Some of my favourite nights outside have been literally that, sleeping in the open. So far have only done it in Wiltshire where the wide skies of the Downs seem conducive but am tempted by the Cornish beaches near where we live.
Basic kit, some sort of tarp big enough to pull over when the dew forms, sleeping bag, I used to wear a parachute smock and woolly hat but it depends on the quality of your sleeping bag. My first one was made from an old but genuine eiderdown.
One difficulty is wearing glasses, take them off for comfort and miss seeing the stars and shooting stars when you wake up, which you will do at intervals during the night.
First time I spent a night outside without a tent was in my late teens. On an archaeological dig. I had the eiderdown sleeping bag, my parachute smock, woolly hat and a lilo.
Settled down with the lights of Swindon (much less bright than nowadays) in the distance and the bulk of a hanger wood looming below me. At first supreme comfort and sleep came quickly once I had adjusted my nose to stay warm but not to keep rebreathing the CO2.
Woke up to the call of a vixen and the scrunch of sheep having a late night snack, the sky was clear, the stars wheeling around. Glasses on and without moving picked out familiar constellations idly tried to tell the time by the Plough and using it to find the Pole Star as I had been taught, distracted by the odd shooting star, did one sleep?
Became aware of chill so hunkered down wearing the glasses and drifted off. The same a few hours later but things had changed, and as I sat up to readjust the sleeping bag saw the sheep grouped together near an old hawthorn tree in the low, rising moonlight. As the silver light grew stronger the stars faded but sarsen stone boulders rose higher and grew shadows. An owl decided to comment on a stranger in their midst or was it feeling in need of a companion?
The smells of the Downs strengthened with the night, undertones of grass and the wild flowers but also animal with the taste of damp chalky earth rising.
Really cold and now there was the hint of mist so snuggled right down with the woolly hat for a lid, fortunately the damp top of the bag didn't penetrate. Woke to watch the dawn as I stretched and dozed, lying on my back, supremely comfortable and content again in the growing sunshine but for two things, to move and visit some bushes quite quickly then to brew coffee which I drank listening to a bird trying to copy Vaughan Willam's Lark Ascending with my hand cupped round the warm and gratifying mug .
Fyfield Down, Wiltshire in the late 1960's
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Originally Posted by Skate
