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!
© Rich Lane 2019
