Sharp Tor, Dartmeet: Battling Parking Meters for Dartmoor's Golden Hour (Photography Adventure)

Well, now, it appears the weather chaps, those capricious deities with their finger on the thermostat, have decided to, what’s the phrase? “Give summer a whirl.” A quickie, mind you, like a pop-up shop, presumably a dastardly scheme to usher in the drizzle with renewed vigour. But, being no fool, or at least, trying not to be, I’m embracing it. Like accepting a slightly suspicious gift from a distant relative, you just smile and nod. So, there I was, creeping out of the house in the inky blackness, a veritable photographic ninja, if ninjas wore slightly rumpled trousers and muttered about forgetting their lens cap.

My quarry this morning? Sharp Tor, Dartmeet, on the eastern flank of Dartmoor. Now, these Tor chaps, they really lacked imagination, didn’t they? Sharp Tor? There are a few, apparently, leading to a rather spirited debate with my sat-nav, which, bless its digital heart, seemed convinced we were headed north, not east. I, of course, had done my homework, like a particularly keen, if slightly over-caffeinated, schoolboy. Yartor Down car park, shortest walk, I’d read. Shortest, yes. But they rather glossed over the bit where you plummet into a valley so steep, even a Sherpa would raise an eyebrow and say, “You’re having a laugh, mate.”

Plan B, naturally, was required. A frantic dash down the road, and there it was, glaring at me like a disapproving headmaster: a Dartmoor National Park parking meter. I tell you, I pondered the economics. Would it be cheaper to pay the ransom, or simply get my knees replaced after that valley climb? The dawn, however, that lovely, warm, glowing thing, made the decision. I huffed and puffed, like a steam train with a head cold, and finally, there I was, at the summit.

And, well, it was rather splendid. The light, you see, was just…glorious. Warm tones, dancing across the landscape, colouring those clouds like a particularly enthusiastic toddler with a box of crayons. I dashed about, like a squirrel with a nut, grabbing compositions, determined to get my money’s worth. I’ll probably always grumble about those parking meters, those metal extortionists. But, on balance, I’d have to say, it was worth it. Even if my knees are now threatening to file a formal complaint.