“We should turn back now; I can’t see anything, and you’ve left the phones in the car!”

Half-way up the slope of Dunkery Beacon, the highest point of Exmoor at 520 metres, and it had appeared that my timings had been optimistic and preparations poor.

Dunkery Beacon clearly isn’t Everest; but with no source of light and plenty of holes, stones and branches to trip over it turned out to be a quite testing climb. Feeling like some kind pathetic Bear Grylls, a city-dweller unable to cope in the outdoors, we trudged on slowly, heroically.

Eventually we reached the blowy summit, it was worth it. I climbed the tower of stones at the top, a cairn, and took in the views of the rolling hills gently chalked in moonlight. The orange twinkle of Welsh coastal towns could also be seen across the Bristol Channel. It’s become strange to be in a place where you are completely alone, no sound but the wind, so it’s nice to take in those moments of being in the real open outdoors.

The descent down to our car was tricky given we had no light; we tripped, stumbled and battled our way past many “sodding nettles!” and “f*ing thorns!”, but we made it. Dunkery Beacon was meant to be our little finale of the day as we headed for home, however on the way back to our inn the highlight of our weekend unexpectedly arrived – and true to Exmoor’s mystical reputation.

We were back slaloming through the wide-open moorland in the pitch black when, very suddenly, a thick fog smothered the road. Being from the city I had not seen this fog of this density and definitely didn’t expect this in August. We dropped to around 5 mph, I could barely see a thing, and then had to dodge the sheep that laid so casually on the road, chewing and staring at us as if to say “yeah, what?”.

A little clip from driving in the moors 

Then, through the swirling fog, I noticed a set of four legs walking slowly on the side of the road. Then another four, then another eight, and then, as the fog cleared slightly, a collection of eyes met my headlights – it was a herd of the famous Exmoor ponies.

I turned off the car leaving the lights dipped. There were probably seven or eight ponies, some adults and some young, and their sudden appearance through the ghostly fog in this remote area was quite enchanting. The ponies were a smoky brown colour with swaying manes, a stocky build and their big eyes gave a mellow, Eeyore-like expression. The Exmoor ponies are an endangered species with just 4,000 left roaming the countryside, so to come across this herd was a special moment. The ponies stood handsomely together for a few moments, seemingly assessing us, and then they turned and disappeared into the darkness of the moors – they were gone.

Feeling privileged to have come across such a rare species we continue towards home, but our brush with nature wasn’t quite finished. Very abruptly, the fog completely cleared unmasking the clearest sky we’d ever seen. A black canvas with millions of incredibly bright silvery stars, a full panoramic view of the sky unobstructed by buildings and light pollution. Exmoor is one of Europe’s top stargazing spots and it was a remarkable sight.

We stopped, leaned back against the car and simply stared into space – it was meditative. Until, in my trance-like state, admiring the breadth, depth and beauty of the universe, an odd sound grew louder and louder that could only be described as “mashamashamashamasha”. It continued until it was basically inside my ear and then I felt a small brush of wind zip past my cheek.

I jolted and jumped, then saw in the moonlight the silhouette of bats speeding around like little fighter jets. The “mashamasha” sound zipped past me again and I have to admit it completely spooked me! To Tania’s hilarity, I hastily decided our time with nature was over and she laughed all the way back to the inn.

Our night up on the moors was memorable. The phantom-like ponies, extraordinary sky and spine-chilling bats, mixed with the eerie white fog, created an almost supernatural experience. Those few hours in the wilderness capped off an inspiring weekend of England’s physical beauty, Romantic heritage and creepy folklore. It also entrenched one existing belief – the West Country really is very different to the rest of the country.