As a lover of geography, realising that my weekend plans
begin at the source of a river and end at its mouth gives me a real sense of
satisfaction.
The river is the Dart, and I’m staying first in the leafy valley of Lustleigh, on the
eastern fringe of Dartmoor, with Sheila, the widow of one of my dad’s dearest
friends. The village’s trickling brooks, thatched cottages and village green remind me of the scenes that adorn boxes of Devon fudge. Looking across at its lush green patchwork
of farms and woodland, you’d never know that just five minutes’ drive away is a landscape of bleak moorland and dramatically jutting tors.
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| The moor is a brooding contrast to the lush valleys and pastures below |
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| A different rock drama plays out at the top of every hill |
The nearest and best known of these geological wonders,
Haytor, is a giant outcrop, with Dartmoor ponies grazing the grassy flanks and,
on a clear day, views as far as the sea. It’s a big draw with tourists and
rarely seen without figures standing at the top.
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| Views from Haytor stretch as far as the south coast |
Sheila leads us on a walk over her favourite, and less busy,
tors. It’s a breezy day with sunny intervals, giving the rocky outcrops
atmospheric light and shade. Fast-moving shadows chase each other across the
hillside opposite. We loop back via an old brideway, the sort of rough track
you might imagine Poldark galloping along.
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| Looking down to Widecombe valley |
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| A tree going with the flow |
We lunch at the picturesque Rugglestone Inn, in
Widecombe-in-the-Moor. The pub dates back to 1822 and serves huge platters of
homemade food that will see off any ideas you might have of ending the day with
a Devon cream tea. I opt for Homity pie, a delicious pastry dish filled with
potatoes, leeks and melted cheese. Dogs and ramblers abound in the pretty
outdoor garden, as do morris dancers, in season.
It happens to be National Garden Scheme season so we fit in
a visit to Spitchwick Manor, a rather ugly mansion saved by wooden trellising
and six and a half acres of beautiful gardens, including a fabulously aromatic
rose garden, featuring among others, the Darcey Bussell rose. We were also
rather entranced by the estate’s separate secret garden, featuring Lady
Ashburton’s plunge pool (commissioned by the estate’s original owners in 1763).
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| Spitchwick lupins |
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| Lady Ashburton's secret pool |
Not far from here is Dartmeet, where the East Dart and West
Dart rivers merge to become the river Dart, which flows southwards to Dartmouth
on the coast – my next stop.
I conclude my weekend with a day and night in Chris’s
father, Mike, and Jane’s pretty terraced house there. We pootle up the Dart on
their river boat, Mr Toad, for early evening beers at the Ferry Boat Inn at
Dittisham.
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| Riverfront at Dittisham |
The journey back, as dusk falls, is tranquil and hushed. There’s
just the sound of the engine and the water fanning out in ripples. A lovely way
to leave the Dart.
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| Ripples on the river Dart |
