‘The only other being we’d seen was a fallow deer’

Phoebe Smith took her friend, the singer Cerys Matthews, and Cerys’s son Red, eight, wild camping in West Sussex

Ifirst tried wild camping 15 years ago in the Australian Outback. Seeing the stars come out, the wildlife come close and the dawn break transformed me into an addict. I went on a mission to explore Britain, learning to navigate, fine-tuning my skills and seeking out solitude. I was desperate to share it with others. After waxing lyrical to Cerys when we met several years ago and boring her with endless photos, she asked me to take her and her son Red to experience what I’d promised as the ultimate sense of freedom.

The South Downs was our nearest green space, with lots of rolling hills and high ground. I found a potential spot an hour’s walk from where we’d leave the car. We set off from the car park and Red excitedly began asking questions: how would we know when we’re there? (Answer: when we reach the top of the hill and can’t go any higher.) What tree is that? (Yew.) What’s for dinner? (Bannock bread and chickpea curry.) Would we get into trouble? (Not if we were discreet – arriving late, leaving early and taking out all of our rubbish with us.) We reached the summit as the sun was setting and I got Cerys and Red to stuff their sleeping bags and camping mats inside their waterproof bivvy bags just as the moon began to shine on our little camp. It had no running water (we carried in all we would need) and no toilets. I’d packed a pocket trowel to dig us a hole. What it lacked in facilities it made up for in views.

We could see the great expanse of the sea beyond the twinkling lights of Chichester. There was a sense of silence and freedom. The only other being we’d seen since we set off on foot two hours earlier was a small fallow deer. I

looked up to see Red happily dancing in his pyjamas in the silvery dusk, a huge smile plastered on his face. He’d never slept outside before. On the stove – a small Kelly Kettle to keep our fire safely contained off the ground – water bubbled away for hot chocolate, while Cerys mixed dough for the bannock bread. Stars began to pinprick the sky.

“Look, there’s Mars,” I pointed. Cerys’s jaw dropped. She’d never realised it could be seen with the naked eye. We watched the skies and baked our bread, chatting and laughing, then climbed into our beds. Cerys and Red slept soundly in the grass and woke just as dawn was breaking, and as I began to brew some coffee.

After porridge we packed away our kit and collected rubbish to dispose of back at home. Red said no one would ever believe we’d done it; there was no trace of our camp. His words were wise. As lockdown ends and more people discover the joys of a night in the wild, it’s vital that we all look after the places we explore and be responsible campers.

Dancing in our pyjamas, however, always remains optional.

Phoebe Smith is author of 10 books, including Extreme Sleeps: Adventures of a Wild Camper and Wilderness Weekends: Wild Adventures in Britain’s Rugged Corners