Babeny, Dartmoor, Devon.

I chose the wrong day today and whatever snow fell earlier, all had quickly melted away in the blustery North-Westerly wind.
Feeling brave at having just submitted to the dentists chair . The filling shade was B3 and a few shades of a similar hue were spoken of;  Magnolia, Apple White, Buttermilk and, Royal Ivory (Morgan  number 0044), but none appear in the dentists tray.

This morning its time to celebrate with a walk on the wild side

Sleat bouncing off the bonnet signals time for the hood to go up

Babeny is an undisturbed valley on the south east edge of the moor. No shops, no post office, telephone wires or telegraph poles to spoil a timeless landscape. The ancient farmsteads and granite walls meld naturally into the landscape . There is one lane in and the same lane leads out, the cul-de-sac of choice if peace and quiet is your goal.

I am caught in a flurry of hailstones that whip across the hillside and forced to raise the Morgan hood. A temporary measure till the cloud passes and a bright blue sky is revealed once more. 

Taking the brisk walk to the top of Yar Tor is chilly but would have felt harder if my mouth was not still numb from the dentists. 

The Moorland pools have frog-spawn in them and the Dartmoor ponies are about to give birth.   

Frog spawn 03-03-2015 promising a vintage year for global warming

To carry on from here means to arrive in someones’ farm yard

Blackthorn tree sculpted by the west wind

Behind the ponies can be seen a dome shaped collection of fields like the hub of a wheel. One day I keep promising myself, I shall explore deeper into this landscape that is so appealing.

Something to do with the Ottoman Empire and one young man.  Here on the side of Corndon Tor is a monument erected to the memory of a fallen soldier aged 19. Wreaths are newly laid around about and tributes left in the form of a single candle and some small crosses laid at the foot of the granite outcrop. 

This Englishman rings a bell.

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