For years I’ve dreamed about wild camping. The sense of getting away from it all, being closer to nature, the physical challenge, and overcoming my fear of the dark. The latter issue is significant. I suppose we are all scared of the dark to a certain extent but as I make my way through my fifty-third year of life, I decide to properly question myself on why I am scared of the dark:

I don’t believe in ghosts, ghouls, zombies, and all that stuff that came from watching too many horror films as a teenager.I do believe in rapists and serial killers, however they are unlikely to be lurking in the remote corners of Scotland where I intend to hike and camp. I mean, it’s possible. But unlikely.I dislike everything irrational. And my fear is irrational, so it’s time to deal with it.

I start reading articles about appropriate equipment and learn that when it comes to carrying camping gear on your back, it’s all about the weight. And ‘light’ ain’t cheap. But I am desperate to give this a try, so the next thing I know I’m shelling out £500 on a Vango one-man tent (1.7kg), a Mountain Warehouse lightweight down sleeping bag (0.8kg), a Thermarest inflatable camping mat (0.54kg), an Osprey Renn ‘woman’s fit’ rucksack (1.6kg), and a Jetboil stove (0.24kg). I am READY!

First up, a practice overnight stay, a ten-mile drive from my home, and a one-mile walk from my car. Easy and safe, I hope. I set off at 7:30 p.m., find a great spot on the shore of Loch Ness, and by 8:30 p.m., I have set everything up. This is fine, I think, sitting in my tiny tent, my head pressed against the roof, trying to quell the claustrophobia when I close the tent flaps to keep the insects out.

As close to the loch as I can get because of the stones

I had dreamt of sitting by the loch eating a continental dinner of bread, brie, salami and red wine, but as I drag my rucksack towards me to retrieve the squashed food, I feel the expensive inflatable camping mat deflate and my bum land on the cold, hard ground. I am aghast to discover a 0.5cm rip. Even more upset when I remember that it had come with puncture repair kit… which I have left at home. I feel sick with annoyance at my stupidity.

Everything I’d read about wild camping had stressed the importance of having a decent camping mat to protect you from the ground so, although it was getting dark, I decide to return to my car and drive the ten miles home to get the repair kit. You can imagine my joy.

Loch Ness at dusk, heading back to my car

By the time I get back, it is 9.30pm and pitch dark. I mean properly ‘can’t even see a metre in front of you dark’. I am basically walking through the set of a horror-movie. On my own. I don’t want to put my headtorch on because then ‘they’ will be able to see me, but I can’t navigate without it, so I illuminate the area in front of me and carry on, reminding myself of the three bullet points I wrote above, but clutching my tent peg mallet in my hand, brief visions of scenes from The Walking Dead flashing though my mind.

Everything looks different in the dark, so it takes me a while to locate my tent. But as I stumble over heather and brush past prickly gorse bushes in the deep, dark woods, something remarkable happens…I get used to it. Nobody murders me, nothing awful happens, it isn’t that bad. I’m not joking when I say this is a revelation. I’m not scared anymore.

Found my tent again!

What I am, by then, is extremely hungry, and once I’ve spent 20 minutes awkwardly crouched in the tent fixing the puncture, then reinflating the mat, by the light from my headtorch, I am surrounded by bugs. Flying ones and crawling ones. So I close the tent flaps and do my best to deal with the beasties that are inside, then crack open my red wine, cheese and salami, all of which I down as fast as I can, all thoughts of a solitary but romantic open-air dinner abandoned.

It is a warm evening, and after all my exertions in the woods, and having worn far too many layers from fear of being cold, I sit in the tent sweating, feeling claustrophobic and a bit nauseous from the wine and the smell of the cheese and salami.

I get into my sleeping bag fully clothed then, ten minutes later, struggle back out of it to strip down to my knickers and a T-shirt, barely able to comprehend how a tent could be so warm. Despite something making a loud screeching noise outside, I manage to drift off, but am woken by my bladder around midnight. I lie there, willing myself to go back to sleep. But it isn’t happening, so I unzip the tent flaps, put my feet into my shoes, my headtorch around my forehead, and stumble outside to find somewhere to pee. I feel vulnerable crouching by a tree in the dark, and I am glancing from side to side, watching out for I-don’t-know-what, so I pee on my shoes in my hurry to get this done and get back to the perceived safety of the tent. But once I stand up, I realise what a beautiful, tranquil evening it is. The only sound I can hear is the gentle lapping of water against the shore. In for a penny, in for a pound, I think, I am here to face my fears, so I set off through the trees to the water’s edge. On the northern shore of Loch Ness I can see a couple of distant lights, but straight ahead and to the south is dense blackness. Rather than feeling afraid, I am oddly calm, so I sit on a rock for a few minutes, the air pleasantly cool on my skin, enjoying the sense of isolation from the world. It’s amazing.

When I eventually return to my tent, to my astonishment I sleep soundly until around 7am, when I use my new jetboil to make a cappuccino, and drink it in the morning sunshine, feeling an immense sense of achievement and happiness. Wild camping is all right!

Beautiful Loch Ness