Somerset: a British road trip to rival the world's great highways
21.07.2023 - 08:02
/ roughguides.com
/ Keith Drew
Keith Drew sees Britain's Somerset in a different light from behind the wheel of a six-man motorhome.
Cotton-budded wisps of mist hung lazily above the water, the early morning sunlight glinting off the pools. Freshly brewed tea in hand, we settled down in chairs outside our motorhome to survey the reedbeds in front of us, looking for signs of life. There was nobody else around.
Dried bulrushes crackled in the breeze. Suddenly, a huge bird, perhaps startled by the silence, took flight from the water’s edge, angling up over us and only just clearing our overhead cab.
We had spent the last few days exploring a wildly scenic region of limestone gorges, rolling hills and now vast open marshland – wildlife-rich landscapes that took on a cinematic quality through the widescreen windows of a monster motorhome.
But this wasn’t California or Canada. This was somewhere far closer to home. This was Somerset.
At Shapwick Heath, we saw marsh harriers hunting around the reserve’s lakes, gracefully arcing back and forth in search of prey. At Ham Wall, we heard the “boom” of a bittern, brought back from near extinction in the mid-1990s. Further south, in Swell Wood, we spotted spikey-feathered heron chicks (“tiny pterodactyls”, according to our seven-year old) at one of the biggest heronries in the UK.
I’d grown up in north Somerset, but I soon discovered that this part of the county rewards patient exploration. We spent long days pottering around Hamstone villages and ambling along forgotten back roads – when you’re driving a house on wheels that is nearly 23 feet long and over 10 feet high, you certainly don’t rush.
Every now and then, as the novelty of riding up high with a bird’s-eye view over the hedges started to wane, we would pull over to light up the hob for a quick cup of tea or to make an occasional on-board loo stop.
Our aptly named Fiat Grande had more living space than my first flat, and any worries that our family of five would go stir crazy all holed up together vanished quicker than it took for the kids to decide who was sleeping on the top bunk.
Image courtesy of Bunk Campers
The convenience of ferrying around our own living quarters (complete with oven, fridge, freezer and shower) was matched by a freedom to explore and a happy balance of outdoor life and creature comfort.
One night, we parked up alone in an apple orchard in what can quite accurately be described as the middle of nowhere. Another, we squeezed amongst a field full of tents in the back garden of a village pub. Both nights, the kids played outside until darkness fell, and when the drizzle descended and the wind started whipping the canvas around us, we just flicked on our diesel heater and cranked the temperature up to a toasty twenty degrees.