It was a surreal surprise to find a ram’s skull staring at us from the apex of a derelict tin mining power house. This area is littered with the remains of an historical tin mining industry; exploration shafts now just lush grass-covered conical depressions in the wet moorland. Once a noisy hive of activity and ore crushing, but now just the sounds of the wind through gaps in the walls. Likewise the bleating of sheep still echo across the open landscape, but this poor soul has long past, the bone bleached and dripping with hill fog. It’s strange but there is such peace now on the moors and even the saturating low cloud creates a sense of calm not panic, silence not noise. I felt a deep connection with history and the spirit of the place. Dartmoor is minimal and mesmerising.
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