South Dartmoor CTC Album

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Page 7 of 109 (1086 items)
Monday 31 August 1987
Tour: Dales, Pennines & Southern Scotland
Day 12 Carlisle to Home
Sunny
13 Participants: Matthew Burrows, Jeffrey Ellis, Chris Hall, Michael Hall, Brett Jamieson, Gary Johnson, Michael Jones, Graham Moates, Aidan Neary, Matthew Nunn, David Parry, Stephen Parry, Mark Williams
Sunshine again was very welcome, the last few days having partially made up for the bad weather in the middle part of the tour. After taking numerous photos in the hostel grounds we made our way to the centre of Carlisle in search of an interesting cafe. Eventually we had to give up and resorted to using the British Rail cafe in the station. Being a Bank Holiday there was a market in the town centre, so we spent an enjoyable time browsing around.

Our train, due at 12.28, was nearly thirty minutes late, and further delays of 80 minutes were predicted owing to engineering works near Wigan. In fact by the time the last of our group reached Newton Abbot we were only an hour late, arriving at about 8.40pm, so things didn't turn out too bad.

This had turned out to be an interesting tour with a good group of youngsters. We had sunshine on seven days, cloud on two days and rain on three days, so we hadn't done too badly with the weather. We hope that many of those taking part will be up for joining one or both of our 1988 tours.
Saturday 10 October 1987
Weekend ride: Bellever Youth Hostel
Day 1
Sunny
13 Participants: Noel Armstrong, Richard Burge, Paul Deslandes, Richard Hopper, Simon Hopper, Toby Hopper, Philip Humphreys, Gary Johnson, Michael Jones, Luke Rake, Vicky Sanders, Andrew Simmons, Mark Williams
When our three Paignton lads had joined us we set off for Scorriton and the moor, the conversation revolving around Mark Williams' assurances that there were numerous television sets located in the woods near the hostel, all of them working! Some people humoured him, others questioned his balance of mind, but Simon had a puncture and so the subject was temporarily forgotten.

Dartmoor really does look its best at this time of year, clean and fresh in the autumn sunshine. The temperature was plummeting as we crossed the Laughter Tor area from Dunnabridge, but the laughter really rose when the woods revealed no televisions! It was Mark who had the last laugh, however, during our excellent supper (huge helpings of soup served with croutons), when the warden told us of the weird 'Willo the Wisp' art exhibition which had resided in the nearby woods during the summer! He also told us what he thought of it! (Going back to the supper, the warden even washed up for us, but the self-catering Hopper clan seemed content with their rice mountains.)

Evening entertainment included the over-pumping of Philip's inner tube, a number of nameless members cowering behind a glass partition in unashamed fear of the impending explosion. When the end finally came it had more to do with Gary and the candle extinguisher than the now weary pump!
Sunday 11 October 1987
Weekend ride: Bellever Youth Hostel
Day 2
Sunny
13 Participants: Noel Armstrong, Richard Burge, Paul Deslandes, Richard Hopper, Simon Hopper, Toby Hopper, Philip Humphreys, Gary Johnson, Michael Jones, Luke Rake, Vicky Sanders, Andrew Simmons, Mark Williams
Sunday morning was perfect in every way, although Richard Burge may not have agreed as he laboured over the cleaning of the warden's brass lamp. There was time for photographs outside the hostel before we ambled along the peaceful moorland roads towards Princetown's Fox Tor cafe, led by our capable eight-year-old pace-setter Toby Hopper. The prison road formed part of the route to Wistman's Wood, much of the remainder being provided by the muddy and rocky track from Two Bridges - Vicky just loved the mudbaths!

Lunch, which was consumed within the ancient woodland itself amidst games called 'hide the pannier' and 'hunt the pannier' was followed by a more intelligent return along the upper reaches of the hills, thereby avoiding most of the rocks.

Climax of the homeward route was the use of the track from Bel Tor to Aish Tor known as Doctor Blackall's Drive, offering some of the best views of the Dart Valley we had yet seen - thanks Luke for the idea. The track from New Bridge to Holne seemed likely to be equally exciting, until the seventh stile finally killed off all enthusiasm! It was enjoyable, nevertheless.
Sunday 25 October 1987
Day ride: Dartmouth
Sunny / cold
9 Participants: Noel Armstrong, Richard Burge, Gary Johnson, Michael Jones, Warren Masters, Mark Morris, Luke Rake, Andrew Simmons, Jeremy Weston
Noel impressed us all by cycling from Bovey to meet us at Buckfastleigh this morning, and Warren, who had recently broken one of his fingers, was today sufficiently recovered to meet us at the Totnes pick-up, full of the joys of autumn. Noel had brake problems on the hill out of Totnes, giving us all a rare chance to enjoy the views of Totnes, then his bell fell off on the way down Bow hill!

We had almost forgotten the beauty of the lower reaches of the Dart. Today there was time to admire it as we walked up Corky (collecting chestnuts along the way) and cycled along the delightful lanes to Dittisham. There was a little confusion at Bozomzeal as we tried to find the correct route through the fields. A cleverly-disguised gateway eventually revealed itself, and lunch was enjoyed on the sunny banks of a steep meadow near Hole Copse amid BMX-style cycling antics.

The final section of the track was a bit muddy, and not at all to Noel's liking as he was riding a new bike which he was testing 'on approval'. When we emerged at Old Mill Creek he decided to wash his wheels off, but sadly got stuck in the creek and succeeded only in washing his feet!

Once we had struggled up the hill against an almost unbelievably large crowd of walkers that had suddenly appeared from nowhere, we discovered plenty of action in Dartmouth. There was some sort of boat race or regatta taking place on the quay, commentary about which was being provided over a public address system. To our amusement the commentator seemed to know as little about the event as we did, referring to the winning boats as 'the green thing' and 'the galleon' right up to the winning post! We quickly despaired and retired to a nearby cafe.

The ferry crossing, far from being our last hurdle, heralded the start of a new set of disasters for our happy gang. Luke stopped at the bottom of the hill to fix a slow puncture that had turned somewhat faster during the crossing. Jeremy stopped half-way up with another puncture and the rest of us waited at the top for half an hour for them to catch up. Luke had sadly had a second puncture on the way up, and now everyone was well frozen.

We managed to make good speed though Marldon, Red Post and Staverton despite the darkness and lowering fog, but when Andrew punctured near Riverford at 6pm we decided that it was time to send people homewards. We finally reached Buckfastleigh by 6.30.
Sunday 24 January 1988
Weekend ride: Instow Youth Hostel
Day 2
Sunny with showers
8 Participants: Richard Burge, Glen Dowty, Richard Hopper, Simon Hopper, Toby Hopper, Gary Johnson, Glen Johnson, Michael Jones
A rough night was followed by a bright sunny morning, although occasional showers were still in the offing. When duties had been carried out and photographs taken, we set off through the maize of lanes towards Kings Nympton railway station, the route taking us past North Devon's major TV transmitter at Huntshaw Cross. The descent into the steep-sided Taw Valley was grand, bringing us to the station with an hour to spare before the train was due.

After a short lunch we decided to make the most of the sunshine and cycle down the valley to the next station at Eggesford. Sadly we still had a wait, as the train arrived 25 minutes later - on its way up! We amused ourselves for the next hour playing silly 'I spy' games in the ever-chilling air, and certainly appreciated the warmth of the train when it eventually returned.
Sunday 31 January 1988
Day ride: Lukesland
Sunny start
7 Participants: Richard Hopper, Simon Hopper, Gary Johnson, Glen Johnson, Michael Jones, Mark Moxham, John Stuart
It would not be honest to try to pretend that we were not influenced by the weather forecast which predicted torrential rain by mid-afternoon. On arrival at Avonwick we decided to abandon Lukesland (well, he wasn't out anyway) and head for the snow-strewn moors via Aish and Shipley. And that proved to be an excellent decision.

Everything seemed to be perfect on that morning. We stopped on several delightful little bridges along the way, just soaking up the freshness of the moorland brooks as they wended their way between the trees and boulders. Eventually we came to the Avon Dam itself, brimming over with icy cold water and set against a backdrop of snow-covered hills. The sounds of children and an excited dog on the other side of the dam made us feel for all the world as though we were in the Swiss alps!

Of course, there was only one return route that would satisfy everyone's excitement, and so we made our way back behind the dam and over our friendly moorland hills to rejoin the road at Cross Furzes. There was plenty of action along the way, with several people slipping on the snowy slopes, but a grassy foundation ensured that no-one was injured.

We arrived home shortly after 3.30: the rain began at 3.40. And so it was that a perfect day was concluded in a perfect way in a cosy room at Buckfastleigh.
Sunday 27 March 1988
Day ride: Harford
Sunny
6 Participants: Steven Hills, Simon Hopper, Philip Humphreys, Michael Jones, Warren Masters, Mark Moxham
Whilst this beautiful Sunday weather attracted only a few riders (GCSE revision is beginning to take its toll), it provided a fabulous day's cycling for those who turned out. Much of the morning sunshine was wasted, however, during a major overhaul of Philip's bike .... his bottom bracket bearings had seized up part-way up the hill from Avonwick, necessitating a return to the local garage for a hammer.

Once repairs had been effected, we set off once again (under Mark's excellent map-reading guidance) through the back lanes behind Ugbourogh, ending up at Ludbrook for a well-earned lunch. Judging by the numerous droppings which covered a nearby van, the grassy verge beneath the big tree was not the best of places to settle for lunch, so we allowed Philip to lead us on a wild goose chase up the lane to a sunny little spot he had discovered there. Lunch-time amusements were provided on this occasion by Warren, who decided to dam up a stream that flowed out of a nearby gateway.

The Erme Mill centre offered a good range of fattening cakes, including a delicious raspberry cheesecake that was reminiscent of Primrose Cafe quality. It was the attached fish farm, however, which occupied us for the greater time. The water which used to work the old water wheel was now feeding through a number of huge outdoor tanks in which swam thousands and thousands of rainbow trout. We were able not only to watch them at close quarters but also to stroke them in the water. Other visitors seemed more interested in catching them, although we weren't quite sure why they paid good money to hire a rod.

The real joy of the day was the lane to Harford, the climb to the moor and the rough riding across open moorland to Owley and South Brent. Even Michael hadn't ridden this particular route before, and amazingly we didn't get lost. The ground was in its best riding condition despite the efforts of the moorland cattle to damage it, although the final descent proved somewhat difficult where the numerous boggy streams crossed our path.

Sadly we were too late for tea at the Copper Kettle (South Brent), but we could hardly complain after such a magnificent ride.
Sunday 3 April 1988
Afternoon ride: Owley Easter Special
Sunny
4 Participants: Richard Burge, Richard Hopper, Simon Hopper, Michael Jones
Another new lane, just three miles from home, took us past an interesting-looking track at Lutton. A lady passé ing nearby informed us that it was quite respectable right through to Didworthy, but we felt that it would have to wait for another day if we were to reach our destination.

Another new lane took us from Aish to Owley, where we spent some time on the quiet moorland beside the Glaze Brook. Instead of searching for Easter Eggs as planned (well there weren't enough of us really) Budgie and Simon ate theirs and spent the rest of the time trying to knock a dead branch off a nearby tree.

Returning to South Brent we arrived at the Copper Kettle (now under new ownership) at the same time as a group of about fifteen CTC members from London - staying at a Buckfastleigh hotel and now returning from Kingsbridge.
Wednesday 6 April 1988
Tour: New Forest & Isle of Wight
Day 1 Newton Abbot to Cranborne

9 Participants: Richard Burge, Paul Deslandes, Simon Hopper, Brett Jamieson, Gary Johnson, Michael Jones, Warren Masters, Graham Moates, Mark Williams
Train journeys can be a little tedious for those who aren't train spotters. As if to guarantee greater interest, Michael arranged to forget the information provided in advance by British Rail which detailed the precise whereabouts of the reserved seats on the three trains used on our travels. There was therefore much excitement and adventure associated with the despatch of search parties from the central guards van, eventually returning with the desired information.

And so it was that this somewhat experimental tour began. Experimental? Yes, because Michael hadn't been to either of the regions before, and wasn't at all sure that they could offer anything like the splendour of, say, Scotland, or even Wales! That is not to say that everyone would view the region in that way. It's just that youngsters haven't got much money as a rule and so can't visit many of the commercial attractions, and so the scenery needs to be pretty breathtaking, either in scale or beauty, to compensate.

Our tickets took us to and from Portsmouth Harbour, but it was our intention to disembark shortly before Salisbury, the exact station depending on weather conditions and rail delays. Extensive deliberation over four large maps on the outward journey eventually decided us on Tisbury, a charming little country village which offered direct access to the best of the local scenery and Roman antiquities without taking us through any built-up areas.

As we alighted on the platform, the strong sunlight that had gradually eaten away the morning cloud during our journey now made us feel that we could really begin to enjoy ourselves, and so it was that we set off through delightful rural lanes to Donhead St. Andrew and Cranborne Chase, primroses and daffodils adorning every enchanting hedgerow along the way.

The first thing that many of us noticed on top of the Chase was the stony soil, which seemed to us quite incapable of supporting vegetation of any kind let alone the huge trees which lined the road near Tollard Royal. Speaking of which, several of these majestic specimens had recently been chopped down and were now being sawn into firewood - we trust that there was some good reason for this despite the apparent good health of the exposed trunks.

We have still not quite finished with Tollard. A small well, which had attracted a pheasant as well as our cyclists, was the subject of an inquisitive investigation for a few moments before we continued to Sixpenny Handley (yes, that really is the name). We had all purchased numerous bars of chocolate at the shop there before someone pointed out that Budgie (that's 16-year old Richard Burge from Ashburton for the uninitiated) wasn't with us. Someone else remembered seeing him last at the well, and so there were the obvious comments that he might have fallen in or that someone might have made a nasty wish at the well! Graham and Simon were despatched with all haste to determine his fate.

Now, when you're sitting down outside a village shop in a strange neighbourhood with time on your hands, you see all sorts of strange things that other people might not have seen before. The first thing we saw was a lady with a middle-sized black dog on a long, sturdy lead. She tethered the dog to a special post outside the shop and then went inside. A few moments later a rather large man came along with another black dog (a little larger than the first I think). It got as close to the first dog as its lead would allow and then the man waited until the mutual sniffing was complete before he too tethered the dog to a hook and entered the shop.

On looking a little further afield the only parked car we could see (opposite the shop on the other side of the road) had a small, intelligent-looking dog peering out of the front passenger-seat window. In the only occupied garden further up the street there was a man mowing his lawn, with a dog running around after the grass. During the next few minutes two more people entered the shop, each with dogs, and two cars passed, both with dogs in the back seat.

One might conclude from these observations that anybody who is anybody in Sixpenny Handley has a dog of some kind. Our minds conjured up wonderful visions of a stranger walking into a local cafe WITHOUT A DOG. Conversation would stop and all eyes would turn to the hapless individual.

Well, the theory had to be confirmed. Michael walked into the shop and asked the owners whether they happened to own any dogs.

"Oh yes, we've got three as a matter of fact," came the reply. "Three children as well - we do everything in threes!"

"Well, not everything I hope," was Michael's cheeky response.

Budgie had returned. His chain had got jammed and he had been forced to remove the rear wheel in order to free it. So much for the well connection.

Having traversed Ackling Dyke and found it to be of very little visual interest, a final detour took us through Wimborne St. Giles, from where an interesting looking footpath led us towards Brockington Farm and the Knowleton Circles. The circles and associated ruined church were of particular interest to Gary, who sketched them, and Simon, who cycled around them, but it was the path that caused the upset. After tackling a large gate and a removable barbed-wire fence, there was a padlocked gate to contend with. Before Michael could say anything two of the lads had removed it from its hinges, allowing us to pass through without climbing the high stile. The problem was, they couldn't get both hinges back on again no matter how much they tried.

Cranborne hostel is situated in the centre of the rather quiet, sleepy village. There was a rather long and complicated journey between the dormitory and the male washrooms, but otherwise the evening was very comfortable, with good meals and an open fire in the common room. The only noteworthy event that evening was performed by Mark Williams, who accidentally revealed the contents of a large paper bag which he had taken to bed with him. It was packed full of chocolate and cakes of every description - in case he got peckish during the night.
Thursday 7 April 1988
Tour: New Forest & Isle of Wight
Day 2 Cranborne to Burley

9 Participants: Richard Burge, Paul Deslandes, Simon Hopper, Brett Jamieson, Gary Johnson, Michael Jones, Warren Masters, Graham Moates, Mark Williams
One of the most endearing features of the New Forest turned out to be the abundance of wildlife. Almost everywhere we went there were squirrels, rabbits, pheasants, swans, horses and wild birds of every description.

It was at Ibsley, just a few miles from the hostel, that we first began to notice the phenomenon. Here there were hundreds of wild swans, and our first pheasant flew out from a hedgerow as we rode past the quaint little church. Just a little further on, beyond Mockbeggar, a baby rabbit was quietly nibbling some grass outside its vergeside burrow. It would even have stayed long enough for a close-up photograph had not a rather noisy horse ridden past at just the wrong moment - it quickly scampered into its hole and was gone.

We took the lane for Linwood as planned despite the 'Road Closed two miles ahead' sign, and soon found ourselves entering the New Forest itself. Here there was heather, delightful woodland and, of course, the famous horses scattered randomly across the heaths. The road-mending work was taking place at Linwood itself, but the workers were pleased to let us pass.

At last the sun broke through. There was a strong headwind across the exposed Ocknell Plain, made all the more tortuous by the Roman nature of the road, but eventually we found ourselves at the famous Rufus Stone. This famous monument marks the spot where in Norman times Walter Tyrell's arrow killed William Rufus, but a visiting donkey attracted more attention from our members than the stone itself! We kept to the rules as far as we could by not feeding it, but it was difficult not to pet it when it turned its sad, soulful eyes towards us!

Plans for the afternoon included a short visit to the famous Butterfly Farm near Ashurst. Our route took us through Cadnam, where a short-cut track turned out to have a rather muddy middle-section. It was certainly muddy enough to give everyone filthy bikes and muddy trainers - everyone except Mark, of course, who somehow managed to carry his brand new Raleigh Randonneur through the quagmire without getting either the bike or himself muddy at all, although it did take him twice as long as everyone else!

The farm proved disappointing in some respects. To start with we had been forced to use a few main roads to get there. And when we finally arrived, prices were too high for many of the group at £2-15 per adult and £1-30 per child. Five of us went in, however, and thoroughly enjoyed watching the butterflies, wildfowl, bees, mynah birds, quails, scorpions, beetles, spiders and silk moths that inhabited the tropical climate inside the glasshouse.

After a coffee stop in the equally expensive buttery that adjoined the Farm, we covered further stretches of main road in our attempts to return to the heart of the forest at Emery Down. From there we took the lane through Millyford Bridge, passing though vast areas of continuous forest and meeting only a couple of cyclists who needed some assistance with a puncture. We continued past the disappointing viewpoint (disappointing because it is now effectively screened off with conifers) to the deer sanctuary, in which we observed a number of slightly timid deer who maintained a safe distance between themselves and our hide.

And now at last we could ride the famous ornamental drives of Bolderwood and Rhinefield. We had begun to realise during the course of the day that our visit was just a few weeks too early to capture the full beauty and splendour of the forest. The trees were bare and the "Roadies" weren't out yet. (Yes, we also wondered what Roadies were - rhododendrons of course, which line the second of the drives.) Nevertheless, the forest was magnificent, with squirrels hopping around nearly every tree and the most inspiring bird song coming from all directions. We would probably not have been too surprised if Pooh Bear and Owl had appeared from behind one of the ancient oaks.

But now it was time to head for the hostel. The lane to Burley was even more delightful than the drives in many ways. But amidst the wildlife was the sadness. Huge trees that had once towered majestically above the forest floor now lay helpless on their sides, uprooted by the October storms. There was hardly a glade in the Forest without some sign of damage, but here it seemed worst of all.

Burley hostel is the only true New Forest hostel run by the YHA these days. It is situated part-way along an earthy track near the golf course, a short distance out of the village. The extensive grounds boast some huge trees and genuine Forest horses .. and the hostel boasts a particularly unhelpful meals service.

We had, as usual, paid for our meals several weeks prior to our visit, and so it came as rather a surprise when we were told that 18:30 was a 'late' time to arrive.

"I've hardly got time to prepare the meals now," said the rather beanpolish assistant in her strong Australian accent.

After reminding her that the meals had already been booked, she pointed to a menu on the wall. "But surely you could have selected something suitable if you felt we were late," Michael said, "as I told you there is just one vegetarian!"

Apparently she couldn't, and so everyone made their selections to her satisfaction. She then performed a few calculations, wrote some figures in the book and informed Michael that he owed her £3-40. He stared at her in disbelief. "That can't be right," he said. "Everything was paid for in advance, and the calculations were right at Cranborne!"

"Ah," she replied, "you are probably working on the basis of fixed price menus. We operate a variable-price system. Since your group have chosen items which total to more than £2-15, you have extra to pay!"

She was unable to answer his next questions of why she hadn't told us about the system on the hostel receipt, or why she hadn't told us before we made our selections. The question of why the minimum £2-15 option included only a fruit juice remained unasked (Michael didn't want to upset her any more).
The meal was acceptable, but nowhere near as good value as at many other hostels. Nevertheless our stay was a pleasant one, the evening being occupied by discussions with an Oxford student who was lodging in our dormitory whilst on a work placement at Bournemouth.
Page 7 of 109 (1086 items)
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