Sometimes reality bites.
What I had wanted was to travel to one of the UK’s last great wildernesses and be greeted with metaphoric open arms.
“Come on in, nice to see you, hope you enjoy yourself.” I pictured the beaming rays of sunshine, the gentle breeze among the long grass, the soothing isolation – what wonderful pictures we’d get, what great memories we’d take away.
Like I said, reality bites.
What we were greeted with, and what became progressively more unbearable as time wore on during our trip to Dartmoor, was gentle but horrifyingly penetrative rain, coupled with low visibility, ever-growing wind speeds and a gnawing cold that preyed not only on our extremities but also our good spirits.
When we hiked out from our wild camp spot on day three the 65mph winds almost took a handful of us off our feet, which to be honest would have been scarcely more than adding insult to injury.
We had travelled down from the Midlands to Devon in relatively fine weather, arriving late in the afternoon and settling in for a single night at Tavistock Club Site. All fine so far.
By the next morning, the patter of rain had begun on the tent fabric and we woke to a grey, fairly damp-looking day. We’d decided to get moving early and wanted to be walking on the moor by 9.30am. We’d be wild camping on the moor that night, the only place in England where it is still legal to do so.
A couple of us had taken the rather rash decision to bivvy for our wild camp – using a pretty basic waterproof cover over our sleeping bag and mat. No tent. Perhaps just a tarp for shelter.
Our hike across Dartmoor to the wild camp spot resulted in a thorough soaking, literally from head to foot. The fine rain found its way into every open cuff, untightened zip baffle or neck line and permeated our normally very reliable waterproof jackets. Sinking into bogs in our footwear meant our socks soon became sodden and the waterproof boots – up to then doing a fine job of not letting water in – were now doing a fine job of not letting water out.
Gloves were no different.
Late that evening, all of us were cold, wet and needed sleep. The weather of course had other ideas.
Pitched out in our bivvy bags beneath a tarp, on the only patch of ground judged level or dry enough to accommodate us, we soon found out why it had been a good decision to bring two guides with us, one of whom was also a Dartmoor Search and Rescue volunteer.
By midnight, the wind was howling, and the cold was deepening, but we were warm enough in our bivvies.
By 3am, winds had reached 50mph.
By 4am they were at 60mph and our tarp ripped, now flapping uncontrollably in the gusts.
By 5am we had abandoned all hope of sleep and resigned ourselves to having to escape this hellish torment.
By 6am we were packing our soaked things into whatever bag we could find and getting ready to rapidly hike out the 3km back to our parked vehicle.
On the way out we waded knee deep in a fast-running torrent that the day before had been a stream we hopped across.
Shortly afterward, as we were doing all we could to keep our feet in the awesome strength of the wind, I took a couple of quick snaps on my phone before the battery died. I think they show the bedraggled state we were in by the time we left Dartmoor, several hours earlier than we had anticipated and without having achieved several things we had hoped to.
However, our safety and wellbeing was absolutely paramount, and the two guides with us were not to be swayed. We were leaving and heading for the nearest hot showers – those at Tavistock Club Site, fortunately.
The experience is a very real lesson in respecting your environment. Lesser-prepared mortals would have been in serious trouble, whereas our guides’ local knowledge and experience of similar situations was of invaluable help.
There was also the fact that none of the weather we endured had been forecast by the time we reached the moor. We had to adapt our plans at very short notice to account for the conditions, which deteriorated rapidly.
All these factors make for a dramatic tale, with a very stark message. Dartmoor, like many vast unpopulated places, is utterly wild and gave us a massive dose of reality.