High on the northern side of the Deancombe Valley stands a huge rock known as the ‘Cuckoo Rock’ and this has been a point of pilgrimage for many years. There are several versions as to why it is so called, firstly there are those that consider the shape of the …

Just on the southern edge of Dartmoor’s northern fen is a small tor which when observed on the skyline presents a remarkable silhouette which is said to resemble a sitting bird, to be more precise a crow and hence the tor is known as Crow Tor. There is some unexplainable …

“Nor waving crops, nor leaf, nor flowers adorn Thy sides, deserted Crockern. Over thee The winds have ever held dominion ; thou Art still their heritage, and fierce they sweep.” Carrington. 1826 Crockern tor is more a place of history than mystery, probably of all the granite outcrops on Dartmoor …

It was a cold November night and several moormen were huddled around the huge granite fireplace of the old inn. Outside the wind howled down from the high tors and rattled the old aging latch of the inn’s front door. The conversation had drifted from cattle prices to peat stacks …

“Nature, passing nigh Cramber Tor, where old-time miners delved for tin, has found a great pit, filled the same with sweet water, and transformed all into a thing of beauty. Like a cup in the waste lies Crazywell ; and, at this summer season, a rare pattern of mingled gold …

Cranmere Pool – “A hundred years ago, this spot, so familiar to every Dartmoor wanderer today, was shunned as a place of evil omen, and not a moorman would willingly have braved the supernatural perils of the place alone.” – Eden Phillpotts, The Master of Merripit Farm. Cranmere Pool or …

High up on the north moor at an altitude of 1,798 feet a small dribble of water issues from the peat at grid reference SX 59367 80473. This small trickle of water will drop down 890 ft  over a course of about 4.6 miles before flowing into the West Dart …

On Cawsand Beacon. Rolling o’er the purple heather, In the glorious Summer weather, Staining lips with whortleberries, Sweet as any figs or cherries. Sipping from the crystal stream, Lying on the banks to dream, Watching skylarks soar above Singing, with them, strains of love.   Gazing over boundless plain, List’ning …

“A heavy mist enveloped Dartmoor, and from Combestone Tor the great earth ridges swept southerly away all smothered in vapour. Below the broken rock-piles of the tor a steep hill fell sharply, and here nothing but a foxglove or two and a withered white-thorn rose stark against the dim wall …

“Now it is that time of night, That the graves all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide“. Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream Sometimes one can look at a map and see a place-name and wonder what on earth went on in …