BLOGS

My First Night In A Hammock

Terry and I have been talking now for sometime about the 'optimum load-out', what makes the essential 'go anywhere' kit, what is a luxury and what is an essential.  In Ray Mears 'Essential Bushcraft', he covers the essential items that everyone should consider for an extended trip into the wilderness.  in that early section of the book he mentions "Something to sleep on, in and under", which can be as simple as a tarp and blankets, or as complex as a ground-mat, sleeping bag and tent.  In all the planning and experimenting that we do, when travelling on foot (if you have a base-station vehicle to operate from it's a different story) volume and weight are critically important to your comfort and ability to explore freely.

I have been reading a fair amount about hammocks, our friend Barney makes them and is a firm advocate, though Terry and I have always been firm advocates of the tent, because of it's ability to handle all seasons, and – probably – because it's what we've always done.

 

So, Terry and I have also been poking at the whole 'we've always done it this way', and as part of our Journey, we're actively trying new stuff and challenging the 'old behaviours'.  Personally, I think that at my age I think "I've always done it this way because I've tried every other way", and thus become 'hide-bound' in the process. This is a strange place to find myself, because part of the reason I am on this Journey is to learn new stuff, try different things, push and challenge myself and basically recapture some of my youth.  It's hard to do, but when I do, I really can recapture they joy generated through learning or trying something new.  And in doing so I have realised that it's not re-capturing my youth, it's simply going back to a state-of-mind I had when I was in my 20's where I didn't think I knew the answer to everything, was generally fearless and always up for a new experience.

 

The amateur psychologist in me thinks that this must be a survival trait.  Trying new stuff, learning, getting stuff wrong (and sometimes getting injured in the process) generates a massive rush of endorphins which makes me feel great.  when I recount my adventures – warts and all – my friends and family generally celebrate my experiences and enjoy my tales, which also goes to make me feel good, and this in turn makes me want more of those lovely feel-good hormones, which makes me do more, learn more and experience more.  All this ultimately makes for a more experienced and capable man, more able to survive and adapt, and ultimately Mr Darwin's 'Survival of the fittest' jumps out of the bushes and does a little dance.  So, why does the mature me prefer to sit around tutting at the younger versions of me who are following their native programming to go and push the envelope?  Why have I got bored of feeling good?  My Amateur Anthropologist thinks this may be a way of preserving 'experience gained' in a less physically able, more mature body: those that have survived 40 years of trial and error should probably be preserved to provide sage advice to the younger men, thereby reducing the number of fatalities and growing the gene-pool.  Also, being a sage 'elder' has it's benefits, it feels good to guide younger men and be seen as wise. This is probably all complete nonsense, and I do state it is only my opinion, but it has a nice logical feel to it, so I'm sticking with it.  But, at the end of all this, I realise that I miss the sensation of being a 'young man', and at the end of the day, why can't I be be both?

 

So, at last, we circle back to the case in point, the Hammock.  We found ourselves last weekend back in the Forest of Dean, planning and exploring for our forthcoming men's weekends.  Following several conversations about Hammocks, and a lot of review-reading and advice-gathering, I threw myself in and bought a hammock, snake-skin under-blanket and 3m x 3m tarp from DD-Hammocks.  We'll do a full product review in the coming weeks, we ran out of time this weekend, and wanted to do a 'proper job' of it, it's quite a set-up and we learned lots in the process which needs to be shared.

 

So, Saturday, after a good tramp to a local reservoir and back, we gathered at the camp fire, stoked and poked it back to life and put on the Kettle.

"I'm going to do it.  I'm going to do the Hammock thing tonight" I said, with a  confidence I didn't really feel.

Terry looked at me sagely, boiling water in one hand, "you do know it's going to be minus two tonight don't you?"

Yes, but I have an under-blanket, an inflatable mat, a down feather sleeping bag and twenty layers of clothes.  What could possibly go wrong?"

We threw it back and forwards a few times, and decided that it had to be tried: what better way to test an under-blanket than in sub zero conditions?  Minds made-up, we grabbed the neatly wrapped packages, and trudged off into the woods bordering EarthHeart.

Setting up was a relatively easy affair, though we did learn some tricks in the process (Terry's genius idea of slinging a line back under the covering tarp, to hang stuff on proved an excellent idea…) and within about 20 minutes we had tarp, hammock, under-blanket and groundsheet in-place, and returned to the camp-fire to finish off the day's discussion and get some dinner.

 

At about 10pm, with the air temperature already at zero, I retired to my tent to change and add a few clean, dry thermal layers, and grab my sleeping bag.  Thus prepared, with head-torch (I have serious head-torch envy with Terry's new Led Lenser model), bag, and a few bits I set off through the pitch darkness to find my accommodation.  It was at this point that I started to ask myself what the hell I was doing.  Was I actually properly prepared to sleep in sub-zero temperatures, could you die of the cold in your sleep, what about the wildlife, zombies, the list of doubts was getting quite long.  So I went and sat on my ground-sheet under my hammock, and 'tuned in' to the night.  what was initially pitch darkness started to resolve detail after 10 minutes or so, and I could see the stars through the dense foliage, made crystal by the cold dry air.  Sounds of the wilderness started to come through, small animals searching for their dinner, owls searching for small animals in the trees, the snuffling of distant boar searching for – well, lets hope it's not half-frozen men in hammocks and move on.

 

Suitably relaxed into my environment, I removed some layers and my boots and began the hilarious process of getting into a sleeping-bag, into a hammock.  I am sure there is a school of thought that suggests getting in to the sleeping bag first, but it hadn't occurred to me at that point… five minutes of struggling later, and I was safely in, wrapped up and swinging gently under my tarp.  Then I realised I needed the toilet.  Getting out of a sleeping-bag in a hammock is no easy task.  whatever you do, when pulling the sleeping-bag down, do not let your elbows come outside of the hammock material.  if you do the whole hammock will turn into a clothes-line, and you will be left balancing with a sleeping bag round your waist and your buttocks either side of the hammock, shortly before gravity gets its way and you crash elegantly down onto your ground-sheet.  Once back in my cocoon, I snagged the sleeping bag up around my face so just a small part of me was exposed to the bitterly cold air, and relaxed, tuning in again to the noises around me.  It did feel very vulnerable at first, but after a half-hour I felt completely at home, relaxed and surprisingly warm.  The under-blanket seems to take about half an hour to 'warm up' the air between the hammock and itself, but once it has, it's brilliant.  Once I had realised that it was possible – and indeed very comfortable – to roll onto your side I dropped off into a deep sleep.

 

I woke up at about 04:00 to the sound of two owls having a huge argument in the trees above me, obscured from my view from the tarp.  A polite "Excuse me…"  reduced the noise down to an occasional hoot, which was much more civilised.  I spent the next half hour looking over the edge of my hammock at the avenue of trees that swept down from my camp, warm, dry and safe, in the most privileged place, watching the forest in its nightly cycle, birds-of-prey gliding silently between trees, small furry creatures snuffling around in the undergrowth, a fine dusting of snow falling between the trees.  The next thing I knew I had awoken again with the sun on my face, cresting the horizon and throwing warm red light down on the scene, changing the entire feel of the forest.  In the hour or two that I lay there, just 'being in nature' I completely lost track of everything apart from simply witnessing nature in all it's complex glory.  When I did eventually get out of my hammock and return to the camp-site, I was completely recharged, relaxed and deeply content.  

 

The fear and doubt I had about 'trying something new' and the courage it took me not to just find an excuse (albeit quite a good one given the weather) not to just do what we've always done was pretty significant.  It's shown me that Jumping over the Fence isn't simply about getting away from the mundane to go and do some camping, it's about exploring as much inside as outside, challenging your old beliefs, and learning new skills.  The reward for me was the most incredible show of what nature gets up-to when man is asleep.  I'm not going to give up my tent, but I am going to commit to using my hammock where possible going forward, regardless of the weather: We choose to do Stone Circle to be out in nature, and – in my humble opinion – if you're in a hammock, you're a lot closer to nature than if you're in a tent.