In the footsteps of King Arthur
I got lost on Bodmin Moor today. It was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I spent a glorious couple of hours driving round potholed single tracked roads, stopping to take in the amazing views, snapping some photos and enjoying the low but warm winter sunshine.
I was hoping to add to my stock shots of Cornwall, and also shoot some photos for a new children’s adventure book on Cornwall which is appearing next year. I was specifically after some photographs of Tintagel Castle, the supposed seat of King Arthur, and Trippett stone circle on Bodmin Moor near temple.
I discovered that Tintagel Castle is closed during the week at this time of year but I got some nice photos of the impressive island on which it stands and headed for St Breward on the moor, from where I hoped to locate the Trippett Stone circle. Of course my map wasn’t detailed enough, satnav on my phone wasn’t working and I seemed to drive for miles before I saw a sign for Stannon.
I dimly recalled from my research the night before that there was another sone circle at Stannon so I headed in that direction, the road getting steadily narrower and more potted. I stopped to consult my map, glancing to my right there above me on the horizon I could see a low row of stones like gappy sharks teeth. Stannon Stones.
I managed to find the Trippett Stones after getting lost twice and eventually finding a rare human being to ask the way. This stone circle is only a quarter mile off the A30 near temple. I took a few snaps and headed for Dozmary Pool as the sun started to head for horizon.
I didn’t see the lady of the lake or the ghost of Sir Bedevere disposing of Excalibur, but the place is bleakly, hauntingly beautiful. Tricky to capture the spirit of it but I had a go. Having started my day at Tintagel it seemed an apt place to end it.
The coast of Cornwall is so beautiful it’s easy to forget the beauty inland. Bodmin Moor is a fascinating, magical wilderness dotted with ancient monuments which will you often have to yourself; there’s nothing like standing alone in the middle of a mini version of Stonehenge, the wind whistling across the moor and communing with your ancestors.
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