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Published: July 20th 2008
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Camping, camping and more camping... I never did much of it during my childhood and therefore as an adult, was quite surprised to discover it is among my most favourite past times. Whether pitching the tent in a well manicured park with all facilities at hand, or heading off the beaten track where hot water is an unthought of luxury and one must head off into the bush armed with loo paper and a spade...whatever the case, its truly one of my great loves. Although I camped my way around Europe last summer with May, Adam has not been near a tent since the good old days spent camping with many great friends back in Aus. As such, a camping adventure has been long, long overdue since moving to the flip side.
While one of the great things about being here is that everything is waiting to be newly discovered by us, the bad side to this is that we're never quite sure what to expect. And when camping, this can prove problematic. Once the idea to go camping had struck us, it took hold. The fact that we had absolutely no camping gear nor any place booked to stay
the day before leaving (a big issue as fate would have it) were completely shrugged off as we were absolutely set upon a camping adventure. And so the lead up to the trip involved hasty decision making regarding tent purchases and late night trips to the supermarket to stock up on provisions. By the time we actually hit the road, fatigue levels were pretty high.
Despite this, we were both hugely excited at the prospect of leaving the cityscape behind, driving through fields of green and villages of stone and wood. As we drove on though, the question of where exactly we'd be able to camp that night loomed larger and larger as we discovered our plan to just 'drive North and see what we find' seemed increasingly fraught with holes. The issue became more pressing as the day wore on...how could we have imagined how many Brits apparently love to spend long weekends camping too? As we passed more and more campgrounds with 'full' signs picketed at their entries, we became increasingly concerned. Further and further North we headed, and thankfully at close to seven that night we managed to find a spot at long last. It was
here that we pitched our tent for the first time and I suddenly realised we had purchased a tent for hobbtt-sized folk as surely we could not fit in here??? (Adam was much less surprised as to the size as he had obviously paid much greater attention to the spec sheet and knew we had indeed forfeited size for the luxury of 'lightweight'). By the time we'd set up our sleeping space, it was very cosy to say the least. That night, we could barely turn over without touching the tent sides, but it was such a relief to have somewhere to set up camp that our spirits were high nonetheless.
As luck would have it, we couldn't possibly have picked a better camp site in terms of location. A mile down the road was the entry point of some of the best hiking trails in the county and we took advantage of this the very next day with a walk up Great Gable, the neighbour of Scafel. The hike itself was memorable for both good and bad reasons. I discovered on our previous taste of the great outdoors at Snowden that I have a somewhat irrational fear of
being blown off high places (I say irrational only because this summit was hardly high at all at 900 metres. However, the day after we made this hike, we learned of an instance where a woman had been blown off the mountain and was seriously injured. ..so perhaps not completely irrational afterall). That said, I did make it to the top and enjoyed the lovely view down the valley, as well as the spectacle of viewing Scafel looming large. But it did involve tears as I traversed the high pass 'Windy Gap' across to the smaller Green Gable which offered more lovely views. Adam of course sprinted on (like the mountain goat he must have been in a previous life) and found my fear puzzling. Still though, he stayed close as we battled the wind and even he was forced to acknowledge that it was extremely gusty at points. There was a fabulous moment on our descent when we came to a passage where the wind was so strong we could throw our body weight against the wind and remain standing due to its force. It was the closest reflection of the sensation of skydiving that I've ever experienced on
land.
Unfortuneatly, the build up of the fatigue leading up to the camping trip robbed us of the enthusiasm to back up with another hike the next day and so Scafel still awaits us. We instead visited the towns of the Lakes district, strolling through the quaint streets lit in sunshine and soaking up the slendour with a lazy hour in the park and another sipping drinks by one of the many beautiful lakes of the district. We left Seatoller after 2 nights and drove South to Lowbray, passing through two of the tourist hot spots Ambleside and Windermere. We camped for a final night where the wind howled and I felt sure our tent would blow away with us inside it! It was also surprisingly cold and so we rugged ourselves up as we sat and whiled away the evening eating yet another cold dinner (we hadn't yet purchased any camping cookware, nor a lamp! Oops! So off to bed it was as soon as night started to fall!)
We made an early start on our final day in the district, at last feeling reenergised and ready to hike on. As we were now close to the
village of Hawkshead, we settled for a 2 hour stroll around the nearby lake. It was a rainy day but this did little to curb our enthusiasm. Camping had indeed served its purpose of recharging our batteries in readniness for our return to 'the real world'. All in all, this was camping at its best. Somewhat rough and ready yet offering that indescribable peace that can only come from a few days of nature inspired goodness. We eagely await our next installment of life in the great outdoors.
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