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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Environment
Eben Muse

Country diary: Finding common ground when you least expect it

A tent pitched in a field at sunset
‘Our hedged lane skirts a little copse, and tired eyes pick out a gap; a couple of big steps over the brambles and we’re in.’ Photograph: Rupert Allen/Eastwood_Allen

In deepest rural Worcestershire – unfamiliar country for a mountaineer and a Welshman – we need a place to sleep. Our hedged lane skirts a little copse, and tired eyes pick out a gap; a couple of big steps over the brambles and we’re in. We haul the bike trailer (heavy with cans and bottles, picked up over some 300 miles on England’s dirty roads) into the woods. Damien Gabet, with whom I’m here to wild camp, is on a 1,000-mile journey in the shape of a Lucozade bottle as part of an anti-litter campaign, all the while removing as many plastic bottles as he can fit in his small orange trailer.

Beyond the wood is a field where the corn has been cut: a perfect spot, hidden from view, disturbing no one. Stars start to blink awake as we make our home for the night. Suddenly, the rumble of an engine – a silver Range Rover turns the corner. A familiar weariness grip me: I’m already resigned to being moved on, to take some stick for our trespass.

Damien is quickest to react, announcing merrily that he’s here picking litter. The farmer responds with conviviality. Popping out to inspect our bottle-haul, he’s impressed. He is a kindred spirit, filling half his boot weekly with litter from a nearby KFC. He whips a £20 note from his pocket for the cause, asking, “Is that enough?” This is the first time either of us have been paid for camping.

“Have you got everything you need?” he asks. Already blown away, our socks fly off into the hedgerow when he returns with Magnum ice-creams, a lager for each of us, and a cider for himself. Leaning on the Range Rover, he tells us about this land, and how tough things are for farmers now. His pride and love for the place radiates from him, as he points to the field margins he leaves extra-wide for walkers. As he drives off, waving, I wonder why this kind of interaction feels so rare, so unexpected, in the British countryside.

Settling down to warm some beans and ravioli, we turn our torches off to gaze at the waning moon. In that moment, we all feel like we are home.

• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
• The headline to this article was changed on Sunday 14 September for editorial reasons

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