Bivouac

By Maxim Griffin.

Everybody knows that May is the best month – the crescendo of spring, the spearhead of summer – the county is full-tilt green and cow parsley is back in style – our migrant friends, the swifts have returned, drawing great screaming circles in the sky – good – behind you are a handful of hairy companions – a teenage son and three comrades – they have with them packs stuffed with camping things – they are preparing for some kind of summer expedition and wish to get a night or two under the stars beneath their belts in preparation – your own inclinations toward walking about the place and having a reputation for having slept in strange places have nominated you in the eyes of the other parents as the most suitable and responsible adult for the task – that and you have a fully enhanced DBS certificate and relevant first aid training – onwards then.

Exploring
You come to a farm yard – no movement – two 19th-century barns shut tight with wobbly iron doors – the bridleway snakes uphill – there’s a mains tap on the side of the nearest barn with a little handmade sign – For Walkers and Dogs – good – never miss a chance to fill your water bottles chaps – refreshed and trudging the curling track of chalk – it’s a warm and bright day, not a cloud – over a stile following the fingerpost along a field crisscrossed with electric fences – sign says – DO NOT FEED, HORSE ON SPECIAL DIET – there is no horse and the companions muse on what special diet this might be – chili dogs? magma? raspberry donuts? They continue this list for some time.

Another bridleway – deep in beech hedges, slightly sunken – this suggests the route has been in use for hundreds of years – erosion by footfall – very similar to the bocage of Normandy – plenty of shade, plenty of cover – something is clanging in a rucksack, a metallic bonk, bonk, bonk – it is better to travel quietly – the companion rearranges his mess tin into a more silent arrangement – mess tin – very old school – good – a mile of swift, quiet progress – the son’s friend says this is all very Lord of The Rings – he’s correct, of course – you have a stick but lack a pointy hat – the fellowship are inevitably getting puckish – fair enough – we’ll eat here – sweets mostly – you hand out a brace of pack squashed sausage rolls – this goes down very well.
Into the woods

The woods are up ahead – you have permission from the landowner – friend of a friend – but keep the ruse of secrecy up to add an air of tension or mischief to proceedings – we’ll have to be quiet – there are deer in the woods for certain – play your cards right and you might chance across a freshly shed antler – off the bridleway and under the extraordinarily green canopy – silver birches first, gathered along the track as if preparing to make a break for it – when a birch dies and the trunk rots away the bark will remain – very good for lighting fires – take some, we’ll need it later – bracken next – watch your legs and sleeves for ticks – no one wants the gift of Lyme Disease – one lad asks about the possibility of adders – it is possible, but they prefer the sun, you should be alright – the bracken is deep – you follow a deer’s desire line – there are tiny insects catching the sunlight through the dapple – kiddo receives a call and puts his mum on speaker phone – everyone says hello and relay that we are close to our destination and yup, yup, we’ll be warm enough and yup, yup, there’s plenty of food, yup, yup, yeah bye mum, bye, bye, bye – Gandalf furrows their brow.

Bigger trees now – rogue yews, laurel – a sea of nettles suggest disturbed ground – there was a house here – a big one – we must be within the boundaries of its gardens – you’d be surprised how many there are around Lincolnshire – there’s that one near Baumber that got turned into a sort of tourist attraction – it was once a beautiful ruin, the ornamental garden went wild – bamboo still grows in those woods – meanwhile, here, we have hornbeam, rhododendron, some young oaks – proper woods – it’s light ahead – a clearing – a triangle of sticks in the middle – go ahead lads, take a look – off they go to investigate.

Pitching in
You laid the supplies two days ago – a bag for life tied up under the marker of staffs – no sign of disturbance – within it the companions find the makings of a meal in the cowboy style – a couple of jars of frankfurters, a couple of sachets of spice mix, canned mixed beans, tinned tomatoes, a dozen eggs, bread rolls and a medium-sized Dutch oven – preparation is everything chaps, it’s good to have a stash – supper ought to be alright.

There is some confusion – the companions were told not to bring tents – questions are raised as to the sleeping arrangements – that is a problem you will have to solve – here, a pair of large tarps and a ball of heavy duty string – mum said there’d be tents – is this what the Duke of Edinburgh wants? Well, the Duke of Edinburgh has fewer things to worry about these days – two lads are sent for sticks, two are sent for firewood – this, of course, takes considerable time and faffing – still, the forecast is fine for days and now we’re in May, the evenings are light until beyond nine.

The firewood returns first – the companions know how to prepare the ground and do so – nothing too big – enough to cook on and cast some good shadows later, enough for a little heat – the other two have fared a little worse – the night’s shelter currently resembles a broken umbrella – one of the companions is trying to recall something they saw Ray Mears do, or was it Bear Grylls?

Everyone pitches in and soon enough a simple but effective bivouac has been produced – good – well done chaps – now to the business of food – before long wood smoke rises from the clearing and the first ingredients are added to the pot.

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