Cold, windy, dank and grey; summer on Dartmoor… Faye and I enter the dark metallic waters of the Dart in the pool above the Cresta Run. Chilly shivers travel through my skin and I want to get out. Looking up it’s a shock to see the summer greens of ferns and trees. I force myself to swim, hating the creep of cold as my hair wicks water. Gusts of wind ruckle the surface as they pass. We clamber down the shallows towards the corner current, its passage marked by little white-capped moguls. I feel my body being picked up and flung along as I swoop round the bend.