Microadventure #3: 2 Nights on Dartmoor

Dartmoor is one of the few places in England where wild camping is allowed. I’d read a lot about Dartmoor, but I still felt like the more I read the less I knew about how it feels. Everything seemed to suggest that you can’t know anything about Dartmoor until you’ve been there and experienced it. I loved the idea of a weekend spent on the moor: It would give me an opportunity to finally get my basha out and use it, and it would be an opportunity to try camping in more extreme conditions (Dartmoor is known for its wild weather).

The more I read the more I knew I was going to be doing it. In the true spirit of microadventuring I didn’t want to spend an age planning the trip, only enough planning to be safe and to ensure an enjoyable adventure. I scanned the Ordnance Survey maps until I spotted a reservoir: Meldon Reservoir.

Meldon Reservoir

Just imagine waking up on a hill with a light wind blowing, watching a gorgeous fat red sunrise reflected off an enormous body of water, firing up the stove for a cup of coffee and having a flapjack to fire up the metabolism ready for a day of walking. Idyllic? Yep. I checked and, sure enough, camping was permitted on the hill overlooking the reservoir. There was parking at the reservoir too which would serve as a base from which to walk on the first night (since I’d be arriving late) before heading further into the moors on the second day, and with plenty of other points of interest nearby the second day would be great. It was away from the firing ranges and easy to drive to. Perfect!

I packed and, after work on the Friday, started the three hour drive to Dartmoor. It was about 10pm when I arrived at the car park I had so carefully planned to park in, but on the gate was a sign that stated very plainly “no overnight parking”. There were a few expletives shouted into the wind as I got out of the car and walked around, trying to work out what to do next. The nearest car parks all seemed to be on the South moor, but I’d not done any planning for the South moor and I’d given my wife an outline of my expected movements for the weekend for obvious safety reasons. To change moors at this stage seemed like a bad idea. Frustrated, I came close to just driving home.

Taking inspiration from my first microadventure where I’d simply parked in a village, I decided to try driving around the edge of the moor in the hope that I’d find a village I could park in and use as a base to get onto the moors. As I did I saw a signpost for Belstone and so stopped to check it out on the map: A car park! Somehow I’d not noticed it before. I immediately headed towards Belstone and dropped the car off. I was now quite some way East of my originally planned starting point, and it was far too late, dark and windy to attempt a hike back to the reservoir, so I simply stumbled my way through the driving wind and rain in the dark to the nearest hill: Belstone Tor. It wasn’t easy going in the dark, I cursed myself for ever thinking that sleeping on Dartmoor in the late autumn would be a good idea.

About half way up the tor I found a relatively flat grassy patch and set about pitching the basha for the first time ever. In near-gale-force winds. And pitch black darkness. Everything I’d read about bashas said “you need to know how to put one up before you have to do it in the lashing wind and rain in the middle of the night on the side of an unforgiving hill”. I cursed myself for having paid no attention to this obvious good advice as I fumbled with the wretched tarp in the wind and rain. I got something vaguely tent-shaped in place and then curled up under it in my bivvy bag, exhausted.

What I’d constructed turned out to be barely fit for purpose: The tarp was basically a gigantic rain collector with the opening of the bivvy bag (and therefore my head) at the bottom of the funnel. The tarp would collect all the rain it could over the space of an hour or so, and then the wind would lift the tarp and dump the rain directly onto my face. It wasn’t the best night of sleep ever, but it could have been worse. After all I could have just got up and re-pitched the basha, but instead I just put up with it.

Late Autumn bivying on Dartmoor with a basha tarp
“The rugged landscape took me entirely by surprise and I immediately forgot the lack of sleep.”

Morning happened very suddenly. I was woken by the sound of a large group of rowdy teenagers climbing the tor, presumably training for the Ten Tors challenge. I slid out from under my tarp and sat up to squint at the incredible view. And I don’t just mean “ahh isn’t that nice”. I’d stared out into the dark the night before wondering what would lay ahead of me when the sun rose, but I’d not expected anything like this. The rugged landscape took me entirely by surprise and I immediately forgot the lack of sleep.

Blown away by this transformed view, I quickly scoffed a weird breakfast of pasta-that-had-been-intended-for-dinner-the-night-before and a cup of coffee. All I wanted was to square away my kit so that I could climb the tor and get more of the view. Where I’d slept I was looking North from the Northern edge of the moors – i.e. straight back into civilisation. If this seemingly perfect view was the view AWAY from the moors, then what would lie to the South? I needed to find out. I quickly dried my gear and stuffed everything back into the back pack, looked at the map, and then headed up the hill. A quick chat with some fellow hikers who were clearly much more familiar with the area than I was gave me some waypoints to head for.

The view from the top of Belstone Tor, Dartmoor
“From the top it seemed like the land time forgot.”
"Being only on the edge of the moors there were still plenty of people around."
“Being only on the edge of the moors there were still plenty of people around.”

The top of the tor was worth the short climb. Being only on the edge of the moors there were still plenty of people around, yet from the top it still seemed like the land time forgot. I adjusted my pack, picked out the ridges I wanted to follow and set off through the rocks, swamp, mud, grass and more rocks.

To say Dartmoor is rugged is an understatement. It is also surprisingly variable: One moment you are scrambling over boulders to get to the top of a tor, the next you are up to your ankles in swamp, then navigating your way around a “stream” that is much too large to jump, then scrambling up the side of a grassy hill before climbing more boulders.

"To say Dartmoor is rugged is an understatement."
“To say Dartmoor is rugged is an understatement.”

After walking South for about 4 hours from peak-of-tor to peak-of-tor it suddenly occurred to me that–at some point–I’d need to start heading North in order to make my intended destination, Yes Tor, before nightfall. So keen to take in the scenery I had been that I’d simply put the map away and hiked without the worry of cartography. Now that I had stopped and located myself on the map I realised I’d gone quite some way further South than I’d originally intended, and getting all the way back to Yes Tor before dark, and with enough time spare to set up camp in the light, was going to involve some fairly intense hiking. I inhaled my lunch, put a grim, determined look on my face and headed in the direction of the Yes Tor path.

A small cairn on the peak of a Tor.
A small cairn on the peak of a Tor.

So with a renewed vigour I trekked the route all the way to Yes Tor, stopping frequently to allow my jaw to drop open at the amazing scenery, beautiful rivers and streams, and strangely juxtaposed military shooting ranges.

A strangely juxtaposed military shooting range.
A strangely juxtaposed military shooting range.

By the time I reached the end of the path that led to the base of Yes Tor a thick fog had rolled in quite suddenly from absolutely nowhere. I found myself barely able to see more than a couple of metres in front of me. Picking my way carefully over rocks and boulders to the top of the Tor I scouted my way around the last layers of grass before the summit to find a suitable spot to pitch the basha. In the thick fog I could have been the only living person on the face of the planet. I found a nice long patch of grass shielded on three sides by long boulders which looked purpose-built for a basha site and popped the tarp over the top to create an awesome shelter.

"The end of the path that led to the base of Yes Tor. A thick fog had rolled in quite suddenly from absolutely nowhere."
“The end of the path that led to the base of Yes Tor. A thick fog had rolled in quite suddenly from absolutely nowhere.”

With the night descending I cooked a light meal which I ate as the last of the light melted away and the scenery was sucked into the black of night around me, and then I wondered what to do with myself. Surely 6pm is too early for bed? Realising my hands were numb from the cold I decided bed was actually quite an appealing option. Besides, I’d spent the day hiking over tough terrain after little sleep, so an early night could only do me good. I climbed into the thermal liner, then the sleeping bag, then the bivvy, and then did the caterpillar to get under the basha. Who knew that disco moves have a place in camping? My little nook between the rocks was more cosy and comfortable than our expensive Outwell 4-man tent. The weather got very rough in the night, but I slept better that night than most nights in my own bed at home.

I’ve no idea how cold it was when I awoke. I had felt a bit chilly in the bivvy bag at times – not cold per sé, but not as warm as I could have been. Looking out of the open end of the basha I could see the sun had risen and the fog was finally gone, and I realised I was quite dehydrated. A swig of water from the hydration pack caused me to break the silence with a tirade of profanity: The water was so cold that it hurt to drink it. From the teeth all the way to the stomach hurt, like trying to eat snow.

I climbed out of the basha and surveyed the land. It felt like the world was revolving around me from my vantage point on the tor… My heart beat faster looking at the untouched landscape steeped in history, but then sank as I realised that my adventure was coming to an end already: It seemed at once like both an eternity and no time had passed all at the same time. I could see, in the distance, the peak of Belstone Tor where I’d slept the night before. Beyond that I could just make out the edge of Belstone village where I’d parked the car. And in-between there was a lot of ground to cover. I’d have to walk each and every step of it back to the car in the next few hours in order to arrive back home at a sensible time.

Microadventure #2: Sleep On A Hill In Oxfordshire

I came away from my first Microadventure feeling somewhat ambivalent: On the one hand I’d all but destroyed my right foot, had no sleep, I had blood blisters where my backpack had been and literally every muscle hurt, but on the other hand I’d done nearly 20 miles of walking between finishing work one evening and starting work the next morning (although I have to admit I never actually made it to work that day in the end) and completed the single most gruelling hike I’ve ever undertaken. In that regard I felt pretty great about it.

Let me tell you now, one really rough night can make you really appreciate your sofa in a whole new way.

So when it came round to the next opportunity to undertake a microadventure I wanted to do something easier. My foot was still injured so long distance hiking was out, and my mind was still numb from the last walk anyway. I was itching however to spend one night in a bivvy bag under the stars, without any of the other pressures. And so I decided simpler was better: Sleep on a hill. Nothing more, nothing less.

I scoured the map for hills. Sadly Berkshire is a fairly flat part of the UK, but then it struck me: Uffington Castle, the Iron Age hill fort in Oxfordshire, is a short drive. It’s one of my favourite places and has easy parking near the hill. It was decided, now I just needed a night with reasonable weather.

When that day finally arrived I was all set. I’d learnt some lessons from my first microadventure, and so had spent some time removing things I knew I wouldn’t be using: The basha, the trangia, lots of food, some spare clothes, etc. What I’d not realised was that I’d put the bivvy bag into the basha bag to save some space. I drove half way to the site before I realised. By the time I’d driven all the way home I’d lost all enthusiasm and decided to can it for the night and try the next day, weather permitting.

The weather the next day was poor, so the plan was postponed one more day in favour of a clear night.

When I arrived at the empty car park a 4×4 followed me in. This was a bit of a surprise, given that it was after 9pm and pitch black, in the middle of nowhere. The 4×4 pulled into a parking space directly behind me and sat there with their lights on for a short while before switching their lights and engine off. I chose to wait in the car a while to see what happened. Eventually I was starting to feel brave enough to unlock the doors and get out, when suddenly their lights flicked back on and they started their engine, pulled out of their parking space and then moved to a parking space further down the car park. I waited another five minutes or so before filming a piece to camera for the video of the trip, and then getting out.

I’ve no idea to this day what they were doing there.

The hike up the hill was easy enough. At the top it was incredibly dark, being cloudy and with no natural light at all. I wandered across the fort for a little while trying to find somewhere to sleep, and found myself in a herd of sheep. Not keen on the idea of being woken up by sheep flocking over my head I chose to go away from the sheep.

I found a spot at the top of the hill above the white horse that was flat and that gave me a reasonable view to the east so that I could watch the sunrise in the morning. After setting the camera up on its tripod I was able to get a few star photos. None of them were incredible, but I wasn’t really there to photograph the heavens – I was there for a sunrise and to experience the joy of nature by interacting with it directly.

I watched the stars twinkling for an hour or two. Being so dark it was possible to make out the Milky Way, something I’ve never been able to spot before. All of life’s problems soon start seeming insignificant when staring straight up on a clear night. The picture we see when we look into a starry sky was painted millions of years ago, most of the stars we see likely no longer exist as it takes the light so long to reach us. I lay in my bivvy bag considering that I’m an unimportant speck on an important speck in an unimportant speck that forms part of an unimportant system in an uninteresting part of another system tucked away in an unimportant part of the universe.

Uffington Castle sunrise
The beautiful red glow of sunrise from Uffington Castle iron age fort. Not a bad view to wake up to.

I bedded down relatively early, I was tired and wanted to be up early enough to get a shot of the sunrise. The night was peaceful and I was amazed at how comfortable the sleeping mat was, and how warm the sleeping bag was with the bivvy bag. I’d expected to be cold, in reality I was lovely and warm all night.

The morning came quickly and I was rewarded with a red sky. Sadly it had clouded over during the night so no view of the sun making its way over the horizon as such, but watching the land around me slowly getting lighter and lighter was still a joy and I managed to get a few shots of the sunrise’s red glow on the cloud.

I didn’t want to be there when the dog walkers inevitably broke the silence and feeling of isolation, so I left early and headed back to the car knowing full well I’d be back out in the wild again soon enough making the most of the real world.

Watch a short video of the trip.

Microadventure #1: Burghclere to Walbury Hill Night Hike

My first ever Microadventure – or, at least, the first that I have given the title of “Microadventure” to.

After work on Tuesday 14th I got in the car and drove to Burghclere, a small village to the South of Newbury, just over the border in Hampshire. It was already getting dark when I arrived: The first in a long line of errors. The plan had been to do the majority of the walk in daylight and watch the sun go down once I reached Walbury Hill – the destination.

The next error was that I’d grossly underestimated just how far I had to walk, and how difficult the terrain was going to be. And walking it in pitch black didn’t make it easier. On top of that about half way through the walk a thick mist set in.

  • Pitch black dark,
  • surprisingly tricky terrain,
  • thick mist with visibility of about 2 metres,
  • wet, muddy ground,
  • an overweight back pack on my back (I have a bad habit of packing too much)…

Not an ideal mix for a first microadventure. I arrived at the halfway point around the time I had planned to finish the walk.

Shortly after the halfway point something went very wrong with my right foot: The sole started hurting and it only got worse with each step. By this point I was in the tail end of nowhere in Hampshire, soaked and covered in mud. I couldn’t exactly call a cab. I checked the map thinking I could shorten the walk by changing the destination, but I was as far away from the car as I could get at this point.

One bad slip on a badly water-eroded path led to a fall into a water-filled ditch, grabbing a handful of brambles in one hand and a handful of nettles in the other. Soaked, muddy, hands throbbing and bleeding I still had no choice but to pick myself up and carry on trudging into the sensory-depriving mist. There was no scenery, even the path was barely visible.

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like years.

I finally arrived at Walbury Hill at about midnight in a lot of pain. I didn’t bother climbing to the top, I decided to sleep at the bottom in order to avoid putting any further strain on my already very sore foot. It took close to an hour to get the bivvy site set up and in the bag. It was after 1am before I was even close to being able to attempt sleep.

Sleep was unattainable: The strain of the walk had left my heart racing and pounding, so I simply lay there in the mist for another five hours or so before getting up, packing everything back into my backpack and then hefting it back onto my back to head off into the mist once again.

I spent the morning simply finding the shortest, quickest route back to the car. The route wasn’t especially scenic, the plan was just to get back as fast as possible before my foot completely gave out on me. The sun rose around 7:30am and the mist lifted which improved my mood considerably and lifted my spirits.

I arrived back at the car around 9:30am – some time after I had planned to be back at work. I still had to drive home, shower, change clothes, drive to work, … In the end I called the office and told them I wasn’t coming in (one small perk of being the boss). I still had to go to a client meeting in Oxfordshire later in the day despite not having slept and being in a great deal of pain, but that’s part of the joy of the five-to-nine Microadventure.

TL;DR

This Microadventure hurt like hell, it was one of the toughest things I’ve ever done: I’ve been up and down plenty of mountains, done night hikes, a 30+ mile walk… yet this was the toughest hike I’ve ever done. It was only about 12 miles the first day and about 7 miles the second day, but the conditions made it hard. The total sensory deprivation made this hike torturous.

Does that mean I regret it?

Au contraire: I’m glad I did the walk even though it hurt like hell. I’m in no rush to repeat the experience, but I might be up for doing the same route in easier conditions at some point, perhaps in the summer.

I also learnt a great deal on this adventure:

  • You don’t need to take the kitchen sink with you, you won’t use 90% of the stuff in your pack,
  • Walking in the dark greatly decreases your speed,
  • Walking in mist vastly decreases your speed,
  • For your first microadventure you’re better off picking a simple location you can drive to, park, walk up a hill and then bivvy down for the night.

This video contains a few clips of the Burghclere to Walbury Hill Microadventure towards the start. I never made a full video for my first microadventure.