Friday, May 27
Still upright, still breathing!
Preparing for my next wildcamping escape to Dartmoor I've been reviewing over 20 years of trip notes in an attempt to consolidate it all onto one single map.
Which has meant turning the house upside down looking for old trip notebooks, for details of precise routes.
Which in turn resulted in a review of all my Dartmoor photos, trying to locate/date various interesting spots I'd marked as potential revisit spots one day.
Which brings me back to this blog.
(Phew, talk about a long winded way to eventually get to the point)
In these days of Facebook\Vidlogs etc I'd long ago come to the conclusion that the glorious days of 'The Outdoor Blog' were over.
And it really doesn't help that so many of the original (and much mourned) fellow travellers seem to be no longer around to swop notes and ideas in such a suitable forum. Many since gone on their own solo walk from which they will never return - miss you folks.
So it seems the useful days of shared information exchange have largely disappeared with the spattergun effects from the impact of Facebook et al.
Then there is the look & feel of this blog's format itself. I have trouble finding information myself! And I wrote/host it, so what chance do the rest of you have?
In the days of laptop\web browser viewing it worked, but for mobile users? Nah a right pig to navigate. Whatever the value of the content, if you can't get to it easily, it may as well be manure. Not to be waded through recklessly.
Time for a think as to this site's future.
Once it was a useful method of recording my trips logs, but became a generally beneficial communication tool for others seeking information or (whisper it gently) entertainment.
After my next trip, with time again to spare, I'll see how relevant this remains. Depends if I have the drive to transfer my trip jottings over to the web.
(At least recording my trips on here I don't have to spend fruitless time searching for my bloody trip reports)
And perhaps there is a simple way to migrate this site to a new platform, one that is mobile friendlier. (any tips out there?)
Tapping out these jottings are a little like whistling into a deep mineshaft of solitary disinterest, so if there's anyone still out there, why not leave me a comment?
It'll inform my decision on where this goes next.....
Cheers wildcampers
Labels: Backpacking Advice, blog media, dartmoor, Mental Health, National Park, UK Outdoors Blogger, uk walking blog
Tuesday, September 29
Three things to do to Enjoy England
As you may have spotted on other sites some outdoor Bloggers have been approached by Jam to contribute to the Guardian's forthcoming ‘Enjoy England’ feature.
Speed reading the invitation my initial thought was 'Great! Finally hit the big time. A chance to kick over the traces of the day job".
Regrettably, a later slower perusal revealed a less glittering outcome.
But hey-ho; Ideas for these ramblings of mine can come from any direction and are all encouraged in whatever guise they might arise. So here's tonight's jottings, based around a common theme.
Solitude
According to recent government statistics the UK will soon only have living room for 423,138 more people before our landmass achieves its maximum level of population saturation.
New laws, allegedly being drafted as I write, plan to introduce measures that will require all UK inhabitants to take Breaths-In & Breaths-Out in an alternative mode to their nearest neighbour, rather than risk those in coastal areas being slowly edged off into the sea as the majority of the populace inhale simultaneously.
A little like a living Penny Fall shuffle fairground machine.
Well perhaps things aren't quite that bad. Yet. I may even have (whisper it gently) exaggerated so very slightly. But its true that urban living, now encompassing anyplace, short of living at the bottom of a lake, is becoming increasingly over populated & pressurised.
Here's a secret. This is a facet of modern society which can be so easily thwarted with a little personal effort.
Park the car. Start walking away from the road, and into your nearest piece of countryside. Take care to avoid well worn footpaths & tracks. Just keep going, veering clear of any signs of human habitation. Especially tourist features (Particularly Forestry Commission attractions. Honey pot to the Urban Daytripper. A wasp filled jam-jar to this writer)
Now Stop.
Take a deep breath.
And just listen to that glorious sound of ..... your own sweet self. Finally alone with nature.
Like this early morning alarm clock during my Dartmoor Dawdle in June 2008
"I had a lie-in until the sun poked its nose over the ridge, giving me the chance stay in my sleeping bag and listen to the song of the skylarks for twenty minutes of so. And I mean really listen. Lying there with no other distraction my concentration was fully given over to their repetitive trills, before their song veered on to yet another melody. No other background noise to taint the sound. A sublime experience"
Wildcamping
Despite somewhat draconian camping constraints under English law there are still pockets of wild uninhabited places in England that allow one to simply disappear from everyday humanity with little fuss, effort or expense.
With minimal equipment & a easy willingness to dispense with life's trappings & fripperies whole areas of England, rarely visited by most of the population are opened up.
Entry is free!
True it requires some degree of self-reliance & self confidence. In turn the benefit is a self-awareness at a level that most people would find difficult to comprehend. The easily discovered ability to spend a night in a wild place, somewhere apparently uninhabitable for so many, builds a bond with the natural world that once experienced cannot be forgotten.
Unlike so many shiny promises offered in our ' enlightened' times a repeat of this experience always seems to triggers some primordial Sigh from deep down within the brain's limbic region.
Freeze, Flight or Fight?
Not necessarily. Some of us know of a fourth way (Grasshopper).
Reckon I should start a cult?
Dartmoor
A desolately inhabited place of some 368 square miles, and yet an area both within easy access of millions of urbanites with major road access, and a place that positively encourages Wildcamping.
To the majority, trundling across tight moorland roads, it may seem an endless expanse of open land & weirdly sculpted Tor tops, mostly shrouded in thick mist & heartily driven rain. To guests of the HMP Dartmoor establishment, at Princetown, possibly a beckoning view, somewhere green & encouraging beyond thick Napoleonic walls of retribution.
For some an equally scary proposition when viewed from the comfort of a car. But after a few visits into Dartmoor's interior, by foot, the rich history of earlier human habitation springs into being. Neolithic stone rows to the more recent historic drippings of mine tramways, all underline that this was once one of the more densely populated place in England during past eras when a wooded valley was a places of Danger & Threat.
Forget the forlorn baying of the Sherlock Holme's Baskerville Hound. Instead learn to celebrate a place once full of life, and eager to share its secrets, many long forgotten, for those prepared to explore away from the modern day tarmacadam detour of bland conformity.
Or just stay inside the safety of that car.
Going from Nowhere. Leading to Nowhere. Please exit at the cliffside departure gate along with your fellow lemmings.
Was that Three Things to Do in England? Perhaps not quite what the Guardian invitation had in mind?
Whatever - just get out into some distant English wild place, and soak up its true nature. Far from the crush of humanity.
Better be quick. Tourist No. 423,139 arrives in 4 years time. And then this island starts to slowly sink into the sea.
Me? I'll be on Yes Tor. Having a brew & watching the sunset.
Glug .... glug .... glug.
Labels: dartmoor, media, Mental Health, National Park, nature
Friday, July 24
Running fast. Standing still.
A combination of work, home and the usual day to day life drudge means that any time spent in front of this damned mono visual blinking radiation emitting time wasting device (aka Internet PC) are few and far between at present.
I've managed to keep up with my regular blog/forum reads each day, although any interaction in those places has also been similarly limited by time & energy.
Regrettably my fine record of monthly wildcamps that started so well (and so early this year), has turned to a pile of mush in response to circumstance. Many of these beyond my direct control, but all requiring the mature & supportive responses that I like to think is part of what make me Who I Am.
But today, at the end of yet another endlessly milling week I've uncovered a few hours of my own. Time to sit back & spend some solitary moments on my own whims. Something that during the last few weeks I've felt increasingly driven to saviour during the pell-mell rush that seems to be my waking existence.
Now is that time, more than ever, when I feel drawn to find that special renewal of spirit that comes with a few night's wildcamping in some lonely and desolate wild location. Far from my fellow human, but so close to the true reality of existence. Water. Shelter. Food. Nature. Bliss.
But for the moment my dismally puny recharge comes as I think back to some of those high ridge wildcamps. Places where I sat savouring the blending of Time, Space & Solitude.
The quiet gap that follows the end of a long day's trek.
The wildcamp pitch. Refuelling the body's needs.
And then an opportunity to fill the gap before sleep by busily doing nothing in particular but become one with the surroundings. True - only a transitory visitor. But one open to the measure and pleasure of the temporary resting place.
Meanwhile there are the trip reports from fellow Outdoor Bloggers as they discuss their recent sorties out in the Great Outdoors (You lucky sods!)
All this helps keep me on the right side of sanity. Although those who have met me know that such a description is always applied a little warily when citing my general demeanour.
So for now I teeter (titter?) along life's own high ridge. Balancing The Present alongside The Past. Awaiting The Future where control of my own moments & movements can one again be retaken in a more selfish manner.
So what if this summer is yet again turning out to be damp and changeable?
The weather is warm. The grass is full grown. Tree crowns are dark and leaf laden.
Get out there if you are able. Saviour these moments.
To store up pleasant memories for colder days ahead.
And I don't mean the Winter.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Saturday, April 4
Depression & Alleviation: Learn from the past.
Driving home through rush hour traffic the other evening I caught the tail end of a BBC Radio 4 program "The Medicalisation of Normality" Half listening as I concentrated on surviving the onslaught of kamikaze drivers my ears pricked up at a snippet from Dr Paul A Keedwell discussing an alternative approach to the modern pill-pop=fix approach to an extremely common medical problem.
I was sufficiently intrigued to track down the programme in which the good Doctor suggested that the African Banda tribe, Australian Aboriginals and Native American Indian traditions offered their own systematised ways to enable people to drop out and go somewhere to introspectively reappraise their own needs alongside their position & responsibility within society. The American Indian via a Vision Quest, the Aborigine by a Walkabout. A ritualised way of taking time-out.
A little bit of Googling turned up this extract from his book:
"If we ignore the ultimate causes of depression and go for the quick fix of the pill alone we might find that sufferers become stuck in depression or that depression recurs. We need to learn the lessons of so-called ‘primitive societies’ like the Banda tribe where the ‘illness of thoughts’ is managed with ‘Time Out’ from normal responsibilities. If, in a modern urban society, escape from persistent stress is impossible (due to dehumanising jobs and institutions, consumerist and celebrity culture and lack of community and extended family support), perhaps that is the fault of a modern urban society and not the fault of depression. However, we can encourage and facilitate an adequate spell off work while helping the sufferer to think about whether they should be in a different job, or a different relationship, and so on. We need to ask "What makes you feel trapped and unfulfilled?" "What basic needs are you denying?""
I think I had long had this concept in mind when settling on a title for this Blog.
For after all, don't we all need a break from everyday affairs and responsibilities sometimes?
Its how we get that relief that can differ so widely; But is key to a continued and positive outlook on life and support for those around us.
Some find solace in alcohol. Others power, sex, or money. Some in abuse of themselves, or those near them.
Me? I go for a long walk. Resetting my world view in harmony with the real world. One which we all exist in on a daily basis, but so easily ignore. Or worse, one we believe we have bent to the will of an industrialised human society.
An errant view, that Nature delights in correcting on a regular basis.
Rats, forced into overpopulation in a limited area, and starved of mental and physical stimuli will eventually start to chew off their own tails.
I'm definitely going to keep getting out for those walks!Labels: Mental Health
Tuesday, December 9
Backpacking: The Curse or The Cure?
(I'd held this piece over in order to protect the privacy & activity of the individual involved)
I dropped Dawn off deep within the New Forest on a cold but sunny Friday. It was a quick return to the area for Dawn after her previous visit a few weeks ago. Well some areas just seem to cry out for further exploration.
Perversely, despite 20+ years of living on the edge of the National Park & hundreds of my own wanderings I've never been a big fan of the area. Too flat for the hill loving instincts inside me. But it works for others, on a number of levels. Selah.
The night before had been one of continuous heavy rain. Local farm footpaths, as I'd discovered earlier that morning, were flooded in highly unusual places. The winterbourne streams living up to their name as they rushed by carrying dirty brown flood water. A marked comparison to the dry beds this time last year. Not the ideal portent for a weekend's wild camping - particularly as Dawn was once again bivvying.
We stopped far from any villages. Just the occasional white painted cottage blinking from amongst the trees. Dawn kitted up. Nearby a herd of cows, thick winter coated, lay lazily in the weak sunshine watching this free cabaret of getting-the-gear-sorted. Nearby trees all bare of their leaves. But high in the branches above one tree, catching most of the low winter sun, was festooned with new white buds. All clearly framed against the backdrop of the cloudless blue sky. A heart lifting sign of Spring yet to come, even whilst the winter cold was nipping at we two ground dwellers below.
Dawn shouldered her pack, and moved off. A solo trip due to my own prior commitments. She walked off down the shale track with my parting advice on the lie of the land and tips to avoid the suspected results from the night's deluge.
As I started the car to leave I watched her wander off, already settling into her weekend solitude. Smiling at the pleasure of a long circular route following wherever the forest tracks & paths led.
On the way back home a thought popped unbidden into my head - had I just taken a lone woman deep into the New Forest, and left her miles from human assistance? Now there are probably quite a few people who I could happily do this for; Not in a well intentioned way. But if it was a family member or friend I would have questioned my own motives & more worryingly the intentions of the potential strandee.
This can be a Good Place To Get Lost, especially if that's the intention. Whilst many tourist spots teem like a disturbed ant-hill there are still remote areas of the Forest, away from the popular paths, where one can simply disappear. The renown New Forest bottomless bog may be mostly myth but it is all too possible to wander into one of the muddier areas and become stuck fast.
But as to Dawn's fate on the forthcoming weekend? I reflected guiltless, confident that two days later she'd pop back up at the coach stop, ready for a homeward trip.
I've heard it whispered that the Backpacker's Club is for people who don’t join clubs. My own infrequent meetings with various BPC members doesn’t corroborate that. But I have noted a certain tendency at times for …..well …….certain eccentricity.
Whilst most will have career, family and the usual day to day interactions expected from any socially adjusted human in today's society, there is a common difference. I'm not talking about the higher than expected average age of the club membership (although that may be an indicator of some sort, or a symptom)
All enjoy the outdoor world. Not just the quick jaunt around the car park for a couple of hours, but a driving desire to get out into those wilder places far from human activity. To be with the natural world.
It seems to me to be a common character trait that is continually demonstrated across most of the backpacking fraternity.
Self Reliance.
I don’t know if backpacking attracts those already having this characteristic, or whether it develops a latent potential. Whatever the impetus drop a backpacker in a challenging outdoor situation and you'll usually get a positive reaction quietly getting on with the basics of survival, and maybe even enjoyment.
Now is this the response you’d expect from the majority of Joe Public, stranded miles from easy mobile phone reception & coffee shop nutrients and clad in designer flimsy wear?
It’s a character attribute that seems to be rarer these days, especially amongst our youth. Those so carefully protected and closeted from various bogey-men dangers of growth to adulthood. Then, for many, seemingly unable to take personal responsibility for their action and continuing existence.
OK a sweeping generalisation.
However I offer this up as reflection of an increasingly common trend during the past twenty years or so. That self starting drive to get up. To go off. To do something requiring personal initiative despite likely physical discomfort. Something not necessarily flash, fashionable, or popular with the peer group. But something that answers the eternal call from the real world around us.
I woke Sunday morning to the heaviest frost of the year so far. The temperature had not risen above freezing point since dark fell the previous day. Thick hoar frost covered the grass and trees for most of the morning. In the afternoon, despite bright sunlight, shadowed places kept their frozen pools of thick ice.
I gave Dawn a quick thought in consideration of her night out in such bitter conditions. A long night sleeping on the ground. An early and bone chillingly cold start to the day. Completion of her wandering across the frozen landscape.
I bet she really enjoyed it.
Edit: Dawn's own report hereLabels: Mental Health, New Forest, uk walking blog
Saturday, September 27
Dorset BackPacking Club Meet
"Hell is other people" Jean-Paul Sartre - No Exit
Whoops, I bet you're already wondering where this one's going! Not the most positive sounding start I've offered up, but if you know the reference, the initial bleakness belies a wealth of hidden meaning. Deep chappies those fag smoking frenchie philosopher types. Or maybe just intelligible?
But nevertheless the quotation that I had running through my head on the trip back home from the Dorset Backpackers Club meet this weekend.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here - back to the beginning of the trip.
Battling Friday rush hour traffic, a delayed end to a busy working week, was not the way this weekend was intended to start. Add in emergency home repairs completed earlier that afternoon. As a result that evening found me in a frazzled state as I finally arrived at Tom's Field Campsite high on the Isle of Purbeck, near Swanage.
I'd anticipated a quiet corner, some gentle backpacking chat with other Dorset members and a little shop talk with fellow Blogger Darren. But as a late arrival at this particular party the scene was already set with tents piled deeply around the field nearest the toilets & shop.
And also the site's entrance, whose pertinence will become clear as this tale unfolds.
Shoe horning the Akto in alongside Darren's Hex tepee my practiced settling in was quickly sorted, and then to the traditional first brew of the weekend as my reward.
(pass the tin-opener)
But whats this? Already the sunny day is fading, as lengthening shadows cool the air, a call to switch to warmer clothing. What had happened to the day?
Barely time for a quick 'Hi' to the BPC members pitched several tents along the row, and to Darren alongside. All muttered against a backdrop of a screaming toddler somewhere amongst the nearby tents. Looking around I could see that this particular camping field already seemed to be filled to a rather high capacity. A mix of BPC members, young family groups, motor homes and lads-on-the-razz. Hmm an incendiary mix? Potentially.
Time for the pub. Reasonable food & beer and a friendly welcome. But as a local of these parts that irritating recognition that the food prices seemed to have been set mindful of the captive market from the two local camp sites, punters likely to pay-up without too much fuss. With the alternative pub dejectedly displaying a "For Sale" sign above its dark closed doorway we campers had a very limited choice. Market forces I believe it's called.
Trevor, the Dorset BPC rep kindly searched out Darren and myself, with an invite to join the other BPC members, unaware we were already working our way down our last beer, both happy to turn in early. But appreciative of the offer, and not wishing to abuse this friendly overture we sat and chatted for a short while with the other members before tendering our early excuses for the night. No slight intended to those we met, but we were more tired, rather than our normal scintillating company that evening. The BPC made us feel most welcome.
Head torchs slicing the darkness we crossed the field back to the site and our sleeping bags. Early at 9pm, but definitely needy of some shut eye.
Back to that campsite entrance now. Its proximity meant a steady stream of jolly pub returnees & and late arrivals to the campsite. As a result the hours onto midnight were regularly punctuated with car headlights illuminating the tent, the sound of car diesel motors passing close to the tent, and irregular outbreaks of happy campers on a night out.
None of these, I hasten to add, anything exceptional taken in isolation. But as a recurrent backdrop something that I'd rather not have around me.
As I reflected to Darren earlier in the evening, after catching myself once again whinging 'God, I hate campsites' my problem was not the site, but my reaction to it. I’d had a similar reaction during the BPC meet back in April (with rather more cause on that occasion)
And as for Swanage steam engine line. Which idiot thinks it makes for a happy experience to sound that bleedin' train whistle so late at night? And so repeatedly?
Have I finally morphed into a Grumpy Old Sod? (Mrs JH is not allowed an answer at this point. She's biased; And I know what her answer is without asking)
Far from it. Its more that after my wildcamping trips, mostly solo, and always far from the (for me) maddening crowds, these days I seem to have an aversion to the Happy Camper Syndrome - A cheap week of Outdoor Fun with BBQs, Beer, & Bitching. The group experience can work, as experienced on the Blogger meet-ups, out in the wild places, far from the towns.
Perhaps that reflects the attitude and expectations Joe Public Camper, compared to those whom I believe carry a deeper affinity for fitting in amongst natural surroundings. Not this scribe's arrogance I hope. Just mindful of some tactful re-education amongst the less experienced campers. But not a topic high on my agenda at 11:30 pm.
An observation reinforced early Saturday morning as I discovered an overnight arrival had pitched their tent so close to mine that I had to be wary opening my car door, in case I ripped their flysheet. Hmm, now that’s what I call tightly packed. And certainly an unintended slight I'm sure.
Out of the sleeping bag. Coffee bump start, cereal bar breakfast, and nicotine fix satiated I burst forth into ……….clag. Deep, wet and humid. Hopefully only sea mist following yesterday's heat, but for the moment a chilly start.
(A Purbeck clag greeting)
Darren's grinning report of his early success with bacon, eggs, frying pan and his Bush Buddy helped cheer me up. Well sort of - the swine. And on the plus side I got an extra hours sleep instead.
A chat shared with the BPC crew with some of their feedback on the Furtech Sleeping Bag which they were able to look over. The bag was this weekend's test kit, but despite my original intention wasn’t used Friday night (The reason for which will become apparent when I come to write that kit report)
(A subject of some discussion)
Bloggers Go To The Seaside? Well more like Darren and me off to the flesh pots of Swanage. Coffee & cakes. And sunshine - hurrah! For Darren a chance find of a new iPood (don’t ask - other people buy postcards or sticks of rock at the seaside, but nothing as predictable for our Darren)
(The World in Stone - Durlston Head)
A detour to the imaginative stone work on Durlston Head, and then back to a lazy afternoon playing with the sun whilst waiting for my tent to dry-off before finally departing homeward. Unfortunately the thought of a repeat of the previous night proving too much of a detraction I'm afraid.
No slur intended either on the campsite or the people I met, and especially no criticism of the Dorset BPC event.
More a personal recognition as to where my pleasure lies these days; Or more specifically, as I'm coming to realise, where it doesn't.
And that seems to be anywhere near organised camping facilities.Labels: Backpackers Club, blog media, Gear, Mental Health, nature
Friday, September 19
A Walk on the Wild Side :New Forest Walkabout
"Its Been Emotional" (Big Chris 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels': Vid Clip - 4'50)
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Tuesday, July 8
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
Preparing for my next wildcamping escape to Dartmoor I've been reviewing over 20 years of trip notes in an attempt to consolidate it all onto one single map.
Which has meant turning the house upside down looking for old trip notebooks, for details of precise routes.
Which in turn resulted in a review of all my Dartmoor photos, trying to locate/date various interesting spots I'd marked as potential revisit spots one day.
Which brings me back to this blog.
(Phew, talk about a long winded way to eventually get to the point)
In these days of Facebook\Vidlogs etc I'd long ago come to the conclusion that the glorious days of 'The Outdoor Blog' were over.
And it really doesn't help that so many of the original (and much mourned) fellow travellers seem to be no longer around to swop notes and ideas in such a suitable forum. Many since gone on their own solo walk from which they will never return - miss you folks.
So it seems the useful days of shared information exchange have largely disappeared with the spattergun effects from the impact of Facebook et al.
Then there is the look & feel of this blog's format itself. I have trouble finding information myself! And I wrote/host it, so what chance do the rest of you have?
In the days of laptop\web browser viewing it worked, but for mobile users? Nah a right pig to navigate. Whatever the value of the content, if you can't get to it easily, it may as well be manure. Not to be waded through recklessly.
Time for a think as to this site's future.
Once it was a useful method of recording my trips logs, but became a generally beneficial communication tool for others seeking information or (whisper it gently) entertainment.
After my next trip, with time again to spare, I'll see how relevant this remains. Depends if I have the drive to transfer my trip jottings over to the web.
(At least recording my trips on here I don't have to spend fruitless time searching for my bloody trip reports)
And perhaps there is a simple way to migrate this site to a new platform, one that is mobile friendlier. (any tips out there?)
Tapping out these jottings are a little like whistling into a deep mineshaft of solitary disinterest, so if there's anyone still out there, why not leave me a comment?
It'll inform my decision on where this goes next.....
Cheers wildcampers
Labels: Backpacking Advice, blog media, dartmoor, Mental Health, National Park, UK Outdoors Blogger, uk walking blog
Three things to do to Enjoy England
As you may have spotted on other sites some outdoor Bloggers have been approached by Jam to contribute to the Guardian's forthcoming ‘Enjoy England’ feature.
Speed reading the invitation my initial thought was 'Great! Finally hit the big time. A chance to kick over the traces of the day job".
Regrettably, a later slower perusal revealed a less glittering outcome.
But hey-ho; Ideas for these ramblings of mine can come from any direction and are all encouraged in whatever guise they might arise. So here's tonight's jottings, based around a common theme.
Solitude
According to recent government statistics the UK will soon only have living room for 423,138 more people before our landmass achieves its maximum level of population saturation.
New laws, allegedly being drafted as I write, plan to introduce measures that will require all UK inhabitants to take Breaths-In & Breaths-Out in an alternative mode to their nearest neighbour, rather than risk those in coastal areas being slowly edged off into the sea as the majority of the populace inhale simultaneously.
A little like a living Penny Fall shuffle fairground machine.
Well perhaps things aren't quite that bad. Yet. I may even have (whisper it gently) exaggerated so very slightly. But its true that urban living, now encompassing anyplace, short of living at the bottom of a lake, is becoming increasingly over populated & pressurised.
Here's a secret. This is a facet of modern society which can be so easily thwarted with a little personal effort.
Park the car. Start walking away from the road, and into your nearest piece of countryside. Take care to avoid well worn footpaths & tracks. Just keep going, veering clear of any signs of human habitation. Especially tourist features (Particularly Forestry Commission attractions. Honey pot to the Urban Daytripper. A wasp filled jam-jar to this writer)
Now Stop.
Take a deep breath.
And just listen to that glorious sound of ..... your own sweet self. Finally alone with nature.
Like this early morning alarm clock during my Dartmoor Dawdle in June 2008
"I had a lie-in until the sun poked its nose over the ridge, giving me the chance stay in my sleeping bag and listen to the song of the skylarks for twenty minutes of so. And I mean really listen. Lying there with no other distraction my concentration was fully given over to their repetitive trills, before their song veered on to yet another melody. No other background noise to taint the sound. A sublime experience"
Wildcamping
Despite somewhat draconian camping constraints under English law there are still pockets of wild uninhabited places in England that allow one to simply disappear from everyday humanity with little fuss, effort or expense.
With minimal equipment & a easy willingness to dispense with life's trappings & fripperies whole areas of England, rarely visited by most of the population are opened up.
Entry is free!
True it requires some degree of self-reliance & self confidence. In turn the benefit is a self-awareness at a level that most people would find difficult to comprehend. The easily discovered ability to spend a night in a wild place, somewhere apparently uninhabitable for so many, builds a bond with the natural world that once experienced cannot be forgotten.
Unlike so many shiny promises offered in our ' enlightened' times a repeat of this experience always seems to triggers some primordial Sigh from deep down within the brain's limbic region.
Freeze, Flight or Fight?
Not necessarily. Some of us know of a fourth way (Grasshopper).
Reckon I should start a cult?
Dartmoor
A desolately inhabited place of some 368 square miles, and yet an area both within easy access of millions of urbanites with major road access, and a place that positively encourages Wildcamping.
To the majority, trundling across tight moorland roads, it may seem an endless expanse of open land & weirdly sculpted Tor tops, mostly shrouded in thick mist & heartily driven rain. To guests of the HMP Dartmoor establishment, at Princetown, possibly a beckoning view, somewhere green & encouraging beyond thick Napoleonic walls of retribution.
For some an equally scary proposition when viewed from the comfort of a car. But after a few visits into Dartmoor's interior, by foot, the rich history of earlier human habitation springs into being. Neolithic stone rows to the more recent historic drippings of mine tramways, all underline that this was once one of the more densely populated place in England during past eras when a wooded valley was a places of Danger & Threat.
Forget the forlorn baying of the Sherlock Holme's Baskerville Hound. Instead learn to celebrate a place once full of life, and eager to share its secrets, many long forgotten, for those prepared to explore away from the modern day tarmacadam detour of bland conformity.
Or just stay inside the safety of that car.
Going from Nowhere. Leading to Nowhere. Please exit at the cliffside departure gate along with your fellow lemmings.
Was that Three Things to Do in England? Perhaps not quite what the Guardian invitation had in mind?
Whatever - just get out into some distant English wild place, and soak up its true nature. Far from the crush of humanity.
Better be quick. Tourist No. 423,139 arrives in 4 years time. And then this island starts to slowly sink into the sea.
Me? I'll be on Yes Tor. Having a brew & watching the sunset.
Glug .... glug .... glug.
Labels: dartmoor, media, Mental Health, National Park, nature
Friday, July 24
Running fast. Standing still.
A combination of work, home and the usual day to day life drudge means that any time spent in front of this damned mono visual blinking radiation emitting time wasting device (aka Internet PC) are few and far between at present.
I've managed to keep up with my regular blog/forum reads each day, although any interaction in those places has also been similarly limited by time & energy.
Regrettably my fine record of monthly wildcamps that started so well (and so early this year), has turned to a pile of mush in response to circumstance. Many of these beyond my direct control, but all requiring the mature & supportive responses that I like to think is part of what make me Who I Am.
But today, at the end of yet another endlessly milling week I've uncovered a few hours of my own. Time to sit back & spend some solitary moments on my own whims. Something that during the last few weeks I've felt increasingly driven to saviour during the pell-mell rush that seems to be my waking existence.
Now is that time, more than ever, when I feel drawn to find that special renewal of spirit that comes with a few night's wildcamping in some lonely and desolate wild location. Far from my fellow human, but so close to the true reality of existence. Water. Shelter. Food. Nature. Bliss.
But for the moment my dismally puny recharge comes as I think back to some of those high ridge wildcamps. Places where I sat savouring the blending of Time, Space & Solitude.
The quiet gap that follows the end of a long day's trek.
The wildcamp pitch. Refuelling the body's needs.
And then an opportunity to fill the gap before sleep by busily doing nothing in particular but become one with the surroundings. True - only a transitory visitor. But one open to the measure and pleasure of the temporary resting place.
Meanwhile there are the trip reports from fellow Outdoor Bloggers as they discuss their recent sorties out in the Great Outdoors (You lucky sods!)
All this helps keep me on the right side of sanity. Although those who have met me know that such a description is always applied a little warily when citing my general demeanour.
So for now I teeter (titter?) along life's own high ridge. Balancing The Present alongside The Past. Awaiting The Future where control of my own moments & movements can one again be retaken in a more selfish manner.
So what if this summer is yet again turning out to be damp and changeable?
The weather is warm. The grass is full grown. Tree crowns are dark and leaf laden.
Get out there if you are able. Saviour these moments.
To store up pleasant memories for colder days ahead.
And I don't mean the Winter.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Saturday, April 4
Depression & Alleviation: Learn from the past.
Driving home through rush hour traffic the other evening I caught the tail end of a BBC Radio 4 program "The Medicalisation of Normality" Half listening as I concentrated on surviving the onslaught of kamikaze drivers my ears pricked up at a snippet from Dr Paul A Keedwell discussing an alternative approach to the modern pill-pop=fix approach to an extremely common medical problem.
I was sufficiently intrigued to track down the programme in which the good Doctor suggested that the African Banda tribe, Australian Aboriginals and Native American Indian traditions offered their own systematised ways to enable people to drop out and go somewhere to introspectively reappraise their own needs alongside their position & responsibility within society. The American Indian via a Vision Quest, the Aborigine by a Walkabout. A ritualised way of taking time-out.
A little bit of Googling turned up this extract from his book:
"If we ignore the ultimate causes of depression and go for the quick fix of the pill alone we might find that sufferers become stuck in depression or that depression recurs. We need to learn the lessons of so-called ‘primitive societies’ like the Banda tribe where the ‘illness of thoughts’ is managed with ‘Time Out’ from normal responsibilities. If, in a modern urban society, escape from persistent stress is impossible (due to dehumanising jobs and institutions, consumerist and celebrity culture and lack of community and extended family support), perhaps that is the fault of a modern urban society and not the fault of depression. However, we can encourage and facilitate an adequate spell off work while helping the sufferer to think about whether they should be in a different job, or a different relationship, and so on. We need to ask "What makes you feel trapped and unfulfilled?" "What basic needs are you denying?""
I think I had long had this concept in mind when settling on a title for this Blog.
For after all, don't we all need a break from everyday affairs and responsibilities sometimes?
Its how we get that relief that can differ so widely; But is key to a continued and positive outlook on life and support for those around us.
Some find solace in alcohol. Others power, sex, or money. Some in abuse of themselves, or those near them.
Me? I go for a long walk. Resetting my world view in harmony with the real world. One which we all exist in on a daily basis, but so easily ignore. Or worse, one we believe we have bent to the will of an industrialised human society.
An errant view, that Nature delights in correcting on a regular basis.
Rats, forced into overpopulation in a limited area, and starved of mental and physical stimuli will eventually start to chew off their own tails.
I'm definitely going to keep getting out for those walks!Labels: Mental Health
Tuesday, December 9
Backpacking: The Curse or The Cure?
(I'd held this piece over in order to protect the privacy & activity of the individual involved)
I dropped Dawn off deep within the New Forest on a cold but sunny Friday. It was a quick return to the area for Dawn after her previous visit a few weeks ago. Well some areas just seem to cry out for further exploration.
Perversely, despite 20+ years of living on the edge of the National Park & hundreds of my own wanderings I've never been a big fan of the area. Too flat for the hill loving instincts inside me. But it works for others, on a number of levels. Selah.
The night before had been one of continuous heavy rain. Local farm footpaths, as I'd discovered earlier that morning, were flooded in highly unusual places. The winterbourne streams living up to their name as they rushed by carrying dirty brown flood water. A marked comparison to the dry beds this time last year. Not the ideal portent for a weekend's wild camping - particularly as Dawn was once again bivvying.
We stopped far from any villages. Just the occasional white painted cottage blinking from amongst the trees. Dawn kitted up. Nearby a herd of cows, thick winter coated, lay lazily in the weak sunshine watching this free cabaret of getting-the-gear-sorted. Nearby trees all bare of their leaves. But high in the branches above one tree, catching most of the low winter sun, was festooned with new white buds. All clearly framed against the backdrop of the cloudless blue sky. A heart lifting sign of Spring yet to come, even whilst the winter cold was nipping at we two ground dwellers below.
Dawn shouldered her pack, and moved off. A solo trip due to my own prior commitments. She walked off down the shale track with my parting advice on the lie of the land and tips to avoid the suspected results from the night's deluge.
As I started the car to leave I watched her wander off, already settling into her weekend solitude. Smiling at the pleasure of a long circular route following wherever the forest tracks & paths led.
On the way back home a thought popped unbidden into my head - had I just taken a lone woman deep into the New Forest, and left her miles from human assistance? Now there are probably quite a few people who I could happily do this for; Not in a well intentioned way. But if it was a family member or friend I would have questioned my own motives & more worryingly the intentions of the potential strandee.
This can be a Good Place To Get Lost, especially if that's the intention. Whilst many tourist spots teem like a disturbed ant-hill there are still remote areas of the Forest, away from the popular paths, where one can simply disappear. The renown New Forest bottomless bog may be mostly myth but it is all too possible to wander into one of the muddier areas and become stuck fast.
But as to Dawn's fate on the forthcoming weekend? I reflected guiltless, confident that two days later she'd pop back up at the coach stop, ready for a homeward trip.
I've heard it whispered that the Backpacker's Club is for people who don’t join clubs. My own infrequent meetings with various BPC members doesn’t corroborate that. But I have noted a certain tendency at times for …..well …….certain eccentricity.
Whilst most will have career, family and the usual day to day interactions expected from any socially adjusted human in today's society, there is a common difference. I'm not talking about the higher than expected average age of the club membership (although that may be an indicator of some sort, or a symptom)
All enjoy the outdoor world. Not just the quick jaunt around the car park for a couple of hours, but a driving desire to get out into those wilder places far from human activity. To be with the natural world.
It seems to me to be a common character trait that is continually demonstrated across most of the backpacking fraternity.
Self Reliance.
I don’t know if backpacking attracts those already having this characteristic, or whether it develops a latent potential. Whatever the impetus drop a backpacker in a challenging outdoor situation and you'll usually get a positive reaction quietly getting on with the basics of survival, and maybe even enjoyment.
Now is this the response you’d expect from the majority of Joe Public, stranded miles from easy mobile phone reception & coffee shop nutrients and clad in designer flimsy wear?
It’s a character attribute that seems to be rarer these days, especially amongst our youth. Those so carefully protected and closeted from various bogey-men dangers of growth to adulthood. Then, for many, seemingly unable to take personal responsibility for their action and continuing existence.
OK a sweeping generalisation.
However I offer this up as reflection of an increasingly common trend during the past twenty years or so. That self starting drive to get up. To go off. To do something requiring personal initiative despite likely physical discomfort. Something not necessarily flash, fashionable, or popular with the peer group. But something that answers the eternal call from the real world around us.
I woke Sunday morning to the heaviest frost of the year so far. The temperature had not risen above freezing point since dark fell the previous day. Thick hoar frost covered the grass and trees for most of the morning. In the afternoon, despite bright sunlight, shadowed places kept their frozen pools of thick ice.
I gave Dawn a quick thought in consideration of her night out in such bitter conditions. A long night sleeping on the ground. An early and bone chillingly cold start to the day. Completion of her wandering across the frozen landscape.
I bet she really enjoyed it.
Edit: Dawn's own report hereLabels: Mental Health, New Forest, uk walking blog
Saturday, September 27
Dorset BackPacking Club Meet
"Hell is other people" Jean-Paul Sartre - No Exit
Whoops, I bet you're already wondering where this one's going! Not the most positive sounding start I've offered up, but if you know the reference, the initial bleakness belies a wealth of hidden meaning. Deep chappies those fag smoking frenchie philosopher types. Or maybe just intelligible?
But nevertheless the quotation that I had running through my head on the trip back home from the Dorset Backpackers Club meet this weekend.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here - back to the beginning of the trip.
Battling Friday rush hour traffic, a delayed end to a busy working week, was not the way this weekend was intended to start. Add in emergency home repairs completed earlier that afternoon. As a result that evening found me in a frazzled state as I finally arrived at Tom's Field Campsite high on the Isle of Purbeck, near Swanage.
I'd anticipated a quiet corner, some gentle backpacking chat with other Dorset members and a little shop talk with fellow Blogger Darren. But as a late arrival at this particular party the scene was already set with tents piled deeply around the field nearest the toilets & shop.
And also the site's entrance, whose pertinence will become clear as this tale unfolds.
Shoe horning the Akto in alongside Darren's Hex tepee my practiced settling in was quickly sorted, and then to the traditional first brew of the weekend as my reward.
(pass the tin-opener)
But whats this? Already the sunny day is fading, as lengthening shadows cool the air, a call to switch to warmer clothing. What had happened to the day?
Barely time for a quick 'Hi' to the BPC members pitched several tents along the row, and to Darren alongside. All muttered against a backdrop of a screaming toddler somewhere amongst the nearby tents. Looking around I could see that this particular camping field already seemed to be filled to a rather high capacity. A mix of BPC members, young family groups, motor homes and lads-on-the-razz. Hmm an incendiary mix? Potentially.
Time for the pub. Reasonable food & beer and a friendly welcome. But as a local of these parts that irritating recognition that the food prices seemed to have been set mindful of the captive market from the two local camp sites, punters likely to pay-up without too much fuss. With the alternative pub dejectedly displaying a "For Sale" sign above its dark closed doorway we campers had a very limited choice. Market forces I believe it's called.
Trevor, the Dorset BPC rep kindly searched out Darren and myself, with an invite to join the other BPC members, unaware we were already working our way down our last beer, both happy to turn in early. But appreciative of the offer, and not wishing to abuse this friendly overture we sat and chatted for a short while with the other members before tendering our early excuses for the night. No slight intended to those we met, but we were more tired, rather than our normal scintillating company that evening. The BPC made us feel most welcome.
Head torchs slicing the darkness we crossed the field back to the site and our sleeping bags. Early at 9pm, but definitely needy of some shut eye.
Back to that campsite entrance now. Its proximity meant a steady stream of jolly pub returnees & and late arrivals to the campsite. As a result the hours onto midnight were regularly punctuated with car headlights illuminating the tent, the sound of car diesel motors passing close to the tent, and irregular outbreaks of happy campers on a night out.
None of these, I hasten to add, anything exceptional taken in isolation. But as a recurrent backdrop something that I'd rather not have around me.
As I reflected to Darren earlier in the evening, after catching myself once again whinging 'God, I hate campsites' my problem was not the site, but my reaction to it. I’d had a similar reaction during the BPC meet back in April (with rather more cause on that occasion)
And as for Swanage steam engine line. Which idiot thinks it makes for a happy experience to sound that bleedin' train whistle so late at night? And so repeatedly?
Have I finally morphed into a Grumpy Old Sod? (Mrs JH is not allowed an answer at this point. She's biased; And I know what her answer is without asking)
Far from it. Its more that after my wildcamping trips, mostly solo, and always far from the (for me) maddening crowds, these days I seem to have an aversion to the Happy Camper Syndrome - A cheap week of Outdoor Fun with BBQs, Beer, & Bitching. The group experience can work, as experienced on the Blogger meet-ups, out in the wild places, far from the towns.
Perhaps that reflects the attitude and expectations Joe Public Camper, compared to those whom I believe carry a deeper affinity for fitting in amongst natural surroundings. Not this scribe's arrogance I hope. Just mindful of some tactful re-education amongst the less experienced campers. But not a topic high on my agenda at 11:30 pm.
An observation reinforced early Saturday morning as I discovered an overnight arrival had pitched their tent so close to mine that I had to be wary opening my car door, in case I ripped their flysheet. Hmm, now that’s what I call tightly packed. And certainly an unintended slight I'm sure.
Out of the sleeping bag. Coffee bump start, cereal bar breakfast, and nicotine fix satiated I burst forth into ……….clag. Deep, wet and humid. Hopefully only sea mist following yesterday's heat, but for the moment a chilly start.
(A Purbeck clag greeting)
Darren's grinning report of his early success with bacon, eggs, frying pan and his Bush Buddy helped cheer me up. Well sort of - the swine. And on the plus side I got an extra hours sleep instead.
A chat shared with the BPC crew with some of their feedback on the Furtech Sleeping Bag which they were able to look over. The bag was this weekend's test kit, but despite my original intention wasn’t used Friday night (The reason for which will become apparent when I come to write that kit report)
(A subject of some discussion)
Bloggers Go To The Seaside? Well more like Darren and me off to the flesh pots of Swanage. Coffee & cakes. And sunshine - hurrah! For Darren a chance find of a new iPood (don’t ask - other people buy postcards or sticks of rock at the seaside, but nothing as predictable for our Darren)
(The World in Stone - Durlston Head)
A detour to the imaginative stone work on Durlston Head, and then back to a lazy afternoon playing with the sun whilst waiting for my tent to dry-off before finally departing homeward. Unfortunately the thought of a repeat of the previous night proving too much of a detraction I'm afraid.
No slur intended either on the campsite or the people I met, and especially no criticism of the Dorset BPC event.
More a personal recognition as to where my pleasure lies these days; Or more specifically, as I'm coming to realise, where it doesn't.
And that seems to be anywhere near organised camping facilities.Labels: Backpackers Club, blog media, Gear, Mental Health, nature
Friday, September 19
A Walk on the Wild Side :New Forest Walkabout
"Its Been Emotional" (Big Chris 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels': Vid Clip - 4'50)
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Tuesday, July 8
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
Speed reading the invitation my initial thought was 'Great! Finally hit the big time. A chance to kick over the traces of the day job".
Regrettably, a later slower perusal revealed a less glittering outcome.
But hey-ho; Ideas for these ramblings of mine can come from any direction and are all encouraged in whatever guise they might arise. So here's tonight's jottings, based around a common theme.
Solitude
According to recent government statistics the UK will soon only have living room for 423,138 more people before our landmass achieves its maximum level of population saturation.
New laws, allegedly being drafted as I write, plan to introduce measures that will require all UK inhabitants to take Breaths-In & Breaths-Out in an alternative mode to their nearest neighbour, rather than risk those in coastal areas being slowly edged off into the sea as the majority of the populace inhale simultaneously.
A little like a living Penny Fall shuffle fairground machine.
Well perhaps things aren't quite that bad. Yet. I may even have (whisper it gently) exaggerated so very slightly. But its true that urban living, now encompassing anyplace, short of living at the bottom of a lake, is becoming increasingly over populated & pressurised.
Here's a secret. This is a facet of modern society which can be so easily thwarted with a little personal effort.
Park the car. Start walking away from the road, and into your nearest piece of countryside. Take care to avoid well worn footpaths & tracks. Just keep going, veering clear of any signs of human habitation. Especially tourist features (Particularly Forestry Commission attractions. Honey pot to the Urban Daytripper. A wasp filled jam-jar to this writer)
Now Stop.
Take a deep breath.
And just listen to that glorious sound of ..... your own sweet self. Finally alone with nature.
Like this early morning alarm clock during my Dartmoor Dawdle in June 2008
"I had a lie-in until the sun poked its nose over the ridge, giving me the chance stay in my sleeping bag and listen to the song of the skylarks for twenty minutes of so. And I mean really listen. Lying there with no other distraction my concentration was fully given over to their repetitive trills, before their song veered on to yet another melody. No other background noise to taint the sound. A sublime experience"
Wildcamping
Despite somewhat draconian camping constraints under English law there are still pockets of wild uninhabited places in England that allow one to simply disappear from everyday humanity with little fuss, effort or expense.
With minimal equipment & a easy willingness to dispense with life's trappings & fripperies whole areas of England, rarely visited by most of the population are opened up.
Entry is free!
True it requires some degree of self-reliance & self confidence. In turn the benefit is a self-awareness at a level that most people would find difficult to comprehend. The easily discovered ability to spend a night in a wild place, somewhere apparently uninhabitable for so many, builds a bond with the natural world that once experienced cannot be forgotten.
Unlike so many shiny promises offered in our ' enlightened' times a repeat of this experience always seems to triggers some primordial Sigh from deep down within the brain's limbic region.
Freeze, Flight or Fight?
Not necessarily. Some of us know of a fourth way (Grasshopper).
Reckon I should start a cult?
Dartmoor
A desolately inhabited place of some 368 square miles, and yet an area both within easy access of millions of urbanites with major road access, and a place that positively encourages Wildcamping.
To the majority, trundling across tight moorland roads, it may seem an endless expanse of open land & weirdly sculpted Tor tops, mostly shrouded in thick mist & heartily driven rain. To guests of the HMP Dartmoor establishment, at Princetown, possibly a beckoning view, somewhere green & encouraging beyond thick Napoleonic walls of retribution.
For some an equally scary proposition when viewed from the comfort of a car. But after a few visits into Dartmoor's interior, by foot, the rich history of earlier human habitation springs into being. Neolithic stone rows to the more recent historic drippings of mine tramways, all underline that this was once one of the more densely populated place in England during past eras when a wooded valley was a places of Danger & Threat.
Forget the forlorn baying of the Sherlock Holme's Baskerville Hound. Instead learn to celebrate a place once full of life, and eager to share its secrets, many long forgotten, for those prepared to explore away from the modern day tarmacadam detour of bland conformity.
Or just stay inside the safety of that car.
Going from Nowhere. Leading to Nowhere. Please exit at the cliffside departure gate along with your fellow lemmings.
Was that Three Things to Do in England? Perhaps not quite what the Guardian invitation had in mind?
Whatever - just get out into some distant English wild place, and soak up its true nature. Far from the crush of humanity.
Better be quick. Tourist No. 423,139 arrives in 4 years time. And then this island starts to slowly sink into the sea.
Me? I'll be on Yes Tor. Having a brew & watching the sunset.
Glug .... glug .... glug.
Labels: dartmoor, media, Mental Health, National Park, nature
Running fast. Standing still.
A combination of work, home and the usual day to day life drudge means that any time spent in front of this damned mono visual blinking radiation emitting time wasting device (aka Internet PC) are few and far between at present.
I've managed to keep up with my regular blog/forum reads each day, although any interaction in those places has also been similarly limited by time & energy.
Regrettably my fine record of monthly wildcamps that started so well (and so early this year), has turned to a pile of mush in response to circumstance. Many of these beyond my direct control, but all requiring the mature & supportive responses that I like to think is part of what make me Who I Am.
But today, at the end of yet another endlessly milling week I've uncovered a few hours of my own. Time to sit back & spend some solitary moments on my own whims. Something that during the last few weeks I've felt increasingly driven to saviour during the pell-mell rush that seems to be my waking existence.
Now is that time, more than ever, when I feel drawn to find that special renewal of spirit that comes with a few night's wildcamping in some lonely and desolate wild location. Far from my fellow human, but so close to the true reality of existence. Water. Shelter. Food. Nature. Bliss.
But for the moment my dismally puny recharge comes as I think back to some of those high ridge wildcamps. Places where I sat savouring the blending of Time, Space & Solitude.
The quiet gap that follows the end of a long day's trek.
The wildcamp pitch. Refuelling the body's needs.
And then an opportunity to fill the gap before sleep by busily doing nothing in particular but become one with the surroundings. True - only a transitory visitor. But one open to the measure and pleasure of the temporary resting place.
Meanwhile there are the trip reports from fellow Outdoor Bloggers as they discuss their recent sorties out in the Great Outdoors (You lucky sods!)
All this helps keep me on the right side of sanity. Although those who have met me know that such a description is always applied a little warily when citing my general demeanour.
So for now I teeter (titter?) along life's own high ridge. Balancing The Present alongside The Past. Awaiting The Future where control of my own moments & movements can one again be retaken in a more selfish manner.
So what if this summer is yet again turning out to be damp and changeable?
The weather is warm. The grass is full grown. Tree crowns are dark and leaf laden.
Get out there if you are able. Saviour these moments.
To store up pleasant memories for colder days ahead.
And I don't mean the Winter.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Saturday, April 4
Depression & Alleviation: Learn from the past.
Driving home through rush hour traffic the other evening I caught the tail end of a BBC Radio 4 program "The Medicalisation of Normality" Half listening as I concentrated on surviving the onslaught of kamikaze drivers my ears pricked up at a snippet from Dr Paul A Keedwell discussing an alternative approach to the modern pill-pop=fix approach to an extremely common medical problem.
I was sufficiently intrigued to track down the programme in which the good Doctor suggested that the African Banda tribe, Australian Aboriginals and Native American Indian traditions offered their own systematised ways to enable people to drop out and go somewhere to introspectively reappraise their own needs alongside their position & responsibility within society. The American Indian via a Vision Quest, the Aborigine by a Walkabout. A ritualised way of taking time-out.
A little bit of Googling turned up this extract from his book:
"If we ignore the ultimate causes of depression and go for the quick fix of the pill alone we might find that sufferers become stuck in depression or that depression recurs. We need to learn the lessons of so-called ‘primitive societies’ like the Banda tribe where the ‘illness of thoughts’ is managed with ‘Time Out’ from normal responsibilities. If, in a modern urban society, escape from persistent stress is impossible (due to dehumanising jobs and institutions, consumerist and celebrity culture and lack of community and extended family support), perhaps that is the fault of a modern urban society and not the fault of depression. However, we can encourage and facilitate an adequate spell off work while helping the sufferer to think about whether they should be in a different job, or a different relationship, and so on. We need to ask "What makes you feel trapped and unfulfilled?" "What basic needs are you denying?""
I think I had long had this concept in mind when settling on a title for this Blog.
For after all, don't we all need a break from everyday affairs and responsibilities sometimes?
Its how we get that relief that can differ so widely; But is key to a continued and positive outlook on life and support for those around us.
Some find solace in alcohol. Others power, sex, or money. Some in abuse of themselves, or those near them.
Me? I go for a long walk. Resetting my world view in harmony with the real world. One which we all exist in on a daily basis, but so easily ignore. Or worse, one we believe we have bent to the will of an industrialised human society.
An errant view, that Nature delights in correcting on a regular basis.
Rats, forced into overpopulation in a limited area, and starved of mental and physical stimuli will eventually start to chew off their own tails.
I'm definitely going to keep getting out for those walks!Labels: Mental Health
Tuesday, December 9
Backpacking: The Curse or The Cure?
(I'd held this piece over in order to protect the privacy & activity of the individual involved)
I dropped Dawn off deep within the New Forest on a cold but sunny Friday. It was a quick return to the area for Dawn after her previous visit a few weeks ago. Well some areas just seem to cry out for further exploration.
Perversely, despite 20+ years of living on the edge of the National Park & hundreds of my own wanderings I've never been a big fan of the area. Too flat for the hill loving instincts inside me. But it works for others, on a number of levels. Selah.
The night before had been one of continuous heavy rain. Local farm footpaths, as I'd discovered earlier that morning, were flooded in highly unusual places. The winterbourne streams living up to their name as they rushed by carrying dirty brown flood water. A marked comparison to the dry beds this time last year. Not the ideal portent for a weekend's wild camping - particularly as Dawn was once again bivvying.
We stopped far from any villages. Just the occasional white painted cottage blinking from amongst the trees. Dawn kitted up. Nearby a herd of cows, thick winter coated, lay lazily in the weak sunshine watching this free cabaret of getting-the-gear-sorted. Nearby trees all bare of their leaves. But high in the branches above one tree, catching most of the low winter sun, was festooned with new white buds. All clearly framed against the backdrop of the cloudless blue sky. A heart lifting sign of Spring yet to come, even whilst the winter cold was nipping at we two ground dwellers below.
Dawn shouldered her pack, and moved off. A solo trip due to my own prior commitments. She walked off down the shale track with my parting advice on the lie of the land and tips to avoid the suspected results from the night's deluge.
As I started the car to leave I watched her wander off, already settling into her weekend solitude. Smiling at the pleasure of a long circular route following wherever the forest tracks & paths led.
On the way back home a thought popped unbidden into my head - had I just taken a lone woman deep into the New Forest, and left her miles from human assistance? Now there are probably quite a few people who I could happily do this for; Not in a well intentioned way. But if it was a family member or friend I would have questioned my own motives & more worryingly the intentions of the potential strandee.
This can be a Good Place To Get Lost, especially if that's the intention. Whilst many tourist spots teem like a disturbed ant-hill there are still remote areas of the Forest, away from the popular paths, where one can simply disappear. The renown New Forest bottomless bog may be mostly myth but it is all too possible to wander into one of the muddier areas and become stuck fast.
But as to Dawn's fate on the forthcoming weekend? I reflected guiltless, confident that two days later she'd pop back up at the coach stop, ready for a homeward trip.
I've heard it whispered that the Backpacker's Club is for people who don’t join clubs. My own infrequent meetings with various BPC members doesn’t corroborate that. But I have noted a certain tendency at times for …..well …….certain eccentricity.
Whilst most will have career, family and the usual day to day interactions expected from any socially adjusted human in today's society, there is a common difference. I'm not talking about the higher than expected average age of the club membership (although that may be an indicator of some sort, or a symptom)
All enjoy the outdoor world. Not just the quick jaunt around the car park for a couple of hours, but a driving desire to get out into those wilder places far from human activity. To be with the natural world.
It seems to me to be a common character trait that is continually demonstrated across most of the backpacking fraternity.
Self Reliance.
I don’t know if backpacking attracts those already having this characteristic, or whether it develops a latent potential. Whatever the impetus drop a backpacker in a challenging outdoor situation and you'll usually get a positive reaction quietly getting on with the basics of survival, and maybe even enjoyment.
Now is this the response you’d expect from the majority of Joe Public, stranded miles from easy mobile phone reception & coffee shop nutrients and clad in designer flimsy wear?
It’s a character attribute that seems to be rarer these days, especially amongst our youth. Those so carefully protected and closeted from various bogey-men dangers of growth to adulthood. Then, for many, seemingly unable to take personal responsibility for their action and continuing existence.
OK a sweeping generalisation.
However I offer this up as reflection of an increasingly common trend during the past twenty years or so. That self starting drive to get up. To go off. To do something requiring personal initiative despite likely physical discomfort. Something not necessarily flash, fashionable, or popular with the peer group. But something that answers the eternal call from the real world around us.
I woke Sunday morning to the heaviest frost of the year so far. The temperature had not risen above freezing point since dark fell the previous day. Thick hoar frost covered the grass and trees for most of the morning. In the afternoon, despite bright sunlight, shadowed places kept their frozen pools of thick ice.
I gave Dawn a quick thought in consideration of her night out in such bitter conditions. A long night sleeping on the ground. An early and bone chillingly cold start to the day. Completion of her wandering across the frozen landscape.
I bet she really enjoyed it.
Edit: Dawn's own report hereLabels: Mental Health, New Forest, uk walking blog
Saturday, September 27
Dorset BackPacking Club Meet
"Hell is other people" Jean-Paul Sartre - No Exit
Whoops, I bet you're already wondering where this one's going! Not the most positive sounding start I've offered up, but if you know the reference, the initial bleakness belies a wealth of hidden meaning. Deep chappies those fag smoking frenchie philosopher types. Or maybe just intelligible?
But nevertheless the quotation that I had running through my head on the trip back home from the Dorset Backpackers Club meet this weekend.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here - back to the beginning of the trip.
Battling Friday rush hour traffic, a delayed end to a busy working week, was not the way this weekend was intended to start. Add in emergency home repairs completed earlier that afternoon. As a result that evening found me in a frazzled state as I finally arrived at Tom's Field Campsite high on the Isle of Purbeck, near Swanage.
I'd anticipated a quiet corner, some gentle backpacking chat with other Dorset members and a little shop talk with fellow Blogger Darren. But as a late arrival at this particular party the scene was already set with tents piled deeply around the field nearest the toilets & shop.
And also the site's entrance, whose pertinence will become clear as this tale unfolds.
Shoe horning the Akto in alongside Darren's Hex tepee my practiced settling in was quickly sorted, and then to the traditional first brew of the weekend as my reward.
(pass the tin-opener)
But whats this? Already the sunny day is fading, as lengthening shadows cool the air, a call to switch to warmer clothing. What had happened to the day?
Barely time for a quick 'Hi' to the BPC members pitched several tents along the row, and to Darren alongside. All muttered against a backdrop of a screaming toddler somewhere amongst the nearby tents. Looking around I could see that this particular camping field already seemed to be filled to a rather high capacity. A mix of BPC members, young family groups, motor homes and lads-on-the-razz. Hmm an incendiary mix? Potentially.
Time for the pub. Reasonable food & beer and a friendly welcome. But as a local of these parts that irritating recognition that the food prices seemed to have been set mindful of the captive market from the two local camp sites, punters likely to pay-up without too much fuss. With the alternative pub dejectedly displaying a "For Sale" sign above its dark closed doorway we campers had a very limited choice. Market forces I believe it's called.
Trevor, the Dorset BPC rep kindly searched out Darren and myself, with an invite to join the other BPC members, unaware we were already working our way down our last beer, both happy to turn in early. But appreciative of the offer, and not wishing to abuse this friendly overture we sat and chatted for a short while with the other members before tendering our early excuses for the night. No slight intended to those we met, but we were more tired, rather than our normal scintillating company that evening. The BPC made us feel most welcome.
Head torchs slicing the darkness we crossed the field back to the site and our sleeping bags. Early at 9pm, but definitely needy of some shut eye.
Back to that campsite entrance now. Its proximity meant a steady stream of jolly pub returnees & and late arrivals to the campsite. As a result the hours onto midnight were regularly punctuated with car headlights illuminating the tent, the sound of car diesel motors passing close to the tent, and irregular outbreaks of happy campers on a night out.
None of these, I hasten to add, anything exceptional taken in isolation. But as a recurrent backdrop something that I'd rather not have around me.
As I reflected to Darren earlier in the evening, after catching myself once again whinging 'God, I hate campsites' my problem was not the site, but my reaction to it. I’d had a similar reaction during the BPC meet back in April (with rather more cause on that occasion)
And as for Swanage steam engine line. Which idiot thinks it makes for a happy experience to sound that bleedin' train whistle so late at night? And so repeatedly?
Have I finally morphed into a Grumpy Old Sod? (Mrs JH is not allowed an answer at this point. She's biased; And I know what her answer is without asking)
Far from it. Its more that after my wildcamping trips, mostly solo, and always far from the (for me) maddening crowds, these days I seem to have an aversion to the Happy Camper Syndrome - A cheap week of Outdoor Fun with BBQs, Beer, & Bitching. The group experience can work, as experienced on the Blogger meet-ups, out in the wild places, far from the towns.
Perhaps that reflects the attitude and expectations Joe Public Camper, compared to those whom I believe carry a deeper affinity for fitting in amongst natural surroundings. Not this scribe's arrogance I hope. Just mindful of some tactful re-education amongst the less experienced campers. But not a topic high on my agenda at 11:30 pm.
An observation reinforced early Saturday morning as I discovered an overnight arrival had pitched their tent so close to mine that I had to be wary opening my car door, in case I ripped their flysheet. Hmm, now that’s what I call tightly packed. And certainly an unintended slight I'm sure.
Out of the sleeping bag. Coffee bump start, cereal bar breakfast, and nicotine fix satiated I burst forth into ……….clag. Deep, wet and humid. Hopefully only sea mist following yesterday's heat, but for the moment a chilly start.
(A Purbeck clag greeting)
Darren's grinning report of his early success with bacon, eggs, frying pan and his Bush Buddy helped cheer me up. Well sort of - the swine. And on the plus side I got an extra hours sleep instead.
A chat shared with the BPC crew with some of their feedback on the Furtech Sleeping Bag which they were able to look over. The bag was this weekend's test kit, but despite my original intention wasn’t used Friday night (The reason for which will become apparent when I come to write that kit report)
(A subject of some discussion)
Bloggers Go To The Seaside? Well more like Darren and me off to the flesh pots of Swanage. Coffee & cakes. And sunshine - hurrah! For Darren a chance find of a new iPood (don’t ask - other people buy postcards or sticks of rock at the seaside, but nothing as predictable for our Darren)
(The World in Stone - Durlston Head)
A detour to the imaginative stone work on Durlston Head, and then back to a lazy afternoon playing with the sun whilst waiting for my tent to dry-off before finally departing homeward. Unfortunately the thought of a repeat of the previous night proving too much of a detraction I'm afraid.
No slur intended either on the campsite or the people I met, and especially no criticism of the Dorset BPC event.
More a personal recognition as to where my pleasure lies these days; Or more specifically, as I'm coming to realise, where it doesn't.
And that seems to be anywhere near organised camping facilities.Labels: Backpackers Club, blog media, Gear, Mental Health, nature
Friday, September 19
A Walk on the Wild Side :New Forest Walkabout
"Its Been Emotional" (Big Chris 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels': Vid Clip - 4'50)
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Tuesday, July 8
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
I've managed to keep up with my regular blog/forum reads each day, although any interaction in those places has also been similarly limited by time & energy.
Regrettably my fine record of monthly wildcamps that started so well (and so early this year), has turned to a pile of mush in response to circumstance. Many of these beyond my direct control, but all requiring the mature & supportive responses that I like to think is part of what make me Who I Am.
But today, at the end of yet another endlessly milling week I've uncovered a few hours of my own. Time to sit back & spend some solitary moments on my own whims. Something that during the last few weeks I've felt increasingly driven to saviour during the pell-mell rush that seems to be my waking existence.
Now is that time, more than ever, when I feel drawn to find that special renewal of spirit that comes with a few night's wildcamping in some lonely and desolate wild location. Far from my fellow human, but so close to the true reality of existence. Water. Shelter. Food. Nature. Bliss.
But for the moment my dismally puny recharge comes as I think back to some of those high ridge wildcamps. Places where I sat savouring the blending of Time, Space & Solitude.
The quiet gap that follows the end of a long day's trek.
The wildcamp pitch. Refuelling the body's needs.
And then an opportunity to fill the gap before sleep by busily doing nothing in particular but become one with the surroundings. True - only a transitory visitor. But one open to the measure and pleasure of the temporary resting place.
Meanwhile there are the trip reports from fellow Outdoor Bloggers as they discuss their recent sorties out in the Great Outdoors (You lucky sods!)
All this helps keep me on the right side of sanity. Although those who have met me know that such a description is always applied a little warily when citing my general demeanour.
So for now I teeter (titter?) along life's own high ridge. Balancing The Present alongside The Past. Awaiting The Future where control of my own moments & movements can one again be retaken in a more selfish manner.
So what if this summer is yet again turning out to be damp and changeable?
The weather is warm. The grass is full grown. Tree crowns are dark and leaf laden.
Get out there if you are able. Saviour these moments.
To store up pleasant memories for colder days ahead.
And I don't mean the Winter.
Labels: Mental Health, nature
Depression & Alleviation: Learn from the past.
Driving home through rush hour traffic the other evening I caught the tail end of a BBC Radio 4 program "The Medicalisation of Normality" Half listening as I concentrated on surviving the onslaught of kamikaze drivers my ears pricked up at a snippet from Dr Paul A Keedwell discussing an alternative approach to the modern pill-pop=fix approach to an extremely common medical problem.
I was sufficiently intrigued to track down the programme in which the good Doctor suggested that the African Banda tribe, Australian Aboriginals and Native American Indian traditions offered their own systematised ways to enable people to drop out and go somewhere to introspectively reappraise their own needs alongside their position & responsibility within society. The American Indian via a Vision Quest, the Aborigine by a Walkabout. A ritualised way of taking time-out.
A little bit of Googling turned up this extract from his book:
"If we ignore the ultimate causes of depression and go for the quick fix of the pill alone we might find that sufferers become stuck in depression or that depression recurs. We need to learn the lessons of so-called ‘primitive societies’ like the Banda tribe where the ‘illness of thoughts’ is managed with ‘Time Out’ from normal responsibilities. If, in a modern urban society, escape from persistent stress is impossible (due to dehumanising jobs and institutions, consumerist and celebrity culture and lack of community and extended family support), perhaps that is the fault of a modern urban society and not the fault of depression. However, we can encourage and facilitate an adequate spell off work while helping the sufferer to think about whether they should be in a different job, or a different relationship, and so on. We need to ask "What makes you feel trapped and unfulfilled?" "What basic needs are you denying?""
I think I had long had this concept in mind when settling on a title for this Blog.
For after all, don't we all need a break from everyday affairs and responsibilities sometimes?
Its how we get that relief that can differ so widely; But is key to a continued and positive outlook on life and support for those around us.
Some find solace in alcohol. Others power, sex, or money. Some in abuse of themselves, or those near them.
Me? I go for a long walk. Resetting my world view in harmony with the real world. One which we all exist in on a daily basis, but so easily ignore. Or worse, one we believe we have bent to the will of an industrialised human society.
An errant view, that Nature delights in correcting on a regular basis.
Rats, forced into overpopulation in a limited area, and starved of mental and physical stimuli will eventually start to chew off their own tails.
I'm definitely going to keep getting out for those walks!Labels: Mental Health
Tuesday, December 9
Backpacking: The Curse or The Cure?
(I'd held this piece over in order to protect the privacy & activity of the individual involved)
I dropped Dawn off deep within the New Forest on a cold but sunny Friday. It was a quick return to the area for Dawn after her previous visit a few weeks ago. Well some areas just seem to cry out for further exploration.
Perversely, despite 20+ years of living on the edge of the National Park & hundreds of my own wanderings I've never been a big fan of the area. Too flat for the hill loving instincts inside me. But it works for others, on a number of levels. Selah.
The night before had been one of continuous heavy rain. Local farm footpaths, as I'd discovered earlier that morning, were flooded in highly unusual places. The winterbourne streams living up to their name as they rushed by carrying dirty brown flood water. A marked comparison to the dry beds this time last year. Not the ideal portent for a weekend's wild camping - particularly as Dawn was once again bivvying.
We stopped far from any villages. Just the occasional white painted cottage blinking from amongst the trees. Dawn kitted up. Nearby a herd of cows, thick winter coated, lay lazily in the weak sunshine watching this free cabaret of getting-the-gear-sorted. Nearby trees all bare of their leaves. But high in the branches above one tree, catching most of the low winter sun, was festooned with new white buds. All clearly framed against the backdrop of the cloudless blue sky. A heart lifting sign of Spring yet to come, even whilst the winter cold was nipping at we two ground dwellers below.
Dawn shouldered her pack, and moved off. A solo trip due to my own prior commitments. She walked off down the shale track with my parting advice on the lie of the land and tips to avoid the suspected results from the night's deluge.
As I started the car to leave I watched her wander off, already settling into her weekend solitude. Smiling at the pleasure of a long circular route following wherever the forest tracks & paths led.
On the way back home a thought popped unbidden into my head - had I just taken a lone woman deep into the New Forest, and left her miles from human assistance? Now there are probably quite a few people who I could happily do this for; Not in a well intentioned way. But if it was a family member or friend I would have questioned my own motives & more worryingly the intentions of the potential strandee.
This can be a Good Place To Get Lost, especially if that's the intention. Whilst many tourist spots teem like a disturbed ant-hill there are still remote areas of the Forest, away from the popular paths, where one can simply disappear. The renown New Forest bottomless bog may be mostly myth but it is all too possible to wander into one of the muddier areas and become stuck fast.
But as to Dawn's fate on the forthcoming weekend? I reflected guiltless, confident that two days later she'd pop back up at the coach stop, ready for a homeward trip.
I've heard it whispered that the Backpacker's Club is for people who don’t join clubs. My own infrequent meetings with various BPC members doesn’t corroborate that. But I have noted a certain tendency at times for …..well …….certain eccentricity.
Whilst most will have career, family and the usual day to day interactions expected from any socially adjusted human in today's society, there is a common difference. I'm not talking about the higher than expected average age of the club membership (although that may be an indicator of some sort, or a symptom)
All enjoy the outdoor world. Not just the quick jaunt around the car park for a couple of hours, but a driving desire to get out into those wilder places far from human activity. To be with the natural world.
It seems to me to be a common character trait that is continually demonstrated across most of the backpacking fraternity.
Self Reliance.
I don’t know if backpacking attracts those already having this characteristic, or whether it develops a latent potential. Whatever the impetus drop a backpacker in a challenging outdoor situation and you'll usually get a positive reaction quietly getting on with the basics of survival, and maybe even enjoyment.
Now is this the response you’d expect from the majority of Joe Public, stranded miles from easy mobile phone reception & coffee shop nutrients and clad in designer flimsy wear?
It’s a character attribute that seems to be rarer these days, especially amongst our youth. Those so carefully protected and closeted from various bogey-men dangers of growth to adulthood. Then, for many, seemingly unable to take personal responsibility for their action and continuing existence.
OK a sweeping generalisation.
However I offer this up as reflection of an increasingly common trend during the past twenty years or so. That self starting drive to get up. To go off. To do something requiring personal initiative despite likely physical discomfort. Something not necessarily flash, fashionable, or popular with the peer group. But something that answers the eternal call from the real world around us.
I woke Sunday morning to the heaviest frost of the year so far. The temperature had not risen above freezing point since dark fell the previous day. Thick hoar frost covered the grass and trees for most of the morning. In the afternoon, despite bright sunlight, shadowed places kept their frozen pools of thick ice.
I gave Dawn a quick thought in consideration of her night out in such bitter conditions. A long night sleeping on the ground. An early and bone chillingly cold start to the day. Completion of her wandering across the frozen landscape.
I bet she really enjoyed it.
Edit: Dawn's own report hereLabels: Mental Health, New Forest, uk walking blog
Saturday, September 27
Dorset BackPacking Club Meet
"Hell is other people" Jean-Paul Sartre - No Exit
Whoops, I bet you're already wondering where this one's going! Not the most positive sounding start I've offered up, but if you know the reference, the initial bleakness belies a wealth of hidden meaning. Deep chappies those fag smoking frenchie philosopher types. Or maybe just intelligible?
But nevertheless the quotation that I had running through my head on the trip back home from the Dorset Backpackers Club meet this weekend.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here - back to the beginning of the trip.
Battling Friday rush hour traffic, a delayed end to a busy working week, was not the way this weekend was intended to start. Add in emergency home repairs completed earlier that afternoon. As a result that evening found me in a frazzled state as I finally arrived at Tom's Field Campsite high on the Isle of Purbeck, near Swanage.
I'd anticipated a quiet corner, some gentle backpacking chat with other Dorset members and a little shop talk with fellow Blogger Darren. But as a late arrival at this particular party the scene was already set with tents piled deeply around the field nearest the toilets & shop.
And also the site's entrance, whose pertinence will become clear as this tale unfolds.
Shoe horning the Akto in alongside Darren's Hex tepee my practiced settling in was quickly sorted, and then to the traditional first brew of the weekend as my reward.
(pass the tin-opener)
But whats this? Already the sunny day is fading, as lengthening shadows cool the air, a call to switch to warmer clothing. What had happened to the day?
Barely time for a quick 'Hi' to the BPC members pitched several tents along the row, and to Darren alongside. All muttered against a backdrop of a screaming toddler somewhere amongst the nearby tents. Looking around I could see that this particular camping field already seemed to be filled to a rather high capacity. A mix of BPC members, young family groups, motor homes and lads-on-the-razz. Hmm an incendiary mix? Potentially.
Time for the pub. Reasonable food & beer and a friendly welcome. But as a local of these parts that irritating recognition that the food prices seemed to have been set mindful of the captive market from the two local camp sites, punters likely to pay-up without too much fuss. With the alternative pub dejectedly displaying a "For Sale" sign above its dark closed doorway we campers had a very limited choice. Market forces I believe it's called.
Trevor, the Dorset BPC rep kindly searched out Darren and myself, with an invite to join the other BPC members, unaware we were already working our way down our last beer, both happy to turn in early. But appreciative of the offer, and not wishing to abuse this friendly overture we sat and chatted for a short while with the other members before tendering our early excuses for the night. No slight intended to those we met, but we were more tired, rather than our normal scintillating company that evening. The BPC made us feel most welcome.
Head torchs slicing the darkness we crossed the field back to the site and our sleeping bags. Early at 9pm, but definitely needy of some shut eye.
Back to that campsite entrance now. Its proximity meant a steady stream of jolly pub returnees & and late arrivals to the campsite. As a result the hours onto midnight were regularly punctuated with car headlights illuminating the tent, the sound of car diesel motors passing close to the tent, and irregular outbreaks of happy campers on a night out.
None of these, I hasten to add, anything exceptional taken in isolation. But as a recurrent backdrop something that I'd rather not have around me.
As I reflected to Darren earlier in the evening, after catching myself once again whinging 'God, I hate campsites' my problem was not the site, but my reaction to it. I’d had a similar reaction during the BPC meet back in April (with rather more cause on that occasion)
And as for Swanage steam engine line. Which idiot thinks it makes for a happy experience to sound that bleedin' train whistle so late at night? And so repeatedly?
Have I finally morphed into a Grumpy Old Sod? (Mrs JH is not allowed an answer at this point. She's biased; And I know what her answer is without asking)
Far from it. Its more that after my wildcamping trips, mostly solo, and always far from the (for me) maddening crowds, these days I seem to have an aversion to the Happy Camper Syndrome - A cheap week of Outdoor Fun with BBQs, Beer, & Bitching. The group experience can work, as experienced on the Blogger meet-ups, out in the wild places, far from the towns.
Perhaps that reflects the attitude and expectations Joe Public Camper, compared to those whom I believe carry a deeper affinity for fitting in amongst natural surroundings. Not this scribe's arrogance I hope. Just mindful of some tactful re-education amongst the less experienced campers. But not a topic high on my agenda at 11:30 pm.
An observation reinforced early Saturday morning as I discovered an overnight arrival had pitched their tent so close to mine that I had to be wary opening my car door, in case I ripped their flysheet. Hmm, now that’s what I call tightly packed. And certainly an unintended slight I'm sure.
Out of the sleeping bag. Coffee bump start, cereal bar breakfast, and nicotine fix satiated I burst forth into ……….clag. Deep, wet and humid. Hopefully only sea mist following yesterday's heat, but for the moment a chilly start.
(A Purbeck clag greeting)
Darren's grinning report of his early success with bacon, eggs, frying pan and his Bush Buddy helped cheer me up. Well sort of - the swine. And on the plus side I got an extra hours sleep instead.
A chat shared with the BPC crew with some of their feedback on the Furtech Sleeping Bag which they were able to look over. The bag was this weekend's test kit, but despite my original intention wasn’t used Friday night (The reason for which will become apparent when I come to write that kit report)
(A subject of some discussion)
Bloggers Go To The Seaside? Well more like Darren and me off to the flesh pots of Swanage. Coffee & cakes. And sunshine - hurrah! For Darren a chance find of a new iPood (don’t ask - other people buy postcards or sticks of rock at the seaside, but nothing as predictable for our Darren)
(The World in Stone - Durlston Head)
A detour to the imaginative stone work on Durlston Head, and then back to a lazy afternoon playing with the sun whilst waiting for my tent to dry-off before finally departing homeward. Unfortunately the thought of a repeat of the previous night proving too much of a detraction I'm afraid.
No slur intended either on the campsite or the people I met, and especially no criticism of the Dorset BPC event.
More a personal recognition as to where my pleasure lies these days; Or more specifically, as I'm coming to realise, where it doesn't.
And that seems to be anywhere near organised camping facilities.Labels: Backpackers Club, blog media, Gear, Mental Health, nature
Friday, September 19
A Walk on the Wild Side :New Forest Walkabout
"Its Been Emotional" (Big Chris 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels': Vid Clip - 4'50)
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Tuesday, July 8
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
I was sufficiently intrigued to track down the programme in which the good Doctor suggested that the African Banda tribe, Australian Aboriginals and Native American Indian traditions offered their own systematised ways to enable people to drop out and go somewhere to introspectively reappraise their own needs alongside their position & responsibility within society. The American Indian via a Vision Quest, the Aborigine by a Walkabout. A ritualised way of taking time-out.
A little bit of Googling turned up this extract from his book:
"If we ignore the ultimate causes of depression and go for the quick fix of the pill alone we might find that sufferers become stuck in depression or that depression recurs. We need to learn the lessons of so-called ‘primitive societies’ like the Banda tribe where the ‘illness of thoughts’ is managed with ‘Time Out’ from normal responsibilities. If, in a modern urban society, escape from persistent stress is impossible (due to dehumanising jobs and institutions, consumerist and celebrity culture and lack of community and extended family support), perhaps that is the fault of a modern urban society and not the fault of depression. However, we can encourage and facilitate an adequate spell off work while helping the sufferer to think about whether they should be in a different job, or a different relationship, and so on. We need to ask "What makes you feel trapped and unfulfilled?" "What basic needs are you denying?""
I think I had long had this concept in mind when settling on a title for this Blog.
For after all, don't we all need a break from everyday affairs and responsibilities sometimes?
Its how we get that relief that can differ so widely; But is key to a continued and positive outlook on life and support for those around us.
Some find solace in alcohol. Others power, sex, or money. Some in abuse of themselves, or those near them.
Me? I go for a long walk. Resetting my world view in harmony with the real world. One which we all exist in on a daily basis, but so easily ignore. Or worse, one we believe we have bent to the will of an industrialised human society.
An errant view, that Nature delights in correcting on a regular basis.
Rats, forced into overpopulation in a limited area, and starved of mental and physical stimuli will eventually start to chew off their own tails.
I'm definitely going to keep getting out for those walks!
Labels: Mental Health
Backpacking: The Curse or The Cure?
(I'd held this piece over in order to protect the privacy & activity of the individual involved)
I dropped Dawn off deep within the New Forest on a cold but sunny Friday. It was a quick return to the area for Dawn after her previous visit a few weeks ago. Well some areas just seem to cry out for further exploration.
Perversely, despite 20+ years of living on the edge of the National Park & hundreds of my own wanderings I've never been a big fan of the area. Too flat for the hill loving instincts inside me. But it works for others, on a number of levels. Selah.
The night before had been one of continuous heavy rain. Local farm footpaths, as I'd discovered earlier that morning, were flooded in highly unusual places. The winterbourne streams living up to their name as they rushed by carrying dirty brown flood water. A marked comparison to the dry beds this time last year. Not the ideal portent for a weekend's wild camping - particularly as Dawn was once again bivvying.
We stopped far from any villages. Just the occasional white painted cottage blinking from amongst the trees. Dawn kitted up. Nearby a herd of cows, thick winter coated, lay lazily in the weak sunshine watching this free cabaret of getting-the-gear-sorted. Nearby trees all bare of their leaves. But high in the branches above one tree, catching most of the low winter sun, was festooned with new white buds. All clearly framed against the backdrop of the cloudless blue sky. A heart lifting sign of Spring yet to come, even whilst the winter cold was nipping at we two ground dwellers below.
Dawn shouldered her pack, and moved off. A solo trip due to my own prior commitments. She walked off down the shale track with my parting advice on the lie of the land and tips to avoid the suspected results from the night's deluge.
As I started the car to leave I watched her wander off, already settling into her weekend solitude. Smiling at the pleasure of a long circular route following wherever the forest tracks & paths led.
On the way back home a thought popped unbidden into my head - had I just taken a lone woman deep into the New Forest, and left her miles from human assistance? Now there are probably quite a few people who I could happily do this for; Not in a well intentioned way. But if it was a family member or friend I would have questioned my own motives & more worryingly the intentions of the potential strandee.
This can be a Good Place To Get Lost, especially if that's the intention. Whilst many tourist spots teem like a disturbed ant-hill there are still remote areas of the Forest, away from the popular paths, where one can simply disappear. The renown New Forest bottomless bog may be mostly myth but it is all too possible to wander into one of the muddier areas and become stuck fast.
But as to Dawn's fate on the forthcoming weekend? I reflected guiltless, confident that two days later she'd pop back up at the coach stop, ready for a homeward trip.
I've heard it whispered that the Backpacker's Club is for people who don’t join clubs. My own infrequent meetings with various BPC members doesn’t corroborate that. But I have noted a certain tendency at times for …..well …….certain eccentricity.
Whilst most will have career, family and the usual day to day interactions expected from any socially adjusted human in today's society, there is a common difference. I'm not talking about the higher than expected average age of the club membership (although that may be an indicator of some sort, or a symptom)
All enjoy the outdoor world. Not just the quick jaunt around the car park for a couple of hours, but a driving desire to get out into those wilder places far from human activity. To be with the natural world.
It seems to me to be a common character trait that is continually demonstrated across most of the backpacking fraternity.
Self Reliance.
I don’t know if backpacking attracts those already having this characteristic, or whether it develops a latent potential. Whatever the impetus drop a backpacker in a challenging outdoor situation and you'll usually get a positive reaction quietly getting on with the basics of survival, and maybe even enjoyment.
Now is this the response you’d expect from the majority of Joe Public, stranded miles from easy mobile phone reception & coffee shop nutrients and clad in designer flimsy wear?
It’s a character attribute that seems to be rarer these days, especially amongst our youth. Those so carefully protected and closeted from various bogey-men dangers of growth to adulthood. Then, for many, seemingly unable to take personal responsibility for their action and continuing existence.
OK a sweeping generalisation.
However I offer this up as reflection of an increasingly common trend during the past twenty years or so. That self starting drive to get up. To go off. To do something requiring personal initiative despite likely physical discomfort. Something not necessarily flash, fashionable, or popular with the peer group. But something that answers the eternal call from the real world around us.
I woke Sunday morning to the heaviest frost of the year so far. The temperature had not risen above freezing point since dark fell the previous day. Thick hoar frost covered the grass and trees for most of the morning. In the afternoon, despite bright sunlight, shadowed places kept their frozen pools of thick ice.
I gave Dawn a quick thought in consideration of her night out in such bitter conditions. A long night sleeping on the ground. An early and bone chillingly cold start to the day. Completion of her wandering across the frozen landscape.
I bet she really enjoyed it.
Edit: Dawn's own report hereLabels: Mental Health, New Forest, uk walking blog
Saturday, September 27
Dorset BackPacking Club Meet
"Hell is other people" Jean-Paul Sartre - No Exit
Whoops, I bet you're already wondering where this one's going! Not the most positive sounding start I've offered up, but if you know the reference, the initial bleakness belies a wealth of hidden meaning. Deep chappies those fag smoking frenchie philosopher types. Or maybe just intelligible?
But nevertheless the quotation that I had running through my head on the trip back home from the Dorset Backpackers Club meet this weekend.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here - back to the beginning of the trip.
Battling Friday rush hour traffic, a delayed end to a busy working week, was not the way this weekend was intended to start. Add in emergency home repairs completed earlier that afternoon. As a result that evening found me in a frazzled state as I finally arrived at Tom's Field Campsite high on the Isle of Purbeck, near Swanage.
I'd anticipated a quiet corner, some gentle backpacking chat with other Dorset members and a little shop talk with fellow Blogger Darren. But as a late arrival at this particular party the scene was already set with tents piled deeply around the field nearest the toilets & shop.
And also the site's entrance, whose pertinence will become clear as this tale unfolds.
Shoe horning the Akto in alongside Darren's Hex tepee my practiced settling in was quickly sorted, and then to the traditional first brew of the weekend as my reward.
(pass the tin-opener)
But whats this? Already the sunny day is fading, as lengthening shadows cool the air, a call to switch to warmer clothing. What had happened to the day?
Barely time for a quick 'Hi' to the BPC members pitched several tents along the row, and to Darren alongside. All muttered against a backdrop of a screaming toddler somewhere amongst the nearby tents. Looking around I could see that this particular camping field already seemed to be filled to a rather high capacity. A mix of BPC members, young family groups, motor homes and lads-on-the-razz. Hmm an incendiary mix? Potentially.
Time for the pub. Reasonable food & beer and a friendly welcome. But as a local of these parts that irritating recognition that the food prices seemed to have been set mindful of the captive market from the two local camp sites, punters likely to pay-up without too much fuss. With the alternative pub dejectedly displaying a "For Sale" sign above its dark closed doorway we campers had a very limited choice. Market forces I believe it's called.
Trevor, the Dorset BPC rep kindly searched out Darren and myself, with an invite to join the other BPC members, unaware we were already working our way down our last beer, both happy to turn in early. But appreciative of the offer, and not wishing to abuse this friendly overture we sat and chatted for a short while with the other members before tendering our early excuses for the night. No slight intended to those we met, but we were more tired, rather than our normal scintillating company that evening. The BPC made us feel most welcome.
Head torchs slicing the darkness we crossed the field back to the site and our sleeping bags. Early at 9pm, but definitely needy of some shut eye.
Back to that campsite entrance now. Its proximity meant a steady stream of jolly pub returnees & and late arrivals to the campsite. As a result the hours onto midnight were regularly punctuated with car headlights illuminating the tent, the sound of car diesel motors passing close to the tent, and irregular outbreaks of happy campers on a night out.
None of these, I hasten to add, anything exceptional taken in isolation. But as a recurrent backdrop something that I'd rather not have around me.
As I reflected to Darren earlier in the evening, after catching myself once again whinging 'God, I hate campsites' my problem was not the site, but my reaction to it. I’d had a similar reaction during the BPC meet back in April (with rather more cause on that occasion)
And as for Swanage steam engine line. Which idiot thinks it makes for a happy experience to sound that bleedin' train whistle so late at night? And so repeatedly?
Have I finally morphed into a Grumpy Old Sod? (Mrs JH is not allowed an answer at this point. She's biased; And I know what her answer is without asking)
Far from it. Its more that after my wildcamping trips, mostly solo, and always far from the (for me) maddening crowds, these days I seem to have an aversion to the Happy Camper Syndrome - A cheap week of Outdoor Fun with BBQs, Beer, & Bitching. The group experience can work, as experienced on the Blogger meet-ups, out in the wild places, far from the towns.
Perhaps that reflects the attitude and expectations Joe Public Camper, compared to those whom I believe carry a deeper affinity for fitting in amongst natural surroundings. Not this scribe's arrogance I hope. Just mindful of some tactful re-education amongst the less experienced campers. But not a topic high on my agenda at 11:30 pm.
An observation reinforced early Saturday morning as I discovered an overnight arrival had pitched their tent so close to mine that I had to be wary opening my car door, in case I ripped their flysheet. Hmm, now that’s what I call tightly packed. And certainly an unintended slight I'm sure.
Out of the sleeping bag. Coffee bump start, cereal bar breakfast, and nicotine fix satiated I burst forth into ……….clag. Deep, wet and humid. Hopefully only sea mist following yesterday's heat, but for the moment a chilly start.
(A Purbeck clag greeting)
Darren's grinning report of his early success with bacon, eggs, frying pan and his Bush Buddy helped cheer me up. Well sort of - the swine. And on the plus side I got an extra hours sleep instead.
A chat shared with the BPC crew with some of their feedback on the Furtech Sleeping Bag which they were able to look over. The bag was this weekend's test kit, but despite my original intention wasn’t used Friday night (The reason for which will become apparent when I come to write that kit report)
(A subject of some discussion)
Bloggers Go To The Seaside? Well more like Darren and me off to the flesh pots of Swanage. Coffee & cakes. And sunshine - hurrah! For Darren a chance find of a new iPood (don’t ask - other people buy postcards or sticks of rock at the seaside, but nothing as predictable for our Darren)
(The World in Stone - Durlston Head)
A detour to the imaginative stone work on Durlston Head, and then back to a lazy afternoon playing with the sun whilst waiting for my tent to dry-off before finally departing homeward. Unfortunately the thought of a repeat of the previous night proving too much of a detraction I'm afraid.
No slur intended either on the campsite or the people I met, and especially no criticism of the Dorset BPC event.
More a personal recognition as to where my pleasure lies these days; Or more specifically, as I'm coming to realise, where it doesn't.
And that seems to be anywhere near organised camping facilities.Labels: Backpackers Club, blog media, Gear, Mental Health, nature
Friday, September 19
A Walk on the Wild Side :New Forest Walkabout
"Its Been Emotional" (Big Chris 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels': Vid Clip - 4'50)
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Tuesday, July 8
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
I dropped Dawn off deep within the New Forest on a cold but sunny Friday. It was a quick return to the area for Dawn after her previous visit a few weeks ago. Well some areas just seem to cry out for further exploration.
Perversely, despite 20+ years of living on the edge of the National Park & hundreds of my own wanderings I've never been a big fan of the area. Too flat for the hill loving instincts inside me. But it works for others, on a number of levels. Selah.
The night before had been one of continuous heavy rain. Local farm footpaths, as I'd discovered earlier that morning, were flooded in highly unusual places. The winterbourne streams living up to their name as they rushed by carrying dirty brown flood water. A marked comparison to the dry beds this time last year. Not the ideal portent for a weekend's wild camping - particularly as Dawn was once again bivvying.
We stopped far from any villages. Just the occasional white painted cottage blinking from amongst the trees. Dawn kitted up. Nearby a herd of cows, thick winter coated, lay lazily in the weak sunshine watching this free cabaret of getting-the-gear-sorted. Nearby trees all bare of their leaves. But high in the branches above one tree, catching most of the low winter sun, was festooned with new white buds. All clearly framed against the backdrop of the cloudless blue sky. A heart lifting sign of Spring yet to come, even whilst the winter cold was nipping at we two ground dwellers below.
Dawn shouldered her pack, and moved off. A solo trip due to my own prior commitments. She walked off down the shale track with my parting advice on the lie of the land and tips to avoid the suspected results from the night's deluge.
As I started the car to leave I watched her wander off, already settling into her weekend solitude. Smiling at the pleasure of a long circular route following wherever the forest tracks & paths led.
On the way back home a thought popped unbidden into my head - had I just taken a lone woman deep into the New Forest, and left her miles from human assistance? Now there are probably quite a few people who I could happily do this for; Not in a well intentioned way. But if it was a family member or friend I would have questioned my own motives & more worryingly the intentions of the potential strandee.
This can be a Good Place To Get Lost, especially if that's the intention. Whilst many tourist spots teem like a disturbed ant-hill there are still remote areas of the Forest, away from the popular paths, where one can simply disappear. The renown New Forest bottomless bog may be mostly myth but it is all too possible to wander into one of the muddier areas and become stuck fast.
But as to Dawn's fate on the forthcoming weekend? I reflected guiltless, confident that two days later she'd pop back up at the coach stop, ready for a homeward trip.
I've heard it whispered that the Backpacker's Club is for people who don’t join clubs. My own infrequent meetings with various BPC members doesn’t corroborate that. But I have noted a certain tendency at times for …..well …….certain eccentricity.
Whilst most will have career, family and the usual day to day interactions expected from any socially adjusted human in today's society, there is a common difference. I'm not talking about the higher than expected average age of the club membership (although that may be an indicator of some sort, or a symptom)
All enjoy the outdoor world. Not just the quick jaunt around the car park for a couple of hours, but a driving desire to get out into those wilder places far from human activity. To be with the natural world.
It seems to me to be a common character trait that is continually demonstrated across most of the backpacking fraternity.
Self Reliance.
I don’t know if backpacking attracts those already having this characteristic, or whether it develops a latent potential. Whatever the impetus drop a backpacker in a challenging outdoor situation and you'll usually get a positive reaction quietly getting on with the basics of survival, and maybe even enjoyment.
Now is this the response you’d expect from the majority of Joe Public, stranded miles from easy mobile phone reception & coffee shop nutrients and clad in designer flimsy wear?
It’s a character attribute that seems to be rarer these days, especially amongst our youth. Those so carefully protected and closeted from various bogey-men dangers of growth to adulthood. Then, for many, seemingly unable to take personal responsibility for their action and continuing existence.
OK a sweeping generalisation.
However I offer this up as reflection of an increasingly common trend during the past twenty years or so. That self starting drive to get up. To go off. To do something requiring personal initiative despite likely physical discomfort. Something not necessarily flash, fashionable, or popular with the peer group. But something that answers the eternal call from the real world around us.
I woke Sunday morning to the heaviest frost of the year so far. The temperature had not risen above freezing point since dark fell the previous day. Thick hoar frost covered the grass and trees for most of the morning. In the afternoon, despite bright sunlight, shadowed places kept their frozen pools of thick ice.
I gave Dawn a quick thought in consideration of her night out in such bitter conditions. A long night sleeping on the ground. An early and bone chillingly cold start to the day. Completion of her wandering across the frozen landscape.
I bet she really enjoyed it.
Edit: Dawn's own report here
Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, uk walking blog
Dorset BackPacking Club Meet
"Hell is other people" Jean-Paul Sartre - No Exit
Whoops, I bet you're already wondering where this one's going! Not the most positive sounding start I've offered up, but if you know the reference, the initial bleakness belies a wealth of hidden meaning. Deep chappies those fag smoking frenchie philosopher types. Or maybe just intelligible?
But nevertheless the quotation that I had running through my head on the trip back home from the Dorset Backpackers Club meet this weekend.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here - back to the beginning of the trip.
Battling Friday rush hour traffic, a delayed end to a busy working week, was not the way this weekend was intended to start. Add in emergency home repairs completed earlier that afternoon. As a result that evening found me in a frazzled state as I finally arrived at Tom's Field Campsite high on the Isle of Purbeck, near Swanage.
I'd anticipated a quiet corner, some gentle backpacking chat with other Dorset members and a little shop talk with fellow Blogger Darren. But as a late arrival at this particular party the scene was already set with tents piled deeply around the field nearest the toilets & shop.
And also the site's entrance, whose pertinence will become clear as this tale unfolds.
Shoe horning the Akto in alongside Darren's Hex tepee my practiced settling in was quickly sorted, and then to the traditional first brew of the weekend as my reward.
(pass the tin-opener)
But whats this? Already the sunny day is fading, as lengthening shadows cool the air, a call to switch to warmer clothing. What had happened to the day?
Barely time for a quick 'Hi' to the BPC members pitched several tents along the row, and to Darren alongside. All muttered against a backdrop of a screaming toddler somewhere amongst the nearby tents. Looking around I could see that this particular camping field already seemed to be filled to a rather high capacity. A mix of BPC members, young family groups, motor homes and lads-on-the-razz. Hmm an incendiary mix? Potentially.
Time for the pub. Reasonable food & beer and a friendly welcome. But as a local of these parts that irritating recognition that the food prices seemed to have been set mindful of the captive market from the two local camp sites, punters likely to pay-up without too much fuss. With the alternative pub dejectedly displaying a "For Sale" sign above its dark closed doorway we campers had a very limited choice. Market forces I believe it's called.
Trevor, the Dorset BPC rep kindly searched out Darren and myself, with an invite to join the other BPC members, unaware we were already working our way down our last beer, both happy to turn in early. But appreciative of the offer, and not wishing to abuse this friendly overture we sat and chatted for a short while with the other members before tendering our early excuses for the night. No slight intended to those we met, but we were more tired, rather than our normal scintillating company that evening. The BPC made us feel most welcome.
Head torchs slicing the darkness we crossed the field back to the site and our sleeping bags. Early at 9pm, but definitely needy of some shut eye.
Back to that campsite entrance now. Its proximity meant a steady stream of jolly pub returnees & and late arrivals to the campsite. As a result the hours onto midnight were regularly punctuated with car headlights illuminating the tent, the sound of car diesel motors passing close to the tent, and irregular outbreaks of happy campers on a night out.
None of these, I hasten to add, anything exceptional taken in isolation. But as a recurrent backdrop something that I'd rather not have around me.
As I reflected to Darren earlier in the evening, after catching myself once again whinging 'God, I hate campsites' my problem was not the site, but my reaction to it. I’d had a similar reaction during the BPC meet back in April (with rather more cause on that occasion)
And as for Swanage steam engine line. Which idiot thinks it makes for a happy experience to sound that bleedin' train whistle so late at night? And so repeatedly?
Have I finally morphed into a Grumpy Old Sod? (Mrs JH is not allowed an answer at this point. She's biased; And I know what her answer is without asking)
Far from it. Its more that after my wildcamping trips, mostly solo, and always far from the (for me) maddening crowds, these days I seem to have an aversion to the Happy Camper Syndrome - A cheap week of Outdoor Fun with BBQs, Beer, & Bitching. The group experience can work, as experienced on the Blogger meet-ups, out in the wild places, far from the towns.
Perhaps that reflects the attitude and expectations Joe Public Camper, compared to those whom I believe carry a deeper affinity for fitting in amongst natural surroundings. Not this scribe's arrogance I hope. Just mindful of some tactful re-education amongst the less experienced campers. But not a topic high on my agenda at 11:30 pm.
An observation reinforced early Saturday morning as I discovered an overnight arrival had pitched their tent so close to mine that I had to be wary opening my car door, in case I ripped their flysheet. Hmm, now that’s what I call tightly packed. And certainly an unintended slight I'm sure.
Out of the sleeping bag. Coffee bump start, cereal bar breakfast, and nicotine fix satiated I burst forth into ……….clag. Deep, wet and humid. Hopefully only sea mist following yesterday's heat, but for the moment a chilly start.
(A Purbeck clag greeting)
Darren's grinning report of his early success with bacon, eggs, frying pan and his Bush Buddy helped cheer me up. Well sort of - the swine. And on the plus side I got an extra hours sleep instead.
A chat shared with the BPC crew with some of their feedback on the Furtech Sleeping Bag which they were able to look over. The bag was this weekend's test kit, but despite my original intention wasn’t used Friday night (The reason for which will become apparent when I come to write that kit report)
(A subject of some discussion)
Bloggers Go To The Seaside? Well more like Darren and me off to the flesh pots of Swanage. Coffee & cakes. And sunshine - hurrah! For Darren a chance find of a new iPood (don’t ask - other people buy postcards or sticks of rock at the seaside, but nothing as predictable for our Darren)
(The World in Stone - Durlston Head)
A detour to the imaginative stone work on Durlston Head, and then back to a lazy afternoon playing with the sun whilst waiting for my tent to dry-off before finally departing homeward. Unfortunately the thought of a repeat of the previous night proving too much of a detraction I'm afraid.
No slur intended either on the campsite or the people I met, and especially no criticism of the Dorset BPC event.
More a personal recognition as to where my pleasure lies these days; Or more specifically, as I'm coming to realise, where it doesn't.
And that seems to be anywhere near organised camping facilities.Labels: Backpackers Club, blog media, Gear, Mental Health, nature
Friday, September 19
A Walk on the Wild Side :New Forest Walkabout
"Its Been Emotional" (Big Chris 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels': Vid Clip - 4'50)
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Tuesday, July 8
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
Whoops, I bet you're already wondering where this one's going! Not the most positive sounding start I've offered up, but if you know the reference, the initial bleakness belies a wealth of hidden meaning. Deep chappies those fag smoking frenchie philosopher types. Or maybe just intelligible?
But nevertheless the quotation that I had running through my head on the trip back home from the Dorset Backpackers Club meet this weekend.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here - back to the beginning of the trip.
Battling Friday rush hour traffic, a delayed end to a busy working week, was not the way this weekend was intended to start. Add in emergency home repairs completed earlier that afternoon. As a result that evening found me in a frazzled state as I finally arrived at Tom's Field Campsite high on the Isle of Purbeck, near Swanage.
I'd anticipated a quiet corner, some gentle backpacking chat with other Dorset members and a little shop talk with fellow Blogger Darren. But as a late arrival at this particular party the scene was already set with tents piled deeply around the field nearest the toilets & shop.
And also the site's entrance, whose pertinence will become clear as this tale unfolds.
Shoe horning the Akto in alongside Darren's Hex tepee my practiced settling in was quickly sorted, and then to the traditional first brew of the weekend as my reward.
(pass the tin-opener)But whats this? Already the sunny day is fading, as lengthening shadows cool the air, a call to switch to warmer clothing. What had happened to the day?
Barely time for a quick 'Hi' to the BPC members pitched several tents along the row, and to Darren alongside. All muttered against a backdrop of a screaming toddler somewhere amongst the nearby tents. Looking around I could see that this particular camping field already seemed to be filled to a rather high capacity. A mix of BPC members, young family groups, motor homes and lads-on-the-razz. Hmm an incendiary mix? Potentially.
Time for the pub. Reasonable food & beer and a friendly welcome. But as a local of these parts that irritating recognition that the food prices seemed to have been set mindful of the captive market from the two local camp sites, punters likely to pay-up without too much fuss. With the alternative pub dejectedly displaying a "For Sale" sign above its dark closed doorway we campers had a very limited choice. Market forces I believe it's called.
Trevor, the Dorset BPC rep kindly searched out Darren and myself, with an invite to join the other BPC members, unaware we were already working our way down our last beer, both happy to turn in early. But appreciative of the offer, and not wishing to abuse this friendly overture we sat and chatted for a short while with the other members before tendering our early excuses for the night. No slight intended to those we met, but we were more tired, rather than our normal scintillating company that evening. The BPC made us feel most welcome.
Head torchs slicing the darkness we crossed the field back to the site and our sleeping bags. Early at 9pm, but definitely needy of some shut eye.
Back to that campsite entrance now. Its proximity meant a steady stream of jolly pub returnees & and late arrivals to the campsite. As a result the hours onto midnight were regularly punctuated with car headlights illuminating the tent, the sound of car diesel motors passing close to the tent, and irregular outbreaks of happy campers on a night out.
None of these, I hasten to add, anything exceptional taken in isolation. But as a recurrent backdrop something that I'd rather not have around me.
As I reflected to Darren earlier in the evening, after catching myself once again whinging 'God, I hate campsites' my problem was not the site, but my reaction to it. I’d had a similar reaction during the BPC meet back in April (with rather more cause on that occasion)
And as for Swanage steam engine line. Which idiot thinks it makes for a happy experience to sound that bleedin' train whistle so late at night? And so repeatedly?
Have I finally morphed into a Grumpy Old Sod? (Mrs JH is not allowed an answer at this point. She's biased; And I know what her answer is without asking)
Far from it. Its more that after my wildcamping trips, mostly solo, and always far from the (for me) maddening crowds, these days I seem to have an aversion to the Happy Camper Syndrome - A cheap week of Outdoor Fun with BBQs, Beer, & Bitching. The group experience can work, as experienced on the Blogger meet-ups, out in the wild places, far from the towns.
Perhaps that reflects the attitude and expectations Joe Public Camper, compared to those whom I believe carry a deeper affinity for fitting in amongst natural surroundings. Not this scribe's arrogance I hope. Just mindful of some tactful re-education amongst the less experienced campers. But not a topic high on my agenda at 11:30 pm.
An observation reinforced early Saturday morning as I discovered an overnight arrival had pitched their tent so close to mine that I had to be wary opening my car door, in case I ripped their flysheet. Hmm, now that’s what I call tightly packed. And certainly an unintended slight I'm sure.
Out of the sleeping bag. Coffee bump start, cereal bar breakfast, and nicotine fix satiated I burst forth into ……….clag. Deep, wet and humid. Hopefully only sea mist following yesterday's heat, but for the moment a chilly start.
(A Purbeck clag greeting)Darren's grinning report of his early success with bacon, eggs, frying pan and his Bush Buddy helped cheer me up. Well sort of - the swine. And on the plus side I got an extra hours sleep instead.
A chat shared with the BPC crew with some of their feedback on the Furtech Sleeping Bag which they were able to look over. The bag was this weekend's test kit, but despite my original intention wasn’t used Friday night (The reason for which will become apparent when I come to write that kit report)
(A subject of some discussion)Bloggers Go To The Seaside? Well more like Darren and me off to the flesh pots of Swanage. Coffee & cakes. And sunshine - hurrah! For Darren a chance find of a new iPood (don’t ask - other people buy postcards or sticks of rock at the seaside, but nothing as predictable for our Darren)
(The World in Stone - Durlston Head)A detour to the imaginative stone work on Durlston Head, and then back to a lazy afternoon playing with the sun whilst waiting for my tent to dry-off before finally departing homeward. Unfortunately the thought of a repeat of the previous night proving too much of a detraction I'm afraid.
No slur intended either on the campsite or the people I met, and especially no criticism of the Dorset BPC event.
More a personal recognition as to where my pleasure lies these days; Or more specifically, as I'm coming to realise, where it doesn't.
And that seems to be anywhere near organised camping facilities.
Labels: Backpackers Club, blog media, Gear, Mental Health, nature
A Walk on the Wild Side :New Forest Walkabout
"Its Been Emotional" (Big Chris 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels': Vid Clip - 4'50)
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.Labels: Mental Health, nature
Tuesday, July 8
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
A sentiment I've been heartily echoing recently as work/life pressures continue to steadily build. Knowledge of a forthcoming, very late summer holiday, our first trip abroad for 15+ years, somehow adding to that roller coaster feeling. Rather than the opposite anticipated effect.
But hey, none of this is new in my life. A shift in viewpoint then. That essential paradigm shift. Memo to Self - a need to control my reaction to circumstance, rather than become enmeshed within it's mindless rush.
That ever incessant urging to embark on the Helter Skelter Express. Headlong towards the dark and ominous tunnel, that lies in wait at the end of all our journeys.
My own ticket is necessary for disembarkation at an earlier station. Something building within me recently. A need for that special sense of quiet. Not merely the avoidance of social interaction, but a total absence of noise. Distant road traffic, the breathing and idiosyncratic personal irritants of other humanity, even those close and deeply loved. A burning desire for solitude and peace.
The chance to take one huge lungful of nothingness. To breathe it deep down inside my body and recall my mind back to the real meaning of existence.
Escape. Earlier today. A New Forest track. Far from the popular routes that others frequent. On this sun kissed Friday morning, towards the end of the holiday season, a perfect opportunity to reach out and touch that great void. Alone. Even if this time it is only for a fleetingly short visit. A hastily grabbed, but long planned, day free of the normal obligations of everyday life.
The path, still boggy in places from recent rainfall, keeps the conscious mind alert. Planning the body's way ahead. Trees and undergrowth still unseasonably reckless with their intrusion across this ancient forest way. A sign of this year's summer weather resulting in a outburst of vegetative growth.
Above and ahead, in gaps through the tree canopy, a blue and cloudless sky. Amongst the open glades, the sunshine feeling warm on forearms and face, before being vanquished once more as the path returns into the deep woodland.
On softer ground, signs left of recent deer activity. The short twin stabs of hoof print marking in the mud a reminder that the herd is near, even if unseen as I quietly travel through their domain. But always sensed out there deeper into the scrub land of the denser forest.
Here and there the ever remarkable fungal sculpture. Now lessening as the colder nigh time temperature starts to slow down their appearance.
Birdsong is again my walking accompaniment. Returning after its late summer absence. The jostling for territory marked with an increasing concerto of trills and whistles. The strong busily establishing their feed grounds ready for Springtime mating, despite their unknowing of the repetitive seasonal cycle. Following their own deep primal urge.
A crossing of tracks, out on open ground. Unusually for one who tends to walk without break today I choose to sit on the carefully positioned bench. A pause to saviour the warmth radiating from the wood behind my back. On the sturdy monument a small weather beaten plate, a brief nod to another's life. One who at some time during their 75 years discovered this place. And felt it special enough to leave a marker for others as yet unknown, but able to share their pleasure.
At my feet a wood ant, carrying debris more than twice its size. And as soon as one is identified, another is spotted nearby. And then more. Until suddenly, as the eye/brain recognises the pattern of movement, the path comes alive beneath my feet as hundreds of woodland ants track scent paths to and from their nest. Another journey with a more dedicated purpose. The sunshine providing the anthill with the opportunity for some housekeeping and late season stockpiling. Preparation for the darker days ahead.
I raise myself from the bench to rejoin the path. Moving onwards. My unconscious continues to quietly sift through conflicting urgencies. Left to itself for the present to juggle life's imperatives. Whatever conclusions it offers to be considered later.
For the present, its enough to simply wander alone amongst the natural world. And share the moment.
Labels: Mental Health, nature
M&G LeJoG complete
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Thursday, May 29
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
M&G Go For A Walk? Well perhaps not for a few days now they've completed their Land's End to John O' Groats wander.
As one journey ends, I'm sure others will be calling out for the couple's attention.
As Alan Sloman found after his LEJOG meander back in 2007 just what else is there to do now, when waking up to face each new day?
What replaces that daily certainty? That steady movement towards the destination.
Things have changed. No going back to the way they used to be, or so it seems. The personality that started out on the journey all those months ago has been irrevocably altered.
OK, perhaps in Alan's case it seemed to involve pubs (lol), but I'm looking forward to Mick and Gayle's on-line deliberation as to what happens next.
Well done both.
Labels: blog media, LEJOG, Mental Health
Community is not all smiles, all the time
I've not idea where I found this; But as a parent who once used to read the series to my younger kids, the naughtiness of the approach made me smile.
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-) Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
Monday, May 26
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
A necessary relief. For things have not been happy in parts of the bloggosphere this week. Without going into details a couple of examples have come my way of 'fallings out'.
By the very nature of the web its far too easy to misconstrue what you may read on-line; Or worse the intent of those behind them; When all you have to go on is just words.
I vaguely recall some stats explaining the different facets that go into communication between people. A quick ferret with Google indicates body language is up around 55% whilst the actual words used account for 7%. Small wonder then that misunderstanding and disagreements arise so readily.
Spend much time on the net and you will undoubtedly fall into this trap somewhere along the way, hence the widespread use of emoticons to get across some of the real intent behind the words.
(And once again comes that weird situation where I find my last post on the perils of on-line communication was almost one year ago to the day. Oeer!)
In person theses sort of things would be quickly sorted out, and opinions made/changed about the individuals concerned. But on the net they can sometimes create a feeling out of all proportion to the original 'slight'. And be incredibly upsetting despite the logical mind insisting it should be otherwise.
My older article hopefully provides some thoughts on being realistic about protecting your personal identity. But one further observation if I may.
Treat the net like life, and talk to sort out differences. But at the end of it all accept opinions differ. sometimes irrevocably. But if you have already built up a good relationship of trust and friendship, sometimes just letting the thing drop will often be the easiest way forward.
Just like in real life.
But on here, and unlike real-life, on-line communication can be terminated just by switching off the computer, and walking away. With any further contact ignored forever.
A bit like walking together in a large group. Sometimes you may get stuck with Major Bore. Sometimes with Mr Lonely. Possibly Miss Bossy gets involved. But the journey is over all too quickly, and each life goes their seperate way. Next time you might try to ensure those three walk off together; Or perhaps you choose to travel alone in future.
But whatever your own personal approach, try to Go With The Flow. To accept the good things this medium provides; Whilst managing the less good with that level of maturity and control we all have as part of our character.
Unless you're a sociopath. But probably not a good idea to go down that path just now I think.
We don't want Mr. Wicker Man to take over control. Now do we?
;-)
Labels: Blogger tip, Mental Health
SUNny DAY - Burbush, Burley & Holmsley Ridge
"The name of the Colombian train driver was Diablo (Devil) He had the ability to find a cold beer wherever we stopped across the lawless rural countryside" Manu Chao/Times Interview Podcast
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along. Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Saturday, May 24
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
The MP3 player provided an interesting contrast soundtrack as I set out from Burbush Car Park, part way between Bransgore and Burley, following the less hazardous tracks of the rural New Forest.
The car park was surprisingly quiet for a Bank Holiday Sunday lunchtime. Perhaps the poor weather forecast was to blame? Within a few minutes my waterproof was rolled up to remain tied around my waist as the sun watched my progress from a clear blue sky during the next couple of hours.
Today was a 'follow my nose' wander. Originally setting out along a familiar circular route, I started to branch off, moving easily onto adjacent circular paths eventually forming one large 5-6 mile circuit of the area. I only realised this along the way as at each turn-around point I ignored the beckoning return path. Happy just to extend my enjoyment of the weather, my easy movement, my personal soundtrack and the lack of others wanderers, except in the distance.
A couple of small hill climbs to warm up before wandering away from the tourist track to slip into woodland and reappear behind Moorhill House Hotel. The small houses hereabouts always a visual delight.
At the foot of the tarmac hill, once again veering off into mixed woodland. Carefully picking my way along the unmarked track to avoid the broad area of deceptive bogland. My route developed by trail and error through many seasons past.
Up now onto Burley golf-course, trying not to laugh at one of the more unexpected obstacles on the course. Wonder what number of strokes should be dropped for this encounter on the tee?
Back in the valley, a pause by the stream's natural pool for the dogs to take on some water. But hopefully not including the local aquatic wildlife.
Onto the Holmsley Cycle Track,for a short period, before swinging back up to Holmsley Ridge. To wander peacefully along its length. All to quickly coming to its end and seeing the distinctive twin pools near the Bransgore/Burley Road.
Time to pause. Excused movement for the moment to rest the older dog, now starting to lag behind. But really a chance to drink in my surroundings and savour.........well just being alive really. These paths are ones I've trodden scores of times, in all weathers, and across many years. But today somehow different, and to be valued.
There's something unique about walking across the wilder terrain that is just so mood enhancing at times. Ignore any fitness benefits. This type of thing just cannot be bought, or forced to happen. Just appreciated when it comes along.
Labels: Mental Health, New Forest, podcasts, walks
Mad, Bad & Good To Go
I spotted a BBC news item earlier today trailing the forthcoming BBC2 SpringWatch programme. One theme discussed was the beneficial effects of nature. With personal insight from one of SW's presenters, Bill Oddie, a self confessed sufferer with clinical depression.
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-) Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Sunday, February 24
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
This hearkens back to a regular theme mentioned here in the past praising regular activity outdoors as a simple and rapid pick-me-up for mental health improvement. And searching for that reference I spotted it was about the same time last year that I posted on this subject.
Oh dear - should I worry?
Perhaps its because I feel much in need of recharge myself after some difficult work pressures over the last few weeks (Hence the erratic posting - sitting in front of a keyboard for relaxation hasn't really been much of a pleasure recently)
Then there's been the steady stream of ad hoc visitors at home. All usually welcome, but not one after the other like the typical early morning bus to work.
Normally either of these is not a problem. But this Bank Holiday weekend I just feel like pulling up the drawbridge and repelling all boarders (says he mixing his metaphors)
I'd already decided, in light of Ian Fleming's 100th birthday anniversary (huh- how does that work then?) and a passing acquaintance with the film version of his creation James Bond 007, that I'd read through the whole series of Bond books in their published sequence. An idea arising from recent press articles about the man and the depiction of his work on film. For Bond, on film, is not the same as Bond the book character. (Why do films seem to screw up a good plot so very easily?) And as for the plot lines - typically mangled to hell it appears (I read Octopussy during the week - a 30 page short story, and little to do with Bond, except as a catalyst; And definitely nothing about world domination!)
Fleming wrote each new book to lead on from the previous, making for one long story across the books as a whole. It's a great way to approach an author's work if you find the material enjoyable, especially if you read as quickly as myself.
I first tried this a few years ago with the C.P.Snow series "Strangers & Brothers", about 13 books I recall. Trying to remember the total brings to mind pleasant memories of a trip to Hay-On Wye, the UK second-hand book capital, tracking down cheap pulp versions of each edition.
Closer to home I have scoured the local charity shops to find missing items, occasionally turning to E-Bay, or Amazon's excellent used section. For it's often the early part of the series that proves more difficult to find with smaller print runs when the author was less well known.
These days, having the benefit of on-line Library Search & Reservation facilities across three organisations, I can usually line up the books in advance, with only the cost of the reservation fee. True the thrill of the chase may be gone, but with much less cost. And there is also the consideration of what do to with the books once read. My expanding personal library is stored insecurely in large boxes, and as a result the attic floor groans alarmingly at times.
Its been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword" Not quite what was in mind if one night the straining attic floor was to give way, depositing its load onto me below. Peacefully asleep.
Which really is where I should be soon, to recharge my physical battery in preparation for some decent outdoor walkabouts, despite today's blustery south coast winds but unexpected warmth.
There you go.... TV, Health, Film, Education... and even a bit on the Weather at the end.
Where else could you get such a rich variety and still have the option of ignoring it all
;-)
Labels: books, Fitness, Mental Health, nature
Memories are made of this - Good Times
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times. Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket) I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Saturday, February 23
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
This scene won't mean much to any of you out there unless you have a very sharp eye and know the Lake District views extremely well. Today it appears at the head of the new E--Petition campaign site.
But to me it's a time of great joy. And one wildcamp that I'd like to share to explain some of the associated passion.
We all have those moments of intense emotional highs. And much less commonly, thankfully, the lows as well.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times.
Those times when you try to suck up inside you all that is happening. Storing that special emotional state away with mental triggers, to recall at less happier times.
Storing Hope, if you like.
Human memory being such a vague tool at times such moments may get mislaid, possibly never to return. And then suddenly thirty or so years later a trigger phrase, smell or image brings that occasion flooding back. Or at least some of the associated events and feelings. But it's rare to get that full emotional intensity as felt at the time.
August Bank Saturday lunchtime 2005. I stepped off the train at Windermere for an ad-hoc Lakeland wildcamp trip. No prior planning, just a sudden opportunity for a quick break that came from out of the blue. The rucksack, bulkier in those days, was a hurried collection of walking/camping gear left in a ready-to-go pile after my previous trip earlier in the year. As a result my synthetic sleeping bag proved too large to fit in the pack alongside the gear for a week away.
Hence my trip north from the station was broken by an afternoon in Ambleside urgently seeking a replacement bag to fit inside my pack. Or else spend the rest of the week lugging around unused camping gear whilst YHA hopping in the area.
Ambleside was that anthill of tourist activity that only a Bank Holiday brings. The outdoor shops, scenting the end of the camping season, were of course running down their stock. But finally I found a knowledgeable sales assistant, who listened to my predicament and was able to meet the criteria I set for a bag (compact, 2/3 summer wildcamp use, and within my price bracket)
I wandered out of the shop bearing a Vango Venom 225 a 3 season down offering that packed into such a ridiculously small space it could well have been carried in my pocket. The company name was one I recognised, but the bag/model unknown. A calculated risk, but then my choices were limited by necessity and time constraints.
Hopping a bus to Grasmere I alighted on to the village green for a quick change into walking gear. The pack now hugely reduced in volume once the walking boots were removed (and I'm still trying to work out how to overcome the 'boot' space on train/walk trips to this day)
Hitting the track up onto the fells rather late in the afternoon I met walkers descending from their day out. Once past Easedale Tarn I was the sole figure heading upwards. No crowds here. The earlier sunny weather now turning to ominous cloud with a moistness in the air.
I pitched at a new spot near Codale Tarn, one I'd noted in my trip log on a previous trip up to Sergeant Man. Well sheltered behind a large rock, safe from the freshening breeze, and successfully used the following year by Litehiker and his tarp at the UK Bloggers meet. A good spot.
The cloud cover was now complete but visibility remained good. In the valley I could see Grasmere a couple of hours walk away, and apparently a source of a mobile telephone mast as I was able to contact home to report my location, route plans, and emergency logistics.
A brew made, I was rested and refreshed following the exertion of my walk in. And then, suddenly, nothing.
The early start to catch the train from a station now 350 miles distant. The bus hopping northwards. The Ambleside shopping trip. The walk in. One continual rush to get to this spot. The next few days were mine to spend as I wished.
I sat and watched the world around me, settling into the environment.
A young buzzard mewed as it flew amongst the rocks above Codale Tarn. Its parents choosing this time to drive the now adult bird from their territory, to make its own place amongst the fells. I watched their interplay for an hour or so until the fledgling moved on.
The wind freshening and cloud cover complete - rain undoubtedly on the way as night approached. I turned on my MP3 player, a cheap simple memory stick. An experiment I was trying during this trip aware from experience that radio reception on the fells could be very variable.
Accompanied by the rich sound of my music selection I strolled about my temporary home, exploring amongst the rocks and water sources. Killing time it seemed. In reality soaking up that unusual feeling of having No time-target; No to-dos; No places-to-be. Just being.
Looking over to Grasmere I could imagine the bank holiday evening entertainment starting to get into full swing. But for me there had been no sight or sound from humanity for many hours.
Onto the player came a new piece of music, something I had quickly loaded the previous day. Rob Zombie's thumping ditty 'Pussy Liquor'. Not to everyone's taste I'm certain. But at that time and in that place the rhythm grabbed at me in a way that listening to it elsewhere wouldn't have been possible.
And for some reason, alone there high amongst the fell, I started to dance. Bopping amongst the rocks and heather And it just felt so right for the moment.
Playing the track as I sit typing these words I vividly recall the huge beaming smile I was wearing both at the total incongruity of that scene for any passer-by, and the deep sense of happiness and at-one -with-the-worldness deep within me.
The following day I walked straight into the teeth of a rather nasty gale force storm and recognising the high element of risk there followed an uncomfortable and very rapid descent to the safety of the Langdale valley.
But that sense of well being remained with me for many days, and is one that can be recalled when needed.
And the sleeping bag? A great bargain and still in regular use despite many temptations to replace it.
Labels: Gear, Mental Health, nature, walks
Memories are made of this - Bad Times
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Friday, January 11
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
During a brief outing with the dogs earlier today I wandered off the beaten track and and came across this fresh reminder of Spring on its way. And that triggered a memory from past years. An extremely low time in my life.
The winter months - a time at which I still seem to find somewhat difficult each year.
For a few months I had far too much time to myself. Faced with the choices of a gradual decline into persistent inactivity or an all essential internal shake-up I fell back to trying to achieve small successes. Day by day living as it were.
Old ways which had served me well in the past were the starting point. A daily walk. Nowhere in particular as long as it was rural and mostly away from others.
An opportunity then to watch the land slowly come to life around me as the days lengthened. This particular tree, established on some patchy scrub land adjoining farm and common land was part of a regular route I used two or three times each week. With each visit I watched the changes of nature. Buds tipping the trees and bushes. Sprouts of vibrantly green grass poking through the leaf mould underfoot.
And then one day I suddenly was struck by the apparent outburst of dangling catkins, gently jiggling in the breeze. A reminder that life changes and to move along with it is the way of the world. But to remain positive in outlook whatever the circumstances. All is transitory, but good times will follow bad eventually; Given the inner resources to live through them.
So today on seeing the scene pictured above I took a deep breath. The bad times during those forlorn days mostly forgotten now. But the lessons remembered as an integral part of my own personal approach to living nowadays.
The tree breathing hope to all who may pass this spot. And have eyes to see.
Labels: Mental Health, nature, walks
Bird Song on the Radio
Did you get a DAB Radio for Xmas? Or perhaps like me you are already a convert to a wider selection of listening for the over 12s.
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info hereLabels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Wednesday, January 2
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
The DAB station Oneword (a dire idea) has gone bust. But before you click that mouse - there is a more positive side.
In the pre-transmission signal tests for Classic FM there was a unique radio experience which swiftly became a highly popular listening treat.
For hours you could relax listening to broadcast birdsong. It sounded to me as if some recording equipment had been set up in the middle of woodland. Switched on. And left. The sounds of undisturbed wildlife were captured, including the vehicle eventually turning up to switch off the gear.
Birdsong. The transmission is probably only around for a limited time. But highly recommended to lull you into lazy summer days.
More info here
Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous
Miserable Git or The Secret of a Happy Life?
It says here that "The key to a happy relationship could be accepting that some miserable times are unavoidable"
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?Labels: Mental Health
Monday, December 31
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
Well it's worked quite well for me both inside and outside the marital arena (Oops - now why did I choose that particular word I wonder - only joshing Mrs JH - lol)
An interesting solution is offered though - "The authors recommend using mindfulness, a Buddhist meditation technique, to help cope...... The technique requires individuals to focus on their present thoughts and actions.."
Sounds like a natural benefit from walking, especially solo, annd particularly in the hills.
Wonder if the "miserable times" ever had ridge walking in Lakeland rain & wind?
Labels: Mental Health
Heart Felt New Year Wishes
No 'Happy New Year' yells belting out from here I'm afraid.
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?Labels: Mental Health
Sunday, December 16
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
Personally the calendar flip to a new century's digit seems of such an arbitrary value. And as a survivor of far too many New Year's Eve celebrations, anticipating party to excess, but later looking back with a bemused bewilderment at pre-hope versus the actual event I'm left wondering at why a lot of us bother. I've tried it with and without the alcoholic accelerant and seem to end up a cynical observer most of the time.
Perhaps that's just me. But like Xmas the main winners are the retail/restaurant/pub service outlets. Each year these industries promote an image of joyous consumption. And each year this brainwashing starts earlier.
But post celebration reality seems to be one of of debt, drink fuelled argument/violence, relationship breakdown, and immense loneliness for those members of our society who for reasons of their circumstances often feel estranged from the communal society touted as the spirit of the seasonal jollity.
Now I wasn't going to mention suicide rates, but reading back over the above, and realising how black my mood appears, and that honestly wasn't my original intent starting this piece, let's have a bit of good news to balance the scales:
"Contrary to past reports, depression and suicide rates actually fall during the holidays" L.A.Times (17 Dec 07)
Meanwhile I side with Thomas Mann:
"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols"
Ways to celebrate the New Year?
Being close with ones you really care about, and they with you. And if that's not an option at present why not take Li Po's suggestion:
"All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I"
May your plans for 2008 be ones that you achieve. Those that bring you enjoyment and personal satisfaction. Whatever that may be for you.
And as for resolutions - pah. Easily made, easily lost. But why wait for an arbitrary point. Start each day anew.
Now where's that bottle of rum gone?
Labels: Mental Health
Finally a little peace and quiet
Football Cup Final. England football World Cup games. Wimbledon finals weekend. Horse Racing Grand National day. Any events that capture national interest. The run up to Christmas.
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Sunday, December 9
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
Recognise any common thread here?
This afternoon's walk on the New Forest took me to a usually busy area, close to one of the major camp sites. A little like a human anthill in July/August. And never really that quiet even outside the tourist season.
But today. Not one car sighted on my journey there. No vehicle was to be found in the usually busy car park. And only a couple of other people spotted wandering in the distant. And those only after a half hour or so of my solitary wander with the dog.
The world around me, or so it appeared, my personal domain for one of those oh so rare occasions. The sort of thing that I would normally expect to walk off into the hills for 2 or 3 hours to achieve.
And the cause?
I expect most folk were either Xmas shopping, or more sensibly hunkering down deep into a bunker mentality that the pre Xmas run up almost demands these days, for anyone trying hard to recall the "true" spirit of Xmas.
Its not all booze, parties, spending and January depression as the credit card statement drops onto the door mat. Not for some of us.
A bit of peace and quiet. A time for personal reflection. A long walk in the cold air (3 deg C and a cold wind - brrr)
This is my enjoyment of the the "true" nature of the world around us all. So difficult to discover some days, and so easily overlooked at this time of the year.
Bliss.
The moral. When the masses go left, turn right and head for the open spaces. Works everytime as long as you can predict the movement of the masses, which is not that difficult if you learn what to look out for.
I know where I'll be on Xmas Eve. And possibly I might find you in a similar place all of your own as well?
Here's hoping.
Labels: Mental Health, New Forest
Dorset climber rescue - a waste of space
One worrying individual has caught local media attention for all the wrong reasons.
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Sunday, October 14
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
Late November (Tues 20th to be precise) a certain individual (lets call him 'Mr Whadafooch' to protect his identity) had to be rescued from a cliff close to Langton Matravers, here in Dorset.
The location "the bottom of Guillemot Climb near Dancing Ledge" - now try to remember that name - there may be a test later.
If memory serves it was a cold and wet day and Mr W "misjudged his timing and got stuck at the bottom of a cliff with ankle and head injuries as darkness approached" I recall hearing a local radio news report at the time and wondering about the lack of preparation in the conditions.
To quote the official incident report "The weather at the time was cyclonic force 5 or 6 becoming southwesterly and with squally showers" Mr W was "without a helmet or waterproof clothing"
Enter Portland Coastguard's helicopter which flew Mr W "who was suffering from exposure" to a local hospital.
The Coastguard's comment at the time: "A valuable lesson from this incident has been the clear need for any climber to take the appropriate equipment"
An quite right. Sound advice. The local cliffs aren't exceptionally high, but once the tide is in escape options become very limited, and windward ledges can get exceptionally exposed.
Roll forward to early December (Tues the 4th) - another coastguard call out in the same area. As the local newspaper The Daily Echo reports:
"TWO climbers who got into trouble during a stormy night ascent of Swanage sea cliffs have been brandished "disgraceful" by coastguards. One of the pair, a relatively experienced climber in his early twenties, was forced to call for rescue on Tuesday for the SECOND time in a fortnight. This time the man's climbing partner, also in his early 20s, was stuck 60ft down the bottom of Guillemot Ledge (recognise that name readers?), but two weeks ago the coastguard's rescue helicopter was scrambled after another of his companions became trapped on the same ledge"
I bet the coastguard were most impressed when they turned up to that particular incident.
The article mentions the coastguard comment "These guys were given a really good talking to. They are putting other people's lives at risk. They really should know better than to climb in these sorts of conditions"
There's plenty more of the same "....After getting into trouble once you would think this more experienced climber would have learned something, but clearly not. To attempt a second climb at night in these sorts of conditions is asking for trouble.." and ".....in these conditions in the middle of the night, it really borders on stupidity. They must have been on the cliff face for some time. I think they are lucky to be alive"
I somehow think that the coastguard's message might have been put across to Mr W a little more forcibly during this second incident.
Hopefully there will be no third time lucky.
I'll let you think up your own suitable comments here (although there's some ideas for you to start with here)
More from the Swanage Coastguard incident log as well including the famous line "some rather strong words of advice were given to him"
Oh I bet they were.
There is being unlucky. And then there's making your own luck.
Labels: Mental Health, Miscellaneous, Mountain Rescue Team(MRT)
Traveller’s Travails – A cure for HomeSickness?
Surely the art of good writing is to achieve that elusive link betwixt writer and reader, to evoke a shared recognition of the human condition?
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’. Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
"Experience has taught me that when home sickness strikes I can either allow my mind to fester on it, or busy myself with other things"
An innocuous comment in Cameron McNeish ‘Wild Connection’ piece in November’s TGO magazine (extracted from "The Wilderness World of Cameron McNeish") But something that chimed a chord with my own particular experience.
An insignificant thought on the face of it, but a subject with the ability to destroy the enjoyment of an outdoors trip. Something that is rarely covered in the annals of outdoor writing usually covering daring-do feats in wild and oft foreign places. But with the increased ease to communicate via mobile phones one that can strike without warning.
I wouldn’t regard myself as that widely travelled. Over the years I’ve visited cultures in the USA, North Africa, and much of the Mediterranean. Fleeting sorties mostly. Enough to value the differences, and celebrate the commonality cross humanity. But at time the cultural differences can make one feel very much a stranger in a strange land.
Over recent years, busily raising a family, my trips away from home have mostly been within the UK. And with it a realisation that whilst travel does indeed broaden the mind, it’s more the act of removing oneself from the security blanket of home and the familiar that is at the heart of creating a traveller. An individual moving through life, anonymous for the most part amongst fellow humans busy with their normal day to day tasks.
Stuck in an anonymous hotel on the other side of the world for weeks on end, homesickness is a recognisable and accepted symptom. One of not belonging. Of being an outsider. Even when part of a group, and to some extent seemingly more insulated from the local culture, who amongst us have not lain awake at 4 a.m. body clock still tuned in to the noise of a background life still murmuring thousands of miles away. The ears automatically straining for those recognisable familiar sounds. The gurgle of the deep freeze unit; the snuffle of dogs moving in their sleep in the kitchen below. The distinctive tick of a favourite clock.
Those oh so minor background noises that suddenly seem to take on an intensely personal value. And then the understanding of this detached loneliness kick in. The mind unprepared for the sudden onrush of an unfamiliar emotion. The sudden desire to be far away from here - to be back amongst the familiar. Even to desire that tedium whilst instinctively understanding that its attraction will swiftly pall once again and be the catalyst for escape once more.
Homesickness will strike anywhere and at the strangest times. It’s not the distance from home that is the cause, although the stranger the surroundings, the more intense a catalyst. Or perhaps the expectation in a remote land provides some form of preparatory safeguard to watch out for the signs.
Perhaps it’s more an understanding that there is to be a semi-permanent separation from one’s chosen existence. An emotional mini-death of sorts? An exclusion.
I once had such an onrush barely five hours into train trip northwards at the sight of mother talking with her young children, despite my own being very much older, and ones that were bade farewell only that morning.
And despite increasing age/maturity along with degree of security of place and emotional stability, the feeling can still sneak up on my blind side and strike deep at times. And then, on some trips – totally unaffected.
How then to deal with it for those of us who need to escape the day to day routines? Especially those of us who travel solo, and as such will always be an outsider amongst the social cliques that form whenever more than a couple of people come together?
In my experience the first step is to recognise the feeling exists, and that it is a normal reaction, no matter whatever the trigger (in my case music is usually the cause) When that feeling wells up, accept it for what it is, don’t bother to dig into it, but gently acknowledge its existence, and then lay it to one side.
And then, as Cameron succinctly advises, don’t fester, get busy.
However minor the activity chosen, within minutes that emotion termed ‘homesickness’ drifts back to wherever it came from. It’s an approach that’s never failed me.
After the first attempt to break out into my consciousness any further outbreaks are somehow minimised to less subjective circumstances becoming more a reminder of the circumstance that describes my own existence. My basis for personal existence and community. A sort of comparative benchmark to check my frame of mind and acceptance of personal circumstance.
Surprisingly I’ve never had this feeling when wildcamping alone, far from others. But find it can especially strike when part of an enforced community. Such as leaving a strange pub, those within all familiar with their fellows and belonging, and myself leaving alone to go out into the darkness as I leave.
Or perhaps staying at a YHA, once an opportunity to meet fellow solo travellers, passing through from here to there; But these days so it seems, self contained groups safely insulated in their established inter-relational dynamics and thereby effectively excluding meaningful interaction with others that they meet.
So thanks Cameron for bringing this subject out into the open, where it can be recognised, examined, catalogued, and then put safely away in the box marked ‘Traveller’s Self-Help Kit’.
Labels: Mental Health, TGO Magazine
All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch
