I spy

Sawn and chopped wood stored discretely under the trunk of a large fallen tree; I see you wild camper. Well played; not just for the forethought of your squirrelled fuel stash, but for the fact of there being no other sign of your having camped here.  You'd be amazed at how dry these under trunk spots can remain, even after the heaviest of rains; I'll often to do my Jo practice out in Burly Old, though don't always fancy carrying a staff with me, so have one similarly hidden. Another thing that amazes me is the extent to which wild camping is illegal in England, generally without permission you no rights to camp anywhere, including the New Forest; the one place I know you can is in on Dartmoor (now that a real treat too). That said, I've practised wild camping since I was in my early teens, and have camped all over, there's nothing like it; there's something cruel and draconian about denying us what should be our natural right to sleep in the arms of nature out under the stars. I've long believed if people had more opportunities to socialise with nature they'd respect her more, treat her better and be easier to mobilise at this time of climate crisis, who knows, had we not become so disconnected from the natural world maybe we wouldn't find ourselves in a crisis in the first place.