What Not To Do When Wild Camping
With an active, but not particularly adventurous childhood, I was equal parts excited, nervous and unprepared for my first bikepacking and wild camping trips of my adult years. With the lifting of restrictions over the Easter holidays, we escaped from the tedium of town lockdown through two trips of two nights within the Basque Country. For your entertainment, here are some mistakes I made as a ‘beginner’ camper.
No Sock Sleeplessness
As an inexperienced camper, I believed everything my boyfriend told me. When he assured me the second layer of the tent was unnecessary, that we would be warm enough, I had no reason to disagree. It was a fairly mild night. It was nearly April! My shocking circulation and my freezing feet disagreed. I had also left my socks too many steps away across a chilly cement floor. I spent the night fidgeting; I was too cold to sleep but not cold enough to complain, reaching for my down jacket a couple of hours in.
Sunrise Sliding
Seeking a little shelter on the second night, we nestled our tent in between some trees on the ridiculously picturesque backdrop of the dramatic Basque Coast. Mention it to locals and you will inevitably be told that this is where a scene from Game of Thrones was filmed. From our tent, we could see the sunrise over the hills, whilst being hidden from obvious view of the nearest path. The compromise we paid for the beautiful sunrise alarm was being on a hardly noticeable downhill slope. I don’t know how it is possible that this slope felt so close to horizontal whilst simultaneously moving me further and further down the tent. The slippy combination of a sleeping bag, air mat and tent was not a problem I anticipated. This issue was mostly comical, as I rolled over to look at Patrick’s hips and not his face. I wriggled towards the top of the tent. It was almost harder than the cycling — for every hard-earned wriggle up, I seemed to slide further down.
Wild Wee
Call it what you want: wild wee, nature wee, no big deal, I don’t mind. But don’t do it in the dark, because you will inevitably walk barefoot through your own wee again and be too embarrassed to tell your boyfriend who is waiting for you in the tent.
Clumsiness
I’ve always laughed off my clumsiness, despite its surprising ability to pop up when I least expect it. Waiting for Patrick to put his suncream on at the top of a climb, I loitered on the side of the road, grazing on some flapjack. I was clipped in with one foot, the other resting on the floor. The wind blew — not strongly, might I add — and I lost my balance. I fell with my bike on top of me, resulting in four rather dirty puncture wounds from my chain ring. A kind man in a car drove past to ask if I was okay. At that moment, my ego was bruised more than anything and the bleeding wasn’t that serious. Bike grease is hard enough to clean, never mind when it’s on a cringe-inducing cut. I spent at least a month toeing the line between healing and infection. In hindsight, I have learnt that stitches and disinfectant might have been useful as I’ve been left with quite the gnarly scar. I wish it had a better story than it does.
As if my ego hadn’t suffered enough that day, I was wandering barefoot again (I should have learnt from the wild wee mistake) around camp. I walked straight into a tent peg which penetrated my skin between my big toe and my second toe, which I have recently named my “flip flop area”. This bled a surprising amount but was nowhere near as deep as the leg wound. The next morning, after quite an enjoyable camping setup within earshot of the waves, I was tired, ready to go home and desperate for safe barefoot walking.