One of the things that puts novices off staying in some of the more common accommodations associated with hiking and wild camping is that the experience will not be an entirely pleasant one.
And, in order to convince them otherwise, websites like ours often tell them of the joys of sunset summit camps, of cosy nights drinking hot chocolate by the fire of a bothy, and of sharing stories and good cheer with fellow guests in a hostel or refuge.
But any of us that have been staying in these places for a while know the real truth; that, while such experiences do indeed occur, they’re not guaranteed.
When it comes to overnight stays in such places, we’ve all had a bad one. And, as far as the Live for the Outdoors team goes, looking back on my time here it’s fair to say I seem to have had the most.
Is that due to a lack of preparation, or errors of judgement on my part? Occasionally. But mostly the reason is this: if there’s a dark, dank hole or hovel to be slept in, ‘Send Ben’ tends to be the approach.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some truly magnificent stays in the hills – more than most people could ever hope for. But some have also been the stuff of nightmares. Here, I look back on some of my least enjoyable overnight experiences, those where I’ve truly taken one for the team, and for you, putting myself through untold suffering so nobody else has to. You’re welcome.
THE 4* HOTEL, Cnicht, Eryri
The Cnicht cave in north Wales isn’t really a cave. It’s actually a 'howf' – a sheltered hollow beneath an arrangement of boulders. But if we’re being more accurate, it’s a grim hole under a pile of rocks. I’d been wanting to spend a night here – you know, just for sh*ts and giggles – for a while.
I was aware that some humorous soul had scrawled ‘4* Hotel’ on the uppermost rock and had wondered why they’d stopped short of 5 stars. I know now. In theory, there’s enough space under there for a few people, but the rocks sticking out of the ground mean it’s barely possible to fit two awkwardly angled sleeping mats in there.
If it’s been raining (this is Wales, remember), where there aren’t rocks the ground is soggy and unpleasant, and however many stones you pile up in the doorway the cold wind whips through.
I was about to nod off, wrapped in a bivvy bag to protect against the drips and puddles, contorted into an S-shape to keep the rocks out of my back, and wondering if this place could possibly be any worse, when my cave-mate’s voice whispered from the gloom: “I’ve just found a tick…”
THE TORTUOUS DANGLE, Honister Pass, Lake District
The thought of sleeping on a portaledge has never really bothered me. I’m sensibly nervous of heights, but not terrified by them, and I’m happy to put my trust in competent people and good equipment.
You know what has always bothered me though? Motion sickness, which I’ve battled with ever since I was a kid trying to read a comic in the back of my dad’s car. So the thought of being sealed up in a bag with no view of the outside and then gently bounced and swung around is my idea of a nightmare. And my idea was right on the money.
The experience of trying to sleep in a portaledge tent suspended from a wire bridge over the Honister Pass was, without doubt, the most nauseating experience of my entire life. Even through the orange filtered light coming through the tent’s fabric, my skin was visibly green.
Worse still, once I was cocooned inside, there was no release until I was safely collected and led back to terra firma the next morning. The only thing that stopped me throwing back the flysheet and vomiting over the edge was knowing that Honister Crag is a Site of Special Scientific Interest, and I didn’t think my lunch would be a welcomed addition.
THE UNFAMILIARITY OF STRANGERS, Mountain Refuge, Picos de Europa
The problem was easy to spot long before I even tried going to sleep. “This is where you sleep,” the manager of the refuge explained, pointing to what looked like one giant bunk bed. On the top was a row of 9 single mattresses. On the bottom was the same. “It sleeps 24 people,” he said with obvious pride.
I did the maths. 18 mattresses, 24 occupants. That’s 3/4 of a mattress each. I spent the night crammed in between two strangers, one of whom was a sleep talker. He might have been saying all kinds of interesting stuff, but my Spanish is poor.
THE COLD SMOKER, Sierra Nevada, Spain
A remote mountain hut high in the Sierra Nevada mountains in the south of Spain sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? Except, this particular hut was only recently back in service, having been restored by a handful of volunteers.
It was still a work in progress, and prior to its rescue it had been neglected. Badly. The Nissen hut style shelter had been left with the door open, and the thawed winter snows had thoroughly dampened the interior.
Presumably in an attempt to stay warm (the building is on the uncomfortable side of chilly) previous occupants had lit fires, but due to there being no chimney the smoke had embedded itself into the walls. It smelled damp, sooty, and smoky, like the aftermath of a ferocious warehouse fire.
After an hour or two of trying to get to sleep on a mat on the cold, bare concrete floor, I contemplated heading outside to sleep under the stars instead, but at around 2000m up it was even colder outside, and the vultures we’d seen on the walk-in looked big and really hungry.
THE EARLY NIGHT (WITH A DOG), Arrochar Alps, Scotland
During the height of a gorgeous Scottish summer, Trail editor Oli Reed and I headed up to the Arrochar Alps. After scrambling up The Cobbler we pitched our tents in the saddle between Beinn Narnain and Beinn Ime and looked forward to a blissful evening relaxing among spectacular views and watching the sunset.
Then the midges arrived. It was no later than 7pm when we retreated into our tents, resigned to spending the rest of the night there. Being near midsummer, it never really got completely dark. And it was hot, but doors stayed zipped up to keep the midges out.
It made for a long, uncomfortable and boring night with little sleep. My only consolation? Oli had it worse; sharing his 1-person tent with a restless, over-heated terrier Mario.
We got over it quickly enough though, because we woke to the most glorious cloud inversion (above) filling then glens below and covering all of the South Highlands.
THE HEATWAVE, Yr Aran, Eryri
The summer of 2022 was one of the hottest on record. I spent one of its hottest days in north Wales, the intention being to sleep on the summit of Yr Aran. In such exceptionally baking conditions, I simply couldn’t contemplate the idea of being cold, so I’d packed my lightest weight everything.
It turned out that even on one of the hottest days of the year it’s significantly cooler at 747m overnight. My thinnest sleeping bag and most minimal mat were not up to the job, and I spent the night curled up in a foetal position trying to contemplate the idea of being warm.
THE CRISP PACKET, Cuillin Ridge, Isle of Skye
Bivvying on Skye’s Cuillin Ridge (right) is an experience, but not necessarily a comfortable one. Very little of it is flat. Getting a good night’s sleep is a challenge. And when one of your ridge-buddies is lying on one of those sleeping mats that crinkles noisily with every movement, it’s almost impossible, particularly when you’ve forgotten your own mat and are laid out on a coiled climbing rope. Still, there are worse places to be awake all night, watching the stars spin overhead and counting down the hours to dawn…
THE TIN DRUM, Monadhliath Mountains, Scotland
It was my first ever bothy experience. I’d been looking forward to it. But by the time it got to midnight, my sleeping mat had deflated due to an undiagnosed slow puncture, and the corrugated steel roof, which was mere inches above my face where I was lying on the attic sleeping platform, was percussing loudly to the sound of a hailstorm. I reached for my pillow to wrap it around my ears and remembered I didn’t have one. Ting-ting- ting-ting-ting… it was a long night.
Your worst night ever?
Everyone who spends enough time outdoors eventually experiences a night they'd rather forget. From freezing temperatures to unexpected encounters, some of our readers share their worst nights out in the wild.
"Dartmoor wild camp – non-stop rain and a sleeping mat that deflated during the night!" Rachel Winter
"First backpacking trip, aged 14. Slept on the Old Man of Coniston at -5°C in a one-season sleeping bag. Woken by a sheep licking my face. Set off, only to find Coppermines YHA 80 yards away around the corner. Steep learning curve." Ben Gunter
"Culra Bothy, after it was condemned with asbestos. We planned to camp, but the weather deteriorated, so we had to choose between sleeping in tents battered by the storm or in the bothy, which was freezing and had no firewood. It was so cold, two of our group were getting hypothermia." Catherine Tuwi
"Priest’s Hole cave on Dove Crag... was full of rubbish and stank of urine. Never again." Paul Ramsden
"The emergency shelter in Garbh Coire, under Braeriach, in a blizzard, in September 1995, before it was repaired. Cold, wet, very uncomfortable, one side was flooded... and there were three of us!" Malcolm Kew
"Staying in the Sinclair hut in the Cairngorms. Coldest and most uncomfortable night of my life." Neil Davidson
About the author
Ben Weeks above is Trail magazine's long-serving gear editor and a prolific wild camper. Ben's slept in tents, bivvy bags, refuges and mountain huts all over the world, and rarely has a bad word to say about a night in the wild. So you can be sure he means every word of the 8 nightmares he's described above.