Dee Crute, the OWPG’s Diversity, Equality and Inclusion Officer, is a disabled adventuress, photographer, naturalist, journalist & campaigner specialising in Women’s rights, Disability, and Inclusion. Visit her website.
When I was writing for Folklore Thursday, I learnt a rather disconcerting story; had this happened centuries ago, it would just feel like a legend of a ghost. But, because it was so recent, widely reported in the press, and involved the army's Exmoor search, I did not know what to think about it.
I am talking about the Beast of Exmoor, a large, wild cat that is said to roam the moors of Somerset and Devon, South West England in the 1970s.
I knew I was running late. National Trust (NT) website says that the Aira Force and Gowbarrow Park trail is 7 km long and takes between 1 hour 30 minutes to 3 hours to complete; with my disabilities, it would take me longer. I only had around two hours before the sunset, but with all emergency accoutrements, and packed food, I was determined to do it. With my neurodegeneration, I am not always mobile and I am not going to waste it today. I just need to keep a fairly good pace.
But the trail had a different ideas for me.
Firstly, was the Pinetum, where I completely lost sense of time. Bewitched or intoxicated by a minty and yet warm scent of conifer resin, I leaned against a yew tree with half lidded-eyes, losing myself in a sicily silly-so song of the Goldcrests, when my trance was broken by a group of rambunctious hikers.
I continued along the path only to pause again to behold a Tolkienesque vista: the Ullswater Valley. From this point, I could continue the trail or take a detour to the lower waterfall bridge. The time was pressing, and yet off I went to see the bridge.
The bouldery steps were hard to navigate. I was halfway down to the waterfall viewing platform when I needed to take a break and could actually look up.
I may as well have been turned into stone; even my eyes got dry and itchy from not blinking! I was screaming inwardly: The Rivendell! The Rivendell!
My stillness was disrupted by a fly buzzing inside my mouth…
After spitting the interloper out, I started frantically taking photos of the Aira Force Waterfall and two stone bridges, one above and one below.
Rivendell, Tolkien's fictional valley, was nested on the edge of a narrow gorge towering over the Bruinen River. Crowned with pine trees and studded with oaks and beeches in the valley's bottom. And this was precisely what I saw!
Rivendell was a sanctuary—but no longer for me; a group of hikers was upon me. I scrambled back onto the main track, smiling and humming Bilbo's Walking Song [Bilbo's Walking Song, also known as The Road Goes Ever On, was, of course, authored by J.R.R. Tolkien, but everyone knows that it was written by Bilbo Baggins. Four versions are sung throughout The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.]
And over rock and under the tree, I carried on until I came out onto the open fell. The Sun was snuggled in between summits. The Sun, yes, the Sun! The golden hour was upon me! Oblivious to what it meant, I pulled my camera out and started shooting.
I had ‘only’ 1km climb to the Gowbarrow Fell summit, and then everything should be down the hill… I tried to keep my pace up, using my walking sticks to propel me up, but my ankles kept subluxating [Subluxation is a partial dislocation of a bone in a joint, where the bone is pulled or pushed out of place but still touches the other bones in the joint], making it painfully tricky—with EDS [Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) is a genetic condition caused by a mutation of connective tissue disorder, causing tissue fragility with rupturing organs, unstable and hypermobile joints, dysautonomia and more.], that is my normal.
I trudged on when my surroundings turned copper. I looked behind and beheld not the sky but a celestial foundry with the molten Sun spilling over the peaks of Three Dodds. I knew I had no more than an hour between now and total darkness.
I continued walking, but once again, I was beguiled. The Ullswater and Place Fell under the purple sky and coral clouds, were luring me closer and closer, when I realised, I was on the wrong path. I retraced my steps to the foot of the trig point.
The fatigue set in. I knew what that meant. My condition can affect my brain too; it didn't matter how many times I read the map or trail directions, I couldn't take this information in.
“Never mind the trig point! I need to get down NOW”. Angry, I followed another track, “it must be it!” Soon, my leg gave way, and I fell into the bog. I was covered in black mud and laughing. I really did not expect it to be so deep!
The fall released the adrenaline, clearing the brain fog. I retraced my steps AGAIN. "Where is the right way?!"
At last, I found the branching off leading away from the Gowabrrow. Despite my right hip popping out, I descended at a good pace—I had to get down as quickly as possible.
When I reached the ruin of an old shooting lodge, I could no longer see any remnants of the Sun's afterglow. Darkness was setting in. My tiredness was gone. I was alert, and my pace was good.
But the route was taking me up the fell again. I panicked. "Please don't tell me I lost the way again!" After a quick check, I ascertained I was on the right path—I guess this is what NT meant by ‘undulating landscape’.
As always, I was reluctant to light the torch, as I preferred to be invisible under the cloak of darkness. I always felt safe as a lone wanderer in the wild, but not as a lone woman.
But I wasn't alone; the Harvest Moon was my companion, casting tentative silver shine from my left.
I loved the darkness!
And then I didn't…
My thoughts went back to the Beast of Exmoor stalking Somerset and Devon - over 300 miles away. I was safe. Was I?
This wasn't a time for Google! And yet...
'Following new private zoo legislation, many wealthy landowners released their exotic beasts into our countryside, where they adapted and were sighted across the country, including the Lake District.’
‘[…] Robert MacFarlane, too, saw a panther on the road at night in Wiltshire.'
"Just one more tab and I will carry on walking…" I muttered.
According to the Cumbrian News, five 'big cats' were photographed, the most recent being a Lynx in Coniston earlier THIS year and a Puma near Kendal only a year ago.
This wasn't an eerie and disquieting story anymore. "Keep the pace up!” I shouted shakily. “Damn it!" I tripped, almost falling off the fell. "Compose yourself, for Christ's sake! And light the torch!"
The path sloped and narrowed. It was pitch black now. When I thought it could not get any darker, I entered the woodlands. But it felt somewhat unnatural. "The Arboretum! I am back in the Glade! I made it!"
I reached the gap in the stone wall and felt relieved. Between me and the car park, there was only the picnic field.
I was halfway through when I started to feel observed. Something moved away from the visitor centre and into the trees. I shined the torch. Two dots shined back.
These photos are brilliant.
Excellent, both well written and scary!