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