By: Blonde Two
There are many things to tell you about the night (a few days ago) that Blonde One and I spent bivvying on the beach with a few outdoorsy (and equally mad) pals. We have tales of fire, of friendship, of jokes, of jesting, of smoke and of sea lice. However, one thing that always stands out for me about wild camping in a bivvy bag rather than a tent, is that overnight (when you are not sleeping but think that everyone else is) you get to see all of the things that you can’t see if you have a canvas flysheet above you.
Quite often this is drizzle (you can actually see it in the dark if you look carefully), which doesn’t sound too pleasant but there is something about the feel of fine water droplets on a sleepy face that I find somehow calming.
For a night that was cloudy and very dark (waxing gibbous moon) we could see a surprising amount once our fire had died down (quite pleased with the lighting of this, though I say so myself!) Every now and again I would open my eyes and almost feel, rather than see the soporific strobes of a lighthouse crossing my bleary face. Strange how something designed to ward off danger and death could bring such tranquility, but it did. I know Blonde One felt the relaxation in the rhythm of the lighthouse too, its pattern was our beach exhortation… Go To Sleep… Go To Sleep…
The other unexpected illuminatory surprise came from the stars. We have recently had so many damp and grey skies down here in Devon that it was a literal eye-opener when I twitched awake a sleepy eye to see a mass of stars hovering above me, surely within reach. The very best of the display was Orion, who was sitting so low in the sky that he seemed to be striding, bow out and head proud, along the rock bank that separated us from the sea.
After imbibing, each time I awoke, on the cadence of the lighthouse and Orion’s ego, I fell quickly back to sleep, the sound of the waves crashing nearby a lullaby to accompany my nocturnal ocular banquet.