My second wild camping experience was certainly not as enjoyable as the first. After parking at Stonethwaite we were advised that camp spot was a mile away, myself and some others in the group had not yet invested in larger backpacks so we had several bags full of stuff and added a good bit more as after all it’s only a mile.
I’m sure we walked for an hour although that may be my mind over-exaggerating the situation. We were struggling to carry everything we had brought, bags hanging from ever possibly place on our bodies, falling over, struggling through gates and over styles.
Eventually we reached a saturated piece of ground by a small waterfall which I now know to be called black moss pot and the tents were pitched.
It was damp, cold and raining slightly. My friend invited me to stand a dry tuft of grass with him and gave me a pat on the shoulder; I think he knew I was a little bit sick of things by then. So there we stood on our tuft looking longingly at the guy who was making us a fire (we didn’t carry all those logs for nothing!).
Eventually we got warmed up around the fire and I manged to eat a whole half a packet of noodles, I was starving but my fussiness meant there wasn’t really anything else I could manage to eat so I just kept quiet. Soon after it was thankfully time for bed, I was tired from a day’s walking, cold from sitting in the damp and hungry because I couldn’t eat, sleep was a welcome relief.
We awoke in the morning surrounded by very loud sheep!
I do look back on this one and laugh at us carrying all those bags and will never forget standing on that tuft of grass! But at the time it didn’t really feel like much fun.