Fragile ground that looks tougher than it is

From a distance, a Welsh plateau or a stretch of Cumbrian fell looks almost indestructible — all rock, wind and tough-looking grass. Get closer and the picture changes. Above roughly 600 metres the growing season is short, the wind scours constantly, and peat builds at a rate of millimetres per decade. A patch of moss or dwarf willow that took fifty years to establish can be flattened by one night's tent and won't recover in your lifetime.

Almost all of our upland is also working land. It is grazed by sheep and cattle, managed for grouse or deer, used for water catchment, and often owned by a private estate or a trust that has to balance access with farming, conservation and safety. Wild camping in these places is best understood as a guest privilege rather than something to be asserted. Treat it that way and you will rarely have a problem.

Know the rules where you are standing

The legal picture changes as soon as you cross a border. In Scotland, the Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003 gives a statutory right of responsible access, which includes lightweight wild camping on most unenclosed land. It is a genuine right, but it comes with responsibilities attached: small numbers, short stays, no vehicles, no leaving of anything behind.

In England and Wales there is no general legal right to camp wild. A few areas are tolerated by long-standing local custom, and some landowners will happily agree if you ask in advance, but toleration is not permission and can be withdrawn at any time. If you are unsure, ring the national park authority or the estate office. Two minutes on the phone removes all the guesswork, and wardens are far more likely to point you towards a decent pitch if you have bothered to check.

Arrive late, leave early, and pitch like you were never there

The old advice holds up remarkably well. Walk in during the evening, pitch as the light goes, and be away by eight the next morning. You avoid the busiest hours on the path, you disturb grazing animals far less, and you leave no impression on anyone else's day.

When choosing a spot, look for ground that is already bare — gravel, rock, dry tussock, or ground that has clearly been camped on before. Avoid:

• Sphagnum moss, lichen, alpine flowers and anything that looks slow-growing
• Boggy hollows, which bruise badly and hold the imprint of a tent for years
• Footpath edges, where you will widen the erosion scar
• Field entrances, gateways and anywhere livestock will want to pass
• Within 30 metres of a loch, river or stream, and never on the outflow of a tarn

Keep the group small — two or three tents at most — stay one night only, and don't dig trenches or move stones to level the ground. Modern lightweight mats make all of that unnecessary.

Everything you carry in, you carry out

Human waste is the part people find awkward to talk about, so here it is plainly. If there is soil deep enough, dig a hole about 20cm deep, well away from water and paths, and cover it properly. On rocky summits, in thin peat, or anywhere near a popular bothy or pitch, that is not an option, so carry it out in a sealed bag. Wet wipes go in the bag too — they do not decompose, and buried ones resurface.

The same goes for tea bags, orange peel, apple cores and every scrap of packaging. None of it belongs in the hills. Use a stove rather than a fire; even a small fire scars the ground, and a peat fire can smoulder underground for days and start a wildfire in dry conditions. Check the fire risk warning before any trip in spring or a dry summer, and simply don't light up if the ground is tinder.

Livestock, wildlife and the quiet seasons

Close every gate you pass through, even if you found it open, and never camp in a field with cattle if you can avoid it. Cows with calves are unpredictable, and a tent between a cow and her calf is a genuine hazard. Store food sealed and out of reach, and never feed anything, however charming it looks.

Timing matters too. Ground-nesting birds such as curlew, lapwing, golden plover and dotterel nest between March and July, and a tent pitched on a nest ends the attempt outright. Spring is lambing, and autumn is the stalking season on many Scottish and northern estates, when you may be politely asked to take a different route on a particular day. Dogs should be on a short lead around livestock and during the nesting months.

Small courtesies that add up

Bothies are shared shelters, not private hotel rooms: keep them tidy, don't monopolise the space, and carry out more than you brought in. Park so that field gates, passing places and access tracks stay clear — blocked gates cause real problems for farmers and rescue teams alike.

Finally, take a spare bag and pick up a bit of litter that isn't yours. It costs nothing, it takes seconds, and it quietly builds the goodwill that keeps these fragile places open to people who want to sleep out under the stars. Camp as though the next person's welcome depends on you — because in a very real sense, it does.