I had a whole bunch of bushy kit for Christmas, and have a week off booked in January for a winter camp (this is traditional for me), so when Al, aka The Big Lebowski, known to some on here, told me he had organised a winter meeting in the Wye valley, it seemed like an opportunity for a kit test. Al said to bring a friend if I wanted, so I invited Davidpingu of this parish along too.
Now, when I say Al 'organised' the event, I mean this in the loosest sense of the word. Fighting our way through traffic to a venue in the vicinity of Chepstow racecourse, on Welsh grand national day, was an experience in itself. Also, Al managed to arrange that he would be the last to arrive on site, so there was no guide in, and his directions were, shall we say, vague. In fairness, my listening skills (as my wife will confirm) were probably also less than 100%, with the result that Dave and I completely failed to find the camp that we were aiming for.
The bit where I said "Not to worry, I think I know where they will be", shortly followed by "Ok, we're going to leave the path now" should have given Dave a clue that all was not well, but he trudged on in silence. It was only when we reached the far end of the headland out into a meander of the Wye, without seeing any sign of other bushcrafters, that I remembered that Dave53 was supposed to be part of the party, and he would probably not have been slogging all that way through pathless terrain due to a dodgy hip. Ho hum. So we did an about face.
Of course, we have now been carrying our overloaded packs for much longer than we intended, the way back is uphill, we haven't had lunch, and being in the bottom of a steep-sided valley in early afternoon means we had no phone signal and were rapidly running out of light. We slogged on.
Finding no-one, we found a path, followed it to a point where we could confirm where exactly we were (which was more or less where I thought, Dave's gps notwithstanding), we made a game attempt to convince ourselves that we had enjoyed the walk, and decided to set up a camp for just the two of us.
From where onwards, it went very well indeed.
Camps set up, Dave played firebug and got a nice blaze going, and we settled in for a well earned meal. An evening of sitting around the fire getting smoke in our eyes and jabbering about nothing much followed, with intermittent firewood gathering. My seat stick, merino base layer, Czech army socks, and my new knitted wool fingerless mittens all passed their kit tests with flying colours, and I was delighted.
The night was cold, but no lower than -3, and we had a wonderful chorus of owls through the night. My tarp froze on one side, but my hammock kit worked a treat and I wasn't cold despite no underquilt. Dave said he was a little cool in his ground camp, but he was being more hardcore than me anyway.
The morning was gorgeous. Mist off the river and in the trees, slowly burning off, then an almost continuous patter of drips as the frozen trees melted and the day turned into a brilliant clear blue-sky day. We breakfasted on coffee, pancakes, and smoked bacon, and delayed packing up long enough to get the sun on my tarp to thaw it out. There was a bit of a slog back up the hill to get back to the car, but that was fine too.
We took the scenic route home, Dave having collected about 7 feet of lime wood for an unspecified project. Nothing was seen of the alleged other meet
A great time was had by us both, and my thanks to Dave for his patience, his company, and for putting up with the fat old man when I struggled on the climbs.
No photos, because in addition to being fat, old, unfit and unable to find a bushcrafting venue, senility is clearly setting in, as I left the camera at home despite packing it into a bright orange drybag so I wouldn't forget to take it with me.
Now, when I say Al 'organised' the event, I mean this in the loosest sense of the word. Fighting our way through traffic to a venue in the vicinity of Chepstow racecourse, on Welsh grand national day, was an experience in itself. Also, Al managed to arrange that he would be the last to arrive on site, so there was no guide in, and his directions were, shall we say, vague. In fairness, my listening skills (as my wife will confirm) were probably also less than 100%, with the result that Dave and I completely failed to find the camp that we were aiming for.
The bit where I said "Not to worry, I think I know where they will be", shortly followed by "Ok, we're going to leave the path now" should have given Dave a clue that all was not well, but he trudged on in silence. It was only when we reached the far end of the headland out into a meander of the Wye, without seeing any sign of other bushcrafters, that I remembered that Dave53 was supposed to be part of the party, and he would probably not have been slogging all that way through pathless terrain due to a dodgy hip. Ho hum. So we did an about face.
Of course, we have now been carrying our overloaded packs for much longer than we intended, the way back is uphill, we haven't had lunch, and being in the bottom of a steep-sided valley in early afternoon means we had no phone signal and were rapidly running out of light. We slogged on.
Finding no-one, we found a path, followed it to a point where we could confirm where exactly we were (which was more or less where I thought, Dave's gps notwithstanding), we made a game attempt to convince ourselves that we had enjoyed the walk, and decided to set up a camp for just the two of us.
From where onwards, it went very well indeed.
Camps set up, Dave played firebug and got a nice blaze going, and we settled in for a well earned meal. An evening of sitting around the fire getting smoke in our eyes and jabbering about nothing much followed, with intermittent firewood gathering. My seat stick, merino base layer, Czech army socks, and my new knitted wool fingerless mittens all passed their kit tests with flying colours, and I was delighted.
The night was cold, but no lower than -3, and we had a wonderful chorus of owls through the night. My tarp froze on one side, but my hammock kit worked a treat and I wasn't cold despite no underquilt. Dave said he was a little cool in his ground camp, but he was being more hardcore than me anyway.
The morning was gorgeous. Mist off the river and in the trees, slowly burning off, then an almost continuous patter of drips as the frozen trees melted and the day turned into a brilliant clear blue-sky day. We breakfasted on coffee, pancakes, and smoked bacon, and delayed packing up long enough to get the sun on my tarp to thaw it out. There was a bit of a slog back up the hill to get back to the car, but that was fine too.
We took the scenic route home, Dave having collected about 7 feet of lime wood for an unspecified project. Nothing was seen of the alleged other meet
A great time was had by us both, and my thanks to Dave for his patience, his company, and for putting up with the fat old man when I struggled on the climbs.
No photos, because in addition to being fat, old, unfit and unable to find a bushcrafting venue, senility is clearly setting in, as I left the camera at home despite packing it into a bright orange drybag so I wouldn't forget to take it with me.
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