One dogs hell is another dogs treasure.

So, I saw a dog riding on a quad bike yesterday. Well, 2 dogs. Well in fact also a man, with a trailer of sheep also, but my point is mostly about the dog really. We were high up in The Exmoors, practically in the clouds. Visability was pretty poor by this point but peering out of the rear view I catch a glimpse of this Collie clinging on to this four wheeled bike for dear life, as it passed onto the road behind us. This dog right, you know when you see these ‘You’ll never guess what this cool Doggo can do!!’ videos on Facebook yeah? Usually of a dog but sometimes a pig riding a surf board, a skateboard or some bollocks… Their legs are slightly spread, their ears and flailing and their owners are adoringly ignoring the terror on their pet’s fabulously skilled, enviously talented and ultimately well trained face to ever think they would fall off and hurt themselves. He was that. And I can be sure to call Him a He, as He was ‘Such a Good Boy!!’

It’s not until returning home and passing through a scab of a local town to realise a couple a things. I felt compelled to write about this shitty little town (that will remain nameless but can be found on J22 of the M5…) in comparison to the beautiful little Devonshire fishing village I’d just departed, but thought better of it, as I know a couple of people that live in this shit stain part of somerset and wouldn’t want to offend them, as they’re clearly happy living there. It is their shit stain. Like the dog, they know nothing other than ‘Out on the wiley, windy moors We’d roll and fall in green’ or the Kebab shop with the weathered exterior flaking paint on to the pothole scattered road. Though in two completely different walks of life, I’ve managed to make them comparatively the same.

Exmoor isn’t somewhere I’ve given much time to before you see, and I’m greatly surprised to find that it’s an AONB only hours from my door step. If you like rivers, like me, Exmoor is the place for you. You’ll find some stream or river almost everywhere you look. There are hundreds of photography opportunities at every glance. And what’s the best part of visiting places like this is that they’re FUCKING FREE!! Well, apart from the parking. Actually considering joining National Trust just for the parking sticker, no joke.

We travelled The Moors from North to South to firstly visit Tarr Steps, a much anticipated stop off for me. For a miserable Saturday, I was hoping for less visitors, allowing myself some breathing space for some inhabited photos, but it wasn’t to be. Crawling with them weren’t it. Middle class families, with their children named things like Arthur and Milly, short for Mildred. The kind of people with Silver 2018 Range Rovers, who park in the closer disabled car park while the rest of us have to struggle on back up the hill to the Poor people car park. Although these Cunts made getting some half decent shots difficult I’d definitely come back. When it’s a little less welly and roaring river weather and a little more flip flops and picnic…

We then moved on North-West and crossed the tops of The Moors, where visibility is almost to a 0 and met a couple of ‘friendly’ sheep as we slowly navigated the eery terrain. We made a couple of wrong turns whilst thinking we were on the home straight and ended up doing a almost perfect circle and having to drive through a Ford. Which was pretty awesome if you ask me. I’m just grateful we don’t have a overly low car. Fun nevertheless.

Word of advise, Signal is alike the visibility when it comes to Exmoor. Don’t expect Google Maps to help you find your way. This place is old school when it comes to this shit. Be prepared to have to read a map. Which probably sounds pretty simple to someone like you or I, but trust me, common sense comes sparingly to some of the retarded townies I know.

We finally made it to the North Coast of Devon, entering Lynmouth and Lynton and what a beautiful, quaint town it was. Everything was so, old looking. Apart from the cars, everything still pretty much looked like 1890, and despite a flood in the 1950’s they’d done well to fix the place up to its original standard. The mouth of the river is at the heart of this little town, creating a picturesque, postcard snapshot of the harbour side, which is best viewed from Lynton. We stayed up top, just a short walk from the famous Lynton & Lynmouth Cliff Railway. Which was ‘unfortunately’ out of service during our stay, due to a landslide, but could see why it’s such a well loved part of this two tier town. I’d been on a train similar to this in Prague and if I’m honest it fucking terrified me, so yeah, I was happy to pass.

We mooched around our £29 a night Shearings hotel room for a bit, trying to keep the homophobic oldie encounters to a minimum, then walked the coastal path to the Valley of the Rocks where we watched the sunset from a hair raising height, as the sea crashed into the cliffs 500ft below us. I’m not great with heights, or falling in fact, but it was well worth the 3 mile walk. We dined at a local fish restaurant, which was nice. Despite the woman who I initially thought was a creepy kitchen gremlin, as she crawled towards our table to take our starter plates away… Turns out was actually the manager. And her Nanny McPhee teeth was no way a representation of how good the food is there. Breakfast was included at our shit show of a hotel which was nice. Cueing with the oldies to get my all you can eat, hot held brekkie was a good pace for 8.30am. BRING ON THE UNLIMITED FUCKING FRUIT JUICE.

The North Devon, West Somerset coast is not only brought together by a string of these beautiful little fishing villages, but also by the West Somerset Steam Railway. Top spots for more photography opportunities, within these 1930’s Blitzy backdrop.

I’ve gained a new found love for this part of the country, and in all honesty, I’m surprised that this grade of beauty is available so close to home. Who needs to visit Snowdonia, The Peaks or The highland for unprecedented views.