A wet walk, some ruins and another list

We intended to go for a walk on Dartmoor. We hadn’t been there for many months, we hoped that there would be fewer people around than on our other walks recently – by the coast, along canals – and I wanted to take some wild pictures for June’s Scavenger Hunt. Then the weather broke, I came down with a migraine and my walking boots split, leaving me with only pink wellies to keep my feet dry - not at all suitable for Serious Walking.

Split boots

Unsuitable pink wellies

With a forecast of thunderstorms we decided it would be foolish to head for the moors where there’s no shelter and you’re far from help if anything happens (and most likely out of mobile phone range) but we were both becoming irritable and even the simplest of conversations (how much to turn a tap, why Frog was holding up his keys) was descending into argument. So we decided instead to head for the coast again, but a slightly different walk from usual.

My migraine had at last lifted after coming and going for a week. As we drove into the tiny car park in the pretty hamlet, saved from too many tourists by the fact that it has no shop, pub or café, there was only one other car, and as we walked down the wooded valley the only people we met were two women joggers who seemed like locals. It wasn’t actually raining but the leaves dripped and the air smelt deliciously green. For some reason I was reminded of Greece. Perhaps it was the combination of hot ground and moisture.

We came out on to a scrubby hillside covered in wildflowers and bees, and sat down to eat our picnic – egg sandwiches made with eggs from a neighbour’s rescue chickens (saved from the battery farm and an early death and now living the life of Riley) and homemade hummus (a Lockdown accomplishment). There was so much low cloud and drizzle that we couldn’t see the sea only half a mile or so below us.

We reached the coast path and the prettiest part of the walk was over. To the left was a pig farm and scrawny fields, to the right (separating us from the sea) thorn trees and brambles. At least these meant that Ellie couldn’t plunge over the cliff so we didn’t have to keep her on a lead. It started to rain in earnest and I put on my hat and waterproof trousers.

In spite of the weather – or perhaps because of it – there were wildflowers everywhere but I didn’t try and spot them with my usual enthusiasm. I was too busy trying to keep the wind and rain out of my eyes. Nor did I want to photograph them and get my camera wet. Until, that is, we saw these magnificent thistles*. For some reason I thought of the Queen’s crown and its gaudy jewels.

Crown jewels?

A brave bee, feasting on a thistle in spite of the weather

Out in the open again: the greyness in the background is a mixture of sea and sky

Back along the lane the rain became torrential and Ellie kept looking up at us as if to say, ‘Are you sure we should be out in this?’ A couple of weeks ago, with the weather scorching and Ellie finding it almost too hot to walk, we’d taken her to the dog-groomer and had all her thick fur cut off. Now, when I patted her new short dense coat, she squelched like a sponge. Frog’s trousers were sticking to his legs and I could feel drips working their way down the inside of my clothes.

Ellie a week or so ago with her new haircut. I think it makes her look sweeter and more vulnerable. Frog thinks it shows up her true unscrupulous nature.

In the hamlet again, we passed this ruin which always intrigues me. With its elegant pillars, it looks like the gatehouse to a stately home, so what’s it doing surrounded by farms? And anyway we don’t do ruins in the UK, except deliberately (usually churches and abbeys). Everything is turned into something. We need the space.

The forgotten building we saw on our walk, next to a cottage and a barn but with classical lines and elegant columns

A ruined church on Burrow Mump, a conical hill in the middle of the Somerset Levels

Unlike the Greek island we visit where abandoned buildings can be seen all over the place, especially inland. I’m not an expert but I think this is because tourism has taken over from farming in the islands and tourist accommodation is usually on the coast.  Also, it’s probably cheaper to build from scratch than turn an ancient building into something with modern facilities like air-con and wi-fi. Perhaps it’s also a sign of depopulation - people moving to the cities or abroad in order to make a living. Sad.

Greek island houses, in ruins

A ruined Greek windmill

Back in the car, however, we thanked heaven for civilisation and steamed gently all the way home.

Wildflowers seen
(or at least the ones I noticed, through the wind and rain - there were probably many others)

Bacon and eggs (Birdsfoot-trefoil)

Blackberry

Buttercup

Cat’s ear

Cow parsley

Dog rose

Elder

Foxglove

Hedge bedstraw

Herb Robert

Honeysuckle

Knapweed

Ox-eye daisy

Red campion

Scentless mayweed

Thistle*

Sweetbriar

Wild carrot

Wood sage

Yarrow


*When later checking something in one of my books (Richard Mabey’s Flora Britannica) I came across a picture of the Musk Thistle and recognised that it was the one I saw on this walk. It has a slightly musky smell apparently and grows on chalky soil, which most of Devon doesn’t have, but this area does - which means I don't normally see it which explains why it jumped out at me.