Carry on Camping - Part 1

One of the things which struck me most about marriage was how long it took to pack for a camping trip. Back in my single days I could throw everything I needed into a backpack and be on my way in 10-15 minutes. Drop a wife into the mix and it now takes me that long to carry the things to the front door. I pack only the things I can't possibly do without. Dear Wife packs everything we might conceivably find a use for.

Pete has not only a (charming) wife, Mary, but two kids as well and as I was tagging along on this trip, making everything fit into his truck was something of a Chinese Puzzle. Bikes, a canoe, food and bag after bag after bag - it took a fair bit of head scratching and ingenuity, but somehow we managed it and by late morning we were on our way.

I haven't been to Coniston in many years, although once upon a time I spent every summer weekend here, windsurfing. By that I mean, sitting on the beach, drinking beer and gossiping, and every now and then claiming I would go out "once the wind picked up a bit." It's still as breathtakingly pretty as ever though and the homesickness emotions were on overdrive.

I generally make a point to avoid public campsites, particularly on holiday weekends, and it was with a little apprehension that I noticed just how crowded this one was. There was very little room between the tents and as every group seemed to have a dozen or more kids, I was wondering how I was going to cope with 3 days of this. But you know what? It was great. Everyone was incredibly friendly and as we were meeting up with a group whom Pete & Mary have camped with before; there was a wonderfully social atmosphere.


Putting up the family's trailer tent was an exercise in ingenuity, but I'm sleeping in Pete's (very) old hike tent, which was up in moments. Windbreaks were hammered into the ground, bikes, canoes and other assorted toys were unloaded from the truck and the whole thing brought back long lost memories of caravan trips back in my own childhood. And surprisingly positive memories too. The plastic plates, the wind blowing everything off the table, the hike to the spigot at the far end of the campsite to fetch water…ah, happy days.

Pete had only just bought his canoe and it had yet to take its maiden voyage so I was press-ganged into service as front paddler. Despite the sunshine, the wind was truly ferocious and even with two little boys and a dog in the bottom for ballast, it was hard going. Every few minutes the bow (for all you landlubbers, that's the front) would start to swing, then the wind would catch it and push it further around while Pete and I dug frantically into the water in attempt to pull her back on course. I don't know about the captain, but the first mate was knackered.

Finally, we hove to at the snack bar and treated ourselves to an ice cream to stave off scurvy. Should be OK on the way back we thought, the wind will be behind us. Wrong again, it was just as hard paddling this way because now it was the stern (back end) that wanted to pull round sideways. We learned later that we'd been doing it all wrong of course, but hey, where's the fun of being intrepid explorers if you aren't figuring this stuff out for yourself.

Open fires weren't allowed on the campsite, but Pete the engineer had crafted an enclosed brazier type thing out of the drum from an old washing machine. With its tripod legs, it had room for plenty of wood and gave off a surprising amount of heat. It seemed like the entire campsite was congregated around it, but as everyone was sharing food, and beer, it was one heckuva party.

The last time I slept in a tent on a public campground, I was kept awake by deafening country music and the sounds of rednecks partying. Given how crowded this campsite was, I wasn't sure how loud it would be tonight. But refreshingly, by 10 pm or so, the place was blissfully peaceful and soon, I was sleeping the sleep of the just.

Although being half-sozzled by the time I crawled into my sleeping bag no doubt helped.