The Hoar Oak Tree is one of Exmoor’s most remote landmarks, set deep in a romantic combe on the western boundary of the ancient Royal Forest. It has stood there for a year or two. One version fell down in 1658 “with very age and rottenness.” Its replacement, planted four years later, lasted until Boxing Day, 1916. The present one dates from 1917. Its less than impressive progress over the past ninety years ironically reflects the determination of Exmoor flora and fauna to battle on regardless in an often hostile environment. The tree can prove difficult to find. At my first attempt in poor weather I followed the wrong path on Cheriton Ridge, and eventually fell into the bog at Blackpitts. On my second I was walking in thick fog and almost missed it again. At least on this third attempt it was the most beautiful day, with gin-clear skies and the best views ever over the Welsh coast.
We parked in the National Trust car park at Hillsford Bridge, and took the bridleway through Combe Park Wood towards Smallcombe Bridge. The track skirts to the rear of Combe Park House, which boasts a statue of a stag on its lawn, lovely lattice windows, and a small tower, and then the path follows the river through the trees as far as the bridge.
We parked in the National Trust car park at Hillsford Bridge, and took the bridleway through Combe Park Wood towards Smallcombe Bridge. The track skirts to the rear of Combe Park House, which boasts a statue of a stag on its lawn, lovely lattice windows, and a small tower, and then the path follows the river through the trees as far as the bridge.
Here we turned left past a cottage, curiously with a large boat docked in its garden, and climbed the steep and broken lane towards Scoresdown. Here you need to ignore the first track on the right, which leads to Sparhanger Cross, and then, just before Cheriton hamlet, take the second which will take you up on to Cheriton Ridge. At least one sign lay broken in the bank. We passed through a couple of gates and then we were out on the open moorland of Cheriton Ridge. Behind us you could see as far as the Welsh Mountains.
You need to steer a middle course here. If you keep too far to the left early, you will find yourself going down into Farley Water, and later you will be led away on the disastrous path which eventually dumped me into Blackpitts bog. On a bright and sunny day the middle way is clear enough, although, when the path begins to level off, be prepared to steer south and somewhat to your right to find the entry to the valley which leads up to Exe Head. The Hoar Oak Tree stands guard at the valley foot in a landscape straight from Tolkien.
After the descent from the top of the ridge, the path runs for a couple of hundred yards parallel to the river and then the Hoar Oak Tree is before you, surrounded by a cage of rails.
We passed through the gate and turned to the right down to Hoar Oak Water, which is passable by a narrow ridge of stepping stones. It makes an excellent, if treacherous, vantage point from which to photograph the valley up to Exe Head.
We crossed the river and turned right to climb up to Hoaroak Cottage. It would have made a stunning place to live on such a morning, with the sunlight sparkling on the beech-lined Water beneath you. Now the house is sadly decayed, with its corrugated iron roof stooping downwards, although the remains of the kitchen range are still there. A local doctor recalled walking across the moor once a year to treat the cottager for his gout. The patient’s name was Ridd, which he shared with the hero of “Lorna Doone”, John Ridd. A few years ago there were plans for refurbishing the place as a hostel, but obviously nothing came of them.
We crossed the river and turned right to climb up to Hoaroak Cottage. It would have made a stunning place to live on such a morning, with the sunlight sparkling on the beech-lined Water beneath you. Now the house is sadly decayed, with its corrugated iron roof stooping downwards, although the remains of the kitchen range are still there. A local doctor recalled walking across the moor once a year to treat the cottager for his gout. The patient’s name was Ridd, which he shared with the hero of “Lorna Doone”, John Ridd. A few years ago there were plans for refurbishing the place as a hostel, but obviously nothing came of them.
The path towards Furzehill Common is easy to follow to begin with but, after passing through a gate, as with so many Exmoor paths, it disappears like a wraith. We were soon in difficulties as the marsh-grass tussocks became thicker and the black boggy pools more frequent. We had been led too far to our right and, at a fence line, we plunged along side it until we could see our way on the edge of the farmland above South Furzehill farmhouse. A tidy line of blue blobs on the gateposts signed the way through the cattle pastures. One compensation was being treated to marvellous views over the Bristol Channel as far as the Black Mountains.
After turning left into a narrow lane just below the Roborough Castle Iron Age settlement, we reached a crossroads of paths. We went northwards straight over Lyn Down, and another run of gates took us to a lane next to the entrance to the Lynton public rubbish dump. The welcome inaccessibility of the facility, and the fact that it opens to the public just once a month, should guarantee that no one uses it nor knows of its existence. We walked on to Lyn Cross on the main A39 road, dived into the lane directly opposite, and walked round through West Lynn to emerge again on the A39 at the side of the Beggars Roost Inn. Before we reached the road, we passed a farm which promises walking with alpacas. According to my wife, walking with alpacas is considered in some quarters as therapeutic as swimming with dolphins. As one who shares his views on human frailty with Genghis Khan, I pass. Here, however, are the alpacas.
The Beggars Roost was our final pub to visit actually on the Moor, rather than within an Exmoor village. We had kept putting it off as we weren’t convinced that it was a real pub. For most drinkers, the jury would still be out on that one. The Beggars Roost is an annexe to the Manor Hotel. Set in what looks like a converted stone barn, the Beggars Roost is a single, narrow bar with wood panelling. During the high season it has more than one real beer on offer, but in late October there was just one. High Tide comes from the Clearwater Brewery at Torrington, and is a strong, sweetish ale at 4.5% alcohol – “a good bitter for people who don’t really like bitter” was my wife’s pithy assessment.
It was very pleasant on such a warm October day, as was the garden in front of the Beggars Roost with a particularly fine tree by the car park.
Two Dutch ladies lunched off baguettes – the management kindly solved their dilemma about which filling to choose by putting one in at one end and another at the other. Another couple had something large with chips, several of which were fed to their pet greyhound. The dog was wearing the sort of harness which controlled me in public places as a toddler. Its straps would have tamed a Rhodesian Ridgeback but greyhounds are the quietest of creatures when not chasing small animals, and this one just footled about in the herbaceous border.We retraced our steps past the alpacas and took the path towards Lower East Lyn. The grassy lane was bordered by ancient stone-lined banks, and here we enjoyed the treat of the day. In the fields below us there was a large herd of hinds with a magnificent stag. Although the stag continued to stare questioningly towards us, we sat on the bank watching the deer for some twenty minutes. Even when we moved on, the hinds continued to graze and the herd remained in the field until we saw it no more.
We passed through Lower and Higher East Lyn farmsteads, and returned to Hillsford Bridge via the path which leads below the Myrtleberry Settlement, with views down to Lynmouth and the sea.
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