This Book Made Me Think of You(62)
“You sound like Joe.”
Alfie sits back up again.
“Taking a tent down is much easier than putting one up. Although it can take some work to get everything back in the bag. There’s a special knack. Shall I show you?”
He goes as if to stand up, but she takes hold of his shoulder, pulling him back down.
“Relax a minute!” She closes her eyes, feeling the sun on her face and the warmth of him as he hesitates and then settles beside her again.
“Maybe I am going to enjoy camping after all.”
Forty
Wild Camping: Exploring and Sleeping in the Wilds of the UK and Ireland, Stephen Neale
Dear Tilly,
I said before that I’m trying hard not to have any regrets. But maybe there is one more. I regret that I never managed to persuade you to enjoy camping.
OK, hear me out…Campfires. Toasted marshmallows. Waking with the sun and stepping straight out into nature…If we had more time, I hope I might have been able to convince you that these are some of life’s greatest pleasures.
I know you never wanted to come camping with me, but I wonder if you were put off by campsites. Moldy shower stalls, the sound of other people’s music or snoring…I’ve always thought that to really experience the best of camping you have to go wild camping. Just you and the outdoors. Pitching your tent somewhere remote beneath the stars.
I wish we’d had time to go together because some of the places in this book look incredible. I am quite tempted to pack a tent and go right now but I think my wild camping days might be behind me.
I hope this book inspires you. And never forget, you are so much braver than you think you are. You are the bravest person I know.
I love you.
Joe x
PS If you’re carrying all your supplies on your back, you’ll probably want to limit yourself to just one book.
* * *
—
“Hello. How can I help you lasses?” says the gray-haired man behind the counter as Tilly pushes open the door to the bike hire shop on Islay, Rachel following behind. They just about make it through the door with all of their bags. Outside is a stretching view of the small village of Port Ellen, white fishing cottages hugging the coastline and boats bobbing in the bay.
Rachel is dressed in outdoor gear that looks just as new as Tilly’s. Tilly isn’t sure she’s ever worn an outfit with quite so many pockets before. But if their outfits look as though the tags could very well still be attached, the man behind the shop counter’s olive-green layers look so weathered and fused to him that he could have come out of the womb in Gore-Tex.
“We’d like to hire some bikes.”
“E-bikes,” Rachel adds quickly.
“Sorry, e-bikes.” Tilly is pretty certain she will need the assistance of a battery motor if she’s to make it through this weekend. When they planned the trip, they debated hiring a car, but both reluctantly agreed that it wouldn’t make it exactly wild camping if there was always the option of sleeping in a car overnight.
“Well, you’re in the right place. Where are you heading?”
Tilly explains that they’re about to catch the ferry to Jura. It had been hard to decide where to go. There are lots of places in the guidebook that look undeniably beautiful, despite Tilly’s hesitation about camping. But a note on the description of Jura mentioned it was where George Orwell wrote 1984. That decided things for her. A literary connection at least makes this whole trip feel a little more…Tilly.
“Ach, Jura’s gorgeous. Very wild. More deer than people. My kind of place. You’ll probably be wanting an e–mountain bike then. It gets a bit wild out there.”
He selects two bikes for them, handing them matching helmets and a puncture repair kit. Alfie showed her how to fix a flat tire before leaving, and she thinks she remembers, but hopefully it won’t come to that. Just like she seriously hopes she will make it through the next two days without needing to use the shovel in her backpack.
They strap the panniers to the bikes until they look like lean packhorses.
“So, where are you staying on Jura then?” asks the shop owner as they wheel the bikes outside. “The hotel in Craighouse? Molly’s B&B?”
Tilly and Rachel glance at each other again. “We’re not quite sure yet,” says Rachel. “We’re wild camping. We have a few pitch sites in mind, but the idea is to be spontaneous!”
The man clears his throat. “Done that before, have you, eh, wild camping?”
“Um, no…” Tilly replies.
“We’ve got a book though!” says Rachel cheerily. A book that is currently digging into Tilly’s shoulder blades alongside her copy of 1984, because of course she failed to follow Joe’s advice.
“Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine…Just make sure you contact the landowners first if you’re planning on camping on the hills or mountains.”
“Why? We thought wild camping was legal in Scotland?”
It was one of the things that drew Tilly north despite the distance. The book suggested other places closer to home but recommended discretion, and Tilly didn’t fancy being woken in the middle of the night by an angry farmer.
“It is. But it’s deer stalking season. Humans look uncannily like deer from afar. It’s an easy mistake to make. You could hardly blame a hunter if they made a wrong shot…”