Bellever Thaw

Bellever is a place, not a construct.

Leaving the Noddy Car at Postbridge, Ros, Clover and I walked out of the valley incorporating the East Dart River, over the rise and back down to Bellever and its Clapper Bridge. Well, half of one at least.

Despite the thaw that has settled on Dartmoor, the East Dart was not coming down with excessive gusto and was running clean with a nice hint of brown mineralisation. If I was any type of fisherman I'd probably have a fine saying to go with such a description and know just what bait to employ to catch whatever type of fish. But no. I'm neither fish nor fisherman.

Coming back over the rise, we descended towards Postbridge at just the right angle to get a photo of another pairing of new and old bridges.

Lunch was had at the East Dart Hotel. There weren't any fisherman there, at least none that looked (and smelled the part). Instead it was serving what appeared for the most part to be monied locals eating very good but essentially basic fayre. I had a pork baguette featuring hot meat from the carvery. Ros had a tuna mayo baguette - no surprise there - and Clover had a small chip and the last vestige of a crusty bit.