Newbridge car park was busy on our arrival, many families and couples enjoying the cool, shady Dartmoor woodlands, which provided a much-needed break from the sweltering heat. The Dart flowed raucously to our left, entering a series of miniature, rocky rapids before tumbling under a bridge. A wooden signpost, chipped and weathered pointed the way.
As we went on, it became quieter and after about five minutes, the trees were silent and still, the river calm and at an easier pace. A sun-soaked gorse lined clearing provided an opening to the sky above, and it was empty of clouds, dominated by endless blue in every direction, framing the distant hills. Suddenly, a Chaffinch chirped from a birch, but still, serenity ruled. Lilac scabious flowers lined the edge of the grass, with the gorse looming behind it.
We continued on, and still encountered no-one. The dusty path meandered away from the river, winding between trunks and bushes with a mind of its own. Two Magpies streaked after each other above, visible in glimpses between the sun-dappled boughs. A moss-covered stone wall separated us from an open, sloping field, a farmhouse in a circle of wild hedges in the distance. A buzzard called somewhere close by, but seemingly so far away and invisible, like a phantom, searching for a living in its hunt.
The path here came back closer to the river, this time in a straight line (fairly), but there were no trees here, and on a pylon a fair while away, many birds flitted about, perching on the pylon or feeding on the flying insects that were abundant. On closer inspection, they were House Martins, possibly gathering before beginning their long migration. It looked rushed up there, the birds stressed and snappy in their movements. A pigeon flew low over them, and everything seemed to pause for a split second, but soon started up again, around 25 birds hurrying about the wire, the blue and white plumage stark and contrasting in the sunlight.
Once again, we came alongside the River Dart, and this stretch of the river was a popular wild swimming spot, with a family splashing about in the fairly deep water. A semicircular pebble beach jutted out into the water, narrowing the river on this stretch. But what drew our attention here was the fallen tree that spanned the path and protected the next generation. A tiny, green sapling grew beneath, receiving just the right amount of sunlight, yet nestled in hanging branches.
A hornets nest was the next big thing in that particular stroll, with a soft, contented buzz emanating from the egg like nest. It was low off the ground, sitting just above the stone wall, with a few of them humming about in mid-air. And that’s about it, really. We walked back in the midday sun, exhausted yet ecstatic, and enjoyed the long drive home over the moor.
The Bovey Birder 