Walk through Dartmoor’s lush woodlands and viaducts as you embrace a fresh perspective on your journey.

English

It's day 7 of Liz's 110-mile journey alongside her sister. Today, their path winds across a golf course, through the quiet of ancient woodlands, and even past a watchful herd of cows. After yesterday’s frustration with the slower pace, Liz begins to find peace in the rhythm, accepting her sister’s slow and steady stride. It’s a day of quiet realizations—a reminder that life isn’t meant to be rushed and the beauty lies in moving forward together, one step at a time.

Letters From The Moors - A Sister's Journey 07

Hello and welcome to the Dartmoor Way with me Liz Scott. I hope you enjoy my 110 mile journey around the outskirts of Dartmoor National Park in Devon in the UK. In August 2023, I completed this walk with my sister and following it, I wrote a series of 10 letters to her, sharing my memories and experiences. This is day 7 and today we walked 12 and a half miles between Oakhampton and Lydford. Dear sister, it was our second morning at the youth hostel. For two nights we'd used it as our base and the truth is, I was really enjoying it. The last time I'd stayed at a youth hostel was on the Isle of Wight. You were with me. We were cycling around the Isle of Wight and had ended up in some very grim, noisy and dirty places. My worst memory was of a dormitory of bunk beds, sharing with some youngsters who seemed to spend the whole night running around, laughing and yelling. When you said you'd booked the Oakhampton youth hostel, I was prepared to be disappointed. My expectations were very low. However, it surprised me. I actually began to love the vibe of what had been created. It was a passing point for travellers, adventurers, cyclists and families. We all needed a budget space to accommodate our activities. Whereas a hotel is there to pander to needs and to provide comfort, this was more practical, basic, honest and vibrant. There were lots of different ages of people passing through. All of us were strangers, brought together by our love for the outdoors. We all needed a shelter, a clean bed and a place to cook and make a cuppa. But other than that, we were doing our own thing, enjoying the humanness of meeting strangers, trying new things and being on an adventure. As you probably realise from yesterday's letter, the previous evening had proved to be my low point. I'd felt tired, I'd been hungry and had been so frustrated. The day had felt so long. However, after a good night's sleep, I was up and ready to go. I whizzed my porridge in the microwave, found the cafeteria for my fresh coffee, warmed up my soya milk in the microwave and cut up some fruit for breakfast. Life looked good again. Isn't it amazing how quickly things can change perspective? We did our usual car juggling and then started walking. The first part took us past the old workhouse of Oakhampton. It's now been converted to offices. The austere building made me reflect on the absolute misery that some people had endured in quite recent history. The poorest of the poor, those who were destitute, would have ended up in this building. It felt quite sobering to see it. Once past the old building, we gently climbed towards Oakhampton Golf Course. The Dartmoor Way took us straight across the golf course. It felt like we were intruding on these golfers. I expected to get shouted at for trespassing. I walked smartly, avoiding golf balls and smiling cheerfully at golfers, trying to seem more confident than I really was. The Ordnance Survey map on the phone was a godsend. I kept checking and double checking as we walked through the middle of fairways to a gate that led us off the golf course and onto a piece of woodland. This was a stunning woodland. I was back into my pace of moving slowly and listening to the trees. You, me and Pete were all moving at different paces, so it gave me time to touch the trunks and feel the knobbly rough bark on my fingers. I looked up high into the canopy and pressed my cheek up to some of them. The story of the magic faraway tree crept into my mind, where the children could hear the trees talk. The air in this woodland seemed to become thicker and more hallowed. So much so, I was nearly moved to tears. The oaks were covered in mosses and ferns. A rich, nourishing sense of life was dripping all around me. After last night's blip of agitation, I was back, and my thinking was no longer buzzing like angry wasps around spilt jam. I was enjoying the pace of the walk, the pace of life, and seeing and delighting in things along the way. Out of the woods, we climbed steps onto the Granite Way. The Granite Way is another path that is popular with walkers, cyclists and families. We were high above the moorland, and as we crossed Meldon Viaduct, it felt like we were flying. We were looking down on the trees with their green summer coats below. We were high above the river, and it was as if we were gliding. What a gift to be walking on a flat and easy surface while seeing the views span out. The Granite Way is an old railway line, so it is a flat and even surface, and it felt like a bit of a cheat. It was just too easy. But I needn't have worried, we weren't on this route for long. Soon enough, the path took us up onto the moorland. Here we were right on the boundary of the moor, often close to a long grey granite wall that was leaning over in a drunken-like manner. We skirted around Sorton Tors, and onto a track that cut through thick, tall ferns. As we walked along the path beside this jungle of bracken, a Dartmoor pony waded through. The ferns were so high that the pony looked like it was swimming through them. You had told me about your ability to attract horses. I hadn't really believed you. But here was a pony, crashing through the bracken, on a mission to burst out onto our path beside you. It didn't quite come up to you, but all the same it was uncanny. What is it about your magnetism that has horses follow you? Do you remember that you and Pete decided to climb up a hill to try and spot Meldon Reservoir? On the map it looked like it was just over the ridge. Rather than follow you up on an unnecessary hill, I waited on the path until you returned. I watched you both as you came back down towards me. You were walking and chatting, and I tried to read your walking gait and your faces to see if the view had been amazing. I expected to feel a spark of jealousy that you'd seen the reservoir and you'd been blown away by the outstanding view. In the end, I felt quite smug at my laziness when I realised you'd not been able to see it at all. The reservoir had been hidden from view. We walked off the moorland landscape, passing Sorton Church and heading to the main road and the Highwaymen's Inn. For some reason, we didn't go into Sorton Church. It was one of the few churches we passed without visiting. Maybe the call of a cup of tea was just too strong. The Highwaymen's Inn, in all its tasteless glory, was in front of us, and we felt we deserved refreshments. I've always been a bit baffled at this pub. It seems so touristy and tacky. Who on earth creates a pub that has a front porch shaped like an old horse's carriage? Who puts a black rearing horse statue above the entrance door? Inside were low ceilings, misshapen tables, cobwebs, panelling, paraphernalia, and knick-knacks. There was nothing subtle or nuanced here. But as I heard you and Pete enthuse over its quirkiness, I squinted again at the interior, the brasses on the wall, tankards hanging from the ceiling, old farm tools, spinning wheels and dusty barrels. What was I missing? Was I being a stick in the mud? It's so funny to see things through the eyes of another. I questioned whether I'd completely misjudged this pub. Maybe I'd allowed my sense of superiority to get the better of me. So I left the Highwaymen's Inn feeling much more warmly to it than when I had arrived. The remainder of our walk was through field after field. All the fields seemed to have styles dividing them. Each style was an effort to heave up onto and to navigate over. We spied butterflies in these lush green pastures, and we crossed more and more styles. Today, I waited for you and waited some more, as I'd done the day before. But today, the waiting seemed spacious and effortless. I was no longer in my head feeling things should be different than they were. Instead, I was present, happy, and chilled to take whatever pace presented itself. Do you remember we had quite a late lunch? We weren't far away from Lidford, the end of our journey, when we found a spot in a field and pulled out our pita bread and bananas. Two walkers greeted us as they headed towards Lidford. I was confused to see them walk back towards us just a few minutes later. My quizzical look must have prompted them to stop. We've decided to turn around and find a different way, they announced. There is a bull in that herd of cows, and we're not going to risk it. My heart sank. I looked at you sideways, wondering how were you going to take the news of a bull? I knew how much you hated cows, and we needed to walk past them to get onto the footpath. I couldn't read your expression. It certainly wasn't outright fear. You weren't demanding that we leave the field immediately. We carried on munching our sandwiches, and then I asked you about the cows and the possible bull. You seemed unexpectedly nonplussed. I was surprised but pleased. I didn't fancy adding extra steps and miles to our walk, so we headed on, and as it was, we had plenty of space, and we gave the cows a very wide berth. They continued eating their grass and didn't seem the slightest bit interested. The final stretch to Lidford was up a very watery, stream-like path. The ground seemed to be oozing water. We headed up the hill, through the water and mud, until eventually we reached the road beside the campsite, and then finished our walk outside Lidford Castle. This was the last day of walking with Pete. I had loved spending all this time with him, listening to him chatter, and feeling a real sense of privilege at being in his world. This was the end of day seven, and I wondered what day eight would have in store.