The benefit of a good night's sleep.
Yesterday included a fairly strenuous walk (by my present standards), and a lot of intensive driving, and by the time I landed back at the van I as tired. The problem with the water pump loomed larger than it should have, and time spent trying to sort it cut into time I reserve for writing up the blog, preparing my meal, and planning next days activity, and I was decidedly ratty.
I slept more soundly, than for many a month. This morning dawned with a more positive attitude. I arranged a 9:00am appointment tomorrow with a caravan servicer in Exeter. The site owner put my battery on charge which later this afternoon proved to operate the pump again so the problem is narrowed down to failure of the battery to be charged from the mains electric when hooked up on site. I have also provisionally booked on a site near Yeovil, central for Area 41 Marilyns.
That last snippet should tell those who have been following closely that I finished Devon and Cornwall today with an ascent of High Willhays (SX 580 892). This has been the best hill day so far, a bit like being back on the Munros. A pleasant contoured path above the reservoir was a good start until it was barred by an impassable padlocked, deer fenced gate, necessitating climbing a barbed wire fence and earthen banking. Further on the footbridge was similarly barred at one end, but this had been fairly ruthlessly dismantled, but still difficult to negotiate with my dodgy knee.
A pleasant ravine lead to a strenuous thrash up pathless tussocky grass to Black Rocks and upwards again to High Willhays. Good ridge walking followed to Yes Tor with its trig point and remnants of military installations - this area has been used for military training.
A descent to the starting point ended a satisfying circular walk. For anybody interested, High Willhays at 621 metres or 2038 feet, is the highest point in England south of Kinder Scout.
Looking back to start
Black Rocks
High Willhays summit
Hello Conrad - the last photograph reminds me of the Mounth hills of Cairn of Claise and Carn an Tuirc so perhaps that contributed to your feeling of 'being back on the Munros'.
ReplyDeleteGood luck with the caravan fix and resuming your interesting exploits.
I'm off soon to, hopefully, find out what is wrong with my knee and discuss a fix for that.
Afoot - good luck with you appointment.
ReplyDeleteI did Tom a Buidhe he with those two Munros. Having left the summit of Tom a Buihde on a compass bearing and thick mist I put the compass in my pocket and after ten or fifteen minutes found myself back at the summit having walked in a complete circle. The World's worst Munroist.
That pony loks as if she's about to drop her foal any minute now. Is that a wild pony, or one on a grazing holiday from her barn?
ReplyDeleteThe Crow - hi Martha. The ponies are not truly wild but they live out on the moor all year. They are rounded up annually by the various farmers then health checked and some retained for sale the the rest go back to the moor. Dartmoor is a huge area of moorland covered with tussocky grass, heather and bracken and is a wild National Park. More info about ponies at:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.dartmoor-npa.gov.uk/learningabout/lab-printableresources/lab-factsheetshome/lab-dartmoorponiesq
You may have to enter tha manually. I don't think Comments let's you put in links.
Conrad, you probably already know about America's wild ponies of Assateague Island, but in case you don't, here are a couple of URLs to sites with info.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.chincoteague.com/ponies.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chincoteague_Pony
Your photo of the little red pony made me think immediately of the Chincoteague horses. Ours are feral, but are rounded up each year for pony auctions. Only a certain number are taken each year, much like your ponies, it seems.
(I don't always leave comments, but I do read your posts, by the way.)
The Crow - thanks for those links. The concept of those ponies originating from shipwrecks is strange to consider, evoking graphic pictures of the animals struggling to shore, and the eventual triumph over many years of an established population.
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