As a child, I used to be out camping and fishing or catapult hunting every school holiday. Sometimes with my mates and sometimes by myself. One holiday aged 13, I persuaded my mum to drop me off alone, about maybe 20-25 miles from home, with the aim of covering the distance back home on foot over a few days. Terrain was coastal. Specifically (if you're interested) from the vicinity of RSPB Minsmere in Suffolk, very loosely following the coastal/inland path ways north to the vicinity of the infamous Pleasurewood Hills amusement park near Corton.....
I knew the ground well and suitably equipped good old mum dropped me off in bright sun shine. With a wave and a smile she drove off. I spent the best part of the day meandering about the fringes of the nature reserve birding, looking for lizards and such as boys do. My aim was to enjoy myself and slowly head for the NW edge of the reserve and find somewhere to set up my camp for the night. I found a perfect wooded area late afternoon.
Following a good meal of beans and fresh bread I was laid out on my old foam mat watching the sun go down when a great idea came into my head. I used to love those old 'commando' comics as a boy and relished a good escape story. So with my imagination on full throttle I was now an escaping commando, evading the enemy to get back to friendly lines!! The idea of night marching excited me. I'd never attempted such a thing before and the thought of 20 odd miles in a night seemed totally possible if I got a shift on....
I threw my rucksack on and got moving. I had a compass but no map. As the last of the light turned to total darkness I found I was having to constantly change direction due to small tributaries, wetland and such. I tried to generally head NNE with the thought of hitting the coast just south of Walberswick. I knew there was a bridge across the river to continue my 'escape'.....
Just SW of Walberswick there's an area of really wet marsh. I know this because at some point in the night I walked right into it. Up to my waist, falling forwards up to my elbows. I was soaked to my skin. I flailed on. Splashing about and cursing I somehow reached solid ground where I fell over exhausted. For a while I just lay there sucking in air. Eventually, I thought to take off my rucksack and have a drink. This gave me a moment to think, and I thought 'if I really was escaping, this wouldn't stop me. Bugger it, keep going'. In my young head if I made it to the bridge I was good as home.....
After a while i trudged into the western edge of Walberswick village. I knew I'd have to find the path that would lead to the bridge across the river. I followed the road into the village centre looking for sign that would show me the way. I couldn't find it. Cold, tired and soaking wet I retraced my steps tge edge of the village. 'Sod it, the river is north.' I set my compass and off i went......
In a pretty straight line north I crossed fields and such. I found the river. Wow, that's really not as wide as I thought it would be. I can chuck my rucksack across and jump it after a run up!. Over went my rucksack. I took a run up. And didn't make it. I slipped down the very steep bank on the far side and down into muddy, slurry water. I was up to my thighs and clawing at the mud. Gosh knows how long it took me to get out but by the time I did, I was soaked all up my front and caked in sticky mud. What a sight I must of been...... I wiped my hands on the grass and laid down panting. At least I was across the river.
Ah haha! After donning my rucksack I headed north. After only about 50m I came to another river!! Which was, of course, the actual river I was looking for. My previous 'river ' was merely a drainage ditch...... I sat down utterly dejected. I was muttering and swearing to myself. After a period of self pity I again had the 'bugger it' attitude and sorted myself out. Gosh knows what time it was. At that age I didn't have a watch.
For the first time that night I made a good call. I was deffo at the river. West or east? I couldn't swim it.... I decided to find the bridge. After a while i found it. A wooden foot bridge that crossed into Southwold!!! I remember skipping across it.
I dragged my tired feet through the golf course, past Southwold village and headed for the beach. I was shattered. Onwards! I kept thinking, still 'escaping'. I pushed hard up the beach (which just added to my imagination, there is (or was) a lot of old ww2 pill boxes dotted along the coast....
Eventually I got to kessingland. I was so sore and tired. But walking any further north would mean walking through lowestoft and looking like I did , a young boy covered in mud, by all accounts looking like an extra out of Oliver twist, didn't seem like a good idea.
I skirted West around the southern edge of kessingland, crossed the A12 and headed into the fields. I couldn't go on. I saw a small copse and headed to it. There I found cover and got out my sleeping bag. I wrapped my old army poncho round it like a bivvy bag. Stripping off my clothes I climbed in and promptly fell fast asleep.
I woke up sore at some point late in the morning. My roll mat was laid still rolled up some 6ft away...... the call of nature got me out of my bag. I was starving and suddenly realised I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before. I lit a small fire with matches. Boiled water and made a cup of tea. Breakfast was chocolate bars and oats. After breakfast I was stuffed. I couldn't move. So I sat there until mid afternoon watching the wildlife and sipping water. My feet were in a bad way. Back then I wore an old pair of leather ankle boots which didn't fit the best. My soles were blistered and my little toes were bleeding. My knees hurt. I decided to continue my March once it turned dark. My morale was back up.
I retraced my route back to the coast in darkness. Once I hit the stoney beach, for some reason I just thought 'Oh sod it' and stopped. I collected firewood and lit a big fire. As far as I was concerned, my escape was over. I slept the rest of the night on the beach next to the fire. In the morning I walked back into kessingland, found a phone box and called my mum. 'Only kessingland?' She said, slightly amused. I brought chips while I waited for her....
So not 'survival' per se I guess. But I did use a lot of Bushcraft. Granted, maybe not the best idea at 13 years old. I made mistakes, I was over confident and my imagination got the better of me. But what an experience! I'm glad that at such a young age I WAS confident to do such a thing. I'm glad my parents not only allowed me to it but ENCOURAGED me to be independent and adventurous. I've always loved the outdoors. I learnt a lot on that adventure and I wouldn't change it for the world!
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