SIXTY YEARS OF WILD CAMPING

Going back to the early ‘60s, we made use of my brother-in-law’s summer camp in a sheltered nook on the Devon coast; just a tarpaulin slung over a cleared space between bramble patches. He stashed his canoe close-by. Our son and grandson still camp overnight here though the tarp. has long since been dismantled.

 

1962 Camping in brother Mick's summer camp. Our daughter aged 4 months in the carry-cot. Going up to the farm to get milk.

 

 

 

 3rd Generation. Same place, 8 or 9 years on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 4th generation, grandson number 3 , same place. 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

Going on to the early 70’s we first camped with tent and car before moving up to a panel van which Tony converted into a camper. This encouraged us to spend summer weeks in Spain and France and introduced us to a lifetime love affair with the high mountains.

 

1971, Quantock Hills. We then went on up to the Lake District where it rained 7 days out of 8 but somehow it didn't put us off!

 

 

 1974. Pyrenees. Cloud hid the mountains for days. Then early one morning the clouds lifted off the tops and revealed a huge mountain.

We headed for it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

We found the mountain, L'Arbizon. Angus aged 11, overwhelmed by the size, towering above our new camp-site. He has climbed mountains ever since!

 

 

Easter 1976 Snow in the Vosges mountains, Eastern France. We were captivated by the spring flowers in the meadows between the trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

1979 Spanish Pyrenees. We picked up a couple of American hitch-hikers and we spent a few days here together. They now live back home in the States but we have become long-time friends.

Same trip. A domestic scene, Kim drawing, Angus fishing hopefully, Tony looking something up.

 A rusting chassis in the old J4 moved us up a notch to a rather bigger. Bedford campervan, and our explorations took us further afield, from the Hebrides to the south of France.

 

2006. We  scrapped the old J4. This  camper we nick-named 'the bread-van' I forget why.

 

2006. Haut Savoie. Grit your teeth and hope you don't meet a forestry lorry!

 

Same trip. We stopped at the top of the track near a summer cheese-making shed. The cow caused hilarity and then consternation. She was so eager to lick the salt Angus was offering that she got her head stuck in the doorway and it took a bit of wriggling to extricate her.

 

 

 By the time the two kids had left home Tony and I moved on to a trailer tent. This had the advantage of being able to leave it in place while we explored in the more maneuverable car by day. However it was a bit tiresome to erect in the evenings and had a more visible presence and in time we reverted to another campervan.

The picture above  and three more below, was in about 2010 when we went to SE France with Kim and family. The forestry rangers wished us 'Bon vacance et bon appetit!'

Heavy rain one night but at least we could collect rainwater off the tarp.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Making your own fun.

 

 

 

 

 Improvised BMX course.

It was here we had permission to stop. The farmer was combining barley and grandson Robbie was invited on-board. Despite the lack of a common language they got on like a house on fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in 2008  we replaced the camping trailer with a Peugeot 'Symbol' For us, it was the height of luxury, with a cooker, 'fridge and bijou shower/ loo compartment.

                                                   Here we are tucked away in a Polish forest.
 

 Between times we have resorted on occasions to car and two-man tent, and in Australia we either bought and re-sold campervans or hired if on a shorter visit. We have also interspersed our trips with hotel packages and yes it’s nice to sit down to a meal prepared by someone else and to go to places less easily accessible to wild camping, but at the end of the day our prime favourite is camping out in the countryside.

Tony attending to our Australian cooking arrangements. It looks too green for Australia so maybe this was somewhere nearer home.

 

The end of the day beside the Loire.

 

Waking in the morning to the subdued quack of ducks and then a nightingale, loud and clear just beside us.

 

Due to Covid, our current van has been off the road but we are now contemplating putting it back on the road for a few little optimistic UK short trips, though wild camping is not an option here, now. An increasing rusty chassis foresees a limit to this chapter of our camping life. Who knows what next?

But a preponderance of wild camping has enabled us as a family and now us in our ageing years, to travel more, further and for longer, more cheaply, but principally and for us, most importantly, to live within the natural world.

 

 APOLOGIES FOR THE PICTURE QUALITY. MANY ARE  COPIES OF OLD SLIDES AND THE YEARS HAVEN'T BEEN KIND TO THEM.

 

 

IN DEFENCE OF WILD CAMPING

Wild Camping is an emotive and often contentious subject. It has a bad press in the unbalanced popular media. The culprits are often portrayed as throngs of Alternative Lifestylers  with more than a whiff of drugs, sponging off benefits, kids and dogs running wild, mess and other anti-social behaviour.

Roped in with this group are Campervanners in general, who are largely ageing pensioners enjoying the mobility, freedom and independence of this sort of leisured holiday. They are  lumped  in with tales of crowding together in inappropriate places, blocking roads, leaving litter. The media have been especially vituperative this spring with the same few images of abandoned barbeques repeated time after time (are the reporters actually short of illustrative examples?)

Of course some Alternative Lifestylers choose to live not as most people would choose to live, and one cannot condone anti-social behaviour whether by campers or day-visitors. Some Campervanners may park inappropriately (often, it has to be said because of equally anti-social behaviour on the part of car park authorities with their height barriers, forcing larger vehicles onto the roadside.) But on the subject of litter, why is it only Campervanners who are accused of littering? The tonnes of abandoned picnic debris in lay-bys, parks, beaches and other public places is largely the Great British Public let loose in the easing of lockdowns.

In the febrile atmosphere surrounding the current Covid episode, especially in an area such as Cornwall which relies so heavily on tourism, feelings are whipped up by the media not only for or against visitors from ‘outside’ potentially bringing infection with them, but it’s further refined into feelings against campers in the widest sense, wild-campers being the main target.

Wild campers are claimed to be skin flints, living on the cheap, depriving the local economy of tourist income. The other side of the story which is never given an airing is that some people actually prefer to stop overnight in the wider countryside, out of sight, away from development, night activities, noise, light pollution, interference ..... in touch with the natural world, the countryside, the weather, the boundless sky and taking a pride in leaving no trace of their visit and with, when appropriate, the blessing of the landowner (if he can be located.)

This way of life doesn’t lend itself to everybody, and some countries are easier in which to camp wild, with large areas of open land rather than intensively cultivated and populated countryside. Population pressure, or the risk of uncontrollable fire can make finding a suitable site difficult and it goes without saying it’s always best to get permission.

I don’t remember in over fifty years, ever being refused; we have never been chucked out, and on the odd occasion when we have stopped where we’ve found no-one to ask but have been  subsequently found by the passing farmer, we have always been made welcome.

There is a deep satisfaction in sitting in camp as evening draws in, maybe in the limpid cool after a hot day, or maybe snuggling up to the embers of a fire, wrapped in a rug and enjoying a mug of hot chocolate. The last of the bird calls as night approaches, or the baying of a dingo echoing among the rocks of an Australian hillside, remain in the memory.

As a family, we are now into our fourth generation of campers, wild by choice, from tents to campervans, and from the UK to Australia, from eastern Europe to the western states of America.

Interested in the wildlife and the countryside of wherever we might be, we don’t seek entertainment and attractions, but instead prefer to live, sleep and wake up surrounded by the natural world. We contribute to the local economy buying petrol, food and paying dues and fees when needed. From time to time we book into commercial camp sites to use the facilities of showers and washing machines. In some places it is inappropriate to wild camp, in or near towns or where ‘no camping’ notices are displayed. And most importantly, we pride ourselves on leaving no traces of our presence.

 

 

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. (Invasives, 3)

Aquarists’ and water gardening specialists’ chuck-outs have long been a problem in some of our ponds, canals and waterways. Indeed, not only in Britain but widespread in many parts of the world..

The earliest to have been introduced to this country is Canadian Pondweed  or Water Thyme (Elodea sp.) It has been used since the early 1800’s as a useful oxygenating plant in garden ponds and ornamental lakes. Native to North America it has happily naturalized here and elsewhere in Europe. It will root into the mud from small fragments and will quite rapidly form big clumps, taking over the available space.

Canadian Pondweed.

                    Closely related is Lagarosiphon major....(Curled Pondweed)

 Introduced from South Africa, this is a more robust and even more vigorous cousin, initially popular also as an oxygenator in still or slow-moving water, it was first reported in the wild in Britain in 1944. Its habits of choking waterways, impeding the flow and smothering less vigorous native plants and of propagating from fragments make it difficult to control have led to it being declared a Noxious Weed in New Zealand and the States.

Swamp Stonecrop or New Zealand Pygmyweed (Crassula helmsii) was New Zealand’s gift in exchange! It has been introduced through the horticultural trade to the rest of the world and is now a pervasive aquatic and semi-terrestrial pest, forming a dense mat of small closely crowded bright green leaves and out-competing our natives in ponds where it had become rapidly established since it was first recorded in the New Forest in 1976. It survives as a terrestrial form on the damp margins of ponds if the water level recedes.

 

New Zealand Pygmyweed or Swamp Stonecrop.

 

It will form a choking mat and will survive periods of drying out of the water.

Parrots Feather (Myriophyllum sp.) native to the Amazon has now spread throughout the world. In summer the submerged plant will send up a 12” stem with whorls of attractive feathery grey-green leaves. It will be cut back by frost but grows rapidly when conditions are warmer and like these other species will clog slow-moving waterways, making dense mats which impede fishermen, swimmers and boats.

 

Parrot's Feather.

 

Floating Pennywort(Hydrocotyle rapunculoides) is another very aggressive alien from North and South America  introduced in the 1980s It forms dense mats of floating leaves and has spread rapidly in the wild from the SE of England in ponds, lakes and slow-moving waterways with considerable impact on  the various users of these waters.

 

Floating Pennywort.

Water Fern (Azolla sp) has a long history of use in China. For 1000 years or more it has been recognized as a valuable source of biofertilizer in the rice paddies. It has a symbiotic relationship with a Cyanobacterium which fixes atmospheric oxygen. It is also capable of removing heavy metals from effluents and its growth is regulated by the availability of phosphates in the water so agricultural run-off can result in blooms of this tiny floating fern and it can double its biomass in a few days. It has been spread throughout the world as an attractive and novel little floating plant but it cannot withstand low temperatures.

Water Fern or Azolla.We first came across it in the seasonal freshwater pools in inland New South Wales where heat and receding water levels were stressing it and the anthocyanins in its tissues were turning it bright red.

 The geni is out of the bottle too, with the Evening Primrose relative from America, the Water Primrose. Spreading aggressively through Northern Europe we have seen this plant taking over slow-flowing waterways and wetlands in NW France. It’s no doubt only a matter of time before it’s seen here too.

 

Water Primrose. The Flower is like a smaller version of Evening Primrose.

 

Its dense growth smothers less robust native water plants.

 

A backwater of the River Vilaine in Brittany is completely choked with Water Primrose.

 

The last five of these plant species were banned from sale in the UK from 2014 because of their invasive habits. They are extremely difficult to control because of their vigorous growth, ease of propagation, rooting as they will from the smallest fragments, and impossible to control with herbicides because of contaminating the rest of the fauna and flora of the wetland environment. The dense mats of growth impact on fishing, leisure boating, swimming; they out-compete the native flora,  and can prevent water creatures from moving freely or coming up to the surface to breathe.

 I follow these Blogs:

www.northcornwallnaturalist.blogspot.com

www.musingsfromhigherdowngateandelsewhere.blogspot.com 

www.downgatebatman.blogspot.com

 

 

 

 

A WALK IN JUNE

  A Walk in June

A short track leads from one village to another near home. It gives access to numerous fields, nearly all of which are improved grassland, mostly at present nearly knee-deep Ryegrass.

 The hedges at the side of the track have mostly grown tall but in places are flailed down, giving views to the south.

This old track is paved with granite stone.

 

A granite marker stone, giving one mile to Stoke Climsland is 176 years old. Noting that, we were sobered to realize that we can account for nearly half that time!

 

 

 The warm air was full of tiny down blowing off the willows in seed. A Blackcap sang his rich warble; a Wren rattled  occasionally and a Chaffinch sang. Otherwise, apart from a speckled young Robin and a foraging hen Blackbird, we saw no birds. Butterflies were restricted to three Speckled Woods and a Red Admiral. This sparsity perhaps at least partly reflects the comparative desert of the large adjacent area of improved grassland.

 

Most of the bordering fields are tall Ryegrass, almost a monoculture, probably to be cut for silage, a relatively poor habitat for wildlife.

 

There is an occasional field of semi-improved grass, more colourful with buttercups and an assortment of flowers. The view opens up to the countryside to the South West.

The Inuit people in the arctic are said to have many words to describe snow. We, in a green countryside, only have one word, 'green' to describe the infinitely varied shades of green, although we qualify it with another noun used adjectivally like 'olive green' or 'lime green' or just qualified with an adjective such as dark green, spring green, grey-green.....

We are especially conscious of the varied shades in fresh young leaves at this time of the year.

How should we describe the green of the youngest shoots on a Hawthorn?

The scales on these unfurling fronds give this fern its name : Golden-scale Male Fern.

This fern, Green Male Fern, is a straightforward green from the start.

Young Oak leaves, a bronze-green, compared with the 'normal' green of the surrounding Ivy and Elder leaves.

The overgrown hedges at the sides of most of the track have Oak, Hazel, Sycamore, Willow and at this time of the year a froth of white Rowan and Hawthorn blossom.

 

 

     Fragrant Hawthorn blossom.

Puddles from the very wet May have dried up in the last couple of days of warm sun.

But we had to turn back at this point where the culvert under the track is permanently blocked. There is standing water right up to the hedge on the right, and the innocent-looking ground on the left is in fact ankle-deep sloshy mud.

We wanted to follow the track through to the road. Drenching drizzle put us off on the next day, but the next after that was fine and sunny again. Beyond this puddle the map shows the track forks. We approached from the far end where the  right-hand fork meets the road.

The beginning of the right-hand fork, just leaving the road. The banks seemed more flowery and we disturbed a few day-flying moths.

Common Carpet on left, Silver-ground Carpet below.

These moths are frequently disturbed in the daytime, although less often, sadly, these days.

They usually hide under the leaves in the hedge when they settle so I have cheated. These pictures are of these species caught at night in the moth trap.

No sooner had the spring flowers appeared than we are now seeing the summer ones

 

The last of the true wild Bluebells. Patches of Ramsons or Wild Garlic were fruiting now, and their leaves turning yellow. They'll be gone without trace in a couple of weeks.

 

The first of the Honeysuckle.

And Foxgloves already! And the upright spikes of Wall Pennywort.

 

 

 

However, we didn't get far down this right-hand fork when we were stopped again, retraced our steps and drove back to the village to go up the left-hand fork.

This is where the left-hand fork joins the road. We followed a small stream in this section. It ran across the track and made a deep gully on the left. The land-use changed alongside this section, with fields of wheat and then a flock of sheep grazing.

The ewes have been sheared and the lamb said 'Baa' as we looked at each other through the gate.

The gateposts along here are very fine: expertly split. Not surprising considering the proximity to the granite quarries on Kit Hill.

The track became narrow with steep banks and we hustled up to where it widened where the two forks divided off the main track. A tractor carrying a load of rubbish to burn on his tip chased us up to the top. He stopped and we had a long chat about the area and its past history. He said his father had dug out the track we'd just come up.

This boundary stone is on the main track near the fork. The farmer told us it's where the boundaries of the three parishes meet: Stoke Climsland, South Hill and Callington.

Speckled Woods were flying again.

There was a lot of Spindle up this end of the track. It's flowers are modest compared with its flamboyant pink and orange seed pods later on. Very characteristically, Spindle bark is green until it is several years old.