Camping on the wild side differs to the campsite
Last updated 11:46, Wednesday, 03 September 2008
SINCE I wrote about wild camping in last month’s Active Cumbria, several people have asked me how it differs from pitching your tent on a campsite.
It would be easier to list the similarities - you use basically the same equipment; and both activities enable you to sleep outdoors. But even these are only half-true. When you’re carrying all your gear on your back, you can forget those little luxuries you normally throw in the back of the car when you pack for a camping trip - gone are the foldaway chairs and the huge, inflatable mattress; it’s down to the basics now.
And the ‘outdoors’ of a campsite with snoring neighbours and the occasional passing car is a world away from the ‘outdoors’ you’ll experience on the fells, with nothing but the sound of the breeze to disturb you and no light pollution to spoil your view of the stars.
After our first wild camp of the year back in May, my partner and I managed another one when the weather started warming up again in July.
With our homes on our backs, we set off at about 5pm, just as most walkers were heading home for the evening.
A few people asked if we had far to go and were surprised to hear we weren’t heading for a campsite. To most walkers, the concept of pitching in the wilds is totally alien, something they’d never even considered; but you can see their eyes light up when you tell them where you’re hoping to spend night.
The most important consideration for a wild camper is to find a water source. After three hours of slow ridge climbing in sultry, overcast conditions, we reached the pools we’d spotted on the map. ‘Pools’ is maybe pushing it; they turned out to be no more than bog - no good for drinking.
Tired and hungry and with the light beginning to fade, we went in search of water and eventually found a tiny beck - emerging crystal clear from the mossy ground.
After some more reconnoitring, we pitched our flysheet on a flat, grassy ledge, boiled some water and then tucked into rehydrated curry while, across the next valley, red deer stags made that eerie noise they make - like a cross between a cow and a motorbike, if you can imagine that.
The sky was grey and miserable - there was no sign of the rosy sunset I’d been hoping for - but the peace and solitude more than made up for the weather.
The next day we woke to a brilliant dawn - the sun bringing out the very best colours in the landscape. I like to think I know the fells pretty well - and I’ve experienced them in all sorts of conditions - but I literally saw them in a new light that morning.
Packing up our gear and making sure we’d left no trace of our night’s stay, we were up and away before most walkers were even having their breakfasts down in the valleys. It meant we had the tops to ourselves for several hours - a rare treat on a sunny July day.
