This weekend we’re off camping again – woohoo! We are determined to get the lifetime cost of this very expensive new tent down – I think so far it’s probably still as expensive as staying in a hotel, but next year should start feeling the financial benefit. But we don’t (generally) camp for the money-saving benefits, we do it more because we just love it. Although we do like to use the idea of saving money as an excuse to justify spending money on other things – but don’t we all?
We get to use our new trailer which we picked up last weekend, so we really can take everything but the kitchen sink now 🙂 No longer will my kit list be strictly monitored for ‘illegal’ items (illegal, ie they are not on the spreadsheet so we have no space for them). In fact, it’s a case of ‘the more the merrier’. The trailer is a little big for our current needs (future proofing you see) so we might need to bulk it out a little. No fear though, cause I’m here.
Not Like Wild Camping on Dartmoor
It’s a far cry from the days of walking into the wilderness carrying all our kit on our backs. It takes me back to a time when hubby and I went wild camping on Dartmoor in Spring 2007 – and that was a trip to remember. We’d decided to camp at Grimspound, a rather eerie place in the middle of know where, steeped in all different legends which seriously gave hubby the spooks (he was not brought up in the country like me you see). It took a little longer to get there than planned, because we stopped off at the pub en route which resulted in us getting up to all kinds of mischief as we ambled drunkenly to the X on the map that we were aiming for. We cooked up a nice boil in the bag meal after pitching our brand new tent and had a nice chilled out evening watching the sun set. It all started to go down hill (yes we were on a slope – but I’m not making a physical reference here) at about 3am in the morning as the weather turned for the worse.
Dartmoor is renowned for having extreme changes in weather, resulting in various deaths as people have been stranded unprepared. Ever the worrier, hubby was getting in a flap – but not me. I was snoring away all happy in my snuggly sleeping bag – oblivious. Until he’d come to the conclusion that we should leave – at 5am in the morning!
“We could get stuck here and it could get worse, we need to get out now!”
Yawn, yawn – “nah we don’t” I retorted. But Mr Cautious was serious, so we packed up and shipped out within about 15 minutes flat.
We then had to walk in the dark using our compass as the only guide to direction, to get on the right path out of there. The weather was horrendous, he was right – but surely we would have been better to sit it out in the tent? Well, what was done was done, we had to find our way back over the moors back to the car.
Randy bull comes to protect his ladies
It was going OK until hubby spotted something cantering down the other side of the hill in our direction.
“It’s a bull and its coming towards us…look see the cows here – he doesn’t like us being so close?” said hubby.
Ever the optimist I replied “Nooo, don’t be so daft, it’s a horse. A bull doesn’t jump up and frolic around like that.”
The horse (I was determined it nehyed rather than moo’ed) was getting closer and pretty rapidly. Then it dawned on me, damn him – he’s right, it’s a bloody bull! And it’s heading straight for us. I was WRONG, so we sprinted into the gorse bushes and took a massive detour so that we could find a wall and jump over it to safety. We ended up getting back to the car at about 8am exhausted, wet and bad-tempered – but surprisingly happy to be alive.
Thank goodness those days are over!
But I do kind of miss the simplicity.