Start With Permission, Not Assumption

There is a persistent myth that you may camp anywhere above a certain height in England and Wales. You may not. The right of access created by the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000 covers walking, climbing, watching and picnicking on mapped open country — and specifically excludes camping. So on access land you may wander freely, sit for hours and watch the light change, but pitching a tent for the night is a different matter altogether.

Dartmoor is the one place in England with a long-standing tradition of backpack camping on open common, though the legal position has shifted in recent years and now operates through permissive arrangements with landowners — check the current map before you travel. Elsewhere in England and Wales, wild camping is lawful only with the landowner's consent. In practice, many upland estates and hill farmers tolerate a single small tent pitched high, late and discreetly, but tolerance is not a right, and it can be withdrawn.

If you want certainty, ask. A phone call or email to a estate office, a national park authority or a farmer costs five minutes and buys you a clear conscience. If you cannot ask, keep to the informal code: one tent, one night, no fire, high up, well away from houses, roads, walls and livestock. Never camp in an enclosed field, a car park, a layby or a flat riverside spot that is plainly someone's livelihood.

Reading the Ground

The best pitches are chosen with your eyes, not your boots. Aim for ground that is already bare — gravel, dry turf, established tent-sized patches where others have clearly slept before. Avoid the soft edges of tarns, the springy red-brown cushions of sphagnum, and the tight, low mat of arctic-alpine plants that grows above 600 metres on our oldest hills. These communities take decades to recover from a single night's compression.

Look for a spot that is:

• Flat but not hollow — a shallow dip collects water and cold air; the coldest night of your year will happen in one.
• Sheltered from wind — behind a rise or boulder, but not under the only dead tree for miles.
• Well away from water — 50 metres from streams, tarns and springs keeps your washing, your waste and your noise out of the catchment.
• Clear of paths — nobody wants to walk into a guy line at dusk, and you do not want to be a landmark.

Pitch late and leave early. Arriving at dusk and departing by mid-morning keeps your footprint small, avoids the busiest hours on popular summits and means you actually see the dawn, which is usually the finest part of the whole exercise.

Leave No Trace, Properly Done

Open fires are out. Peat burns, roots smoulder underground, and a single stray spark on a dry spring hillside can run for miles. A small gas or alcohol stove is quieter, cleaner and cooks faster anyway. Never ring a fire with stones — the blackened scar endures for years.

Human waste needs planning. Carry a trowel and dig a hole about 15 to 20 centimetres deep, at least 30 metres from any water and away from paths, then replace the turf neatly. On thin upland soils you may not be able to dig at all; in that case, bag it and carry it out. Toilet paper always goes in a bag, never buried, never burned — half-burnt paper is a blight on every popular summit. Wash with a small amount of water carried away from the stream, and use soap sparingly or not at all. Take every scrap of food waste, including apple cores and orange peel, which take years to rot in cold hill soil.

Weather, Midges and the Small Hours

Check a dedicated mountain forecast rather than a valley one, and read the wind speed as well as the rain. Gale gusts forecast at 50 mph on a 900-metre ridge will feel far worse in a tarn basin, and a sheltered pitch that feels cosy at 10pm can become a wind tunnel by 2am. Tell someone your route and your intended pitch, and carry a means of signalling even if you have no phone signal.

Midges rule the British summer. Wind and height are your allies; calm, damp evenings in July are not. Add a head net, keep the tent door zipped and treat clothing with permethrin-based repellent to deter ticks, which are increasingly common on bracken slopes. Take a decent sleeping mat — the ground steals heat faster than air ever will — and expect condensation inside a single-skin tent.

The Quiet Part, Which Is the Point

Everything above is practical housekeeping for a reason. When you get it right, you earn something rare: a night with no engine noise, no screens and no schedule, followed by a dawn chorus that arrives before the light does. Hill time measurably lifts mood, restores attention and builds a steadiness that carries back down to the valley.

Sit still for half an hour after pitching. Watch where the birds move. Notice how your breathing slows. That is the whole return on the effort, and it is worth every gram in your pack.

Before You Set Off

• Confirmed where you may legally and permissively camp, and told someone your plan.
• Checked the mountain forecast, wind speeds and daylight hours.
• Packed a stove, trowel, waste bags, water treatment and a midge net.
• Committed to one tent, one night, no fire, and leaving the spot indistinguishable from how you found it.