In Search of Sherlock Holmes and the Diabolical Hound of Dartmoor

This time last year, my husband and I set off to Port Isaac, Cornwall, UK on a quest for Doc Martin for a dear friend, Pat Vivod, an amazing textile artist in Illinois who loves the ITV show which airs on PBS in St. Louis, Missouri, USA. You can read more about her eco-dying with rust, tea and other natural ingredients on her blog, Sentimental Pentimento. Peter and I carried a silk scarf eco-dyed by Pat to Port Isaac with plans to photograph the scarf on location - only to come face-to-face with the entire cast taping the new season.  Read my 29 June, 2011 blog post for more information about that quest.

This year, knowing that Pat, as well as friends: Denny, Kim, Cindi, Elizabeth, Anne, (shall I go on?) and myself, are also huge fans of the new BBC hit, Sherlock, a new quest was planned!! With ordinance survey map, Pat's silk scarf, and a bag of Cornish pasties with saffron buns in hand, my dear friend, Jackie Bone (Kim's mum, who is also my husband's niece), and I set out across Dartmoor by car and foot in search of the location of Season 1, Episode 2, of the modern BBC version of Sherlock Holmes. 

Set on Dartmoor, The Hounds of [the]Baskerville(s), has thrilled and terrified audiences since it was originally written as a crime novel by Sir Arthur Conan and serialized in The Strand Magazine from August 1901 to April 1902.  One can read more about the modern Sherlock version of the Hounds of Baskerville on the blog of Dr. John H. Watson. 

While we may have hoped to catch a glimpse of the infamously diabolical hound running across the moors, what actually roams the heather and heath are free range sheep, ponies and cattle. One such pony became very interested in our adventure and hoped to get a closer look at our plan.

Not to be deterred, we continued our search!

Through river valleys ....

and golden broom in bloom...

Past pre-historic settlements ...

to ancient stone circles and iron age circle huts.

Beyond sleeping giants resting atop granite tors ...

and solitary monuments dedicated to young soldiers long ago lost in some forgotten war.

The land spoke not a word. Nor the animals that roamed. All was still, but for the call of distant birds ...

and the baaaa of listless sheep.

 So on we travelled ... down into valleys between narrow lanes lined with high stone walls covered with centuries of wild flowers and ancient trees dressed in multi-shades of viridian moss ...

Past the Dartmoor ponies...

and dutiful cows nursing their calves ...

Until we came to our journey's end ...  

without a hound in sight.