Full version is 19mins 09secs long, and can be downloaded and streamed online.
Whilst hunting for some waterproofs to sell to one of her fans, Andrea had stumbled across a pair of very rare and very expensive Muckboot waders; essentially, they were neoprene lined Muckboot wellies with waterproof and breathable fabric leg-pieces attached, which extended from the hips to the ankles and ended in open trouser-style bottom, giving the impression that you were wearing chaps rather than waders. It had been ages since she had taken these out for a bit of fun, and today was a perfect opportunity.
It was cold and wet and blustery, with low clouds shrouding the hills and the rain blowing sideways in gusts. Wearing a two-piece Gore-Tex hunting suit over Lycra leggings and shirt, and with neoprene socks on her feet, she pushed into the boots and pulled the wader shafts up over her legs before buckling them securely to the belt around her waist.
As she strode out over the moorland, gaining altitude in the process, the visibility worsened until she was completely alone in what most people would describe as a foreboding landscape of howling wind, driving rain, gushing streams and deep muddy bogs. All in all, it was just perfect, she thought. 😊
As she splashed across the first boggy pool that she encountered, she felt like she was playing a game of dare – daring the water to trickle over the tops of her waders, but this was a game of dare that she won, because although it was deep enough to come to the very brims of her waders, nothing trickled inside. Somewhat disappointedly she sploshed her bum down into some waterlogged sphagnum moss, which soaked the rear of her Gore-Tex trousers.
It was pretty obvious, from standing on the bank, that the next pool she came to was going to be a more formidable dare. The brown peat-stained water looked very deep in places, and within a few steps of the bank the water was already at the brims of her waders. But waders are for getting in wet in, or so Andrea always says, and so she pushed forwards until she felt the water cascading down her legs inside her waders. For the first 20 seconds she remained completely dry – the tight neoprene lined wellies gripping the legs of her waterproof trousers. But the water was relentless in its assault, it filled her waders to the tops, increasing the pressure in her boots, and then slowly made its way up her trouser legs to her knees before starting to run down inside her waterproof socks. It was breathtakingly cold!
Lying back in a reedbed in six inches of water, she felt her back getting wet inside her jacket, and a little rivulet of water was running down inside the back of her trousers. Wading back to where she’d entered the pond she went around the far side of the island and here the water was well over waist deep. By the time she stopped to take off her waterproof trousers, she was completely soaked up to her breasts.
With trousers removed, to reveal her Lycra leggings, she pushed her feet back into the wader boots and enjoyed walking slowly into the water with the wader legs press-studded down onto the boot tops, until the wellies were brimmed. She then pulled the legs back up, fastened them to her belt and emptied them whilst sitting on the bank. This was a bit of a futile gesture because within a minute she’d waded back into the pond and was up to her hips in the water. With nothing now to keep her legs warm she was going to have to be quick, so she zipped-up her waterproof jacket, fastened the hood around her face and lay back in the water. Floating and swimming amidst the low cloud and howling wind was a surreal experience.
With a final emptying of the waders, she turned her back on the ponds and retraced her steps downhill. The gushing stream on her left descended the moor in a series of rocky steps with small deep pools eroded at the bottom of each. This was just too much temptation for Andrea, so she dropped into the knee-deep stream and walked with it downhill, sliding into the waist deep pools along the way.
In the last of the pools she sat back under the torrent of water, which bounced off her hood in a huge plume of spray. Tired, cold and ready for home she paused to admire the view – a 270 degree panorama of fields, rolling hills and mountains in the background, with low cloud clinging to hillsides and the summits. The vista was equally breath-taking as the temperature of the water in the stream had been. She was so pleased to have her head in the clouds.
