"The high moorland beckoned her aching spirit and she followed the tumbling waters of the Tavy for mile upon mile, higher and higher until she reached the wild, desolate beauty of Tavy Cleave. On she went, far beyond the intake for the second hurrying leat in the shadow of Ger Tor, and up, up to the savage loneliness of the moor where only the mewing cry of the buzzard and the harsh cry of the raven could be heard above the howling wind."
Photograph of Tavy Cleave by Paul Rendell