The River, the Rod & Tap on the Head
For as long as I can remember, water dowsing was the one corner of our craft I kept firmly at arm’s length. As a professional dowser, my heart has always belonged to wellbeing and tracing the subtle, invisible threads of earth energy, burping my way quite happily across the landscape whenever my system registers a shift in the land. But subterranean water? Rivers running silently through the deep dark earth? No, thank you. I had a distinct, stubborn aversion to the whole idea.
Which made it all the more surprising when I found myself standing on the damp, mossy banks of Golitha Falls on a bright Saturday morning, preparing to do the very thing I had spent years avoiding.
As a member of Tamar Dowsers, I had headed down to our group's members' water dowsing workshop, more of a turn-up affair than a formal sign-up, largely determined to finally confront my resistance and step outside my comfort zone.
Returning to the River Fowey
The last time I had set foot in these ancient Cornish woods was back in my junior school days, aged about nine or ten, tracing the River Fowey from its tiny source high up on Bodmin Moor. Returning all these years later as an adult felt strangely full circle, though my nine-year-old self in her wellies could probably never have imagined I would return to the riverbank alongside my fellow dowsers, holding hazel rods, sample jars, and a raw egg carefully balanced in hand.
Our day had actually begun virtually a little while before, dipping our toes into a workshop about our personal relationship with water. Watching the recording and wandering through the rich resources provided laid down a quiet, reflective path for me, setting my intentions long before my walking boots ever touched the fallen leaves.
Gathering by the Bank
When our group finally met by the riverbank, the morning was beautifully sunny, with warm light filtering softly down through the trees. The river moved beside us with a steady, hypnotic murmur, and we anchored ourselves in one spot beneath the dappled canopy. Facilitated by Sue Mann, a professional water dowser and fellow member of Tamar Dowsers, we began by taking time to ground ourselves, breathing in the damp earth and consciously reaching out to connect with the element of water.
And that was when the landscape began to sing.
As we set about locating underground springs and marking them with bright poles, the energy rose up around us like something alive. I could clearly see a vast, shimmering dome of energy swelling above the spring lines. Whether it was the collective focus of our gathering or the raw, primal force of the water itself, it was so intense I actually had to step off the line and sit down on a log conveniently placed, or felled, nearby! My body immediately responded with its trusty old signature, a proper bout of "rebellious chi" burping as my energy system processed the surge from the comfort of my wooden perch.
Around us, the woods were alive with the gentle rustle of everyday life. Curious children paused to peer at our colourful markers, and dogs bounded through the shallows with joyous, dripping abandon. Water has that magic, doesn’t it? It is a great, magnetic caller, forever inviting animals and humans alike to pause, play and lose themselves in its current.
Eggs, Questions & Pulled Pork
Throughout the morning, Sue guided us through a tapestry of curious techniques. We worked with witnesses, holding small sample jars or written targets to hunt for hidden minerals. Then came egg dowsing, mapping subterranean flows with a delicate raw egg resting carefully in the palm of our hands, trusting its organic shell to act as a sensitive little antenna to the shifts below. Naturally, this dissolved us into ripples of laughter as we debated whether a Scotch egg straight out of someone’s lunchbox would prove just as sensitive!
Before tackling the hidden waters underground, we spent time by the visible river practicing the vital art of framing precise questions. Looking at the open current, we learned to specify exactly what we were asking, distinguishing the direction of the flow from the direction of its true source, and asking targeted questions about depth, volume, potability, and taste. It became fascinatingly clear how easily a vague question can throw your dowsing off.
When lunch arrived, my sensible packed picnic didn't stand a chance. The rich, smoky aromas wafting through the trees from Inkie’s Smokehouse proved far too tempting, and I happily traded my sandwiches for a proper pulled smoked pork shoulder bap, savouring every single bite.
When the Hazel Comes Alive
Refuelled, we returned to our spot beside the river to apply those exact, framed questions to the subterranean water beneath our feet.
Sue introduced us to traditional hazel Y rods, explaining the delicate art of precision, especially when dealing with deep aquifers where you must never drill through the bottom. Even with all my dowsing experience, I was entirely unprepared for what happened next.
The hazel rod in my hands didn't merely react; it came alive. It pulled and jiggled with a physical, living momentum unlike anything I had ever felt before. As I raised my hands above me, my rod suddenly whipped backward toward a subterranean source behind me with such astonishing power and speed that it tapped me right on the back of the head!
It wasn't painful, but the sheer surprise of it made my heart skip a beat. Sue looked at me in complete astonishment, admitting she had never seen a rod travel back behind someone like that before. But the magic didn't stop there. Moments later, another dowser’s rod shot up so fast it struck her right across the sunglasses, while another hit straight to the mouth. The hazel, it turned out, had a very lively spirit of its own.
Using those lively rods, we charted flow banks, counted depth through layers of dark earth, and visualised giant 1,000-litre farming tanks to gauge the volume rushing beneath us. Standing together in a line across the subterranean stream to cross-reference our results, there was a wonderful sense of shared wonder.
A New Flow Forward
As the day drew to a close, we walked further up the winding path to the main falls, watching the river cascade over the dark rocks in all its raw, majestic beauty.
Looking back, that day by the river washed away years of old resistance. What had started as a deep-seated aversion to water dowsing was completely transformed into awe, wonder, and a profound respect for the element. Above all, it highlighted a truth that applies to all our dowsing, whether we are balancing wellbeing, tracing earth energies, or seeking hidden springs: precise questioning stops the waters from becoming muddied. When your intention and inquiry are crystal clear, the answers flow just as clearly.
I walked back through the woods with a belly full of pulled pork, a heart full of gratitude for Sue's expert guidance and our lovely group, and a whole new relationship with water. Moving forward, I am taking the hazel Y rod with me into my practice, no longer shying away from subterranean flows, but leaning into their living force with a newfound confidence (and perhaps holding the rod just a little more carefully around my head!).
Please Note
If you wish to share any of my work or photos, please do, but I ask that you kindly credit me.
About the Author
Jane Taylor is a Writer, Therapist & Wellbeing Educator. Her work is shaped by her own journey and a deep understanding of how the body carries history at a cellular level, helping others unblock their natural flow toward wholeness.
Her new project, Wild Edge Dartmoor, is an invitation to let the words rest. In honour of the Munay-Ki rites and the wisdom of Ayni, there are no captions, no explanations, no marketing, and no noise. Just the tors, the rivers, the villages, the light of the moor and its inhabitants. She provides the image and leaves the rest for you.
You are invited to visit this digital sanctuary as a wanderer at @wildedgedartmoor
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