Smith - Extreme Sleeps: Adventures of a Wild Camper
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- Book:Extreme Sleeps: Adventures of a Wild Camper
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Extreme Sleeps: Adventures of a Wild Camper: summary, description and annotation
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In a sometimes scary, frequently funny, and intriguing journey around the UK, Phoebe attempts to discover and conquer its wildest places I had become official infatuated with what I call extreme sleepinga kind of addictive high-adrenaline sportbut rather than being defined by pushing the boundaries of physical activity, my particular pursuit was marked by a distinct lack of it. Veteran globetrotter Phoebe Smith sets out to prove that outdoor adventures are available in the UK which rival anything found elsewhere in the world. From spending the night in the decaying wreckage of a World War II bomber at Bleaklow, to pitching next to the adrenaline-inducing sheer drops of Lizard Point, Phoebes extreme sleeps defy her perceptions of the great outdoors and teach her about herself along the way.;Cover ; Copyright ; Dedication ; Map ; CONTENTS; ABOUT THE AUTHOR; INTRODUCTION; CHAPTER ONE -- GOING SOLO; CHAPTER TWO -- SOUTHERN EXPOSURE; CHAPTER THREE -- DARTMOOR; CHAPTER FOUR -- NORFOLK COAST; CHAPTER FIVE -- CADAIR IDRIS; CHAPTER SIX -- BLEAKLOW; CHAPTER SEVEN -- PENDLE HILL; CHAPTER EIGHT -- THE ORIGINAL WILD SLEEPER; CHAPTER NINE -- WILD ENNERDALE; CHAPTER TEN -- JURA; CHAPTER ELEVEN -- SHELTER STONE; CHAPTER TWELVE -- FINDING FISHERFIELD; CHAPTER THIRTEEN -- NORTHERN EXPOSURE; More from Summersdale.
Smith: author's other books
Who wrote Extreme Sleeps: Adventures of a Wild Camper? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.
Elliott Smith
Steve Bramucci
Gregg Treinish
Phoebe Smith
John Coy
Hill Leslie
Friedland
Lois Friedland
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EXTREME SLEEPS
Copyright Phoebe Smith, 2013
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, nor transmitted, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publishers.
Phoebe Smith asserts her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Condition of Sale
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Summersdale Publishers Ltd
46 West Street
Chichester
West Sussex
PO19 1RP
UK
46 West Street
Chichester
West Sussex
PO19 1RP
UK
www.summersdale.com
ISBN: 978-0-85765-897-5
Substantial discounts on bulk quantities of Summersdale books are available to corporations, professional associations and other organisations. For details contact Nicky Douglas by telephone: +44 (0) 1243 756902, fax: +44 (0) 1243 786300 or email: .
For Neil, and for all the wild campers
past, present and still to come this one's for you.
past, present and still to come this one's for you.
CONTENTS
e
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Phoebe Smith's love of dramatic landscapes has taken her on backpacking adventures all around the world from wild camping on the Scottish islands, sleeping under swag in the Australian outback and watching the Northern Lights from a heated wigwam above the Arctic Circle. As a Travel, Adventure and Outdoor Journalist she has regularly written for a number of newspapers and magazines in the UK and overseas and is the author of The Camper's Friend and The Peddars Way and Norfolk Coast Path guidebook, published by Cicerone. She is currently editor of adventure travel magazine Wanderlust.
'Whatever special nests we make leaves and moss like the marmots and birds, or tents or piled stones we all dwell in ahouse of one room the world and the firmament for its roof.'
John Muir
INTRODUCTION
It all started in Woolloomooloo during an argument with an Australian. With the World Cup in full swing, blaring out from the one tiny, flat-screen TV nestled behind the bar, the place was rammed full of Aussies hopeful that tonight was their night. During the half-time reprieve I had unwittingly struck up a conversation with one of them who, after establishing me as a Brit aka 'the enemy' (for that night at least), proceeded in typical pom-bashing fashion to list all the reasons why Oz was better than the UK. And I was countering every one of them or trying to, at least. When he mentioned the Sydney Opera House, I knocked it back with Big Ben. When he cited the Harbour Bridge, I could easily hit back with the Tower of London. But when he brought up Ayers Rock, I found myself at something of an impasse. Sensing a weakness, he hit back again with the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. When I had still failed to come up with a counter argument, he finished me off with the Great Barrier Reef.
I felt like a failure as a Brit and also a traveller. Here I was, hundreds of thousands of miles away from my home country and unable to think of a single natural landscape that draws tourists to its shores. I knew they were there, of course I did, I had grown up in North Wales with the giant Snowdonia National Park at my door. But other than going there as a child, forced by my parents while staging a melodramatic protest at having to leave the car and actually walk, I had never been as an adult and consequently couldn't name any particular highlight with any authority.
Up until that point I was as guilty as so many of us Brits are I had taken our home country for granted. 'Why go to Scotland when I can go to Saigon?' was the mantra of us backpackers, when really it should have featured the additional line (as completely unglamorous as it may sound for a wide-eyed twenty-one-year-old): 'Or I could go to both.'
Over the following months after my bar-room argument, I made my way in almost meticulous fashion all over the land Down Under, taking part in activities alien to me back home. Eventually I made it to the aforementioned Ayers Rock (or Uluru), where I walked for hours around the mighty monolith learning about the Aboriginal Dreamtime, and spent several nights camping out in a swag.
Back in the UK, if someone had asked me to give up a long weekend in the comfort of my own bed, to travel miles into the middle of nowhere to see a big rock and risk being bitten by a number of deadly creatures while I slept, I would have quickly told them where to go. But here I didn't even question it in fact I initiated the quest. Here it was a rite of passage for every backpacker worth their salt, a must-have tick on the list of 'Things to do before you leave Australia' along with skydiving, getting drunk in Cairns and attempting to surf on Bondi Beach. Everyone did it. So after finishing my job in Sydney towards the end of my working holiday visa, I hit the internet to find a company who would give me the best experience at the big hulk of rock I knew I needed to clap my eyes on.
It was incredible just how many ways there were to 'do' this Australian landmark by hot-air balloon, camel, motorbike, over one day or a week, staying in a luxury hotel or the cheapest option, and therefore the most popular among travellers in my situation, a camp under the stars. It was decided: alfresco sleeping was on the cards.
I'll never forget my first night under swag. When the chirpy Aussie guide handed it to me on picking me up from Alice Springs, I looked at him concerned. A swag is basically a complete sleeping mat, bag and pillow wrapped up in a flimsy bug-shield-come-bivvy-bag. I failed to understand how a thin sheet of fabric would protect me from all the nasties lurking. In Australia, practically everything can kill you from deadly spiders in the city, to Great White sharks in the sea, freshwater crocs in the billabongs and venomous snakes in the desert and paranoia soon sets in, you believe that they are actively seeking you out. Rather than offering me protection, it seemed more like a convenient way of packaging me up like a giant snack.
But from the moment I saw the sun slump down in the dusky sky, casting a light show of oranges and browns over that giant rock, I forgot all my fears. Gone were my worries about brown snakes (lethal), funnel-web spiders (can kill you in less than two hours) and bull ants (can cause death in twenty bites). Instead, I lay in my fabric cocoon with a piece of bug-shielding net over my face and looked at the stars overhead illuminating the Red Centre with their twinkling glow. The only thing going through my head was 'Wow!' After a blissful night surrounded by the natural world, I felt exhilarated and was thirsty for more.
On my way back from Oz, I detoured to Jordan and headed off into the desert plains of Wadi Rum with a group of Bedouin the nomadic tribe who call this landscape home. There, I spent days exploring ancient, weathered sandstone
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