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.
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
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