I knocked the truck into low range and felt it haul itself out of the rut with a satisfying mechanical grunt. We bounced onwards down the track, the heated cabin keeping us snug whilst the suspension did its best with the rough terrain. On either side, lush green bracken stretched away towards the northern foothills of the Black Mountains, which loomed ever larger through the windscreen.
Reaching the middle of the deserted common, I cut the engine. The throaty diesel died, replaced by proper silence – just wind whistle and the occasional bleat from passing sheep. This felt like the perfect spot to stop for the night. We weren't miles from civilisation, but compared to most places you can park a campervan, this felt nicely off the beaten track. Which was rather the point – this was no ordinary camper.
Don't get me wrong, I'm as keen on wild camping as the next dirtbag. Some of my best adventures have involved carrying everything on my back. But occasionally, a few home comforts don't go amiss. My other half Ellie agrees, and our border collie Cadi has definitely developed a taste for the finer things in life. Remarkable really, considering she was born on a sheep farm at the foot of Snowdon.
That’s why we decided to take a mini road trip in a fully kitted-out 4x4 camper truck. Armed with walking gear and a sense of adventure, we piled in and headed for the Brecon Beacons – one of our favourite places to explore, whether on foot or four wheels.
In recent years, a new breed of UK campervan rental has emerged. Rather than standard vans or motorhomes, these companies offer proper overland 4x4 vehicles – everything from Defender roof-tent rigs to lifted vans with serious off-road rubber. The idea is to get you places that regular campervans simply can't reach.
Our ride, courtesy of Wild Camper Trucks, was a 4x4 Ford Ranger pickup with a fully self-contained camping cabin in the back. We're talking double bunk, fridge-freezer, roll-out awning, hot water, portable projector, and gas hob. The truck also packs off-grid essentials like an outdoor shower, portable toilet, freshwater tank, diesel heater, and solar panels. Cyclists and paddlers can add an optional trailer for bikes and kayaks, whilst 25 trees get planted to offset emissions from each hire and assuage your carbon guilt.
It's an impressive-looking beast that looks built to survive a zombie invasion. External mounts for sand ladders, plus a mean-looking axe and shovel, complete the apocalypse-ready aesthetic. This does mean you'll need to get used to being a roadside attraction – we smiled and waved at countless phone-wielding passers-by as we rolled through Abergavenny, Brecon, and Hay-on-Wye.
The truck proved surprisingly easy to drive though. Were it not for the raised eyebrows and pointing fingers, you'd barely notice you were piloting anything particularly unusual.
Despite the truck's off-grid capabilities, we spent our first night at a picturesque campsite on the Brecon Beacons' northern fringes. Partly for the handy location, partly to familiarise ourselves with all the truck's features (translation: get everything out and put it all back again), and partly because I wanted to tackle Gospel Pass – Wales's highest mountain road.
Starting from Hay-on-Wye, it climbs steeply to 1,801ft, squeezing between Twmpa (Lord Hereford's Knob – yes, really) and Hay Bluff before dropping into the valley beyond. It's mostly single-track with numerous passing places and small car parks – popular starting points for hillwalkers and an irresistible challenge for anyone with proper off-road kit.
The pass demanded focus, but the truck coped easily with the steep sections. Epic doesn't begin to cover it. We seized the opportunity to bag Hay Bluff too – a bit of a ritual whenever we visit the area. Cadi particularly relished stretching her legs after being confined to the back seat. As we climbed towards the grubby white trig pillar at the summit, I looked back at the truck, perched rather precariously at the narrow road's edge. Predictably, a small crowd had gathered for photos.
On the return journey, we detoured through a ford – wholly unnecessary but thoroughly enjoyable. Back at the campsite, I pitched the side awning for shade and grabbed folding chairs from the storage locker. With cold cans from the fridge and Cadi settled on a picnic blanket, we made ourselves comfortable. "I could get used to this," I thought contentedly.
The evening passed in a pleasant haze of laughter, drinks, and Ellie's hearty corned beef hash. As the sun dropped behind the horizon, bathing everything in golden light before the sky turned deep inky blue, I switched on the truck's external lights. When the chill crept in, the temptation to retreat into the cosy camper proved irresistible. Snugly tucked inside, it was hard to contemplate swapping this luxury for a cold tent.
Next morning dawned bright and fresh. Over breakfast, we hatched a plan to tackle another epic mountain road: the Black Mountain Pass, cutting across the Brecon Beacons' western corner from Llandovery to Brynamman. One of Wales's most famous driving roads, it sweeps through valleys, between high hedges, twisting and turning before rising through pasture and over narrow bridges spanning mountain streams.
Petrolheads still call it 'the Top Gear road' after Jeremy Clarkson memorably drove it in 2011, tackling notorious hairpin bends in a drop-top Mercedes SLK55 AMG with 416bhp and a 0-60 time of 4.5 seconds. We, in contrast, were piloting a 2.5-tonne pickup with a 600kg camper unit in the back. Our progress was decidedly more sedate, but the truck pulled gamely uphill to conquer the 1,600ft crest.
Like much of Wales's uplands, this is mining country. For centuries, quarrymen toiled here extracting limestone, smashing it with sledgehammers and baking it in lime kilns at 900°C to produce quicklime. Dangerous, difficult work where accidents were commonplace. The remnants are still evident today, particularly at Herbert's Quarry, where we stopped to survey the scene.
Most of the lime workings lie at the foot of Garreg Lwyd, a 616m peak that – obviously – demanded bagging. We pulled daypacks from the truck, laced our boots, and spread a map on the bonnet. A short stretch of the Beacons Way led us south to the summit, marked with a trig pillar.
We climbed into clag but found the trig without difficulty, amidst jumbled boulders and a giant heap of shattered limestone. The breeze picked up as we picked our way to the highest point. We hadn't seen another soul up here – there's no freedom quite like the freedom of the hills.
Which made me realise something. As much as I'd enjoyed our taste of camper truck life, I won't be giving up walking and wild camping anytime soon. After all, real adventure begins where the road ends, and there are places even a 4x4 can't reach. Having said that, I’d enjoyed our getaway so much that I was already thinking about the next road trip…
