The Flickr Greatstapletor Image Generatr

A sunbathing pony with Great Staple Tor on the horizon.

Great Staple Tor

A location that I have seldom visited is Great Staple tor on Dartmoor. You do get some amazing views from up on the tor which makes the hike up worthwhile

146. Roos Tor

147. Great Staple Tor

Great Staple Tor from Friday evening’s fantastic sunset, been great getting out and doing some wild camping on Dartmoor this year.

It may just be an urban myth, but I’m sure I once read somewhere that there are more convertibles in Britain than anywhere else in the world. On a per capita basis of course. And there’s nothing that we Brits love more than winding the roof down on a clear day, cranking up the eight track stereo and heading out into the world for a good old fashioned bit of motoring. It’s our way of celebrating these rare moments of good weather in a country that receives its fair share of grey rainy afternoons and plenty more besides. I’ve had a couple of open topped sportsters in my time too in fact. Nothing too extravagant, just a couple of elderly Mazdas, one after the other in the late noughties. They were enormous fun. Ali hated them. “Cold old thing” was all she would say whenever I threatened to open the roof on a fine January afternoon, no matter that it was nice and cosy with the wind whipping over our heads. She much prefers my anonymous Skoda with its heated seats and climatronic wotsit. She loves our noisy old van with the onboard living quarters. You can’t brew a cup of coffee and knock up a toasted sausage and mushroom sandwich from scratch in a sports car that’s barely larger than a glorified roller skate.

And if Britain coos over a rag top sports car, then Sunday afternoons are the prime times when the love is manifest. This particular Sunday afternoon saw the end of a week of particularly Januaryish weather, with a month’s worth of rain falling in the first four days of the new year. As I made my way towards Dartmoor in the anonymous Skoda with its heated seats, they came past in numbers, gloves on steering wheels and grinning expressions behind sunglasses on the faces of the occupants in every opened roof I saw. On days like this I miss those two little sports cars. I don’t miss the leaking roofs though. Nor the lack of space. I’m not sure how their rear wheel drive systems would have coped with some of the mud baths that pass for tracks I often take to togging locations either.

I’d come here to meet up with Steve, but a combination of dodgy phone signals and even dodgier satnavs were causing problems. The enormous number of people on the roads wasn’t helping either. My progress in the direction of Morrisons in Tavistock had been thwarted by a painfully slow queue, while Steve’s lunch reservation had been aborted, due to a large number of convertibles filling the hotel car park. So we both arrived later than intended. In my case by half an hour, and in Steve’s by half an afternoon. Satnav apparently. By the time I’d begun the trek towards the tor, a message came through that told me I’d be shooting on my own up there. We were already well into the golden hour, and it’s a good old yomp to the top.

I carried on huffing and puffing my way upwards, over numerous streams, past a herd of staring bullocks, and onto the unmistakable group of rocks that make up Great Staple Tor. Maybe the flock of grazing sheep was the same one Ali and I had shared a misty hour up here with three summers ago. Two other photographers had beaten me to it, and so like a late arrival at the cinema, I crept across the stage as unobtrusively as I could and set up my tripod rather more hurriedly than I’d have liked to. Although in the event it didn’t really matter that much. There was no light on the tor itself, but further away towards the coast, glowing sunbeams were bouncing around without restraint. They were bouncing over the south east corner of Cornwall, and they were bouncing over the Tamar Estuary, where I could just about make out those two bridges and the gateway between the counties. Between the nations, as far as many people down here are concerned. Sunlight was picking out the plumes from a huge chimney somewhere in Plymouth, and for a moment I wondered whether it was the white smoke announcing the appointment of Argyle’s new manager. He looks a bit like Pep Guardiola. Maybe we’ll be in the Champions’ League soon then. At the moment I’ll settle for him keeping the club where they are.

I’d brought the smaller of my two telephoto lenses, and at first I groaned inwardly that I hadn’t thought things through. But on reflection, the 70-200 might have been the right choice. The narrow envelope of light that burned fiercely over the land to the west of the Tamar in the moments of the dying sun cried out for an envelope crop and a longer focal length may not have added that much. But I didn’t go with the crop because of that gently swirling funnel of colourful clouds making its way up through the darkness. What a place from which to gaze down over the landscape and the sea beyond, on a cold crystal clear Sunday afternoon.

I arrived back at the car park in the fading light, noticing that the car parked next to mine wasn’t a convertible. In fact it looked familiar. Steve’s satnav hadn’t given up, and at last we were able to catch up on his adventures on the moors and our respective plans for the new year. For the last hour we’d been sharing phone shots of our respective sunset views, but I’ll leave it to him to tell his own story. Depending on what he posts, you might just see the same patch of glowing orange landscape in the distance. Although like me, he was wondering whether he might have made space in the bag for a bigger zoom lens. That light really was winning the show.

Ironic that I’d crossed the border and come into Devon to virtually ignore the moors and take a photograph of Cornwall instead. “What else?” I can hear several of you saying to yourselves.

The classic view from Great Staple Tor, as so often seems to happen I walk out to a location and 5 minutes later a mysterious band of clouds jumps out of nowhere and ruins the sunset, at least I got a few shots first!

Een heerlijk rustig moment, even na zonsondergang in Dartmoor National Park, bij een van de meer dan 160 tors: rotsformaties die uit het heuvelachtige landschap steken. Deze tor bestaat uit meerdere grote stapels van graniet gesteente, met een zee aan stenen die ertussen en eromheen liggen.

A serene moment, just after sunset in Dartmoor National Park, at one of the more than 160 tors: rock formations sticking out from the hilly landscape. This particular tor consists of multiple stacks of granite rock, with a sea of rocks lying between and around them.

This image of a very faint milky way above Great Staple Tor on #Dartmoor won't win any awards but its thanks to the skills I learnt from Photographing the Night Sky by Alyn Wallace that I had to confidence to try this type of photography.

I tell you all about Alyn's book in the latest episode of On My Bookshelf which you can watch at Photographing the Night Sky by Alyn Wallace - On My Bookshelf

From a lovely hike last weekend. The tor is one of a few we came across on the route, as well as a prehistoric village and loads of wild ponies!

Great Staple from my Nikon Z8 Review Showcase - This shot was taken when I took the Z8 wild camping on Dartmoor. Check out my Nikon Z8 review at
Nikon Z8 - My REAL WORLD REVIEW for Landscape Photographers

Morning sun shines on the Tavy Valley and the hills of Dartmoor, including Roos Tor, Great Staple Tor and the North Hessary Tor transmitter in Devon.

A4 watercolour of Great Staple Tor, a popular spot loved for the dramatic views. Dartmoor is the southern most National Park of two in the County of Devon. The other being Exmoor.

A view looking across Dartmoor from Sharpitor all the way to Great Staple Tor right on the horizon in the middle. I posted from Great Staple Tor recently so this gives you a much wider view of where it sits in the landscape. You can make out the iconic two towers even from this distance.