An occasional night exposed to the elements in an emergency bivouac or snowhole can usually be endured without undue consequence, but in extended, multi-day excursions in the mountains, a good night's rest is a prerequisite to ensuring one is fit for the following day's exertions.

On popular, well-frequented routes, a variety of indoor accommodation may be possible.

In Scotland, on a climbing tour of Wester Ross, I stayed in youth hostels, while in collecting my final Munros I had a sound night's sleep in the reputedly haunted Ben Alder cottage - one

of the many bothies to be found in remote

corners of the Highlands. Walkers doing the West Highland Way can even stay in hotels.

In Europe and New Zealand, Alpine huts, not always an inappropriate term (some so-called huts in the Austrian Tyrol are three-

storeyed, stone-built buildings more akin to hotels) provide stepping stones to the summits - although sometimes their approach routes can be as difficult and dangerous as the final climb.

In the Nepal Himalaya, most of the tea-shops used by the traditional porter system for carrying trade goods have now been converted

to lodges for the use of today's independent trekkers. Additionally, the number of new,

purpose-built lodges has mushroomed since my first visit 12 years ago, and although quality has improved, the overall level of hygiene, sanitation and cleanliness still leaves much to be desired.

There is nothing worse than an attack by bed or stomach bugs to ruin a night's rest or

completely spoil a trek or climbing expedition.

The alternative, which I prefer whenever possible, is to use a tent. On my camping treks in the Nepal Himalaya my tent, like an Englishman's home, is my castle, my personal sanctuary. Carrying one's own tent also enables access to remote, uninhabited wilderness areas.

However, camping is not without its trials and tribulations.

An ability to disregard assorted sounds

from the great outdoors is an essential attribute, but in the Tamang village of Tibling, in the Ganesh Himal, the unheeded rustlings in the grass were made by sneak thieves who slashed the side of my tent and made off with my first-aid box and a bag containing most of my clothes.

Encamped at Gokyo in the Solu Khumbu during the freak storm of November, 1995, I was lucky to escape from my tent before it collapsed under the weight of snow. Memories were revived last autumn in the remote yak pastures of Thare Teng where we were again caught in a prolonged, two-day blizzard, but hourly patrols throughout the night to brush the snow off our tents overcame the problem.

Backpacking around the South Island of New Zealand, the weather was even more changeable than in Scotland, with frequent depressions blowing in from the Tasman Sea.

In the White Horse campsite beneath Mt Cook, the arrival of the next squall was heralded by the howling of the wind through the surrounding trees. One particularly violent gust whipped my flysheet clean away. Several sleepless nights were spent holding on to the tent poles. My ice-axe came in useful as an entrenching tool. Even for non-climbing camping treks in the Nepal Himalaya, ice-axes are an indispensable item for this purpose, and for making fire-places and excavating pits.

Animals can be another hazard. Returning from a climb in the Matukituki Valley near Queenstown, I found my tent had been trampled and torn by a herd of cows, while in the foothills of Mt Whitney, in California, something chewed a hole in the groundsheet and gorged itself on a loaf of bread.

Trying to erect my tent in Death Valley, I found it impossible to fit the flysheet over the ridgepole, which had expanded in the sweltering heat while the fabric had shrunk. At the other temperature extreme, the coldest night I have endured under canvas was a bone-biting -25C at the Panch Pokhari at the head of the isolated Hongu Valley in the Everest region. It was worse than that at high snow camps on Mera Peak and on the Trashi Labtse high pass. As in the glens of Scotland, it can be colder on the valley floor than on the surrounding mountainsides.

However, such tribulations have been far

outweighed by the many more pleasurable

experiences enjoyed - especially some of the spectacular views obtained in the evenings

and mornings from my tent door, such as the glorious sunset on Loch Hourne, when camped in Barrisdale Bay, the desert sky in the sub-Sahara beneath the High Atlas, or from Dhaulagiri Base Camp of the great avenue of 7000-metre peaks lining the sides of the Chonbarden Glacier.