except for an occasional daytrip to visit the few outliers left.
Labels: dartmoor, National Park, wild camping
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
