A solitary hawthorn twists improbably out of the earth.

The silhouette of a distant tor sits aloof above a trail of lifeless scree.

A meadow pipit squeaks anxiously.

Dartmoor is the loneliest place I know... And I love it.

Filming my podcasts which aren’t podcasts means spending a lot of time on the moors alone. And traversing this landscape without company is, I feel, the best way to experience it.

I’m no misanthrope, but no matter how good a friend you go walking with, there’s always some pressure - even if it’s only imagined - to keep up conversation, set an appropriate pace, have a schedule of some kind.

On your own, though, you can change your plans in a second, improvise a route, climb a hill on a whim, jump in a river. Whatever.

It’s an unrivalled feeling of freedom.

Oh, and you might die, which is also quite exciting.

Most importantly, though, when you explore the landscape alone, you are actually exploring yourself. Where are your limits? What thrills you? Where does your mind go when it’s free of distractions?

When you wander, you wonder. The emptiness of the moor is perfect for this. Hiking through those barren, silent hills you have time to ruminate and reformulate, make lateral connections, or just daydream.

It’s so difficult, nowadays, to find a space like this. More than ever, we need Dartmoor - a place where our imagination can grow as wide as the sky, as slow as the peat, and as deep as the granite.