As I couldn't get out for the night on the recent Equinox due to my recent op I decided that I wanted to spend a night under the semi dark sky. Still not able to drive anywhere and not having anyone to play with I decided to have a night in some of the local woodland. Considered asking my friends if I could take their dog as he's my usual companion on walks these days but he's not like my old dog Snoop and is a bit of a home body so decided not to.
After lunch I packed up my little Swedish canvas and leather rucksack. It's not the biggest pack in the world only being about 35 litres. But as I'm still on sticks I didn't want to be carrying much. I dropped in a few essentials and some grub for supper and breakfast. Realising that I had some boiled eggs in the bowl to take too. Usually once boiled I put a little cross on the shell to let me know it's been cooked but I'd beein using the kitchen pencil elsewhere so it was time to do the old egg tests. Before I use eggs I always float them in water, if they sink they're good, float they're off due to gas build up. But you can also check if an egg is boiled or not without opening it. Lay the egg down and spin it as fast as you can, then quickly stop it by placing a finger on top and swiftly removing it again. If the egg remains motionless them it's cooked as the albumen is solid in the shell. If it moves then the fluid inside the egg still has momentum and causes the egg to slowly start moving again. So cooked egg found it was wrapped in kitchen paper and included in the kit. Deciding not to carry a shelter or sleeping bag I packed light and headed off.
Was pretty warm as I steped outside the sun was allready past it's zenith and I'm not travelling at any great rate of knots yet, but I was deliberately not going too far. Water was gurgling under the stream which was up a notch after the previous days rain. I had my usual peek over the bridge keystone to look for fish and after satisfying myself that there were a couple in there I headed off through the field. Everything was looking really verdant after the rain and the grass under foot (and up to my thighs if I'm honest) was still damp but it was quickly drying off in the afternoon heat. In the last few days there's been a bit of a hatch of a particular type of butterfly. Not the usual stained glass jewels we all think of when someone says butterfly but a beautiful graduated smokey charcoal brown type, a few dozen were courting and avoiding the vegitation skimming swallows that were screaming through the air in search of food for themselves and their brood back at the nest. As I worked my way along a fence line keeping an eye as to what was climbing up there I was chuffed to find a lone purple vetch pod ready for the picking. All the other minature pods were flat as mangé tout but this one was swollen with the promise of a little snack. I picked the pod and using my thumb nails opened it up and scooped the little juicy peas onto my tounge. Crunching them up that lovely fresh taste freshened my mouth and told me summer was truely here. Further along I picked some young leaves from the "bread and butter" bush and chewed away as I wandered on enjoying the sun on my face.
Made it to the old farm road and trundled up the tarmacadam stuggling to see over the high growth either side of me. The gentle breaze was playing on the wild raspberry canes making the leaves show both their green uppers and shimmery silvery underside when I spied a solitary little bloomed ruby of a ripe rasp. All the others were slowly ripening but here was one ready for plucking. I swithered for a few secondes whether to leave it for the birds before reaching out and momentarily admiring it before greadily plopping it in my mouth. Using my tounge I squished it against the roof of my mouth enjoying the sweet tartness of the juice. Made me think how lucky I am to live in Scotlands "soft fruit bowl". Not only are there wild rasps but later on there'll be sherbety gooseberies, dark plump brambles, little super sweet wild strawberries, open hillsides carpeted with blaeberries that turn your fingers and tounge purple with their juice, wild plums and apples and to finish the year hyper bitter sloes to macerate in gin for a nectar like liqueur. The taste took me back to childhood school holidays when they were taken up with catching the berry-bus early in the morning to spend days picking fruit to fill our bellies and put bawbees in the pockets so that we could buy something good at the end of the season. That's how I was able to buy the first racing bike that I was so proud of. Keeping my eyes peeled in vain for for more raspberries I toddled on enjoying the seeds stuck between my teeth that some folk seem not to like, for me it just prolongs the joy of eating them. Looking at all the unripened promise around me it struck home that this could be another "mast" year which is something we haven't had for around six years. That means that it's going to be a busy summer and autumn making all sorts of preserved goodies to bring summer cheer to the winter gloom.
I eventually made it to the woods and the bright heat was replaced by the warm shade of the canopy. The elderflowers are in full show, a white perfumed mass in the darkness. Again their scent filled me with thoughts of food and drink. Light crispy elderflowers frittiers and the delicate aroma of elderflower gin in a martini. Though hungry I decided not to dip into my food reserve just yet but to go and set up camp instead. Once I found the spot I wanted to spend the night at I took off my pack and decided to sit for five minutes. Raked about in my pack so as to have a wee peek through my spotting scope and through the trees could see a tractor cutting the first of the silage. Found it a bit strange with the grass being damp earlier but maybe the chap was pushed for time. On rising I decided that the seat hadn't been a good idea as I was a bit stechie; but I couldn't really complain as I was having fun and I had chores to do before the sun went down. I unstrapped my little husqvarna hatchet from my bag and made sure that the Opinel saw was safely stuck in my pouch before heading off for firewood. Stravaiging through the wood I piled up sticks into bundles and left them in easily seen positions all the time keeping an eye out for wildlife. I came to an opening carved by the wind a few years back and in amongst the tangled vegitation found a very long speedwell; it's stem was over a foot long as it struggled up through the grass to be topped with a solitary purple blue flower. All that effort to try and set seed for the next year. Where the profusion died down at the edges of the clearing came across intermittent patches of wood sorrel and enjoyed the tasty oxalic tang of the clover like leaves. Deciding that I had enough wood and realising that I neadn't have humfed my hatchet with me I took off my belt and made my way back to camp collecting my little bundles together 'till I had a decent sized faggot for later on. Always think that I must look like the peasant out gathering winter fuel in the illustrations you see of the carol "Good King Wenceslas" when I'm doing this but it's one of the reasons I bought such a large belt (that and I was fat) and put extra holes along it's length so varying sized bundles could be carried.
Back at camp I sorted the firewood out by size and dryness and prepared a fire area, even taking the time to make some feather sticks. The sun was out of sight; though still evident by a glow on the horizon before I got out my prized Hudson Bay fire kit and set myself up to start the fire. After reading of the effort some folks like GGTBod have been putting into perfecting their bowdrill technique I almost felt guilty using steel and flint, but I consoled myself that I had done it that way and that it's really a young lads game. Managed to get a spark to catch the charcloth on the seventh strike and gently coaxed the tiny dull glow into flame in the tinder nest. Wanted to keep the fire small as it was pretty warm still and I didn't want to be collecting fire wood all night, also periodically putting on some damper wood as I wanted a bit of smoke to keep down the last of the flying insects. Once there was an ember bed I decided to have a brew, I don't drink tea or coffee at home anymore, it's an away treat for me these days and my kuska was soon full of steaming hot black coffee. Decided to finish the book I've been dipping in and out of of late. It's called 1000, and is about life in England in and around that year. Structured on the twelve months in an ancient document of the time that was concerned with the agricultural seasons. Though there was probably enough light between what was left in the sky and from the fire I decided that a little extra from my Northernlights oil lantern would add to the atmosphere. There was only a couple of months left to read and after finishing I packed the book safely back in my sack and took out the wooden plate that I use camping and prepared supper. Made a simple repast of oatcakes, some really nice Applewood smoked spreadable cheese that I found in the Co-Op, tomatoes, cucumber, and some German slicing sausage. At the last minute it came to mind that there was a boiled egg wrapped in paper hidden in the internal pocket of my sack. So a quick crack and a roll making sure the shell was totally crushed so as not to attract changelings I disposed of the remains in the fire before slicing the egg and adding it to the top of my snacks, a quick twist of pepper and I tucked in, sipping another cup of hot coffee. Sated, I cleared up, fed the fire and took out my scope again to watch the night sky which still had the odd late bird heading home to roost. I could hear the oyster catchers off in the reed beds in the distance, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the gentle rythmic swish of the wind in the trees.
Though I had intended to stay awake I awoke to a bed of barely warm ashes and a slowly lightening sky. I lay listening to the rising tide of bird song before stiffly getting up for a stretch. Had a slow wander through the woods, creepinging as quietly as I could on my Blundestoned feet and cursing the creak from my left stick. There were a few Brer Rabbits out eating the morning grass and off in the distance a fox was skylined on the crest of a hill as he stealthily made his was home to lay up for the day. We don't get a lot of foxes 'round here despite the large rabbit population. The raptors seem to be the main predator along with the odd weasel.
So I watched Reynard through the scope 'till he disapeared into a patch of woodland. I collected some more sticks as I headed back, wishing that I'd left a walkingstick behind like I had the night before to facilitate easier carrying and on arrival back at camp plunked the sticks down quickly sorting through them before restarting the fire with my kit. I'd searched for any glimmer of embers from the previous evening but as nothing had been very large the fire had burned itself out compleatly. Soon I had a cheery blaze going and popped some water onto boil. I had a task to perform as part of a review for Xylaria and Woodstocks Pine Tar Soap. Normally so close to home I'd just wait 'till I made it back before having a wash and a shave but I wanted to see how it faired outside, and the previous days use of the soap had contributed to keeping the insects away. Water hot I stripped to the waist and had a clean and shave. The soaps great stuff, lathering nicely and rinsing off cleanly with minimal water and a cloth. I was feeling envigorated and purified in the morning sunrise with the smell of the soap intertwining with the wafting smoke from the fire. Tidied away the spartan wash kit and started to prepare to break my fast. I'd decided the day before on a Turkish breafast and cut up the remaining toms and cucumber while more water boiled for a strong coffee. I'd snaked the telescopic toasting fork into my sack that my great, great grandfather had made as one of his apprentice pieces to become a blacksmith. The bread toasted, I slathered on some speading cheese and layered up the thinley sliced veg (I know toms are a fruit but hey, artistic liscence). Toast and coffee over I polished an apple on my trouser leg like a cricketer before slicing into it with my trusty Opinel, I know you shouldn't eat off a blade; my folks would've clouted me round the head for it but it's how I've always liked to eat apples. And these days it reminds me of the scene in Firefly when they're talking of avoiding getting their heads blown off by micro mines by doing the same.
Fire over I made sure it was out before scattering the ashes and giving the area a thorough going over, making sure that there was no disernable trace of me spending the night there. Slowly packed my kit and swung my pack on, retrieved my sticks from against the tree and walked off the morning stiffness as I headed out of the woodland.
In the open meadow there were monopods everywhere drinking in the morning dew and no doubt generally being thankfull for moisture after the spell of stonking weather we've been having up here; and the thrushes and blackbirds were making the most of them. The local rookery was alive with corvids going about their morning quarrels and the areodynamic swallows were cutting through the air up high promising another day of high pressure. Feeling good I decided to take the long way home and was rewarded with a hovering kestral as I reached the prow of the red braes. He didn't seem to be bothered by me so I stood rapt as his wings found the tinyest of updrafts to stay aloft. He eventually veered off to for a better vantage for finding his breakfast and I wandered down the hill scattering rabbits as I went. At the crossing gate at the railway line I checked both ways (why didn't the Green Cross Code giant never get involved in railways?) and ambled over taking care not to trip my sticks over the rails. Out the other side and through the lethal bramble patch before stopping at the midpoint on the bridge over the Allan water to check for trout. There can be some good sized ones here and its always worth a look. Back in the village there wasn't a soul to be seen as I made my way along the back street towards the old stable where I live, one of the neighbours dogs greeted me with a cacophany of barking through the window, no doubt stirring his owners from sleep as I passed so I picked up my pace to quieten him down. Once at the french windows of my living room I got my keys out and stood on the threshold thinking how small the house looked after spending a night out in the big outdoor bedroom. But I had things to do so it was in, radio 4 on and kit to sort out and another day to plan.
This ones based on the peak district
