Get off the moor!

I knew something was amiss when I noticed the pools of water inside my tent. I’d set off the previous afternoon for a 3 day walk over Dartmoor, and the last forecast I’d seen was for showers and sunny spells. I’d walked over Water Hill in the rain, enjoying the irony, got a bit lost in Fernworthy Forest, admired a rainbow and set up my tent at Teignhead Farm, an old abandoned homestead in a remote valley. I’d gathered some dead wood and impressed myself by getting a reasonable fire going despite the damp fuel and conditions. The evening was beautiful: moonlight, the warmth of a fire, a luxurious can of beer and even a shooting star to wish on.

I awoke to high winds and heavy rain lashing the tent around dawn. Fine. I hid in the tent, waiting for the weather to break. For ages. It kept raining. Then I noticed the tent starting to flood. Bugger. I got dressed and left the tent to have a look around. The stream that I’d camped next to was dividing and multiplying: a new course was flowing past right next to my tent. The hollow in which I’d made a fire was now 2 feet deep in water. The spare logs I’d stood up to keep them clear of the damp ground were now bobbing about like little boats. The stream was beginning to flow over the stone bridge by which I’d crossed it. Water was everywhere. I had the strong sense of a river rising from the ground beneath me. I’d planned a wild swim in the Dart below Mel Tor for later that evening, but the water feature had arrived earlier and less romantically.

I assessed my situation. Conditions overhead: rubbish. Conditions underfoot: rubbish. Sleeping bag: sodden. I’d brought my much-loved soft shell jacket but left my proper raincoat at home to save weight. No sign of a sunny interval anywhere. I was way beyond my comfort zone into the adventure zone, and I could almost see the border with misadventure. There was only one sensible option: get off the moor! I packed up and retreated.

Taking the easy forest road back past the sublime Fernworthy stone circle, I met a kindly forester who gave me a lift back to my car. When I told him where I’d camped, his response was ‘Oh shit!’

Dartmoor 1, Al 0.

I got the photo for this blog from http://www.dartmoorperspectives.co.uk/