Drenched on Dartmoor

The new boots and waterproof jacket finally got properly roadtested today - and passed with flying colours. Lovely warm, dry feet I had, and I was warm and dry under my jacket too; the only slight problem being that I had once more underestimated the force of the Dartmoor microclimate and forgotten the waterproof trousers and rainhat. Very damp indeed about the legs and the ears, I was. I can't wear a hood without a hat underneath because I become blind and deaf, which isn't a good way to be walking on the moors.

The forecast was for a gentle drizzle and it was quite dry at home, but the weather closed in more and more as I was driving up to Postbridge. Visibility on the moor road before Princetown was only a few feet, and most of the sheep and cattle had chosen to follow the road. Past Princetown it cleared a little. Postbridge itself was another first for me - a nice big car park, information centre, loos, little shop without rain hats, coach loads of German tourists, lots of driving rain. Still, booted, jacketed and wrong trousered I followed the gang up from there to Bellever Tor and back down round again. About a five mile walk which was actually mostly very enjoyable, if a trifle bracing. Once or twice it almost stopped raining and we could see a little way, just occasionally it blew up a proper hooley and we couldn't. After having had to negotiate through herds and flocks of loose livestock on the road, we didn't see any at all through the walk apart from a small group of alpaca in a field. Oh, and a shrew which ran across the track about six inches in front of my boots.

Back at Postbridge I changed into dry trousers and sandals before driving up to Warren House for lunch, which was very good when it finally arrived. We'd booked a table but had to wait a while for earlier eaters to finish their meals before we could start. A very popular watering hole, Warren House, allegedly the highest inn on the moor, and full today of extremely wet walkers. I was feeling quite smug about my comparative dryness by the time we left until I discovered that an injudicious choice of windows left open for the dog in the car meant that I had to sit in a puddle all the way home. How can so much water get through such a small space? One of the insoluble mysteries of Dartmoor.