Life is in-tents

I checked my phone in the darkness. Squinting at the sharp glow of the screen, I saw that it was just after two AM. The wind had changed over the last hour from just a rush of air to a howl, long and lonely, like the sky itself was crying out. That sound was punctured by a staccato of raindrops hitting the canvas of my tent at odd intervals, rhythmless, dragging me back awake whenever I tried to rest. I buried myself deeper in my sleeping bag and wrapped the hood around my head trying to drown out the noise…

That’s a little description of my experience last week of camping during Storm Amy – the first named storm by the Met Office of the 2025/2026 season*. To say it was an experience is probably an understatement – and at points I would even dare to say it was exciting – but would I recommend grabbing your tent and camping gear when they announce the next storm? No, probably not.

*Does that make me lucky?

My tent, as you can see in the picture above, wasn’t massive. It also was quite streamlined in shape, both of which worked in my favour when the winds hit 50 miles an hour+ during the night. I was also given a hot water bottle by Alexandra, the course leader, and had a selection of blankets to bury myself under. All in all, I was actually quite cosy as the world sounded like it was falling apart outside.

Perhaps that is why, when I was encouraged to go back indoors and crash on someone’s floor, I refused. I actually got quite stubborn about it – insisting that I was fine and that the storm was only a minor bother. I do like storms. There is something about the crashing of the elements that I find thrilling.*

*someone also called me Storm Walker during a workshop, and when you get a nickname like that you can’t just go back inside!

There was only one moment where the tree I was camping next to made an ominous sort of creaking sound and perhaps it was about to fall on me, but that didn’t happen! Hooray!

Here is a picture of me hiding in one of the campsite toilets while the rain tumbled down outside one night.

Overall, the rhythm of grief-work during the day, and storm-work during the night combined quite nicely. There is something very cleansing about being out in nature at times like this. It felt like all my troubles were literally blown away*. I think I am just reminded again that I spend too much time inside. The raw power and life of the world is out there, and in my tiny office that is sometimes very difficult to see.

*along with my towel at one point, but I managed to recover that.

I was stunned by how much the wires along this road were being pushed by the wind – it looked like the poles were going to be ripped out of the ground (and naturally I just stood there and watched – self-preservation is not a strong point of mine).

If you’d like to close your eyes and pretend to be me for a moment, here is a recording I took while walking down a road towards the sea during the storm. You can hear the edge of the howl I mention at the top of this post – although it is more like a soft moan at this point:

As I write this, Julie is messaging me from Menorca, where she currently is travelling from. Apparently there is a thunderstorm overhead – and it might mean her flight is cancelled. I can’t help but feel responsible with all this sitting and thinking about storms. I feel like I conjured it. Oops! Sorry, Julie!

What do you think of storms? Do they excite you, or are you more of a hunker-down type of person?

Anyway, back to writing!

See you next time.