After Hours: Forest Bathing in the Dark

The idea of wandering into the woods after sunset might sound a bit daft at first, like the start of a horror film or a questionable team-building exercise. But honestly? It’s one of my favourite ways to experience a woodland. The forest changes at night. It’s quieter, stiller, and yes, just a bit spookier.

Let’s be clear though, it’s not all mystical moonbeams and owl calls. Sometimes it’s accidentally walking into a spiderweb, swearing loudly, then pretending you were just startled by the majesty of the trees. Or mistaking a molehill for a hedgehog and gently whispering “hello little guy” to a clump of dirt. It happens.

What’s Different After Dark?

• Your brain goes a bit bonkers. Without light, your imagination cranks up to full power. That rustle in the brambles? Definitely not a squirrel, probably a serial killer deer. The silhouette ahead? Could be a tree. Could be Bigfoot. Who knows.
• Your senses get dramatic. You hear everything. Twigs snapping, leaves shifting, your own breath. You smell damp earth, wet bark, and possibly your own panic sweat.
• Time slows down. Not in a poetic way. More in a “how is it only 8:15?” kind of way.

Top Tips for Not Losing Your Mind (or Your Footing)

• Go with friends. You’ll feel less daft, and laughter makes the strange noises feel less spooky.
• Head torch = safety net. But try switching it off now and again and let your eyes do their thing. They can handle more than you think, and it adds so much to the atmosphere. Just give them a good ten or fifteen minutes to really adjust before you set off – you’ll feel them start pulling subtle shapes and then surprising outlines from the inky blackness. Just mind the dead logs!
• Stick to well-known routes. This is not the time to “see where this path goes.”
• Wear proper shoes. Dew + uneven ground + sandals = comedy fall waiting to happen.
• Expect the unexpected. Like tripping over a tree root, hearing frogs in surround sound, or discovering just how loud an owl can be when it’s right above your head.

Moments You Won’t Forget

One of my all-time favourites was a night walk with friends during which one of them shrieked ridiculously loudly because something brushed her leg, it turned out to be her own scarf caught in the breeze. We still remind her about it, often. The walk ended with us lying on our backs in the grass, watching the stars while one of the group tried to identify constellations and just made them up: “That one’s The Goat. And that’s… Steve.” We had no idea what we were looking at, but it didn’t matter.

Stargazing in the Glade

There’s something deeply grounding about lying in an open woodland glade, especially on a clear night. The air cools, the trees frame the edges of the sky like a natural planetarium, and suddenly you’re not looking at the stars, you’re in them.

I do this a lot when I’m in Africa. Out there, with zero light pollution and a horizon that stretches for miles, the night sky feels enormous. Not just big. Enormous. Like it could tip over and spill stars all over you. You can actually see the Milky Way, clear as anything. Not just a twinkle here and there, but layers upon layers of stars, like someone shook glitter across a vast velvet cloth. You stop thinking about emails and dinner plans. You just… float. It’s oddly freeing to feel so tiny.

One star I always look for is Sirius, the Dog Star. Not just because it’s bright (though it is, it’s the brightest in the night sky), but because I once read it resonates at the same frequency as Earth. Whether that’s technically true or more of a poetic rumour, I don’t actually care. I love the idea that it hums a tune that matches our own.

It reminds me of an acoustics test I heard about… if you strike a G note on a piano at one end of a room, the G string on a guitar leaning against the wall at the other might vibrate too, just quietly. Same note, same frequency, bouncing through the space between. I find that oddly comforting, that something so far away, seemingly disconnected, could still make something here respond. So maybe, just maybe, lying still under a sky full of stars, you’re picking up the cosmic version of that. A vibration. A whisper. A constant signal to us that we’re part of something much bigger, even if we don’t fully understand it yet.

Bonus tip: Time it with a meteor shower. The Perseids are a good one to watch for in the British summer, mid-August usually, and they’re bright, frequent, and incredibly satisfying to spot. Other showers pop up through the year too. Look up the dates, mark your calendar, and if the sky’s clear, just go. There’s something about seeing streaks of light tearing across the sky that makes you gasp out loud like a kid again. Not only that, it connects you with something ancient. The stars we see now are the same ones that lit up our ancestors’ lives.

Why Bother Heading Out After Dark?

Because the forest at night has a kind of quiet you just don’t get during the day. It pulls your attention outwards, away from phone screens and to-do lists, and into the world right in front of you. Your body comes alive and your senses tune in. Once you get used to it, there’s a strange kind of calm in walking through the dark and realising you’re not scared, you’re actually peaceful. Even when you are scared, it’s often just your brain making shapes in the shadows.

So go on, grab a friend, a torch, and a healthy sense of humour, and give it a go. The woods are waiting, and they’ve seen far sillier things than you.