Dartmoor - Into the ancient

 an extract from Fallons Angler issue 7

...Unaware that the Hounds of Hell could bolt out of the woods at any moment we swigged malt, theorised about the trout; where they lie, what they are feeding on, do they believe in ghosts, and prepared a mental picture for the next day’s fishing. That evening there was no crackle of an open log fire, nor distant laughter from the public bar. Instead we had only our stories, jokes and theories. Beyond we three was a stillness broken only by the sound of the river, the wind and the chatter of birds roosting in the nearby woods. In that single point in time I felt a strong sense of something palpable; a calling from an ancient landscape, where the brown trout skit day after day, year after year, generation after generation, doing what the trout have to do while the world spins so fast on its axis. We were not in the real wilderness, nor were we that far from a hotel or road, but we were in a place that seemed little-changed, a landscape that appeared lightly touched by the hand of man, but also steeped in myth and legend. We came to fish and found this ancient landscape, touched the past while living in the present...