Why a Roof Tent Babymoon is a Brilliant Idea

Most mums-to-be book a babymoon for pampering to a soundtrack of pan pipes, posh suppers and putting their feet up in a fluffy robe, but not Charlotte Vowden.

Well into my eighth month of pregnancy, it was five days before Christmas when we set up camp in north Wales. Checking into our poly-cotton penthouse suite, all 29.4 sq ft of it atop an INEOS Grenadier, we chose to overnight at the foot of Tryfan; a jagged and instantly recognisable mountain in the Ogwen Valley. How’s that for terrace views?

To get there we’d followed the A5 from Shrewsbury, a road that runs out at the ferry port of Holyhead. The stretch from Capel Curig, with the Carneddau and Glyderau ranges in view, was particularly beautiful in the copper-toned winter sun. In fair weather, peaks can be a dependable compass.

Providing a sturdy base for our overnight perch, the 3.5-tonne Grenadier was loaded to the gunnels. With more than 2,000 litres of lugging capacity, filling the Trailmaster Edition Station Wagon was quite the feat for two people, plus bump. Our essentials included a car seat for the unborn bairn, just in case their arrival caught us out.

Allowing my better half to do the heavy lifting, i.e. deploy the tent in the fading light, I kept myself busy with finishing touches. Festooned with fairy lights, our setup looked suitably festive. At home, or out in the Welsh wilds, nesting is nesting. Right?

Planning a one pan cook up so the elements of our meal would slip into a bun without fuss, we had no need for forks or linen napkins. A feast we could hold in our hands and a scrap of kitchen roll would suffice. If only we’d packed the bottled-gas… 

The elevated patty I’d curated comprised a filling of roast turkey, pigs in blankets and stuffing, accompanied by cheese and cranberry sauce. But with our ride immobilised and supply shops long since shut, it would take a Christmas miracle to replace what we’d left behind. A Hallmark movie life is not.  

So, we took the menu back to basics. De-escalating dinner to a cheese roll that required no cooking, we did attempt to melt butter in the warm air that flowed from the vents on the Grenadier’s dashboard.

Bellies full, we prised our posteriors away from the heated seats and retired to the first floor. With a Tupperware of snacks I must add. You never know when pregnancy cravings might strike. First though, there was the matter of the baby pressing on my bladder to address. While having a wild wee, I pondered the darkness around us. It possessed an eerie beauty. The mystery of what, or who, might be out there was amplified by a dot of light in the distance. The gentle flutters of our baby in my belly was a reminder that we really weren’t alone.

Lacking a hoist, I navigated the ladder carefully, ensuring a sturdy footing on each rung. Once the ascent was complete, I flung the container of treats across the threshold before executing a sort of commando roll through the rain canopy to deposit myself inside.

With an insulated polyfoam mattress, blackout canvas and trio of windows – one above the head for gazing at the heavens – the iKamper 3.0 was the outdoor equivalent of a five star hotel. Except you bring your own bedding and torches. A world map on the far wall provided a focal point for us to fantasise about far flung adventures, and my husband would be a dutiful butler, night porter and concierge.

Over six foot up, we were out of reach of roaming beasts. Most notably, the native sheep. We were however, vulnerable to the whims of the weather. Thoughts of trying to get some kip downstairs crept in around midnight, when the 40mph winds forecast arrived. Pummelling our fabric bolt hole, the gusts maintained their gusto well into the early hours. My brain was completely wired.

Running through irrational worst case scenarios while my husband snored lightly beside me – what if the wind rips us from the roof of the Grenadier?! – I raided the treat tub for comfort. Flapjacks and chocolate are my go-to it’s going to be OK foods. Still, I didn’t yearn for a plushy bedroom with en suite. Pregnancy insomnia meant that a decent night’s sleep was a thing of the past, and for me being in such close proximity to nature is more revitalising than a soak in a hot bath. You can forget spritzing a load of lavender spray in the air too.

You see, if you see winter as a season to embrace, it really is an opportunity. Quieter roads, quieter places. I viewed pregnancy that way too. Rather than chase the sunshine to another country or hibernate, I sought outdoor intrepidness, fresh air and big skies; a bit of a challenge for our last hurrah before becoming parents. That just so happened to take place in the darkest month of the year.

Unzipping our front door in the morning, a chill nipped at the end of my nose. That beats any bougie holistic therapy in my book. Languishing the moment, I wondered, how long would it be before we’d be pitching up somewhere as a three? Daydreaming about our maiden voyage – where would it be? – I gazed at the leaden mist that clung to Tryfan.

Without means to heat water or cook breakfast, we packed away our sleeping bags and tucked away the tent. With the locks and latches securely fastened, we hit the road, and although we could travel safely at over 60mph with the iKamper mounted to the roof, we thought it unwisely to do so. Take it slowly and you take more of your whereabouts in.

We spent days exploring the byways of north Wales; the hum and vibration of the trail soothing our little one en route. It’s said that babies respond to sounds and vibrations in the womb, so the come-hithering growl of the diesel B57 engine didn’t fall on deaf ears.

Capable of serious off-roading, we didn’t use the Grenadier to its fullest potential this time round, but if we’d had need to make a sudden dash to the hospital, it would have got us there come hell or high water – a max depth of 0.8m to be precise. Had it required a cross-country clamber, it could have hauled itself up near-vertical rough-stuff terrain. Plus, because it’s built like a brick, ahem, house, it has the reassuring stature of a leviathan god. Which in turn made me feel incredibly safe.

Part bonkers, part brave, but utterly brilliant, I’d recommend a road-cum-rooftop camping trip for anyone on the cusp of becoming a parent. Make the most of the intimacy that a two-person tent enforces while you can. 

Words & Photography Charlotte Vowden Instagram

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Top tips for rooftop tenting when you’re pregnant

• Climb with caution Morning dew, frost or rain drops will make the ladder a slip hazard. Add grip tape to the rungs for careful measure. 

• Take snacks to bed Pregnancy cravings, nuff said.

• Take heed of the forecast Carrying a baby is endurance enough. Reschedule if the conditions are set to be extreme.

• Set up camp near the loos Got the luxury of a toilet block? Save yourself the waddle and park as close as you can. Or, pack a sheewee and save the trip.

• Delegate Appoint someone else for the slog of assembly and disassembly; you’re doing your bit by growing a human.

• Zip up, real tight Don’t risk free-falling out of the tent, the bouncing baby bit comes after they’re born.

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