Except no one had told the Dartmoor weather gods when Son the Younger had his day off, and they were having a ciggie round the back of the bike shed. The smoke, or rather mist, blocked even the fabled view of Haytor rocks from the road as we ascended from Bovey Tracey.
Hound Tor itself was murky too. (Somewhere up there is Son the Younger, waving his arms.)
... but the views in all directions were non-existent. There was just the usual racket from the larks, and the crow's nest tucked into one of the outlying rock piles ...
... and this very vociferous stonechat. (There, perched on the highest sprig of gorse.)
We made for Princetown, to have some lunch in the Plume of Feathers while we waited for the fog, which had been forecasted to clear by 9am, to clear.
We set off for Fernworthy Forest, and with that, everyone else got in on the act of Trying To Stop Us From Getting To Watern Tor.
In the end, that plus the relentless mist and rain led us to conclude that our open moor adventure was best left for another day.
Instead, we opted to squelch around the rest of the reservoir.
The South Teign
Bronze age hut circle
There were bluebells, after all. And lichen. And still only just blooming hawthorn blossom, which feels like a time-slip and would we all care to experience the month of May all over again? Maybe do things better this time.
Rowans starting to blossom
And it was OK. It's always Dartmoor calling the shots, after all, and sometimes it likes to remind mere humans of their place in the pecking order.
And maybe we'll have better luck next time.