A nice stroll on't Moor

Yesterday dawned, well not bright and sunny, but with reasonable prospects and at least it wasn't raining. A leisurely stroll along the scenic section of the Devonport Leat that runs between Nun's Cross and Burrator was the order of the day - always pleasant when its not too windy.

Leats are one of the less famous features of Dartmoor - discrete pieces of exquisite Victorian engineering, they contour hillsides, carrying water at a neat 1/3 to 1/2 a degree of slope. Mines, reservoirs, naval dockyards, the destinations of the water could be a few hundred yards or tens of miles distant. Many are dry, almost all have been diverted from their original goal, but like the tin workings, they are very important in adding habitat to the Moor. The Devonport Leat has one particular feature that makes it stand out - just before it reaches the plantation around Burrator Reservoir it crosses the River Meavy. To do this it first turns down the hillside, then crosses an aqueduct. Doesn't sound much, does it? For the kilometre before the drop, it speeds up with a series of steps, rushing in a very unleat-like way, then a curve left and 130 feet of white water dancing straight down the hillside, then swirling through a half-pipe 15 feet above the Meavy, before taking on an infill from the river, then slipping back to its placidly flowing former self. On a cold winter's day, in the low yellow sunlight, with ice forming all along the sides, its truly magical. The transition, first from high moor views to the Meavy valley, then into the trees of Burrator, is all part of the experience.

High south Moor in winter means a few corvids, a Skylark or two, the odd Mipit, and maybe a non-Buzzard raptor if you're really lucky. Wet bits give a shot at Snipe, possibly Jack. Thus it was, except for the raptors, of which there wasn't a sniff all day. The clouds broke up, the wind didn't howl, the views were lovely, the going wasn't too bad at all, and while there were a fair few out, they were mostly elsewhere. What? Nothing wrong with a bit of peace and quiet, sound of the wind and all that - its one of the few places where you can avoid hearing traffic [unless the wind shifts and some buggers take their Kawasakis out for a burn...]. Things were quiet enough for me to be composing an uneventful blog entry in my mind, when a young chap running the other way along the opposite side flushed a Jack frickin' Snipe right past us.... Not just that but the thing called as it went by - I've never heard a squeak out of a Jack before - but then I've never had one flushed towards and past me either! It is my experience, and now [after the Affairs last year] firmly held belief, that you can only see Jack Snipe when you aren't looking for them. "'itch!" "'itch!" "'itch!" indeed....

Burrator had more birds - Siskin, Bullfinch, Crossbill, Goldcrest, GSW, 2 gorgeous and very showy female Green Woodies, plus a lucky Magpie with a lump of someone's picnic that was bigger than its head... The sloping grass just north of the Burrator trees held an interesting group - 7 Fieldfare, 5 Redwing, and a Grey Wagtail. Last but not least, as dusk began to fall, a lone Herring Gull flew determinedly up the Meavy valley.