Wistman’s Wood is one of the last remaining fragments of ancient woodland on Dartmoor, believed to date back thousands of years. It is thought to be a remnant of the wild forest that once covered much of the moor after the last Ice Age.

Over time, grazing, climate and human activity reduced these forests, leaving only isolated pockets like this. The trees that remain have adapted to the harsh conditions — growing low, twisted and resilient against wind and weather.

The woodland has long been associated with local folklore and myth. Stories of spirits, druids and the Wild Hunt are often linked to this place, adding to its sense of mystery and age.

Today, it stands as a rare and protected landscape — shaped by time, weather and quiet survival rather than change.

There are stories tied to this wood.

Old ones. The kind that don’t need explaining.

It’s said the trees were shaped by something more than wind — that this place was once avoided, spoken about quietly, or not at all.

Some say the Devil drove his hounds across Dartmoor, and that they still pass through here on certain nights. Others speak of spirits that linger among the rocks, watching but never revealing themselves.

Whether you believe any of it doesn’t really matter.

The feeling is already here.

The way the trees close in. The way the light struggles to reach the ground. The silence that feels heavier than it should.

It doesn’t feel imagined.

It feels remembered.

I don’t come here to capture something.

I come here to settle.

The noise drops away in this place. Not just around you — inside you.

Filming here isn’t about creating content. It’s about noticing what’s already there. The textures. The weight of the air. The way everything feels held in place.

There is a real aura here of generations past and we are just passing through like previous generations.

There’s no need to perform here. No need to fill space.

The wood does that on its own.

I just try to be still enough to meet it.