Tag: camper vans

850 feet up a hill, spring comes later

Cuckoo flower on the campsite

It wasn’t meant to be like this – the first proper campervan trip of the year with everything working properly; batteries charging, the gleaming new sink a stranger to leaks and the fridge roaring away on gas. However we hadn’t factored in the altitude difference or the gloomy weather forecast before we set off to High Mendip for a couple of days and last night we were freezing cold on account of forgetting to bring the duvet. On the plus side we had a surfeit of pillows that looked exactly like a duvet until we took them out of the bag. Back down in Bath the trees were leafing up nicely but up here with a scything WNW wind barrelling up the Bristol Channel they’re still stuck in November. Spring comes later when you’re almost 1000 ft up. As ever the dandelions and daisies were risking the weather and covering the grass, but all the same a solitary Cuckoo flower greeted us when we pulled on to our pitch. If ever you needed an example of the importance of environment, this was it. A lover of marshy ground setting up shop under the water tap.

After a week of pretty perfect camping weather with the high temperatures setting records- and during which we were sweating it out on the allotment – winter has regained the initiative and up here, the wind batters the van in gusts of almost 50 mph, howling in every less than perfect window seal. As the temperature falls to 3C. the buds are clenched tight on the trees, like coldwater swimmers’ naughty bits and we’re sitting in bed planning the best time to walk down to the village where the Queen Victoria pub does a life threateningly good old-style lunch; pies and chips and stuff like that. The route we take will depend on how much mud there is down the lane to Priddy Pool where there are some ferns I failed to identify last year. This time I’ve brought a list of possibilities – fifteen of them, because this is a place they love. No news yet on any improved access to the more detailed locations on the database – I hope I haven’t panicked them by asking!

Before we left we had a discussion about whether to bring my super heavy Welsh Black raw sheep’s wool jumper which weighs about 2 Kg and even smells like a sheep. At that moment it seemed ridiculous but today I’m sitting in bed wearing it, along with its hideously itchy companion beanie and listening to the other van dwellers abandoning their holidays, mainly due to disgruntled teenage children. The wifi signal dropped to 0.50 megabits last night as family resentments boiled over, mobile phones went silent and televisions spurted out their entertainment in ten second packets. How we treasure our little Tardis of a campervan.

I first started coming up here when I was a teenager and spent a lot of time exploring the multitude of caves in the area with the help and guidance of the Bristol Exploration Club. I was never going to be an intrepid or even particularly courageous caver, but I loved the sensual and hard natural beauty of the underground, and the smell of the surrounding fields as we emerged from the dark and wetness has imprinted itself in my imagination. Today we will walk the fields above the underground passages, rough tracing their torturous progress from 400 feet above. Swildon’s stream will be roaring after the night of rain and we will be pausing to find early risers among the plants. Slow is also beautiful.

The Lost Gardeners of Heligan (ctd:)

I should probably have called this posting further travails or further adventures – or something of that nature because we were woken in the middle of the night by the sound of the heater powering down and an acrid smell. Generally speaking this is a bad sign, but when we woke up freezing cold and discovered there was just one warm place – under the bed where the batteries are situated – it became a different kind of bad news.  Exploding lead acid batteries under the bed are best avoided, and half of today was spent with me trying to fit into extremely confined spaces with a multimeter and Googling to see who or what might be able to help. After a endless amount of deliberation we decided that the knackered batteries had deteriorated to the point where they had partially shorted and kept calling for more current from the charger, thereby heating them up until I pressed the off button on the charger – which turned the camper van into a tin tent – which, in turn,  is why I am typing this in the dark, wearing a head torch and three jumpers. We’ll replace the batteries first thing tomorrow. More money – aaaagh

Meanwhile we managed a walk around Heligan and there are some photos above. The reason I called this post the “Lost Gardeners of Heligan” is that there are little memorials to the mostly young gardeners who died in the First World War all over the place, each accompanied by a flower display or arrangement. It’s very affecting, and of course the reason the gardens were abandoned was that so many were killed, there were no longer enough workers to keep the gardens going.  The then owner was too affected by grief and memories to live here any longer, and moved away.

Strangely there’s no sense of melancholy around, especially on such a sunny day when even the icy northwesterly wind couldn’t dampen our spirits. Plants are never more perfect than when they’re first emerging.  They spring from the earth untouched by insects and diseases and full of vigour. It can be tricky identifying them from their new leaves, but we get better at it. Todays crop of fungi and bryophytes was a good reason for getting a bit more knowledgeable about them. They just carry on continuously all year round so there’s always something to look for. But the primroses, dandelions, snowdrops and daffodils somehow seemed just a bit more beautiful than the camellias in the formal gardens. Spring is coming – you can smell it!