UKC

Inspired by 'your worst sleeping experience'...

What's your best night out in the Mountains?

For me: Warm cosy and with good mates in a snow hole off the back of Corie Raibeirt whilst it blew a steady 90mph outside. A surreal experience to feel comfortable with such wilderness so close by.

Quite a trivial one really.  Peak district campsite a Friday night after I'd been at work all day, very late arrival, pitch black, absolutely knackered from the week and the drive, weather seemed fairly stable, thought f@$% it, too tired to put tent up, got in my sleeping bag and put myself and my mat on one of those old skool orange bags and went to sleep.  

Slept so well.  Woke up dry, happy and surrounded by hills and someone brought me a cup of tea.  Its Saturday and we have the weekend ahead of us.  

Other than that time the novelty of sleeping on amazing beaches and waking up to the sea view when kayaking has never worn off for me.  

Pretty much any night in a tent is a good one as long as I'm warm and dry I'm very happy. 

One of my most memorable bivvies was at the Index above Chamonix. Anyone who's slept here will know it boasts two great advantages as a site: (1) a stunning view of Mont Blanc and the Cham Aiguilles across the valley; (2) an approach walk that's all of 500m from the chairlift station - in fact, you used to be able to stash your bivvy kit underneath the operator's small wooden shed. We were bivvying so we could be first on Voie des dalles (TD- 5c) on the Pouce, which is just over the ridge of the Aiguilles Rouges. We watched a spectacular orange to pink to purple sunset followed by a sky overflowing with stars. After a decent night's sleep, we got up in good time, had the luxury of a hot drink for breakfast and set off well before the chairlift started running.

We'd got a Michel Piola guidebook, but a French-only version. I'm unjustifiably proud of my French, and I was too vain to admit I didn't fully understand one of the words in the approach notes - well, it was only one word, what could it matter? Unfortunately, it led to me walking straight past a small indistinct side path, going straight up to the ridge and turning north. South would have been so much better. We spent a couple of hours using all our ingenuity to make the terrain fit the map, while sliding around on precarious killer scree slopes. Eventually I was forced to conclude we were in completely the wrong place. We turned round, headed back south, and in due course the Pouce came out of hiding.

We still had the route to ourselves and enjoyed an excellent climb in magnificent surroundings. Although 10+ pitches takes time, we were still hopeful of making the last chairlift when we arrived at the top, as the return scramble was only supposed to take an hour or so.  A good three hours later, after much further questioning of the parentage of my route-finding, we made it back to the bivvy. The chairlift swayed slightly in the evening breeze, but other than that it wasn't moving until tomorrow.

We'd got a return ticket and we'd already done one missed-the-last-lift walk down from Plan de l'Aiguille a couple of days previously, so we were damned if we were going to extend our already 16 hour day. The used tea bags got another dunking and we  resigned ourselves to a hungry second bivvy. But as Rob was hunting around in his rucksack, he discovered a forgotten single peperami hidden in the debris at the bottom. Now, I've dined in a few Michelin-starred restaurants, but that half a peperami washed down with pale tea and a view of Mont Blanc at twilight remains one of the most memorable meals I've ever eaten. Food of the gods.

A few years ago now, and not really in the mountains, but waking up cosy, warm and dry at Conder Farm in Dent to the sounds of rain on the tent, the clattering of a kettle on a stove and bacon sizzling in a pan. Heaven!

After a night of beer and music, waking up to a cool breeze and a warm woman.

Late season route in the eastern Dolomites. Me and the (now) wife. There was a bivvy hut at the base of the route. We walked up, dumped bivvy gear, did the route, topped out late because there was snow on the ledges and snow on the descent route we couldn't see from below. As a result, descent became an epic as we had to abseil down what should have been easy scrambling. The sun had long since set and it seemed inevitable we were facing a very long, cold night stuck on the face. Suddenly, just when it seemed we were well and truly screwed, in the gloom I spotted this huge cairn which marked the rampline and the easy scramble off the face. Made it! Got to the bivvy, which was shaped like a wine barrel cut in half. Inside, there was a nearly full carton of wine somebody had left there...it tasted like nectar we were so dehydrated! While we were melting snow to drink we polished off the lot and were totally pissed in about half an hour...inside half a wine barrel...snug...high in the mountains...totally alone...knowing that we'd escaped spending a freezing night out by a whisker!

Overnight bivi on the Cuillin Ridge somewhere between Sgurr Dearg and Ghreadhaidh 20 years ago, and waking up to calm conditions and a cloudless blue sky.....unforgettable. Not the best sleep but quite possibly the best wake up.

One that straddles both worst and best. Tent pitched on an island in a stream in The Cairngorms. Had been on Beinn a'Bhuird during the day. It started to rain and kept at it for hours. That had me awake worrying about rising steam levels, what with so much surface area run off feeding into the stream. Eventually got up, packed & unpegged the tent and kinda rolled it into a rough ball, got off the island and headed up the track. Found a flat, sheltered pitch surround by high pines and pitched there. The rain continued all this time and well into the next day. I slept soundly and had a lie-in, after waking up, listening to the sound of rain on the tent, turning over & going back to sleep. Got up when it eventually stopped. I went from worry to warmth & comfortable with nothing to do the next day bar a short walk out with my dog.

Another time, waking up refreshed to a mist covered loch after camping on one of those sandy lochside beaches you find in some parts of Scotland. A mystical morning followed by a bright, sunny day. No midges!