River Dart

It would be fair to say that I've not traveled that extensively, though I have been about this land a bit and of what I've seen I hold three places especially dear, Purbeck, the New Forest and Dartmoor.  Three landscapes to which I feel a deep affinity and connection, magical landscapes which still retain the echoes of a wilder time, a time before mans meddling.  Today Dartmoor. For me the heart of Dartmoor isn't on its iconic barren high moors, beautiful as they may be, no, it's to be found in the deeply wooded river valleys. These valleys retain the essence of our primeval land, densely wooded, humid, filled with life, they echo the wild wood and walking them you feel it. From New Bridge to Dartsmeet we followed the Dart up stream, through the woods, along narrow winding paths more imagined that real; sometimes high above, sometimes on the boulder strewn fringes of the coursing Dart. The noise of the river, the elemental force of nature most responsible for shaping the Dartmoor landscape, is overwhelming, echoing around the valley it fills your senses. Wonderful. You're alive. This landscape stirs something deep inside of you. Dartmoor, she speaks to me, her words so eloquent and beautiful, at once soothing and stirring; I'm sure she speaks to others too, though I know what I hear is personal, meant for me. I should make West more often.