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The Broomway

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I first learnt of the Broomway when I read The Old Ways by Robert Macfarlane a few years ago. Since then I’ve always wanted to walk ‘the deadliest path in Britain’. The path stretches six miles from Great Wakering to Foulness Island across Maplin sands. Only accessible at low tide, the Broomway was the only way on and off the island until 1922. It has claimed more than 100 lives over the centuries. Today, Foulness island is owned by the Ministry of Defence, meaning that the Broomway can only be walked in good visibility and on days when munitions aren’t being tested. As soon as you reach Foulness you must turn around and walk back again.

Down the pub, I mentioned all this to the boldly goes trio and was pleasantly surprised when they invited me to walk it with them. Given the path’s fearsome reputation we made sure to do our homework. This meant encountering the story of a young man who, poaching for wildfowl one January afternoon with friends in 1969, never returned from the sands after a thick mist rolled in quickly from the North Sea. Sudden fog was definitely our main concern and we made sure to take a second compass just in case we would need to ‘steer’ ourselves back to safety. I even went out the evening before our trip to practice navigating quickly and accurately in the half-light.

On the morning of the walk we got up early and made the drive from Hertfordshire to Great Wakering in order to arrive with plenty of time to explore the Broomway before the tide turned. The forecast was good but it was an icy November morning and we were still anxious that the whole trip may yet come to nothing.

It turns out that just before you reach Wakering Stairs there’s a military checkpoint that also controls access to the Island. After asking nicely, we were allowed to drive through and park at the start of the Broomway itself. It was cold and slightly foggy, a typical North Sea morning. Less typical were the warning signs and the squat grey watchtower staring out over the tundra-like sands towards the mouth of the Thames. Visibility wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either, and we’d come a long way so we headed down the slipway and onto the sands.

You can’t actually see the destination of Foulness Island for the first few hundred yards. The Broomway heads straight out to sea. Remnants of one or two of the brooms that gave the path its name, driven into the mud centuries ago to mark a safe route, still survive. This, combined with a sea mist, the sound of geese and a distant foghorn, make those first few hundred yards amongst the most surreal experiences I’ve ever had walking in the UK.

It isn’t hard to see why Maplin Sands were once earmarked for a new London airport. They are completely flat and, as we walked away from the shore, the final inches of the old tide rushed out over our boots. Looking down was surprisingly disorientating but, luckily, the fog was beginning to lift. At this point we realised that the Broomway isn’t all that long, and that the sands didn’t appear to be a complete death trap after all. This was partly a disappointment, but it did mean that we decided to wander out to an old shipwreck visible beyond the official path.

Distances are quite hard to judge on a featureless mudflat, and unsurprisingly the shipwreck was further away than it looked. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long until we were tentatively testing the sand inside the hull (definitely unsafe) and marvelling at the size of the oysters encrusted to the wood. From the shipwreck we deviated completely from the official path, instead following a line directly between two large posts that mark the river mouth of Havengore Creek for the benefit of sailors.

Sometime after reaching the second post we headed for Foulness Island itself. We aimed for Asplins Head, one of only two slipways to the island that are still in use. At the time I thought this seemed unnecessary. After all, there wasn’t anything special about Wakering stairs, we’d simply walked down onto the sands, why couldn’t we simply walk back to shore wherever we wanted?

There turned out to be a very good reason for not simply ignoring the map and making for shore. It turns out that the Foulness shoreline is a salt marsh. Any attempt to make it to dry land sooner than Asplins Head would involve slogging through knee deep mud (at best!). You would not want to be making for Foulness Island in a thick fog with the tide at your back!

Walking up onto the Island at Asplins Head, which still involves plenty of mud and a surprising amount of wild samphire, you’re greeted by another set of warning signs and a broad view of the island. Being flat and rural it looks, at first glance, like much of England. But the fact that entry is explicitly forbidden, and the fact that you can’t see the village itself from the headway, gives the whole place a deserted and desolate feel. It reminded me of the 1960s British TV show “The Prisoner” and I half expected Rover to come bounding across the fields toward us.

After absolutely no forbidden photographs (and definitely no trespassing) we decided to head back. The mist was gone and the sands looked just as strange in the bright sunlight. Everything looked like a watercolour. Giant container ships bound for the Thames glided over a thin plane of shimmering glass between the sand and the sky as we made for the flat greeny-brown smudge of Essex.

I can honestly say that the Broomway is one of the strangest places I’ve walked in the UK. And despite the fact that Maplin sands did turn out to be a little less dangerous and a little more like a giant beach than I was expecting, I still want more. I want to walk out further and reach the Sea. I want to visit at high tide in James’ boat and I want to keep walking past Aplins head along the shore of Foulness Island. Above all I desperately want to come back and walk the Broomway at night. I’ve no doubt this this would definitely be quite dangerous but I know that it will make the sands seems even larger, even stranger, even more desolate than they already are.

Walking the Broomway also makes me think… what other tidal adventures are to be had in the UK? Well… I have some ideas already and I certainly plan on bringing them up next time in the pub with the Boldy Goes Trio.

Tips for walking the Broomway:

  1. Wellington boots are recommended. The water will easily swamp hiking boots and whilst bare feet would be fine away from the shore you do need something sturdier for Wakering stairs ands for making your way onto Foulness Island.

  2. Make sure to do your research, especially around tide times. Consult David Quentin’s Broomway website.

  3. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Just because this post makes it seem easy doesn’t mean that it will be. You should take a fully charged mobile phone but this alone is not enough. Take an OS map. Take a compass. Know how to use them and do not walk the path in poor visibility.

Coast to Coast Part 3

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“What do you do when you get bitten by a snake?” I asked Sam. We looked at each other in astounded by what had just happened. We’d both seen it so I definitely wasn’t dreaming. I’d climbed over a wire fence beside the A171 just south of Whitby having crossed a (for once dry) moor covered in purple heather and in doing so landed upon an adder. I felt a sharp sting in my ankle, as if I’d been stung by a roided up wasp or some sort of super-nettle that had been carefully cross-bred by a mad horticulturalist. I shouted out in pain and looked down to find what had caused the fast jolt of pain up my left leg. And there he was, hissing angrily. And then he was gone, never to be seen again.

Chris has sensibly walked to extra 200metres or so to find the gate rather than crossing the fence, rather sensibly, and after Sam saw what happened to those who dare to defy the clear demarcation of said fence, he opted to go the long way round. I crossed over the road, sat myself down and began inspecting the wound whilst the other made the way. Two tiny spots of blood. Not really much to write home about, and not altogether painful. But I knew adders were venomous and are potentially even lethal. Even if it was incredibly unlikely I thought I’d better give the old NHS a quick call to check what I should do. This is roughly how it went.

‘Hi, I’ve been bitten by a snake.’

‘Sorry, did you say snake?’

‘Yes, a snake.’

‘…..’

‘Let me just put you on hold….’

I got the feeling that this doesn’t happen particularly often in the UK. Another voice came over the phone.

‘Are you sure it was a Snake?’

‘Yes, pretty sure’

The call went on like this for a while, and trying to establish where I was exactly to the operator took some time. I was told that I’d have to go to hospital as they may need to give me a dose of anti-venom.

An ambulance arrived shortly after and I was promptly laid down and hooked up to heart rate monitors and the thingy that measures your blood pressure (which I’ve just learned are called sphygmomanometers), and other bits of machinery that ‘go beep’.

It took a while for the ambulance to get going as they needed to phone around the local hospitals and infirmaries to see if anyone had any anti-venom knocking about. I was imagining a dusty vial in the back of some cupboard somewhere being found by the person on the phone to the paramedics:

‘Yeah we’ve got some here, it does say best before 1986 on it though?’

Middlesbrough was out but Scarborough General had some in stock. I told the boys to go on without me and not waste a day sitting around in a hospital, the ambulance doors slammed and off we went.

The previous two days of walking had taken us from Danby Wiske and into the North York Moors. We set off slowly in the morning and had lunch in a village called Ingleby Arncliffe, we saw a few of our fellow coast to coasters from the night before in the pub as well as the local WI darts team, who were amazingly bad at darts but looked like they were having a great time putting holes in the wall. And floor. And ceiling. From there the path began to ascend to the higher plateaus of the moors, we took a shortcut through the woods and soon emerged at the top in a landscape of purple heather and boulders, and well constructed paths paved with large flagstones. To the north we were treated to incredible panoramic views that stretched out over mile after mile of farmland and villages all the way to the industrial skyline of Middlesborough looking a little bit like a good-weather version of Blade Runner (sans plumes of flames shooting into the sky).

We wild-camped that night at a picnic area that was at one of the viewpoints on the edge of the moors. There was a mountain rescue team there on a training exercise and plenty of cars but we’d been on the road long enough by this point to realise that 99% of people really don’t care if they see you camping where you’re not supposed to. We clearly weren’t going to be any trouble.

As we set off the next morning we passed two guys, both in the 6 - 7 foot height range who looked like they were waiting for someone. They sized us up as we walked passed. We were taking it slow that morning and eventually the pair, now accompanied by a third person, marched past us, no doubt feeling a little smug. We were heading for the popular midday resting spot at the Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge. If you follow the coast to coast that Wainright suggests there’s a sneaky shortcut to get the pub that shaves off about a mile of unnecessary walking. Our lanky friends who overtook us earlier looked very surprised when they arrived at the pub to find us sat with pints of beer already half emptied.

We carried on walking. More Moors. We stopped eventually in Glaisdale for yet more pub food. Once again we met our tall competitors who walked in shortly after us.

‘Finished for the day already lads?’ one of them asked. He continued.

‘We’ve still got another few miles in us yet. Reckon we’ll keep going tonight to Egmont Bridge.’

It was time to lay some truths on these suckers.

‘So where are you staying tonight?’ I asked.

‘Oh, a B&B, sounds comfortable, we’ll be camping tonight.’

I asked him about where we’d seen them earlier in the day:

‘Did you camp near where we saw you this morning?’

‘No, we were in a B&B last night’

‘Huh, must have been a long walk to get to where we saw you then?’ knowing full well that the nearest B&B’s where not in anyway near to where we’d spotted them.

‘Oh no, we got a lift from the B&B to where we saw you.’

‘Not from the packhorse I hope!’ Knowing full well that they had been getting their gear lugged about form them by the packhorse minivans having seem them loading up gear with them at Lion Inn. They looked around sheepishly.

‘Well actually, we’re not done yet. We’re camping in Grosmont tonight, just a few miles more beyond Egmont Bridge.’

At this the proverbial mic was firmly dropped. I’m not a big fan of these petty competitions that amount to little more than measurements of manhood but I took great satisfaction in demonstrating that although they had us pegged when it came to speed, we’d carried all of our gear and had camped almost every night of our trip and had certainly not hitched a ride with anyone at any point.

The next day we set out on what was supposed to be the final day of our Coast to Coast. We caught the occasional exciting glimpses of the sea and of the Whitby Abbey. But for me it wasn’t to be, the fellowship was split up and as Sam and Chris trudged the last steps to Robin Hood’s Bay and finished the walk I went to Scarborough. My symptoms fortunately didn’t get bad enough to warrant giving me the anti-venom and I was released after 12 hours in the acute observation ward. I arrived at the YHA at Whitby at dusk, the sun setting over the North Sea and draping the hard black edges of the gothic arches of the Abbey in ribbons of orange and gold light. The next morning I returned to the spot where the ambulance had picked me up and marched out the last 5 miles with a slightly sore and swollen leg.

I was eager to see the end and found myself in Robin Hood’s Bay much sooner than I had expected. I walked into the North Sea at the end of the slipway, letting the water into the tops of my shoes, and in that uneventful moment it was done. I think I’d expected some sort of feeling in that instance, like awe, or of pride, or of joy, but really it felt anti-climatic and little bit nothingy. I sat myself by the Bay Hotel and took stock of what I’d achieved, hoping for some sort of euphoria to kick in and waiting for the others to arrive. But I suppose this journey was never about the destination, the end was no more important than any other point, it was less that I had arrived somewhere but more that I had finished something. Perhaps I felt a little disappointed in the end to reach the end, I had just started to become accustomed to life on the trail just at the moment that it was over. The other arrived, and immediately I felt a lot better seeing them again. We posed for a few celebratory photos, got the obligatory excellent fish and chips, and set off home thinking of what the next adventure will be.

Coast to Coast Part 2

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I looked at the screen of my phone and saw a map of the UK. A blue dot showed (like a once amazing James Bond gadget (but now real and quite banal) where we were. It had crept tangibly across the country. The halfway point was drawing nearer as we reached Kirkby Stephen. The experience of what it had taken to get to this point defined how I felt about what was to come. The end felt further away than ever.

We stayed in an old chapel in Kirkby Stephen that was now a youth hostel and had followed the recommendation of some cyclists to go to the Mango Tree Indian where we ate heartily, stinking and as usual probably making the place look bad. Sat behind us a large table was laid for ten or so people. They arrived in dribs. Australians walking the Coast to Coast, guided by an Englishman who had sideburns that came to a carefully groomed point, as well as a goatee, and a gold earring. Even from the other side of a busy Indian restaurant and over the soft twanging sound of Sitar music it was clear to see his charisma as he held court amongst his followers. We ate to our content, not knowing that we would soon meet again.

The next day we bolted up to Nine Standards Rigg, jet propelled by last night’s curry. From there it was simply a matter of crossing the moor and walking gently along the Swale valley to the C2C halfway point at Keld at the aptly named Halfway House Pub. From Nine Standards there is no path across the moor, instead the map merely offers some suggestions, one for winter, summer and spring and autumn. We soon caught up to the group of Australians from the restaurant following their guide in a single file line. We casually followed behind in their footsteps intending to zip past them when the opportunity arose under the vain assumption that we would be much faster than the group of ageing ozzies. How wrong we were. We all followed with hiking poles in each hand, heads turned, cowering from the whipping wind whilst our charismatic guide walked slowly and stoically, hands in pockets and upright, as he meandered across the boggy moor, up and down, and over great ripped up tussocks of black peat like some abandoned battlefield. You could see him occasionally stopping to read the terrain and assessing the best path across the desolate mire. His guidance saved us from spending what morale we had in us on making it across this deceptively challenging landscape and left us we enough left to make the rest of our planned hike that day. It was interesting to experience how much mental and emotional energy we saved by following someone who knew the moor well. When the burden of responsibility is relinquished from you and given to someone with knowledge and experience with how to face that particular challenge it affords you a sense of security that can otherwise be energy-expensive.

One foot in front of the other, the moor subsided and we descended into Swaledale. We walked along the russet, iron-stained water of the Swale for mile after mile bathed in the orange light of the evening sun with our hearts set on reaching Reeth and our feet protesting every step. I remember finding it hard to savour the last two miles of this day despite being in one of the most idyllic parts of the country. I was pining for pints and pub food.

We reached Reeth and found a pub. We stayed rather too long enjoying ourselves and missed the check in at the Youth Hostel. It was to be a wild camping night. Because I’m daft I proposed that we camp in the village bus shelter, a large stone walled and tile-roofed shack beside the village green. Plus sides being: 20 yards from the pub, no need to pitch tents, next to public conveniences (a luxury to those doing C2C on the cheap). Downsides - frowned upon behaviour. We shiftily set up in the bus shelter shortly after last orders and were back on the road by first light.

We reached Richmond and saw the last of the Dales, from there you cross the Vale of York, a broad stretch of flat land that lies beneath the Moors. The Coast to Coast guidebook advises walkers not to rush this easy section of the walk, but instead to savour its beauty with relative ease. The person who wrote this advice did not factor in the iffy nature of the British summer. The rain came around noon and when it rained it poured, as it does. I mean really poured, like so wet. Like, so rainy. I still don’t fully understand what a hydrostatic head is in reference to waterproof clothing, but I can only assume that on that day the hydrostatic heads of my garments were decisively breached. So this section was indeed rushed, there was to be no savouring here.

Geographically this was the lowest point of our journey and emotionally it was too. If the steep inclines of the lakes where a test of our legs, this was a test of our mental fortitude. But it’s just a bit of rain right? What’s the problem? It’s just like normal but wetter. As long as I don’t get hyperthermia, which I know won’t, there’s no problem. Just a bit wet, that’s all. These were my mantras that ran around my head keeping the rain from bothering me too much. Eventually the light at the end of the tunnel came in the form of a pub. There were faces in the windows looking out as we trudged our final steps, dripping wet. The pub was full of Coast to Coasters drying out from their walks like us. There was a line of boots in front of a fireplace drying out that belonged to two Yorkshire women in their 60s, lively and looking like characters from a Calendar Girls spin-off, an American mother-daughter duo, a group of which the only person I can recall now was a man with a comically high pitched voice, and a young English couple, who were frustrated by their unnecessarily slow-paced itinerary; they’re due to finish later this year. I walked up to the bar and ordered pints for our weary souls from a man with a 1000-yard stare, looking like he’d seen too much in Vietnam, or that he’d sampled too much LSD when he working as a roadie for the Grateful Dead. I asked if they get a lot of coast to coasters, a daft question in hindsight but I was reaching for anything to crack through the awkward silence, he replied with with tangible disdain ‘That’s all we get’. I apologised for the inconvenience and took the beers back to Sam and Chris, easily half-dead by this point.

We were going to wild camp that night until we learned that the pub offered its garden as a camp-spot. The next day was to mark the final hurdle. The Yorkshire Moors were just a few miles away, sloping steeply up from the vale. The halfway point was quickly falling far behind us and the end was near. My hopes of reaching the end point were almost completely scuppered as I was carted off in an ambulance 5 miles before the end point. But you’ll have to wait until next time to find out what happened! Ooh what a lame tease!

Photo Story: Coast to Coast Part 1

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1. It was the Best of Times, it was the Blurst of Times

This is Sam and me at the beginning of the coast to coast walk in St. Bees, a minor village on the west coast of Cumbria. Above us is a profile map of the route, an abstract squiggle to most, but for those who’ve walked the 192 mile route across England it is an unforgettable reminder of the ups and downs the path brings. I squiggled all over this photo from the comfort of a Youth Hostel bed at the Whitby priory having *almost finished the epic walk. It speaks of my state of mind at the end of this journey: there were a number of challenging parts to this trip that nearly scuppered us completely, on the other hand, there were apparently only three vaguely remembered ‘stupidly good views’ and no other positive moments of note? Surely there was more to it than that? Surely we didn’t just suffer for 192 miles walking for nothing? Surely?

2. The Route

The route that Alfred Wainwright put together takes you across the entirety of the Lake District, the Pennines, the Vale of York, and lastly, the North York Moors. Although well trodden and very well known, Alf’s Coast to Coast route is not a national path and is therefore not signposted particularly consistently. Navigational skills are in fact required. Cicerone do make a booklet with excerpts of the pertinent segments of the 10 or-so OS maps that cover the journey.

3. Humble Beginnings

In the beginning there were four. Harvey and Tom had joined Sam and me for the first couple of days of the walk, walking from St. Bees to Grasmere (Grazmere?/Grarsemere?). We had caught the train at the crack of dawn up to Leeds, where we denied a pint at 8.54am and were told to return in six minutes. Wetherspoons: I actually think I’m surprised. We then took the beautiful journey from Leeds to Carlisle and then the rickety one from Carlisle to St. Bees. We arrived in St.Bees by 3pm and were eager to crack on. We dipped our toes in the very edge of the wild and foreboding Irish Sea (even paddling would have been genuinely life threatening) and set off.

From St.Bees the path takes you along high red sandstone cliffs, leading towards the lighthouse which marks the most western tip of Cumbria. The elements had treated us to beautiful blue skies with one hand but whipped us with a hard wind with the other. I followed the others, filled with anticipation.

These first foot steps of an adventure fill me with thoughts of excitement as well as doubt. I wondered, privately, whether fate would break our stride; whether my ankle would hold out, or whether I’d be able keep up with the others. At the same time I was glad to finally be there on the path, having looked forward to it for so long. I have learned to appreciate that these steps are, in one respect, among the hardest of all: it’s easy to dream of adventures, and equally easy to put them off, ‘until next summer’, ‘until I have the savings’, ‘until I have the time’, ‘until x,y, and z’. A plethora of practicalities stand between us and the realisation of our ambitions. Indeed, finding yourself making first step on your adventure symbolises that half the battle is already won. The worries of everyday life can’t stop you now, from the beginning of the journey to its end, your only challenge is keep moving towards your goal, one foot in front of the other. Here we were, we’d finally made it, we’d planned, prepared, planned some more and at last set off on a grand adventure.

4. Three Pieces of Advice

  1. Do bring Sudocrem, or some such like, for alleviating chafing after a long day’s hike.
  2. Do bring a small bottle of hot sauce to pep up bland trail meals.
  3. Do not allow hot sauce to get on hands prior to applying sudocrem.

Enough said? Enough said.

The Trials and Tribulations of Day Two

We had wild camped just on the edge of the Lake District on our first night. Where once the hills had loomed in the distance, the morning light of our second day had revealed the hills right before us. We were to head past England’s most remote youth hostel at Black Sail (which we visited back in May). We even caught up with the Warden there: James, who is a man of legendary levels of safeness. We will meet again, James! From there, we climbed up and out of the Ennerdale valley, to Honister pass, bypassing the standard stop at Rosthwaite and heading instead up Greenup Gill, past the memorial for Gordon Hallworth, towards Grasmere, where we’d say goodbye to Tom and Harvey and say hello to Chris, who was to join us for the remainder of the walk.

This was to be one of those hikes that would get the better of us. In the final hours of our walk a dour rain had begun to fall our and energy levels had depleted in the content neglect of knowing there was not much further to go. We did have plenty of food with us, mostly in the form of the solid rocket boosters that are PB+J wraps (which will get you up a mountain if you can stomach them). We dodged then waded, pathless, through the bog at the top of Greenup Edge, whereby we caught our first glimpse of Chris, or at least what we thought might be Chris. A tiny speck in the valley beneath us, moving slowly along the path. I wolf-whistled, and the figure paused, scanned around the mountain side and continued moving. Had he heard us? We trudged down the path, (myself, certainly) growing increasingly grouchy in our eighteenth mile of the day. Eventually, and luckily, we found Chris, who had already scouted out a spot to camp, ‘it’s just up this small hill’, I nearly collapsed in protest at the thought.

I fell into my tent once I’d shonkily put it up, chowed down on some highly fragrant Chorizo and then promptly passed out.

When I awoke, glad that our most arduous day was behind us, outside my tent I could hear footsteps. I unzipped the door to see Sam pacing. I asked him for the time, to which he answered ‘it’s about half-past bleeeuurrrghh’, Sam had spewed a great stream of steaming brown chunder mid sentence. I slowly zipped up my tent door.

6. In Sickness and in Health

We reached Grasmere early that morning and gathered around a cafe table in the rain. Harvey and Tom were about to depart on a bus and Sam was still very unwell. Sam considered calling it a day and heading for home too. I, however, wouldn’t have it. we’d planned to do this trip for months and I knew it would have eaten away at Sam if he had returned home so early in the trip. We instead booked ourselves into the youth hostel where we could wait for Sam’s sickness to pass. I must admit I was worried about him, and hoped that I’d done the right thing in urging him not to go home.

Tom and Harvey had said their goodbyes and Chris, Sam and I headed to the hostel. We soon found ourselves plonked in a pleasingly over-warm lounge, blearily lazing about, no doubt making the place look bad. Sam caught up with some much needed sleep whilst Chris and I explored the mish mash of books on the bookshelf. I learned a lot about the history of the Silk Road that day. Then, as the evening drew in, a feeling of impending doom came over me. ‘Uh-oh’, I thought to myself. ‘Nausea!’, I exclaimed. Chris concurred that this was indeed a word of Greek origin (as we were mid talk about words derived from Latin and Greek, of which he is an expert), ‘No,’ I replied, ‘I’m feeling nauseous!’. Chris kindly reassured me and attempted to distract me but it was no-dice. This was happening.

I had suffered the same fate as Sam, some mystery bug had got the better of both of us. We were to spend another night in Grasmere, this time waiting for me to recover.

7. On the Road Again

After having been stuck in Grasmere purgatory for 2 days, 3 for Chris, it was a welcome feeling to be on the trail again. As I look back in my memory, this day’s walking for me was my favourite of all. We hiked up-and-over towards Patterdale, and then made the reasonably steady ascent to Kidsty Pike, the highest point of our trip standing at 780m, not huge but still not to be sniffed at.

The Lake’s were at their best this day, more beautiful than I’ve ever seen them before. One thing you notice here is that you can spend hours looking upon the same hillsides, and then as you reach a summit, your vista is in seconds completely transformed, each time as if you’ve found a new world. As you reach the top of Kidsty, and catch sight of the land that lies beyond it, your horizons are suddenly incredibly distant as the rugged, edged hills of Cumbria relent into the porous limestone plateaus that stretch all the way to Nine Standards Rigg beyond Kirkby Stephen some 30 miles away. It was bloody lovely, it was. But we couldn’t hang about, night was drawing in and we needed find a good spot to camp, so we sloshed our way down the hill towards Haweswater and set about looking a spot to pitch-up.

8. Five Star Wild Camping

What’s this? A walled grove of trees with a stone firepit? I had ran up ahead to have a quick look to see if there was a decent place to pitch up for the night. Within 30 seconds I’d gestured back with a thumbs up to the others. Sometimes a wild camp spot can end up being a bit of a ‘this will have to do’ situation; with uneven ground, not very out of sight, trespassing etc. But this wasn’t the case here. This was five star wild camping, every criteria for a great spot was met and more. Ok maybe there were a lot of midges now I think of it, but I’m willing to look past this.

9. Honesty and Generosity

The occasional trove of goodies such as this appear throughout the journey. They are great and I like them very much. Thanks Thomas Richardson! This particular box of goodies can be found on the eastern side of Naddle Bridge a few miles from Shap.

10. From Swaledale’s to Texel’s

One of the greatest joys of walking long distance is seeing the landscape around you gradually changing. Having hiked out of the Lake District along the shores of Haweswater reservoir we found ourselves in a completely different environment. Most noticeably, the land was much flatter, and much drier and dotted with lots of natural springs bubbling out of limestone cracks. There were other differences too, for example, we began to notice that Sheep had changed from the haggard and ugly Swaledale’s you find psyching you out halfway up any given fell, chewing gormlessly as you pant your way slowly up the hillside, and given way to much more daft looking Texel Sheep with their squashed faces that look quite cheerful in their ignorance of what’s in store for them.

We’d passed by Shap which was teeming with people taking part in one of these self-flagellating uber-marathons that have added cargo nets, walls, and spike pits (probably). We spent a good while watching them, a good way to pass time as we rested up. For it was to be one of those days where the pit-stops were all made in record time, each lasting longer than the last. Tiredness was again playing its part, and towards the end of the day and we wound up camping where our legs finally gave in. Luckily this happened to be on the high side of a broad valley overlooking the northern end of the Yorkshire Dales which were draped in the orange light of the setting sun and followed by the silver light of a full moon.

Stay tuned for the next part of our Coast to Coast adventure…..

Q&A with Ray Mears

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Ray Mears needs no introduction. We are all familiar with his superb TV programmes and books from over the years covering survival, bushcraft, history, and even foraging. This Autumn Ray will be touring the UK with his show ‘Born To Go Wild’, which your can find out more about here. Here at Boldy Goes we were particularly excited when we heard about Ray’s tour and thought we’d catch up with him before he hits the road later this year.

Ray has been a pivotal figure in laying down the foundations for us ultimately making this website dedicated to bringing stories of adventures in the wilder corners of Britain, and further afield. We met the opportunity of talking with Ray with all the zeal of your quintessential ‘Trekkie’, or a ‘Trackie’ perhaps?……..

Ray Mears Born To Go Wild will be at theatres around the UK from 8 October You can check the tour dates and book here now!

Here’s a few questions we put to Ray when we spoke to him.

Boldy Goes: I remember your TV series ‘Wild Food’ fondly, I did notice however, that your co-presenter Professor Gordon Hill, never seemed to enjoy the food eaten on the show as much as you did. What, if ever, has been enough to induce from you a Hill-esque grimace upon eating?

Ray Mears: Gordon was wonderful to work with, I have many fond memories of experimental wild food meals that we tried some successful and a few others not so successful. There have been a few things that have made me grimace, the sight of a toredo worm being the most memorable, a long slimy insipid white worm like mollusc that bores into ships timbers and dead mangrove trees. Strangely enough it tasted deliciously like crab sandwich spread with a hint of chilli.

What are you excited about right now? And what’s next?

I am excited about being home planning future projects, enjoying being home with my wife and being out in the glorious British countryside. Right now I am preparing for the Born to go Wild tour.

Your new UK tour, Born to go Wild runs from 8th October through to the end of November and travels all around the country. Would you be able to talk a little bit about what we can expect from the show?

Yes, in the first half I am going to talk about and demonstrate skills particularly fire skills exploring why it has been important to humanity and what it still means in really wild places. In the second half I will explore the importance of watching and learning about wild life, with examples from recent filming expeditions in Australia.

You’ve travelled the world, seen it in its most extreme and hostile forms and have been to our planet’s pockets of paradise. Where is your favourite place to visit time and again? Where is a place you don’t want to return to?

It is really hard to single out one particular place there are so many and so very varied. Certainly Canada, Australia and Africa have called me back many times but equally there are the remote islands of the pacific or the country trails of the U.S.A.

While outside you often allude to the “inner silence” you find while becoming part of the forest. You have gleaned many technical skills from bushcraft masters all over the globe, but who are your biggest influences on the spiritual side of being outdoors?

That is a really difficult question, I have encountered many varied spiritual perspectives on life. Personally, I would say I have found the strongest connection with many of the spiritual beliefs demonstrated by the First Nations in Canada and the United States, although what I have learned from my visits with Australian Aboriginal communities has been fascinating and mind expanding.

When you make a programme who are you trying to please?

When I make a film with aboriginal people, they are my target audience. I want them to be happy with the way they are represented on screen. I was once stopped by an Inuit man in Yellowknife Canada. He recognised me from the TV and said, ‘I like your programmes they tell things how they really are.’ It was the best praise I have ever received, he then went on to share a skill of fire making in the tundra with me that was of immense benefit just a few days later.

Did you know that you were/are my childhood hero? Without your TV shows and books my life and experiences would have been much less rich. Not really a question, I just wanted to say thanks!

Thank you

Can the Boldly Goes boys and I come camping with you sometime?

Yes please do, let’s plan something.

Ray Mears Born To Go Wild will be at theatres around the UK from 8 October, you can check the tour dates and book here now!

Managing Diabetes in the mountains

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I’m a walker and have been since I can remember. From tottering up the bottom section of the Watkin path on Snowdon at age two, to organising a three-day trek in Snowdonia at age fifteen, I have always felt at home exploring the mountains. By my early thirties I had walked extensively in Snowdonia as well completing hikes in the Lake District, Peak District and Scotland. I have a kind of obsession with Snowdon and have summited forty-two times by a number of different route combinations. Hiking and scrambling have always been my escape. When life gets tough, I run away to the mountains and am always renewed.

Then, last year, I got really ill. I was rapidly losing weight and became so weak that the most basic everyday activity became extremely difficult. I would drop things and regularly lost my balance when walking. My eyesight also began to deteriorate. There were other symptoms too, which I shall not go into detail here. I was in denial. For months, my situation worsened, but who wants to admit the fact that there may be something seriously wrong? I explained it away in my head. It must be work. I was a new teacher and extreme tiredness is par for the course in this profession. I eventually saw a doctor who, after testing my blood glucose level, told me I had to go to hospital immediately. That night I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes and kept in overnight on an insulin drip. On release, my condition did not improve as expected and, to cut a long story short, I was diagnosed with Pernicious Anaemia, Hypothyroidism and Polycythaemia over the next few months. The latter three conditions are all easily treated with injections and prescription drugs, but Diabetes is a life-changer!

Diabetes management is a complex thing and can be overwhelming to start with. I wondered if I would ever be able to hike again. In Type 1 Diabetes the body is not able to produce its own insulin. Insulin is a hormone that basically transports glucose from your blood into your cells for energy. As the body is no longer able to regulate blood glucose levels, this must be done ‘manually’. This is the tricky bit. If blood glucose rises too high it results in hyperglycaemia, which if occurs too frequently over an extended period of time, leads to all sorts of scary complications such as blindness, kidney failure, heart failure, nervous system failure, basically ‘everything failure’. Low blood glucose, hypoglycaemia, if untreated, leads to diabetic coma and death. The difficulty in keeping blood glucose levels within an acceptable range is that there are so many factors that influence it. Generally speaking, carbohydrates raise blood glucose and insulin lowers it. Exercise is a big factor too and it was this that was the biggest concern for me. Exercise dramatically lowers blood glucose levels and can easily lead to hypoglycaemia.

Diabetes however would not beat me. Steve Redgrave, diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes at age 35, said: “Diabetes has to live with me, not me live with it”. I took inspiration from this and from other professional sports people with the condition. Progress was slow. During my early recovery period, I would walk one mile in the field behind my home, slowly. I would work out how many Jelly Babies I needed to compensate for the energy expended. One Jelly Baby has five grams of carbohydrates and would allow me to walk for fifteen minutes without my blood glucose dropping too far. I wondered what people might think seeing a man out walking for exercise and replacing the calories expended immediately by eating sweets as he walked! In time, I extended my walk to two miles and switched the Jelly Babies for snacks with a lower glycaemic index (slower conversion from carbohydrates to glucose). I became more confident and the fear lessened the more I experimented.

Six months after diagnosis I decided to go big. Snowdon was waiting. But I needed to be careful. This was a big step (I’ve never been a very patient person). There was no chance I would be doing this on my own so I recruited my two brothers, both experienced hikers. I chose a route that neither of them had done before, ‘The Rollercoaster’. A 10-hour walk involving five peaks and a lot of up and down in between. As well as the usual map, waterproofs, spare fleece and water, my pack this time (and ever since) included a lot of carbohydrate snacks, glucose tablets and glucose test strips. Blood glucose levels were checked at least every hour and carbohydrates regularly eaten. On a few occasions, blood glucose dropped a bit low and glucose tablets were required but overall, the diabetes was managed and the trip was successful. I could even justify a very unhealthy feast in the summit café. Energy levels were good throughout and the future was now brighter.

Since diagnosis seventeen months ago, I have completed eighteen peaks in the UK and a winter hike on the lower slopes of the Eiger North Face. There are still challenges. My blood glucose monitor does not work in sub-zero temperatures during winter walks and diabetes changes during the early years, so treatment routines need to be adjusted. I continue to be inspired by others with the condition. In 2015 a guy named Jerry Gore, a type 1 diabetic in his fifties, made a speed ascent of the north face of the Eiger, still one of the most dangerous climbs around. Fortunately, I still have my escape. I can go to the mountains and with some additional care, can wander to my heart’s content.

Hiking the GR20

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The GR20 is 180km, and when Googled is described as ‘the toughest long distance trail in Europe’. Starting in the northwest of Corsica and running over the mountainous spine of the island, and ending in the southeast. There are dozens of GR (or Grande Randonnée) footpaths all over France, Spain, and other parts of Europe.

I knew none of this when asked if I would like to accompany my friend Neil on the trail. We were on a caving expedition in the Austrian Alps. He was about to embark on a five-day underground camp, but was already thinking about his next adventure. I’d been in the mountains of the Picos De Europa in Northern Spain the month before, so felt fairly fit. Neil had spent the past month climbing at altitude in France and Switzerland, but I might be able to just about keep up. He had no one to hike with anyway and I had nothing planned when back in the UK, so thought why not? I’d not hiked two days in a row since the Duke of Edinburgh weekend in Derbyshire aged thirteen, but how hard could it be?

I booked my flights, slightly concerned that we seemed to have only allowed for twelve days hiking, when most people took 15 to 16.

A lady kindly let us shelter under her porch during a storm. She even brought us coffee out!

Side notes:

  • Instigating impromptu parties the night before sleeping on the floor of Gatwick Airport about to hike across an entire country is NOT recommended.
  • Putting your new tent up for the first time, in a thunderstorm, only to discover the poles supplied are for a tent twice its size, is a bad idea.
  • Wearing short shorts makes it remarkably easy to hitch a ride to the start of the trail. The locals are friendly and happy to help anyway.
View from day 1 camp.

The first day’s hiking went well- the terrain was steep but not technical and our campsite had an excellent view. I’d brought a tiny 2/3 length inflatable matt that was dismissed on site as a poor choice. I however viewed it as a good one when Neil was forced to wake up each night to re-inflate his cushy thick roll matt that turned out to have a slow puncture.

We thought to get a head start on the first uphill section of day two, and do it in the cool of the morning. We set off at an alarmingly early 6am, headtorches on. Unfortunately, what is relatively easy navigation in daylight- simply look for the red and white painted markers- becomes much harder before the sun has risen. After several false trails and backtracks, it was decided that the extra hours sleep made much more sense.

The northern half of the GR20 is predominantly steep rocky paths, boulder hopping, and scrambling. Technical but fun, and making one very grateful for walking poles. Corsica is gorgeous, and from up high you get at least one glimpse of the sea most days. This does however give the impression of not getting anywhere fast- why can we still see it?? There are many beautiful clear rivers and streams running through the mountains. We were using chlorine tablets, but the locals seemed to just drink straight from the stream. After a hot sweaty day we washed our clothes and ourselves in the river by our camp. It felt great but it’s debatable what’s better: clothes that smell of sweat or clothes that smell of sweat and river water.

We quickly picked up a routine. You cultivate a very particular way of setting up your sleeping area, the order things are done in, who does which task. Up at 6 (6:30 if we’re honest), munch down two bland packaged pain au chocolat, get out of your one set of sleeping clothes, into your one (and increasingly smelly) set of walking clothes. Brace for getting out of the cosy sleeping bag and pack up camp as fast as possible. We’d generally stop for lunch about 12, then push on to the next night’s camp site for 2-5pm, depending on how long that leg was. We made great time on the uphill sections. Unfortunately a year-old skiing injury to my knee made the downhill painful and relatively slow going, but we were still on course for our time limit.

The food situation was expectedly monotonous. Either smash, pasta, or couscous, with tuna (not good) or chorizo (much better), a carrot, and stock cubes. Followed by two chocolate biscuits each. Lunch was bread and cheese. Unfortunately the Corsicans are fond of a very strong, (and very expensive when up at mountain huts) goat’s cheese. It feels particularly sad to be forcing down something that tastes awful, that you know cost you 15 euros, but you need the calories.

Some of the steep bits of rock have chains on to help pull yourself up, others don’t.

We reached the midpoint of Vizzavona at the end of day 6. The village there is tiny, but felt strange after being out of civilization even for such a short time. We took a day off to catch the train to Corte for a break and to restock on food.

So on we continued, knowing the southern half of the trail was meant to be easier, or at least slightly less rugged and mountainous. Though by that time I had stopped thinking ‘just got to get to the top of that hill’. It’s pointless when you know there will just be another one after it.

It doesn’t take long to really miss life’s little luxuries. You don’t realise the joy of sitting on a clean toilet until you and your walking companion both have dodgy stomachs; waiting your turn for the trowel and rationing the last of the loo roll.

The first few days were spent counting down: one day down, loads still to go; two days down, loads still to go. As the end drew nearer I became more focused on the stunning scenery and appreciated the simplicity of just walking each day. I would take my turn on the kindle each evening for half an hour, then be asleep before nine, Neil not much further behind.

The worst part of the southern half was the shortage of water points. There was a night where we went to sleep thirsty, having to ration our water, woke up thirsty, then hiked a couple of hours uphill and in the heat of the sun before we found a dribble running down the rock. Luckily we had a filter straw so took turns sucking up moisture, not bothering to stop for breath. Thirst definitely brought me to my grumpiest. I began fantasising about an ice cold Orangina for hours on end. The final day was a draught day. The last village we’d been in we had taken turns going to the shop and buying a ‘luxury’ item. Neil chose Haribo. I chose a big ripe pear each, for which Neil mocked me. But on that final day when we had no water and the sun was creating an oven out of the valley, that pear was the juiciest, best pear I’ve ever eaten.

Neil sucking water from a rock.

The end of the GR20 is fairly anticlimactic. You end up in a small, not very attractive town. But we were happy to be done nonetheless. Ten and a bit days of hiking brought us in well under guidebook time. We had met one of the managers of a mountain hut and discovered that he ran it in three days, but we were still pretty pleased. It’s definitely inspired me to look for another long distance trail to take up. We met a couple out there who were planning the PCT, maybe one day.

Sitting round the pool at our fancy main town campsite the night before our flight, another friend messaged me asking why I wasn’t coming up to Skye the next day. I needed a rest, but the adventure bug was still biting so I booked a connecting flight to Glasgow then and there.

Lessons learnt: Take more than one loo roll between two people, for two weeks. A needle and thread is very handy for stitching together broken tents. It’s a great way to lose weight, I’ve never seen so many of my ribs! And grab every opportunity that presents itself.

All photos taken by Neil Cox

A wild tea tasting session

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Hiding in plain sight along every hedge row in England is an underutilised wealth of flavour. Each year from late July to September a separate crop of “weeds” ripens in the gaps between fields of corn and peas and rots on the vine, almost entirely ignored both by farmers and the general population. Most people are not even aware that the fruit exists and some who are are put off by the thought that foraging near fields might be seen as stealing, but actually as long as you are picking for personal consumption you are protected by the law in England and Wales.

"A person who picks mushrooms growing wild on any land, or who picks flowers, fruit or foliage from a plant growing wild on any land, does not (although not in possession of the land) steal what he picks, unless he does it for reward or for sale or other commercial purpose."
- The England and Wales Theft Act 1968

Last summer, James and I decided to spend some time searching for and tasting some hedgerow delicacies, we were pleasantly surprised by what we found in a very short space of time. We started with the more common forageable plants and chose tea as the medium by which to explore the flavours as it is easily prepared with the most basic camping equipment, requires no extra ingredients and no messy preparation or clean up.

We prepared each tea in the same way; by simply adding the foraged item to hot water, sometimes lightly crushing or tearing it first so that brewed faster.

We began with Blackberries, these sweet fruits are easily spotted on brambles all over the country and are tasty straight off of the plant. Brewing a handful in to two cups of hot water provides a sweet and light flavour with an aftertaste dominated by tannins which stays with you for some time and really wakes you up. Brewed with more berries, the sugars override the astringent aftertaste and make something we really recommend, especially when you are cold and need a pick-me-up in the woods.

Sweet and slightly tangy, it would be most welcome on a cold morning or once left to cool, enjoyed as a cordial on a summer's day.

Next we picked some leaves from a Hawthorn bush, tore them up and added them with a few seeded berries to boiling water. This tea did not smell particularly appetising and tasted about the same, quite earthy, bitter but with some of the apple-y notes that the leaves provide when chewed raw. I took some of the berries home and dried them above my boiler; the dried berries made for a much sweeter tea, but it wasn’t really worth the work.

Our final and surprisingly palatable tea came from the abundant wild spearmint supply in the meadow the other side of the hedgerow. We expected to taste mint straight away, but there is actually a sweet and aromatic tangy flavour more like celery first, followed by an airy spearmint aftertaste. We would definitely recommend this tea, mostly because it is so easy to prepare and tastes incredible, but also because it always seems to grow in the best sunny spots in meadows covered in butterflies and bumblebees. After all, the best foraging brings you to a new beautiful place physically as well as culinarily.

The spearmint tea left us with a refreshed feeling and a hankering for a Polo.

Once you start looking for tasty treats in the undergrowth a foraging Baader-Meinhof effect kicks in quite quickly, soon you’ll be spotting food in places you have driven past every day for years and begin wondering why no-one else has noticed this before. We picked everything we needed to make these teas and more from a single hedgerow on one side of a field in Hertfordshire.

This year I am fully prepared and have been on the lookout for flowers and other tell tale signs of a soon-to-be ripening feast in some hedges and trees while running. I have marked several spots I think are developing well on my OS map and plan to bring you some more tasting sessions and recipe ideas later in the season.

Remember not to over do it with any foraged fruit and plants, not only because you should leave some for the local wildlife and re-seeding for next year, but also because some foraged fruits contain chemicals that can be both beneficial and detrimental to your health. If you have any ongoing medical conditions check with a doctor before you try some of these teas!

24 hours in the Peak District: Summer Solstice Camp

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As the night drew gently in, a string of red lights lit up, reaching one by one higher into the sky. The transmitting station at Holme Moss stands as-the-crow-flies only 3 miles away from our camp spot high up on the side of Laddow Rocks, a rocky outcrop at the northern end of the Peak District. Further away to the east, the headlights of cars passing across the top of Langsett Moor streamed around the meandering bends of the A628. An Airbus A380 passed overhead, bound for Manchester. Yet, as is so often the case for those wild camping, we had somehow found ourselves a small pocket of wilderness; a bastion within a land of creeping bricks and tarmac.

It was the day of the summer solstice when we drove from Hertfordshire up the M1 and into the peaks, passing Chesterfield’s crooked and twisted church spire, looking like some elaborate set for a movie. We took a diversion to stop at Alpkit’s new flagship store at Hathersage where we picked up a couple of bits of new kit, namely the Alpkit Numo and a new Sawyer water filter, which we will be reviewing in the coming weeks. The shop, by the way, is very cool, and well worth the visit if you’re into your camping and hiking. I have to say their tents look excellent in the flesh and made a much more resounding impression with me and Sam in store than they had done on the website.

We made our purchases and hit the road, heading towards Crowden where we parked the car and made the 3 mile hike up to the Laddow rocks. The first part of our hike was done under a cloudless sky, the sheep had retreated from their pastures and were lazing beneath the few copses of trees that lined the path. Thankfully, as our path began to get steeper the clouds rolled in, offering some respite from the searing heat. A large bird of prey flew past, barely using its wings as it soared over us. We ruled out the usual suspects, too slender to be a Buzzard, too large for a Sparrowhawk and certainly not a Red Kite. Perhaps a Hen Harrier, maybe even a Montagu’s? We steadily reached the top of the crags of Laddow Rocks and it was time to start scouting for our spot: a small sheltered cave on the face of the crags used mostly by climbers. We had learned of the spot from a Reddit post and quickly put it on the list of places we wanted to go. It was hard to get any specific details about how to find the spot and it was up to us to keep our eyes peeled for a likely looking path to get to the cave. Fortunately we found the route down to the cave without too much difficulty.

There is just enough room in the cave for two people to camp in and there are a number of rocks and ledges that make for good seats and cubby holes for putting your gear. All in all a very cozy spot with an amazing view of the valley below, and best of all completely free! We had worried on the journey about the possibility that some other equally enlightened wild campers may already have nabbed the cave for themselves but luckily there was no sign of any other people when we arrived (in fact, in our whole trip we only saw two other people) apart from a silver plastic bag secured under a rock in the cave. Inside was a small blue visitor’s book and a biro, I opened it up to read the entries to find that we were the first people to find the book and the only other entry was written by the person that left the notebook behind just a few days prior.

The heat wave was passing and in its wake came the storm clouds, the sky was rich with orange and yellow hued clouds, towering up like distant rugged mountain ranges. We were well sheltered by the rocks as we watched the weather draw in. This was it, the circled day on the calendar, the summer solstice, a wonderful time to be camping and enjoying the long days and short, never-quite-dark nights. This camp also marked the antithesis of the night we had spent on the Norfolk coast last December, on the winter solstice, which you can read about here, where the inky night was heavy presence that defined the experience, an experience seldom had in the age of electric light. But tonight symbolised the summer, a time when our environment is at its most forgiving and bountiful, a time which has been celebrated by the peoples of Britain for thousands of years.

I have written of having a digital detox before, where I proclaim that taking 24 hours to switch off from the hyperconnectivity of modern life is a refreshing and revitalizing experience and something I would highly recommend to anyone and everyone to try at least once. Camping on the face of a cliff in the Peak District is perhaps the epitome of this notion. And I felt that in this time of division and uncertainty in Britain, a time that has been testing my faith in this country and the people who run it, just spending some time outside at the mercy of our environment and time spent with friends is a subtle but enriching experience. So get out there and try it, forget the campsite, forget the law, just find yourself a pocket of Britain’s remaining wilderness and enjoy it in all its glory!

Going Ultralight: Refining the Essential

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Having taken preliminary action in the first article we have established a decent starting point for an ultralight base weight. Depending on the quality and cost of your existing gear you should have a current base weight somewhere close to mine, perhaps even lighter. From here there is still a surprising amount of weight to be saved just by customising what we have already. In this installment I will be making small weight reductions in several places, retaining all of the functionality and spending very little indeed. Scissors are an ultralighter’s best friend!

First up, water; there are some easy reductions to be made here simply by switching to retail plastic water bottles. The hiker’s favorite brand seems to be Smart Water at the moment due to the fact that the thread of the bottle top matches perfectly with Sawyer filtration products, and the slim design makes it easier to fit them into free space in your pack.

Supermarket water bottles make for cheap ultralight alternatives to aluminium and heavier plastic camping equipment.

I couldn’t find any 1L bottles so I bought 3 600ml bottles for 60p each; sans the plastic ring and label they come in at 30g each, I’ll upgrade to two 2L bottles when I can find them. I added a 7g scoop because it makes filling the bottles in a stream much easier, really reducing the chance of cross-contamination. These bottles are cheaper than my existing water containers and save me a total of 98g.

The next easy saving can be made with my cooking system; while my Trangia 28-T is fantastic, the burner makes up two thirds of the overall weight and I hardly ever use the frying pan. I did a quick bit of research into homemade soda can stoves and after some deliberation settled on the [Yak Small] stove design from Logan Watts at Bikepacking.com. This stove features roughly the same burn time and a faster time to boil as the Trangia but weighs 90% less. I got straight into it with my scissors and after a few cuts and scrapes ended up with a 10g stove which not only replaces the 115g Trangia stove, but also functions as its own pot stand. Weight saved: 258g.

At only 360g the cute Trangia mini is already light but being able to leave nearly 3/4 of it behind is even better.

A reduction in overall carried weight means that I can afford to have a more flimsy, lighter backpack with less padding and structure. By reaching for the scissors once again and mercilessly attacking the straps which are now surplus to requirements, I can make the final easy weight saving move.

The first to go are the adjustment straps for the waist belt and the extra length on the shoulder strap adjustors which I only use when carrying enormous weight. Next I removed the extra elastic attachment points which I have never used and took the heavy aluminium frame from the main compartment. If my pack weight continues to drop, removing more adjustment straps and even the waist strap will become an option. Chopping up my pack saved me a total of 245g.

The lighter your pack contents, the fewer comfort measures your pack needs, the more enjoyable your hike; a cascade of happiness!

So, I’ve spent a grand total of £2.40 and saved 601g / 1lb 5.2oz. Now I have refined the essential components of my ultralight set up, I am going to add a small bag of toiletries and quality of life improvers which I think are well worth the weight.

Extra items:

  • Sawn off toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste
  • Sunblock
  • Alcohol gel and toilet paper
  • Tiny but useful microfibre towel
  • Compass

Total weight: 171g.

My beginner ultralight pack.

This completes the basic set up and turns it into something I think provides the maximum comfort for the smallest weight. The best part is that even brand new this whole system will only set you back about £120; a great intro to ultralight backpacking and a perfect way to start microadventuring or taking longer overnight trips with little to no impact on your wallet or legs! My beginner ultralight pack for a total of 3913g / 8lb 10.0oz.

Now the ultralight pack is complete you might think that everything is sorted, but there is still quite a lot to think about if you are serious about carrying the bare minimum. I will continue the journey to true ultralight camping in part 3: Worn items and food.

The Lake District: Wild Camping and Black Sail

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Black Sail is a pretty special youth hostel. It has a reputation as one of the most inaccessible youth hostels in the UK. Based in the heart of the Lake District, it is only accessible by either a six mile trek up the valley from Ennerdale (not the TV show) or by mountain pass. However, just because it’s remote, that doesn’t mean it isn’t popular. The hostel is closed over the colder months (November thru to March) and has just 16 beds (eight male and eight female), which means that the weekends over the popular summer season get booked up fast.

We managed to bag four beds on a Sunday night in May by booking the previous October and then decided to plan a slightly bigger trip around that booking. The Lake District does not legally permit wild camping but it is tolerated as long as some quite reasonable rules are followed. After driving up from Hertfordshire on the Friday we stopped off at The Twa Dogs in Keswick to plan a route and general wild camping spots for the Friday and Saturday nights, taking us to Black Sail on Sunday night and back to the car on Monday.

Totally non-staged route planning photo

As time was not on our side on Friday night (just one beer never means just one beer), we picked out potential camping spots on the OS map. We rocked up to a candidate spot in the black of night, considered it suitable, pitched up and hit the hay. Late night wild campers can’t be choosers. When the sun rose, and the rain settled in, we were greeted with a proper view of our site.

Good morning wood

After packing up, we made a swift visit to Keswick to pick up supplies, grab some brekkie and then we were ready to start our trip proper. Black Sail is conveniently placed within (reasonable) walking distance to England’s tallest mountain, Scafell Pike. With that in mind, our route on Saturday took us into the belly of the Lake District, allowing us to tackle Scafell Pike and finish the walk to Black Sail throughout Sunday. We parked the car in Stonethwaite, the start of our circular route, and set off through Langsrath Valley.

Blea[k] Rock

Picture a round of the popular British TV quiz show, QI (I’m picturing it before Sandi Toksvig, when Stephen Fry was still presenting). A stock photo of the Lake District pops up behind our guests (let’s go for Daniel Radcliffe sitting next to Alan Davies, with David Mitchell and Ulrika Jonsson on the opposite side). Stephen forms a question…

“Now, moving on to our glorious national parks. It is well known that the Lake District is ironically home to taller peaks than any located in the Peak District. The Lake District, of course, contains England’s tallest mountain, Scafell Pike. The choice of name for the Peak District is better understood by the number of peaks located in the Peak District, 108 of which are over the height of 245m. However, do you know how many lakes there are in the Lake District?”

Alan chirps up.

“I went on a family holiday to the Lake District when I was 11. My resounding memories from the trip were rain and me and my sister arguing about who would be the dog in Monopoly for the fifth game in a row.”

Light audience snicker

David interjects.

“We’ve got a very old version of Monopoly in our household. So old in fact that all the original playing pieces have all long gone missing. So when you’re picking your piece, that means you have a choice of: a green army man, a large black button, a tiny comb, a fridge magnet of the letter “C”, a thimble (but not the one from the original version) and a laminated picture of Alan Titchmarsh.”

Audience guffaws

Alan, ever the fool, goes for the contrary answer.

“I bet there’s some stupid meaning for what a “lake” is; I’m going for zero”

SIRENS WAIL The screen flashes “0”, “0”, “0”. Alan rolls his eyes and Stephen smiles from ear to ear.

“Not quite Alan, anyone else?”

Daniel gives it a shot:

“I haven’t been to the Lake District but my family does have a version of Monopoly with my face on the board. That’s just one item from the many in my Mum’s weirdly obsessive Harry Potter memorabilia collection.”

Conscientious audience laughter

“Complete stab in the dark for this one, I’m going for 52”.

Stephen smiles once more.

“Looks like your natural wizarding talent didn’t help you out. Any more for any more?”. Ulrika stares blankly and Stephen continues. “Well, Alan nearly had this one”, the screen behind changes to a picture of Bassenthwaite Lake, “There is only one lake in our district of lakes. Whilst there are many bodies of water within the Lake District, it is only Bassenthwaite Lake, close to Keswick which has “lake” in its title. However, there are 16 other bodies of water which are considered to be the main “lakes”.

All guests roll their eyes.

Clouds part for a short rest at Angle Tarn (not a lake)

After a morning of rain, the clouds part as we made our way up to Bow Fell. Still, it was a short reprise; as we reached the last stretch to the peak we were greeted by a mighty wind which cut through to your core. I think the name of its sister mountain, Crinkle Crags, pretty aptly describes the type of rocks right at the top of Bow Fell. The well trodden path towards the peak of Bow Fell disappears 20 metres before the summit and becomes a crinkly craggy scramble (or difficult to traverse interbeds of andesite outcropping from the ground).

View from atop Bow Fell

From Bow Fell we descended into the South-Western valley, the area which we’d decided to hunt for a suitable camping spot. At the base of the valley runs Lingcove Beck, a beautiful river which hides new pools and waterfalls around every twist and turn. We located a fine flat piece of grass right next to the picturesque glen at Throstle Garth. A mere two minutes after we’d dropped our bags on the ground we stripped down to our pants, scrambled down the rocks and had a (very) brief dip in our private pool. If you’re into canyoning, wild swimming or just getting cold and wet; I would heartily recommend this stretch of water to explore.

Overlooking our camping spot

On this trip I brought with me a long held but never used camping accessory, the Sawyer Mini water filtration system. After using it to continually replenish all four of our water supplies throughout the trip, I cannot understate what a fantastic piece of kit this is. This 60g filter uses a fibre membrane to filter out 99.99999% of bacteria. Without getting too technical, the force of the flow sends water through hundreds of U shaped micro tubes; these micro tubes have tiny 0.1 micron pores which capture and stop any bacteria, allowing only clean water to pass. We sat by the stream in the morning and filled up 10 litres of water in about 10 minutes. It most certainly beats relying on water purification tablets; the water comes out crystal clear and has a crisp, clean taste to it (which, in hindsight, is probably more a property of the water from the Lake District springs).

Replenishing water supplies with the Sawyer filtration system

On Sunday morning we began our ascent towards Scafell Pike. After getting stuck knee deep in mud during my previous solo trip to Dartmoor, I was wary of the telltale signs of a bog when crossing Great Moss to the base of Scafell Pike. With patient caution we navigated our way through and surveyed our route up.

Contemplating the ascent of Scafell Pike

Neighbouring Scafell Pike is another peak, Scafell. Which, from many angles, including the southerly route we approached from, appears taller than Scafell Pike. Whilst Scafell Pike is regularly traversed by coach-led tourists, Scafell is a popular draw for climbers. UKC (or UKClimbing.com calls Scafell “England’s finest cliff” with a “sublime climbing experience that is second to none”.

2spooky4me

Once we reached the top of Scafell Pike we stopped for lunch, making sure to take all our rubbish with us. Why do I mention this? Well, much like our favourite celebrities, there is often a cruel price that must be paid for fame. Wasdale Mountain Rescue Team has a long history of posting scathing statuses on their Facebook relating to the state of England’s tallest peak: “Shocking amounts of litter, people creating new paths, the stink of urine and worse on the summit of Scafell Pike this morning”. They also posed the question of whether a climb to the peak was the highlight of the day, or a trip to the tip. I can’t really attest to seeing a huge amount of rubbish, well, except for a Liverpool FC flag which someone had attached to the summit marker…

Slight premature celebration on Scafell Pike

Heading back down the north side of the hill we were met with breathtaking views of Great Gable (claim to fame at 9th tallest mountain in England) and the surrounding scenery. This valley leads all the way to Wasdale Head, the most common place to embark on the climb to Scafell Pike; therefore, there is a pub. The Wasdale Head Inn has great home-fry style chips but to its discredit, it does not serve Scafell Pint.

View down to Great Gable just off Scafell Pike

From Wasdale Head we embarked on the final stretch of the day, Black Sail Pass. Tired, and legs heavy we were delighted to see Black Sail Youth Hostel nestled in the side of the hill as we descended into the valley of River Liza. We were met by the welcoming James who checked us in, cooked us dinner and sold us wine. Key tip if you’re staying at Black Sail, bring cash! The central area in Black Sail has tables and benches which surround a roaring wood-burning stove. Placards on the walls also answer the age old riddle: what came first? Black Sail or Black Sail Pass? You’ll have to go yourself to find out the answer out to that one.

Last stretch to Black Sail

On Monday morning we were cooked breakfast and given packed lunches (I promise this wasn’t a school trip). We donned full waterproof gear, having been extremely lucky with the weather up to that point, and headed towards Honister Pass. The final stretch back to the car took us along the road through Seatoller where we paused, you know, just because we like standing around in the rain.

W e t b o y e s

Completing our circular route at Stonethwaite we found a conveniently placed bus stop to change out of our wet things; all of us experiencing the familiar feeling of satisfied tiredness that comes from getting lost in nature for a few days.

Dry

24 Hours in the Wicklow Mountains

on features

A quick dash to Dublin on the plane and an hour’s drive south will bring you to the Wicklow mountains. I set off on a friday night after work, sunk a few pints of Guinness, hiked all day Saturday, and was back in time for Sunday dinner. Here’s a few of the pictures I took during my time in these fine hills.

Ascending Lugnaquilla

The Wicklow mountains make up the largest expanse of moors and uplands in Ireland, its highest point is Lugnaquilla standing at 925m, which although tall still falls short of those in County Kerry. It takes just over an hour to drive out from Dublin to the base of Lugnaquilla, if you take the scenic route, which will reward you with views of vast bleak moors for sure, on a good day views of the Irish Sea, and if you keep your eyes peeled, the odd christmas tree dressed up with tinsel and baubles - no I’m not joking!

Nice looking cairn at the summit of Cloghernagh

In just a few hours of walking we were treated with sun, bitter wind, sleet, hail, and rain. Fortunately we were prepared and didn’t suffer too much.

The top of Lugnaquilla, the tallest mountain in the Wicklow’s, standing at 925m

The summit of Lugnaquilla, which translates to ‘hollow of the wood’, consists of a wide plateau. The ascent is mostly very gentle and we were surprised at how quickly we summited the mountain. There are steep faces on either side named ‘north prison’ and ‘south prison’.

I’d quite like to move here

We took a circular route which began in Glenmalur where there is a car park just south of the Glenmlure Hostel. The ascent begins on a wide forestry road but quickly turns into an easy scramble up 100 metre or so, which really was the only the challenging section of the walk, but certainly nothing to worry about. From then it’s just a matter of keeping on the path and not getting caught out but sphagnum bogs - something Harvey learned a lot about in Dartmoor.

Just one of the many beautiful spots Ireland treated us to

From the summit of Lugnaquilla we descended via Cloghernagh, the location of the cairn pictured earlier. From there it’s an easy descent back down to the road and walk back to the car park. The whole hike took us about 5 hours, which was taking at a gentle pace and the total length is roughly 10 miles, making this an easy hike that more or less anyone could enjoy.

Approaching inclement weather

Some more pics from my trip:

OS Maps App Review

on reviews

Price

Free from App store and Google Play
1 month subscription: £3.99
1 year subscription: £23.99
Or use redeem code from a paper map to download an area

Pros

  • Accurate route planning
  • Offline downloads
  • GPS location
  • Easy to use

Cons

  • Drains battery

Introduction

Despite the incredible progress of the digital world in the past decade many outdoor enthusiasts and adventurers still find themselves reaching for a paper map before setting out for an adventure. We’re lucky in the UK to have fantastic maps in the form of Ordnance Survey 1:25k and 1:50k. They are a joy to use due to their accuracy and excellent design. Of course there have been great strides in mapping technology such as those made by GPS, however, devices are still expensive and not an option for everyone. That’s where the OS maps app steps in, offering digital versions of our favourite maps from our phones, a device most people already possess, offering a cheap way to access the accuracy and solace afforded by a GPS device. We were excited at the prospect but how well does it work? A part of me thought that it must be too good to be true. We’ve been using the app for the last few months and here’s what we found:

Features

The app has several types of map available to use for different purposes including the standard 1:25k and 1:50 OS maps as well as as typical road map for use in the car, plus another for when driving at night. It also offer satellite imagery as well as an ‘offroad routing’ map which is a simplified style, not dissimilar from the Google/Apple/Bing map style, but with contours and paths shown in National Park areas.

It must be noted that you will not be able to access 25k and 50k maps without either using a redeem code found in all new OS landranger and explorer maps to download an area, or by paying a subscription, giving access to nationwide mapping, either monthly or annually. You can then save these maps for offline use as and when you need them.

You can also plot routes for either running, walking, or cycling, which you can save and share if you like. The app will show how long your route is, elevation data, and provide an estimated time needed to complete the route.

In Use

In the time I’ve been using the app I have found it to be very reliable and useful. The practicalities of being able to quickly glance at a phone beats stopping to unfold a map, particularly in windy conditions. I have found the GPS location to be very accurate even when far away from mobile service. Obviously you need to be wary about the safety of your device, most mobile devices are still vulnerable to damage whilst being used in adverse conditions. I use a Quadlock phone case with a rain cover which I would highly recommend.

Conclusion

I would highly recommend this app. It functions very well and is reliable when you need it to be, although I would still recommend using it in addition to a physical map and compass, rather than solely relying on it.

Rating: 4/4

Q&A with Mark Beaumont

on features

We spoke with Mark Beaumont, one of Britain’s top adventurers, as he puts together his final preparations before setting off around the world on two wheels in an attempt to break the world record (for a second time no-less). Mark has been adventuring since an early age, cycling the Land’s End to John O’Groats aged just fifteen. Since then he has cycled the world in record time, rowed across oceans, and travelled the length of Africa on two wheels in just 42 days. I first came across Mark when I read his book ‘The Man who Cycled the World’, I owe this book a great deal for showing what’s possible on two wheels when you put your mind to it, and for giving me and doubtless, countless others the inspiration to hit the road in search of adventure. For this reason I was very pleased to get just a little of his time to ask a few questions before he sets off on his next big adventure.

Q. What do we need to know about you 80 days adventure? How we can we support and follow your journey?

A. Having cycled around the World unsupported ‘wild man’ style in 194 days a decade ago, I have always wondered how much quicker I could go if I had full support and trained professionally. Around the World in 80 Days has taken the last few years in the planning and will mean riding 16 hours a day for 75 days, with 3 days of flight and 2 days contingency. The current circumnavigation World Record is 123 days held by Andrew Nicholson from New Zealand, and so I aim to take this down by around 43 days. Success for me would be coming home safely, including my whole support team, and feeling that we have left absolutely everything out there. The golden standard is around the World in 80 Days, as this would be a one-time prize - you won’t remember the second person to go sub 80! You can follow at artemisworldcycle.com or markbeaumontonline.com and through social media at Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Q. For the bike nerds, can you tell us a little about your setup and gear, does it differ much from your previous round the world cycle?

A. The bike is a KOGA Kimera Pro which is carbon frame, with Ultregra Di2 and hydraulic disc brakes. I am riding 47mm carbon Corima rims with Panaracer 28mm Dura tires, Drops and tai-bars are Profile Design. The aero helmet is a Rudy Project and the clothing is Altura custom made kit. This is a very different set-up to a decade ago, but quite similar to what I rode down Africa a few years ago, where I broke the Cairo to Cape Town record by a margin of 18 days.

Q. You are considered one of the best endurance adventurers in the world right now, how did this come about? What or who do you attribute your ability and success to?

A. That is kind - I have never entered a race, so never really consider my performance in relation to any other athletes. What I have always done, since I was a twelve year old boy pedalling across Scotland, is take on journeys that inspire me, and try to share them in as big and as interesting a way as I can. Taking a global audience along on the journey is important to me, and adds fuel to the fire, and I know it inspires a lot of people as well, so is hugely valuable. I have worked with some amazing people, including the late, great David Peat, who taught me the art and love of documentary film-making. And at the heart of my work is my family - basecamp is run by my mum Una, and my wife and two daughters are amazingly supportive.

Q. In your lowest moments on the road what strategies do you use to cope and keep on riding?

A. The toughest times become your fondest memories. The only thing worse than going slowly is stopping. Momentum is your only friend in tough times. Giving up isn’t an option unless it’s a case of safety.

Q. You’ve seen more of the world than most ever will and seen many cultures. In your experience how are people the same and how are they different?

A. The more you see, the more you realise there is to see - I have travelled to about 130 nations and territories in my life and I now have a very positive impression humanity, despite having been in many tight corners, but I am also increasingly aware of our incredible diversity and differences.

The Artemis World Cycle Team. (All photos coutesy of artemisworldcycle.com)

Kielder Observatory and Skyspace

on features

For centuries Northumberland was a land of wild lawlessness, be it from the times of the Roman Empire when Hadrian’s wall marked the edge of civilisation, keeping the rebellious Picts at bay, or from the days of the Scottish Marches, when Reivers raided the lands, running protections rackets called ‘mál’s’, leading us to the modern word Blackmail. Indeed, Northumberland, the northernmost part of England, has throughout history been a bleak and dangerous place.

However, as I stood next to the Hadrian’s wall, high up on the edge of Walltown Crags, on a cloudless day, it was hard to imagine Northumberland’s turbulent past. Indeed, today it is a place for tourists to leisurely admire. And come to think of it, it’s also place of many superlatives: it is, afterall, home to the largest forest, the darkest skies, and the sparsest population in England and Wales. Yet it is the least visited of our national parks. For all of its rugged history and vast swaths of hills, forests, and moorland, the National park seems to have passed most of us by.

One thing that piqued my interest in visiting the park was its status as an International Dark Space: it offers the best views of the night skies in England and has the largest area of protected night skies in Europe. I am certainly no more than a casual astronomer at best and have never really seen an unpolluted night sky. So I jumped at the chance to visit. Here are some more pictures from my trip:

The winning design: created by Charles Barclay architects of London, chosen from from 230 design entries
The small telescopes
The Skyspace is an echoic subterranean hall with an apertured ceiling for viewing the sky with the naked eye

Alpkit Compact Ultra Twins Review

on reviews
Pros
Great Value for Money
Small pack size
Quick release locking mechanism
Cons
Nordic style handle not to everyone’s taste
Small and fiddly hand strap
Not always practical for tarp camping

Design

The compact ultra is a collapsible pole that folds down to a very short 38cm, making it very packable and particularly convenient for plane travel, trail running or climbing. The pole is assembled by slotting the sections together, much like a tent pole, and then pulling one end to put tension into an internal cable that is then locked in place by snap lock. You can then adjust the top half of the pole to your desired length and secure with the single quick release locking mechanism.

The handle is a Nordic style design with a non detachable velcro hand strap. It is worth noting for those who may not have encountered this style of grip that you cannot use the pole with your hand on top of the handle, like a walking stick, as the size and shape of the grip makes this uncomfortable. Likewise, it’s worth pointing out that while the hand strap is well made and looks really nice donning its Alpkit logo, it is rather small and fiddly making it hard to put on quickly. I found this design fine for long flattish walks where I could consistently hold the poles for long stretches of time but rather annoying on more technical hikes where I wanted to take my hand out of the straps often and quickly. If you plan to wear gloves in conjunction with these poles you may find it difficult to fit your hand in the strap.

Another thing to point out with this design is that while its collapsed length is very short, its minimum erected length is rather long (insert cock gag here) making it not particularly versatile for tarp camping where you may need shorter pole for your setup.

Quality

For the relatively tiny £34 price tag of these poles there’s question that quality you can expect would be lower than more expensive and familiar alternative options from the likes of Leki or Black Diamond. What you can expect here is a very compact folding pole that mostly bears the hallmarks of a product at its price but with a couple of nice features added in.

The hand strap, albeit small, is nicely made and I found it quite comfortable. I would prefer if it had a quick release clip or was simply larger.

The internal cable that runs down the centre of the pole is protected by a fairly thin plastic sheath. I noticed that when the pole is collapsed this cable is pulled tight against the edges of the pole segments, right now mine are holding strong but I will keep an eye on them as it looks vulnerable to damage, and if the cable breaks the pole become useless, something you wouldn’t want to happen on any long hike.

Alternatives

For this price, finding a branded alternative is quite difficult particularly one of this style with similar features. For instance any Leki pole that collapses as small as this will certainly cost more than £100, and the cheapest trekking pole they sell is still £5 more than the Alpkit.

Final thoughts

If you need a pole that packs particularly small and you are on a budget, this is an excellent option. You can for the price, expect to forgo some practicalities and some quality, but ultimately Alpkit has succeeded here in filling a space in the market for an imaginatively designed product delivered at an unbeatable price. I would have rated this product 3/4 if the handle and strap where just a little better and easier to use.

Rating 2/4

Borough Bivvy Bagging

on features

It’s 4.30 in the morning. I’m in a beautiful nature reserve in the London borough of Barking and Dagenham, in what should be very peaceful surroundings for sleeping out beneath the night sky. However, reality at this time was not quite that serene and rather than being snug in my bivvy bag and sound asleep, I found myself up a tree instead. Oh the joy and adventure of the great outdoors!

London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham

How it all began…I’ve been a fan of sleeping outdoors for quite some time now. Laying there beneath a canvas of stars, with nothing but a couple of layers of material and my face exposed to that deep dark blue night sky, with a cool sweet breeze upon my face. My idea of bliss.

I used to do all my wild camping in tents; it was great fun and cheaper than staying in hostels and b&bs but then I discovered the bivouac. This was at the break of Spring in 2014, and I haven’t looked back since that first undertaking. I developed such a bug for it that I have now slept outdoors without a tent 132 times (not that I’m counting or anything).

My passion is for long distance walking which consists of a linear route that lasts 5 to 10 days. During these trips a bivvy at the end of the day can be very rewarding and usually guarantees a good night’s sleep. It’s always good to escape the city for a while, leaving all that mayhem behind and allowing yourself to reset. Obviously living and working in London means I can’t always get away when I want, so a couple of years ago I thought why not bring the adventure to my doorstep and try bivvying in London itself. At that time I thought this was surely a terrible idea and probably not possible but one late august evening I decided to give it a go; venturing out with a friend to Hackney Downs to attempt our first bivvies in London. I went into this thinking of all the things that could go wrong; the sheer population of London, the state of some of its’ green spaces, and a general fear of the unknown. Upon waking up in the morning I was pleasantly surprised to find I had had an undisturbed sleep and possibly one of my best bivvys to date which ended with watching a beautiful sunrise over a sleepy East London skyline.

The first one, London Borough of Hackney

This experience gave birth to really experimenting with what is on my doorstep and led to a 30 night challenge of sleeping outdoors in London for the whole of September. Each evening I bivvied at a different location and also woke up in some of London’s famous green spots in the likes of Hyde Park, St James Park and Hampstead Heath. It was a truly eye opening challenge and gave me an immense appreciation of just how green London is and the richness it has to offer in terms of open space. Places right here at home, where you can still achieve a calm and peace, completely clearing your head and recharging your soul.

St. James' Park, London Borough of Westminster

After completing this eventful experiment I was hungry for more and decided that I would walk the London Loop; a 150 mile circular route around Greater London, very much like the M25, but which acts as a green corridor around the city instead. I wanted to do this during my working week so decided to undertake it as a number of night rambles ending with a bivvy in whichever area I found myself in. It took 12 nights in total during the winter season and even saw me go on a date with my now girlfriend (we were third date in). It took me to areas of London that were completely unknown to me; such as Barnet, Hounslow, and Bexley which was another wonderful insight into how much there really is to play with and escape to within the Capital. As well as this, I realised that the landscape of these green spaces in the city are so varied as I have been able to hammock as well as bivvy in woodland, marshes, fields and even a cemetery.

London Borough of Sutton

Now I’ve always liked collecting things; whether it be postcards, football stickers, or national park bucket lists, I think they’re important fragments of what makes up our individual identity. Having worked out I’d slept outdoors in 23 of the 32 London Boroughs, I realised my latest collection would have to be bivouacking in all of the boroughs and so was born my idea of ‘borough bivvy bagging’.

London Borough of Greenwich

And so back to why I found myself up a tree on a Thursday night in the middle of Dagenham. I had had a solid sleep until I was awoken at 4.30 in the morning to the vibration of thuds not too far in the distance. Trying to get back off to sleep was put on hold, as they got closer, and seemed to have multiplied. Low and behold, it was only a band of wild horses that had landed at my little camp area. For the next 15 minutes it was a game of figuring out each others intentions and evidently freaking each other out, which resulted with me seeking higher ground and climbing up the nearest tree. My actions were odd enough to send them packing to the other side of the stream from which they had come and for me to slowly make my way back down to my bivvy bag with a little less pride than the beginning of the night. I lay back laughing remembering how each bivvy in London has been unique whilst witnessing another beautiful city sunrise. That was another borough bagged and ticked off the list.

London Borough of Barking and Dagenham (with the infamous tree)

I will be moving out of London in 6 weeks time and relocating to the Peak District. I’m cutting it slightly fine but I fully intend on completing the challenge before I leave. What Brent, Ealing, Croydon and the other remaining 3 will offer I don’t know. But I do believe that every little corner of London has some form of space to get lost and rediscover yourself in by escaping and enjoying the simplicity of sleeping under the stars. It hasn’t let me down so far.

Progress so far on my London Borough challenge map

26 down, 6 to go! And surely I need to complete the challenge with a final bivvy in the City of London (technically not a Borough) as a kind of icing on the cake. That or finally get moved on by the authorities or picked up by the police.

With friends, London Borough of Haringey

I am a firm believer of making the most of what’s on offer right in front of you, and achieving a sense of thrill and excitement by working with what you have and turning restrictions into opportunities. It’ll be an odd mantel but one that will live with me forever. So thanks for having me London.

Aplkit Hunka Bivvy Bag Review

on reviews
Pros
Great waterproofing
Well made
Light
Cons
Recent price hike
Not very windproof

I bought my Hunka from Alpkit.com for £35 in May 2016 after seeing it recommended on Alastair Humphreys’ website. 360g seemed very appealing for overnighters when compared to my tent at the time which weighed 1.4kg, but it has proven reliable enough to be a fixture of my overnght kit even now I own a 680g tent. If you want to get close to nature, the thin but reliable Hunka is as close as you can get while staying dry.

At 215cm x 80cm the Hunka just about accommodates my normal length sleeping bag. Anyone over 6'1" will want to upgrade to the Hunka XL.

Quality

Alpkit listed the Hunka’s country of origin as China on their website so when I saw the price, even when I took the reviews into account, I expected lacking build quality and materials. As soon as I opened the package I could feel the ripstop nylon was smooth and almost luxurious, all my fears faded and have stayed in hiding as the product has made it through it’s first year not just intact, but like new.

The hems and joints show no sign of weakness on the Hunka, they are mostly stitched twice and have been finished well, I found no loose threads anywhere on mine. Inside, the seams are taped very securely and almost invisibly; I have packed, scrunched and folded my Hunka hundreds of times and they show no sign of budging.

All of the seams are rock solid, the tape on the inside isn't going anywhere either.

The drawcord and clasp at the opening and on the footbox net feel slightly plasticy and stuck a little to begin with, but now I have worn them in they function smoothly.

Design

Having been rudley woken up by a trickle of cold rainwater in the night previously I can tell you that the main feature to look for in a bivi bag is waterproofing, and on paper the Hunka is no slouch, boasting a 10,000mm hydrostatic head and a “2.5 layer design”. These decent stats come without substantial weight and have kept quite a few showers and many more heavy dews away from the Hunkas warm, dry, precious contents (me).

Even after being pushed about in my pack for a year, the waterproofing still hasn't faded.

My 3 season standard length and width Vango sleeping bag fits snugly in the Hunka with just enough fabric left to shield my face from rain. The key to that perfect fit is the tapered profile which seems to have been thought out well and eliminates excess fabric and therefore excess weight.

The slightly grippy inner surface of the Hunka coupled with the tailored style means that your sleeping bag and the Hunka move as one. This secure fit makes maneuvering back on to your sleeping pad in the night much less difficult and minimises the chance that your sleep-fidgeting will lead to a tangle, which means no freezing rain water spilling into your sleeping bag during the night as you sleep. The tight fit will be an issue for bigger people or anyone hoping to use an inflatable sleeping pad and quilt, the Hunka XL which is slightly longer and wider will probably be the better choice there.

Although it packs down to a nice size in its incorporated stuff sack, it's much more useful as a dry bag or pack liner.

The integral stuff sack on the footbox is a fantastic idea but the awkward ball shape formed by stuffing the Hunka into itself is actually inefficient to pack. While ball mode is handy for long term storage, I usually use it as a dry bag for my clothes or tech while I’m hiking.

Alternatives

The British army Gore-Tex bivi bag is the closest real competitor in terms of price, at £30-40 on eBay it’s a steal, but then again at 800g it’s also a bit of a monster. Gore-Tex, while definitely more windproof than the Hunka and probably more resistant to rips and tears definitely won’t pack down as neatly and is a noticeable weight in your backpack.

The bivi bag most frequently recommended to me has been the Snugpak special forces bivi, which looks similar to the Hunka but is constructed from Paratex and features a zip (why?!). While is has been reviewed well and even comes recommended by Ray Mears, the extra weight and £75 price tag make choosing it over the Hunka unlikely.

From there the prices only get more painful; with options like the Rab Survival Zone or Survival Zone Light you get a 100g weight saving but you’re also chancing it with that 1,000mm hydrostatic head, and breaking the bank on the £110 price tag.

Final Thoughts

The minimal design of the Hunka overall is worth praise; there don’t need to be any grand designs with a bivi bag; it just needs to be light and waterproof, and that’s what you get here. There are two drawcords which work well and the rest of the focus is on the vital part; the waterproof but breathable shell, all packed into a 360g package for less than £50.

Rating 4/4

While the price has sadly risen to £47 recently, the Hunka is still the best choice for anyone not ascending Everest.

48 Hours: Wild Camping in Dartmoor

on features

On the days approaching the Easter bank holiday weekend I knew I wanted to do something but could not settle on where to go or what to do. Fellow BoldlyGoer James suggested a few places but it was Dartmoor that really grabbed my attention. It is the only area in England where rights for wild camping are enshrined in the National Parks and Access to the Countryside Act. Whilst not all of Dartmoor is covered by this, there are some pretty sizeable areas which allow wild camping (if you’re curious, have a look at this map created by Dartmoor National Parks). After researching them on my 1:25k OS map for Dartmoor (OL28) I began to think about how my trip may go down.

A plan unfolds in my mind… Drive down to Dartmoor on the Thursday, park up, hike and wild camp on the Thursday evening followed by a full day of walking on the Friday, wild camp that night and then hike back to the car on Saturday and drive back home. That’s about 48 hours. I decided that was short enough to carry all the supplies, food and water I would need for that time on my back, in my newly acquired Osprey Atmos AG 65.

Pack, car and pack mule

Unfortunately, due to the inevitable crash which always snarls up the M25 leading up to a bank holiday weekend I arrived in my planned starting point of Harford at about 7pm, a little later than planned. With sundown at around 8pm I made haste up into the hills to find a suitable spot to set up camp and have some dinner.

Road to Harford

Just in time for sunset I reached Piles Hill and hunted for a flat spot to set up my tent. I thoroughly recommend this area or any of the surrounding hills for breathtaking views of Dartmoor at sunset and sunrise. It’s only about a 30 minute walk from the nearby (free) Harford car park too!

Piles Hill Cairn

Once I’d got the tent set up, the sun was just disappearing from view so I cracked out the gas stove, cooked up a Jamie Oliver squeeze-out-the-bag dinner and scoffed it down. With darkness slowly crawling over the countryside and no desire to start a campfire, there really wasn’t much else to do but call it an early night and get some rest for a full day of hiking the next day.

It’s worth noting that this was my first experience of wild camping on my own. It’s a surreal experience to get used to; every sound outside of the tent amplified, making you question its origin. Even though I did have the internal reassurance that my wild camping pitch was entirely legal, it still didn’t stop me from imagining some wild beast, or worse, fellow camper, waking me in the night… Still, I got some kip.

Camping on Piles Hill (no pun required)

I woke early and decided to take a stroll, sans pack, to the nearby Ugborough Beacon which has stunning views out to Buckfastleigh and North Dartmoor. On arriving here I realised that this would also have been a fine spot to camp and would have offered a spectacular view of the sunrise, straight from the tent door!

Overlooking Ugborough Beacon

After walking back to my temporary abode, I packed up my gear and embarked on my way with the vague aim of striking camp somewhere North of Burrator Reservoir. Dartmoor offers some very decent paths if you stay on the beaten track and most of these run along the crest of the hills meaning that there is very little ascending and descending to be done. Dartmoor generally isn’t too hilly compared to our Lake and Peak District National Parks. The highest point in Dartmoor is High Willhays at 621m, way up in the top left corner; but the hills around the bottom part of Dartmoor are all below 500m. However, if you should stray from the beaten track, you may well be in for a calves aching exercise traversing the common grassy tufts. One of the most familiar sites along my trek were the famously furry, wild Dartmoor ponies; their tracks are littered across every path in Dartmoor.

Dartmoor ponies preparing to drop their seminal rap album

Another regular sight is sheep, their beady eyes staring until they’ve somehow decided you’re no longer a threat. I remember several times where a sheep was happily munching away on some foliage with its back to me when it would hear my footsteps and suddenly fly around to make eye contact. Dude, come on, I mean ewe no harm.

Erme Pits (spot the ram)

On my walk through Dartmoor I was greeted by a handful of people happily singing hello along with the question that demands to be answered by another question, lest, god forbid, you should strike up conversation…

  • “Hey! How’s it going?”
  • “Hi, you alright?”

But I did get talking to a couple of chaps out for a stroll from Ivybridge who informed me of a famous book about the area, Dartmoor 365 by John Hayward; named as such because there are approximately 365 square miles in Dartmoor. In this book, John details one specific site of interest in each of these square miles. My single serving friends also informed me that there is a lively Facebook group of people who go out of their way to photographically document as many of these 365 sites as possible. In my mind this is akin to geo-caching or a treasure hunt. After my excursion to Dartmoor, whilst sitting in the comfort of my own home, I requested entry to the group, was accepted, and proceeded to peruse some of the pictures posted in the group. I can proudly state that I have visited at least one of John Hayward’s 365 points of interest, Ditsworthy Warren, a rather spooky looking abandoned cottage near to Sheepstor.

Ditsworthy Warren (totally not haunted)

From Ditsworthy Warren I headed to Sheepstor, skirting round Burrator Reservoir and up to Sharpitor aiming to find some camping spot with an epic view of the water but not too exposed to the elements. One risk with wild camping is that you’re constantly searching for that goldilocks spot… “maybe the grass is greener on the other side of that hill…”. Eventually I managed to convince myself that the spot I’d chosen was just right and made camp for the night.

Nestled in the Gorse

After waking early again I planned my route back to the car whilst hearing a light pitter patter of rain on my tent. Ten minutes after setting off, fully kitted out in waterproofs, the light drizzle abated and I happily stuffed them back into my rucksack. At this point I was starting to feel slightly thankful that my supplies and water were dwindling; reducing the weight on my back and making it a less daunting task to tackle some more challenging obstacles.

When planning my route that morning I selected a circular route avoiding paths I’d already used. Included in this route was a path with an attractive straight section running south from Whiteworks. It was only after getting home, that I discovered that this stretch of land has a famous reputation. The path crosses over Foxtor Mires, a stinking bog, which is believed to be the inspiration for Grimpen Mire in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s classic, The Hound of the Baskervilles. However, when I planned out my route, I didn’t realise its famous reputation. I didn’t even realise it was a bog.

Foxtor Mires

I think Sir Arthur Conan Doyle brilliantly articulates the threatening nature of a bog and the truly terrible fate that could befall a man when he describes the demise of the villain, Mr Stapleton, in Hound of the Baskervilles in his flight across the Grimpen Mire:

“There was no chance of finding footsteps in the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon them, but as we at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly for them. But no slightest sign of them ever met our eyes. If the earth told a true story, then Stapleton never reached that island of refuge towards which he struggled through the fog upon that last night. Somewhere in the heart of the great Grimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the huge morass which had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is forever buried.”

I lost the path crossing through Foxtor Mires before the small bridge which takes you over the stream in its centre. I only found it after 20 minutes of wondering around that godforsaken bog trying to find a safe path, twice getting stuck up to my thighs. I think one of the most treacherous things about a bog is that it doesn’t look particularly threatening. A few tips from someone who has sunk in a bog:

  • Do a bog hop on the yellow tufts and keep moving, they’re more likely to take your weight, but not for long.
  • Avoid any bright green mossy areas. This is where you will sink and you will get wet boots and maybe a wet bum.
  • Use a walking stick to probe suspicious patches in front.
  • Don’t cross a bog.
I smell like bog

After another three hours of walking with wet boots I reached the car, exhausted but satisfied with a couple of days well spent exploring one of our country’s best national parks. Still I was happy to get back into some warm (and dry) clothes.

Done

Trangia 28-T Review

on reviews
Pros
Inexpensive
Light pans
Small form factor
Cons
Heavy burner

I bought my mini Trangia 28-T for £18 from outdoorgear.co.uk in May 2016. The neat stacking design, coupled with the low weight and price made the 28 stand out from the crowd straight away. After dozens of overnighters and a few weekend trips I need to make some changes to save weight, but my cooking experience has been overwhelmingly positive.

Quality

The pot, pot stand and frying pan are made from aluminium with the burner constructed from brass and the handle a lightweight alloy. The aluminium construction means a slight drop in durability over some titanium counterparts, but the reduction in price and similar weight more than makes up for that in my opinion.

The Aluminium pot is immediately recognisable as the design as featured in the larger Trangias which have become famous for standing up to all of the bumps and scrapes that occur in outdoor life. I have seen several trodden on or sat on, bent completely out of shape, before being pushed back into a rough circle and chucked back on the fire. Having used my mini pot on gas, alcohol and coals, I have no doubt that this smaller Trangia will stand up to the same punishment.

The frying pan is aluminium coated with non-stick coating which looks and feels quite fragile. Trangia provide you with a sheet of thin plastic to protect the coating from the sharp edges of the pot stand and handle stored inside, this hasn’t stopped chipping where the pan clips over the lip of the pot. Perhaps more of a design flaw than a quality issue, it is rather annoying and now it is chipped it will only get worse.

The burner, pot stand and handle are all solidly constructed; the burner and simmer ring fit together in a satisfyingly snug way; the handle, while flimsy, is actually surprisingly resilient and doesn’t buckle even when the pot is full of water; and the pot stand provides a rigid base for stirring and mixing over heat.

Although it doesn't look like much, the handle is much easier to grip than the one in the Trangia 25 or 27.

Design

The first feature that stood out to me was the tiny form factor of the packed 28. Everything fits neatly inside the systems pot with the frying pan over the top holding all of the components securely in place with room enough for teabags and 4 or 5 porridge packets to spare. Being able to pick up one 15cm x 6.5cm item and know that you have packed your entire cookset in one go is fantastic.

The slimmed-down 0.8 litre pot of the mini coupled with the same brass burner as a larger Trangia leads to a much improved boil time, in my experience it takes around 6-7 minutes to boil 1 litre of water. This reduced capacity has also allowed for a slimmer handle design which eliminates the chance of miss-gripping the pot rim and dropping it, which I used to do a lot with the old design.

Some complain about the lack of a handle for the simmer ring, but you can slide it quite easily if you are careful and lift it slightly.

The only item which hasn’t changed in design from the larger Trangias is the burner itself. It provides a stable temperature, doesn’t spit at all and the rubber-lined cap stops alcohol leaking through your backpack, but at 115g it makes up more than a third of the total weight. I am definitely going to swap the burner out for a homemade coke can stove in the near future and probably leave the frying pan at home too which will reduce the weight to ~200g. But if I’m changing the burner, leaving the pan (and lid) at home, why bother with the rest of it at all? Why not just buy a pot separately and make a stove to begin with? Well…

Alternatives

The market for alcohol stoves is limited. It essentially boils down to Trangia burners, designs that look a lot like Trangia design knock offs, or simple stoves made from cans which seem expensive given that you could make them yourself for next to nothing.

If you want to go ultralight straight away and have a tight-ish budget, I have only heard good things about the stormin stove system at roughly £20 and 68g. Paired with a Mytipot which is £29 and weighs 94g and a homemade can stove you can achieve a system weighing just under 200g for £49. But hold on, we already had this with the 28 if you leave the frying pan at home and swap out the stove, all for only £24.

If you want to try a knock off Trangia design there are many. The ones I have seen weigh up to 100g more than the 28 burner and pot stand, and once you factor in the cost of a pot too they aren’t much cheaper, if at all.

Ultimately, unless you make your own can stove, chicken wire pot stand, tinfoil wind guard and repurpose an aluminium mess tin as your pot, it’s going to be very hard indeed to find a system as light and functional as the 28-T for anywhere near the price.

Whether you need to stop for a quick brew or cook a major meal for one or two, the 28-T can hack it.

Final thoughts

As soon as I opened my bottle of meths for my inaugural meal with the 28 I was struck with flashbacks to my scouting days. Stuck on the side of a hill in darkness, three people around a Trangia 25, bodies positioned awkwardly in an attempt to shield the flame from the wind, hungry tempers flaring as pasta floating in a litre of water began to simmer lazily after more than 15 minutes of waiting. I realised I may have made a huge mistake investing in another product from the same designers but a few meals in I realised most of my fears were misplaced.

For less money than a single titanium pot you get a complete, convenient, collapsible system. Most of the components of the system are handy to have around to use on their own; the pot and handle do well on a gas stove, the stand and pot do well on their own with a different burner, the pot alone cooks on an open fire, the handle fits any pot with a lip. It’s one of those kits that is so versatile at least one piece of it will end creeping its way into your pack wherever you are heading.

Rating 4/4

The 28 makes for a brilliant starting stove for a new solo backpacker or a decent ultralight option if you swap out the burner, all for less than the price of a single titanium cooking pot.

Wisport Sparrow 20 Litre Backpack Review

on reviews
Pros
Endless versatility
Durable
Comfortable with any load
Cons
Expensive for a 20L
Heavy

I bought my Sparrow from Military1st.co.uk in March 2016 for £60 after seeing it in use on the AlfieAesthetics outdoor youtube channel. I have used the Sparrow as a hybrid pack over the past year, loading up the outer straps with everything I need for a microadventure or weekend trip, then once I have made camp, using it as a day pack on short hikes. Its impeccable build quality, versatile design and comfort have afforded me an enjoyable, more efficient hiking and camping experience with minimal drawbacks. The standard Wisport 5 year warranty is the cherry the top.

Quality

The Sparrow is made in Poland by Wisport, a Polish military and outdoor equipment company who supply the polish army among others. This should tell you straight away that their gear, like most military equipment is going to be bomb proof, but that durability comes with a hefty weight cost. The Sparrow is made from 500D Cordura, a splash resistant and generally tough fabric which will withstand everything but direct assault with a sharp knife. This Cordura is held rigidly in place by faultless stitching which has remained rock steady through a year of frequent and quite harsh use.

The straps, MOLLE webbing and mesh are all secured firmly; clearly intended to endure the tougher aspects of military life which means they are over engineered for civilian use. The clips and buckles made by ITW Nexus and Duraflex haven’t lost their spring, and although I have been carrying heavy loads almost every time I have used the pack, show no signs of wear or fatigue. The expansion connection points look quite flimsy at first but I have slung my 1.4kg sleeping bag from them numerous times with no problem at all. The only quality issue I have had over 12 months is a frayed strap end, this was solved by resealing the end with a lighter.

Rock solid zips, clips and buckles of the Sparrow inspire confidence even in the worst conditions.

Heavy loads can be slung under the pack using the flimsy looking but actually sturdy attachment points.

Design

It is difficult to fault the design of the Sparrow. This pack is one which comes with all of the bells and whistles; hydration bladder support, clips for every occasion, straps to fasten all manner of sundries, attachment points for extra straps and standardised MOLLE webbing to attach any other military pockets or sheaths to the outside. The Sparrow offers all of this while remaining comfortable even with all of these expansion options fully laden, and the option to attach a hip belt if it becomes to unwieldy. It is a pack so versatile and so accommodating that you might end up packing too much for a microadventure even though it has only a ‘20 litre’ capacity.

The side straps of the Sparrow are the key feature, allowing you to carry loads which would be totally unrealistic with any other 20 litre pack.

The body of the Sparrow features two main pockets, one 5 litre front pocket contains a zipped mesh pocket for keys as well as clips for torches and carabiners. I normally keep my Trangia, fuel and a bit of food in this pocket. The 15 litre compartment features a flap to hold a hydration bladder and another zipped mesh pocket; after some gear Tetris there’s room enough for two litres of water, two days food and some well folded clothes. The one issue when the pack is fully laden is waterproofing, while the Cordura does it’s best in the rain, anything more than a light shower will find its way into your precious sleeping socks straight away. If you attach bulky items to the outside like me, you’ll want to pack a rain cover for a much larger backpack just in case, I chose a 65L which works well.

Clips, flaps and pockets for all your small items; the fully hinged main compartment makes packing the larger pieces of gear easy too.

Alternatives

The Sparrow is tough to compare to other 20 litre backpacks, and other backpacks in general. Generally day packs range from 15-25 litres and weigh 150-500 grams, but I can’t fit everything I can get into (or rather, onto) my Sparrow into a 35 litre Vango, let alone anything smaller. If you want a more convenient day pack while still being able to go on weekend adventures for the same price as the Sparrow, you could get a, 68g Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil and a 45-65 litre Regatta. This very reasonably priced duo will perform the same functions as the Sparrow while saving you about 90% of the weight during the day.

The Snugpak Xocet is the most similar I have seen; most of the same straps and attachment points with the addition of some handy net pockets on the side for water bottles. At £20 less than the Sparrow, only 30g more and with generally positive reviews, it’s a real contender.

Wisport are currently introducing their Sparrow II range which sees some changes in the design to make it slightly less utilitarian, and brings the weight down by about 200g to 850g. This makes it a much more appealing day pack option while retaining the majority of its straps and expandability options. If mine breaks in 4 years after the warranty runs out (which I still see as being unlikely) the Sparrow II, or by then maybe III, will be my first choice.

Final thoughts

I wouldn’t describe the Sparrow as luxurious, so maybe the it isn’t the Rolls Royce of 20 litre backpacks, but is a Range Rover; expensive, durable, heavy and lots storage options. The designers thought of everything: attachment points, pockets and hydration bag options; expandability to the point that you will throw out all of your other backpacks below 55 litre capacity in disgust.

Being able to pack the same amount as with a 50+ litre bag without the bulk makes this my favourite microadventure bag.

For me, the Sparrow is a brilliant challenge - I can fit my basic shelter on the outside, then I can just about fit my food, water and clothes on the inside. It has inspired me to cut down unnecessary bulk from my setup and affords me a smug feeling when I see others with larger backpacks who have clearly overpacked for a short trip. It is a bit of a bulky monster when used as a daypack, but when used in place of a 40-55L and separate 20L pack on a weekend adventure, suddenly all of it’s heavy attachments and over-engineered stitching make sense.

Rating 3/4

If you need a rugged bushcraft, airsoft or hybrid weekend trip backpack, I would heartily recommend the Wisport Sparrow series.

Alone in the Wilderness by Joseph Knowles

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Alone in the Wilderness is the memoir of Joseph Knowles, chronicling his 40 day stay in the woods in Maine which he undertook naked save a loincloth, without any survival equipment whatsoever. An astonishing tale dotted with perilous encounters with bears and wildcats, Knowles breaks up his account with stories from his life and some of his musings on modern living in 1913. As you continue through the book you might end up wondering whether the book isn’t all it seems to be…

My thoughts on the book fluctuated as I began and finished the first third. I began bewildered and amazed by just how tough Knowles seemed to be, even compared to the most extreme adventurers of that time. I have read quite a few books from the turn of the century or before by adventurers and outdoorsmen who survived some truly amazing events. Woolen garments, cast iron equipment, lacking nutrition and very basic or non-existent maps all made for what must have been a pretty hellish experience. Knowles, though, seems to be a cut above them all; wandering into the forest naked without so much as a knife with a plan to survive for 40 days, and all on the whim of a bet made in a bar. That is a daunting task even for the most experienced bushcrafter when alone, it would surely be the test of his life.

Joseph Knowles photographed as he emerged from the forest, clothed in bear skin.

Early in the book Knowles writes of his experiences growing up in the forest in Maine near where he enters the woods to begin his task. While giving no specifics, Knowles hints that some of the techniques he learned from his mother during childhood will help him to not just survive, but thrive in the wilderness during his stay. His stories about his childhood certainly gave the impression that he has been tempered to endure this sort of test from the very beginning.

“I didn't feel the hunger so keenly now, and as I walked along it came into my mind that I had heard that a man could go nine days without eating. Already I had been away from home three days. It would take two more to reach Wilton, which would leave four more before I actually starved to death, I figured.”
- Joseph Knowles

He speaks of and approaches the whole adventure in a casual manner, spending the first few nights without fire, pacing to keep warm and not sleeping at all. Fashioning shoes and trousers from bark with ease, he seems to find living in the woods as easy as living in a city.

As I read on, I did start to wonder whether some of the things he claimed to have done were actually physically possible. I began to wonder whether even Ray Mears with a full support crew could dig a pit, trap a bear and beat it to death with just a tree limb in the space of four days with no tools. Knowles continued that he had used his “bow and arrow” to shoot a large number of partridges without much effort at all. This was when alarm bells really started ringing for me, it would surely take a fortnight if not more for an experienced bowyer to find and knapp flint for tools, make the tools, find suitable wood, fashion a bow, make the twine to string it, prepare the arrow shafts and heads, find feathers and fletch the arrows, let alone hunt and shoot accurately enough to kill a wild animal. He had done all this on top of making several fires, a lean to shelter, clubbing a bear to death and spear fishing trout in his first two weeks?

Knowles left drawings and notes in several caches which were visited regularly by park rangers, these were his only contact with the outside world during his stay.

I immediately turned to Google to find some answers and do some research on this bushcrafting superhero. Sadly, from what I can find on the internet, it seems Joseph Knowles was at best a serial embellisher, and at worst (more likely) a con man out to make a quick buck, one of many making a dubious claim in a period when daring feats of endurance were all the rage.

I enjoyed reading Alone in the Wilderness; even though I learned the true story halfway through. Knowles’ writing style definitely has that enticing twang of an old man whose tales probably feature fish twice their actual size, and there are some great (heavily inspired by Emerson) quotes and musings on being outdoors. Ultimately, the unverifiable stories and questionable claims do mean that the story surrounding the inception of the idea and creation and release of the book are more interesting that the book itself.

“As I made my way down to the spring early that morning I knew it was Sunday morning, and the thought came to me of how little churches would be needed if everyone knew and understood nature. Nature is, in truth, a religion in herself.”
- Joseph Knowles

I’d definitely recommend reading the incredible story of Joseph Knowles and the events surrounding the release of the book, but I’d recommend reading a version written by someone other than the man himself. Really though, the book isn’t a bad read if you are still curious after that, the notes from Knowles’ friend, freelance writer Michael McKeogh, which apparently formed the basis of the story, did result in a well paced and eventful tale.

One thing is for certain, he could definitely draw well with charcoal, even if it was from the comfort of a well furnished log cabin.

Alone in the Wilderness is available for free as an ebook or PDF from Archive.org

Ups and Downs: The 3 Best and Worst Moments of my First Cycle Tour

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In 2014 I set off on my first long distance cycle tour. Inspired by the books of Al Humphreys and Mark Beaumont and their adventures travelling the world on two wheels, I saved up for a new bike with all the touring trimmings: panniers, a fancy leather saddle, and horribly uncool but ever-practical accessories such as a bell and kickstand. It had been a long time ambition of mine to go on a cycling adventure and it was exciting to finally have the means to pull at wanderlust’s thread and see familiar winding roads unravel before me and set my sights to the elusory horizon and simply go.

I cycled from my house in Hertfordshire, about 30 miles north of London and headed towards Edinburgh. I followed and number of Sustrans cycle routes, a network of on and off-road cycle-friendly paths, including Cycle route 1 which took me from Norfolk all the way up the east coast to Scotland. It took me 7 days to cycle 503 miles, averaging ~70 miles per day. It, for me at that time, was a long and epic journey and it came with many highs as well as lows. Here’s my top 3 best and worst moments from my first cycle tour.

My 3 best moments cycling from Hertfordshire to Scotland

1. On the Road

I got my bike out of the shed, hopped on, said goodbye, and set off along familiar streets just as I would for any Sunday jaunt. My wheels buzzed along the hot tarmac as my mind buzzed with excitement in the knowledge that I wasn’t going to loop round on the normal circuit but instead keep going, out of the orbit of home and off on a northerly bearing towards adventure. Something I hadn’t expected but felt from the first crank was that I had already succeeded. I had planned, prepared, and embarked on an adventure that would have been easy to put off or postpone; to procrastinate from doing at each opportunity. Leaving the house that sunny morning I knew that for better or worse, through whatever challenges came in my way, it would now be easier now to face them head-on and keep going than it would be to accept defeat and turn around and come home. I had finally achieved a long-term goal of going on a long distance cycle tour.

2. Unexpected Sights

By travelling by bike or on foot we choose to see the world go by at a slower pace. You get to see lots of things that you perhaps might not expect, the mundanity of journeying becomes the adventure itself bringing you to unexpected destinations that you would have otherwise missed. On my journey I heard accents change every day, subtle changes in geography and fauna, and noticed unique idiosyncrasies, such an unprecedented number of burnt mattresses in Middlesbrough or flags in Lincolnshire. Some of my favourite unexpected sights include a great string of kites in the shape of various creatures in Dunbar, and noticing these birdhouses along a rural road in Scotland. I also saved a Barn Owl that was trapped in a wire fence and met a Dutch septuagenarian who had ridden all the way from the Orkney Islands.

3. Scotland is Cool

One of the things I was most looking forward to on my trip was reaching Scotland and its relaxed camping rules that allow you to more or less wild camp anywhere. My first night beyond the border took me to a small village by the name of Foulden. Perched on the brow of a gently sloping hill, the houses of Foulden line just one side of the road, the other side saved from buildings allowing for stunning views across the Tweed Valley all the way to the distant Cheviot hills of Northumberland. I popped my tent up right there on the village green in full view of the houses. No hiding for me that night, skulking out of sight in fear of being shooed off by angry farmers. I was enjoying my right to camp freely in Scotland greatly, indeed, the next morning I was greeted by a friendly local who made me a cup of tea and filled my water bottles before I set off.

My 3 worst moments

1. Near-miss with a Nutter

My journey ended in the Scottish capital of Edinburgh, once described as a ‘mad god’s dream,’ its windy streets are lined with stone-faced tenements which can in a single moment look every bit as grand as they look austere. Built on seven hills, a qualifying foundation for many great cities, Edinburgh is centred upon a great central rock which perched upon it is a pretty sweet looking castle. I had ridden 500 miles by this time and feeling very happy to be riding through the city to my finish line, but just when I thought I had safely made it, I had a was very nearly knocked off my bike by a car cutting dangerously close in front of me. I slapped the car (classic mistake) to signal that I was there and protest his poor driving. A very angry man got out the car, shouting and swearing at me and seemingly looking for some good ol’ timey fisticuffs. In this moment my internal fight or flight mechanism slammed down on the escape button and my legs started pedalling furiously. As I made my dash for safety I heard the car revving loudly behind me, I could see in my mirror huffs of black smoke rising from the car as it teared towards me. I bunny hopped off the road and veered off into a park and essentially hid like an idiot from a man who looked like he had murder in his eyes. That was it, I finished the ride, a little shaky but ok. In every other respect Edinburgh treated me very well!

2. Falling off my bike in the Rain in Hull

Do I really need I say more? Falling off your bike is a wholly unpleasant experience at the best of times, but doing it after 40 miles of cycling in the rain, with 30 still to go only add insult to injury. It was a subtle ridge on a busy road that derailed me in the city of Hull, a place that’s most famous artwork is a picture of a dead seagull called ‘Dead Bod’ painted on a rusty shed as a joke over 50 years ago, an artwork that helped win Hull the status of Britain’s City of Culture 2017, an award that backhandedly compliments cities that aren’t London every 4 years. I scuffed my hands and knees badly and tore my shorts. I let out an involuntary but hammy yawp in front of a large audiences of drivers and pedestrians, some of which very kindly got from their cars to check I was ok. I thanked them but reassured them I was alright as I cowered off to clean my wounds.

3. A Perfect Storm of Bullshit

The absolute lowest moment for me came in the form of sheer exhaustion. Having ridden over 70 miles I had just another 10 to go before reaching the campsite that I had phoned earlier that day to book a spot. Last check in was 9pm, they said, any later than that and I’d be wild camping. My cycle route signalled me off the road and onto a rough looking farm track, I peeled off in good faith and kept going until I reached a hill with a gradient that only the most sinewy of cyclists could reasonably attempt. My pannier laden packhorse and my tired (and distinctly undefined) legs took one look and opted to push. Up I went, conscious of my deadline of 9pm closing in. And up and up. Glad to finally reach the top I hopped back on the bike only to ride 50 yards before blowing out a tire. It was 8:30 and I had just five miles to go but in this moment I felt so defeated I could have cried. Mustering up my last remaining scraps of mental fortitude, I got to work fixing the puncture. A quick fix and I was again on my way. Only, my road I had one more challenge in store for me. The last 2 miles of trail were finished with fist size rocks, fine for a fat bike of burly mountain bike but my spindly road tires struggled. I made it, thankfully, just in time but it really is hard to put into words how much it took out of me to get there. I pitched my tent and wandered to the pub for some much needed R+R.

Scarpa Delta GTX Activ Review

on reviews
Pros
Quality materials and assembly
Reduced or non-existent wearing in period
Tough but responsive sole
Cons
Leather isn’t for everyone

I bought these Scarpas in early spring 2016, for around £180 from GoOutdoors (from a physical shop for once!) and as far as I can see, they are the tough boots from the idiom. So far I’ve covered around 500 miles in them; wading through streams, walking over hills, climbing up mountains, stomping through snow, slogging through mud, and they have yet to let so much as a drop of water in. All the while they’ve provided a high level of comfort which I didn’t have to earn with a prolonged wearing in period, they fit comfortably right out of the shop.

Drawn in by the leather look and instantly comfortable fit, my Deltas have only improved with age.

Quality

The majority of the boot is covered in a 2.4-2.6mm leather, with a calf leather upper and tongue joint. Although a little stiff to begin with (as leather always is) creases wore in straight away at the ankle bend, providing that tailored fit that I have only ever experienced with leather boots. They have picked up a few cosmetic bramble scratches over the last year, while these haven’t even come close to affecting the boots performance, they have left me a little self conscious about further damage in a way I probably wouldn’t feel wearing boots with a synthetic construction.

The stitching, glue and general construction is all fantastic quality from what I have seen in the last 12 months, nothing has budged even a little bit. The sole has hardly aged at all, its deep tread still as effective as day one, and even the inner sole is in good condition; still springy albeit missing some surface colour from wear. The comfort level has only increased as I have worn them in, there have been no weak links when it comes to build and material quality.

A year and several hundred miles in, all of the joints and stitches show no signs of shifting.

Design

To compliment the great quality, Scarpa have realised a fantastic design to boot. They are a great mix of old and new boot style; comfortable, traditional calf and cow leather with hi-tech comfort inside and a Gore-tex waterproof lining, all topped off with a springy, bomb-proof, plastic sole. Having worn my pair in deep snow and at the height of summer without dampness creeping in and all sweat creeping out, I can say that the waterproofing and breathability of the Delta is fantastic. The laces will stay put all day even without a lace locking mechanism and although it’s quite tricky to get the tongue to stay in place to begin with, once you have worn them enough to mould the leather into place, lacing them up is a breeze.

The sole is springy and manages to feel surprisingly responsive for what is quite a large chunk of plastic, even with the very sturdy toe protector at the front. I’ve felt thoroughly connected to the earth in them almost all the time, these boots are definitely built to make you feel like Godzilla crashing down a hill, rather than a highly tuned and nimble hill walker.

The memory foam, insole and springy sole work harmoniously to provide a comfort level which hasn't faded.

The boots have what Scarpa calls “ActivFit”, which means Scarpa made the boot using a special ‘last’ which is the analogue for a human foot used to mould the inner padding. These hi-tech lasts apparently allow for a softer padding to be used inside the boot, and this abundance of soft cushioning is what makes the boots feel better than others right out of the box. The boots also feature a breathable memory foam innersole, which really doesn’t let you down when you find yourself standing for long periods of time eating lunch or waiting for others on the trail. Without knowing about any of these features at the time, I thought they felt better than all of the other boots I tried straight away and I have only had one incident with blisters, so apparently it all works.

Alternatives

The direct competitors in the 3 season leather boot range include the Mammut Brecon II, which costs ~£170 and the heavier Meindl Bhutan MFS, which costs ~£180. Reading reviews of the competition, I am not instilled with confidence the way I was approaching Scarpa; build quality issues aren’t what you want to hear when investing in something you want to last up to 5 years. There were actually several user reviews that included lines such as “never gonna last 10 years like my old Scarpas”, far reaching brand reputation for quality is always a good sign. From what I have seen, the alternative with the most to offer comes from the British company Anatom, their Braeriach 3 season boot costs only £144 and has been reviewed positively so far.

Final thoughts

With a regular oil and wax I can see these boots lasting me at least another 5 years, if they remain this comfortable I’d be happy to wear them all that time too. Insulative, grippy, comfortable and visually pleasing; they tick all the right boxes and support you in all the right places. I’ve recently seen them online as low as £160, so while not exactly a bargain, they are still very good value.

Rating 3/4

I’d definitely recommend them and would buy another pair in a heartbeat.

Going Ultralight: Repacking

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In this series I’ll be taking you through my thought process as I shave the pounds off of my setup before I attempt some multiday hikes later this year. I’ll be slimming my system down from a bloated giant which would drag me down with it, to a sleek ultralight bundle that I hardly notice as I skip along the cliffside like a mountain goat who’s just discovered weight watchers. Hopefully you’ll find some tips that you can use with your gear, if you have any tips of your own, remember to share them in the comments!

Until now, the majority of my camping has involved setting up a base camp somewhere a few miles out from the car and day hiking to explore the surrounding area with only a day sack on my back. Over the years this has led to quite a blasé attitude toward my gear purchases and how much I take with me, resulting in a very cluttered inventory of things I use rarely even though I carry them often.

Just a few of the things I have recently taken out with me, mostly useful but certainly not essential.
The bits and bobs I've aquired over the years always seem handy at the time but the weight adds up fast.

Recently, however, I have planned a few more adventurous trips which will involve hiking and camping with everything on my back for two weeks or more, this is when lighter gear starts to seem very appealing. Being outside is great fun; hiking, cycling, canoeing, camping, these have all been enjoyed as past times since the 1800s when camping and hiking were first popularised. Things can be made much less fun, however, if you are forced to carry enormous weight while you partake in them, as was pointed out in one of my favourite books…

"Very few young men who read this book will find it possible to enjoy themselves, and carry more than twenty pounds a greater distance than ten miles a day, for a week."
- John M. Gould

That was written in 1877. Twenty pounds was more than the advised limit when hiking recreationally for an american civil war veteran. He was surely a lot tougher than you or I, probably a fair bit stronger, and even he didn’t carry a heavy pack back when everything was made from either wool or iron.

These days a pack base weight of around 20lbs will class you as a ‘lightweight’ backpacker, but if it was too heavy in 1877, it’s certainly too heavy for my flimsy millennial bones today. A pack weighing 5lbs will apparently see you classified as a ‘super-ultralight’ or ‘hyperlight’ backpacker. From what I have seen, this weight is where you enter the realms of record breaking, astonishingly fast hikers who blaze past you with no time to concentrate on the scenery or get a trail name that doesn’t involve a superlative. These hikernators usually forgo every creature comfort they can to save weight, and eat only food with the highest of calorie to weight ratios. Because I’m not keen on re-hydrated beans, and wouldn’t mind the odd cup of coffee on the trail, I’m going to aim for the middle-ground. 10lbs. Ultralight.

Because I’m going to be making my trips in the summer (albeit a British summer) I’m going to presume a night temperature of around 10 Celsius and infrequent rain, so I’ll create my ultralight system with that in mind. I’ll also aim for a system with a stove of some sort because I like warm meals at night and coffee in the morning but I am open to the idea of going stoveless, depending on my final weight.

Repacking

The first step in lightening my pack is also the easiest and certainly the cheapest, I’m going to unpack everything and start from the beginning. Starting from the bottom is going to force me to tackle everything I put into my pack; I’m looking at each item in a new light now; a revealing, minimalist, white light which isn’t flattering to anything but the essential. I’m going to need to really think about how important everything is before I put it in my bag, and it’s likely my bag can lose some weight too.

When I repacked the first time, I picked up only the things which are directly linked to my survival outdoors; water, shelter and food.

My essential gear.

Here is how my gear looks post repack:

Water

  • Karrimor aluminium bottle 1.5L - 143g
  • Lifeventure collapsible bottle - 52g
  • Water purification tablets (x 30) - 10g
    Total - 205g

Shelter (+ Sleep System)

  • Alpkit Hunka - 390g
  • Vango sleeping bag - 1621g
  • Roll mat - 150g
    Total - 2161g

Cooking

  • Trangia Mini - 360g
  • Meths container - 38g
  • Spoon - 10g
    Total - 408g

Total

Gear - 2774g
Regatta Survivor 65 pack - 1569g
Total pack base weight - 4343g - 9lb 9.19oz!

I’ve already hit a decent starting point, and it’s only taken about 20 minutes. Unless you’re cooking on a portable Aga, at this point you should be pretty significantly below 15lbs, if not even less, like me. Here we have the essentials, as they were in my original pack, not particularly expensive or light but we’re already hovering around our goal weight. Obviously there’s still a fair bit to add if I want to have a nice time while I hike: toiletries and perhaps some camp clothes, but we’ll get to that later in the series.

There’s actually quite a lot we can do to reduce the weight even at this point, that’s what I’ll be doing in part two of this series: Refining the essential.

Sunix 120 Headtorch Review

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Pros
Rechargeable
Useful Modes
Compact
Long battery life
Cons
Comes loose easily
No over head strap

I bought this Sunix headtorch from Amazon.co.uk in the summer of 2015 for roughly £16, I have used it almost daily since that time while jogging, camping and hiking at night. I chose this headtorch mainly because it was the cheapest rechargeable headtorch I could find, but since purchase the durability and performance of the product has constantly surprised me.

Modes for all occasions, outstanding battery life and an incredibly reasonable pricepoint make up for the flimsy feel appearance and feel.

Build Quality

The standard of the materials used in the construction point to an origin somewhere in China, that is to say they aren’t the highest quality; the strap feels like very cheap plastic, as does the headtorch itself. After some Googling I found that “Sunix” doesn’t appear to have a website, and the same model can be seen branded as a “Shuofang Spower” elsewhere. This probably means that you shouldn’t expect much to come from the lifetime warranty guaranteed on the Amazon page, but the good news is that it seems to function well enough that you shouldn’t need to find out!

The LEDs, buttons, water-resistant seals, charging port and peripheral bag and charging cable are all of acceptable, if somewhat lacking quality, but nothing has broken in two years of near constant use. I have exposed the IPX 6 sealing of the unit to many a rain, sleet and snow shower while jogging and hiking, but nothing seems to have penetrated, and the LEDs are still working.

The unit looks quite nice while remaining functional; the button is large enough to operate easily even with thick gloves on.

Design

The physical design of the unit is fairly nice, the single button gives a satisfying click and springy response, navigating the modes with different clicking patterns is very easy indeed, as well as being simple enough to memorise straight away. For me, the one thing the design is missing is an over head strap, just to make it that bit more secure, because the lateral strap can works itself loose quite fast when you’re running.

The unit features a bright, 120 lumen spotlight mode, with a 50 lumen floodlight setting for normal use around camp, both of these can be set to strobe with three successive button clicks. The red night light mode is bright enough to perform any tasks around camp without ruining your night vision, a must for any stargazers, and very handy if the inside of your tent is white or reflective. There are also charging and over-discharging warning lights to let you know when you might be damaging the life of the battery.

I’m constantly surprised by the length of burn time I can get out of the battery, if I use it an hour a day jogging in the evening, with the odd camp thrown in, I probably charge it once every 2 months, sometimes longer. The provided 4 inch micro USB charging cable weighs roughly 10 grams so you can carry it everywhere, just in case you need a boost on the trail. Micro USB means you can pack just one cable to charge your phone and headtorch!

A full charge takes around 30 minutes, mine tends to go a month or two between charges when I use it for an hour a night for jogging.

The torch, strap and charging cable all pack down to a handy pocket sized lump in the provided black dry bag. Everything packed weighs only 119 grams (4.2 ounces) so it’s no hassle to throw in any coat or bag, even on longer trips.

If you squash it into a coat pocket, the whole lot will compress down to a 3" x 3" ball.

Alternatives

Alternatives to the Sunix 120 within the same price range seem to be either unbranded cheap tat, require normal AAA batteries, require you to buy separate rechargeable batteries or weigh a lot more.

Petzl are generally regarded as the top dog in the world of headtorches but that comes with a bump in price, the Petzl Tikka matches the functionality of the Sunix but you’ll have to drop a further £20 on top of the ~£20 unit cost if you want a rechargeable battery pack.

Final Thoughts

The Sunix, although a bit tacky on first impressions, is astonishingly good value for what is a very handy and feature-laden item. It’s served me well over nearly two years of jogging in all weather as well as being handy to read by in a tent. I don’t think you can find a better headtorch for less than £25, let alone £16, it’s the outdoor gear holy grail; light, compact, cheap, reliable, convenient. I have since bought a second one for my father to use in the garage/under cars, he is sold on it too.

Rating: 4/4

At this price, this is the best head torch I’ve seen.

How to Camp Out by John Mead Gould

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The first book to be featured as Boldly Goes’ outdoor book of the month is one of the first books written about recreational camping. ‘How to Camp Out’ was written in 1877 by American Civil War veteran John Mead Gould. He wanted to popularise recreational hiking and camping, and especially inspire the young of the USA to go out and experience what they could while they were able. I read the entire guide in a single sitting and made notes of interesting techniques and notable quotes as I went, finishing with quite a long list. The book definitely succeeded in inspiring me to get outside and make the most of my youth, I immediately put some of the skills I had read of in practice and began to take Gould’s advice on note taking very seriously. It is part of the reason I wanted to start Boldly Goes to begin with and you will no doubt see me quote its timeless wisdom in future articles.

"Consequently, write what you can, and let it stand with all its blots, errors, and nonsense. And be careful, when you are five years older, not to go through the diary with eraser and scissors; for, if you live still another five years, nothing will interest you more than this diary with all its defects."
- John M. Gould

The preface really tells you everything you need to know about this book; it summarises the advice of a very experienced outdoorsman with the intention of inspiring the young people of the USA to go out and experience everything nature has to offer. Gould does this by systematically providing all of the information they would need to assemble a travelling party of their own and survive outdoors for an extended period of time. This includes a briefing on all of the important aspects of camping, from which equipment to buy and how to cook on an open fire to advice on how to take useful notes on your trip, with a view to write them up for posterity later.

The book continues with 11 chapters detailing everything the youth of 1877 needed to know to prepare and set out into the, then very, wild American countryside. He begins with the preparations you might need to make before you leave and recommends leaving all but the essentials behind to save pack weight. Then he moves on through the equipment and tasks which you’ll be using and performing when camping and provides a quick but thorough summary of best practises to prepare you. Very few people will find it useful know know about loading a pack onto a horse and cart then walking next to it up a mountain these days, but these less applicable snippets provide a window into outdoor life in the 1800s, they have a different value. This is the beauty of Gould’s guide; it contains a lot of techniques that remain the same today, and anything outdated provides an insight into the history of camping and hiking, there are no wasted chapters.

His words on the versatility of a wool rug inspired me to drag our old family wool blend picnic rug from the car and give it a go, I was pleasantly surprised to find it was extremely useful in the woods where the Boldly Goes team usually camps. Rolled up and slung over the shoulder, it’s a comfortable, if a bit warm, way to carry clothes and food. Folded it provides a nice seat or sleeping mat in the summer, and it stops the wind wicking away the warmth from your sleeping bag when wrapped around it. It’s obviously a bit heavy, but if you’re camping overnight and aren’t walking too far, it’s definitely a nice thing to have.

As well as keeping you warm in the evenings, a wool rug makes carrying extra food and water a breeze.

In the final two chapters of the book, Gould has included extracts in full from the work of two other experts of the day. The first, Reverend Edward Everett Hale, has some insights into the habits you should develop while hiking as well as a cautionary tale on not taking chances of adventure when they present themselves. The second, Dr. Elliott Coues, offers advice on avoiding injury and illness outdoors, the preventative measures like keeping warm and always maintaining three points of contact when climbing still ring true. I would, however, advise finding some more up-to-date information on reviving a drowned man that doesn’t involve rubbing their face to make it warm, then splashing cold water on it.

"Be independent, but not impudent. See all you can, and make the most of your time; "time is money;" and, when you grow older, you may find it even more difficult to command time than money."
- John M. Gould

How to Camp Out is 70 pages of distilled knowledge written in an accessible way by a man whose clear love for the outdoors and passion for teaching others shines throughout the book, making it a pleasure to read. It’s a lovely little piece of nourishing history which I’d definitely recommend to keen outdoorsmen who are beginners or seasoned experts. Both will come away from the book having learned different things: the newer, perhaps some new techniques and tips; the more experienced, some perspective on their outdoor skills and gear, and how little the basics have changed in 140 years.

How to Camp Out is available for free as an ebook or PDF via the Gutenberg project or archive.org.

Hot tent camping on a shoestring

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Hot tent camping is where a stove is used inside of the tent to provide warmth in extremely cold conditions. “Crikey!” I hear you cry, “That sounds mighty dangerous!”. That’s because you’re right. We’ve obviously got two very clear hazards here:

  1. Risk of perishing in a raging inferno, and;
  2. Slowly succumbing to the odourless persuasions of carbon monoxide

Addressing point number one, any hot tent camping setup needs to be carefully designed to reduce the risk of fire hazard by ensuring there is no contact with flammable materials and that the stove is stable, and will not topple. The fire also needs to be carefully monitored at all times.

On point number two, the stove needs to have a good draw, ensuring that when it is in operation, noxious fumes are safely extracted out of the tent. Still, a downdraught is always a risk, therefore the only safe option here is that the fire must be completely extinguished when you go to sleep.

If any readers are seriously considering hot tent camping we recommend doing your research and taking all the necessary precautions when dealing with fire in a confined space. What we are demonstrating in this article is a proof-of-concept of what can be achieved with not that much money.

In our previous article we discussed the construction of a mini wood burning stove made out of a beer keg. To use this in a hot tent camping setup we needed to make a couple of alterations. Namely the addition of longer chimney to extend through a hole in the tent. However, when we were testing our creation we found that the chimney became red hot. If this part came into contact with tent fabric, it would obviously be bad news. So we devised a two layer chimney; we stacked a number of old baked bean cans on top of each other then put a piece of aluminum tubing over the top.

Full of beans

For the tent Sam picked up a vintage 1974 Polish Military issue lavvu for less than £30. If you’re not aware, the lavvu is a fantastic thing indeed. A lavvu consists of two large canvas ponchos and several pieces of aluminium tubing which can be combined to make a teepee. The ponchos have one hole on either side for each arm. When fully constructed, this leaves a convenient chimney sized hole in the lavvu.

Erected lavvu with protruding chimney

Even though we used the aforementioned two layer chimney construction we still wanted to make sure the chimney did not come into contact with the lavvu canvas. To ensure this, we wedged the opening into a rigid diamond shape using a stiff twig either side of the chimney. Let’s just take a short break to admire the glorious dying light in our chosen camping location.

Shepherd's delight

Now, back to burning stuff. We collected some firewood, loaded the mini keg stove and built another fire nearby also. As day became night, we lit the stove and closely monitored our creation.

Cosy living quarters

After the fire had got going all three of us piled into the lavvu, closed the door and basked in the intense heat quickly building in the small space. We found that the rough seal of the canvas lavvu massively helps to keep the heat from escaping and that within a matter of seconds of closing the door, the space became quite toasty.

The completed lavvu / mini tent hot camping set up

Whilst we didn’t sleep in the lavvu on the first night, I think we have proven that you can quite cheaply assemble a small, functional hot tent camping setup that could serve the purpose of quickly warming you up for a very small fuel load. We’ll definitely be experimenting with this set up in the future. Breaking down the cost…

Beer keg ~ £15

Sheet aluminum ~£2

Aluminium chimney ~£10

Lavvu with aluminium poles ~£30

Total: ~£57

I’ll leave you with a wonderful long exposure shot that James took of a passing plane in the night sky.

Night trails

Beer, fire and power tools

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The team will soon be experimenting with a different kind of camping, Hot Tent Camping. Don’t worry, we aren’t planning on restarting the Carry On… franchise. Hot tent camping involves the use of a stove to provide warmth to the tent in particularly cold conditions. It is most often used for semi permanent setups in permanently cold conditions such as way up in North Canada. In these types of setups, specialist equipment is absolutely essential, eh. Amongst such equipment is typically a large and predictably heavy log burning stove.

We’re not a group to go spending money on expensive equipment where it isn’t warranted, especially if it’s for some crackpot idea that might only be a one time use. So, we went about making our own prototype, of sorts.

The product spec was simple: up-cycle materials to make a small, lightweight, portable log burning stove with a chimney which can be attached to a hole in the camping canopy. We got thinking, what would be a good size item for the main chamber? We needed to find something which could take the heat of a 250°C fire, was fairly light and just the right size; not too big, not too small. Our solution was found in another one of the team’s shared hobbies, drinking beer.

Many supermarkets and microbreweries sell mini kegs which hold around 5 litres of beer. We wagered that one of these would be ideal as the starting point and first building block for our lightweight stove.

A plan is made

With a plethora of spare materials and some roughly sketched plans we would have promptly begun construction, except for one small problem. Our mini beer keg was still full of beer. Fortunately, with the help of my dad (whom was kindly providing use of workshop and many provisions), that issue was swiftly resolved.

Sam (not my dad)

First, we needed to make a hole in the top of the keg to make room for a chimney. Looking at the wide selection of tools available to us we chose our weapon and quickly found that the stainless steel keg cut like butter at the hands of most sharp edges, especially a quickly oscillating jigsaw blade. After drilling several pilot holes we cut an opening in the top and folded in the lips. Following our theme of a low budget scrapheap challenge, we then inserted our next part, an old baked bean can for the chimney. After some gentle coercion this fit as snug as a bug in a rug.

This can can

Next, we needed to cut a hole and make some kind of door mechanism which would be simple to make but also easy to place and remove when the stove is burning away. The team sketched up a few different ideas and eventually settled upon the idea of placing a door, consisting of an appropriately shaped piece of sheet aluminium, on a small lip at the top of an opening.

Holely satisfying

We then gutted the belly of the beast, drilling out the dispenser nozzle and several ventilation holes around the bottom, which would hopefully provide some draw of air. We also cut out the aluminum door and attached some wire to act as hook. Finally we cut out and bent some strips of aluminium to act as stage to hold the firewood above the bottom of the keg.

The finished Article

I swear that whenever the Boldly Goes team gets together, we end up making a fire; this occasion was no exception. We loaded the mini-keg stove with paper and kindling, lit the fire and put on the door. Within a minute the fire was roaring and an impressive draw was pulling the flame out the top of the old baked bean can chimney. We kept adding more kindling to the fire and quickly found that we had made a very hungry little stove indeed; it will tear through its maximum capacity of kindling in about five minutes flat. After which, the stove is quickly cool to the touch.

This will be totally safe in a tent, right?

We burnt the stove for about 20 minutes in an attempt to burn off any of the paint or surface finishes on the keg which may produce noxious fumes. Investigating the state of the stove after it had cooled down we’d found that it had adopted a rustic blackened tinge inside and out. We also found that our aluminum fire stage inside had not survived the intense heat of the fire and had curled away to a thin wisp. Considering our creation and testing fairly successful, we’re now ready to incorporate this into a hot tent setup.

Soloventuring: Taking on your first solo trip

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Preparing for your first solo wild-camping trip can be a little daunting but the rewards in the long run can be great. I still clearly remember my first time solo camping. I was cycling from London to Edinburgh and had pitched up in a secluded spot behind a small church in Norfolk; that night every creak and rustle sounded like the creeping footsteps of some lurking murderer. I was petrified. Needless to say, I didn’t get much rest that night. Since that first time wild camping alone I have come to enjoy venturing out alone and actually really look forward to it.

Obviously my fears were a little irrational and the reality of the situation was a lot safer than I had given credence to. Logically, I think anyone would agree that walking down a city street at night is far more risky than wild-camping alone in a rural area somewhere, yet most of us would be much more comfortable facing the former than the latter. Fortunately, overcoming this logical-lapse really is just a matter of experience. A few times out under the stars on your own and you should start to feel a little more at ease and before you know it you’ll be confident heading out on solo adventures whenever the need calls you.

If you’re wondering at this point why the hell you’d ever want to head out into the wilderness alone here’s five reasons I’d give to persuade you to give it a try sometime:

  1. Digital Detox

    If you are anything like me, you probably spend too much time looking at screens, whether it’s at work or at home. Many of us spend our lives in a state of hyper-connection, checking what our friends are up to, what’s happening in the news, and binge watching the latest netflix hit show from the minute we wake up to the minute we go to bed. Get outside, lose signal, and relax.

  2. Challenge yourself

    Trying something new and getting out of our comfort zone is something we all know we’re supposed to do but it’s easy to get wrapped up in the day-to-day and before you know it life has become like a real-life Groundhog day. A microadventure is an easy way to reboot. Choose somewhere beautiful, throw caution to the wind, pack your bags and go.

  3. Be Independent

    Do your feet hurt? Stop walking. Are you hungry? Eat. Have you found a view you want to stop and take in? Take all the time you need. Spotted an interesting detour? Go. When you travel solo you are the master of your own destiny. No one can tell you what to do and there is no need to negotiate plans, you are free to go where you want and at whatever pace you like. Independence is freedom.

  4. Finding Solitude

    Living in solitude for longs periods of time can be unhealthy and is certainly undesirable as us Humans are inherently sociable creatures. However, finding solitude once in awhile can actually be beneficial to your creativity and sense of personal identity. For hundreds of years religious types like them monks have used solitude to bolster their spirituality (so there’s that, if that sort of thing floats your boat).

  5. Appreciating Nature

    Without sounding too hippy-ish, travelling alone can be rewarding in that you feel a little more connected to the environment around you. You’ll have plenty of time to take in the sights and sounds of your surroundings on your solo trip. Something that always gives me great pleasure is the moment when I pause on a summer cycle and the sound of the whirring tyres on tarmac and the clanking gears give way to sound of skylarks in the fields and the breeze through the trees. Ok, I’m getting a little sentimental but you get the idea!

My favourite camping setup, taken at my local woods, summer 2016

My most recent Soloventure was into the hills and mountains of the English Lake District; a stunningly beautiful place that I really ought to visit more often. I made a quick plan and hopped in the car and punched ‘Keswick’ into my satnav. Four hours later I had arrived at my destination. I grabbed some supplies from the shop and was on my way.

My camp spot at Dale Head Tarn, Oct 16

I headed up the popular summit of Cat Bells and kept walking. I passed High Spy and descended into the saddle beneath Dale Head. This wasn’t any expeditionary feat, in fact the hike was fairly easy and not particularly long. I had considered staying in a Youth Hostel when I had made my initial plan for the day but I found an old and decrepit sheepfold beside a small tarn that looked a perfect place to set up camp. I unstrapped my bag and set up my tent. It’s worth noting here that although wild camping in the lakes is technically illegal - like anywhere else in England, it is de facto that once above the highest drystone walls wild-camping is permitted. Obviously I followed the same principles I would for any camp: leave no trace, arrive late and leave early, and be generally respectful. Normally when camping I’d would like to have a fire but in the Lake District this is strictly forbidden and should be avoided.

The next day I headed down the hill and after a leisurely walk along the shores of Derwent Water I was soon in my car and headed for home. It had been a great trip, super simple, super cheap, and very satisfying and completed in just 24 hours. I would recommend it to anyone. Next time you feel a little at odds with your work/life balance, looking for spiritual enlightenment, or simply all your adventure buddies are busy, why not take a Soloventure and see for yourself how good it is!

More photos from my Lake district Soloventure:

24 hours in the New Forest

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It was one of those deceptive October days where you can easily fool yourself for a moment that the summer might forget to end. After all, the sun was still high and bright and the trees were still thick with green leaves as we trundled down the M25, waiting in line for the M3 exit. This wasn’t the case everywhere. We had strategically avoided Norfolk where we had originally planned to go that weekend as the weather report that morning had showed what looked, to me at least, a lot like a small hurricane residing over the very stretch of coast we were headed for. And as intrepid as we certainly are it looked to be the making of a miserable time. So after a quick look online and few texts later we were in the car and on our way to the New Forest with only a faintest outline of a plan and missing a few adventurer’s-essentials, such as a map and food, for instance. The Scouts’ Motto ‘Be Prepared’; once the ever present and sage aphorism was by now just a distant echo in the back of my mind. But, hey, at least it was sunny.

We arrived up in the pretty village of Lyndhurst, my little red Mitsubishi looking at little out of place alongside the line of Ferrari’s and Maserati’s parked outside Meridien Modena, the sports car dealership on the village’s High street, but it was at least matching the colour scheme. The necessary items we required were easily found in the local shops and so we set off towards the forest now armed with an OS map and stocked up with beer and venison sausages. We walked due south and peeled off into a small estate of 60s-built suburban houses and down a cul-de-sac which would humbly serve as our gateway into what was once the hunting ground of choice for William the Conqueror.

The trees rose up high on either side of us. Instantly the air was colder and the once-wide open blues skies of Hampshire where now reduced to the narrow void between the trees created by the broad path. There was a tangible sense that there is something special about the New Forest, perhaps it came from just how much life there is everywhere around you as you walk. The forest’s trees consist of ancient stands of burled and burly Oaks and Beeches standing in tall and elegant poses, and younger tracts of Silver Birch and Pine. And it is true that in the Autumn it is near-impossible to find a patch of ground that isn’t home to one of the thousands of fungi species the live here in symbiosis with the forest’s plants and trees. The forest floor is alive with colourful mushrooms, from the bright red and instantly recognisable Fly Agaric, to the myriad species of stout and chunky Boletus, and the much sought after golden-capped Chanterelle. Combine all of this with wild roaming ponies and you begin to build a picture of the New Forest in all it’s mythic splendour.

We searched for a spot to camp, somewhere out of sight and quiet where we could pitch up without disturbing any wildlife. The ground here is very wet is covered with a thick carpet of sphagnum, and any deadwood we could find was rotten and completely useless as firewood. It was clear that a campfire was out of the question and so we cooked up a sausage stew on a the camp stove and drank our beers under the light of the moon. The night was full of noises, from the familiar and comforting hoots of Tawny Owls to the once haunting pained-barks of foxes, a sound all wild-campers become accustomed to, as well as some hoarse mammalian howls that I’ve never before heard or since.

We rose, well rested, to a perfect morning. The air was crisp and the sun’s golden light was spilling through the leaves of the trees. The forest had welcomed and rewarded us with its natural beauty and simplicity but it was now sadly time to leave and return to normality. We packed our kit away and took our path back to Lyndhurst, taking in once more the sheer loveliness of our host.

We stopped for espresso’s and bruschetta before hitting the road at an independent cafe, choosing to sit outside in the sunshine. We looked in that moment both cosmopolitan and disheveled, as if we were the latest incarnation of hipster, amping-up the lumberjack look to full-blown woodland tramp. Little did our passers-by know of our microadventure in the woods; our little slice of solitude far away from the complexities of modern life.

On the drive home I noticed that just a few of the leaves on the trees had started to show the first signs of oranging and loosening themselves from their branches. It seemed the seasons had hinged on our weekend. And just as one began to close another came into the fore, putting to rest the last hopes that the summer may just linger on in act of happy forgetfulness.

Photo Story: Edinburgh to Stornorway

on features

My odyssey from the Scottish capital to the northern reaches of its Western Isles

1. The Plan

My chosen route for my cycle touring trip from Edinburgh to the the top of the Outer Hebrides islands back in the summer of 2015.

2. The Means

This is my rig for my ride from Edinburgh to the Outer Hebrides islands. If you’re not one for nerdy bike talk I recommend moving on now. You’ve been warned. This is my Kona Honkytonk, I know, I know, why didn’t you get the Kona Sutra, I hear you cycle-touring pros out there say. Well, I really would have preferred the Sutra but I couldn’t find it anywhere for less than £1200 and so finding this, a bike I had ridden before and liked a lot for £500 brand-new was really a no-brainer. It has a steel frame, heavy but strong and easily repairable compared to aluminium frames, and it looks great. I went for the tried-and-tested Ortlieb panniers and Brook’s saddle and just looked away from the laptop screen as I pressed the ‘use all your savings to buy this’ button. They are fantastic though.

I changed a few items for this trip to Scotland such as the tyres, I went for Schwalbe Marathons. Sure, they’re heavy but I can’t tell you the peace of mind afforded to you knowing that your chances of a puncture are reduced to almost nothing. In fact I didn’t get a single puncture during my trip and even gave away most of my repair kit to a fellow cycle tourer who had endless flats. I also removed the clip-in pedals and replaced them with cheapo flat pedals with the reasoning that I could wear more comfortable shoes while riding and that speed didn’t really matter anyway. Jury’s still out on whether this was really a good idea! I could go on a lot more about the rig but I appreciate we all have lives to live!

3. Leaving Home

Stevenage train station, packed and ready for the 5 hour train ride to Edinburgh.

4. Welcome to Scotland

The superb Forth railway bridge. I could at this point provide some highly dubious trivia, regarding how it’s always in the process of being painted, but I’ll spare you. The bridge I’m stood on in this picture, however, appears to be slowly falling apart. They have installed acoustic listening devices on the suspension cables to listen for the pings of breaking strands of steel, just to keep an eye on things. Reassuring.

5. Unexpected Adventures

What’s great about Scotland is that you can camp anywhere, more or less. On my first night I found a quiet and secluded meadow that looked perfect. The sky was clear and the stars were out so I opted for the bivvy bag - wild camping at it’s best if you ask me! However, what I had failed to realise was that this meadow was part of an active construction site. The sound of reversing sirens are a lot louder than the alarm on my phone and went off quite a bit earlier too! An exchange of thumb’s-up was had and I was soon on my way.

6. New Aquaintances

I’m sure by this point you’re beginning to see that the main character of my trip was my trusty steed, Honky. What I don’t have, sadly, is many pictures of all the people I met on the way. Whilst heading through the Highlands towards Oban I met Colin from Wyoming who had been travelling across Europe and was on his final leg, cycling in Scotland. We were headed in the same direction for the next 50 miles or so, so we buddied up for the day. We stayed at a campsite that night and enjoyed a good night’s drinking down the local. The next day, a little sore-headed, we bid each other farewell and went on our separate ways.

7. Crossing the Minch

From Oban it was a 5 hour ferry ride to Lochboisdale, which I spent with a fellow cycle tourer; an Aberdeen girl who was headed for Barra. The boat ride had it’s up’s and down’s, every 15 seconds or so, in a relentless swaying motion. I have never seen so much vomit. My companion had assured me she’d inherited an iron stomach from a long line of seafarer’s, the look on her face as she slowly made her way through the ferry canteens mac’n’cheese told a different story.

8. Night-rider

I arrived on the Western Isles shortly after 11 to a pitch-black night. I put my lights on and cycled into the night. This was to be one of the best rides of my life, in complete darkness surrounded by the ethereal whirring of burrowing Puffins and the whistling wind. I cycled for a long way into the night until a car pulled up next to me. I was certain I had met my final bloody fate. The window of the car wound down and before appeared not an axe-wielding maniac looking for nocturnal cyclists but a friendly faced middle-aged woman. She asked me where I was headed, to which I replied ‘that way’, to which she said ‘there isn’t anything that way’. She recommended that I find a camp spot soon before heading into what was just squidgy swamps and pools for miles. She drove on and I set my bivvy up in the bus shelter a few yards up the road. This, unsurprisingly a poor place to camp, as I was the unwelcome visitor to what was already the home for every creepy crawly in the local vicinity. The morning light came as a relief. It also revealed my environment for the first time. A sparse, mostly treeless landscape with short rugged hills and endless tiny lochs.

9. A Sign of Things to Come

Loved these signs, at a glance it looks like a dinosaur, Nessie even. Kept my eyes peeled for otters (and Nessie) but had no such luck.

10. French-fried

These two french cyclists had spent the previous two days cycling together and went their separate ways not long after this picture was taken but not before sharing a wee dram of whisky and baileys too, plus a few tokes on our new friend’s jazz cigarette. Afterwards we all had a go at riding about recklessly on his recumbent bike, attempting to do skids in the middle of an A-road.

11. Crofting on Berneray Island

This is the Youth Hostel on the island of Berneray. On the way I passed by a village hall with a free wifi and by this point internet and phone signal had become a luxury, so I headed inside. I was met by an English couple. I politely asked if I could have the password, ‘Of course you can dear’ the lady said, ‘would you like to learn about the island’s history first?’, if only I had the courage to say no. I patiently leafed through binders of sepia photographs of stern faced school masters, fishermen, and priests, only to be told after a long history lesson that the internet was in fact down. Great! ‘But don’t worry,’ she said, ‘between you and me, the B-and-B down the road has a Wifi network with no password.’ I promised to keep my word and headed to the b-and-b, where sure enough I got some slow but usable free Wifi.

12. Psycho Killer

Every hosteller’s worst nightmare: the axe-murderer, seen here moments before dealing the fatal blow. Thankfully this was not a real axe murderer but a fellow friendly traveller. That night there were a few of us staying in the old white-washed croft. Later in the evening a crusty old pirate-looking fellow turned up asking us if we wanted to buy some crab meat. Two young, and mute (up to this point) Italian sisters, looking a bit bewildered by their situation, piped up and took some of the crab from the man’s hamper. They had, however, misunderstood that the man would be expecting some recompense for his efforts and wasn’t just driving around doling out crab for nothing and so they shyly returned the crab. The man got very angry and huffed loudly the words ‘fucking timewasters’ before slamming the door, leaving his Jack Russell staring out through the window as his master trundled off in his old Rav4. It was scary, and we suspected he may be our axe-murderer. In the end his dog wandered off and we all woke up with the standard number of limbs.

13. Harris, Home of Tweed

The next day I arrived on the Isle of Harris famous for it’s tweed. In fact, the Isle of Harris and the Isle of Lewis are indeed the same island, the only thing separating them being their geography, Lewis is largely flat and bleak, and Harris has some large, more Highland-like hills and mountains. You can see in the picture here a glimpse of the Hebrides’ famous white sands and aquamarine seas. If I could do this again I would allow myself more time to explore the beautiful beaches here.

14. R+R

It took me a long time to get back on the road after staying at the youth hostel in Rhenigidale, partly because it served such luxuries as this wood-burning stove and a DAB radio, but mostly because I knew would have to cycle up and over a mountain I had to cycle over to get here.

15. Facing the Inevitable

Aforementioned mountain.

16. Back to the Mainland

The next day took me to Stornoway where I spent the night in an overpriced hotel, ate pub food, drank beer, and watched TV. The journey across Lewis had been bleak with really not much to speak of other than the brief glimpse of a White-tailed Eagle. The next day I took the ferry to Ullapool, the crossing taking us past the pointed peaks of Skye and I offering sightings of dolphins as they leaped from the water beside the boat. I loaded my bike on to the bike bus in Ullapool which took me to Inverness where I was to catch the sleeper train back home the following day.

17. Journey’s End.

Dusk in Inverness on the final night of my trip. When I arrived at the station I was informed that there was no room for my bike on the train by an officious train guard standing in front of the mile-long Caledonian Sleeper train and that a courier would be driving it in a van to London. My whole experience on the sleeper was pretty dismal to be honest and I glad when it was over. Back in London I waited on a back street near Euston for a white van to turn up with my bike. A different man arrived from the one I’d handed my bike to in Scotland, and an hour late at that. My annoyance was neutralised when I noticed he’d made his part of the journey through the night with his young child sleeping in the front of his van, I thanked him and cycled to Kings-Cross where I caught the train home.

Jack Wolfskin Gossamer 1 Review

on reviews tents gear

Internal dimensions: Length 230cm, Height 70cm, Width 95cm

Construction: PU coated 75D Polyester, Alloy poles and pegs

Weight: 1550g

Pack size: 45cmx17cm

Pros
Great build quality
Striking design
Relatively cheap
Cons
Tough to pitch correctly
Damp problems
Limited storage
The Gossamer in all it's saggy glory.

I bought my Gossamer from OutdoorGear.co.uk for £75 last April, before the BoldlyGoes trip to Spain. I initially chose it over the Wild Country Zephyros 1, due to it’s interesting design and £35 price difference. The two-pole tunnel design isn’t a popular tent design, but it looks great and pitching is a breeze, even in bad conditions.

Build Quality

The build quality of the Gossamer is remarkably good, 10 months after purchase, and dozens of pitches later, all of the seams are still tight, the DAC poles are as good as new, and although I lost one peg, the others are all still straight despite quite a lot of abuse. The one component which requires improvement is the ground sheet, which professes to have a 5,000mm hydrostatic head, but will let beads of moisture through by the morning. The tent includes only 10 pegs while the design actually requires 12 including guy lines, but unless it’s very windy, these are optional.

High quality materials and a small pack size make it attractive for backpackers.

Design

The design of the Gossamer straddles the line between the low, compact, hooped bivvys and the roomier 1 man backpacking tents with room to sit up and porches to store your backpack. This fusion results in a compromised experience, just entering the tent requires some thought, the door is at the head end rather than at the side, this requires you to stand up in the entrance, then filter yourself into the tent and your sleeping bag at the same time, feet first.

The Gossamer has a large unsupported mid section, which ends up sagging however tight I pitch, this sag, seen in most hooped bivvys is not an issue with single walled gore-tex designs. But coupled with the double walled design of the gossamer, this sag results in condensation soaking your clothes or sleeping bag after even the smallest movements during the night or morning. This sag could be solved easily with two extra guy lines halfway up either side of the tent, but the curved design limits the options there without pulling the top of the tent flat. Having pitched the tent in a number of ways, I can’t seem to adjust it to the point where there is a gap between the fly and the mesh inner. This wouldn’t be a huge problem in a tent which was slightly larger, I’ve seen several larger double walled tents with no space between the fly and the inner, but if you roll over in your sleeping bag at night in those you won’t be touching the sides of the tent. In a compact design like this one, it results in guarranteed dampness when you move around.

The lack of a porch or any storage space is an issue; there isn’t room for anything larger than a 35 litre backpack inside next to you, and only boots can be stored in between the two walls. If you’re camping in colder weather or have a lot of gear with you, the only option is to stick the whole lot in a dry bag and leave it outside, not entirely secure.

Once you are inside (and as long as you don’t move too much), the Gossamer is very cosy, the lack of space actually means it warms up very quickly. There is a useful guy line running along the ceiling of the tent where you can hang lights, it also tensions the ceiling to stop a little bit of that lethal sag. The low design lends itself to stability in high winds and the position of the side pegs does afford some control over the airflow into the tent.

Alternatives

As I’ve said, the Gossamer has slotted itself into a strange place in the market, where it finds itself competing with budget tents, more expensive entry level backpacking tents and most hooped bivvys. My second choice when looking for a tent was the Wild Country Zephyros 1, this much roomier back packing tent features a porch, room to sit up and change and weighed slightly less, but it was £35 more expensive. The Snugpak Stratosphere Hooped Bivi features a superior construction quality and materials, but had even less storage space and the same £35 price difference. The Highlander Blackthorn 1 was the budget option at half the price of the Gossamer, has the same design as the now legendary Gelert Solo, but suffered from terrible build quality.

Final Thoughts

In conclusion, the Gossamer 1 would be a great first tent for anyone given its modest price tag, but it is let down by the lack of conviction in it’s design, or possibly it’s total conviction to not be like any other tent on the market. When I want to sit in my tent and watch the rain, I am forced to just get up like when I am bivvy bagging. When I feel cosy and warm like in a bivvy bag, I get damp from the condensation like I am in a cramped tent. It’s the best and worst of both worlds, but no one fault completely hampers the experience.

I don’t regret the purchase and I can see it surviving at least two or three more seasons, it isn’t too heavy or bulky enough to put me off carrying it on longer hikes. However, if it broke I would not buy it again, if I were buying a tent in the same price range again, I’d spend a little extra for the added comfort and gear security offered by the Wild Country Zephyros 1.

The Gossamer never finds it's stride, but it's still a well made starter tent.

Rating: 2/4

Entry level gear that we probably wouldn’t buy again if it broke.

James' Overnight Kit

on gear microadventures

This is currently what will be found in my bag if I was out for just a night or two in the woods. Everything I need (not just to survive a night outdoors but enjoy it in great comfort too) can fit into this 35 litre rucksack. And in many ways, out of all the different configurations of gear I have, whether it’s for a multi-day trip by bike or on foot, or just a day out on the hills; this overnight pack is perhaps my most refined: pared down to the essentials but without compromising on comfort.

There is no tent; just a hammock, bivvy, and tarp - and to be honest, if the weather is looking good the tarp will stay at home. I will take this opportunity to endorse relegating your tent from your overnight setup and switching to a hammock. It is lighter, much more comfortable, and there is no better sight to wake up to than the sun breaking through a thick canopy of green.

Below is a walkthrough of all my gear with a brief description of what is and how it found its way into my bag (and perhaps what it pushed out too).

My kit and packed bag.

Lowe Alpine Airzone 35 litre Rucksack

ENO Double Nest Hammock - I bought this while I was in the States from a huge outdoor store called REI. It was a steal at just $30 or $40 (I can’t remember exactly now). Sadly, these seem hard to get in the UK without having to pay out a little more.

OEX 3/4 length self inflating sleeping pad

This is made by Go Outdoor’s exclusive brand OEX, as a cheaper alternative to a Thermarest I think it is very good indeed. You can read a full review here.

British Army Gore-tex Bivvy bag

Love this bivvy, sure it takes up more space in my bag than other bags but it is extremely breathable, tough, and big enough to stow your rucksack in the bottom.

Vango Planet 50 sleeping bag

Cheap and cheerful. Packs really small and is more than good enough for a warm summers night.

Tarp

Morakniv Knife

If you haven’t got one, get one. Amazing value for such a high quality knife.

Zebra 14cm Billy Can

Really nicely made billy can that quickly found a permanent spot in my bag despite being slightly cumbersome.

MSR pocket Rocket

Small, powerful, and won’t leave too much of a dent in the wallet. Only complaint, when rigged up on top of a gas can with a pot of boiling water perched on top it does topple very easily.

Camelbak Podium Water Bottles

I bought these for cycle touring and now they come everywhere with me. They have great locking valves that never leak in the bottom of your bag.

Moleskin Notepad and Pencil

24 hours in Norfolk

on microadventures beach camping

It’s only 6 o’clock but it feels like the middle of the night. In truth, I really think even the middle of the night during summer would pale in comparison to the heavy veil of darkness laid upon us by that of the bleak days of November. It was perhaps against conventional wisdom to be camping that night but there we were anyway, sat on the Norfolk coast, not far from Wells-next-the-Sea, mesmerised by the lights of nearby fishing boats slowly panning our horizon and comforted by many layers of clothing and a box of fine Spanish wine.

We’d arrived just in time to see the last of daylight and walked beneath vast formations of geese veeing over as they returned through pale blue skies to winter on our shores. Everyone else was walking home whilst we headed in the opposite direction, towards the dunes, adorned with large rucksacks and armed with thinly veiled excuses in case we where met with prying questions as to what it was we were up to. Of course, we only met smiles and hello’s and not so much as a glimpse of suspicion from anyone that we may be planning to camp (illegally) amongst the band of coniferous trees that defends the landed Holkham estate from the encroaching sea.

Yet, as is always the case in England, we skulked into the woods, hoping to not be seen and reserving a place in the backs of our minds for fears of being caught and lumped with convictions for trespassing. Whenever we wild camp we are meticulous when it comes to clearing any scrap of evidence that would betray our presence and are mindful that we are not welcome to loiter, but rather we should always arrive late and leave early and stay no more than one night. And still we gladly do these things so that we can spend some time in nature, uninterrupted by the pressures of modern life and fully immersed in our surroundings. During a winter camp this translates to being constantly surprised by just how early it is and being forced to live at winters pace, throwing our circadian rhythms back into long-lost kilter, and also to having the chance to be the sole inhabitants of a stretch of one of England’s most beautiful beaches for a night. Because for that night it all belonged to us: the crashing waves, the distant flickering lights of the wind farms, the murmuring masses of geese roosting in the salt marshes, and the heavy black sky pierced by myriad silver stars.

We returned from the beach, carefully retracing our way back in to the woods to our camp and went about chewing the fat (literally, in the case of my curry) beside the small fire we’d lit and the before too long went to bed, probably earlier than we’ve been in years.

The next morning we awoke to the pattering of rain on the canvasses above us, a quintessential sound of camping. Despite urges to stay hunkered down, cozy in our sleeping bags, we got up and quickly dismantled our shelters and went about forensically replacing logs, twigs, and leaf litter to mask any indication of our camp and headed back to civilisation and normality where we’ll stay until we find our next adventure.