Swing Low - Getting the Hang of Hammock Camping

October 2019

As the 1st anniversary of my first ever wild camp approached I was looking forward again to the colder months. Although I'd had some great experiences over the summer, I'd learned there were some big compromises that came with fair weather dossing.

• Insects. I wasn't as freaked out by general creepy-crawlies as I thought I may be, but I also had no idea that proper, continental style mosquitos were thriving in the woodlands of central England. They are merciless, and I had the constant greasy, chemical joy of DEET in my beard throughout. And still got bitten somehow.
• Daylight. Too much of it! If the stealthy ethos of 'pitch at sunset, pack up at dawn' is to be followed, you're lucky to get 4 hours kip mid summer. That dawn chorus is lovely, but at 4:30 it's a bit much..
• People. More likely to come across other casual campers - kids having a fireside party, that sort of thing. I noticed this down in Exmouth in particular. Not what I'm after at all!

As if saying goodbye to the longer evenings, around the mid September Equinox I had a very swift and stealthy Friday night local camp after work, using a spot I'd stumbled across near to a favourite pub. 

However, after this I soon came to regret wishing the summer away when faced with the wettest Autumn for decades. If there were occasional breaks in the interminable precipitation, they were invariably midweek when I was stuck at work. Extremely frustrating! Wild camping has definitely become an addiction, and I'm starting to get tetchy going more than a fortnight without a fix.

Even if the rain were to stop on a weekend, likelihood is that the ground would be way too much of a muddy puddle to lie on. If only there were a way to sleep OFF the ground, I could maybe still manage to camp..? Thus pure logic (coupled with a little bonus in my pay packet on becoming a first aider) led me to purchase a hammock setup.

Having used their excellent tarps for a while now, I knew I wanted to get one from Scottish company DD Hammocks. So I ordered their popular Frontline Hammock which comes with a built in bug net. A bit of research advised me that in anything but the warmest months hammock camping could be chilly, due to the air circulating from below, so I also splashed out on a dedicated 'under blanket', a sort of hanging quilt which traps air below your back. Both arrived the very next day - the usual DD efficiency. And the day after that I was in my local woodland spot giving it a go!

It was after work so I was up against it with the light, particularly as it was a completely alien process. I had done my homework though, and learned that there was a very specific angle and height of 'hang' which would optimise the comfort. I managed it fairly efficiently, added the under blanket and my usual 3x3m tarp above and was just about done before it was pitch black. The great thing is that it doubles as a rather comfy seat, and I enjoyed a cooked tea and a canteen of wine into the evening.

Apparently hammock sleeping is a bit Marmite - some swear by it, others give up quickly as it is so uncomfortable. It was a complete lottery which category I would fall into. Getting into the sleeping bag at bedtime wasn't a great start - extremely fidgety to get in and zipped up. But once in I was blissfully swinging under the relaxing glow of the candle lantern, and dozed off fairly quickly. What followed was not only the best night's sleep I'd ever had camping, but possibly one of the best night's sleep I've had, full stop!

It was all about getting the angle of lay right. There is an instinct to stay in the middle of the hammock, which results in a banana shaped back which seems nice at first but soon hurts. No, the advice is to lay a bit more on the diagonal, with head poking out a bit one side, and feet the opposite. This makes for a much flatter experience and the hammock becomes like an anti gravity mattress.

I slept so soundly that my throat hurt in the morning from the snoring. Even getting up for a wee during the dreaded 3-4 am shift was better - a bit of a mither getting out and in again admittedly, but I went almost immediately back to sleep once back in the hammock. This is unprecedented - there is normally a good hour or two of mind racing and trying to get back off to sleep in my experience of 'ground dwelling'. Also, after dawn you actively WANT to lie in a bit longer, unlike sleeping on the ground where frankly you can't wait to get up as soon as it's light enough. Even once you are up and dressed and breakfasted, you use the hammock to relax in a way you just don't with a tent. It was a wonderful experience, a game changer - and I couldn't wait to do it again!

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In late October half term came around, and the start of it offered a much needed 3 day window without rain. I picked the last of these three to have another go, mainly to give the ground a chance to drain off a bit. I was excited by one other advantage of hammock camping that I haven't mentioned yet : no need for flat ground to pitch. So I headed on foot to a different local forest, an evergreen one which is quite spectacular but has so far eluded me for camping due to the absence of a single square meter of flat ground. Well, us hammock campers tweak the twinkly nipples of such trivialities!

I'd come across a perfect little spot on a slope a few days before, and even cleared the ground of brambles in anticipation. It was far from any paths, and very well hidden generally, involving wading through bracken and thorns to get there. Always reassuring if you want to avoid the dreaded dog walkers.

I'd placed another order with DD for a different kind of hanging system called 'whoopie slings' in the interim. These were supposed to make achieving a good hang a doddle, but as it was my first time with them I found them a fiddly pain to be honest. Hopefully they will pay off eventually as I get used to them. As a result the setup took a lot longer than last time, but it was satisfyingly done by the end, with the tarp in a classic hammock camping 'diamond' setup.

The night was a lot colder than the last, and I was glad I'd finally bitten the bullet and splashed out on a down jacket the day before. Lovely greasy sausage and egg baps cooked on the Brukit gas stove for tea, a hip flask of JD, and once again a cosy, lengthy night's sleep (apart from the mystery beast - see the video below for more on that!)

Once again I lingered well into the chilly morning enjoying the comfort, and was even greeted by a nice sunrise poking between the tree trunks at breakfast.

So to summarise, I think you can tell I'm a fan. It won't replace the tent, tarp and bivvy camps as they still have advantages in certain situations. Where there aren't any trees being one obvious example! And the packing is harder - whilst the hammock itself packs fairly light and small, adding an underblanket and tarp as well fills your rucksack quickly. But the unique selling point is luxury - it really feels like a treat in terms of comfort, rather than a compromise. There is an awful lot to be said for that!

(I made a Youtube vid of this second camp. As ever, please subscribe, like, comment & enjoy!)

(Next Post)

©Rich Lane 2019

A Summer of Wild Camping Pt 2 - Devon

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,

But to be middle aged was VERY Devon.

(Taking a slight liberty with William Wordsworth...)

I have Devon in my blood. Not exactly 'cut me and I bleed clotted cream' (which should always go on before the jam, of course...) as I grew up in the Black Country, but it is there. I've talked about my half Welsh heritage a bit before, but my Mum's side comes from Devon, and she and my two sisters both live there. It's a place I visit once or twice a year, and Mum's bungalow backing on to the beautiful Exe Estuary is the hub of family holidays. I feel very lucky to have this family connection to such a lovely place.

That said, as is often the case when you have family living somewhere, I haven't seen an awful lot of Devon. We tend to just stay put in the seaside town of Exmouth, park the car and not touch it again, as it's a great place to walk around, chill and entertain the kids. Not moaning, but I've always been a little ashamed that I haven't seen more of the county.

Well an opportunity to do just that came up at the end of the summer hols.

Just to recap the end of Pt 1... 

I had to get my two teenage kids down on the train to Exmouth in South East Devon, where my brother, sister and countless cousins were taking them on to Plymouth to catch a ferry to Brittany for a week's luxurious camping - waterslides, electric hook ups, that sort of thing. I wasn't going, and the wife was back in Staffordshire working.

So I stayed at my Mum's for the last week of August waiting for their return, spending some long overdue quality time with her, whilst also looking to sneak in a camp at some point. I had either a Jurassic Coast clifftop bivvy in mind, or possibly a trip up to Dartmoor. Seeing as it's the only place in England and Wales where wild camping is allowed, Dartmoor seemed too good an opportunity to miss...

However, the weather wasn't great earlier in the week, and it's notoriously hostile up there even when fine at lower ground. So I had to delay that, hoping for a clearing later in the week. I was also a bit worried that a bivvy up on the local cliffs could just be a frustrating evening sharing the camp with local yoot, who I'd convinced myself were bound to be up to no good with their monkey dust pipes and Trappist music in the height of summer, so I decided to shelve this for another visit during colder months.

So on a whim, one dry evening I decided to try a camp on the estuary, a couple of miles' walk away. A pleasant wander up there earlier in the day had revealed a pretty perfect spot. We were on!

River Exe Estuary Bivvy Camp

At 6pm I set off from the bungalow into the warmish air with a light pack and wearing shorts, t-shirt and sandals, which felt very odd. I didn't need to pack meals as I enjoyed a winner winner chicken dinner with Mum early evening, and would be back for brekkie. The lack of tent also lightened the load considerably. My Birkenstocks did bring me out in a nasty blister though by the time I got there.

It was a slightly anxious and frustrating start to this camp - I was feeling more edgy than usual, perhaps due to the very different location, and the proximity to people. It was Bank Holiday Monday after all, and there were teens hanging out nearby, plus the odd walker strolling past, staring at my setup. There was evidence of previous campfires nearby too, which made me wonder if I may be joined by other campers later - not something I relished. I struggled to get a good pitch on the tarp (no trees for a ridge line, I'd nicked my Mum's walking poles) and the moderate breeze didn't help. Also, I spent half a sodding hour trying to light my UCO candle lantern, due to a combo of a piddling little wick, and a fag lighter that wouldn't hold a flame, despite being full of fluid. I actually cut my knuckle on the sharp edges of the UCO in trying this, and wasn't aware until I saw blood everywhere. But I did just about manage to get it going in the end, cursing and vowing to buy one of those flame thrower jet propelled windproof lighters before my next camp.

Despite all that, once the sun was setting I had the place to myself and could start to enjoy watching it sink across the still, silvery water. A couple of cans of salted caramel porter also helped lubricate the transition from stress to fun. There were virtually no insects - too close to the shore for mozzies, but far enough away to avoid sandflies. A breeze even kept moths etc away. The calls of the estuary's famous birdlife beeped and chirped and squawked in a most relaxing soundtrack as darkness crept in.

It was a semi clear sky and I could see a few stars and even some fireworks over Torquay. I heard them about 20 seconds after seeing them, they were that far away. By the time I fell asleep I was peaceful and calm and very glad I'd made the effort. Camping next to a large expanse of water like this was a new one for me, and felt very special.

Morning was a bit different though. It was chucking it down when I woke around 6 and the wind had picked up. The small tarp was doing its job and I enjoyed a coffee whilst I sat out the conditions, but there was a  problem. My groundsheet was just a little too wide to be fully under the tarp. This meant that water streamed off the shelter's sloping roof and onto the edges of the groundsheet, only to be directed down into the concave dip created by my fat arse. After a while it became obvious that I was sleeping in a big puddle. Having said that, the Klymit sleeping mat and Snugpak bivvy bag kept the sleeping bag (and thus, me) bone dry - I wasn't really aware of it until packing away when I knelt in it...

Only one person came past all morning, a runner at around 6:30 who had the inevitable unleashed pup, which came bounding over to trample on all my stuff whilst the owner ineffectually called it back from miles away. Grrrr!

Once packed (I even fluffed the grass back up so there was no trace whatsoever) I hobbled home with plasters on my blistered toe and butchered knuckle - plasters which kept coming off in the wet. I was glad to get back to the bungalow for a cuppa with Mum and a plate of scrambled eggs. Warm and sunny for the rest of the day, I was also able to dry everything out on her washing line in no time. Packed up and ready for round two..

A short vid of the camp :

Hike and Wild Camp on Dartmoor

Turned out there was only going to be one potential evening with suitable weather for this, whilst also avoiding bank holiday weekend crowds, so I just went for it.

There's not exactly an abundance of public transport over this notoriously underpopulated place. The best I could manage was a train to Exeter, then a bus on to the north east fringe of the National Park to the little town of Moretonhampstead. From here it would mean a good few miles of hiking to get to the moors and tors - no bad thing. I'd invested in a paper OS map with protective cover, as I wanted to see if I could wean myself off relying on the OS map app I have on my phone, and brush up on navigation skills with the aid of a compass, old skool stylee.

I won't break down the resultant 2 days of hiking and camping in writing here as I feel the following vid really sums it up. Suffice to say Dartmoor delivered : I had a fantastic if tiring time up there on a less well known spot away from car parks and day trippers. It has a tangible wild romance all of its own, and I was like a kid in a sweet shop looking at the seemingly endless expanse of rolling heather flecked moors, ancient archaeological remnants, and jagged anthropomorphic tors that stretched out before me. I will return for sure....

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(Click here to read the next adventure - hammock camping!)

©Rich Lane 2019

A Summer of Wild Camping Pt 1 - Staffordshire

Apologies for the hiatus - it's been three months since my last post. A whole season! It's not that I haven't been anywhere this summer - far from it. Plenty of local camps and a couple further afield - but more on that later.

Early August saw me on a long two day Vespa trip to South Wales and back. A scenic affair which finally allowed me clear views of The Brecon Beacons, but unfortunately a sad one too,  prompted by my Aunty passing away,  her funeral being held in Aberdare. This was the same Aunty I mentioned in this entry last Easter, so I feel very guilty that I didn't make more of an effort to spend time with her back then.

On the camping front, there were a couple of three day work trips to The Peak District, helping out on the silver Duke of Edinburgh award. The first was during what one highly experienced DofE instructor described as 'the worst June weather I've ever seen round here' (Storm Miguel - some of the 6th formers gave up and called their mums to pick them up...) whist the other was hot and sunny. Both were great fun, thanks largely to the company of some very sound colleagues.

 As for my own off piste camping exploits, here are some of the highlights :

Bike Packing Tryout - May

This was technically late spring but worth a mention. It was the same Eccleshall field I'd been to a couple of times before, only I decided to cycle there as the weather was fine and I'd just bought some panniers for my bike.

It was an experiment with what they call 'bikepacking' although of course I wasn't going all that far. Very satisfying to get everything off my shoulders and into the panniers though, and I managed to make myself quite comfortable with the DD Tarp in a 'tent' configuration.

Despite wearing shorts for the ride, I was glad I'd packed thermals as the temperature plummeted overnight, frosting up the tarp and bivvy for the last time before summer. Then by noon the following day I was back sweltering in shorts at the local beer garden. This country is like sub Saharan Africa sometimes - extreme!

Solstice Woodland Bivvy - June

I'd been lucky in gaining permission from another local landowner around this time, in some lovely secluded woods. I fancied the idea of waking up outdoors on the longest day, which was a Friday. So Thursday night I trundled off via the pub, reasoning that I had as much daylight as it's possible to get for once! On arriving however I was a bit gutted to see how overgrown with nettles and brambles everywhere was - so I spent a good hour creating a clearing on a flat spot. This put me behind on the main task - setting up a new small tarp/bivvy combo and collecting/processing wood to cook the lamb steaks and curry I had brought along. I just about managed it and in the late darkness I enjoyed the messy indulgence of the pink, flame grilled lamb all the more for the hard work.

It was a shock how many proper mosquitoes there were trying to ravage me though - I really didn't think we got them around these parts, but they are certainly thriving and very aggressive! Despite spraying with the recommended DEET napalm-like product, and keeping all but hands and face covered, they somehow still managed to make a right mess of my legs and lower back. My summer sleeping bag has a bug net built in luckily - but that meant they were buzzing a few millimeters from my ears trying to get at me all night. Most off putting!

A VERY early start as of course dawn was around 5am, plus I had to be at work same as usual. So all in all a bit rushed and not a lot of chilling time, but still a good experience. I managed to make a video too which outlines some of the kit I used.

I submitted some of the photos I took into a summer solstice photo competition run by outdoors brand Alpkit and Alistair Humphreys, the man who came up with the concept of the 'microadventure'. Not sure which one they liked exactly but I won a prize - a signed copy of his book, which I can thoroughly recommend, especially if you need persuading to have a go at this sort of thing yourself as it is full of practical info and inspirational thoughts.

Horsey Bivvy No 1 - June

Another spur of the moment school night job, taking advantage of the longer evenings. I headed off  from home after tea with a small rucksack, bivvy, groundsheet and wine.It was the same location as my 'Kip In A Hedge After The Pub' last December - the one 10 mins from home with the cheeky horses. The absence of a tarp meant I had my first night falling asleep staring directly at a starry sky - magic!

The 'osses didn't disappoint and I was woken by them towering over me at dawn... Home by 6:30 for coffee and brekkie, then straight to work a bit bleary eyed - unfortunately summer camping means even less sleep!

A return to 'Bluebell Wood' - July

A tent based job, all be it the trusty coffin of the Ionosphere, this time with a small tarp attached as a porch, and draped in camo net. I was initially aiming for the same location as Easter's Bluebell Wood camp, but once again summer growth meant that nettles, brambles and (especially) bracken made it impossible to get to. The ferns did however provide good natural cover for a stealth camp. I was really chuffed with this little set up, not to mention the pan fried lamb I rustled up for tea.

Rainy Woodland - July

6 weeks off work - get in!!!

And then the rain starts...

Back to the clearing I made on the Solstice, this time in rather different weather - an exceptionally wet spell that lasted a few days. A very similar setup, but using the bigger tarp so that I had more chance of keeping the stuff dry, plus I had finally bought a British Army Goretex bivvy bag, which I was dying to try out. It's a lot more roomy and robust than my lightweight Snugpak one (which is still excellent, I must say) and I slept very well, mozzies aside!

Essentially a masochistic exercise in walking, setting up, and managing a camp in very wet weather, I did keep dry throughout. In fact it was downright cosy under the tarp at night in the warm glow of a new candle lantern. This was fitted with a cintronella candle to try and help ward off the bugs, but by morning there were three or four mozzies which had actively climbed in and got stuck in the wax - seems they can't resist it!

I'd heard folk talk of how nice the sound of rain on a tarp at night can be, and they are right - presuming you are tucked under it of course.

Father and Son Peak District Camp

After months of nagging, and a few missed windows of weather, I finally dragged my 13 year old son on a proper hilltop wild camp, to the exact same spot (Axe Edge) I'd gone to on the Vespa back in March, although we took the bus and attempted a much longer walk (15 miles or so over 2 days).

What swung it was his interest in doing the DofE with school next year. It's an expensive job, that - over 200 quid - and I reasoned that he should come along with his old Dad for a taster of the 'expedition' aspect before we commit - as he may hate it!

He certainly didn't like walking with a heavy (10kg) pack on his narrow back for a few miles up hill and down dale, but seemed to quite enjoy the camp itself, and wasn't phased by being up on a moor miles from anywhere. He had his own very capable little tent - a Vango Nevis 100, which costs 10% what my Hilleberg did - but which performed perfectly. The weather turned bad during the night but he took a brooding and ominous day 2 walk into Buxton all in his stride. He gave the whole experience 8/10 - result!

The walk and camp were again edited into a Youtube vid :

Horsey Bivvy No 2 - August

Fresh off the success of getting one of my kids out, I managed the unthinkable - persuading his older sister (15) out too! Only for a day camp at the horsey field again mind. A few sunny hours cooking bacon and cheese oatcakes.

I on the other hand was determined to sleep out so bought the necessary kit. I even bought spares of everything in the hope I would tempt at least one of them to stay too, but they didn't bite and left at teatime. As it happens, this was for the best as about 10 mins latter it started chucking it down, and didn't stop until nearly midnight - which saw me huddled under a very small tarp configuration to keep dry. The British Army Bivvy worked brilliantly when it came to bedtime though - I was still bone dry in the morning.

This last camp takes up most of the second half of this vid, which also contains clips of  a few of the other summer camps mentioned. (*WARNING* - Contains gratuitous shots of sizzling lamb...)

The final week of the summer hols saw both kids going (ironically, and slightly infuriatingly) off to France for a camping holiday with their Uncle, Aunts, and cousins. The wife was at work, and although I was invited, everyone knew that a busy campsite with loads of facilities wasn't really for Dad. I had to drop the kids off in Devon where my Mum and sister live in order for them to get a ferry from Plymouth, so I decided I would stay with my old Mum in Exmouth for the week, until they got back.

I took a rucksack full of camping gear with me in the hope I may sneak in a camp whilst there.

Would I have any luck? Would the weather play ball? You'll have to read part 2 to find out...

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©Rich Lane 2019

Blue Remembered Hills - Wild Camping at Stiperstones & The Long Mynd

May28th/29th 2019

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Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

(A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad, 1896)

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A bit emo was old Alfred Edward, but if you've read my blog entry for the first day of my tour of Wales by Vespa last spring, you'll know that I had a fleeting visit to The Long Mynd in Shropshire, a place I'd been a few times many years before. On that occasion, and every occasion before that, I had been equally enchanted by the exotic scenery (relatively close to my Midlands home) and frustrated by 'what the hell lies over yonder hills'. I'd never had time, energy, permission or petrol enough to just keep climbing up, up and over this area known as 'Little Switzerland', and the mystery of 'the other side' was a recurring haunting niggle of Housmanic proportions.

Well, now I'm a wild camper, and I can go where the feck I want. Some of the credit for this confidence should go to Simon, whose excellent Youtube channel Ascent 41 gave me lots of practical help and much needed bravery to tackle a solo overnighter in the area he knows so well (one of his vids was also instrumental in planning my first solo wild camp on Cadair Berwyn last November).

Day 1

I wanted to get the train originally. From Crewe (my most convenient local station) to Church Stretton is about 40 mins direct and three stops on a piddling little, often standing room only, 2 carriage train. So that wouldn't cost much, right? How wrong I was when I checked - thirty eight friggin' quid, off peak! They can piss RIGHT off. How that is justified I do not know. It's not exactly London to Manchester is it? Sooner they make the whole network public and charge a fixed rate per mile, regardless of where you are travelling to/from (as they do in other, more civilised countries) the better. Why do we Brits always ruin the stuff at which we once led the world?

So it would have to be the Vespa then!

I didn't bother with any bike specific luggage this time - I just rode with a 15kg, 65 litre rucksack on my back. This sounds like madness, but I realised that if I loosened the straps a little, it would 'sit' perfectly on the pillion space behind me, to the point I barely noticed I was wearing it. As Ascent 41 Simon would say - happy days!

An hour and a half it took me to reach the Western portion of the Area Of Outstanding Natural Beauty, where I planned to leave the scooter overnight in the dedicated car park of the Stiperstones National Nature Reserve. A mile or two before, as I approached the scenery, I stopped to take the above photo. A very friendly elderly farmer on a tractor asked me (in an ace accent which was 75% Welsh and 25% 'get-orf moi-land' West Country) about what I was up to, and in the ensuing conversation he hissed through his teeth when I mentioned my overnight parking plans. This instantly deflated me - I've had a few comments on this blog and Youtube about how mad I am to leave the bike unattended, from motorcyclists who presumably only ever camp in car parks. I tried my usual justifications ('it's insured', 'it's safer here than in a city car park', 'vehicles have to be left somewhere or you'd never go anywhere' etc etc) but it did start to worry me - which he could tell, and was most apologetic for. I thanked him for the advice, we shook hands, and carried on with that seed of doubt starting to germinate into a genuine worry.

Less than a mile up the road I came across The Stiperstones Inn, and went in for a pint, asking them if I could pay a few quid to leave the Vespa here overnight. The bar lady very kindly said yes, and that no payment was necessary. Result! This did mean my carefully prepared Ordnance Survey route was now a bit scuppered though, as it originally started from the aforementioned fellonious car park. Ah well, adapt, improvise, overcome blah blah blah.

It had just gone midday, and the only other person in the bar was a spritely lady called Janet who was waiting for the next bus (I was shocked when I found out she had a free OAP bus pass as she didn't look old enough). She was, coincidentally from a few miles away from me in Newcastle Under Lyme, and was dressed in obvious hillwalking gear. We struck up a very pleasant and natural conversation that lasted the next hour and a half. This took in our respective routes and map comparisons (she had been on more or less the same paths I planned to use, although she had sensibly been Youth Hostelling), Brexit, mental health (she had worked as a psychiatric nurse), and areas of our home locale. She was an inspiration, in terms of her fitness, independence and politics, and I literally had to drag myself away as I could have happily chatted for hours more.

Following her advice on which path to take to get to the famous rocky outcrops known as The Stiperstones, I bid her farewell and headed off, trying to use my paper map rather than relying on the idiot proof OS phone app. This was mainly due to concerns of saving battery on my iPhone as it was going to be a long 2 days, although brushing up on my orienteering skills wouldn't hurt any. However, I had barely gone a quarter of a mile when I took the wrong path, adding an unnecessary, although very scenic, extra hill climb/descent which ended up pretty much back where I started. 

This setback and the extra hour or two in the pub meant I really had to get a shift on if I wanted to fit in my planned 11 miles or so before dark. A sunny and sweaty ascent got me to one end of the Stiperstones ridge in the first hour. I was already pretty bolloxed, and sat eating my sarnie by a cairn before clambering up one of the famous quartzite tors known as Shepherd's Rock, admiring the sunny if slightly hazy 360 views.

 The Stiperstones (Devil's Chair on the right)

The Wrekin from Shepherd's Rock

The skyline to the east was dominated by the aptly 'long' plateau of The Long Mynd, my destination for the evening. It looked very different from this side compared to the more familiar Church Stretton view - less quaintly Swiss, and more bleakly moorish. It also looked VERY far away, and I would have to descend down into the valley and back up again. Better get a shift on!

Very clear paths and a fair bit of country lane took me down to the lowest point, the pub at Bridges, home of the Youth Hostel where Janet had stayed. By this time I was starting to feel a bit of discomfort from the knees down. I had daftly gone for the longest run I've had all year the day before (a measly 8.5k, but I am out of practice) and my left knee and both shins felt every footstep today. Also, the heat of the sunny day was not conducive to my heavy winter Brasher boots and I started to get 'hot spots' (precursors to a blister) on the balls of my feet.

So at the pretty Bridges pub, I sat on a lone picnic table over the other side of the stream from the other punters, took my sweaty, stinky socks off and stuck them on the tops of my walking poles to crisp up nicely in the sun. I then applied some Compede stick to the offending areas of my bare trots, which would supposedly delay the blisters. I knew I should rest them for a fair bit, so in the intervening time I probably had one too many of their juicy Three Tuns ales.

It was already teatime by now, and my planned route meant I wasn't even half way. Back on with the footwear and the climb started up to The Long Mynd. The beer and crisps did give me a bit of 'va va voom' and the feet were reassured by the TLC I had given them.

Half way up the Western flank of The Long Mynd, Stipersones ridge behind me

My plan was originally to walk right over The Mynd and down the popular Carding Mill Valley into Church Stretton, pop South a bit to Little Stretton where there was a nice pub, and then ascend again in the last hour of daylight and find a quiet summit to stealthily pitch up. But that was all still miles away and I couldn't possibly do it now before dark. Also, Janet had suggested that I avoid the summits, as they can be quite busy due to having roads and car parks right next to them. As I approached the top I could see she was right, and I may have to follow her advice and find a little valley to pitch up away from the eyes. However, at about 6:30 I stumbled across a perfect spot near to, but sufficiently hidden from, the popular car park known as the Shooting Box. That familiar wild camping dilemma of 'should I stick or twist' - stay here or trudge on to find a potentially better spot, but possibly end up in one a lot worse, or with none at all as darkness fell - kicked in. It was a great little flat grassy spot (not many of those around) with a nice view back at The Stiperstones, fairly hidden from the paths and road by gorse and heather, and I was feeling knackered again. Sod it I thought, this is why I've been lumbering this pack around, so I can sleep where I like, and I liked it here. So pitch up I did.

This was the second outing for my 'dream tent', the one man Hilleberg Soulo. It's a beast at nearly 3kg (with the optional footprint included) and complete overkill for the weather which was getting ever more still and tranquil after a breezy start. My Superlight DD tarp and bivvy would have been more appropriate, and made walking loads easier. But hey, I'm certainly paying for the bloody thing, so I want to use it! And it meant I had a luxurious coziness. It is also flirtily photogenic on a sunkissed moor...

A humble lightweight hiker's tea of rehydrated chicken curry in a bag was surprisingly good! I've volounteered to help out on the silver Duke of Edinburgh expedition at the school where I work (both the three day dress rehearsal and three day actual trip) this coming month so I need to get used to dialing the luxuries down a bit, and these specialist meals make sense. They ain't cheap at a fiver plus a throw, but there was no washing up at all, which was great. I usually like to cook something 'proper' when camping but these certainly have their place.

I had no booze with me at all this time (good job really given the pints earlier) and the time of year meant that I was climbing into the sleeping bag for the night just after 10pm, when it was still very light outside. I'd had a local overnight woodland camp just 4 days previously with my son and was still tent-lagged from that (only 3 hours kip then..) so add today's exertions and I was out like a light.

The first day's walk

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Day 2

A solid four hours kip, which I'm starting to think is my standard on a camp. However, in winter I can read a bit or listen to a podcast and eventually drift off again for an extra hour or two, but the problem with summer is it's dawn at four bleedin' thirty, and the birds start their nonsense an hour before that. I wanted to capture the sunrise for the vid I was making of the trip anyway, so I got up into the chilly 6°air. I was surprised by a rather eerie orange moonrise.

I was aware that I could be spotted very early doors by any similarly insomniac visitors so I didn't even have breakfast - just a couple of quick cups of coffee, and I was packed away and heading off up the plateux (leaving no trace, natch) by 6am. I headed straight for the highest point on The Mynd, Pole Bank, with sheep bleating around me and birds of prey swooping above, and not a soul about. 

I trotted back down to the Shooting Box where there was a nice patch of flat, sheltered grass on which I could relax and cook my porridge for brekkie. I was just about to start boiling water on my spirit burner when I noticed I didn't have the lens cap on my Nikon camera. I quickly checked all my pockets (clothing and rucksack) but it wasn't there. I remembered leaving it on the trig point of Pole Bank as I snapped away, and remembered thinking 'I must remember to remember it's there' and then I started to remember that I probably forgot.

It was a kilometre or so back to Pole Bank so I dumped the rucksack on the grass and strode on up once again, cursing myself all the way, and worried that a car may turn up and nick my rucksack (but not worried enough to haul the damn thing on an unnecessary 2k round trip). After 10 mins I was back at the trig point and no lens cap anywhere. I put my hand in my most obvious coat pocket and there it was, all along. Back I trudged to the rucksack, cursing myself even more. 42 carat dickhead.

A cuppa and some porridge cheered me back up though, despite the weather changing. It was nowhere near as nice as yesterday, with ever leadening skies and the odd drop of rain. I realised today's hike may be cut a bit short too. Making good on the remaining weather I wound my way down the first half of Carding Mill valley to the waterfall, which I sadly couldn't see very well due to being on a slightly precarious path quite high above it. Still, the valley was as pretty as I remembered.

It was only mid morning but time to start thinking about the long haul back to the other side of The Mynd and Stiperstones. I took a detour up one of the steep little tributary side valleys that Janet had recommended for camping, and this one was indeed secluded with odd spots perfect for a bivvy bag, but none big or flat enough for my tent - so I had got very lucky with last night's pitch. Still, good to know for next time!

By the time I was at the top it started raining fairly heavily, and visibility worsened, so it was on with the wet weather clothes and away with the camera - and here my photos end I'm afraid. I took a different path back down to Bridges (where I stopped for a 10:30am pint, indoors this time - cut me some slack, it felt like 2:30pm to my body clock!) and up again on steep windswept roads to the Stiperstones, which were completely engulfed in claggy, blustery and drizzly fog. Orienteering was a challenge, especially as I was on the last few percent of charge on my phone so avoided it unless feeling really lost - which I did on a few occasions, missing the path that follows the actual Stiperstones ridge (not that I would have seen much). All morning my knees, shins and feet had been getting ever more uncomfortable too, so it was a slow slog with not much reward, sadly. Still, it made me appreciate how lucky I had been with the weather the day before - the only spell of sunshine in the whole half term week.

The Vespa was safe and sound at the pub car park and after thanking them, off I rode, struggling to stay awake, but feeling quietly elated. I'd only walked about 18 miles over two days - nothing to most proper hikers, but I had finally got to not only see, but also spend the night on the land that lay just beyond those Blue Remembered Hills. 

The second day's walk

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Here is my video of the trip - please do subscribe if you like it!

(Click here for my next wild camping 'adventure'...)

©Rich Lane 2019

Looking For The Perfect Pitch...

April 11th 2019 

After 30 years looking for the perfect beat, I've spent the last 6 months looking for the perfect pitch.

Since September, when this 'thing' started to take hold, I've trodden hundreds of square miles of woodland trying to find a 'perfect' bushcraft camp spot within walking distance of home. It has been a frustrating experience. There is an abundance of woodland round here, but every spot I think holds hope has fundamental flaws. Here's a list of potential perfect pitch problems :

• 98% of the woodland is too hilly for ground sleeping. I have yet to be sold on hammock camping...
• Too many paths nearby with folks traipsing/mountain biking/walking dogs to get away with it
• Nice spots ruined by terrible litter (the otherwise gorgeous woods behind Keele Uni...)
• Nice, clean flat spots where the ground is so thick with bracken litter and brambles you have no hope of getting a peg in the ground, or coming away with an undamaged tent/tarp.
• The ever present BASTARD M6 roaring away...

Well, eventually I came across a tiny spot where none of the above are a problem, apart from the M6 (which is always going to be an issue if I want to walk - I can even hear it in my bedroom every night, so what hope do I have in the open air?).

It was, as usual, on one of my after work recces that I came across it. It was quite an effort, involving walking a clay track which doubles as a stream bed - a squelchy, oozy, ugly route, enough to deter most folk walking their little princess. With my squelchproof Brashers on, I braved it. At the end of this there was an evergreen forest - scenic, all on a slope, and very hostile underfoot. Fantastic trees, nightmare ground. However I pushed on through this, brambles tearing at my gaitors and trying to take my eye out, and was rewarded with a tiny flat, green, bluebell speckled glade in a particularly inaccessible corner of the wood. I spent a tranquil couple of hours there watching the sun set and drinking wine, before heading home for tea.

This was a Thursday. The following day, the school where I work broke up for the 2 weeks Easter holiday. I was owed some hours and left early at 2pm. The weather had turned grey and cold with an icy easterly breeze. Night temperatures were predicted as freezing or below. Even so, I decided I was going to give this near perfect spot a try for an overnighter.

Despite the nights drawing out, it was a struggle to get everything done before dark. I had a tent to pitch (the trusty Ionosphere, which had been neglected of late) and a tarp to put up uitilising a ridgeline between trees (and which I messed up at first attempt, forgetting how to do the right knot to keep it taught). I'd obstinately not brought any fuel at all (liquid, solid or gas), as I wanted to justify all the coin I'd recently laid out for all the self sufficient wood prep tools (axe, knife, saw etc). And all the time I was trying to make a YouTube video of the whole affair, which at least doubles the time involved.

Anyway I managed it - just. I was using the axe when it was probably too dark to be safe (one of Ray Mears golden rules...) but I was at least stone cold sober. Once camp had been set up I could relax a bit with a Duvel or two and some crappy cheeseburgers. 

I wasn't disturbed or spooked in the night by any critters, despite badger sets close by. The M6 roaring away may well have drowned them out. I only slept 4 hours and a bit in the Snugpak tent, and was only cold when the bladder kicked in. It's very cosy inside, and there wasn't a droplet of condensation in the morning (unlike the expensive Soulo I splashed out on two weeks before). It is a frustrating thing though, having to reverse in arse first, and get in the sleeping bag when there isn't even room to raise your knees (at just over 6 foot I'm hardly a giant). It can't make it's mind up if it's a tent that compromises comfort for sturdiness and stealth, or the most luxurious bivvy bag out there. I like it though, it has its place, and only weghs a kilo and a half - a whole kilo less than my Rolls Royce Hilleberg anyway. But really, I realise now that I probably prefer the open quality of a tarp in this sort of situation.

The beauty of this spot being such a mither to get to was that I didn't see a soul, or their bloody dogs. By the way, there's one barking randomly in the pub now whilst I write this, a shrill high pitched dagger to the ears that makes everyone wince. Its owners just ocassionally look down from their gammon and say in hushed tones 'can you try and be less vocal please mate?' whilst really thinking that it's everyone else that has a problem. I've moved to the other end of the pub but it's still painful. Anyway...  the bliss of no dogs or their stupid, innefective owners meant that I didn't leave my camp until midday, which more than made up for the somewhat panicked night before. Another fire prepped and started, and bacon and eggs munched.

I'll keep on searching for that perfect pitch but in the meantime, this will most certainly do.

Here's the Youtube vid of the 'microadventure'. Please (ahem) 'smash that subs button' if you like it. Cheers!

(Click here for my next wild camping 'adventure'...)

© Rich Lane 2019

My Dream Tent, A Clean Vespa, and Another Trip to The Peak

March 29th 2019 

Well less than a week after my last post and I've been out again. What prompted it was a very, very rash decision - on Wednesday I took the plunge and bought my dream tent, arguably amongst the best one man tents money can buy - the Hilleberg Soulo. In tent terms, it's an Aston Martin, it's hard to get posher. Or more expensive...

I really can't afford it and will be paying the debt off for months, but I hope it will be worth it. It means I'm ready for most of what the UK weather can throw at me in terms of a shelter, and can go on the sort of trips that Rich Dytch goes on with minimal faff - hopefully with the man himself before too long (it is now 6 months since my first wild camp with him).

I also spent all Tuesday evening de-wintering the Vespa, and giving her a good clean. Filled with the joys of spring, I rode out to a place in The Peak less than an hour away on Wednesday evening for a recce of a potential spot, based mainly on a couple of Youtube vids from wild camping legend Dean Read (check out his Youtube channel if you haven't already). I liked the idea of going straight from work, on Friday. especially as the spell of fine weather was not set to last past Saturday morning.

The recce was very successful, the tent itself arrived next day, and I was packed up and ready to go on Friday, looking at the weather out of the window, itching to get off when 4pm arrived.

I decided to make more of an effort with video, rather than mainly taking photos for once. The result is a 22 minute Youtube vid. So, in the spirit of what film critic Mark Kermode calls 'show, don't tell', I'm going to stop writing now and let the pictures tell you all the rest...

(Click here to read my next wild camping 'adventure'...)

© Rich Lane 2019