writing | Castles

Dartmoor is different, other-worldly, and has some great scenery to find climbing whatever your level.

Dartmoor. An upland of high-rolling moors and hills. Forest habitats are rich in nature and wildlife. The skyline is tagged with weather-beaten tors and craggy outcrops. Paths wind past neolithic burial stones, and rivers cut through valleys carved out thousands of years ago. 

It can be lovely in the summer. Warm during the day and a comfortable cool breeze in the evening. But it can also be a wet, miserable and unforgiving place. Slow drifting fog coming off the south coast that seems to hang around forever, covering everything in a dew that sticks to you like fine beads. This almost oppressive atmosphere adds to the myths and legends soaked through the area.

Wistmans Wood is a beautiful ancient woodland nestled on the east slope of the River Dart. The walk-in offers a prize of a luscious old wood of oak trees, where lichen and moss cover most surfaces and Old Mans Beard hangs thick off branches like tinsel. Once you walk into Wistmans you’re transported into a mystical forest. Twisted branches curl around into a canopy over your head. A wonderful smell of earth takes you back to a childhood spent building dens or playing hide and seek.

This stunted woodland has been held in awe and fear for millennia. Legend has it that it was a sacred place for druids to hold pagan rituals. Ghosts and supernatural creatures haunt the tangled trees. It is said to be the kennels where the “wisht” hounds are kept. A pack of hell dogs belonging to the devil. Blood red eyes, large yellow fangs and a taste for human flesh. They hunt at night to feast on unsuspecting travellers and lost souls.

We walked up the side of the hill and arrived at the tor around mid-morning. We’d been waiting out the weather in Princetown. The gloom had hung around since dawn and was now showing some sign of lifting. We jumped in the van and drove off, leaving the shit weather in the rearview mirror like a scene from some awful disaster movie.

The murk had indeed lifted as we got to the base of the crag, and we met two other climbers just setting up. Polite hellos and comments on the crap conditions. They were more experienced, had more gear and weren’t put off by the greasy rock as they’d found a part of the crag that was dry.

We sat and compared the guidebook photo with the wet rock in front of us, and I decided I didn’t want to climb. It was typical Dartmoor and typical me. I’d put up the mental blocks and was finding excuses.

I’m no good. Not experienced enough. I don’t have a head for heights. It's too much too soon. Knowing that if I didn’t climb then all of the above would persist. That and I didn’t believe any of it.

My partner tried to cheer me up, but she was fast losing patience with my shit and called me out. I knew everything she said was true and my attitude was stinking the place up.

We couldn’t climb anyway as the other climbers were on the only real dry part of the wall, and it would be a while before the rest of the crag dried out, so we did some anchor practice. It kept us busy and out of each other's feet while I grumbled. My face showed its general malaise.

Eventually, the climbers moved around and we saw a chance to get on the route. It was only a Diff but given my lack of experience and our general confidence, it would do.

The familiar routine started. Lay out the gear, look at the route and decide what the lead climber would need. Cams would have been great but we didn’t have any so hexes and large nuts it was, as well as some slings for belays at the top.

My partner had decided to lead and I wasn’t about to argue given the shitty mood I was in. I figured she just wanted to get away from my miserable face, so going up seemed like a good option for her.

I stood there with my hands in my pockets, shoulders bunched, wanting to disappear and stay warm as she racked up. She finished, slipped her climbing shoes on, tied in and stood next to me looking at the route.

It followed a crack line up for maybe 5 metres to a ledge. Then over some boulders for another 2 metres before finishing on another ledge, where there were apparently some easy anchors to belay from.

I put my partner on belay, she left the ground and got onto the rock, stopping to jam a large hex into the crack and clip in. She stood for a bit, considering her next move.

“my fingers are frozen, I can't feel anything or find any good holds” Cold hands, wind-kissed cheeks and climbing shoes nipping at her toes. I think my mood was catching as I stood below watching, offering no support.

She climbed down and looked a little dejected. It can kill confidence so I made a joke that she had at least put in some protection.

“you want to lead it?” she asked.

“sure,” I said, despite my head not being in it and my face still looking like a smacked arse. 

We swapped gear and I tied in. I took off my boots and socks and slipped on my climbing shoes. A quick cursory clean of the soles before stepping up onto the rock.

I clipped into the first gear placement and looked at my options. A small foot placement to my right, and a larger crack to my left to jam my foot in. I moved my feet and pushed up, finding a nice handhold in the crack, as well as a small piece on the right to crimp.

I was moving. OK, focus. I looked around and saw a nice pocket higher up the crack to get my left hand in, and somewhere else to jam my foot into. My left foot moved and jammed, I reached for the pocket and smeared my right foot against the granite. It stuck.

Then I realised that the pocket was damp.

“fucks sake, it’s fucking wet, bollocks”

She laughed a little at my misfortune. Karma.

More grumble grumble in my head. What am I doing here? I knew the rock was wet. Dammit. Never mind. Keep moving and find somewhere to put in a piece of gear.

I saw a small flake above. If I can get my left foot on that small step in the crack and the right on that other placement…..yep. I push up and I’m in a more stable position. I wedge my left arm into the crack more, I’m not going anywhere. I put a medium nut into the crack with my left hand, a short quick draw and clipped in.

The next push will take me up to the first ledge and some respite. I climbed up and pulled over the lip, sitting comfortably as the sun came out and shone brightly on my face. I’m pretty warm now after moving up the rock, but it's a welcome glow from this rare orange orb.

I stand up and look around, finding a big crack on the ledge to put in a large nut. On goes the quick draw and I clip in. I think for a second and realise that as I climb up and over, that placement might come out. I want to offer some protection to my partner as she comes up. I find another crack between the two boulders I have to climb over, so put in another piece to be sure.

I look down and give my partner a smile and she smiles back. I’m feeling so much better having got on with the climb. It's almost like she knew what she was doing by getting me to lead.

I climb up the boulders onto the next ledge but don’t find anywhere to put gear, so I keep climbing. I find a nice tiny foothold for my right foot and smear my left onto another piece of rock, then pull myself over and up to another ledge.

I’m conscious that I’ve climbed a short section and left myself unprotected, I must be about eight metres up. There’s a bit of exposure but I put that to the back of my mind and find a few places I can put stuff. I slide in a nice small offset nut, put in a long runner to keep the rope straight and clip in.

I look down but I’m now out of sight from my partner. Just me. I’m comfortable so take a minute to breathe and enjoy more of that sun. Shit, I look like I know what I’m doing.

Focus again. I need to get up to the final section. There are some lovely handholds running up the side of the rock wall to my right, and my feet are sticking to this lovely dry granite. Easy peasy. I look down again and then realise I’ve overclimbed. Fuck.

That last ledge was the finish. Ah shite.

“I’ve over climbed” I shout down. My partner steps out and I see her as she looks up.

“yep, you need to be there” she confirms helpfully with a nod of the head in the direction of the ledge below me.

“I can’t down climb, a bit too sketchy. And I didn’t see any belay points anyway. I’ll keep going”

“Ok”

I start climbing up a nice section with a few bridging moves, but the dry granite starts to become patchy with more wet moss and lichen to negotiate around. I see why the climb doesn’t continue up this way. And there’s nowhere to put any gear at all.

Don’t think, just keep going. The end is in sight. A few more moves and I finally arrive at a nice grassy ledge. I look down at the four-metre section I’ve just needlessly climbed. One slip and I would have taken a nasty tumble. But I didn’t. I kept my head and got through it.

I breathe a sigh of relief and sit for a minute. I can see my partner's head peeking over the rock again. I wave and give a thumbs-up.

I find a lovely crack between two solid rocks and start building an anchor. One large nut in and clipped it, and then I added another. Totally bombproof. Not the best belay stance, as I’m a little twisted, but I’m good to go.

“safe” I shout

“ok, off belay”

I look down and my partner has stepped out a bit more to see me and wonder what the hell I’ve done. Then disappears again.

“tied in” she shouts and I pull up the rope slack till it is tight

“ready” I shout

“ok, climbing”

The other two climbers pop around, having finished what they can on this wet rock. I presume they want to say goodbye and they look up at me. Strange puzzled looks from them. I smile and hear my partner shout bye.

She slowly climbs her way into view onto the ledge where I ended up, taking out the gear I’d put in.

“be careful on the last section, it’s slippy in places”

“yeah, I can see that, I think I can traverse round this way to you” she points at a grassy section “Looks more stable”

I agree and she sets off to me. After arriving she climbs past and onto more horizontal ground behind us. She unties and goes to look for an easy way down round the back of the tor, while I strip down the belay and coil the rope.

It was a long walk round the tor back to the crag. On the way down we talked about what went on while trying to avoid slipping in our shoes.

“I think cause you were going to lead I didn’t pay any attention to the route. And my attitude wasn’t great, I was being arsey and I just missed the finish. Sorry poppet” I surmised.

“it’s OK, we both learnt a bit from that and without climbing stuff like this we never will”

“on the plus side, I feel better for climbing so thanks for keeping my head in the game earlier”

“no worries pickle”

We made it back to the start and packed away our gear. As we walked back to the van I looked at my watch.

“it’s only half two. why are we leaving?”

“what? I thought it was later.”

“nope”

“you want to go back?”

“Nah, we have to walk down before it gets too dark. we’ve climbed something at least. let's go home”

On the walk down the light is starting to show signs of failing. It's winter and the sun is hanging low. The landscape has a strange look with more light fog starting to drift in. The hills carry on for miles and tors stick up from the tops like granite castles. High towers to be explored and conquered. The granite of these tors is tough, but fissures have split open and formed cracks and crevices in the rock.

These castles are like the human psyche. Carefully constructed with walls built to keep invaders out. Long sieges to be overcome by the persistent. These barriers stand resilient but in the end, the walls come tumbling down, and what's left is conquered.

It's a slow walk back down to where we’re parked, but we chat and take in the scenery. While we idle, there is some sense of urgency to get off the moors. We want to get back before the hounds come and nip at our heels and feast on our souls.