Trading Wedding Cake for Dawn Light: A Dartmoor Photography Trip

Right then, weddings. You know the drill: frothy white dresses, blokes sweating in suits that suddenly look three sizes too small, and enough wedding cake to keep a small nation in sugar-induced comas for a week. My last three weekends had been a relentless parade of just that, leaving me feeling like I needed a serious dose of fresh air and the soothing click of a camera shutter. So, this morning, the tripod was finally getting dusted off for a sunrise mission.

Now, the weather forecast wasn't exactly painting a picture of a glorious, paint-splattered sky. More like a damp, grey duvet being pulled over everything. But honestly, after all wedding celebrations, just the thought of being out on Dartmoor felt like a mini-adventure. It had been ages since I'd properly stood and stared at a landscape, you know?

And at this time of year, that little window between the sun saying goodnight and hello again is blink-and-you'll-miss-it short. About the time it takes to make a proper mug of cocoa – the kind that coats your spoon – and pull on your pajamas. So, after a luxurious four hours of kip (felt like a week!), it was time to hit the road. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I didn't actually thump the tarmac.

The last time I'd ventured out to Emsworthy Mire was a couple of years back, and the place was practically heaving with photographers on some kind of workshop. Tripods all lined up like soldiers, all aiming for the same postcard shot. (Makes you wonder what you call a bunch of photographers. A "focus"? A "frame-up"? A "click" feels right, doesn't it?) All that photographic traffic drove me to do something a bit naughty. I just snapped a quick one on my phone and legged it before anyone could say "f-stop."

So there I was this morning, 5:30 am, and the field was gloriously, wonderfully empty of other tripods. Just me and a bunch of young, four-legged, very vocal sheep shouting for their mums across the grass. Despite their noisy complaints, they got curious, didn't they? Had to come and have a proper nosy to see what I was up to. A quick photo session with the fluffy little blighters followed, and then they trotted off, bleating loudly about their morning's excitement to anyone who'd listen. You've got to love the countryside.