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….