The Realities of Rural Land Surveying in Somerset: The Gate Conundrum
An informal study into the psychology of gates, hinges, and human dignity
There are many great mysteries in the world of land and measured building surveying. Why does the signal from our surveying instruments vanish at the exact moment you really need it? How does mud travel so efficiently into your socks? Why do buildings insist on having one room that simply refuses to be square?
But today, we tackle a far more pressing rural phenomenon.
The gate.
Not just any gate. The rural field gate. A creature of character, whim, and occasionally malice.
A Brief History of My Relationship With Gates
You’d think, after years of surveying, I’d have mastered the art of opening a gate. It’s a simple mechanism, after all. A hinge. A latch. A push or a pull.
And yet, every time I approach one, I feel the same creeping uncertainty: Is this the kind of gate that behaves? Or the kind that tests your moral fibre?
Some gates glide open with the elegance of a Regency ballroom door. Others require the upper‑body strength of a competitive rower and the patience of a saint.
And then there are the ones that don’t open at all, but still somehow expect you to get to the other side.
The Four Known Species of Rural Gate
After extensive field research (and several bruises), I’ve identified the following categories:
1. The Overly Friendly Gate
Swings open far too enthusiastically. Usually catches you off guard. Often tries to take your tripod with it.
2. The Passive-Aggressive Gate
Appears normal. Feels normal. Then refuses to lift the final millimetre required to unlatch. You begin questioning your life choices.
3. The Philosophical Gate
Doesn’t open. Doesn’t close. Simply exists. A reminder that some obstacles in life are not meant to be moved, only climbed over with dignity (or without).
4. The Gate That Knows You’re Being Watched
This one waits until you have an audience—usually a herd of cows or a lone, judgemental sheep—before misbehaving. You fumble. You wrestle. You pretend this is all part of the process.
The Livestock Factor
Of course, no gate experience is complete without the supporting cast.
Cows, for instance, have a remarkable ability to appear at the exact moment you’re halfway through a gate manoeuvre. They watch with the intensity of someone observing a high-stakes puzzle show.
Sheep, meanwhile, look at you like you’ve interrupted something important.
And horses… well, horses simply assume you’re bringing snacks.
The Surveyor’s Dance
There is a choreography to it all:
Balance the kit
Lift the latch
Nudge the gate
Avoid the mud
Avoid the cow
Avoid the cow’s friend
Pretend you are in control
It’s a dance performed in steel-toe boots, usually in the rain, often with the tripod slung over one shoulder like a very expensive accordion.
In Praise of the Humble Gate
Despite everything, I’ve grown fond of them.
Gates are the unofficial greeters of rural surveying. They mark the boundary between the known and the unknown. They remind you that every field has its own personality. They keep you humble, grounded, and occasionally trapped.
And when you finally get one open - smoothly, confidently, without dropping anything - it feels like a small but meaningful victory. A triumph of human ingenuity over timber and hinge. A moment of pure, quiet glory.
Until, of course, you reach the next one.