It was a glorious warm and sun filled afternoon when I decided that another Quest Adventure was in order.

Packing up Annie in the car and a flask of cold water we drove to the foot of Brentor, the ancient plug of an extinct volcano with one of the tiniest churches in the country perched precariously on its peak.

Brentor, at over 1000 feet is not one of the highest tors on Dartmoor, but it is certainly one of the most prominent. Once at the top you can gaze for miles over the beautiful moor land, and see as far as Exmoor, Plymouth and parts of Cornwall on a clear day. A dominating presence, the tor and its amazing church perched high up on the stony outcrop can be seen from most places on the West side of Dartmoor. Around its base are the remains of an Iron Age hill fort and passing through the church, the St Michael Ley Line continues its journey on from St. Michaels Mount in Cornwall, through to Glastonbury and on towards Avebury.

Standing at Brentor's base in preparation for this part of my Quest I realised that it would really test the limits of my physical endurance. A buzzard circled over head and cried plaintively, and I watched a glider echoing the birds' flight. It felt like that moment of stillness before an intake of breath, as if the tor itself was aware of my presence . . . .

I began to climb. My husband did offer to take my harp at one point, but I managed to refuse between gasps! This was all part of the Quest process and one that I had specifically mentioned in my original declaration. Actually, even with a couple of stops along the way to admire the view (and rest my shoulders and lungs) the climb didn't take that long. And whilst the tor is reminiscent of the one in Glastonbury, it isn't nearly as steep or as long.

Leaving Annie on a thoughtfully provided bench outside the church, my husband and I wandered around to find a suitable sport to harp and take photographs. Within moments T pointed out a further spur of granite rock that gave a panoramic view of Dartmoor and beyond, and more importantly was quite easy to climb upon even with a harp! So, I took Annie to the new spot, spread out a blanket on the (very) hard rocks and began to tune up . . .

I was expecting her to be out of sorts as it had been a bumpy journey to the top of Brentor, but I was quite disappointed to discover that a couple of her tuning pins were slipping, which made it all the more difficult. As I began to play, a couple and what appeared to be their daughter and 2 dogs wandered past and studiously ignoring me, settled down on the rocks below to gaze at the view, watch the dogs and talk on mobile phones. Knowing Dartmoor's patchy reception in places, I was impressed that they had found possibly the only place guaranteed to get a good connection!

I was very aware of the sound of my little out-of-tune harp carrying down to where they were all sitting, and I have to say after about 20 minutes I gave up and watched the ant-like cows wander in the fields beneath me.

After a final photograph, my husband and I picked up our collection of blankets, camera, and harp and entered the tiny church of St. Michael de Rupe.

Built in the mid 12th century by Robert Giffard, it was refurbished in the late 1800's, and again in the early 1990's after a lightening strike. However, this tiny church now seemed soulless and without character.

Legends differ as to the history of the original building. One suggests that the church was built after a sailor in the midst of a dreadful storm, offered to raise the chapel on the first piece of land he saw, if he survived. Another suggests that the Devil played a merry game with the villagers by throwing the rocks up the tor as they tried to build a new parish church at the base. In exasperation they decided to play Old Nick at his own game and built it at the top where he had left the rocks! In both stories, the angel Michael was called upon to lend support, and in return the church is dedicated to him as St Michael of the Rocks.

It was a great shame that such a wonderful spot on Dartmoor didn't inspire the modern day renovators to more sympathetic things . . . I played a little inside the church, but to be honest it didn't lend itself to much, so after a short while we left to make our way back down the tor.

During the trip we had passed a few people, but apart from an enquiring glance at the large black bag I was carrying, nothing had been said to me. I was beginning to worry that I wouldn't be able to give out any more of the HfH badges!

Whilst my playing was poor to my ears, I do realise I am a perfectionist and that to most people to see a harp, let alone hear one out in the wilds of Dartmoor is a surprise. Perhaps I need to make more of an impression on people during my next few Quest Adventures? Or perhaps maybe just being there was surprise enough? I think I need to contemplate on this some more, but I am beginning to wonder if we Brits are just too reserved to talk to complete strangers carrying harps . . . ?

Either way, I am very pleased at the completion of this part of my Quest. It really was a test of my physical capabilities, and while it wasn't easy to lug even my small harp up the side of Brentor ~ the highest Standing Stone yet! ~ I did it and that in itself is worthy of a medal in itself. Well done me!!

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