Wild camping is a holiday for the soul, and now it’s legal

I don’t remember much from the post-Covid fortnight in the Caribbean that cost the price of a small car, apart from how wildly overrated Barbados is.

But the three days, twenty-five years ago, that my wife and I spent hauling our arses through the Lake District on a wild camping trip in preparation for a longer Alpine adventure — that, I remember almost everything about.

The evening hike up to Red Tarn in Helvellyn, carrying so much gear in a 90-litre backpack that people assumed we must be mountain rescue, on our way to attend to a walker who had sprained their ankle.

“She’s just up there, mate. Looks nasty,” they kept telling me. I was, of course, delighted to be mistaken for mountain rescue. Those were the days.

Waking at dawn, unzipping the tent, and peering out into… well, how to describe it? I can’t. It’s too beautiful a moment to relate. As banker and minor English poet William Kean Seymour put it: new rhythms in the soul begin.

The thing is, those three days of soul renewal and fitness bootcamp cost us nothing more than the calories we expended on our daily twenty-mile traverse of the Lakes. If you’ve been to the Lakes lately, you may find this hard to believe, but we went an entire day and a half of that trip without seeing more than two or three other hikers. Even now, when Ambleside, Grasmere, and Windermere feel like service stations, it’s still possible to find absolute solitude within little more than an hour of walking.

Since then, I’ve wild camped in the Pyrenees, the Alps, the Himalayas. But the Lakes take some beating. Strictly speaking, it’s illegal, but it’s tolerated. Stay high, out of sight, don’t stay too long (a couple of nights max in one spot), and leave no trace. Follow these rules, and all the peace you can wish for — and the best views on God’s earth — will be yours every dawn and dusk, for nowt.

Soon — thanks to a Supreme Court ruling — I’ll dig out the old super-light Mountain Hardwear Trango tent (not the garish orange one, but the sage green version, bought specifically to blend in with the landscape and minimise the chances of being spotted by arsy landowning Karens), and head to Dartmoor.

The court has just resolutely denied an appeal by two such landowning Karens, Alexander and Diana Darwall, who own 3,500 acres of Dartmoor and fought a protracted and expensive legal battle to ensure nobody has the right to wild camp in the national park. That decision now makes Dartmoor the only place in England where wild camping is legal.

“We are disappointed by the Supreme Court’s judgment,” the Darwalls said. “Our aim from the outset was to protect and preserve Dartmoor, its flora and fauna.”

Aye, for yourselves.

The idea, part of their case, that wild campers litter the place and disturb cattle is, in my experience, absolute nonsense. Wild campers tend to be the most fastidious of all countryside lovers. Their appreciation of natural beauty is self-evident — that’s why they’re there. The real despoilers tend to be countryside casuals: city-dwelling day-trippers with their Lucozade and Monster Munch picnics.

So come and join me under the stars in Dartmoor. Give your soul a holiday. You’ll need a very light tent (every ounce matters after a few days, believe me), a micro-stove, and a strong back. Remember, you’ll need to walk in all your food and water. You’ll also need a good pair of worn-in trekking trainers or boots. One thing you won’t need, from now on, is the bloody Darwalls’ permission.