Saturnalia at Spitchwick
Driving over the hill with the low Christmas sun in front of us, we watch as illuminated swags of rain sweep down the Dart valley like angel hair on fairy lights. Honey and I squelch down the footpath from New Bridge, drowning in the roar of creamy flood water. At Spitchwick the river is dark copper and slides like a serpent around the bend. I whip my clothes off and get straight in. The cold bites as I swim upstream, barely making any headway against the current. This is a day for sticking to the slower water by the near bank. As I dry off, we meet a Newfoundland-Collie cross, who leaps in after sticks. The picture I took shows splashes of water like angel’s wings. Happy Saturnalia, wild swimmers!