Sometimes it rains

Sunday afternoon, enthused by an idea to walk on the high moors, in what promised to be dry conditions, we set off in good spirits from the village of Holne.
‘Did you bring a compass?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
As we descended a steep track, littered with loose rocks, we talked of marriage; our experiences, our hopes, our misconceptions, our failures. then the uphill track into Scorriton confirmed the warmth and dry conditions and we reviewed the possibility of our belief in marriage. As so often happens the final vote was deflected by distractions of route and views.
From Scorriton it’s a steady climb on to open moorland and our arrival there coincided with a buildup of cloud and as we crossed the wooden bridge at Chalk Ford the first scattering drops of rain greeted us – but no this wasn’t enough to force a change of plan; let’s get on with the climb up Pupers Hill. By the time we reached the cairn at the top it was pouring and we were in the midst of cloud with about fifty metres visibility.
There were two questions to contemplate – at least two; but two soon become ten – marriage was in the background, meanwhile there was Jack Straw’s decision to raise the issue of the veil, the niqab. After that, predictably, came multi-culturalism and democracy; let alone the need to find the route along the top of the ridge towards Snowdon and Ryders Hill – north-west, aided at times by the faint path. Squelch, squelch across the boggy, soggy terrain, by now very glad to have confirmed that yes, we did have a compass with us.
Prayers and pleas for a cessation of the rain fell on deaf ears and slowly gave way to muttered imprecations. If Dartmoor can be considered to have a purpose it would seem to be to reduce us to the same condition as the peaty soil and granite: flesh becomes peat; bones, at least for a while, having a more rocky consistency.
Being denied the clarity of clear views to the sea and distant tors, we contracted to more humble versions of ourselves: survival and escape. At Ryders Hill we turned east-north-east to descend and eventually find Sandy Lane (actually a mixture of sand and rock and mud) which fast tracked us off the moor back to our starting point and the waiting car.
I mean what’s the use of being angry about it! But I was; nature denied me what I needed. Huh!
ak