An ode to the places where I never slept
On the pleasures of staying awake
This morning I woke up long before the alarm would go off. It was still dark outside and the dawn chorus, bursting through the crack in the window, compelled me to leave the warmth of my duvet. There was nothing for it by then. Too enticed by the prospect of stepping outside into the crisp morning gloom with the Merlin app activated, excited to find out which birds were singing their little hearts out around me, I slipped on my dressing gown and trundled downstairs. The high-pitched twittering followed me through the living room, where it met a percussion of pitter-pattering paws on wooden floorboards. I released Dexter into the garden and immersed myself in an intoxicating mix of cold air and birdsong.
As it turned out, I was mostly being serenaded by blackbirds, wrens and robins, and their voices rang so loud I was practically enveloped in them. They may have been competing against each other to be heard, but the end result was a melange of melodies that carried me through my morning ritual of making tea: the click of the hob igniting, a faint whoomph of gas, and the tinny rattling of water coming to boil inside the stove top kettle. All the while singing filled my tiny kitchen and occupied my attention while I patiently watched the curling steam rise from my morning brew.
Perhaps I should have felt deprived of well-needed sleep, but my body was restless and that was clearly a sign that I was ready to begin the day. With Adam still sound asleep upstairs, I cuddled up with Dexter on the sofa and spent some time reading. I’m well practised at this, being a chronic morning lark who apparently doesn’t need a full eight hours of rest in order to function. After a while it dawned on me that I often use these bonus pockets of time to catch up on my reading, and I began to wonder how many stories I’ve consumed as a result of not sleeping. It’s probably more than you think, because I’ve garnered something of a habit of not-sleeping in a variety of places over the years, turning to audiobooks to keep me company when there’s no light left to read by.
Is it ‘sleeping out’ if you don’t actually sleep?
Tomorrow night I will be sleeping outside. That is, I will tuck myself into a sleeping bag, inside a bivvy bag, and lie under the stars alongside Adam and a couple of pals — one new, one less so — for my first overnighter of the year. The likelihood of actually getting some shuteye is very small: in my experience I only actually begin to get some proper sleep once I’m three days into a bikepacking trip, and that’s only because I reach a level of exhaustion that simply forces me to pass out. The first couple of nights, however, I largely spend awake. To some, that might sound horrific, and you’d be wise to make that assumption. The prospect of getting on your bike for a full day in the saddle after a sleepless night is a daunting one, and often doesn’t feel that great in the moment. Yet it’s something I’ve endured many times over, and while I retain the memories of lying awake for most of the night, listening to audiobooks and staring at the stars (or treetops) overhead, I definitely have the tendency to romanticise them in retrospect.
Yet you may be surprised to find that even without much sleep, the simple act of lying down for an extended period of time, wrapped up warm and breathing the freshest of fresh air, is enough to leave you feeling ready for the next day. I often emerge from my bivvy bag with puffy eyes and a longing for my bed, but also with a deep sense of restoration. Something about spending the night outside, even awake, has the ability to completely reset me. Lungfuls of cold night air that I don’t normally get to experience when tucked away inside, seem to do something to me that I cannot explain. It’s a jarring juxtaposition of deprivation and recuperation that shouldn’t work at all, but somehow it does.
An ode to the places where I never slept
In anticipation of tomorrow’s sleepless night, I wanted to take a moment to share some of the most beautiful places I’ve had the pleasure of staying awake in (all within the UK).
If you too are in the habit of not-sleeping when you camp, whether it’s wild or in a campsite, I’d love to hear about your experience. Do you somehow still feel rested despite staying awake? Have you noticed the difference in rest quality between sleeping in a tent and bivvying out in the open?
And, if you have any good audiobook recommendations, I’d love to hear them.
Currently I’m on a reread/re-listen of Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Not only is it a stunning book about Indigenous lore and wisdom and our modern relationship with the earth, but Kimmerer’s voice is as soothing as a lullaby. Perhaps she will help me fall asleep this weekend after all.
I am also a rubbish sleeper when bivvying so no advice here.
There is a song by The Scud Mountain Boys called ‘A Penthouse In The Woods’ and the first two lines are:
I didn’t sleep last night / I didn’t sleep the night before.
I only found out in the last few months that the writer, Joe Pernice, also does some backpacking.
I definitely sleep better in a tent than a bivvy, the wind or rain blowing on my face (or worse, into the bag) tends to wake me up pretty often. I’ve had better luck since I swapped to a hooped bivvy that has a midge net that goes over my face for when it’s dry. That seems to muffle the breeze a bit whilst still letting air in and out to prevent condensation and you can zip the whole thing up and hunker down if it’s raining. Pretty claustrophobic though and I do sleep better in a tent but in all these scenarios I’m waking pretty regularly, and who knows for how long. I end up thinking, well I must’ve slept but could couldn’t say how long for. I definitely have better luck on 2+ night trips where I tend to get into more of a rhythm (i.e absolutely knackered). Speaking of audiobooks, Bel Canto by Ann Patchett was pretty great.