Letters From The Moors - A Sister's Journey 01

Join Liz on a journey through the breathtaking Dartmoor National Park, where she and her sister embarked on a 110-mile trek over 10 unforgettable days. Each day, Liz captures their experiences and emotions in a letter to her sister, weaving together the themes of nature and the bond they share. On day 1, they take their first steps from Ivybridge to Shipley Bridge, setting the stage for a powerful exploration of adventure, connection, and the wild beauty that surrounds them.

Transcript

Hello and welcome to the Dartmoor Way with me Liz Scott.

Enjoy my 110 mile journey around the outskirts of Dartmoor National Park in Devon in the UK.

I walked this with my sister and following the walk I wrote a series of letters to her sharing my memories and experiences.

Today we start at day one.

It's Friday August the 4th and we're walking from Ivy Bridge to Shipley Bridge which is 10 miles.

Dear sister,

I hope you enjoy my recollections from our walking days in the summer.

Here are my memories of August the 4th,

The first day of the Dartmoor Way.

We agreed to meet at Ivy Bridge at 9 o'clock.

Stuart dropped me off.

It was bright and sunny and a perfect day for a walk.

I made my way to the old Ivy Bridge to wait for you.

This was the official starting point.

I sat on the wall beside the Conservative Club and waited.

Nine o'clock crept to 9.

15 and my bottom squirmed.

It wasn't comfortable.

I glanced up at the hill eager to see you.

Had you left your house yet,

Would I be waiting five minutes,

Ten minutes,

One hour?

I knew your timekeeping wasn't good but I had no idea how long I had to wait.

I reminded myself that the whole day stretched ahead.

There was no need to rush.

The only thing I had planned for the day was the walk.

I breathed deeply little realizing that what I was experiencing would become the recurring theme of our walk.

Waiting,

Yes,

Waiting in different forms was going to be the soundtrack of this trek and with it the lessons of patience loomed large.

A man with a sleek black and white pointed dog stopped to chat.

He noticed my rucksack and trainers and wanted to know where was I going.

I told him that I was waiting for you and then we were off to Shipley Bridge.

I was secretly hoping he would raise his eyebrows with respect at this ten-mile hike but instead he smiled blankly.

He told me he was dog-sitting and he didn't know the area and instead wanted to tell me what he was doing.

He was heading off to Western Beacon.

He then continued to talk to me about where he had walked,

What his daughter was like,

How long he was looking after her dog and I listened and smiled.

I rather like these interactions with strangers.

He chatted a while and then headed off and I glanced at my watch and then looked up the hill.

Where were you?

The clock edged its way to 9.

30 and I kept picking up my phone,

Checking for messages,

Wondering if I should call and then at last I saw a figure coming down the hill.

It looked like you and then when I saw you smiling,

Stick in hand,

I knew we were about to begin.

It was so great that our walk started from Ivy Bridge.

We had considered doing the West Highland Way but that was in Scotland and it just wasn't going to work with our diaries this year.

Back in May we'd been checking to see if we could make it to Scotland and squeeze in the walk and then rush back to other commitments.

I didn't want to treat this like a thing to tick off the to-do list.

If I was going to Scotland,

I wanted to stay there and enjoy the country for longer.

When we realised that Scotland wasn't going to work in 2023,

We came to a compromise.

The compromise was that we would walk a hundred and ten miles around the outskirts of Dartmoor.

Rather than travelling several hours and hundreds of miles to the starting point,

The beginning of this walk was less than a mile from your front door and less than three from mine.

We headed up Harford Hill following the Two Moors Way,

Up a stony well-worn path.

It was a steep climb.

We didn't need to check the map or the book.

We both knew the moor around Ivy Bridge.

We knew this track.

We knew the beacon and the streams,

The roads and the lanes.

There were only a couple of times on this day when we found ourselves on unfamiliar footpaths.

Most of the day felt like we were three friends walking.

There was you,

There was me and there was this familiar landscape that was on our doorstep.

As we started our trek,

We chatted thick and fast.

We hadn't seen each other for a few days and we had lots to talk about.

My head was so busy digesting stories and information that I didn't even see the scenery.

It was only when we were at Rangerton Golf Club drinking coffee that I realized the first three miles had been gobbled up without my awareness.

Isn't it strange how we can be totally absorbed in our internal world and completely miss what we're actually doing?

I don't know about you,

But I often find myself in life with a busy head and chattering mind,

Missing so much around me.

When we got to Ladyswood,

The internal and external chatter started to quieten.

As it got quieter,

So I found myself noticing the countryside around me,

Like the soft yellow field of grasses that seemed to glow.

I noticed the tiny mouse-eared chickweed peeking pale white from behind the luscious pasture.

Black knapweed with its purple,

Thistle-like flowers peppered the ground.

Each field boundary was protected by a style and we heaved ourselves over,

One after another after another.

We were near to South Brent when we took the slow ascent up to Ayshe Ridge.

We'd been religiously following the Dartmoor Way and it was leading us on a long route that kept taking us off the moorland,

Onto roads,

And then back up again.

We both knew an easier path that lay across the moors,

A path that stayed at a constant level.

But here we were,

Huffing and puffing,

Going up and going down.

As we bowed our heads for this slow ascent to Ayshe Ridge,

We knew it was the last climb of the day.

Our conversation was as sparse as the clouds on a summer's day and we fell into our own worlds.

I walked slightly ahead for most of the time and then stopped and waited.

Waiting for you to catch up would become the rhythm of our time together.

At one point,

A yellowy-green flash was accompanied by an alarm call as a woodpecker scooped in front of me and off into a field.

Butterflies were jerkily scattering like seeds on the wind.

I noticed Red Admirals and Meadow Browns and I tried to see a Peacock Butterfly,

But I wasn't 100% sure what it looked like.

These dancing beauties would sometimes land and tantalizingly show off their wings before darting away and before I could properly see them.

We passed through the impressive Corringdon Ball Gates and found the Corringdon Ball Cairn.

This became our lunch stop.

Isn't it strange to imagine that these rocks and stones were placed here by people thousands of years ago to honor the dead?

Now these rocks are slumped like revelers after a party.

I tried to imagine what this landscape might have once looked like,

But it was nearly impossible to do so.

I also tried to imagine how many people would have sat where we were sitting now.

Our descent off the moor was down a stony track called Diamond Lane.

This was once apparently a route that the monks would have taken as they walked the moor between Buckfast and Plimpton.

We weren't sure why it had its name,

But one suggestion is that some of the rocks had been carved with a diamond hatch mark in attempt to give the slippery surface a bit of a grip.

This was a dreamy green lane where the trees dripped moss and ferns and the stony path dropped down to the road.

I touched the trunks of the oaks and holly trees,

I spoke to the ash,

And I marveled at the thickness of the air.

This was to become a ritual that I would repeat daily.

Speaking to the trees and feeling their energy,

It was like I was breathing the air from another time in history.

As I look back on the notes that I made on the day,

I can see that I wrote the following.

My heart speaks to me in this lane,

Its hushed tones can be heard now that my chatter has settled.

My heart whispers to me about simplicity and source,

It whispers to me about the rich nurturing of the outdoors,

And it reminds me that only a true return to the language of nature will satisfy my soul and quench my aching spiritual thirst.

Let me repeat that because this was so important.

My heart speaks to me in this lane,

Its hushed tones can be heard now that my chatter has settled.

My heart whispers to me about simplicity and source,

It whispers to me about the rich nurturing of the outdoors,

And it reminds me that only a true return to the language of nature will satisfy my soul and quench my aching spiritual thirst.

There was a real magic to be found amongst the trees,

As I discovered daily over the next few days.

The spell was broken as we found the road that led to Shipley Bridge with cars and people bringing us back to the strange illusory world that we call reality.

I knew that the next few days were going to be an invitation to listen within and to hear the ancient call that wanted to bring me home.

This wasn't going to be just a walk,

This seemed much more like a pilgrimage.

Reviews

Fantastic detail of your pilgrimage. As someone who is housebound, listening to the sights, sounds and interactions with Mother earth were restorative for my soul and senses.
Great way to start my day
Thank you.
Blessings 🙌

Wonderful - I was there with you all the way! Looking forward to the rest of the walk.