This is an exciting and highly scenic
moorland walk that takes you from one of the most windswept corners
of the Westcountry down to the cosy depths of the East Lyn River
Valley and the charming village of Brendon.
Basic hike: from the B3223 on Brendon Common, east
to Larkcombe Ford then north to the village of Brendon – returning
via the Rockford road then south to Shilstone and over Shilstone
Hill to Dry Bridge.
Distance and going: Seven miles, fairly easy going,
with one steep climb.
This walk begins in one of the windiest, wettest, coldest places
in the entire Westcountry and if you go in winter, like I did, you
may be extremely loathe to get out of your car. But I promise, this
walk is worth a little discomfort at the start.
The uncomfortable corner is to be found on the high road that wends
north over the top of Exmoor from Simonsbath to Lynmouth. Anyone
who knows his or her regional geography will realise that we’re
talking about an area not far from the infamous Chains – one
of the most exposed places in the whole of southern Britain.
Note that all maps on this site are only indicative.
You should never set out without the correct OS map.
We head in the opposite direction by looking for
the easily overlooked track that leaves the road to head northeast
over Brendon Common. You can find this on Ordnance Survey’s
Explorer OL9 map by locating the corner known as Dry Bridge, about
a mile and three quarters north of Brendon Two Gates on the Somerset-Devon
border.
The hike is a fairly simple one and it gives you the best of Exmoor
walking: basically we are heading north to the village of Brendon,
situated deep in the Oare Valley, some three miles distant from
the heights of the common. The route is a circular one – we
will return via other footpaths a mile or so to the west.
We followed the track just under a mile across the high more to
a four-way fingerpost which is situated just above a place called
Larkcombe Ford, then took the left turning which heads directly
north across Tippacott Ridge.
As we descended down over the gentle slopes of the great hill,
we came across one of the biggest herds of wild Exmoor ponies I’ve
ever seen. When, I say wild, I mean that these extraordinary animals
live quite happily in these inhospitable climes without any help
whatsoever from mankind. Indeed, I’ve heard a story from these
parts which tells of a farmer who took pity on the ponies in the
particularly harsh winter of 1963 – he brought some bales
of hay out to a herd that was struggling between giant drifts, only
to watch as they turned up their noses at the dried grass and continued
to claw at the snow in order to find their favoured mosses and sedges.
The ponies watched us walk by and one or two of
last year’s foals stomped and galloped as they played between
the gorse. The ponies are indeed wild, but traditionally they were
rounded twice a year – once to be counted, with the new foals
being inspected and branded – and then later when some of
their number are sold at the ancient Brendon Pony Fair in the village
far below.
We continued north and soon fields were appearing on either side
of the ridge, but the moorland continues to escort the track all
the way to the place where Gratton Lane meets with Cross Lane. It
is the latter which will take us north again, down the hill to Brendon.
This is an ancient community – there is a record somewhere
noting how, in the 12th century, the area belonged to the Pomeroy
family who gave to the Brethren of the Hospital of Jerusalem “the
church of Brendon with its appendages and the land of the hermits
of Bagawordia”.
On a bitter winter’s day, you can almost feel
the company of the hermits of Bagawordia as you descend into Brendon
– but thoughts of such reclusive souls are soon banished once
you enter the warm and friendly confines of the Staghunters’
Inn.
In order to return to the car we turned left out of the pub’s
front door and walked down the road towards Rockford. Halfway between
the two communities – in the depths of the valley opposite
the rushing East Lyn – a public right of way climbs to the
south, up a steep goyle that I think is called Deercombe. It’s
a steep track and it takes you through a small wood more criss-crossed
with the carcasses of fallen trees than any I have seen since the
great gale of whenever it was, but the track eventually brings you
back out onto Gratton half a mile west of where you crossed it before.
This time we turn right and follow it to where
the drive up to Shilstone Farm departs to the left. You are supposed
to continue down the road a bit to find the public footpath which
goes up through the fields to Shilstone, but I must admit to having
cheated - we walked up the drive, and I can’t see that anyone
would mind.
Shilstone has the look of ages about it: three houses cluster
around the farmyard in a little coombe, and you can imagine the
likes of Heathcliff strutting about here being moody. This is a
true moorland farm and as romantic and remote as any other homestead
I know in the peninsula.
Now it’s simply a matter of climbing the track out of Shilstone
that leads due south over the moor. It is such a featureless plain
that someone has planted posts to show you the way – and these
help you to find the trig’ point at the top of Shilstone Hill,
from where you will see your vehicle parked where you left it beyond
Dry Bridge.
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