Dartmoor

Dartmoor is one of those dark, windy places that I've always heard about but had no effin idea where was. Upon researching this trip I found it, in Devon, bordering Cornwall. On the map it looks huge, until you realize that this is England, and adjust your mental scale by a factor of ten.

Before I left home I made sure to read Sherlock Holmes and "The Hound of the Baskervilles", since it takes place on said moor. Things have softened up a little bit since the days of Holmes, but it's still a windswept, dark and lonely place. It is also intensely beautiful in its own way... but first and foremost windswept.

It is home to the usual suspects of ponies, sheep and cattle - all of whom can be easily seen along the way. I got the fright of my life Thursday night when I drove back to my hotel from a pub and my lights hit what seemed like a big, looming animal at the side of the road. It was just a pony, sleeping upright as is their wont, but for a moment I was mentally back in Norway, preparing to swerve for a fuckin moose.

A very few people live within the borders of the National Park, mainly making a living off of farming and tourism or a combination thereof. When I visited I didn't see many people around; I guess tourist season was over. Some of the roads are extremely narrow, and there are places where you can stand and look in all directions and not see or hear a living thing. Ah, bliss!

All pics here.

Sheep. Long effin horns on them things.


Cow. Can some biologist PLEASE explain to me the evolutionary benefits of looking like a bee?


Pony. As you may notice, the common thread of these animal pics is that they're eating all the time. It's actually quite difficult to get in a picture of them in any other position. The grass is so short this time of year they have to stuff face pretty much every waking hour.


Pony. Uh. Dog. This old girl had weighed 100 kilos (220lb) in her prime, but she'd lost some weight the last year, or so the owner told me. Still a mountain of a dog, and very, very friendly too. Fortunately.


The Devonshire Riviera in the distance. Don't laugh.


I forgot the name of this tor, but I climbed it anyhoooo. The wind was so strong I could barely breathe at the top.


W-I-N-D-S-W-E-P-T.


The sickeningly cute little hamlet of Widecombe-in-the-moor. Yes, that's the name.


There are a couple of inns and shops behind the church. I think this may just be the most English image ever.


This bridge is thought to have been built in the 13th century.


The visitor center at Dartmoor Prison, which is still in use. They had begun their one hour break just before I arrived, and had a strict no-pics policy so I fucked off outta there.


Are you our new daddy? These two doofuses were waiting impatiently for the hotel owner's mom and the maintenance guy respectively, to return. Also, barking at everything that moved and trying to push each other out of the way to get petted. Very, very sweet.


This was the view out of my hotel room window. This is not Dartmoor, but the remaining stretch of Devon, including the city of Plymouth, beyond which lies Cornwall. My hotel was a girl's stone throw (mine) from the national park.