This morning we had a call from Rachel offering two seats in their Land Rover on a shopping trip to Yelverton. As tame as that sounds, considering we hadn't been to the shops in four days - because Noddy Cars don't do snow and ice - it was an especially welcome invitation. You don't need to be bored with what we bought, the six pints of milk will suffice to give a suggestion of what we think there is to come in the next few days.
On the way back, Paul let slip that they were planning a walk to Down Tor Stone Row this afternoon. Naturally, I was tempted, but knowing that Ros would be on her own with no heating and only a slim promise of a boiler man, I decided not to say anything. I was still hedging against the trip when I chatted with Rachel on MSN half an hour or so after we got back. But Rachel said please and Ros relented, so, with just half an hour to prepare, I started rushing round - making cheese rolls (with salad cream), brewing a flask of tea, packing the ruck sack and prising on thermal long johns, waterprrof trousers, boots, gaiters and ice gripper things.
At 12.45 I was still just approaching the meeting point when Rachel and Paul arrived in the Landy. In short order, we'd stowed Clover and Jack, the latter on loan from Anne because she was working, in the back with Daisy, Abby and another Pointer, Biba, an eight-month old chocolate drop of energy. Not more than twenty minutes later, we were parked up at Norsworthy and soon tramping up the preliminary slopes of Down Tor.
To set the scene, this is the road round Burrator. The signpost in the left of the picture is a bus stop.
Scenic then, photogenic naturally and not, given what we were wearing, too cold considering that Rachel's thermometer displayed a range of temperatures beginning at around 2 degrees centigrade and finishing at somethings passed 5 below.
From Norsworthy, we climbed up to the first and second outcrops that lead up to Down Tor proper before skirting round to the north. With both Paul and myself stopping frequently to take photos, our progress was significantly slower than usual, made worse by the snow that served to hide the usual footpaths. A combination of the wind and the terrain had served to create some wonderful effects in the snow, deep drifts in places - certainly enough to swamp a dog or two - and in others, wonderful wave formations.
Coming to a tall outcropping stone north of Down Tor, we halted briefly for a piece of nutty, sticky fruit cake that Paul had brought with him, a quick mug of strongly brewed tea followed by a snifter of sweet, fruity alcohol from Paul's flask. Whilst there, Jack and Biba put on a show of friendly dog wrestling that produced the following cropped image.
Continuing round the Tor we gave ourselves the opportunity of pushing on to the Stone Row, but time and a degree of sense made us continue along a contour. Just before we reached this decision, I took the next shot, a view towards the gully that runs along the northern edge of the rise of ground - off to the right here - where the row is situated. Approximately here, using Streetmap.
A further decision was made to head more directly for the hard track that runs along Deancombe and it was as we were dropping down towards the lowest point in the field system - approximately south-south-west from the arrow on the map - that Rachel sank too deeply into a snow drift and did some severe damage to an already weak ankle.
I'll save on the detail from here if you don't mind. In summary, utilising a couple of old fence posts for support, Paul helped Rachel down to the hard track along a route that I scouted. While I stayed with the injured party, serving hot tea, cheese and salad cream rolls, a survival blanket and two dogs, Paul ran back along the track, jumped in the Landy and drove it along Deancombe to pick us up - a feat in itself.
Here's an image that doesn't come with a photo. On arriving back at their house, Paul decided that the best means of getting Rachel indoors was with the use of a wheelbarrow. I did ask if I could get my camera out, but Rachel politely turned down the opportunity.
Meanwhile, back at home, I arrived to the pleasing sound of a boiler chucking hot air out into the cold; surely a waste of energy, but blessed relief to a stinky walker who needed a shower.
