Back To School - ish

 

Late September 2021

BACK... TO... SCHOOL...

I'm sure for many parents out there these are three joyous words, but for me they are among the most chilling in the English language. I have spent around 30 of my 48 years as a slave to term times, and as anyone who works in education will testify (if they are honest), the feeling at the end of August that September is looming is a horrid ball of angst in your soul. Few of us get a decent night's sleep on the last day of the summer holidays. It's that childhood Sunday night 'I haven't done my homework and teacher is gonna kill me' feeling writ large.

One of the saddest things about working in education for me is that the very word 'September' is inherently negative. Even the splendid Earth Wind and Fire song of the same name brings up negative thoughts in me ('imagine September being so full of joy that you write a great disco song about it? Lucky, smug, spangly suited buggers...'). Too many years I've spent staring out of a school or college window longingly at golden sunny September days, often after a manky grey August, aching to be enjoying it. There was a glorious period in my life between the ages of 17 and 28 where I was self employed and adored September - the weather, the colours, the growing freshness in the air. Hell, I even used to have holidays then. Would I have to wait until I was knocking 70 to enjoy that again? Or would I go institutionally loopy way before that?

Yet here I was, on a schoolday in late September, out in the sticks, out in the sunshine, walking, walking, walking for miles, hardly encountering a soul... and heading for an overnight camp next to a stream in a secluded wood. How was this even happening?

Something had to give or I'd go spare. Last term I had applied to reduce my hours quite significantly for the new school year, and it had been approved, giving me some much needed flexibility outside of the weekend to do my other self employed music work and yes, maybe live some actual life. Well, on this particularly fine September weekday, all my work was done, and I was living alright. 

Golden September Fields

Leaving my front door on foot at midday with a fairly loaded rucksack and some camera equipment, I commenced a 25 mile round trip.The first section wasn't the most peaceful as the footpath followed a major train line where I was regularly buzzed by engines of all types - from two carriage rattlers, through sleek Virgin Intercitys, to endless slow freight haulers. Passing some usually very fine private woods I found them full of hard hatted, hi viz workers doing something major with heavy machinery. It didn't look good - I would have stopped for photos but the sheer scale, plus the vans containing scary Alsation guard dogs barking at me, put me off. What the hell was going on? A few days later my good friend Gordon surmised that it was likely HS2 work already underway - he had seen from plans that it was going to plough right through said wood. The German Shepherds were no doubt there to 'deter' protesters...

So I would never see that wood looking nice again. I'm quite thankful that I hadn't worked this out at the time of walking past, as it would have really spoiled my otherwise good mood. As it was I soon forgot about it as I walked onwards.

It was unseasonably warm at around 20 degrees, but I could for once drink my water supplies fairly freely knowing that there was a stream at my destination to replenish - a rare luxury on my camps. I passed a couple of lovely looking pubs which were both shut for the middle period of the day. Would I have stopped at either had they been open? Had I changed my views on public houses since being very vocal about my issues with them during lockdown?

Well, yes and no. The double-vaccinated me did sit in beer gardens on a handful of occasions towards the start of summer. This was during that sweet spot where pubs were back open again after lockdown but HAD to provide table service, and much of it outdoors. So I didn't have to go inside and queue at an unnecessarily unsafe and uncivilized bar. During this period, it worked so well that I had visions that a corner had been turned in our backwards culture, and that British boozers would now start to catch up with the rest of the world in terms of customer service, rather than contemptuously demanding punters join a scrum for attention just for the privilege of handing over a fiver for a pint of lager. I promised myself that I would only visit pubs that carried on offering this outdoor table service as an option gladly, rather than because the law forced them to against their will. Needless to say, I've yet to come across a single one since the rules relaxed. How naive am I?

A birthday pint with my family, early July - served at my table. Imagine that!

Anyway, the option of breaking my Batman rule on pubs wasn't tested on this occasion. On I walked, dreaming of lovely pints. To be fair I do a lot of that lately, due to the fact that I'm two months into a 3 month spell of abstinence from alcohol. Just one of those things I need to do now and again. It certainly makes for a lighter rucksack at least.

The first day of walking ended up being about 14 miles in all - through grass, trees, eight foot tall maize, a few roads. and ending up in a public access (though seemingly seldom visited) woodland. The whole walk felt somewhat reminiscent of the start of the hobbits' journey out of The Shire in The Fellowship Of The Ring.

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”
(J.R.R.Tolkien - The Lord Of The Rings)

Nearly 6 hours after setting off I arrived at my chosen spot with an hour of daylight to spare. This was just enough time to get my accommodation set up and replenish my water with the help of the aforementioned stream and a very nifty new water filter.

In the absence of booze it was kettle on and I supped nuff brews throughout the evening. It turned dark rapidly due to being in quite a steep little valley shrouded with thick trees. A morale boosting candle lantern was lit and the lonely man's scran of choice, the Pot Noodle, was deployed. Went down a treat.

It's usually around this time on a camp that I look at my phone and see a message from the wife checking I'm ok, to which I normally respond with a pic of me safely in situ. Tonight I set up my posh camera at the other side of the stream and spent a fair bit of time faffing about getting a decent pic in the dark with me sitting outside the tent. After doing all this I went to send it and noticed I had absolutely no signal whatsoever, phone or data. I think this has only happened once before in all my wild camping trips - I've been very lucky in that respect. I started to worry that she would be worrying that I hadn't been in touch. I tried walking up and down a bit in the hopes of getting a bar or two, holding my arm up as I went, but no luck. I couldn't really venture far as it was very dark and the going was potentially dangerous in terms of slipping on the steep valley sides, or having my eye out on one of the low branches (it had been tricky enough getting in during daylight). 

Plus truth be told I found venturing far from the tent a little spooky - this was a new spot for me and I was still a little on edge, especially without the Dutch courage of any swally to take that edge off. So unfortunately she didn't get any contact from me until the next morning when I had more light. She had been a little worried but guessed this was the case.

 

The 'camped up safe' pic for the wife...

This was my third time camping right next to a babbling stream, an experience I was fine with earlier this year (helped by Plum Porter and Bourbon) but which freaked me out on my first ever semi-wild camp, similarly sober, 3 years ago. I did occasionally hear things like footsteps or voices or animal noises in the random gurglings, but I didn't let it unsettle me quite as much, as I knew it was just my mind trying to make sense of a chaotic and constant stream of sound. That said, I didn't linger outside the tent as long as I usually do in woods, and was enjoying the interior of my most luxurious and homely tent, the MSR Elixir 1, before long. Tiredness came on swiftly after all that walking, and I had a fairly decent, if somewhat broken, 7 hours or so of sleep with the stream strangely not letting up its racket for even a second.

Dawn is deceptively late at this time of year and it was around 7am when I got up to a gloomy woodland floor. Brews and porridge warmed me up nicely as I enjoyed this most special part of a camp, where I often feel most relaxed and most satisfied. I'd made it through the night comfortably and there was nothing stressy to follow, other than the mild mither of packing up.

Leaving no trace as always, I set off on the trek home around 10am. I went a different and shorter route, with a few more roads. and with a real spring in my step. Enjoying the warmish sunny air I thought a lot about my relationship with this month, about how I'd treated her unfairly for too long due to bitterness at my own life circumstances and choices. But I'd chosen to make a practical change for the better at last and although it was early days, the fact that I could feel myself falling back in love with September again was a hopeful sign that it was for the best.

© R. Lane 2021

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(I also made a video of the trip for my YouTube channel)

Camping With Company in the 'Zero Tolerance' Peak District

Saturday 1st May 2021

If you've read any of these camping blogs or seen any of my YouTube vids you'll appreciate that I'm very much a solo wild camper. Yes, I do manage to drag my teenage son along on rare occasions, and whilst I really enjoy that, he feels so much like an extension of myself that it hardly counts. 

The only exception of course is the gentleman who nurtured me along on my very first wild camp, two and a half years ago - my old mate Rich. In all the intervening time we have got tantalisingly close to organising a second meet up on a few occasions, but had to cancel either due to really bad weather, family stuff, or global pandemics. However, we finally got our shit together recently, and with both of us living at opposite sides of The Peak, it seemed the obvious place once more.

I'm not going to say anything more specific about the location other than 'The Peak District' on this occasion, for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, Rich has found a superb, quiet spot and very kindly shared the exact location with me. Neither of us want to advertise it for selfish reasons - although experienced Peak visitors could probably work out the general neck of the woods from the photos.

Secondly, and more importantly, the winds have changed somewhat with regards to the tolerance towards wild camping in our National Parks of late - so much so that I very nearly suggested we cancel again. A couple of days before the trip I became aware of posts and videos online claiming that rangers were vrooming around The Peak on quad bikes at sunset, turfing off every wild camper they came across. Absolute zero tolerance. One reason seemed to be potential fire risk  - it had been an incredibly dry April, and fires were already breaking out up there. Hard to moan about this one. The other was perhaps more controversial : the sheer amount of people who seemed to be showing an interest in 'wild camping' now the lockdown had eased was unprecedented, and certain landowners had had enough. They didn't care if you were a littering noob in a pop up tent with a disposable barbecue, or a seasoned 'leave no trace' pro with a Hilleberg and a Jetboil - you weren't welcome.

A lockdown meme anticipating the worst...

Well, no problem for me you'd think - most of the camping I do is of the stealth variety, and is essentially responsible, covert trespassing. Keep the lights off, pitch after dark, pack up at dawn etc. Bread and butter stuff. Except there were lots of accounts that they were using thermal imaging cameras (usually employed to see underground peat fires) to locate people, into the night. The worst part is that when folk were caught, they had to pack up and walk back to their car in the dark, often near precipitous drops - very possibly after alcohol had been imbibed. This is not to mention driving home, as car camping isn't allowed either...

It all seemed like Chinese Whispers gone mad - surely the reports were exaggerated? But videos started appearing showing it actually happening. I messaged Rich with my concerns and he convinced me that location is key - which is of course the golden rule of stealth camping anyway. The spot he had in mind wasn't one of the pretty but slightly lazy postcard spots like Bamford Edge, or around Ladybower reservoir - where most of the reports were coming from. So I trusted his judgement and we decided to give it a go all the same.

I scooted there on the Vespa, a not very pleasant journey involving suburbs, dual carriageways, roadworks, freezing hailstorms, and a heavy pack (fine when walking but uncomfortable sat with my arms stretched out in front of me for the best part of two hours).

At the little car park I greeted Rich and off we went, up a spectacular and fairly steep valley.

The hailstorms had stopped and it was sunny at times, with a very light but cold northerly breeze. Perfect weather for this sort of thing, and the ground (which was very hard work last time Rich was here in boggier conditions) was a dream underfoot. Visibility was also pretty darn good.

There were quite a few other folk towards the start of our walk, and some could have been wild campers judging by their packs. But the further we got from the car park, the thinner on the ground they became. Sadly, we were both troubled by how much litter there still was on the higher ground - not a lot, but perhaps more than before the pandemic. Wrappers, masks, and yes even soiled bogroll. We picked up the stuff we weren't too disgusted by.

What followed was 4 hours and 10k of reasonably strenuous walking and catching up with life - plenty of breathers and even a brew stop included. Quite a few giggles too, as he always was an amusing bugger.

Once at Rich's known spot at the head of a little valley/clough we only had half an hour or so to pitch before the sun disappeared. It's fair to say we were both a little paranoid at that stage about being rumbled, as it was potentially the riskiest time. A footpath and a road weren't all that far away. It's at times like this you're glad you plumped for a drab coloured tent - the fashion for bright red would not have served us well this evening. I was in the Soulo - the first outing the poor thing had enjoyed since my Shining Tor camp 16 months ago. Rich had a beautiful, newish Scarp 1 by Tarptent which looked most palatial inside.

It had barely got above 5°C all day, and within minutes of dusk there was ice forming on the tents. We shared a couple of cans of silly strong hipster pudding stout and had our boil in the bag teas. Water was heated with Jetboil type stoves (which contain their small but intense flame better than the other options), placed on large, thick slates Rich had borrowed from the stream gulley. We were super aware of the dry conditions and agreed this was the safest option if we wanted something warm to eat - and we needed it! Even with all our layers of merino, fleece, down etc we had to get partially in the sleeping bags before long to stay warm.  Tent doors open, we chatted away into the night, eventually nodding off under starry skies around midnight.

As ever I had packed to the absolute limit of temperature, and my 600 fill down bag struggled to keep me quite warm enough to safely use the over used term 'toasty warm'. I was ok though, and slept very well. Rich was betty swollocks in his 800 Alpkit bag, the smug get.

We didn't hang around too long after brekkie before packing up, but even then a fell runner came past on the nearest path, bidding us a cheery good morning and inquiring about a cooked brekkie. I've definitely come to the point that I stop stressing about trespass after dawn, as if anyone asks you to move on, you were about to anyway. But still, I don't like to take the piss in a place like this, it all adds to the bad rep us wild campers are getting. We were on our way back down the valley, no trace left of course (Rich even placed the slates back EXACTLY where he found them) before 9am. 

We kept commenting on how the Gods were smiling on us weather wise - it was another fairly sunny, crisp, fresh day, and the views still spectacular.

Rich being ironically Byronic

Before midday we were back at the car park, bidding farewell, promising to do more of this sort of thing, and off to our families for Sunday dinner and beers. I went a much more scenic route this time, which was infinitely more pleasant on the scooter.

So, selfishly this was an absolutely fantastic little trip, and much needed. It was by far the furthest I had been away from home since the first lockdown kicked in. It was some quality social time with someone I don't see enough of. And it was a nice challenge to my walking fitness, being much hillier than my local area can provide. 

'Me, me, me...' And therein lies the problem. This camp has caused a fair bit of soul searching, before, during and after. 

There is the whole 'tide turning' vibe beforehand. Quite apart from the stories and videos, I was quite perturbed at my local branch of a slightly 'higher end' outdoors chain on the very morning before setting off. I was rattling the doors at 9am to pick up a new rucksack which I wanted to use on the trip. The young, very nice managerial chap who served me asked if I was up to anything this weekend and I divulged that I was off to The Peak District with this rucksack. Now, it's a 68 litre job so I assumed he would guess I wan't just day hiking. I asked if he'd heard about the clampdown on wild camping there and he vehemently agreed that it was a good thing, there shouldn't be anyone up there at the moment, mainly due to fire risk. I couldn't help thinking this was quite a reactionary view for the manager of a shop that sells and promotes lightweight, wild camping gear galore, including various types of stove, an hour away from Britain's first National Park. I'd personally spent hundreds of pounds there myself, on kit specifically designed for that purpose... was this a bad omen of things to come, if even the folk peddling the dream are part of the backlash?

Then there was the personal discomfort - guilt even. I felt appalled at the numpties ruining it with their poor kit, knowledge and skills, but snobbily dismissed that as not applying to me. Yet even if those types buggered off to Magaluf as soon as allowed, were there still just too many wild campers around, even responsible ones, to make the passtime sustainable and/or pass under the radar? Had it become a victim of its own success? It's very tempting to blame that on lockdown, but even before that, the amount of YouTube vids and blogs in the UK promoting it had been growing exponentially. And I, of course, was part of the problem - trying my best to make it look and sound attractive on social media at every opportunity. Me and my like had quite possibly right royally fucked it up for everyone, including folk who had just quietly and modestly been getting on with it, to little fanfare, for decades.

And then from a pandemic point of view, as someone who still hasn't been in a pub beer garden or cafe yet, or gone to another town, had learnt to 'stay local' and find solitary spots on my own doorstep - what the hell was I doing swanning off to The Peak District of all places, the wild camping playground, barely a fortnight after a complete ban on that sort of thing was lifted? I've tried to exercise a 'just because they say you can, doesn't mean you should - yet anyway' air of caution throughout all this mess, but when it came to a wild camp with a mate I threw all caution to the wind, adding my presence to the entitled hordes who feel they deserve to live a little. Me and my fun before the possible greater good -  not just of fighting the pandemic, but also protecting our beautiful wild spaces.

Essentially, it's the classic battle between self interest and communal (and environmental) responsibility that so many of us must feel these days. Whilst I don't have any definite answers to quell my concerns, all I can say is that I had a great time whilst I was there, which of course doesn't really help with the bigger question one bit. But it does mean that I can at least feel safe in thanking Rich for providing an opportunity to enjoy a stunning place in great company.

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© R. Lane 2021

Oatcakes & Plum Porter - A Very Staffordshire Bivvy Camp

 

Thursday 22nd April 2021

Well so much for getting back to regular camping and writing eh? Just a few days after the camp in my last post 6 months ago I got Covid. And so did my wife and daughter. It knocked us all about in different ways but I was tired, breathless and weak for a good few weeks, during which time the 2nd lockdown kicked in, and has pretty much been in place until last week. During the brief time my area was in 'Tier 3' (remember the tiers?) around Christmas I did have a fantastically lucky local camp in the snow. We got locked down again properly the very next day.

Anyway, as the death toll thankfully eased due to such measures and increasing vaccinations, exactly when the long winter of discontent ended for wild campers in the UK was the subject of much debate. The nearest to a consensus seems to be that April 12th was when campsites opened so it was fair game from then. And I have been out three times since, in just 10 days. All local though, and on foot - easy does it!

The first was a luxurious woodland hammock camp (with a video explaining everything, hence no blog) and the second a modest 'tents on a hill' job with my son.

The third is what I'm writing about here. The weather has been very good of late - extremely dry, lots of sun, but cold - especially at night with frosts still common. Perfect for camping actually, as there is plenty of daylight, but hardly any insects yet. This abundance of time before sunset and after dawn also makes schoolnight microadventures a possibility again, and that's exactly what this was.

Home from work at 4:30, and after a bit of stressy, grumpy last minute packing (where I couldn't seem to find anything I needed) I stepped out of the door at 6pm. The walk in was only half an hour, and was to a spot I'd stumbled across on one of my lockdown wanders a few weeks earlier - a confluence of streams in a pretty inaccessible woodland. It wasn't flat or big enough for a tent really, and there weren't suitable trees for hammocks, but I hoped a bivvy bag could work.

Food and drink had a decidedly local flavour - Staffordshire oatcakes made in Stoke, some superb thick smoky bacon from the village butcher, and a drop of the famous Plum Porter brewed by Titanic in Burslem.

I was filming the cooking, so needless to say The Law Of Sod kicked in and the first oatcake was a visual disaster - a splat of congealed oat flour and cheese smeared between two rashers of bacon. Tasted nice though! I was super careful with the next two and they turned out a little more photogenic.

It was way beyond sunset when I finished all this around 9pm and the temperature dropped pretty rapidly. There was no fire of any kind this time. Merino wool thermals and other warm layers went on. Instead of a coat I've been trying out an insulated poncho liner called the 'Swagman Roll' by Polish company Helikon-Tex. It's a multi purpose bit of kit which I've also used as a sleeping bag and hammock 'overblanket'. One does tend to look a bit of a prize prannett wearing it like a coat though, so it's strictly for camps. I wouldn't wear it to Tescos for example. Or anywhere with humans. But it's very satisfying to have on - a sartorial guilty pleasure. Much like riding a moped, it's great fun until your mates find out.

Supping a dram or two of Bourbon as a nightcap in the glow of the moon and the candle lantern was very relaxing. The bubbling of the stream didn't bother me a fraction as much as I had presumed (I hadn't slept next to one since doing so induced a para trip on my very first 'nearly wild camp' two and a half years ago). There was definitely a creature of some kind rustling around in the bushes right by me though, but again I took it in my stride. It could be that I'm now a seasoned outdoorsman, but it was most probably plain old dutch courage from the booze. I hit the sack at just after midnight.

I slept pretty solidly until daylight and birdsong after 5am. The slope of the pitch did make it a bit awkward (as a result my hips ache a little now, the day after) but most importantly I was warm despite the temperature dropping to around 1°C. On both the other two camps I'd been a little chilly by morning in similar conditions, even with sleeping bags that should have coped based on their spec. Nesh boy here took no chances this time and packed the mighty Snugpak Softie Elite, my oldest sleeping bag, laughably heavy and bulky compared to my others, but still the best for this sort of thing. The thick, roomy Gore Tex British Army bivvy bag and Klymit insulated mat kept me very sheltered and cosy, even without a tarp over me. I was not troubled by any condensation whatsoever despite my breath billowing out in vapourous plumes.

I was up against the clock a bit first thing next day, as I had to get home and then off to work for 8:30. I managed to do a little more filming and brew up an instant coffee. The pack up was super efficient, taking only 15 mins for absolutely everything. Good job too, as I left at the very latest I could to make work on time - which I did - just!

I'm sure I'll be hitting The Peak District and other more scenic spots further afield before very long, but I have to say I've really enjoyed these local, on foot, unspectacular but peaceful camps. There is every bit as much of a sense of adventure in doing them in a new location for the first time. In some ways a spot like this is even more satisfying, as I can be fairly sure that nobody has been anywhere near it for years. There was no car park nearby, no rubbish, no dog muck, no fire scorches, not even any trodden paths other than those made by wildlife. Despite the road roaring away nearby, it was hard work to get to through a thick, dead, ugly brambly wood. But it was a little secret oasis for the night and I absolutely loved it.

Here's the vid I made of the camp...

© R. Lane 2021