Dark skies lie overheard and there’s an easterly wind rattling the side of the tent. Cold bodies lie awake, frozen after a dreamless sleep. Because this here is a reverie; thick forests and grass underfoot, flanked by man’s best friend and an overwhelming urge to roam free.


The route? The same our forefathers used to take on solo excursions, winding through the wilds and setting up camp amongst vast, empty clifftops. Under canvas is where we make our mark: pitching up in darkness, cold hands fumbling, the memory of spending cooler nights in this tent keeping us warm.


The kit needed for adventures like these is simple: plenty of Merino layers. Long johns for sleeping. And eating. And walking. Base layers for when you step out of the sea; vests for heading out on that morning run.




Wind howling, soft Merino on skin and dinner cooking above the open fire, cold souls begin to thaw out with the promise of warm food and colder brews on the horizon. We are old souls in moments like these. Looking out to sea, taking it all in, whispering of tomorrow.


- C


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