After pizza last night we returned to the tent to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. The trouble was that I was really struggling to stay awake, let alone carry a conversation, so I decided to get some fresh air and go for a pee and on the way back I perked up and conversation flowed until around 9pm when we decided to call it a day. David was still chatting away when when I felt myself nodding off. Despite sleeping just inches of the floor, I slept like a baby, waking around 07:00am, soon followed by David. 

We told ourselves there was no need to rush out as David handed out half a Madeira cake, but let me point out that this wasn't half a slice; it was half a cake! which I washed down with a cup of coffee that I'd boiled up on the travel stove. Once ready, we secured the tent and under bright morning sunshine, drove the 22 miles to Two Bridges in the heart of the Dartmoor National Park.

It took around forty-five minutes to drive to Two Bridges, where we managed to see more of Dartmoor as David rattled off tors from memory, some of which he had not yet set foot on. The car climbed to an altitude of 1,400 ABSL as we drove through the Merrivale Valley, with Dartmoor Prison seen beyond, which even during modern times, still has that scare factor to it. The prison was built to hold prisoners from the Napoleonic War, and during The War (The Second War of Independence) between 1812-1815 over 7,000 American sailors were imprisoned at Dartmoor. After the war ended, those who survived were released and repatriated. We parked with ease opposite a small quarry, which David informed me had been dug out by prisoners.

Below the quarry, hidden by overgrown bracken and bramble bushes, was today's final tor, Two Bridges Tor, which we would collect on our return. There was already one other car parked up when we arrived whose occupants were keeping themselves to themselves. As we kitted up, we could hear they were American's but we were unsure which state. We left them kitting up before passing through a wooden gate bound for Crockern Cottage and our first tor of the day, Crockern Tor.

We continued along the ridge by which time it had well and truly clouded over accompanied by the wind that had been with us all weekend. From out of no-where an eldery chap appeared with his Spaniel dog who defintely looked local and 'mornings' were shared before we took on the ascent of Longaford Tor.

After descending Longaford Tor we were passed by two young lads and more 'mornings' were shared.

During our descent towards the Weir we could see two groups of people also heading for the Weir who seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the bogs on the opposite side and as we grew closer we could see that they were wearing trainers and everyday clothing. David and I crossed the Weir as the first group approached who turned out to be American's whose first words were "I see you got your trekking poles" all very friendly I might add.

They'd obviously followed the valley path and were a little unprepared especially the young girl who dunked her feet into the water to clean her trainers off, which worked wonders but she now had to contend with cold wet feet. They went on to ask the best way to cross the Weir and David gave them his advice, as mentioned lovely people just a little unprepared. Would you believe we've only seen eight people all day and five were American.

We were soon passed by the second couple, who also warned us about the bogs, and to be fair, these bogs were on steroids, swallowing a walking pole to its handle. With the bog behind us, we climbed above Wistman's Wood, one of Britain's last remaining ancient temperate rainforests and one of three remote high-altitude oakwoods on Dartmoor. As impressive as the woodland was, you are advised not to venture into the woodland through fear of destroying the lichens and mosses, but sadly, it was too tempting for some. We passed the woodland and crossed the bouldersome path before it plateaued from where I could make out Crocken Cottage. We began to pass groups of students and I lost count at thirty-ish, we hoped they weren't visiting the woodland.

The skies darkened, and within minutes we could feel rain in the air, followed by a biblical downpour that curtained across the valley. Nothing escaped a drenching. Having passed the cottage just 100 yards from the car, the skies cleared and the sun came back out, but it was too late; we were drenched. Before unlocking the car, we visited Two Bridges Tor. We returned to the car to find a family talking about their friends who were unable to park. "We're leaving soon," I added. I shook my wet jacket and placed it on a hanger to dry out before starting the car and manoeuvring it out of its tight space. We had already agreed to drive to Princetown for a late lunch at the Old Police Station Cafe, and I was conscious that I like I had just crawled out of the sea, David probably too. We parked up and strolled down the quiet main street until we reached the cafe, where we found it was standing room only. Jeez, I was so looking forward to a hot meal. We expected to be told there was an hour wait, but instead we were ushered to a reserved table and seated. Now thats what you call service. I ordered gammon, David, turkey roast; both meals arrived within ten minutes and were piping hot and delicious. Afterwards, before we returned to the car we stopped off at the local post office which doubled as a convenience store and bought tomorrow's breakfast and lunch.  The skies turned black again as we returned to Okehampton, the rain stopping as quickly as it started this time there no sunshine in between. It was early evening by the time we got back to the campsite, and we settled into conversation while David pollished off a cornish pastie he'd bought back in Princetown while I tucked in to a Rice Pot.

The rain had been forecast for an hour or two, but it never gave up continuing through the night, keeping the pair of us awake. The worst thing was the tent was pitched below a row of trees the rain constantly dripped from the branches without remorse. The next morning we looked like two zombies, hardly three hours sleep each. David mentioned that the last thing he felt like doing was heading out for a walk. I was so glad he brought it up as it had been on my mind too. Instead, we agreed to take the tent down and dry it as best we could before folding it back into its bag, ready for an airing when David got home. I boiled the kettle, and while David visited the toilets, I removed all the tent pegs and let the air out of the ribs. The tent folded like a pack of cards. David returned, and he dried the tent with his towel before packing the car with all our gear, all of this before 7:00am. Typically the sun rose into a cloudless sky, the clear blue just above our heads made for perfect conditions for a walk, but we'd called it hours ago. David, was right. I did love Dartmoor.