On a day like today, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in the hills and nobody I’d rather be with than my family. We were up holiday early and filling ourselves with porridge and glucose syrup ready for what appeared to be a cold day ahead. The sky was clear and for once we were already packed, scraping the Frost of the windscreen and heading for Dartmoor for what was – for us at least – an early start.

We followed the road up to Princetown and past Tor Royale to our usual parking space just before Whiteworks. It was a proper cold winter’s day on Dartmoor, with temperatures hanging around freezing, but with no wind the sunshine made it feel much warmer. Along with many others, we headed along the Two Moors Way heading south for Nun’s Cross Farm, then diverted southeast along a route that we more or less had to ourselves.

Our target was Fox Tor and we contour around the slopes of Crane Hill. Further downhill, the ancient Buckfast to Tavistock undulated, its route marked by a series of crosses that we struggle to pick out in the landscape. Centuries ago, this was one of the most used routes across the moor although it was hard to imagine this on a day like today. One other walker passed us by with a cheerful greeting, but apart from him we hardly saw a soul all day.

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We met him again briefly at Fox Tor itself. He had set himself up with a hot drink and a fantastic place to view the moors and we settled in the sunshine on the next rock over to enjoy the view ourselves. Fox Tor isn’t an incredibly spectacular rock formation, although down the slope, the clitter indicated that the rocks had once been much higher. However, it’s worth the trip for the astonishing number of tors you can see across the whole of the northern horizon. While we had lunch, the boys tested my knowledge and I tried to identify as many places as I could see.

From here we had choices and I had planned a bit of a challenge for us to head south towards Blacklane Mire. Crossing the stream just south of Fox Tor was a challenge in itself, and the “Black Lane” marked on the map is now nothing more than a rush-filled channel. We followed this up to its most southerly point; here the track ends and we were left to traverse the mire for a couple of kilometres south. This was easier than I had expected. The mire itself didn’t seem too wet and, although walking across the low moor grass could be difficult, we weren’t exactly bog hopping as we went. We stuck to the right hand bank of the mire as it slowly began to turn into a stream and then took a diversion to try to find William Crossing’s memorial letterbox in Duck’s Pool. The day was starting to get late and I wasn’t able to actually find it. It was only when I got home that I discovered I’d been standing on top of it, casting my eyes around trying to see it. If I had only looked down I’d have found it.

The Sun was now beginning to set and we carried on quickly past Great Gnat’s Head to pick up the track that leads to Plym Ford. Here we took a break to watch the Sun start to go down. I always carry a can of Harviestoun Schiehallion lager with me on our festive walks; it’s a lovely crisp beer and the mountain itself is owned by the John Muir Trust, a charity I love to support.

Over the top of Crane Hill and we were almost back. We stopped for a moment to enjoy the last of the setting sun and then left it behind as we descended into the Swincombe valley. Our legs breaking and it was starting to turn cold, but our spirits were lifted by the glorious skies all around us. To the east the cirrus clouds were tainted a bright pink while to the west it was a riot of oranges and red, are we finished our walk as everything turned to silhouettes around us. We got back to the van and realised my shoelaces had frozen stiff. The only thing to do, of course, we head for the Prince of Wales for a pint and a bit of a warmup.

Thank you to everyone who has read and subscribed to this blog this year, I wish you a happy and healthy New Year ahead.