I’ve got my bike ready, my bag packed and I’m eager to set off for a weekend ride. With me at our north London meeting point are 12 other people, all feeling exactly the same. None of us has the faintest idea where we’re going, but it’s OK, it’s meant to be this way – we’re going on a secret adventure.
It’s not long before the only person who does know our destination arrives. Madoc Threipland is the founder of Secret Adventures, a London-based travel company with a twist: many participants sign up unaware of where they’ll be going or what they’ll be doing.
Running since the beginning of the year, the company aims to get city dwellers out of their normal routines and reawaken what Threipland calls “a dormant sense of adventure”. From kayaking under Tower Bridge to skinny dipping in hidden lakes, each trip offers something unexpected or unusual.
I’ve joined the first “tiny island” adventure, and all I know is that we’ll be cycling out of London to spend the night wild camping on a secret island (it’s technically illegal, but we’ll be sure to leave no trace). I was told I needed little more than a bicycle, a bivvy bag, a dry bag and the ability to swim 50 metres. The idea filled me with giddy, childlike excitement. It sounded like something from an Enid Blyton novel.
“OK everyone, follow me,” says Threipland, and we pedal after him, out of Hackney and on to the river Lea towpath, heading north. At first the scenery is imposing and industrial, but the grey city landscape is soon diluted by green countryside. Before long only the occasional outer London bus rumbling over a bridge reminds us that we’re still within reach of the capital.
The ride is gentle, flat and almost all off road, giving the group the chance to chat and get to know each other. Most are London professionals seeking escape from busy schedules, and we range from beginner cyclists and weak swimmers to seasoned adventurers.
Along the way, Threipland reveals the occasional clue to pique our interest. “It’s 20 miles from here,” and “The island’s as long as here to that wall.” It feels as if we’re peeling back layers of wrapping from a parcel, revealing a little more of what’s inside as we go. As the sun begins to set, we know the island is close. A mix of fear and excitement sweeps over the group as it dawns on us that our swim into the unknown lies ahead.
A little further on we pull on to a grassy track, and shortly afterwards Threipland announces, with a pointing arm: “That’s our island.” We’re standing by a small lake somewhere in Essex, looking across in fascination at a greeny-brown mound perched on the water, our home for the night.
We leave our bikes hidden in the undergrowth and prepare for the swim, packing our dry bags and hoping for no leaks. As we ease ourselves into the lake, groans and squeals fill the air as the water chills our skin. But soon, all that remains are gentle splashes lapping against our bags as they drift alongside us. It’s strangely liberating to have all I need for the night floating with me as I swim.
Threipland makes it across first, and by the time I’m there a fire is burning brightly on the island, lighting the way through the dusk. One by one, we pull ourselves triumphantly out of the water and check our bags. I breathe a sigh of relief to find the inside of mine bone dry. Some aren’t quite so lucky, and the crackling flames are soon drying clothes as well as bodies.
Roughly the size of half a dozen tennis courts, the island is dotted with willow trees and scraggly bushes, nothing more. It’s small, unimposing and simple. London’s glow sits on the horizon and occasionally a plane or train rumbles by, pleasant reminders that though we feel so cut off from normality, it’s not very far away.
A spicy stew and couscous are rustled up over the fire, and we share stories as we eat, before climbing into our bivvy bags for the night. Without a tent, I become aware of how exposed my senses are to the world. I fall asleep with a breeze on my face and the sight of stars peeping from between the towering trees, and in the morning awake to happily quacking ducks.
After packing up and swimming back, we breakfast at a cafe before heading to Broxbourne station. The train whisks us back into central London and the adventure comes to an end. Stepping from the platform and back into the vast, busy city, it’s hard to imagine that just a few hours ago I’d been a temporary inhabitant of a tiny island, a secret little world of our own.
In a society where so much is pre-planned and information so easily accessible, this secret adventure forced me to let go of my over-organised self and open my imagination. Secret Adventures offers a sense of wonder, intrigue and anticipation. As biologist Thomas Henry Huxley once said: “The known is finite, the unknown infinite.”
Upcoming Secret Adventures
Adventures run throughout the year. The next, a secret skinny dip in London on 17 October, costs £5pp. On the canal in a canoe runs 21 October from east London and costs £36pp; night kayaking in London runs is on 24 October, £59pp, including dinner; winter wilderness weekend in a secret location in Wiltshire runs 13-15 February, £190. For more information and booking see meetup.com/secretadventures
