Discovering Dartmoor
How I Ended Up on Dartmoor
At the end of 2022, life took an unexpected turn and led me to Dartmoor. I still remember the moment clearly — it was around 4am, and I was lying awake in my campervan. I had no work lined up for a few days, and honestly, I was struggling to find a reason to keep moving forward.
Then the thought came: Why not Dartmoor? I'd been meaning to visit for ages, curious about what made it so special. I figured I could go for a walk, see what the fuss was about — and if it turned out to be rubbish, I'd just get back in the van and head home.
So I got up, threw on some clothes, and drove the two hours there. As I approached, the mist rolled in thick and heavy, swallowing the landscape. My first stop was to see Dartmoor's iconic ponies, but the fog was so dense I could barely see two meters ahead. Regret started to creep in.
Eventually, I stumbled across what I now call my car park. I made breakfast, got dressed, and pushed myself out onto the wet, windswept moor — unsure of what I was walking into.
That first walk on Dartmoor healed something deep inside me. It was the kind of place where I could grieve without being seen, where the silence wrapped around and blocked out everything else out like a blanket. No people. Just wind, mist, and endless space.
I left the car park with no plan — no idea how far I'd go or how long I'd be out. The only rule I gave myself was to get back before my phone died, and to walk in a loop. That was it.
As I wandered through the moor, I passed cold streams, climbed quiet peaks, and found myself circling around Widecombe-in-the-Moor. Some of the hills looked like scenes from childhood TV shows. At one point, I got stuck in a random field with no obvious gate out. I passed ancient stones and beauty spots, untouched for hundreds of years.
By the time I returned to my campervan, something had shifted. My head felt clearer. I felt a flicker of strength return — because I had done this. I had randomly driven hours to an unfamiliar place, spent a whole day making decisions for myself, and it was enough. It was more than enough.
In that quiet victory, I found something to be proud of.
That weekend marked the beginning of things getting better — not all at once, and not perfectly — but enough. Enough to start feeling good about myself again.