You can find it on Spotify in playlists for insomniacs, but on a Friday afternoon on Exmoor, we are happily listening to the real thing: the gorgeous ambient sound made by grasshoppers, birds and the buzzing insects that momentarily fly in and out of earshot.
The view is just as serene: the deep-blue Bristol Channel in the middle distance, golden fields just in front of us and, in our immediate surroundings, huge expanses of grasses and wildflowers. Our tent is pitched between two strips of woodland, which provide just enough shade. This piece of land is ours for the next 24 hours.
Wild camping is what we do, but it’s done in a safe and managed way. Our spot was arranged by CampWild, an adventure outfit that started in 2023 About 200 locations have been approved by the company.
A few days before setting off, we are sent our first “route card”, complete with a map, a few warnings (“there is a high risk of midges and ticks in this area”), and the promise of “a sheltered meadow-woodland space ideal for roaming”. Then comes the start of this long weekend: just after lunchtime, I set out on a three-mile walk from a nearby car park with my son James, 18, and daughter Rosa, 16, arriving at our destination in the late afternoon in searing heat. We made sure to pack three essential litres water. Once our tent is pitched and the evening’s relative cool arrives, what we half expect materialises: a lovely feeling of time ceasing to matter, which runs through an evening spent eating dinner (the obligatory instant pasta), aimlessly rambling around our surroundings, then marvelling at a sky much starrier than any to be seen in a town or city.
CampWild has a rule that all locations must remain secret. This is to prevent unauthorised campers from encroaching on the site. It’s true that the land where we are camping is part a regenerative farming operation which claims to produce over 167 different types of food. And its owners are avid rewilders. Kate Hughes, the co-owner of the farm, told me that she welcomed campers, because “if there are no people on the land they will not fight for nature. We have to have a relation as a country with the natural environment that supports us.”
According to our limited bird knowledge, we’re in the presence of wood pigeons. One or two sparrowhawks are also present. And there are many blackbirds. We are half hoping to see a deer or two, but although none materialise, it hardly matters – this feels like somewhere teeming with life.
Somewhat inevitably, James and Rosa spend time on their phones, but we soon agree on a compromise: 90 minutes spent listening on a Bluetooth speaker to suitably pastoral music – Nick Drake, Fairport Convention, the acoustic demos for the Beatles’ White Album – before a final hour of stillness and silence, when we begin to drift off to sleep. James is much more comfortable outdoors. (His first recorded lie in was at a Dorset campground when he had just turned five years old.) Tonight, it’s a fact. Rosa and myself stayed awake until 11pm.
CampWild is the brainchild of Alex Clasper, a thirtysomething dad from Devon who developed a lifelong love for camping on trips organized by their comprehensive school. Backhouse was inspired to fundraise for the air ambulance that saved his sister’s life after she was in a serious auto accident.
Clasper was with him for some of his adventures. This included a lot of wild camping, and it sparked an epiphany. Clasper, just a few weeks before my trip, told me that getting away from the grid and spending some time in nature were almost like therapy. “Sitting under the stars for the evening – that’s where we’ve had some of our deepest and most important conversations.”
Many people find the idea of spending even a single night in this manner intimidating. CampWild’s essential modus operandiClasper says that “you have to give them confidence, knowledge, and know-how, a little guidance and support”. What they have to offer is in line with the current zeitgeist on two levels. Wild camping has become more popular in the last two-and-a-half years thanks to the legal battle between Alexander Darwall, a Dartmoor landowner, and Right to Roam activists. which was finally settled – in the latter’s favour – by the supreme court in May.
CampWild has grown rapidly as a result of the collective desire for nature. This is manifested by the flood of books on hares and footpaths. It now has about 4,000 members, who pay a £25 annual fee – £1 of which goes to the environmental charity Rewilding Britain – and are charged about £15 per stay, with fees going to the landowner.
Campers are also required to send a photo of their campsite before and after cleaning it up. The photos must be sent within 24 hour. Clasper says that one question always arises: What to do with the most basic of human functions? Poos must be bagged up and disposed of elsewhere: “There are a couple of spaces that do allow, er … diggingBut most don’t fall under that category.” CampWild, as a way to illustrate roughly how it’s done, has a sponsorship deal with a brand named Dicky Bag, which offers reusable receptacles – usually marketed at dog-owners – with “odour proof seams and seals”. Weeing freely is, of course, allowed as long as it’s done far away from water sources, which Clasper refers to.
Back in our field, we wake after 7am, and slowly make our way into a morning gripped by more heat. The route back to the car, along a mixture of tree-lined roads and field paths, passes through the Somerset village of Roadwater, where we are offered a lovely kind of respite. Every other month, there is a community breakfast in the village hall, and a meal for the three of us costs little more than £20. The temperature starts to cool down as we spend the afternoon in the touristy village of Lynmouth & Lynton and Porlock. After a 20-minute drive on isolated Exmoor road, we saw a deer jump onto the tarmac in front of us before disappearing into the countryside.
The location for the evening’s sleep is spectacular. It is located in an area that’s popular with those walking from Land’s End up to John o’Groats. The campsite’s residents have snooker table lawns. The knobbly soil in the Exe Valley, under the pyramid-shaped hill, is our chosen spot. The river is just a few metres away, and it’s dotted with islands of pebbles. The night sky is particularly vivid: James once again falls asleep almost instantly, while Rosa and I manoeuvre our heads next to the tent door and stare up, half-convinced we might be in the presence of UFOs, before we realise they are – obviously – distant planes, presumably en route to Bristol airport.
As we drive away, I still feel the meditative peace that the weekend brought, as well as the feeling that this bucolic Airbnb version is going to be even more popular. Clasper says, “We’re trying to get 1,000,000 people in the UK into these spaces so they can slow down and experience nature.” I’m a bit worried about the thought of millions of people stifling all that peace and quiet.
