On a recent trip to Exmoor to attend the "Exmoor Pony Society" stallion parade and A.G.M., a small group of us adjourned to "The White Horse" for cream tea and engaged in a "why did we become involved" conversation. Not surprisingly, the most popular answer was because an Exmoor pony featured in life as a child. For me, it was something deeper.

Ponies have been gathered off the moor for generations. Mr.Sydney Westcott leads the Acland Herd in the 1970's. Photo: J.Keene

In August 1995, on one of our regular and much loved trips to Exmoor, I purchased a book, "Survival of the Fittest" by Dr.Sue Baker - a wonderful insight into the history and present state of the Exmoor pony as a breed. A part of Exmoor life I knew existed but paid little attention to - aware of their presence on my drives over the moor but not questioning why or how - like the heather, the gorse, the bracken and the deer they were just there ! I should have known better. The ponies are as much a part of Exmoor life as farming, hunting and so many country traditions which are loosing their way elsewhere. The are all "owned", their whereabouts known ( for most of the time), and their lives recorded - not on a floppy disc, but more often than not in the heads of the elders, whose forefathers have handed them down over the generations, and who have known them from childhood and will enjoy telling you tales of past stallions and broodmares, of heroic escapes from twenty foot snowdrifts, and Spring duels between stallions competing for the attention of an attractive filly about to start her breeding life.

And so I came to find myself on Bradymoor on a damp October morning waiting in anticipation for the sight of my first "gathering" ( a far more suitable description than "round-up") - an annual event for many years. And whilst I have attended each gathering since and now know the route well enough to follow them over Withypool Common, this first encounter was something to be treasured.

Before I heard the gentle thud of hooves, considerable planning had gone into the spectacle. As usual, a small mounted field had met at 10 a.m. at Knighton, the home of Bob and Creenagh Mitchell, whose herd run on Withypool Common along with the Milton s Weatherslade herd. Discussion took place as to where the ponies were last seen, or indeed if they were seen in the notorious Exmoor mists which drop so quickly. Eventually they moved off, a small band of riders with their various mounts which quite naturally included a couple of Exmoors, and the now familiar quad bikes !

Mares and foals gather together and move off the moor...

Within minutes the ponies instinctively knew that it was that time again. Time for the foals to be weaned. Time for the mares to leave them behind and look to the Spring and new beginnings. They set off gently across the moor, gathering in numbers as they went, nickering to their youngsters as if to tell them they have nothing to fear. No sign of fleeing, just a gentle canter dropping down to the Barle river, some stopping as they crossed for light refreshment before the slower snake-like passage up and across Bradymoor.

"They re just coming over". Our viewpoint was to be at the top of the lane where they are guided into a natural funnel. Here they rest for several minutes before the last leg of their journey. Their passage must not be interrupted, they must be given a clear way to stop them from turning and being lost to the moor for another twelve months. A stroke of luck - I recognised Dr. Baker from her book cover and overheard her telling someone where the best view could be had. We scuppered over the gate, crouched down and waited.....

The ponies gently canter down to the Barle river

Within minutes we heard the distant hooves. No panic, no wild west rodeos, just a gentle clatter, almost like a muffled drum, and as we watched, the site of some forty odd distinctive muzzles were flashing past. They slowly came to a halt This was the closest to a wild horse we would ever see in England. A pony evolved and still living in its natural habitat, in as near to wild conditions as they could hope for nowadays - their ancestors all having lived the same way for thousands of years. Their small frames hiding something much greater in stature.

As we climbed over the gate and slowly approached for a close look, the mares, some looking quite heavily in foal, snorted and blew warning signals. The foals caught their breath and stuck their noses out in curiosity, some looked to their mothers for comfort, uneasy in these strange surroundings. Never before in their short lives had they been in such a large group with unfamiliar relatives, but they also had to cope with being approached by humans and having nowhere to hide. Not for much longer though. As soon as foals and riders had caught their breath, it was time for the final leg to Weatherslade Farm.

The ponies enter the lane to the Home Farm

The narrow lane being closed to traffic, the gate was opened and the ponies quietly ushered through. This was my last site of them.. A gentle half mile walk, the odd scuffle between stallions, up Sparrow lane and into the farmyard, and a new day and new beginnings for those who were not to see the moor again. As they trotted quietly through the gate, something special was happening - a new bond with the place I hold so dear. I had to have a small part of this experience..........

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