The River Dart upstream of Ashburton is so well known to me now it is like an old friend, and old friends provide comfort. During the last three months I have been compelled more than ever to swim in its silky clear water, sit in its cascades and explore its beautiful rocky depths. The Dart estuary, below Totnes, I know less well. It is a different personality, though of course related to its cousin upstream. It slips in serpentine langour through the folding fields of the South Hams, gradually widening and becoming more saline as it gets to Dartmouth and the sea. And now of course this bit of the Dart has even more relevance to me, as Felix is buried in Sharpham Meadow, one of those fields above the estuary. When I visit his grave I often now go down to the river afterwards and swim below the meadow, looking up at where he lies.