Picnic at Wistmans Wood

26th July 2011

“Scarce hoarier seems the ancient Wood
Whose shivered trunks of age declare
What scath of tempests they have stood
In the rock’s crevice rooted there;
Yet still young foliage, fresh and fair,
Springs forth each mossy bough to dress,
And bid e’en Dartmoor’s valleys share
A Forest-wilderness”…………….Sophie Dixon -1829.

Nestled on the eastern slopes of the West Dart river stands a wood of dwarf oak trees. Once you walk into the tangled web of trees you are transported into a mystical world of moss carpeted boulders, lichens of all descript, finger like oak branches, all engulfed in a wonderful smell of earth and age. For millennia this small, mystical, stunted woodland has been held in awe and for many fear. Tales of Druids, ghosts, the Devil and a host of other supernatural creatures abound, some dating back to the long lost ages before man could write .. so say www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk

It was magical, mystical and timeless place, somewhere I had wanted to visit for years and here I came at last for a belated birthday picnic.

I hope my images portray the spirit of Wistman’s Wood……. in the words of Jane Eyre or was it Austen?…. the place has “quite undone me”, I want to return already….

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