Ebbor Gorge

It's been a few years since I last visited Ebber Gorge. Tucked away in woodland on the Mendip Hills, Ebbor is a lovely spot, less well known than Cheddar, and in many respects better for it. A compact 350 million year old limestone gorge engulfed by woodland, it's a wonderful place; very Robin of Sherwood. The gorge has been popular with humans since the palaeolithic, with evidence of later Neolithic occupation and possibly Bronze Age too. It must have been a special place, being on the edge of two worlds, of the Mendip hills and the wetland world of the levels. In more recent times the gorge has been blighted with Ash Die back (Hymenoscyphus fraxineus), resulting in the loss of trees; fortunately the natural aspect and atmosphere of the place are little affected, and it remains magical walking. I read that the Ash (Fraxinus excelsior) is fighting back, with saplings growing in some infected areas developing a degree of resistance to the fungi. Here's hoping, eh.

Ebbor

I had planned to go onto Dartmoor after sunrise on the Tor, but the weather prophets prophesied bad weather for those parts, and the clouds who mustered out to the west supported their claims. And, so I find myself at Ebbor Gorge. Not that I'm complaining, Ebbor Gorge is a lovely spot, and where I'd usually go after celebrations on the Tor.  For the first part of walk around the gorge edge up onto the high ground I was distracted by the puncture I'd got (which turned out to be a real pisser, and which took me a real age to change), although after I'd put that out of my mind I began to immerse myself in the lush surroundings of the early morning gorge.  The air was morning fresh, all but for the occasional soft whiff of distant smoke, from up here I could see a small plume rising from somewhere in the wooded gorge.  Out over the still bare tree tops I could see across the levels to the tor where I'd watch the sun rise earlier, and what a view.  I stand peeling back time in my mind, trying to imagine what this landscape looked like before the levels were drained, back in prehistory, a vast wetland of open waters, reed beds and the periodic island, of which Glastonbury is the most striking.  You can imagine the Tor would have always have been held in high regard, held in some spiritual significance, it's easy to understand why.  It's a quiet morning in the gorge, the night life is just retiring, whilst the day shift just stirring. There is a sound though,  periodically I could hear music, the repetitive beats dance music, you know, the morning after mellow dance beats. I imagine it's coming from the same place as the smoke. 

I realize I've stood here for quite a while now, lost in thought, my imagination in flight and it's time to move on, head down into the wooded gorge.  Down a rocky pathway I descended through dells of blue and white, carpets of bluebells are complimented by swathes of ramson and wood anemone. 

The gorge is cool, damp and still quite dark, moss and lichen clings to the low hanging branches, moss covers both the trunks and the rocks, making it appear as if they're being consumed by green. It's very similar to the pockets of temperate rainforest you find on the moorland valleys or further west in Devon and Cornwall. Lovely. I continue my descent, going deeper into the gorge, as I do so the smell of smoke gets stronger and the music louder. I've reached the bottom, the ground is more open here, as is the woodland, it's home to some noble trees. I come to a large-ish clearing shaded by mighty trees and with a small brook running along one side, and the source of the smoke and music.  Scattered around the clearing are small groups of folk, one group around the remains of the dying fire, all enjoying the sounds coming from a nice sound system. The remnants of a free party, nice. It's an age since I've attended a free outdoor party, I'm envious, this looks like it was a good one too. What a spot for a party! The folk are friendly, all smiling, constant 'good mornings' and 'how you doings' coming from all quarters. Now, I'm more envious, a good party, and nice people! I greet them all and wish them a happy Beltaine, which is unanimously reciprocated. I smile, wish them good day, wave and move on. This time moving upwards back out of the gorge.  

The path up out of Ebbor is less rocky (in places anyway), less severe and quickly I'm back out of the gorge woodland, in the open and looking out over the levels again. There's much more of Ebbor Gorge to explore, but for today my exploration is over. Another excellent and uplifting Beltaine Ebbor Gorge walk. Still envious of those cheesy quavers, mind!

Ebbor beasts

If you go down to the woods today, you're in for a big surprise! Why? Because there's some weird wicker animals hanging about. Imagine walking through here in the half light of dusk and coming across these beasts lurking amongst the stands, you'd crap yourself.

camouflage

I find you can lose yourself gazing down into this woodland, it's almost like looking at a rainforest, or what I imagine from pictures rainforest is like; every now and again a bird of prey glides past or a small group of birds are disturbed from their roosts and scatter or your eye catches something unknown, and only partly seen, moving through the stands below. Beautiful; and we'd, man that is, destroy such wonders.

Ebbor Gorge

The magical world of Ebbor Gorge is tucked away in the Mendips, cut into the hills above Wookey Hole. From the car park  you make your way along a rugged path which disappears down the steep wooded gorge side and into a different world; outside the Mendip Hills are mostly bare exposed rough grassland, but down here in the gorge you find yourself deep in a wooded embrace. The woodland floor's a mosaic of colour created by a carpet of Spring plants: bluebells bow their heads as you pass, spikes of orchids stand tall and proud, ferns unroll their heads like waking hydras and ramsons shine like white stars amongst the depths of green lushness; wood anemone, celandines, violets, primroses and many more are all represented. It's easy to become distracted; care should be taken though whilst walking, the path down is very steep, steppy and can be slippery when wet. High above you, rock faces protrude from the gorge sides and out beyond the canopy; in places the paths too are flanked by similar near sheer rock faces or steep scree slopes; the path begins to wind upwards, rising up a long course of rocky steps as the sides of the gorge narrow to thin slot. Then you reach the lip of the gorge and you're out, from here it's only a short walk up and out of the woodland into the open grassland above. Arriving on the hilltop you're greeted with spectacular views out over the Somerset Levels and beyond to the Bristol Channel; from here you can see Avalon, its hill rising proud and majestic from the wetlands; capped by its iconic tower it's a magical sight. You now find yourself above the canopy, looking down into, and over, the densely wooded gorge; from up here the wooded sides create a mesmerizing patchwork of greens, a view which you can lose yourself in before you descend back into the colourful gorge again.

I must spend more time exploring Ebbor, my walk took in but a small part of it and I know there's more to discover.