The joy of wild places
MY FIRST PROPER ATTEMPT at ‘wild camping’ was not what you’d call a smooth success. But it remains the best camping experience I have ever had. I was a fresh-faced traveller working for a few months in the wine-making town of Blenheim, on New Zealand’s South Island. I managed to persuade a fellow grape-picker called Inaki, a gregarious Chilean, to accompany me for a two-day excursion into the nearby Nelson Lakes national park, which hosts mountains of almost Pyrenean scale. Both of us carried packs that were ludicrously overladen, but neither of us had any equipment that was even halfway decent. All we knew was that we wanted to spend a night up high in the mountains. We set off too late in the day, and as we clunked and clinked our…