Micro-adventures in the Mist

There’s a poetry in the shift to Spring that hits me harder than any other seasonal change. That in-your-bones knowledge that the earth is warming up. The little signs of life after months of naked branches and cold dark ground. Shoots of green stretching through the carpet of old dead leaves. It happens every year and yet every year it is a wonder.

So, when Spring announced herself loud and clear at the beginning of the month, I started checking forecasts with the zeal of a gambler looking for the next race. The mission? To go away for a little camping adventure to make sure all the gear was ready for my upcoming trip to Scotland.

Last weekend promised to be one of those glorious weekends of spring sunshine, decent temperatures for walking, and a not-too-cold night. A campsite was found, a night was booked and on Friday afternoon, I bundled myself and my intrepid companion, Lucy, into the car and off we went. After three hours on the road, we arrived at our campsite.

It was immediately clear that I was not the only one chasing the good weather. The campsite was full, mostly with camper vans and Landies with roof tents. I felt rather wee with just a small tent and my backpacking kit on this large spot, but it also afforded me a bit more room between myself and the neighbours on either side.

We were all set up by 4:30 and as we still had the light, we went off on a little reconnaissance walk to check out the terrain we would be exploring the next day. It was still a bit hazy, and I was starting to question the optimism of the weather forecast a bit, but in such lovely surroundings, I didn’t dwell on it for long.

We completed a small circuit and then headed back to the tent for some dinner and a quiet evening of reading.

To say it was an excellent night’s sleep would be fibbing. My earlier misgivings about the weather forecast proved to be true. The temperature dropped quite a bit lower overnight. Normally this would not be an issue. I have a very warm sleeping bag and a good sleeping mat. However, in an attempt tp see if I could reduce some weight, I had not brought Lucy’s sleeping mat, but had wrapped her up in a fleece and her own doggy sleeping bag, thinking this would keep her warm enough. Not so. Apparently, while she will scale mountains with gusto and walk miles on stony paths, my dear little hound does not like sleeping on hard ground. Thus, she decided that my sleeping mat should be big enough for the both of us. Technically, she’s not wrong, but it does involve being able to sleep in one position the whole night, which, of course, I don’t do. This meant every time I need to change position, I had to wake up, shift her and myself into a new configuration and make sure we were both suitably covered by sleeping bag.

Fine for Lucy – she can fall asleep instantly. For me, this meant a very disruptive night and far fewer hours of sleep than my smartwatch likes me to have. I could hear my Garmin tutting at me, silently judging me for being such an idiot. Lesson learned. Lucy needs a sleeping pad.

(Luckily, I have one of these already and it is now clearly worth the extra weight)

Thus, when dawn broke at around 6:30, Lucy was fresh as a daisy, and I emerged from the tent looking like I’d pulled an all-nighter. Thank the stars for coffee.

After caffeine and a hearty breakfast of warm porridge, I got everything squared away and we were off on the second part of our adventure: a 15km hike around the park.

There was no sign of sunshine, however. Mist covered everything, so we spent most of the morning walking through a rather spooky landscape devoid of much in the way of signs of life. Based on the busy-ness of the campsite I had already resigned myself to joining hordes of other nature lovers, but we had the place more or less to ourselves all the way. Well, in terms of people we were alone. Lucy’s constant alertness and shifting gaze made it clear there were plenty of scurrying things around us, and even I caught an occasional flurry of movement in the undergrowth. The Veluwe is a well-known area for wolves, so I quietly hoped we would not meet any of those.

The trail was a lovely mix of dunes, woodlands and scraggly moor. It was also clearly not as advanced into Spring as we are down in Zeeland. No signs of budding branches or fresh green shoots here, just miles and miles of Spruce and sand and naked trees waiting for the warmth.

The mist finally started to lift as we entered the last mile of the trail, and with it, a steady stream of locals on bikes traversing the long stretch of bicycle path between two villages. It was at this point I diverted off the trail a bit and took a forestry path back to the car so we could enjoy the last part of our walk in the same peaceful quiet that we’d had since the start.

And with that, our little adventure was done: gear checked, legs trained and mind cleared ready for the next few weeks.

Next adventure: The Skye Trail!