Dartmoor Cycling ban

[Jdsk]

Caroline Lucas now making the point very well on Radio 4.

Jonathan

[slowster]

The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongue ferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisy stream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon the countryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year. Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed. The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation-sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles. "Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?" A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm. He was watching the road along which we travelled.

"What is this, Perkins?" asked Dr. Mortimer. Our driver half turned in his seat. "A wild camper's been spotted on the moor, sir. He's been out three days now, and the warders watch every road and every station, but they've had no sight of him yet. The landowner here don't like it, sir, and that's a fact. You see, it isn't like any ordinary tourist. This is a man that would put his tent up in any quiet secluded spot where he thought nobody would mind or even notice him."

Our wagonette had topped a rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled with gnarled and craggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from it and set us shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking this fiendish man, hiding in a sleeping bag like a wild beast, his heart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out. It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky. Even Baskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closely around him.

[Jdsk]

: - )

Was there a happy ending?

Jonathan

[cycle tramp]

If a man fell over in the forest and fell asleep without anyone being there to witness it, would he still make a noise?

[Jdsk]

https://mobile.twitter.com/alexsobel/st ... 5992074247

Jonathan

[ChrisButch]

This High Court case is a good example of the distinction between 'not lawful' and 'illegal'. Dartmoor was a unique example of an explicit legal right to do something (wild camp): but that doesn't mean it's 'illegal' to do it elsewhere, as has happened for years in the moors and mountains throughout the country. The legal situation outwith Dartmoor remains unchanged: there may be a technical civil trespass, which becomes an issue only if the landowner chooses to sue the individual camper. Which rarely happens. And in the case of Dartmoor it won't happen, since the principal large landowners on the Moor (the Duchy especially) do not object, and actively support the National Park's position.
However, this case is likely to become a cause célèbre for countryside access campaigners nationally, and will add momentum to efforts (recently rebuffed by the Government) to review the working of the CROW Act, and look again at the example of Scotland: where the equivalent legislation enshrines the right to wild camp anywhere outside cultivated land and curtilages, and has worked for a couple of decades now without serious problems.
So the optimistic scenario is that bringing the case may have the reverse effect to that intended, as did (eventually) prosecuting the Kinder mass trespassers. But it's a long way from here to there.

[ChrisButch]

However: the Dartmoor National Park Authority which is defending in the High Court the right to wild camp is the same Dartmoor National Park Authority which intends to retain, even to reinforce, the cycling ban.

[slowster]

The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the hill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one side and gray shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no sound and no movement. One great gray bird, a gull or curlew, soared aloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to be the only living things between the huge arch of the sky and the desert beneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery and urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy was nowhere to be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there was one which retained sufficient roof to act as a screen against the weather. My heart leaped within me as I saw it. This must be the burrow where the stranger lurked. At last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding place— his secret was within my grasp.

As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would do when with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I satisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as a habitation. A vague pathway among the boulders led to the dilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent within. The unknown might be lurking there, or he might be prowling on the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure. Throwing aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the butt of my revolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked in. The place was empty.

But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false scent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets rolled in a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon which neolithic man had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket half-full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that the place had been occupied for some time, and I saw, as my eyes became accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a half-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this stood a small cloth bundle— the same, no doubt, which I had seen through the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, and two tins of preserved peaches. As I set it down again, after having examined it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper with writing upon it. I raised it, and this was what I read, roughly scrawled in pencil: "Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey."

For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out the meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir Henry, who was being dogged by this secret man. He had not followed me himself, but he had set an agent— the boy, perhaps— upon my track, and this was his report. Possibly I had taken no step since I had been upon the moor which had not been observed and reported. Always there was this feeling of an unseen force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that one realized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes.

If there was one report there might be others, so I looked round the hut in search of them. There was no trace, however, of anything of the kind, nor could I discover any sign which might indicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this singular place, save that he must be of Spartan habits and cared little for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong and immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in that inhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by chance our guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut until I knew.

Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with scarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There were the two towers of Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked the village of Grimpen. Between the two, behind the hill, was the house of the Stapletons. All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of the peace of Nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves but a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with sombre patience for the coming of its tenant.

And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a boot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner and cocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger. There was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the opening of the hut.

"It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-known voice. "I really think that you will be more comfortable outside than in."

For a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my ears. Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a crushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to press upon my soul. That cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one man in all the world. The man who had brought to justice so many criminals, was himself the worst of criminals - a wild camper.

I stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stone outside, his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon my astonished features. He was thin and worn, but clear and alert, his keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. In his tweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other tourist upon the moor, and he had contrived, with that catlike love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen as perfect as if he were in Baker Street.

The next instant I emptied five barrels of my revolver into him. With a howl of agony he rolled over and then fell limp. I stooped, panting, and pressed my pistol to his head, but it was useless to press the trigger. The fiend was dead.

Chapter 13 The Light upon the Moor

Later that evening, sitting in the drawing room of Baskerville Hall, Sir Henry and Professor Moriarty tried to console me.

"You mustn't blame yourself, Watson. I never said anything before because I knew how much it would hurt you to know the truth, but really Holmes was an utter bounder." said Moriarty. "Why, only last year when we were on that walking holiday in Switzerland, Holmes wanted to bivvy by the Reichenbach Falls. I knew he had no intention of asking the landowner, and we came to blows over the matter. He had murder in his eyes, and I think he would have thrown me into the Falls if he thought he could get away with it."

At that moment, Barrymore entered the room and addressed Sir Henry. "I have just been round the first floor locking the windows, sir. While I was in the room at the far end of the corridor, I noticed through the western window a light on the moor." The significance of his words immediately forced itself upon us. Holmes was gone, only for another wild camper to take his place.

For a brief moment Sir Henry seemed to collapse in despair. "Is there no end to this curse on my family?" he cried. But then, like the stout and true Englishman that he was, he drew himself up with a look of implacable determination. "Barrymore, you know what to do. Watson, Moriarty - I take it I can count on you fellows?" And so we followed Sir Henry to the gun room, while Barrymore unleashed Sir Henry's great hound onto the moor.

[Zulu Eleven]

However: the Dartmoor National Park Authority which is defending in the High Court the right to wild camp is the same Dartmoor National Park Authority which intends to retain, even to reinforce, the cycling ban.

This!

And worth noting that some of the organisations making the most noise about this have spent years actively opposing any proposals that would improve access for cyclists

[Tinkerbell]

Very good @slowster

[NATURAL ANKLING]

Hi,

However: the Dartmoor National Park Authority which is defending in the High Court the right to wild camp is the same Dartmoor National Park Authority which intends to retain, even to reinforce, the cycling ban.

As someone who has walked up every tor on Dartmoor more than once and been camping on since 74.
Also cycled 95% of all cyclable routes on Dartmoor (most which I haven't are undefined bridle / tracks / etc across open heather/peat moorland), on a non suspension mtb with camping gear, also my touring bike.
Which bit of Dartmoor do you have trouble with riding your bike.

Any bit of Dartmoor you are specifically having trouble with

Apart from enclosed farming spaces where live stock are kept etc.

I apologise if I am missing the point

[Zulu Eleven]

Hi,

However: the Dartmoor National Park Authority which is defending in the High Court the right to wild camp is the same Dartmoor National Park Authority which intends to retain, even to reinforce, the cycling ban.

As someone who has walked up every tor on Dartmoor more than once and been camping on since 74.
Also cycled 95% of all cyclable routes on Dartmoor (most which I haven't are undefined bridle / tracks / etc across open heather/peat moorland), on a non suspension mtb with camping gear, also my touring bike.
Which bit of Dartmoor do you have trouble with riding your bike.

Any bit of Dartmoor you are specifically having trouble with

Apart from enclosed farming spaces where live stock are kept etc.

I apologise if I am missing the point

All cycling on Dartmoor commons (other than the few miles of Bridleway) including on surfaced land-rover tracks and mineral railway lines is illegal (ie, not a trespass, but criminalised under the Dartmoor byelaws. https://www.dartmoor.gov.uk/about-us/who-we-are/byelaws

Current Byelaw review proposals will extend that to CROW access land, not currently covered by the byelaws.

To put that in context, there is a legal right to access the commons on foot and on horseback for the purpose of open-air recreation, up until Friday wild camping was also seen as being part of that ‘right’, this judgement only makes it a ‘potential trespass against the landowner’, whereas cycling is a criminal act that could result in prosecution in the magistrates court and fine.

I would maintain that that is an entirely unfair and unjustified restriction, and inconsistent with the purposes for which National Parks were founded,

[ChrisButch]

Hi,

However: the Dartmoor National Park Authority which is defending in the High Court the right to wild camp is the same Dartmoor National Park Authority which intends to retain, even to reinforce, the cycling ban.

As someone who has walked up every tor on Dartmoor more than once and been camping on since 74.
Also cycled 95% of all cyclable routes on Dartmoor (most which I haven't are undefined bridle / tracks / etc across open heather/peat moorland), on a non suspension mtb with camping gear, also my touring bike.
Which bit of Dartmoor do you have trouble with riding your bike.

Any bit of Dartmoor you are specifically having trouble with

Apart from enclosed farming spaces where live stock are kept etc.

I apologise if I am missing the point

Hi N/A

Sorry if this appears confusing. This thread has been revived in the last few days in the light of last week's High Court action, in which a wealthy Dartmoor landowner successfully challenged the legal right to wild camp on the Moor, a right which has always been upheld, and publicised, by the Dartmoor National Park Authority.
The post which you quote was simply highlighting the inconsistent attitude of the DNPA to access issues, since at the same time it is insisting on retaining its 25-year old byelaw banning cycling on the Moor (the original subject of the thread).
Hope that's now clear.

[Zulu Eleven]

https://www.cyclinguk.org/blog/no-more- ... onal-parks

[Richard123]

As one member mentioned, it's the idiots that spoil it for the rest. Sadly, it's the same in almost very sport in life, litter is one of the biggest problems we face. Often I've found it's those that complain the loudest, leave the most mess, and damage.

Dartmoor needs a campaign asking people to take a small plastic bag, and put some litter in it from their trips maybe.

Once the idiots leave rubbish and trash a nice green place, its get a ban. Then it is almost impossible to get it re-opened again.

Only a few weeks ago, I watched a young chap (16/20) throw a drink can down in a park, I called after him to pick it up only to get the two fingers. I expect I was lucky, not being knifed these days? Its the same with dog mess, where I walk 99% are responsible owners, but you always find some mess around left by lazy owners. Maybe its always been so, and we only notice now our population is much bigger, maybe!