‘There’s no such thing as bad weather only unsuitable clothing’*

I’ve always been a fair weather walker.  I never see the point of trudging through mud as dripping waist-high grasses lash at my already sodden trousers.  In heavy rain, my waterproof anorak proves powerless to stop rivulets of rainwater trickling down my neck.  And since windscreen wipers for glasses have not yet been invented, I have no view of the path ahead, much less the landscape.  Really, why bother?

Then last week, watching ‘Springwatch’, I saw the wonderfully evocative nature writer Melissa Harrison, encased head-to-toe in  a black, heavy-duty oilskin.  She was tramping across a rain-drenched landscape as she explained the peculiar pleasures of a wet walk, on camera.

So when Saturday arrived with murky skies, I stuffed my best all weather gear into my rucksack, and set forth with my friends on our planned walk.  And the rains came.  We strode through woodland, protected by all those newly-leafed trees canopied overhead.  We relished the fresh sweet earthy smell of the rain as it reached our leaf-mould path.  We remarked on the leaves, glistening with raindrops.  Even the birds seemed happy and continued to trill and chatter above us.

We hit meadowland.  How subtle the tones of green and grey in the misty landscape!  How muted the colours!  Let’s watch the rain as it soothingly patterns the surface of that pond, a thousand concentric circles at a time!  Yes, walking in the rain, we agreed, brought pleasures well worth seeking out.

The rain continued.  Our weather proof gear kept the rain out, but perspiration in. Our legs got soggy from walking down narrow paths marshalled by soaking nettles and grasses.  Someone’s boots began to leak.  Someone else commented we  still had six or seven miles to go. Yet another of us was hungry, but didn’t fancy a squishy sandwich.  The plastic-encased map revealed that in a mile or two, we could make our escape to the nearest bus route. Let’s do it!  Heads down, we traipsed on, only wanting to get it over with now.  Every now and then, one of us would get in touch with our inner four year old – ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

Finally, we were.  We dripped onto the bus, at which point it (briefly) stopped raining.

The cows thought we were barmy. By then, so did we.

 

*Alfred Wainwright MBE was a British fellwalker, guidebook author and illustrator and something of a National Treasure to keen walkers.