When a rushing torrent cascades, down a precipitous rocky gorge.
When the intensity of the white noise is so brilliant on your ears, that it feels like acoustic sunshine.
You know you're here.
When the waterfall's rumble is almost completely absorbed by ground knee deep in the softest, deepest foliage.
When all around it echoes throughout a vast cathedral of untouched woodland, that grows up the steep sided gorge, and up, and up again.
And it's intense sound blends and sheens back to you, filtered and reflected from the countless leaves and branches above your head.
You know that by being here, you've made it.
Made it up, to the Dartmoor gorge.
Whether it's the journey, and sometimes hazardous climb.
Or the gradually growing sensation of remoteness, as you pick your way along the path, up, and up.
Or the air, that becomes increasingly filled with a mix of rushing water, and songful woodland birds, and cool negative ions.
Coming here, feels like a pilgrimage.
A pilgrimage to a rarified place, that's lit through day and through night, by brilliant, refreshing, acoustic sunshine.