Night by the riverside

On the weekend I took the bus up to my local park, I had felt a desire to take pictures on the riverside there for a while but hadn't got the chance until this weekend. But I stopped procrastinating and actually took the trip there.

The night had transformed what was a tranquil area in day time into something quite otherworldly by the cover of darkness. I met with a friend and wandered this suddenly wild world. The street lamps along the way made each path leading into the darkness into a living fairy tale. One where a fey and strange creature could lay in wait to pounce at any moment.

The tree branches stretched over the river over a grey and purple sky. And in that moment I could imagine that in that night I was on a silent road by the river that would lead to grandmothers house where the big bad wolf would devour me whole and where the fey folk would ride out across a bruised sky.

On a night by the riverside the world was suddenly filled with dark and mysterious magic.

Devon part 2: Steam trains, Dartmoor and The Wistman's Woods

I got up early the next day having organised to spend the day visiting Dartmoor and the myth shrouded Wistman's Woods. However my friend had a surprise in store and instead of the moors we ended up visiting Buckfastleigh train station where a magical steam train awaited.

We got chatting to one of the conductors who filled us in on some of the background behind the workings of the train and the training of its operators. Apparently to get to the position of train driver takes years of training and commitment, having to work your way up from basic menial tasks, to shoveling coal, to finally being able to take on the role of train driver.

After leaving the charming train behind us we arrived to a typical English welcome of persistent wet drizzle as we set out to explore the moors. Now Dartmoor is a place filled with myths and legends. It is the setting for Sherlock Holmes' investigation in Hound of the Baskervilles, its the site of numerous folklore legends (a scorch mark in a pub nearby is meant to be a site where the devil placed his tankard as he rode towards his destination). And the moors themselves are filled with mysterious stories and sightings of the unexplained.

The moors were beautiful, desolate and windswept, filled with subtle colour and covered in a mist that had seeped over the land and had seemed to find its way into its very pores. The best was kept for last though as we came to the Wistman's Woods. An ancient oak woodland sunk into the heart of the moors.

Hobbled by the stoney ground and bend and shriveled by the harsh conditions that the trees had grown upon this miniature forest had seemingly grown out of some dark fairy tale. And indeed The Devil's Hound as this wood is otherwise known was said to be the haunt of witches, fairies and devils.

We spend a while there amoungst the stones and the woodlands, soaking up the atmosphere before we decided that we were soaked enough ourselves.

After heading back to the car we had one final lunch at another of Devon's charming pubs before my friends saw me to the train station. As the train pulled away I relaxed, having been thoroughly enchanted by this magical place.