Stars, stillness and a Spring reset at Fforest Fields

I write this to a chorus of wrens, chiff-chaffs and willow warblers, layered with the bleating of lambs and the low burble of a nearby stream. Not a car engine, police siren or news bulletin in earshot. I wish I could seal this soundtrack in a jar and uncork it on grey city mornings. 

If heaven were a campsite in Wales, I think I’ve found it. When I rolled into Fforest Fields, tucked in the Radnorshire uplands, with a column deadline looming, I planned to write about something entirely different. But that can wait because I can’t leave without sharing a little about my stay in the hope you, too, will find your way through the mountains to this magical place.

I came here to unfold myself after the worst of winters. I’d heard good things but wasn’t prepared for how deeply this place would settle into my bones. I mean, a campsite is a campsite, right? Pretty views if you’re lucky, and hot showers if you’re really lucky. I’ve always seen them as service stations for the soul: brief stopovers when life gets a bit lifey and you need to step off the carousel. 

I grew up half-feral, like Mowgli in pigtails, with the rugged slopes and waterfalls of the coal-scarred Eastern valley as my playground. Shoes were for wimps and tadpoles counted as legitimate souvenirs. As much as I couldn’t wait to flee to the bright lights, some part of me (the barefoot bit) is always trying to get back. Sure, having a John Lewis on your doorstep is handy, but nothing beats the simple pleasure of toes in the grass and a sky full of stars.

One of the many joys of Cymru is how wildness is never far away. Even from the busiest towns, you’re only a short drive from hills that feel untouched or coastlines that make you catch your breath. It’s easy to forget how much is on our doorstep until you find yourself standing in it, wondering why you waited so long. There’s still so much Wales I’ve not walked, seen, or stood still in. And damn, linear time is ticking. 

So when the clocks sprang forward, marking the end of a darker-than-usual winter, I craved a moment to breathe, welcome in whatever comes next, and quietly hope that something is shifting.

I’d bookmarked a folder of campsites to visit, and this time, my mouse hovered over Fforest Fields for reasons I couldn’t explain. I booked a pitch, packed my layers and headtorch, and headed north, driven by a gut-deep sense that I needed this. What I found outshone anything a five-star review could tell you.

Set on a 500-acre working family farm near Builth Wells, Fforest Fields has been lovingly tended since the late 80s by the Barstow family, who have a contagious passion for sharing this extraordinary living landscape. You feel it in everything: the warm welcome, the thoughtful touches, the stories the land seems to whisper. They have poured so much care into creating a sanctuary in the hills, explaining why many of their campers have returned for decades. 

The facilities are top-notch – they’ve thought of everything, from a drying room for wet layers to a coffee shop with homemade pizza in the summer. But it’s the landscape that steals the show. 

There are dozens of walking and cycling trails in a rich tapestry of fields, woodlands, pine glades and lakes. It’s a place that makes it easy to switch off (mostly). I did rely on two apps to deepen the magic: one to identify birds from their song and a stargazing app to trace constellations. But then the phone went back in my pocket (aside from one panicked Google after a camper joked that the low-circling red kites might mistake Joni, my chihuahua, for a snack. Turns out they prefer carrion to canines. Phew). 

I arrived to blue skies and beating sunshine, sticky from the road, and plunged straight into the swimming lake. The water was bracing, but I barely noticed as the heat peeled off me in layers. Swans, ducks, and Canada geese glided by, unbothered. Afterwards, I stretched out on the grass and dozed in the afternoon warmth. Slowly, then, all at once, I felt myself unwind. Three days here felt like two weeks, time becoming an accordion in the folds of the rolling hills. 

I travelled solo, an indulgence I’ve come to cherish. I do a lot of peopling in my work, and my neurodivergent brain craves medicinal solitude. But I met a lovely fellow solo camper who turned out to live a mile from me. We shared a fire and discovered about twifty mutual friends – because, Wales. 

There was solitude when I wanted it, too. The meditation hut, with its panoramic sheep-gazing window, became my daily retreat. I even treated myself to a relaxing Indian head massage. See? This is next-level camping. And for those who prefer a touch more comfort than canvas, there are yurts, a lodge, and even a cottage to hire.

The thing about hidden gems like Fforest Fields is you don’t want to shout about them in case they get overrun. But some things are too good not to share. Croeso. 

I’ll reluctantly pack away my things tonight, but a part of me will stay pitched on this hillside, under these stars, beside that shimmering lake. Because some places remind you of who you are – and what really matters – when the noise disappears.

If you’re craving stillness or the quiet magic of a sky full of ancient stars, try Fforest Fields. Just don’t all come at once.

For more information, visit www.fforestfields.co.uk.