I already know from my research that wild camping is all about having the right equipment, but I haven’t properly thought through how I handle the cold. It’s September, my inflatable sleeping mat is recommended for 3 seasons, my sleeping bag has a comfort zone of 2-7c, and the forecast is for 6c overnight, when I set off to tackle the 38 mile walk on the South Loch Ness Trail from Inverness to Fort Augustus. It doesn’t occur to me that the sleeping bag that is recommended for 2-7c had suited me when it was 16c overnight. What an idiot.

I leave Inverness after work on Friday, around 6pm, and my path follows the River Ness until it flows into Loch Ness. As I pass the beautiful Aldourie Castle, the heavens open, and I have to pause to put on my waterproofs and cover my rucksack, before carrying on into woods as darkness falls. It’s not exactly relaxing to be walking through the woods in the dark, but I’m pleased I’ve overcome my lifelong fear, and although unable to completely shake intrusive thoughts about serial killers and monsters, I curb the urge to carry my vicious looking tent peg mallet in my hand. It might make me feel safer to have a weapon, but I imagine any serious attacker would most likely just grab it from me and use it against me. I remind myself that just as I am mostly scared of coming across a strange solitary person wandering in the dark on their own, perhaps anyone catching sight of me will be equally terrified. However the dense darkness beneath the trees is difficult to ignore, and I’m relieved when I arrive at my camping spot by Dores Beach, overlooking Loch Ness, 7 miles into the trip.

It’s a popular spot, and I hope there is nothing unsavoury on the ground under my tent as I pitch it with the use of my headtorch. I keep misplacing things in the dark, the ground is soaking due to the heavy showers earlier that evening, and my hands are getting cold as the temperature drops. By 9pm, I’m in the tiny tent with my wet rucksack, boots and jacket, changed into my merino wool leggings and top, trying to get warm in my sleeping bag. I ought to make a hot drink with the jetboil but I’m too cold to get out of the sleeping bag. I decide to try to sleep and get up early to continue the walk.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still shivering, so I put on a jumper, fleece, woolly hat and gloves, then pull the sleeping bag right over my head, until only my mouth and nose are visible, and I lie there, feeling chilled and trying to sleep. It’s very uncomfortable, but I can’t move because every time I do, I feel cold air drift into the sleeping bag. This isn’t much fun!

The other problem with camping in such a popular spot for walking is that I’ve not long drifted asleep, when I’m woken by footsteps and a torch being shone onto the tent.  I lie there, listening for the footsteps going away, and imagining someone standing right outside my tent. I feel I ought to prepare myself for this eventuality – thinking of a weapon, or at least switching my phone on, but I’m so cold I don’t want to risk letting air into the sleeping bag, so I lie there, hoping it was just a dog walker who was walking past. About an hour later, I hear more footsteps, and this time I hear and male and female voice discussing the beautiful night sky. It sounds like they are right outside my tent but can only imagine they haven’t noticed the tent as they stand for what feels like an age having a romantic conversation that is quite grim to listen to. I’m close to shouting, ‘Oi, some people around here are trying to sleep, you know!’, but thankfully they move away. This is not a good choice of camping spot!

To my surprise I sleep until 6am, but am chilled to the bone as I heat up water for my porridge. I pack up the soaking tent and set off wearing all the clothes I have with me. It takes an hour of brisk walking with my heavy pack before I start to warm up. I pause to make myself a cappuccino and eat a graze bar, then plod onwards contemplating two problems – although the temperature is forecast to be less cold this evening, I can’t bear the thought of another night feeling that cold, and as my tummy growls, I realise I am woefully ill-prepared with food.

I plod along for several hours and am delighted to find the café at Foyers open. I DEVOUR a toastie and coffee. Man, it’s good. Someone tells me that although the forecast for the general area had been 6c last night, it had been closer to zero by the lochside – no wonder I had been so cold.

Unable to face another night like that, I catch a bus back to Inverness – I’ll finish the trail next year or after I’ve bought myself a much warmer sleeping bag.