It’s been ages since I last camped in England.
My friend suggested a night away in the Yorkshire Dales – in a campervan. Now, I’ve never stayed in a caravan and turned green with campervan-envy in New Zealand when these wondrous vehicles pulled up alongside my drooping, ripped tent, so I didn’t need much encouragement to give ‘glamping’ a go.
Camping In The Yorkshire Dales
Picture us driving through the idyllic valleys and lanes of the Yorkshire Dales as we pass clumps of cyclists gripped by Wiggins fever and sheep grazing in the fields. We drove through the pretty villages of Kettlewell and Buckden with their higgledy-piggledy lanes and olde worlde stores until we reached the wonderfully named Hubberholme.
On the banks of the River Wharfe we pulled up and established camp. The farmer, driving a quad bike with his border collie on the back, collected £2 per person to use his land, a fair exchange for such a picturesque spot.
Barbeque eaten, ciders consumed and several intense games of boules later, this rosy, relaxed scene would almost be too boring to blog about if it weren’t for the strange occurrence that happened once the sun went down.
Off for a little stroll along the river bank by the light of the moon, two friends and I happened upon another little campsite of people that owned a very impressive teepee tent. We would have walked passed if it weren’t for an inebriated guy rushing up to us like an over friendly puppy, stopping us in our tracks with his torrent of slurred words.
Undeterred by our mutters of “we’re all married” – a blatant lie, but a go-to excuse we’ve all pulled out of the air at some point – he encouraged us to say hello to his friends.
Hesitant, but intrigued by the teepee, we agreed and asked if we could look inside the tent.
From this point onward, things escalated quickly.
Naughty By Nature
Funny how a conversation about the tent’s central, supportive pole veered quickly towards its potential alternative uses.
Funny how drunk guy offered us the use of said pole for dancing, in case the mood should happen to take us.
Funny how we declined such a kind offer, and suggested, jokingly, that he should show us his best moves instead.
Funny how that turned out to be a bad idea.
Needing no more encouragement, happy drunk guy pulled off his clothes and threw his leg around the pole. He proceeded to dance naked, waggling his hips in what he must have guessed to be a provocative fashion, and gyrated around the central pole like a hairier version of Shakira in the She Wolf video.
Escaping the madness that was the inside of the teepee, we ran away sniggering and left the naked social hand grenade with his cringing mates.
Our howls of laughter echoed so hysterically down the river that our other friends, Â left at our camp, had come looking for us.
“What happened?” they asked, grinning in bewilderment at our shell-shocked expressions. “We thought one of you had fallen in the river”.
We shook our heads. “Whatever you do, don not ask to look inside the teepee”.
Our night in nature turned out to be more natural than we could have anticipated, but a bloomin’ hilarious escapade in the Yorkshire Dales.
I can’t wait for the next camp.