Dartmoor

I’ll willingly admit that the moors of south-west England are not my natural territory. Mention the word ‘Dartmoor’ and my immediate thoughts are of scruffy, sturdy ponies and a giant bog. But then I boarded a train to Exeter to spend two days crossing said bog on horseback, and my whole perception changed. Yes, there were bogs (at one point my horse descended almost entirely into one — quite unnerving for those following behind) and plenty of wild ponies. But we also found standing stones that predate Stonehenge by a thousand years, spectacular granite tors breaking out of grassy hilltops, an unmarked (and allegedly haunted) grave and — most importantly — an ice-cream man mid-afternoon on Sunday, just when we were starting to flag.

So what had drawn me to Dartmoor? I was taking part in a test run of something called the Dartmoor Derby, a long-distance ‘riding adventure’. Having taken part in its namesake the Mongol Derby — a 1,000km endurance race on semi-wild ponies — in 2010, I couldn’t resist the chance to try out Dartmoor’s 80km equivalent.