I had a few pints with some pals at my local this evening, and conversation got round to the moot and bushcrafting/camping.
They could not understand how I could at 55, enjoy sleeping out under canvas in a field or woods instead of a nice clean, dry and warm hotel or b+b. Living in London I dont get the chance to get out into the countryside as much as i'd like, but I'm lucky enough to have a friend who has nearly 25 acres of land, who lets me use it to practice my bushcrafting.(He keeps horses.)
These are people who love walking/hiking holidays, but the thought of the least bit of discomfort, or god forbid fending for themselves, as in foraging or small game trapping, repels them. My parents took me camping from a young age, and I have loved it ever since. Dont get me wrong, I enjoy luxury as much as anyone, but there is nothing to beat laying under the stars on a clear night watching the flames of your fire while waiting for the water to boil for your last brew of the evening. Perhaps it's an urban thing, where ammenities are just around the corner, or is it something more primal, that I feel and my friends dont.
I wonder if anyone else has had similar conversations.