Microadventure #2: Are you afraid of the dark?
Apologies for the delay on this. No excuse, really. Got a weird writer’s block about it. – Ed (meaning erm, me)
When Carberry and I arrived at the car park closest to our March campsite and switched off the headlights, the effect was immediate and claustrophobic. We turned to each other and went “Whoa,” laughing in that uneasy, are-you-as-freaked-out-as-I-am way. Carberry flicked the headlights back on by unspoken agreement while we unpacked our stuff, and I was in no hurry to get them switched off.
When was the last time you experienced proper darkness? The kind of pitch black in which you can’t see your own hand in front of your face? It’s a strange feeling – unsettling, even. You understand why hi-vis vests and lights are a necessity, really, when walking on unlit roads. Every horror movie scene you’ve ever witnessed tries to make its presence felt in your mind. You fervently attempt to ignore that rumour you once heard that the place is a popular dogging spot.
We made our way out of the car park and up the forested hill towards our campsite in the dark, Carberry leading the way with his headtorch. He had scouted the site out a week or so beforehand and had had it in mind from the first time I suggested microadventures to him, so I was excited to see the famous spot at last.
The site was perfect. Off the path in a cozy, relatively flat clearing in the otherwise steep slope of a valley running down to a clear stream. It had tree cover – though the foliage was sparse at that time of year – and somebody had put together a decent enclosure for a small fire out of rocks. That, and the pile of discarded bedding in one corner of the clearing, made it clear that we were far from the first to use the spot. Bar a back-of-my-mind worry as to what may have made its home in that bedding in the intervening time, the site couldn’t have been better.
On arrival we set up camp quickly. It was relatively late and for my part I was at the tail end of a hangover – tiredness and the last vestiges of The Fear tickling at my mind. Carberry broke out one of our homemade camping stoves (see the microadventure kitlist) and a pot and set about brewing up some hot chocolate. We drank it from novelty Looney Tunes mugs and laughed, things feeling a lot more comfortable. It’s hard to feel edgy with Tweety Bird up in your face.
Funny voices a necessity
We attempted to build a fire from blocks of turf and a firelighter we had brought with us. After some messing around we got some paltry embers that weren’t immediately catching, but I assured Carb that it would eventually light based on my grand experience of living in the wild. Cough.
We bedded down without the customary hours of chatting. There were no stars to look at this time with the trees and the darkness, but the scene had the kind of peace that would make you whisper or just fall silent so as not to ruin it. As I lay on the forest floor, waiting for my eyes to adjust after our torches were switched off, I realised that it was the purest darkness I’d experienced in a long time, without the unease it had held for me before. There was no orange haze of light pollution on the horizon, there were no streetlights, or car headlights flashing past and, thanks to our ineptness, there was no fire-light to see by. The noise of the nearby stream was all my senses could latch on to, and it became loud and soothing. Wrapped up warm in the clothes and bag and bivvy, with the stream burbling, I felt that deep relaxation again.
Sausages cooking on our homemade camping stove
The fire did eventually light. I’m not sure what time it was, but I did at one point crack an eyelid to see the faint orange glow. It was long out by morning with no one to tend it and the wall of rocks and bare earth to contain it (not to mention the overall dampness), but it’s soothing to know we are indeed man enough to build a fire, even if it was a pitifully weak one.
All in all I slept beautifully, waking up as Carberry shuffled off down to the stream to get some water in the clear morning light. The morning was such a contrast to the night – the greys and inky blacks replaced by pale, washed-out greens, deep browns of earth and tree bark and the crystal-clear water of the little brook. I can’t say I’ve ever woken to a more picturesque scene.
Our intrepid Carb clambers out of the stream, washing up done
After cooking up a couple of sausages in bread for ourselves on the can-stove, we packed up camp and wandered back to the car, satisfied and meditative after our night in the forest. The drive home over the mountains afforded some tremendous views in the watery early light, and the steep slope had us rolling down miles of road with nary a touch on the accelerator.
The whole experience was the perfect antidote to the kind of madness that resulted in the hangover I’d had the day before (not to mention the hangover itself), the perfect palette-cleanser before going back to work.
They’re onto something with this nature lark, I’m telling ya.
Laden down but happy, Carberry strolls back to civilisation