RSS

Tag Archives: tourism

In the land of Pooh…

In the land of Pooh…

The best of our recent trip back to the wide open spaces of Sussex…

Photo Sans Frontiers

Last week we went to see friends and family in Crowborough, East Sussex, where the dramatic vistas of Ashdown Forest provided A A Milne with the settings for hisWinnie the Poohstories.

We were lucky with the weather and took the opportunity to wander amongst the pines, heather, bracken and gorse bushes of this, the real Hundred Acre Wood, as well as taking Audrey on a tour of some the other rural playgrounds of my youth.

Becky, who I hadn’t seen for years, joined us on the more-or-less-compulsory trek to Pooh Bridge for a game of Pooh Sticks; whilst Biff, another old friend, provided entrainment for Audrey in the shape of Luigi, the loveable Staffordshire bull terrier and he also kindly organised a trip to a riding stables, where we met some of their horses (before stopping for refreshments at one or two local hostelries).

Come on, let me…

View original post 3 more words

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Travel n Ravel post: Barging in…

Here’s another repurposed post that I’ve tweaked for Ian Cochrane and his eclectic travel blog. (see link below)

There’s nothing like a nice country pub when you want to relax and unwind, especially when you can meet interesting people, explore the local history and hear a few amusing stories whilst sampling the delicacies of the region.

image

But whatever you do, make sure you know the geography of the area, otherwise you might find yourself…

Barging in.

 
12 Comments

Posted by on November 30, 2015 in Guest spots., Humour, Personal anecdote, Travel

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Photo Sans Frontiers Showcase: Créma Alma…

I have to say, I’m delighted at how my Facebook photography page is growing into an international collective of photo enthusiasts and today I’d like to introduce you to one of its newest members.

image Créma Alma lives in Casablanca and her photos beautifully capture the exotic atmosphere that name conjures up.
From stunning landscapes and scenes of everyday life, to ancient architecture and colourful geometric patterns on traditional pottery, her pictures really evoke the blazing sunshine and fragrant Arabian nights of Morocco.

And of all the photography groups, on all the websites, in all the world, she walked into mine.
(Oh come on, you didn’t think I’d be able to resist that did you…?)

Ladies and gentlemen, the photography of Créma Alma.

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Picture this. Instow beach…

There’s really nothing like a bracing walk on the beach in winter to give you an appetite on Sunday lunchtime so, after fortifying ourselves with bacon and French toast for breakfast, we made our way to Instow, a twenty minute drive along the estuary, to where the rivers Taw and Torridge reach the sea at Bideford bay.

image

A small fishing village with a large and attractive beach at low tide, Instow is always popular, no matter what the season.
Whether it’s tourists flooding the area in summer or dog walkers and locals like us taking advantage of the vacated sands in winter, the flat expanse of the beach and undulating, grass covered dunes make for an ever-changing landscape that has a wild and natural grandeur of its own, even in January.

image

image

The nearby village of Appledore makes a colourful backdrop to the panoramic views across the river and there are many juxtapositions of colour and texture, both natural and man-made, wherever you look.

image

image

image

image

From the elegant colonial styling of the old Commodore Hotel…

image

…to the ancient stone of the sea wall and flood defences…

image

image

…and the strange organic shapes made by the ever-present driftwood, dune grass and spiny buckthorn.

image

image

image

image

image

image

After an hour or so of clambering around amongst the dunes and hunting for seashells on the blustery sands of the beach, it was pleasant to rest for a drink in a local beer garden, after which we strolled into the village to sample the mouth-watering wares at the fabulous delicatessen on the harbour before heading home.

I can’t think of more fitting musical offerings to accompany a Sunday stroll on the beach than these two, so close your eyes and picture the waves lapping on the sand to enjoy Travis with Driftwood and the Bloom album in its wondrous entirety from Beach House.

Happy Sunday everyone.

 
 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Picture this. A winter walk…

After the hailstorm we had last night, it was nice to see the watery winter sun trying to poke it’s feeble fingers through the clouds this morning. Perfect weather for a Sunday lunchtime walk.
I’ve joined various photography groups on Facebook in the last couple of weeks and, having plundered my gallery for introductory shots, I thought I’d better get some new material to post (but not before I post them here, obviously) so I took my trusty phone for a stroll along the riverbank and fields around Rock Park to see what I could see.

The lowering grey overcast was different from the usual backdrop of blue sky and fluffy clouds in my photos, giving the light an interesting tone which nicely evokes the season.

image

One of the camera groups I’ve joined has bridges as a theme this week but despite the fact that one of my favourites, the old iron railway bridge is in the park, I thought I’d include pictures of the other two on this stretch of river for a change; the current rail bridge and the large concrete road bridge, both crossing the River Taw.

image

image

image

Following the trails and footpaths around the park, through tunnels of trees and along the banks of the river, the bracing wind certainly blew away the Sunday cobwebs.

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

I look forward to watching the countryside come back to life, it’s always fascinating to see what new images each season brings…

 
 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Picture this. A break in Somerset…

Having taken a break from work for a few days, I thought I’d get away and visit somewhere I’d not really been before, the area round Bristol in Somerset.

I stayed on a very peaceful holiday park in Clevedon, complete with fishing lake to stroll around and a total lack of screaming children for company.

image

As is my habit when I’m away, I went on a couple of excursions to take photos, first visiting the seaside town of Clevedon itself, with the “only fully intact, grade one listed pier in England”, built in 1869 and still in immaculate condition.

image

image

A walk along the pier offers beautiful views of the Bristol channel, the entry toll house is imposing in its grandeur and the very structure of the elegant pier itself provides a wonderful counterpoint to the dusky sky when the lamps are lit in the evening…

image

image

image

…and I saw this lovely tiled Victorian water fountain on the wall opposite the entrance.

image

Another place I took a look at was the Lake Grounds in Portishead which, all in all, has a very pleasant, very English summer holiday feel to the area. Ducks and swans on the boating lake, blustery wind in my face and striking red rock formations, reminding me of the ploughed red earth of the Devon countryside.

image

image

image

image

Further up the coast I discovered the Windmill Inn, a pub with not only a good selection of ciders, but gorgeous views from the terraced gardens of the Welsh coast and the rapidly scudding clouds and choppy waters of the Bristol channel.

image

image

image

image

image

image

After a relaxing drink and a leisurely drive back towards my temporary home from home, I couldn’t resist stopping off at the particularly photogenic Church of All Saints in the Parish of East Clevedon, nestling in the lee of a wooded valley and looking like something trapped forever in the permanent dappled glow of an English summer afternoon.

image

image

image

image

image

image

I carefully picked my way among the headstones…

image

…until I came upon a resident who didn’t look like they appreciated my trespassing on their sunbathing spot..

image

So I took this as my cue to leave for home, taking one last look as I walked back to the car…

image

…and arriving in time to snap yet another glorious sunset over my holiday retreat.

image

Thanks for joining me on my tour of this tiny corner of Somerset, I hope you enjoyed it.
I’ll leave you with a rather appropriate musical sign-off

Until next time…

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

One gig, one wedding and two injuries…

We had been looking forward to this bank holiday weekend for a while, featuring as it did a friend’s wedding, to be held in a beautiful RHS (Royal Horticultural Society) garden that we’re lucky enough to have nearby, here in North Devon.

But that wasn’t to be until Sunday lunchtime and I hadn’t got anything else planned, other than a spot of payday weekend shopping for a wedding present and a smart pair of black jeans to go with my jacket for the wedding.
And Elaine needed shoes.

As it happened she didn’t find any, but while she was searching for them I retired to the pub to escape the hordes of grockles in the high street and while I was there I bumped into an old friend, one who had starred in a previous post, the one with the samurai sword.

I was sitting on the decking, enjoying the sunshine, when I heard a familiar voice loudly proclaiming that;
– “I don’t go looking for trouble you know”
I couldn’t resist;
– “No, it just comes looking for you doesn’t it Terry”
– “That’s right mate. See?”, he said to his unseen companion “I told you, it’s not my fault”
– “It just better not come looking for you when you’ve got a sword in your hand though, huh?”, I hazarded.
“Oh THAT’S RIGHT, bring THAT up again why don’t you!” he shouted in (I hoped) mock-outrage.

His displeasure vanished as quickly as it’d appeared however, leading him to regale us with another episode of DIY surgery-themed lunacy;
Whilst showing off his authentic, razor sharp, Japanese katana samurai sword to his girlfriend’s young daughter, Terry drew the lethal blade vertically out of its scabbard, holding it in front of him.
Unfortunately for him, he had neglected to check which way round the blade was facing before doing so and, as the weapon came free of its cover, the end of it sliced up the front of Terry’s stomach.

Now, far be it for me to cast aspersions on his character, but I suspect that he may have consumed a few beverages prior to his impromptu disembowelment exercise, rendering him mercifully anesthetized and, as his girlfriend put it when she arrived mid-way through the tale;
– “I said “For fuck’s sake Terry, you’ve cut your stomach open” he just looked at me and said he was fine. I said “look, you’ve cut right through your t-shirt and your stomach” but he was pissed and just told me not to be so bloody stupid”
Terry then returned to the conversational fray;
“Brand new bloody Animal t-shirt it was too. Anyway I went to bed, coz I’d had a few drinks, and when I woke up I couldn’t move. Couldn’t roll over. I’m lying there on my stomach going (shouting) “Kelly! Kelly, I can’t fucking move!””
Kelly interjected again at this point;
“And I said “That’s because you cut your stomach open last night and the blood’s stuck you to the sheets”

Nobody likes an I-told-you-so.

It turned out, when they finally reached the hospital, having peeled him off the bedsheets, that had he gone there the night before, they would probably have stitched him up. As it was, lying face down and unconscious for several hours on the clean cut inflicted by the deadly blade had effectively sealed the wound and he required merely to be taped up and sent on his way with, no doubt, weary shaking of heads and amusement from the hospital staff.

As we were there and she had our attention, Kelly also proceeded to tell us of the time Terry had thought it deeply amusing to push her out of bed in the morning, sending her sprawling naked on the floor.
Waiting until he had nodded off again, Kelly returned to bed and after a suitable period to lull him into a sufficient sense of security, turned side-on and used both feet to propel him bodily out of bed and onto the floor.
At least it would have been the floor, had Terry not left an empty pint glass next to the bed the night before.
As Kelly cheerfully explained;
“He was bent double in the corner of the bedroom for about half an hour going “Oooooph! Oooooph!”, it was hilarious. When we got him up the hospital the doctor said it was lucky it wasn’t a cheap, thin glass, it would have smashed and killed him instantly. But it’s ok, it was a good strong one, it broke three of his ribs instead”

Well, quite.

As if that wasn’t enough entertainment for one day, that same evening, as I was waiting for a takeaway, a rare payday treat, friend, ex- colleague and musician Steve Conway strolled past and asked if I fancied going to see a band in town that night.
So Friday night, I was in the upstairs room of a local Mexican restaurant called Jalapeño Peppers, listening to the angular and energetic indie rock of a band Steve had been a member of last time I’d seen them, CAPTAL.

It was a really good set, the evening having what Steve described as “an historic feel”, so if they suddenly hit the big time tomorrow, we can say we were there at their breakthrough gig.
Anyway, check them out at the link above and here are a few photos I took on the night.

image

image

image

image

And so finally to the main event, Jon and Lisa’s wedding.
Sadly the weather let them down, as it veered between overcast and downright wet all day on Sunday, meaning the wedding photographs had to be cut short.
This was especially unfortunate given the setting, RHS Rosemoor, a large and beautifully maintained garden in Torrington.
They had chosen to have the ceremony in the thatched building in the English Cottage Garden and though the rain kept off just long enough for them to tie the knot, immediately afterwards the skies opened and we all made a dash for the extremely enjoyable reception, but not before I’d taken a quick, damp stroll around some of the grounds to take a few snaps.

So here’s a brief taste of Rosemoor in the rain, starting with the picturesque thatched hut where the ceremony took place..

image

…which stands in amongst the lush planting of the cottage garden..

image

image

..with its ornamental pond and pergola..

image

image

…and as part of a Tolkien exhibit that is currently on show throughout the grounds, an unexpected guest watched from the roof of a gazebo.

image

There are more formal parts of the garden too, bisected by imposing avenues of clipped hedging…

image

..leading to distinct “garden rooms” such as the formal rose garden and the vivid and eclectic planting of the sunken garden.

image

image

image

It was a pity the English bank holiday weekend weather made us cut our visit short, but I will return in the summer when the sun is out to give you a more extended view of Rosemoor. In the meantime, if you want to visit and see for yourself, click on THIS LINK or the one above and discover the other delights this beautiful place has to offer.

{The Tolkien exhibit runs until the end of August}

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Spring windup and the persistence of The persistence of memory…

Yesterday…

As is predictable for an English bank holiday Monday, it is now grey and raining outside, but the rest of the weekend has been very pleasant indeed, not least because we had an unexpected guest on Thursday evening.

Old friend and co-star of my Wales watching… posts, (about our pilgrimage to Portmeirion, the home of psychedelic, spy-paranoia fixated cult TV show, The Prisoner) Trevor arrived on the doorstep not long after I got home from work, ostensibly on a short break to try his hand at some fishing on the rocky North Devon shoreline, but as with many weekends that I’ve spent with Trev, plans tend to be rather elastic.

While I went off to work on Friday morning, after a late-ish night of catching up and reminiscing, Trev went in search of a suitable fishing spot and somewhere to pitch his specially purchased tent.
When I returned home at lunchtime however, Elaine had already put him to work in the garden and there were a few more jobs lined up for us too.

Obviously there were some memories to be mulled over, some bollocks to be talked, some cider to be drunk and some pool to be played along the way, so what with buying and fitting a replacement for our suddenly defunct electric shower, fitting a new ceiling light in the bathroom, drinking some more cider, laying a couple of paving slabs, making and consuming a pan of,..ahem..herbally enhanced Hyena Soup, (enabling you to make a “laughing stock” of yourself) repairing our front door, reading all the e-mails and blogs I’ve got behind with, and drinking some more cider, I haven’t had a lot of time to do any blogging.

And Trevor never did go fishing.

The upshot of which is, this post is like one of those cheap-to-make TV episodes which recap a character’s back-story for no discernible reason.

Except this is really interesting.

Honest.

Ok, now I’m worried I’ve built it up too much.
All I was going to do was give you a bit of an update really, nothing earth-shattering.

{Note to self: comparing posts to crap tv show formatting is not sensible or effective blog promotion}

Back in February I had a bit of a rant about the rise of stupid nomination challenges on social media and how it would be nice if people used the same communication technology for doing something positive for a change, suggesting BlogNominate as the way forward.
As with a lot of these things, there was plenty of support for the idea but I’ll be honest, I hadn’t really considered all the logistics of the plan and it kind of fizzled out.
But not before two friends at work had rebranded the idea as EggNominate, the idea being that people would contribute either cash or Easter eggs to the appeal, to eventually be distributed among the residents of Little Bridge House children’s hospice and the local children’s cancer ward.
The final total was over 150 chocolate eggs, which were delivered personally to the children, and nearly £200 in cash to be donated to the hospice.

But one event I probably can shoehorn into the “Random act of kindness” category is the fundraiser we held at work, whereby myself and the two erstwhile EggNominators, Mike and Shane, challenged ourselves to raise the modest sum of £45 between us on the Friday of Breast Cancer Awareness week.
There was a catch however; should we reach our target in the two hours or so before our morning break, we would allow a couple of our female colleagues to give us a makeover (our version of the “make-up-on selfie” that became a popular male response to the campaign of women posting photos of themselves without make-up on social media to promote breast cancer awareness) which we would wear for the remainder of the working day.

It seems as though there is an unhealthy urge for people to see grown men made up like the world’s least convincing transvestites, (although a disturbing number of people told me how good I looked as a woman) because by ten o’clock we had raised nearly £130.

Ok then, let the plastering begin…

image

Me, getting a bit of slap on, courtesy of Gemma, one of our volunteer artistes.

…and yes, apparently I have to let my hair down..

image

That “Cher / Max Wall hybrid” look in full.

image

“The Sugarblokes” – Shane, Mike and I, with our make-up artistes Gemma and Naomi.

Possibly the most worrying part of the day was, having driven back from work in full make-up, with my hair by now a tangled mess, I stopped at our local shop on the way home and……nobody batted an eyelid.
Which only struck me as strange until I remembered that over the past few years I’ve walked in there dressed as a cowboy, Elvis, a native American chief and a pirate, amongst other things, so perhaps it wasn’t that strange after all.

(additional makeover photography by Vernon Smith, cheers Vern)

And finally in this random round-up of stuff that’s occurred to me this Spring, I have a puzzle for you;

What is the connection between a 1931 surrealist masterpiece by Salvador Dali and a blog post about the horrors of war?

Well, this is The Persistence of Memory, a painting by Salvador Dali…

image

..and this is The Persistence Of Memory, a blog post by dalecooper57.

I pinched Dali’s title because it went with the theme of remembrance and the importance of keeping memories of terrible events alive for future generations to learn from.
I was pleased with the post and I got some good feedback from it.
Ok. Happy with that.

(At this point I should say that my previous best day’s traffic on the whole blog was 269 hits, and that was on a day I posted three times. Very rarely do I get anything like those numbers, especially on a day that I haven’t posted anything)

So imagine my surprise when, over a week after publishing the post, which got a respectable 100+ hits on the day, I suddenly got 385 hits on that post alone, ending the day on an astounding 409!
Now this was amazing enough a month ago, but ever since then the same post has been getting many more hits than any other, to the point that on one platform alone it’s passed the 2,000 mark, something I doubt anything else I’ve written has come close to.

All of which would be fine except for one thing.
No comments.

Not that I’m saying nobody commented on the post originally, several of my lovely readers made valuable contributions via that little box at the bottom of the post (the one so many of you seem scared of. Come on in, I won’t bite) but after the avalanche of traffic began I haven’t had one single word of feedback and that does strike me as odd. And not just because I’ve had a lot of spam get past my filter recently either.
(Note: Before you ask, none of the search terms for the post were mistaken searches for Dali’s painting)

So if you’re one of the allegedly thousands of people who have read The persistence of memory… in the last couple of weeks, let me know.
Because much as I’d like to think that it was a moving, heartfelt, brilliantly researched and potentially award-winning piece of journalism, therefore attracting inordinate numbers of (very shy) new readers, I can’t help thinking that something maybe amiss.

Please feel free to prove me wrong.

Oh, and while we’re on the subject of new readers, I’d like to welcome the flurry of new followers I’ve been honoured to receive in recent weeks (Diary of an Internet Nobody now has 320, thank you all) I shall attempt to justify your interest in my continuing total failure to find a theme.

Since I began writing this post yesterday, I think that I should now wind-up my Spring clean of the odds and sods from the blog and I shall leave you with two views of another fabulous Devon sunset from the weekend, along with the rainbow and ethereal clouds that appeared opposite it.

image

image

image

{See, that was better than a flashback episode of Star Trek wasn’t it?}

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Grockles, Oliver Reed, and musical clowns…

image

I’ve lived in Barnstaple, North Devon for over fifteen years now, so I certainly don’t fall into the category of what people in these parts call grockles, but neither am I included in the exclusive subset of locals, you don’t get to adopt that honorific until you’re a thirty year veteran.

I think when the real locals realise that you’re here to stay, instead of buying a second home (bad) or thoughtlessly pumping money into the biggest economy in the West Country, tourism (theoretically better) they start grudgingly thinking of you as resident aliens or simply from away.
I probably fall into the limbo state known only as an incomer, still obviously not from “around here” but recognisable enough to be accepted.

Not that I’m complaining you understand. I love living here, the people are friendly and the atmosphere is relaxed. The countryside is beautiful and there is stunning scenery wherever you look.
The only problem at this time of year is that everyone wants to look at it.
From everywhere.

In short, Grockles.

Yes, I think fifteen years is easily long enough for me to have earned the right to moan about the hoards of lobster coloured, shorts and tropical shirt wearing, surfboard toting, loudly arguing strangers that invade our town every summer, even though I’m falling into the same trap as the locals, cursing what is primarily the lifeblood of the area for half the year.

Being a busy market town with decent high street shops and easy access to all the nearby tourist spots, we tend to draw all the folks who are having a day off from the beach, or need to stock up at the supermarket, which is of course wonderful for local businesses (when I was a market trader none of my fellow stallholders referred to this period as the summer holidays, it was always just “the six weeks”), but not so good if you live here and want to use those same businesses for your daily shopping.
I’ve already seen a comment on my Facebook feed this morning saying that “the grockles have eaten every last scrap of bread in Tesco”

And because we’re so convenient for the surfdude-magnets of Woolacombe and Croyde Bay, the ever popular The Big Sheep (honestly, it’s not just stunned tourists gawping at a gigantic sheep in a field), and the walkers paradise that is Exmoor National Park, (including the “Little Switzerland” area of Lynton and Lynmouth, worth visiting if only to discover the magical wooded valley that is Watersmeet), we get inundated from all directions.

So I’m perfectly well aware that it’s uncharitable of me to complain, when all you lovely people have helped make Devon and Cornwall the top UK tourist destination, and put money into our local economy, etc etc.. we appreciate it, we really do.
So come on down, we (and the locals) love to see you.

But do you really need to bring four generations of your family grocery shopping with you, even though you’re only pushing around a trolley with a bag of charcoal briquettes and a bottle of sun cream?
And do they all need to stand in the queue with you, honestly?

And because you happened to have got on so well with that nice family from Guilford who are in the chalet next door at the holiday park, when you bump into them halfway down the frozen food aisle, is it strictly necessary that your combined party of 19 children, five grandparents, and four angry spouses hold an impromptu discussion on what plans you all have for dinner that evening?

There aren’t any rules, as far as I’m aware, saying that you are required to push a trolley each either, they do take up rather a lot of room.

I’m also fairly sure that there isn’t a recent law stating that all your children should use the entire floor area of the shop as a skating rink, scooter and/or skatepark, or racetrack for various radio controlled vehicles, all whilst screaming their darling little heads off.
Or did I miss that?

Having negotiated the more-than-usually gridlocked nightmare that was my weekly shopping expedition to Tesco this morning, lobster hued grockles and all, it was almost a relief to arrive at the till to impoverish myself just that little bit further, particularly as I managed to find my favourite checkout operator, a nice Scottish lady called Jess who always has a smile and time for a chat.
I gave her one of my custom-made Diary of an Internet Nobody stickers a few weeks ago and she always asks whether I’ve done anything new.
So if you’re reading this Jess, this one’s for you. (Oh, and if you click the little button that says “Follow blog by email” at the top of the page, you’ll be notified each time I post something) I don’t know how you cope to be honest, you must have the patience of a saint.

I’ll give you one positive thing about our seasonal invasion though, it certainly serves as a reminder to be well behaved when you go grockling up someone else’s hometown.

And as for the word “grockle” itself, well, it’s popularly believed to have first been used in the 1964 British film noir The System, (also known as The Girl Getters) starring Oliver Reed, Jane Merrow and David Hemmings, about the pursuit of holidaying girls by local lads in a small West Country town.

You can watch the whole film here.

But I prefer the version that many locals still insist is the correct explanation.
In the 1930’s there was a Swiss music hall act called Grock the Musical Clown who regularly had a red face, baggy clothing and a handkerchief tied round his head.
Residents of the area clearly noticed his similarity to the increasing number of visitors “from away” who were starting to frequent seaside destinations in the years between the wars, and a new term was coined.

So just for completeness, here’s a film of Grock himself in action.

And if you’re off on holiday soon, think of the locals, however “local” they are, they still have to live there…

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

One moor time…

Over this last weekend, we were lucky enough to be asked to house/pet-sit for some friends of ours who live in the beautiful Dartmoor National Park.

Well, free accommodation in one of the most spectacular areas of the country, with only the care of a couple of Guinea pigs, two cats, a parrot called Sid, and a white dove recovering from a weasel attack to take up our time, we’d have been fools to turn it down.

So, yesterday, we went off into the glorious winter sunshine to visit one of the many naturally beautiful attractions that the moor has to offer.

image

    Hustle and bustle, what’s that?

We have now been to Dartmoor several times, both for the fabulous Chagstock festival, and on many holidays spent exploring the moor. We’ve been to both the nearby Canonteign Falls, and the extraordinary sculpture exhibition at The Stone Lane mythic gardens, so on this visit we decided to check out another series of waterfalls near the historic town of Bovey Tracey.

After a very pleasant drive in the unexpected sunshine, we arrived at Becky Falls Woodland Park.
The car park was almost deserted, and it looked as if we had the place to ourselves.
We paid our £5.75 winter entry fee and set off into the park itself.

As we began the walk down into the ravine, we decided on the Purple Route, described as “challenging” and featuring areas such as the Boulder Scramble.

image

We became aware of the sound of roaring water some time before we could glimpse the river through the trees. A steep flight of steps, cut into the side of the ravine and strengthened with stout timbers, led down to a bridge.
The bridge itself was fashioned from a whole tree trunk, laying across the river, with timber planks laid over it, joined to a sturdy handrail.

From this point, I made a short video compilation of the walk, with photographs taken throughout the day, called Dawn to Dusk – A day out on Dartmoor (featuring music by Future Loop Foundation) which you can watch here.

(note – I’m still slightly miffed that I failed to synch the video length to the music track. I promise you it’s only a few seconds, but it jars the ending. Apologies for any reduction in your viewing pleasure.

No? Just me then.)

Here are a few photos I took on the trip up the river to the main falls.

image

image

image

image

image

The walk was fairly steep in some places, but even Elaine, who doesn’t always cope well with difficult climbs, found it relatively easy-going.

The spectacular scenery, and the fact that we could combine elements of the three different marked routes to customize our walk, made for a thoroughly enjoyable day out.

As we left, we also saw the animals in the small petting zoo and the birds of prey rescue centre, featuring an extremely noble looking eagle owl.

image

Stopping off only to get some supplies from the very fine butcher/delicatessen in Moretonhampstead, we made our way back to enjoy a Dartmoor sunset, drink in hand, from our weekend home’s back garden.
And after all, what could possibly be better than that?

Cheers.
image

 
4 Comments

Posted by on December 9, 2012 in Music, Personal anecdote, Photography, Travel

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

 
Running with the Pack

An American Gypsy

Chet Desmond Has Vanished

But Where Did He Go?

48 before its too late

48 states in an RV in 6 months.

AesthesiaMag

French magazine - art & visual culture

cmsaunders

The online presence of dark fiction writer C.M. Saunders

Timeandreflections

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect"

Little Fears

Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes

JOHNNY SPANGLES - THE VILE PILE

The ramblings of a very troublesome haemorrhoid on health, travel, art, sport, bad dogs, good cats and other stuff at www.johnnyspangles.com

The Lessons

that time forgot to teach

SOZ SATIRE

The Best of British Bullshit

Homeschool To UnSchool

Teaching Our Kids to Wonder Again

Ellenbest24

words and scribble.

sloppybuddhist

hedy bach original photography mixed stories and music

Isabella Morgan

Opinions not otherwise specified

A Life in Transition

Poetry & Fiction

Author Kyle Perkins

The latest and greatest of my documented daydreams

Rereading Jane Eyre

Author Luccia Gray

Luca Sartoni

Protector of Asynchronicity at Automattic

Pages That Rustle

The journey from words to stories.

trickyemotions

For your mind only!

Waruni Anuruddhika

Film and photography

An Artist’s Path

Art, Poetry, Spirituality & Whimsy

Tyler Charles Austen

Foul mouthed, Queer and Angry

balloonfacetrace

The facepainting and balloon twisting lady

Jamaica Ponder

...only a little bit famous

Art by Rob Goldstein

There is no common truth, but there are facts.

Kristin King Author

True Story...

BluChickenNinja

- a creative lifestyle blog -

thegirlwhofearoblivion

To Share, To Connect, To Create, To Inspire.

unbolt me

the literary asylum

swo8

Music means something

Broken Castles

Shattered long ago...

Joshi Daniel Photography

Images of People Photoblog

iamthemilk

Every day I'm jugglin'.

The Write Project

"The answer is to write." - Richard Rhodes

%d bloggers like this: