Tag: Wild camping

Through farmland

Published on by Marnix van der LijnLeave a comment

May 22, 2024

In the forest, where I pitched my tent in near darkness last night, I wake up to the sound of loud cracking branches. Is someone walking out there? I peek through my tent, but I don’t see a person—it’s a deer! I watch it for a while as it moves quietly through the underbrush, then it disappears into the dense forest. I open my tent and lie ready with my camera, hoping it’ll come back so I can catch it on film. And yes—it returns! A bit farther off this time, but I’ve got the proof!

I break my record for latest start—I don’t begin walking until 1 p.m. But the walking is smooth as can be. Sometimes you hit that rhythm where your legs just move on their own. I think it’s similar to a runner’s high. Pure luxury.

The route is lovely, winding through gently rolling farmland with relatively many houses, alternating with patches of pine and deciduous forest. I enjoy the scent of the pines, the flowers, and the breeze in my hair. Along the way, I make friends with a cat that walks with me for a bit and cuddles up when I sit down. It’s these small moments that make the journey feel so grand.

In the distance, I spot a church wrapped in blue construction fabric. The door is open, and I step inside to enjoy the coolness and the simple, colorful interior. Though I’m not religious, I always enjoy entering churches. The silence, the cool air, the calm—something about it moves me. I often find myself thinking of someone who might need a moment of peace like this.

I sleep tucked away in a meadow with tall grass. They’ll probably mow it soon. I haven’t had a hot meal yet today, and I’m quite hungry. Fish on the menu—bought frozen earlier, which helps it keep longer on the road. I feast, and as I eat, I decide to book a hostel for tomorrow when I see a deal in Huskvarna (yes, like the Husqvarna brand). I’ve done a lot of hand-washing, but it’s really time for a proper laundry session. After three weeks, my sheets don’t exactly smell fresh anymore.

Frequent Visitors

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May 21, 2024

I’m still happily lounging in my tent when I hear voices. Two girls are holding a piece of paper and place it on a post in front of my tent, using some kind of stapler without staples. I had noticed the post yesterday but had no idea what it was. Turns out, it’s a device that punches a specific pattern of holes in paper. Hilarious—I’m right on the path of a school treasure hunt, and for the rest of the morning I get plenty of visitors. Around thirty kids pass by in small groups, every ten to twenty minutes or so. Of course, I get my own little hole-punched stamp too. A permanent souvenir for my travel journal.

Most of the students are too shy to say anything, and every single one of them trips over my guyline until I finally pull the stake out of the ground—getting yanked like that over and over isn’t much fun. Later, one of the teachers tells me they’re all fifteen years old and spending the day doing various outdoor activities. He clears away all the treasure hunt materials, and we have a nice chat. I’ve definitely enjoyed all the surprised faces, and by noon I finally have everything packed up and get going again. But here’s the victory: I can let this go now—that slow start. It is what it is.

The day takes a different shape anyway. I feel a strong urge to write, and I give in to it. I find a lovely picnic table in the not-too-hot sun and stay there the whole day. I write, and later I cook myself another tasty meal. I simply follow what I seem to need today, and I enjoy it.

Eventually, I set off late to look for a place to sleep—and of course, it’s tricky. That’s always how it goes; should I have stopped earlier? But it works out in the end. I find a spot in a small patch of forest. Not stunning or anything, but I sleep well. And I feel freer than ever. No more overthinking—and that’s worth a lot. Living in the now, responding to whatever comes—that way of being seems to have really started now. What freedom!

Six gates — a nightmare

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May 20, 2024

I start packing at 8 a.m., but of course I don’t hit the road until 10. Still, it’s nice to watch the locals coming by early in the morning for a refreshing swim. I just sit there, people-watching for a while—which is actually quite fun. I hear kids playing at the nearby school. What strikes me is that there aren’t any fancy or expensive playground structures. The boys are lugging around tree trunks and building things with them. From where my tent is, I can’t see any girls, so I don’t know what they’re up to—but it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re just as involved.

I take a short detour from the trail to buy some groceries and have to cross the highway. The noise startles me. It feels like all sounds hit me much harder now—after barely three weeks in nature. What will happen to my senses after a whole year out here? I guess I’ll be able to answer that by the end of this journey. I’m curious.

I treat myself to a beer and a warm lunch, which tastes great—but it’s a windy spot by a small lake, and cooking on a spirit burner in the wind is quite the challenge. The flames blow in all directions, and a lot of heat is lost. Plus, it’s not exactly a comfy spot. The sun quickly disappears behind the trees, and with the shade and the wind, it gets chilly fast. So I move on.

I’m fascinated by the fences I keep seeing out here—they’re put together without a single nail! Then comes the hardest part of the journey so far. A poorly maintained section of the trail, with tall grass, endless bumps, and steep grassy hills. But the worst is yet to come: I run into six (!) gates, all built in a V-shape.

The idea is that livestock can’t make the turn through the gate—but neither can my Wheelie. Honestly, even with a big backpack you’d have to take it off and put it back on every time. A real pain in the ass. Fortunately, I manage to slide the Wheelie flat underneath the barbed wire. That’s only possible because the wire isn’t stretched too tight, and sometimes I have to walk a bit further to find a good spot—off-trail and through rough terrain. It’s a stroke of luck that it works at all, because otherwise I’d have had to unpack and repack everything. I don’t even want to think about it. The most annoying part is that these gates aren’t marked on the map—otherwise, I would’ve taken an alternate route.

On my Komoot app I see a campsite recommended by another hiker, so I head that way. And yes—it’s small, but perfect. I take my second swim of the year to wash off the sweat, then crawl into my sleeping bag fresh and clean, after doing a bit of hand laundry. That makes up for everything.

A tough trail

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May 19, 2024

After a long, lazy morning, I set off late—but that’s allowed now, I tell myself with a smile. The trail is tough today. Stunning, but really tough. It’s a wildly uneven forest path full of bumps, dips, and constant changes in elevation. Probably the hardest route so far, but I’m feeling fit and cheerful, and all in all, I’m handling it well.

Then, after those tricky forest trails, there’s yet another challenge: the Nydala boardwalk. It’s made of two narrow planks—just too narrow for my Wheelie. The only option is to do a wheelie with the Wheelie! That means balancing it on one wheel across the planks. Not easy, but I manage. Still, I suspect I’ll be feeling it in my muscles tomorrow—keeping that cart balanced takes real effort. But what a beautiful trail, what a remarkable natural area. Off the planks, the ground is marshy—you really can’t walk there. The landscape is breathtakingly open. I don’t think the photos quite do it justice, but trust me, it’s stunning. And the silence! Not a single bird to be heard—it’s almost deafening.

It’s warm today, and as luck would have it, just when I get hungry around 4 p.m., I ‘happen’ to pass the perfect spot to cook. There’s water, there’s shade, a bench, and even a crate I can use as a cooking surface.

And the day just keeps giving. After walking a little farther, I arrive right on time at a beautiful little beach, where I take my first dip. The water is wonderful—especially at the surface. What a feeling! The beach is near a school and not far from a village, so I’m not completely alone, but that’s fine. There’s enough space, and I find a slightly hidden spot to pitch my tent, where I soak in a magnificent sunset.

And now… vacation!

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May 18, 2024

I enjoy the morning sun and get up feeling relaxed and calm. I decide to take a sort of rest day today to write—suddenly I feel the need. I also really need to do some laundry, so I go looking for a nice spot where I can do both. But I don’t have much luck—no lovely places by a lake or stream this time. Either there are houses nearby, or the lake is inaccessible. That happens a lot too: you can’t get to the water easily because of mud, reeds, or dense vegetation.

Walking is tough today; it feels like I have lead in my legs. I don’t cover many kilometers (just 17) and take lots of breaks. But I do complete the Nydalaleden (a pilgrim route that’s part of the Saint Birgitta Ways) and arrive at the beautiful monastery of Nydala. Just as I get there, the bells begin to ring—so beautiful, such a warm welcome!

And then suddenly there’s a shift in my mind. Why get up early? Why push to walk lots of kilometers? Why feel like I have to do anything? All at once I’m able to see this first month as a vacation, a transition into the next phase of my journey—whatever that may be. I know, it might sound silly, but this is just how my brain works. I’m on vacation!

And so I move on, feeling a lot lighter, and end up finding a perfect sleeping spot in a beautiful meadow, slightly tucked away behind some trees. I feel very at peace.

Tent at the shooting range

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May 17, 2024

I get up to pee and now, in the daylight, I see where I pitched my tent last night in the dark. Not under a tourist information sign, as I had thought, but under a sign for a shooting range. What?? The sign explains how to hunt wild animals—where to shoot a bear or a moose. All around me are warning signs about stray bullets. Not exactly an ideal camping spot… But hey, I didn’t hear any gunfire, so no harm done. Still, a good lesson: even in the dark, read signs carefully—and luckily, Google Translate’s camera function works great for that. Without coffee or breakfast, I quickly head out and find a nice spot for a break later on, next to a beautiful lake.

Since I won’t be passing a supermarket for a while, I stocked up on groceries yesterday. I feel the weight in my cart, but I’m also getting better at adjusting the straps that connect it to my hips, so I can hit just the right balance point where the cart feels as light as possible. It’s different every day, depending on how heavily it’s packed and how I’ve arranged everything.

I notice my mind is much calmer today. Has the great letting go finally begun? The weather is beautiful, though there’s a breeze that makes cooking tricky—my alcohol burner’s flames flicker in all directions. But, lucky as I am, I stumble upon a shelter that isn’t marked on any map, just when I’m getting hungry. I cook out of the wind and lighten the cart a bit—from trolley to tummy. I wash my dishes in a little waterfall and carry on walking.

After more farmland, a wedding venue, and some forest, I pitch my tent in a quiet meadow. It’s by a small road, but apart from one car and three cyclists, no one comes by.

The great letting go has begun!

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May 16, 2024

In the morning, I fry some eggs on my beach. I have a big appetite, and it stays with me all day. I eat often. One of my decisions has been to eat when I’m hungry, not at set times. During the first two weeks I ate much less than usual, simply because I didn’t feel like it. I quite like it this way—it seems much more natural. Another interesting experiment. I also believe the body tells you exactly what it needs, as long as you listen closely.

Another remarkable thing: I’ve had a roll of cookies in my bag for a week now, and it’s still not gone. I just don’t crave sugar anymore. That feels like a real victory! Also: I take an afternoon nap. I think the great letting go has truly begun. At a lake, I come across three wonderful beach chairs, and I simply can’t resist. With a slight breeze, the sun isn’t too warm, and this siesta does me good. And yes, I make sure to use sunscreen.

After my nap, I hope to find a campsite quickly, but I’ve now arrived near Värnamo—which, by Swedish standards, is a large city. I had seen a shelter marked on the map, but it turns out to be in a park, and I’m not sure it’s allowed—or even smart—to sleep there. I feel safe in nature, but in a city, not so much. Too many odd people around. I’d hoped to find something before reaching the city, but no luck. Also, I noticed there won’t be another supermarket for a while, so I quickly do some shopping at 8:30 p.m. and then rush off in search of a place to sleep.

Leaving the city, I pass several lakes and beaches, but everywhere I see signs: camping forbidden. That’s often the case near towns or larger villages, probably to discourage partying teenagers from taking over the popular spots—but I didn’t know that yet. It’s getting quite dark, and I start to feel anxious. Finally, I find what I think is a tourist information board, and beneath it, there’s a small grassy patch. It looks like a parking area of sorts in the fading light. I pitch my tent all the way to the side—just in case any cars show up tomorrow, at least I won’t be in the way. Just before 11 p.m., my tent is up, and after all that stress, I thankfully fall asleep quickly.

Fight at the lake

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May 15, 2024

I wake up early, but I’m snoozing so comfortably in my little castle. The sun is shining on my tent, the temperature is quickly rising, and my laundry is already dry again. When I get up to pee, I see a deer walking by.

I don’t set off until around noon. I wonder why I’m so hung up on my slow starts. Then, suddenly—a shift! I clearly don’t have a 9-to-5 mentality, but rather a 12-to-9 one! Same hours in the end, and who cares anyway? It doesn’t get dark until 11 p.m. I laugh at myself. Silly. Somehow, that shift in thinking helps. So, from now on: a 12-to-9 mindset.

While walking along a country road, I spot a man cycling toward me in the distance. That’s rare enough already, but I also see he has quite large breasts bouncing around. He’s only wearing shorts, sneakers, and socks. He brakes right in front of me and says, “I saw you yesterday too—have you walked all that way?” He’s friendly, clearly older, but still spry and curious. He asks a million questions and shares tips on places I should visit. Then his phone rings: “Oops, my wife—gotta go or I’ll be in trouble!” And off he goes. I chuckle and continue walking.

My thoughts won’t leave me alone. I’m not in the moment; I’m stuck in the future. How will I get new shoes later? The ones I have aren’t great—turns out they’re too small. I’m determined to wear barefoot shoes, but they’re almost impossible to find in stores. It’s not urgent since I have a backup pair, but still… And will I even manage with the hiking cart in Norway, with all those mountains? Should I send my laptop home to save weight and only bring a keyboard? It’s weird—this kind of overthinking hasn’t been typical for me in recent years, but here I am, stuck in my head. On the other hand, I do find it fascinating to observe all this in myself.

At a lake, I spot a massive picnic table—big enough for 12 people—with a fleece and a small box on it. I figure I can just sit for a quick break. Then a hefty, panting man storms over from his fishing spot. His belly hangs over his swim trunks and he looks like he might collapse from those thin legs. He starts yelling in Swedish. I tell him I don’t understand, but he doesn’t speak English and just keeps going. I catch something about “min fru” (my wife), and I gather she must be nearby. Fine, I’ll move. I get tourist-hotel vibes—you know, those folks who put towels on sunbeds at dawn. They can have the table. I don’t stay long anyway, because I’ve just met Sweden’s version of “the loud, trashy crowd.” Moments later, belly-man is joined by two women, one of whom looks exactly like Ma Flodder—minus the cigar. They shout, yell into their phones, and toss wrappers on the ground—something I hadn’t seen yet in Sweden. I quickly make coffee, eat a sandwich, and head back into the peace and quiet.

The incident is quickly redeemed by a visit to a beautiful, very old church—Dörarp Kyrka. For once, the door isn’t locked. The oldest walls date back to the Middle Ages. It’s wonderfully cool inside, and I sit for a while in the wooden pews, soaking in the serene atmosphere. I think about my children—what beautiful people they’ve become and how grounded they are. I feel happy and grateful.

Then I come across a roadside memorial for Clifford Lee Burton. I didn’t know who he was, but I learn he was one of the world’s greatest heavy metal bassists and part of the legendary band Metallica. In 1986, after a concert, their tour bus crashed on this very road en route to Copenhagen. Clifford was thrown from the bus and died. Fans from all over the world still visit this place. It’s a powerful tribute and surreal to find here, on a sleepy country road where nothing seems to happen.

I start looking for a place to sleep. I check the Komoot app and spot a beach not far off route. Sounds promising, though the path to it is a bit tricky—I hope I won’t have to turn back. But no, what a reward, what a spot! I feel like Robinson Crusoe on a deserted island. At first there’s a small boat with a family onboard, but they soon leave. I dip my feet in the water—still too cold to swim. Now I’m all alone again, and oh, the richness of it. A beautiful beach, my tent on a bed of moss, only the sounds of nature around me, and a stunning sunset. No more words needed.

Guilt feeling

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May 14, 2024

I actually manage to get up early and head out in good spirits. I come across a lovely little church with another unique bell tower—these seem to pop up all over the place here. I refill my water – there’s always a tap at cemeteries – and keep walking. Before long, I’m hungry again. Around 12:30, I fry up some eggs and bacon for lunch. Using the beautiful multitool engraved with my name—gifted by my fantastic colleagues when I said goodbye—I fix my hiking pole. Thanks team, this tool is proving incredibly useful!

Once again, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. I sit for hours, and yet—there it is again—that nagging feeling of guilt. Why? I don’t owe anyone anything! Still, that little voice keeps chattering: you’re not making enough progress, you’re being lazy, blah blah. How persistent these thoughts can be… And that, even though today’s route is beautiful: no more highways, just rolling farmland and forest.

At the Willy:s supermarket, I restrain myself so I don’t end up lugging a heavy cart again. While walking through the town of Ljungby, I’m stopped by a couple and their young son. The Swedish woman is excited: “We saw you walking this weekend too! We’ve never seen a cart like that before!” She introduces herself, asks a ton of questions, and really wants a photo with me. I think it’s pretty funny, so I pose while her husband takes a few pictures.

I walk quite a bit more and find yet another stunning spot with a picnic table and a small dock. I wash my things, cook a good meal, and sleep wonderfully again. It may be starting to sound repetitive—all this happiness—but honestly, I could get used to this.

Pancakes with Bacon

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May 13, 2024

After another freezing night, I wake up with the sun on my tent. For the first time, there’s quite a bit of condensation, but with the sun, my little castle dries in no time. The zipper of my tent gives out—very annoying—but luckily there’s Velcro too, so I can still close it. I sit down at the picnic table to write and start dreaming of this as an office. Wouldn’t it be amazing to work somewhere different every day? Well past eleven, I hit the road again, in good spirits.

Today’s route is pretty boring—long stretches along the E4. There’s not that much traffic, but the trucks that thunder by aren’t exactly pleasant and I forget to refill my water. And wouldn’t you know it, I don’t come across a single source. Luckily, I bought a cucumber earlier, so I munch on that to fight the thirst. It’ll be fine.

My mind is still very busy. A few days ago I even had a kind of mini-outburst thinking about an email I received during my final days at work—about some policy change. I had raised questions, but the reply clearly came from someone who’s never set foot on the actual work floor. So short-sighted. I was furious. And now I find myself getting worked up about it again. Should I ask the deputy principal, who was CC’d, to respond instead? My God, Marnix—let it go. You’ll figure it out next year… Even today I notice my thoughts are still spinning. Rationally, I know it’s pointless, but still. What does help is coffee. When I finally find water, I make a cup and am able—just for a moment—to enjoy the flavor, the landscape, and a quiet mind.

At the ruins of an old church, I spot a campervan. A woman is flipping pancakes and—yes!—a yellow Dutch license plate. I wish them a good meal and we start chatting. Turns out they’re from Hoorn—fellow West Frisians! Instant bond. I meet the whole family: Marissa, Mark, and their enthusiastic boys Stan and Maik. Marissa asks if I want a pancake with bacon. I’m hesitant to say yes, but it sounds delicious. “Just say yes!” she urges—and I do. It’s lovely. The youngest excitedly tells me about their adventures here in Sweden. One of his highlights? A giant tractor drove past on a dusty road, kicking up so much fine dirt they couldn’t see a thing—and it even got in his ears. What a great kid. And such a sweet family. Their first holiday in a borrowed camper, and wild camping is still a bit of a thrill for them. These are the encounters that make the journey. We exchange Instagram handles and I move on.

But finding a campsite today isn’t easy. There are houses nearby, or the ground is too uneven, or too close to the road. I think I’ve found a good spot—but the “grass” turns out to be a thin layer over solid rock. No way I’m getting my tent pegs in. With my flatland brain, I didn’t think to check. Lesson learned. I quickly pack up and keep going. Luckily, just under a kilometer later, I find a spot. I pitch my tent in the half-dark. Just in time.