Wild Camping

By six o'clock, I knew I'd made the right decision.

I sat outside the tent with both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, watching sunlight move slowly across the moor.

I could see for miles.

That was the point.

No houses. No roads that I could see from here. No traffic muttering in the distance. No neighbours, televisions, phones ringing or messages arriving with that peculiar modern insistence that because somebody could contact you, you were somehow obliged to answer.

Just open country.

I'd needed this.

Nothing terrible had happened. Nobody had died. No relationship had collapsed spectacularly. Work had simply been work for too many weeks in succession, people had been people, and somewhere along the way I'd realised that I couldn't remember the last time nobody wanted anything from me.

I picked up my phone.

No signal.

Perfect.

The last message had come through from Mum while I was hiking out here, shortly before the final bar of reception disappeared.

Sarah when you get home tomorrow can you give me a ring i want to order that thing i showed you but i can't remember which one you said
no hurry enjoy your camping love you xxx

I'd read it twice already.

Not because there was anything particularly interesting about it, but because it seemed to sum up exactly why I was sitting here.

Even Mum wanted something.

Nothing urgent. Nothing unreasonable. Just one more tiny demand waiting for me when I got back.

I smiled and slipped the phone back in my pocket.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I would ring Mum. Tomorrow I'd answer messages and emails and find out what everyone wanted.

Tonight, nobody could reach me.

I took another sip of coffee and looked out across the empty moor.

Perfect.

I woke because I needed a piss.

For several seconds I considered ignoring it.

My sleeping bag was warm. I was comfortable. Whatever time it was, it was nowhere near morning, and getting out seemed an unreasonable amount of effort.

My bladder disagreed.

“Fine.”

I wriggled out of the sleeping bag and sat up.

The tent was completely dark.

I reached automatically towards where I'd left the torch, then stopped.

For God's sake.

I was only popping outside.

I pulled my baggy T-shirt straight, found my slip-ons by touch and pushed my feet into them. My boots were beside them, but putting socks and boots on for a thirty-second trip seemed ridiculous.

I unzipped the tent and crawled outside.

The stars had gone.

The night had clouded over while I slept.

I stood and waited for my eyes to adjust.

They didn't.

There was a faint suggestion of ground immediately around my feet, but beyond that the moor had disappeared. The huge landscape I'd sat admiring only hours earlier simply wasn't there.

No horizon.

No hills.

No sky.

Just black.

It was impressive, actually.

I turned away from the tent and walked carefully across the grass.

One.

Two.

Three.

I counted without really thinking about it.

At eight I decided that was plenty.

I pulled my knickers down, squatted and stared into nothing while I peed.

Cold air found places that had been warm a minute earlier.

“Jesus.”

I finished quickly, stood, pulled my knickers back up and tugged the T-shirt down.

Then I turned towards the tent.

Nothing.

I smiled.

It had to be there.

I stared harder, expecting the shape to emerge once my eyes settled.

Nothing did.

I took three steps.

Stopped.

Had I turned far enough?

I looked behind me.

Which was pointless.

Behind me looked exactly like in front of me.

I turned back and walked another few steps.

My hands met empty air.

“Oh, come on.”

I laughed quietly.

Eight paces.

I'd walked eight bloody paces.

I moved slightly to the left and tried again.

Nothing.

A cold drop struck my shoulder.

Then another landed on my cheek.

I looked upwards automatically and received a third directly beneath my eye.

“Dry overnight. Of course it bloody was.”

I wiped my face.

The tent was here.

Obviously it was here.

I had simply turned slightly when I stood up.

I stretched both hands ahead of me and walked slowly.

Five steps.

Six.

Seven.

Nothing.

I stopped.

That wasn't right.

I turned around.

Or thought I did.

Without anything to fix my eyes on, turning felt strangely imprecise. I couldn't tell whether I'd turned halfway, slightly more, slightly less.

I tried to picture it.

Tent.

Eight paces.

Turned away.

Squatted.

Stood.

Turned back.

Easy.

Except I could no longer remember which direction I'd faced when I squatted.

Rain began ticking against the grass.

I chose a direction and walked.

Ten steps.

Nothing.

I went back.

At least, I intended to go back.

The rain strengthened.

Cold spots spread across my T-shirt. A drop ran from my hair, behind my ear and down my neck.

I shivered.

“Come on, Sarah.”

I stopped and listened.

Nothing.

Rain on grass.

Rain on skin.

Somewhere beyond it, the faint movement of wind across the moor.

No voices.

No traffic.

Nothing human.

I suddenly wished I had grabbed the torch.

That was stupid.

The torch was in the tent.

The tent was ten bloody metres away.

I walked again.

My slip-ons were already wet. The thin soles that had seemed perfectly adequate a few minutes ago slid over the grass.

I slowed down.

Falling over would really complete the evening.

The thought almost made me laugh.

Almost.

The rain became heavier.

Not a shower now.

Drops struck my bare arms hard enough to sting. I folded them across myself and hunched my shoulders, trying to shelter inside a T-shirt that was rapidly becoming useless.

I needed to think.

Stop moving.

Think.

I stood still.

The darkness seemed to move closer.

Ridiculous.

There was nothing close.

I knew what surrounded me. I'd seen it before sunset.

Open moor.

Miles of it.

Nothing but space.

I stretched one arm out.

Couldn't see my hand.

I brought it back.

The rain hammered harder.

My hair was plastered across my forehead now. Water ran into my eyes, down my cheeks, across my lips. My T-shirt clung to my back and stomach.

I wiped my face.

It made no difference.

“Right.”

I spoke aloud because hearing a voice helped.

“Think.”

Which way?

I pointed.

Tent.

That way.

Why?

No reason.

I turned slightly.

Maybe that way.

My heart gave one hard beat.

Stop it.

I wasn't lost.

You couldn't be lost when you were standing practically beside your own tent.

I picked the first direction and walked.

Too far.

I stopped.

The rain stung my shoulders and the backs of my arms.

Turn around.

Go back.

I turned.

Walked.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

Nothing.

I stopped counting.

My breathing was louder now.

I could hear each breath beneath the rain.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Too fast.

“Calm down.”

I hated how frightened my voice sounded.

I wasn't frightened.

I was cold.

That was all.

Cold and wet and pissed off.

Water had soaked through my useless fucking excuse for shoes completely. My feet squelched inside them. Mud sucked at one and nearly pulled it off.

I stumbled, caught myself and shoved my foot back into it.

“Fuck!”

The word vanished into the rain.

I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself.

Cold.

I was definitely cold.

So why was I sweating?

I could feel moisture beneath my arms, across my chest, down my back.

Rain.

Sweat.

Both.

I couldn't tell.

The wet shirt stuck to me everywhere.

I pulled it away from my stomach.

For a second it released.

Then slapped wetly back against my skin.

I wanted it off.

No.

Stupid.

Keep it on.

My breath caught.

The moor was enormous.

I knew it was enormous.

So why did I feel as though there wasn't enough room to breathe?

I dragged in air.

It felt damp.

Thick.

Another breath.

Too quick.

Slow down.

I closed my eyes.

Instantly opened them again.

There was no difference.

Eyes open.

Black.

Eyes closed.

Black.

No difference.

I began walking.

I didn't choose a direction this time.

I just moved.

One foot.

Then another.

The rain battered my head and shoulders, sharp against exposed skin now, almost scouring it. I bowed my head and narrowed my eyes.

That made the world smaller.

I lifted my head.

Nothing.

Smaller anyway.

I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.

My chest hurt.

Not pain.

Pressure.

My arms tightened around myself.

I forced them down.

Space.

There was space everywhere.

I couldn't feel it.

“It's here.”

I said it aloud.

“The tent is here.”

Nothing answered.

Of course nothing answered.

I walked.

My shoe slipped.

Recovered.

Walked.

Stopped.

Listened.

Rain.

Breathing.

Heart.

I held my breath.

The rain filled everything.

I listened harder.

Nothing.

For one ridiculous second I wanted to shout.

Not for help.

Just to hear something human.

I opened my mouth.

Stopped.

What if something answered?

The thought arrived complete and unwanted.

I froze.

“Oh, don't be fucking stupid.”

I said it loudly.

Angrily.

There was nothing here.

Nothing.

I had chosen this place because there was nothing here.

That had been the whole fucking point.

I turned again.

Or maybe I didn't.

I had no idea any more.

The rain began to ease.

I barely noticed.

I took another step.

My foot struck something.

Soft resistance.

I jerked backwards.

Reached out.

My fingers touched wet fabric.

For a moment I couldn't understand what I was touching.

Then my palm flattened against it.

Canvas.

Tent.

“Oh, thank God.”

My knees almost gave way.

I followed the fabric with both hands, fumbling around the side until I found the entrance.

The rain was weakening quickly now.

I grabbed the zip.

It stuck.

“No. No, come on.”

I pulled again.

It opened.

I dropped to my knees and scrambled inside.

The rain dwindled to a patter against the flysheet.

Then lighter.

I dragged the zip closed behind me.

By the time I was sitting upright, it had almost stopped.

Bloody typical.

For several seconds I just sat there.

Darkness.

But different darkness.

This darkness had edges.

I knew where the walls were.

I knew where the roof was.

I could reach out and touch them.

My breathing began to slow.

The rain stopped completely.

The silence that followed was enormous.

I reached beside the sleeping bag.

My hand found plastic.

Torch.

Click.

Light filled the tent.

I blinked.

Sleeping bag.

Rucksack.

Water bottle.

Book.

Boots.

My beautiful, sensible, waterproof hiking boots sitting exactly where I'd left them.

I stared at them.

Then started laughing.

I couldn't help it.

All that.

Eight fucking paces.

I had managed to turn eight paces into some sort of survival ordeal.

“Idiot.”

My hands were still shaking.

I found the towel and rubbed my hair, then my face and arms. I peeled off the soaked T-shirt, dried myself properly and pulled on the dry clothes I'd packed for morning.

Warmth began returning almost immediately.

I checked my feet.

Muddy.

Cold.

Fine.

Everything was fine.

I sat in the sleeping bag with the torch beside me and listened.

Nothing.

No rain.

Hardly any wind now, just the occasional faint movement of the tent fabric as the last of the weather passed away across the moor.

I thought about turning my phone on, then wondered what exactly I would do with it. There was still no signal out here, and even if there had been, what was I going to say?

Went for a piss. Nearly died.

Then send it when I got signal back?

I laughed again. Tomorrow it would make a funny story. Actually, it was already funny, now that I was warm and dry and safely back inside the tent. I could imagine Mum's response when I told her how I'd managed to get myself lost within a few paces of where I'd been sleeping.

The torch was still on beside me, filling the little tent with its familiar pool of light. My boots stood by the entrance, the rucksack was tucked down by my feet and my wet clothes lay in an untidy heap where I'd dropped them. Everything was exactly where it should be.

I reached over and switched off the torch.

Darkness settled around me again, but this time it felt comfortable. I knew what was in it. The sleeping bag was warm around me, my boots were beside the door and the torch was within easy reach if I wanted it.

Beyond the thin fabric of the tent there was nothing but open moor stretching away for miles.

Exactly what I'd come here for.

I settled deeper into the sleeping bag, closed my eyes and felt the last of the tension begin to leave my shoulders. My breathing had returned to normal and, as I lay listening to the quiet, I realised my heart had too.

A sound moved softly across the canvas beside my head.

Barely more than a whisper.

So slight I might have imagined it.

I stopped breathing.