Two Nights on Dartmoor: A Hobbit, a Giant, and a Torn Pair of Trousers

TL;DR — Two nights wild-camping on Dartmoor with my (much taller) friend Callum. ~30 km loop from Burrator Reservoir → Leeden Tor → Kings Tor (night 1) → Fogginator Quarry → Great Mis Tor → Merrivale (lunch, well earned) → Pew Tor (night 2) → back to Burrator. Highlights: crystal-clear leet water through the LifeStraw, a Great Mis Tor view no camera will do justice to, and a Ploughman's that tasted like a religious experience. Lowlights: buried stones vs. trekking-pole tent, and one embarrassingly ventilated pair of linen trousers.

I planned a short weekend wild-camp hike in Dartmoor for the first time this summer, and — spoiler — I will absolutely be going again. What a fantastic trip.

I went with my friend Callum, who is tall. Very tall. For every step he took, I took roughly two, which meant I spent most of the weekend cheerfully referring to myself as a Hobbit trailing after a rather patient Man of Gondor. I'm also mid-way through a bit of a health kick — I'm not getting any younger — and I'd quietly earmarked this as a significant physical challenge. Or so I thought.

Day one — Burrator to Kings Tor

We started at Burrator Reservoir, meandered around the southern edge heading east, then turned north towards Leeden Tor. The first stretch takes you through the kind of non-deciduous forest that feels a bit unreal — quiet, dim, cathedral-like, with a leet of properly crystal-clear water running alongside the path. I'd brought my new LifeStraw filter and this seemed as good a place as any to give it its inaugural drink. Delicious. And, importantly, no dysentery the next day.

We'd originally planned a fairly modest first day, camping back near Sheepstor at the reservoir. We arrived at 3pm, sunset was 9.30pm, and by 5pm we were still moving with amazingly lots of energy in the tank. So we did the very Dartmoor thing of tearing up the plan and just… carrying on.

We pushed on through the breathtaking undulations of the Tor landscape as far as Kings Tor, and decided to make camp at an old quarry just to its east. Enormous view. School-boy error, though — my hiking-pole tent relies entirely on driving pegs into ground, and every peg point I picked had a buried stone under it. Callum, dome tent smugly self-supporting, watched me hammer at granite for a while before politely helping.

The summer night was forgiving, the air mattress did its job, and I slept better than I do most weeknights.

Day two — Fogginator, Great Mis Tor and a very good Ploughman's

Low morning fog kept us in camp until about 9am. Once it lifted we struck north with a working plan of reaching Great Mis Tor, and — more urgently — the inn at Merrivale, which was now issuing a strong psychic call in the form of an imagined cold soda-and-lime.

Before we got that far we detoured around Kings Tor to Fogginator Quarry, a beautifully secluded pool held inside the old quarry walls. Stunning place. There's an old stone ruin just nearby too — possibly the remains of a small abbey, though I'll happily be corrected by anyone who actually knows.

The next stretch was uphill, which is an understatement. My watch politely watched me power through Zone 2, then Zone 3, then well into Zone 4. Worth every beat: Little Mis Tor first, then Great Mis Tor itself, with a view that photographs simply refuse to capture.

At which point, climbing off one of the granite stacks, I heard the deeply unwelcome sound of linen giving up. Not a small tear. A committed, structural tear. A quick change into shorts on the tor, some dignified swearing, and on we went.

Down we meandered beyond the tor, keeping a respectful margin from the Dartmoor "Danger Zone" where the military occasionally do their thing, and picked up a stream that carried us down the valley to Merrivale for the late lunch we'd earned three hours earlier. On the way, several genuinely majestic Dartmoor ponies and their foals stood out against the moor as if positioned by a landscape painter.

Aching feet and rumbling stomachs delivered us to the inn, where I put away a Ploughman's and a pint of soda and lime in a state of near-religious gratitude.

Day two, part two — Vixen Tor to Pew Tor

An hour of proper rest and we hauled ourselves back up. It was about 5pm by now. We pushed past Vixen Tor (privately owned and closed to the public, sadly) and on to Pew Tor, where we pitched in among the ferns on much more forgiving soil — pegs went in as pegs should. Dinner was a rehydrated Thai curry and a hot coffee, eaten sitting up on the tor watching the light go.

Day three — home the long way round

The final day looked, on paper, like a gentler jaunt: country lanes, a few sleepy hamlets, and a last stretch through a beautiful little woodland raised above Burrator Reservoir. In reality, those lanes were surprisingly brutal — short, sharp inclines that punished tired legs far more than any of the open moor had the day before. By the time we rolled back into the car park I had collected a truly excellent set of blisters; Callum, somehow, came off completely unscathed.

Would I do it again?

Immediately. Different trousers, though.

If you know Dartmoor and have a route, a tor, or a quiet corner I should try next time, please drop me a message — I'm very keen for more of these, ideally with load-bearing legwear.