August Ban Collie Day at Wistman's Wood and Cox Tor

Cwtch doesn't care for Ban Collie Days; in fact, she gets quite peevish when they roll around. As for their homonyn, Bank Holiday Days, I'm not mad keen on them either, on account of the crowds and traffic jams, but Dartmoor is the place to go if you want to get away from it all, so we did.

And as we hadn't been there for some years, and it's an easy walk on a hot day, we settled on a wander up to Wistmans Wood. 

Coming into view

Following the unpleasant incident with cow shit on the Gwent Levels the other day - and in view of the fact there were sheep in the vicinity - Cwtch stayed on the lead, but it didn't seem to prevent her from enjoying her surroundings.  

As we advanced up the valley, I watched a raven doing circuit-and-bumps along the Beardown Tors, but apart from its occasional shouts, it was quiet, the West Dart being too low to make any noise as it limped down over the boulders. 

Crow Tor - one of my favourites - was visible on the horizon, but we weren't walking that far today. 

Notices request that you walk around rather than through Wistman's Wood, so as to avoid damaging the fragile habitat - and the adders that live there. (OK, I added that second bit, though actually, when I did bump into a live adder, a long time ago now on Meldon Hill, it was fascinating rather than terrifying.) (Though I wouldn't want Cwtch anywhere near one.) (Despite having an adder pack.)

In respect of this, we perched just inside the edge of the wood, and looked up and all around at the amazing lichens and mosses that hang like washing from a line, while a robin kept a beady eye on us to make sure we didn't trespass any further. 

After a while we exited the wood and headed a little further up the valley. This is the view looking back down, with Wistman's Wood on the right and the West Dart hidden in the valley. 

gorse and ling

Then we popped back into the shade for a bit.

As we'd got up quite early to reach Dartmoor at a sensible hour, it was now time to head back to the Dartmoor Inn at Merrivale for a light lunch. On the way a large Southern Hawker, which must have been at least three inches long, gave me a good looking-over, before flying off just as I was about to take a photo.

Beardown Plantation and the West Dart

After a little refreshment we headed for Cox Tor, which we last visited nearly two years ago, just after the death of our old collie, Ted.

Looking back towards Tavistock

Roos Tor

Cox Tor

Looking towards Plymouth Sound and the River Tamar

I've started thinking of this as Grief Tor, and it does feel like attrition to climb it, though the views are comforting. And having seen collie angels last time we were here, it felt right to be accompanied this time by our own beguiling little Cwtch ...

... and a passing foal that stopped for a cuddle (much to the dog's chagrin). 

Stand-off!

Fossilling at Kilve

Another day, another beach. But first lunch at the reopened Hood Arms in Kilve, which still sells Rich's cider, hooray!

And then on to Kilve beach.

This is Kilve Pill. I like the fact that the word for a creek or small river emptying off the flood plain into the Bristol Channel is still in use all the way down here in West Somerset.

The last time I was here was two and a half years ago with my niece and my parents. 

Right at the end of his life, my father became obsessed with fossils. It started on a day trip to Lulworth, and intensified at Kilve, which is just about the best place for finding fossils that I know. 

When he saw the photos I took of my niece with a particularly large fossil, it became the most desirable thing in the world. 

Back home he asked and asked me to get it for him. No matter that it was attached to a thick slab of rock that probably weighed several hundredweight. 

'I would need a small crane, Dad,' I'd say. 'Or a couple of teams of rugby players.'

He suggested I go down early one morning when no one was about, and to take my partner with me. 'He's a big enough bloke.' 

'Even if we could lift it,' I said, 'there's no way we'd be able to carry it over the rocks.' 

'You could use your mother's shopping trolley,' he said. 'She wouldn't mind.'

I think he'd have liked this fossil Son the Younger found, which is portable on account of being only six inches long, but still hefty for all that. 

This one, however, stayed put ...

... as did these. 

High time for an ice cream at Kilve Chantry.