It was a bright September morning – and I had wanted to go to Widecombe – to the annual fair – held on the second Tuesday of the month.
Oddly, while wending my way to the legendary fair – all along down along out along lea – I found myself straying (pixie-led) – and ended up nowhere near Widecombe – at a place I can visit anytime of year – and usually when I have a yearning to escape the madding crowd!
Although I was on familiar stomping ground – I stumbled upon something distinctly unfamiliar lurking in the moorland grass – something fetid and alien – a truly ‘orrible thing…
Officially – Clathrus archeri – or Lurkio as I named ‘it’!
I’ve been reliably informed by the Dartmoor National Park Authority – that ‘Clathrus archeri’ aka Lurkio – is a fungus and it arrived on Dartmoor from Down Under. Quite how it arrived here – one can only guess – perhaps it came directly via middle-earth? Alarmed by its unnatural presence – the native little people of Dartmoor imparted that they daren’t sit on it (like they do on other toadstools) in-case they disappear down the plughole never to be seen again!
I took a few photographs for reference (luckily my camera has a good zoom setting) – and then I was pleased to leave it just as I had found it – completely untouched! It had crossed my mind to give it a gentle prod with a stick to see if it moved – but I thought better of it – and went on my merry way…
Too late for the best of Widecombe Fair – I decided to stay put and spent an indeterminable spell – lost in my favourite Dartmoor wood…
(Some visual clues – taken earlier in the Spring!)
Pass through the faery-tree gateway…
trip trap over the little bridge…
you’ve entered.
Other than glimpsing passers-by in cars – and lycra-clad cyclists on the high-road to the reservoir (another clue) – it is possible to spend hours at this secretive place and not meet another human soul. Nobody knows I’m there – other than the sheep and a pair of well-fed ravens – and of course the pixies! It is an enchanted place – festooned in white gossamer; not by the weaving of spiders – but by sheep…
Everywhere, strands of wool cling to the maze of gorse bushes that seclude the area from public view…
Wisps snatched on the wire – at the boundary…
With four barbed horns – they remind me of mini Manx Loaghtan sheep!
and swathes of fleece…
and innumerable take-away parts…
and other left-overs – widely scatter the area.
The gourmet ravens regularly patrol the sky, womping over the lofty canopy – often alighting to keep a watchful eye on who goes there…
Keeping a watchful eye…
Other than the wind’s song, the creaking of aged trees and the ‘cronking’ call of ravens – it is an extraordinarily quiet place; a graveyard for animals and trees alike – a sacred place.
Spirit world.
From different angles – fallen trees unexpectedly shape-shift into fantastical creatures that once roamed Dartmoor long ago; ones imagination can run wild…wolves, wild boar – even dinosaurs!
And even the simple pleasure of finding a feather – can have an unexpected twist…
Black feather…
…with a flash of blue.
So if ever you get spirited away to this Arthur Rackham-ish landscape – maybe expect the unexpected…and remember – the trees are watching your every footstep…
and please be mindful of ‘Lurkio’…
unless of course he has legged it back Down Under!
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Under the Yew. A timeless Widecombe Fair scene from yesteryear.