A Lost Opportunity - thanks to Covid

Today, Sunday, we should have been in Akureyri, ready for our flight to Greenland tomorrow. It’s 9C and cloudy there. Tomorrow, we would have arrived at Canning Land, where the temperature is 4C.

But we are not there. I managed to contract Covid at the last minute and we have had to cancel the trip. This morning I put away the clothes I had laid out for packing. I have yet to do the same with the camping equipment.

Here in North Wales, it is 30C and sunny. It is so warm I have retreated inside. Even in my hammock under the shade of the tree, which the squeaking of the baby wrens, issuing forth from the hawthorn stump, it is not cool enough.

Tomorrow, it will get even hotter. It is unprecedented.

Meanwhile, I am in mourning for our trip.

‘Oh well,’ more than one friend has said; ‘maybe you can rearrange it, for when you are better.’

That is impossible now, for this year at least. The summer in Greenland only lasts three weeks. It was a trip of a lifetime. It took my husband a whole year to organise it. It has cost a fortune. One that he has slaved to earn. And one that we doubt the insurance company will fully pay up either. Even though the insurance alone cost each of us around £500. More than many people spend on a holiday in the first place.

My sense of loss around this trip is deep. I have lost a small part of my identity - the adventurer who travels to Greenland and comes home to write about it. It is much more than a trip that can ‘be rearranged for when you’re better’.

A trip.

A small word that does not begin to convey what it was actually about.

I remember once that Caitlin Moran wrote about how, if she uses the word ‘dragon’, we each conjure up a different idea of what that dragon might look like, often with more than one idea about what a dragon might look like.

The same is true for a trip. There are many different ideas about a trip.

If I said expedition, it might bring people closer to what I mean. But the full ideation is outside of most people’s experience. It was a dream. It was to take place in one of the last true wildernesses on the planet; most people’s idea of hell but for me a paradise.

We’d have been dropped off by small plane on a sandy beach, no runway.

There would have been 24hours of daylight.

We’d have had to keep watch for polar bears and had weapons with us, just in case.

We’d have had all our food in dehydrated packages and would have had to dig our own latrine.

I’m not sure I fully believed in it in the first place. A small part of me always sensed it was not going to happen. And as we got closer to leaving, there was a sense of all the lemons lining up, little things that each affected how the expedition would play out; we had been batting them away one by one, but now, we had no choice but to cancel it. It would simply be too risky in such a remote location, even with a highly qualified anaesthetist in the group – if it took a turn for the worse, there is nothing she could have done. It may be too late by the time we could have arranged the plane to come back to pick us up.

 I was so keen on going. The sense of escape, and peace and tranquillity. To be free. To be fully myself. To completely lose myself in the stark landscape. To be everything that this poem expresses so much better than I can. Untravelled Lands by Ben Silvestre

Today was also the day that many of us said goodbye to a young man, a colleague and friend to me. Someone who I was privileged to have known, who showed me a respect I didn’t show myself when looking at my achievements, always striving for more. A man, only 30, who fell from the mountain, doing what he loved, and died. A man who left behind a fiancée and a life of love and laughter and passion and energy and drive. My heart goes out to his nearest and dearest. I couldn’t be there to pay my respects. I should have been in Greenland. Instead I am at home with Covid.

Just before I knew I had Covid, I listened to The Adventure Podcast, with Matt Pycroft talking to Kenton Cool. He reminded me so eloquently of why I love going on expedition. He talked about leaving technology behind and finding true connection, with the landscape, with the team, with oneself. But he also spoke of the biggest fear he carries - that of something bad happening to someone and not being able to do anything about it, just having to watch. That sobering thought is why we are not going to Greenland, with the big risk that we would all get Covid, but also the much lower but highly consequential risk, that someone would get too ill for us to be able to do anything about it.

And so, whilst for me, the loss is huge and it feels like part of me has been abscised, we are counting our blessings.

We still have our lives ahead of us and, indeed have lived at least 20 more than my friend and colleague.

We live in a very beautiful place that we love.

I still have my vegetables to tend, the ones I was going to leave to chance and to Simon’s mum to water, but only if she felt like it.

We have each other and we can make each other laugh with our various sillinesses.

I am fortunate enough to have been to Greenland already.

This year I have also spent many days doing The Cambrian Way, purely for myself.

I also was lucky enough to guide Wainwright’s Coast to Coast and The West Highland Way, two iconic and stunning walks in the UK. I have loved being an International Mountain Leader.

I have a new life beckoning, beginning with studying for an MSc in Sustainability and Behaviour Change. Visiting Greenland last time, in 2019, made me realise just how close to the edge we are to climate disaster and just how precious the landscapes of Greenland are. I want to make a difference; I hope this is the right first step.

Around The Mountain

Going around the mountain, 
Time to communicate with friends
Opportunities for communing with Nature
Developing an eye for detail

Around the mountain goes in stages:
Leaving the house
Down the track
Then steeply up the neighbours’ drive,
Over the stile by the last house
Under the laburnum and the ash
Out into the open hillside. 
Views reaching out below
Eye drawn to the sparkling river
On past the rampike -
The old dead tree 
With its ruff of oyster mushrooms.

The path is then snuck into the space 
Between the pine forest and the steepness of the hillside. 
Soft pine-needle flooring underfoot
Pine cones nibbled by squirrels or mice, 
The one scruffy, the other neat & tidy.
A small rocky outcrop up above

A couple of stone steps to negotiate
As the pine forest ends and the path steepens
A stream gully below to the left
Casting V-shaped contours 
A silver ghost tree drawing the eye.
A couple more rocky steps
And crossing the gully - the stream springing below
Hedged in now by bracken
Even steeper for a bit, breath rasping
The view widening as the ground gradually levels
Across to the slate-grey spoil heaps
And down to the River Dee at the bottom of the valley below, 
Or further afield,
Often to the sun setting 
Over the rounded nub end tops of the Berwyns

Looking out for the arrow traced with stones
To signal time to turn right and 
The chance to breathe again:
Climbing no more.
Past the "lone tree" and across the col, 
Footpaths leading to the tops on either side
Now into gorse, making its prickles known, 
Even re-directing the path a couple of times.

Heading downwards now
Following the badger’s paw-prints in the snow.
Another stream, springing to our right
Much more kindly, 
Merely a dimple in the hillside.
Curving round the hill to the left
Avoiding the steep bank
And popping out onto the miners’ track, 
Wonderfully level as it snakes back
Towards the nose of the hill.

Is it here we saw the white hart?
Did we really see her?
Or was she a ghost, or a goat?
Bounding swiftly away until hidden again
Making us question her... our .... reality?

Now the conversation can take over,
No longer constrained by lack of breath
Or, if alone, one can increase the speed
But often the conversation or the pace 
Is interrupted by the view.
The moon above the stand of pines
On the next ridge over.
Taking note of the masts above,
Ponderosa and Horseshoe Pass,
The eye skipping over Velvet Mountain
Stopping on the top of Fron Fawr
Then sweeping across to the escarpment of Eglwyseg
Before dropping onto the ramparts of Dinas Bran.
Then being drawn down the valley
To the white sails of the Eistedfford Pavillion
And the conurbation of Llangollen.

Reminiscing of wedding vows at the ruined Abbey 
And of Storm Brian
Who tried but failed to dampen our spirits 
As we ceilidh-ed the night away.

Light glinting on the silver coins
Of pooled water along where the river once flowed
Or softened by the emerald green of patchwork fields

Continuing on, turning the corner
Finding the flat sun-trap with
Evidence of sheep’s resting places.
Which mushrooms are out today?
The ones flaked with chocolate
Or the tiny yellow antlers
Or the little flat table tops?

One last little rise 
Past the old winding house
Just to remind the heartbeat it can't quite relax yet
Before dropping down over the hill's snout,
Again through protective gorse on each side
In the snow tiny little footprints
Dashing back under that spiny sanctuary.

Clambering over the stile
Careful not to slip now,
As the steepness increases downhill
Turning again and picking up the edge of another stand of forest
Larch this time,
In spring, lime-green needles and tiny yellow larch flowers
And galls at the ends of some spruce branches 
Like miniature pineapples, housing for grubs.
Stepping around the sheep's skeleton
Strewn into its separate pieces
Recognisable, more for the scattering
Of woollen coat in which they are nestled.
Than for any identifiable shapes.

One last stile marking the boundary
Between natural hillside habitat
And back into human habitat
Along the crunchy drive
What offerings have the cats at
Capel Horeb left today?

Finishing back where we started
More at home, in both mind and body now
Content to continue with the day's tasks
Or maybe relax by the fire
Knowing that all is well
Around the mountain.

Lucky to live here.

We are so lucky to live where we do, here in the Dee Valley in North Wales. We can head out on a 40 minute - 5 hour walk, depending on the motivation, straight from our doorstep. 

Today we set out down across the fields and as we do so a stocky smallish bird of prey rises into the sky - possibly a peregrine? Then two buzzards circle lazily upwards with their identifying mew call. 

We take the lane down past the pub and up into the next valley past Debbie and Ben’s house and round the corner and on past Cymmo and up the ancient hedgerow. No longer hedges but trees that have grown horizontally out of the bank and then turned skywards, thus having a lacuna underneath their roots, large enough and dry for a sheep to crawl in and gain shelter. They seem to defy gravity, with the bulk of the tree floating above the ground.

Much of my energy is taken up climbing the hill, generally not too steep. This is the kinder way round to travel, with the ups less steep than the downs. The fractal, light brown bracken fronds pave the path along with a mosaic of darker toned soggy post-autumn leaves.

The sun is warm, especially out of the wind and the sky seems bright. As we stop to take a layer off, we notice a very faint rainbow. I ask "where is the point of refraction?" "Good question - it is actually raining ever so slightly here, so it is somewhere above our heads," comes the reply.

Later on the moss grows over the hillside that was so thoroughly burnt only two years ago; a gorse-controlling fire had got out of hand. From a distance there’s clear emerald green and orange patches, as bright as the Irish tricolour. On reaching this moss, the orange colour disappears and the emerald takes over with maybe a slight hint of darker brown stems issuing up out of the cushiony green. Then when I look up and forward or back or off to the side the orange colour returns. It’s a bit like when you look at bluebells from afar - there seems to be a blue mist shimmering above the woodland floor, but when you get up close you see there is more green than blue and the mirage is lost. Only here it was a wonderful orange. Further on, it looked like the heather was beginning to recover, there being skeletal remains that survived the burning, the new growth beginning fresh from the ground through the tines of these skeletons. Gorse was also making a bid for real estate, and I suspect it will win. I’m pretty sure it grows faster than heather and of course nothing eats it; it is far too prickly. 

As we reach the next re-entrant the ground becomes boggier and any heather skeletons show various fungal growth, some bright orange, reflecting the colour of the moss, some brown and white variegated, similar to variegated geranium leaves but growing straight out of the wood. And some similarly shaped but deeper brown fungus. 

I set out on this walk with my mind a-jumble of so many different thoughts and feelings. My energy levels were incredibly low - it felt like my red-blood cells had forgotten to pick up the oxygen on their way through my lungs. As I sit back on the sofa writing this during the fabulous LWS’s Writers’ Hour, I feel more vibrant and although weary from the walking, inside I am buzzing again. My mind has been cleared by the linearity of the walk and my thoughts have settled down and there is less jostling for attention. 

An Autumn Rainbow

The lovely warm hues of Autumn.

A mindful walk, 

Camera in hand, 

Noticing the colours that stand out. 

Looking for a whole rainbow. 

First, the deep red rose on the side of my house,

The eye drawn to the centre of its folds. 

Or the red leaves that glow when the sunlight hits,

Like blood enriched by oxygen

Dripping down to form a pool below.

The gorgeous marigold, 

Helping to protect my squash from insect attack. 

Spiky yellow gorse on the side of Llantysilio Mountain, 

Smelling exotically of coconut, if given a squeeze. 

The spectrum of bracken 

From lush greenness, to yellowing to brown. 

The blue skies above, azure like a summer sea.

Indigo geranium, self seeded and persisting.

Violet heather, enticing the lone bee.

Breathing in the fresh air, filling the lungs,

The earthy smell of mushrooms comforting.

The linearity of putting one foot in front of the other 

Forcing the befuddled brain to unwind.

Each step leading towards clarity and away from muddled-ness. 

The focus of looking for colour, 

Taking over from the relentless stream of consciousness. 

The breathing rate slowing down. 

Equanimity restored.

The power of Nature to soothe and heal.

Life Writing at Tŷ Newydd Writing Centre

The beautiful, cosy library at Ty Newydd Writing Centre

“Start writing, no matter what, the water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

— Louis l'Amour

Life Writing at Ty Newydd Writing Centre, October 7-12, 2019 with Helen Jukes and Paul Kingsnorth.

Last week I had the privilege to take part in the life writing course at Ty Newydd. It was an incredibly valuable time for me and also an extremely interesting one with 16 fascinating individuals attending each with their own stories and different writing styles to bring to the table.

After our first taste of Tony’s delicious food on the Monday evening, we traipsed upstairs to the wonderfully inviting and cosy library.  We learnt that this building belonged to David Lloyd George and that Clough Williams Ellis had updated the original building.  In particular he had created a curved ceiling in the library that induced a strange and unsettling echo.   In the evening Helen and Paul first introduced themselves and explained how they saw the week developing.

Each day would often begin with a short free-writing exercise to stimulate the creative juices. Then a theme would be explored via some pertinent readings. Next it would be our turn go away and produce something before returning to the fabulous dining room with its old beams and huge table.  Here we would each read out what we'd produced and then receive feedback - always positive and constructive.  I would say that I got as much out of the  week from hearing other peoples readings and learning about their personal experiences and seeing their different interpretations of the task we’d been set, as I did from exploring my own.

The afternoons were spent working on our Friday evening piece - to be read out to the group as a celebration of the week. We also had an opportunity for a one-to-one session with each of the tutors. And there was the time to walk along (or swim?!) in the beautiful wooded river, the sea in the other
direction or the temptation of the ice-cream parlour in Criccieth.

Other evening activities included the treat of hearing Helen and Paul reading from their own work. On the Wednesday we were visited by Neil Ansell who read out from his books Deep country and The Last Wilderness.  Both these readings gave us an intimate view of nature through Neil’s eyes and also touched on his experience of diminishing hearing.  He answered questions about these books and gave us an insight into his relationship with the writing process.  Thursday evening we had off and a bunch of us made it down to the recently community-bought and now run pub.  Here we had some lively discussions, a  short joke-telling session and an exploration of the words pompous and pomposity!

The week culminated in a fabulous evening of readings. Everyone had worked hard to create something that they were happy reading out and the result was a kaleidoscope of different stories and explorations, each unique, eloquent and interesting.

I'd like to wholeheartedly thank Helen and Paul for the energy and passion they brought to the week. They guided us skilfully through the exercises giving us many different ways of approaching our chosen subjects. The were always positive, supportive and encouraging and I have come away with bags of enthusiasm and renewed motivation for my own writing project. Thank you so much!

https://www.tynewydd.wales/

A Calendar Year

The photos that make up my Calendar for 2019 based on the previous 12 months.

Front Cover: Sicily, Oct 18, view from Volcano looking down and across to Lipari taking in the sulphurous crate rim of Volcano

View fullsize

This was our first wedding anniversary which we chose to celebrate by taking a trip to visit the volcanoes of Sicily and her neighbouring Eolian islands. It was spectacular and so different from anything I’d seen in ages so it features heavily in this year’s calendar.

January: Finsenuten, 1599m, Norway, cross-country skiing Mar 18.

“Listen to silence. It has so much to say.” Rumi

A fantastic week building on the cross-country ski-ing skills learned last year. A place special in that it has no road access, only a train line. On this particular day the conditions were perfect apart from a bitterly cold wind. We skied up to a tiny hut which was so welcome in that biting cold. Once inside the cosy warmth from a wood-burning stove enveloped us, the smell of wood-smoke adding to the sense of comfort. We enjoyed delicious waffles, their sweetness, in that soft interior with a crispy outer, intensified by the effort of having to ski there. And setting us up to retrace our ‘steps’ back to the hostel at Finse.

February: Frost patterns onthe lochside jetty, Scotland Jan 18 and on my car, Llangollen Nov 17. 

“Nature is imagination itself.” William Blake.

I love how the detail has come out in the lefthand picture - each ‘blade’ of upstanding frost, made of 3 or 4 smaller strands, it is like a carefully styled head of hair with each blade studiously arranged in a different direction from the one next to it. The highlights occurring naturally where the light hits. If it was green it would have made very good fake lawn. In the righthand picture the frost has formed as thought on top of a series of feather templates, each one overlapping with those around it. The frost that forms on my car is indeed an illustration that not only is Nature imagination itself but an infinite form of imagination - I suspect that if such frost formed on my car every day of my life each one would be different and beautiful and remarkable.

March: Opera House, Oslo Mar 18.

“The world is but a canvas to our imagination.” Henri David Thoreau.

Man-made creativity this time but almost certainly inspired by nature. The photo is of a stunning inner wall/panel with translucent diamonds graduated to become more squashed as it also become more intensely green. Patterns such as this regularly exist in nature and draw us to them. The opera house was a delight of shapes and patterns and light. It also gives us the opportunity of an unusual perspective to explore it from its roof, perfectly angled to allow one to walk over it and to see it reflected in the water surrounding it. 

April: Sheep on a haystack.  Dee Valley, Dec 17.

“Be yourself; everyone else is taken.” Oscar Wilde

The cheeky expression on the face of this sheep makes me imagine it saying “I’m the king of the castle!” The photo does not show how tall the haystack was - it would definitely have taken some effort for the sheep to get up there and establish its superiority.

May: Beautiful cloud reflecting the sunset, Stromboli, Oct 18.

“Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.” Kahlil Gibran.

Again, use your imagination. What do you see in this cloud? It reminds me of tiny microscopic creatures called tardigrades or water bears blown up to enormous proportions. Now I look at it and I think of a koala bear. The quote links us to the infinity of imagination again here. 

June: Flowers - masterwort, Malvern May 18; hibiscus, Sicily Oct 18; dancing lady orchid, France June 18; Mirabilis Jalapa or 4 o’clock flower, Sicily Oct 18. 

“Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.” Gerard de Nerval

I particularly love the detail of the dancing lady orchids - it is as if nature knew it was creating an exquisite paper-chain of little dancing dolls. The French name for masterwort is grande radiale - a much more elevating name, I think. Flowers obviously have the power to delight and there are no end of quotes about flowers to choose from.

July: Lionnesses, Hlane, Swaziland July 18.

“The language of friendship is not words but meanings.” Henri David Thoreau

It was such privilege to get so close to these powerful beasts. Love the closeness of these two, apparently watching and waiting for the elephants to move out of their way down to the water hole. Even lions need to be cautious. I find the quote so true, friendships are about time spent together and about shared experiences and they definitely transcend words.

August: Sunset, Hlane, Swaziland July 18.

“Every sunset brings the promise of a new dawn.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Everyone loves a good sunset and this one was stunning. It provides us with a moment of refection for the day just gone and a chance to be thankful. I would love to have got out of the safari buggy to better frame the sun with the trees. However the previous photo of the two lionesses is also the the previous photo in my camera, in other words, they were still out there.

September: Seeds and fungi - Larch flowers that will become brown cones, Ecrins, France June 18; Lepiota fungus; mini mushrooms Llantysilio Mountain, possibly glistening ink cap fungus Dec 17; Abrus precatorius Swaziland July 18.

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” Lao Tzu

Everything in nature comes in so many different forms and in so many different ways of reproducing, all in its own time. Nature has a definite and deliberate order which must unfold for nature to continue and perpetuate. 

October: Wonderful patterns and colours formed in the volcanic deposits of Sicily. 

“Nature always bears the colours of the spiritual.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.

I found that these rocks were as bright and eye-catching as the arboreal ones of Autumn here in the UK.

November: Volcanic explosion on Stromboli, Sicily, Oct 18.

“Education is the kindling of a flame, not the filling of a vessel.” Socrates

In preparing to capture this awe-inspiring volcanic activity, I discovered some phenomenal photographs online. One in particular showed a lightning strike at the same time as the volcanic explosion. In fact the volcanic cloud generates the lightning but capturing it perfectly on film is a whole other ballgame. That particular photo was the culmination of 15 years of photographing volcanoes.  The window for success, I found out, is not very long. Too early and the explosions do not show up in the strong light of day. Too dark and you lose any other features that give you perspective. Twilight is the best time, you need some ambient light to pick out other features. The explosions were only happening every 5 minutes or so. There were clouds that kept obscuring the crater altogether. The moon helped, extending the twilight just long enough for me to capture this explosion. This was my first attempt at photographing such a volcano, so I was very happy with this shot.

December: The view from home, Dee Valley, North Wales, Dec 17

“A man travels the whole world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.”

George A Moore.

Home sweet home. I never tire of our view down the valley. I am so fortunate that I have such a beautiful place to return to from all my exciting travels, Scotland, Norway, Haute Alps, Swaziland, Tour du Mont Blanc, Sicily just this year.

A Write Highland Hoolie

A Write Highland Hoolie

Mallaig’s masterclass on how to host a book festival, inspiring and motivating the reader and the aspirant writer.

Do you love to read?  Do you believe there’s a book in you?  What better place to go than to a book festival to inspire and motivate your next book, be it reading or writing one!

At the end of the road, Mallaig is the perfect place to appreciate a good book. As the days draw in and autumn’s festival of colours enchants, there is a special gathering of readers and writers. We come together here, to pay homage to the creators of books and the myriad of other worlds and journeys that their books take us to, all from the comfort of our very own living rooms.

It is with that cosiness and intimacy that the West Highland Hotel, in hosting this event, was able to set the stage for a fabulously stimulating weekend. The writers’ platform held two delightfully comfy armchairs each with its own softly glowing standard lamp.  The ‘night sky’ backdrop allowed the spectator to believe they were part of the dreams being created and discussed on stage.

The festival kicked off with a wee dram and an ambling discourse about how wealth snuck into Scotland via “The Illicit Distilling and Smuggling of Whisky”. There was even a little music from Marc Ellington who had stood in for Charles McLean, before we dispersed for a delicious dinner at the West Highland Hotel.

There were various authors who celebrated the literal environment they lived in and explored:  John Fletcher the deer vet who once upon a time managed the provision of a “black-antlered” stag for the Highlander movie set.  The only problem was that in the middle of summer all stags have lost their antlers, those fascinating appendages that grow back in their full velvety glory each rutting season.  He also imparted his passion for the creatures and an insight how it is also necessary to cull them in order to maintain appropriate numbers of them. 

Polly Pullar described the encounters she was having with pine marten which are returning to the Ardnamurchan peninsula, as the wild cats have retreated…  what will happen as the cats are encouraged to return?

Paul Murton, TV presenter and explorer of the far corners of Scotland, describing the places he visited and adventures he had whilst preparing his beautiful book The Hebrides.

Then there were the fiction authors – the prolific Val McDermid who has written so many books of crime fiction I’m not sure I’ll ever catch up.  She described that sensation a woman has when she walks down a street at night and doesn’t feel safe.  It is that very real fear that Val taps into to create scenes of crime that have been described as gruesome in their spine-chilling detail. 

And Sally Magnusson explained how she was inspired to turn to fiction by the discovery of a memoir she found in a bookshop in Reykjavik, by an Icelandic Reverend. He was kidnapped along with 400 other Icelanders including his wife and two children, a third being born whilst under passage to Algiers in the 1600’s.  An incredible story, it would be hard to believe if it were not to be written with the keen eye for truth and accuracy demanded in a journalist of such calibre as Sally.  She brings this tale alive in The Sealwoman’s Gift, with a deep sensitivity and understanding of the human condition through the voice of her main character Ásta (pronounced Owster).  A couple of readings gave the book even more life without spoiling it for those of us still to finish it (something I have rushed to do since the end of the festival).

Then there was the little bundle of energy and tumbling out words that is the Scottish Makar (Scottish poet laureate), Jackie Kay.  What an experience she was, with several readings from her new book Bantam and some from her previous collections of poetry including a poignant rendition of Darling, a poem about visiting a dying friend that brought nearly the whole audience to tears.

I was fortunate enough to attend the Feature Writing workshop by Robert Wight, the editor of the Scots Magazine that was sponsoring the event.  He imparted some incredibly useful knowledge that encouraged and informed our small crowd. We learnt how to put together the most appropriate article for a publication such as his and/or tailor it to other such missives. 

Last, but not least, there was also the erudite Stuart Kelly being interviewed by my good friend Mandy Tevendale about his book The Minister and the Murderer.  In the space of an hour, he managed to deliver the essence of a sermon, a funny anecdote about his niece, how he manages to read a book a day in order to review them, his relationship with the church and with his parents, his mother’s (or was it Rumi’s?) dictum “Is it true, is it necessary, and is it kind?”, before skilfully leading us into a very thoughtful Minute’s Silence for Remembrance Sunday, it being 100 years since the armistice.

So, I am now inspired to actually sit down and try to write.  But also, I now have a pile of new and signed books I’m impatient to read and I am keen to hear more poetry.  Thank you Mallaig and 2018’s A Write Highland Hoolie and everyone involved.

There were other authors and events that I was unable to attend but hopefully I have given you a flavour of this most entertaining weekend.

jojourneys is on the radio!!!

“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson.

So I’m on the radio!  Tomorrow!!  I’m really looking forward to it; well, actually, I’m awfully nervous too!!

One of the best things about it, is that it has made me have a re-think about what direction jojourneys should go.  I have some wonderful friends and they have helped me to come up with a programme of exciting experiences that draw on my passions and skills I’m really keen to get it up and running.  I’d like to share with you what we’ve come up with and I’m hoping to talk about it on tomorrow’s show…

We’ll be on Calon FM with the lovely Dave Williams’ Breakfast Show on Thursday 25/1/2918.  You can listen via http://www.calonfm.com/105fm/ and it’s also available on catch-up.

So, the first step: we’ve come up with a definition of a jojourney, as if it were in the dictionary:

jojourney / ‘dzoe dʒɜː(r)ni/ n. a combination or series of challenging and uplifting experiences through which an individual travels to a new place of reflection, recognised progress or achievement.  It is particularly good for helping to banishing the winter blues.

Essentially, I’m hoping to offer a programme or menu of experiences which a person can choose 3-4 of to accomplish in their own guided jojourney.  Essentially most of them would be achieved via a walk in the stunning Dee Valley, although one or two might take place in my home.  Typically, they would start with a relaxed chat over a hot drink while we plan out the day together.  Depending on the chosen activity we might carry out an introductory exercise before then heading out to complete a series of challenges in the outdoors.  The best way to finish the day, could be round a campfire sipping hot chocolate and toasting marshmallows whilst reflecting on what we’ve accomplished through our jojourney.

So, the ‘menu’ of options might include any of the following….

• a photographic peregrination - an opportunity to visit the best landscapes in the Dee valley, explore nature's patterns, get top tips and production know-how - what to do with those stunning memories once you've taken them.
• a navigational odyssey - learn to use a map and compass to increase your confidence to stray from the beaten path.
• a walking workout - do you want to get fit but hate running?  Do you have a dress or outfit you want to fit into, in time for that special date - experience the ultimate workout - raise your heartbeat (safely) - low impact, so good for joints - and it has a useful side effect, it’s good for creativity as well.
• exploring the creative process - carry out various exercises to discover and/or explore your next big project, gather inspiration from a stroll in the outdoors, and investigate ideas through further discussion.
• stargazing spectacular - unravel some of the mysteries of the sky, identify key constellations discover some of the myths and stories behind their names.
• booklist mania - do you love to read?  and to talk about books?  let's discuss all things books and come up with a feelgood booklist for the next twelve months.  There is also a monthly book up for discussion if you want to delve into one book in depth...
• nature stroll - listen to the mew of a buzzard high above, find out who's been eating the pine cones or what has dug a burrow that runs right across the path - so much to notice through every walk.
• introduction to mindfulness through walking - https://www.helpguide.org/harvard/benefits-of-mindfulness.htm - follow the link to discover the many benefits of mindfulness, we will explore it through the physical sensations experienced whilst walking, through listening to the gentle sounds of the natural world as we walk, by noticing the patterns around us.
• dinas bran discovery- an exhilarating clamber to the top of this fascinating hill fort where various medieval Welsh princes have presided, discover more, exercise your imagination, complete a photographic or other form of artistic assignment to investigate the textures and shapes of the ruins.
• culinary curiosity - have you always struggled to produce a particular dish? Do you have a gluten-free vegan friend but don't know how to cater for them?  I love tackling kitchen problems and creating delicious solutions.  Together we can unpick a tricky culinary issue and come up with a yummy answer.  Or simply enjoy creating something yummy in the kitchen.
• And most jojourneys finish best with a campfire contemplation or a fireside reflection - with hot chocolate to sip on and marshmallows to toast, what better way to ponder the rewards of your tailor-made jojourney?

The list has come from all the experience I have gathered over the years as an International Mountain Leader and overseas expedition leader.   But also every year I struggle with the Winter Blues – after an intensely busy summer leading treks mostly in the Alps, I come home to a very quiet time and generally collapse in a bit of a heap.  I then really struggle to pick myself up and this list is somewhat a prescription for dealing with that problem.  And would love to share this with other people in the same predicament.  But also, with people who might simply want to explore life in the Dee Valley.

I love meeting people and finding out about them.  Often people are very inspired to go away and tackle a project or new way of life after a long trek in the mountains.  One lady was so grateful for the ideas and motivation that she had from walking with me on the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps, that she sent me a beautiful pair of earrings from the new jewellery business she went home to Australia and set up.  And several people have taken courage from hearing my story of leaving teaching to follow my heart into the mountains to do a job I truly love to make big changes in their own lives.

One guy wrote this poem as a way of thanks:

A Biology teacher from Wales

Was well versed in spiders and snails

                But then something changed

                Her life rearranged

She took to the mountains and trails

So off to Mt Blanc and the snow

We hiked on the paths high and low,

                With mountains to die for

                And blisters to cry for

A really big “thank you” to Jo

By Peter Theron, September 2016

For the last few years I have chosen my favourite photos from my year’s travels and brought them together into a calendar with appropriate quotes.  I’d like to share my photographic know-how so that my jojourney-ers can take some lovely memories home with them and maybe be continually motivated to work on the next creative project.

And so on, there’s a link/story to each activity that explains why I’m keen to run them… I might blog some more another time but ideally, I’ll get them all up onto the website…

A Personal Journey Exploring the Meaning of Outdoor and Adventure Therapy.

“In every walk with nature one receives more than one seeks.”

— John Muir

I’ve just had a really interesting weekend exploring what outdoor and adventure therapy might be and was it a direction that I might like to take my own work as an expedition leader and International Mountain Leader.  It was great fun, very informative as well as experiential and sociable.

Stephan (Natynczuk of My Big Adventure http://www.mybigadventure.org.uk/) who set up and led the weekend is organising several further events and I would really encourage anyone interested in this field to go along and find out more for themselves.

I found this event a great opportunity for sharing stories and experiences of the outdoors as a therapeutic environment and although I have no experience as a therapist, I do value ‘my office’ and all that it offers as a therapeutic asset.  I was particularly keen to discover what it might take for my own practice to qualify it as outdoor and adventure therapy.  As an outdoor professional I loved that the weekend included a very practical and physical aspect with a trip to Symonds Yat and an exploration down a cave there.  As with all ventures outside I am never disappointed and they are always worthwhile.  In terms of exploring the therapeutic value of caving it was good because it took me out of my comfort zone; I am not particularly fond of caving; and it enabled me to understand a little from the client perspective but then also to explore the role of the leader/therapist.

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A big part of the weekend was meeting the others and finding out their different approaches to Outdoor and Adventure Therapy.  There was a counsellor who also does a lot of outdoor work with the Duke of Edinburgh’s award and saw an overlap between these two disciplines.  There was a director of an outdoor company in Norfolk, “believing whole-heartedly that adventure in the outdoors has the power to transform”. Another was undertaking a Diploma in Solution-focussed Therapy and had a personal passion for outdoor adventure and was assisting Stephan in taking a young female client into the outdoors.  And a psychologist, undertaking research to support outdoor and adventure therapy with little outdoor experience but belief in it.Symonds Yat is a stunning location with the River Wye meandering at the bottom of a very steep-sided and wooded gorge.  The cave was easily accessible under the competent guidance of Stephan – to add excitement we had to negotiate a narrow ledge with a very considerable drop on one side.  Stephan protected this with a rope to which we each in turn clipped via a cow’s tail, but this was done without drama and was simple enough.

My initial nerves were soon put to rest with a quick circuit in a practice cave necessitating hands, knees, and at points belly crawling, reminding me that it was all quite do-able and I would be fine.  The main exploration involved more passages that needed crawling along interspersed by larger chambers where we stopped and gathered ourselves and our thoughts together.  In one of these chambers we took some time to switch off our headtorches and explore the silence in the dark.  Eventually, we exited the cave via a different entrance from the one we had entered via a final twisty squeeze before popping back out into fresh air and daylight.

All the while during the activity underground, it was interesting to notice the different aspects of our surroundings:  the coolness of the clay under our hands as we crawled along, to see the shiny wet and smooth areas where limestone had been re-deposited, forming stalagmites and stalactites; in some chambers it was clear that ceilings had collapsed long ago as boulders there were jumbled up and scattered around; the silence underground was bliss in contrast to the busy-ness of the car park and rock-climbing going on outside.

We saved our discussion of the activity until the next day and instead enjoyed the companionship of a cup of tea and then wandered over to the lookout on the edge of the escarpment, way above the river valley, with the tiny cows below and the nesting sites in the caves across the way, and the trees and hillsides of the surrounding countryside.  We all got on very well and there was plenty of discussion and chat in the car both to and from the activity.  Having helped put away the equipment, we then went our separate ways for the evening.

The next day during our discussion I was very interested to understand how therapy might take place during such an activity as caving and for us all to identify when moments for disclosure were most likely.  We also explored how the ultimate need for safety could jeopardise the client-counsellor relationship if not negotiated carefully and if expectations and contracts had not been set up properly beforehand.  Was there a clear distinction between the activity leader role and the therapist role; or was there a smooth transition between one and the other; or was there overlap or concurrent behaviour?

In addition to our experience of the cave there were tales from Stephan and others about occasions when the very nature of the environment really helped the nature of the therapy experience.  For example, a narrow valley opening up into a big wide vista that took a child from a time when his behaviour would dominate the situation to a time of awe that allowed a mind-shift that created an opportunity for the development of more positive behaviour.  Or another example where the landscape cocooned the campsite and its welcoming fireplace and the cooking that took place over it, creating a safe place to talk and let go of previous experiences.

Later on we also explored the scope of setting up an organisation for outdoor and adventure therapists to share knowledge and experiences and to network. Hopefully this would ultimately become a professional body which could formalise the process of becoming an adventure therapist and promote the practice of adventure therapy.

I found the weekend great fun; I love finding out more about other people and what they do as well as reflecting on how it might inform my own practice.  I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to get out and go caving together and I was really interested by what Outdoor and Adventure Therapy might mean.  By the end of the weekend I understood a lot more about counselling; not least that there many different approaches and ways to become a counsellor and to practise counselling.

Ultimately, I think that for me, becoming a counsellor is probably not the right path.  Instead I see my role as offering people the opportunity for increased well-being, accompanying them outdoors and undertaking adventures and expeditions and in so doing discovering and experiencing its intrinsic mindfulness and sense of well-being.  A more preventative approach, maybe?

Links:

http://www.mybigadventure.org.uk/

https://www.facebook.com/mybigadventure/

https://www.facebook.com/AdventureTherapyCompany/

Scotland, February 2017

“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”

— Edmund Hilary

Ben Nevis via the Carn Mor Dearg Arête. A big day out. A hillwalkers’ route, the guidebook says. That is, to say, a hillwalkers’ route for those who like the exposure of an arête. What is an arête? It’s a sharp narrow ridge. If you get vertigo you’ll want to be on your hands and knees.

I remember thinking that the arête didn’t look so bad at the beginning… but then: 

We cannot see very far - there’s a mist swirling around us, only allowing glimpses of what is to come. The first part is wide enough, I think. initially. We have donned crampons which, by definition, means I have had to put away my lovely long pair of walking poles and get out my single stumpy walking axe.  I have now lost the confidence boost of the supportive poles.  For me to use the ice axe as a walking stick on this ridge I need to bend over and alter my centre of gravity. This is not something I’m happy with in this airy place. I’m now feeling even more exposed due to the change of tools. The snow is deep and soft and powdery. It falls away down the slope with every tentative footstep and it feels like  it wouldn’t take much for me to follow it down into oblivion. I don’t like it.

At this point we’re already a good way across the arête and the only options are to return via the terrifying section I’ve just completed or to keep going. So I keep going. Paula is behind me. I think initially she is unaware of my misgivings but I slow to a stop as the next step needs contemplating first. I become vocal and say that I no longer want to be here. She is gentle and encouraging. We keep edging along the terrifying ridge.

As we get near the end we have to climb down to the left and around a few boulders. This feels worse, more precarious, oblivion evermore certain with any wrong-footing. I’m very grateful that Matt has set up a short belay rope to give me confidence. The way in which I manage to virtually swim through the snow is very inelegant. But I scramble over the rock to reach a solid broad upward slope. Relief floods my senses.

I look up now and can see that the broad slope stretches off into the mist. I consult my altimeter watch. It reads 1000m. It then dawns on me that we still have around 400m to climb up this slope to get to the summit of Ben Nevis. And my heart sinks. I’ve just used up all my strength and energy in summoning every ounce of courage to complete the arête.  And a fair bit of moaning and whingeing has used up further reserves. I sink to the floor and weep a little hoping that no-one can see this fact through my goggles or hear it above the wind. Except maybe Paula who is there being lovely. She suggests we have a drink and something to eat.  Part of me wants to ignore her and get this over and done with now, but then I acknowledge that stopping for some energy in the form of flapjack might genuinely help. 

About halfway up the steepness of the slope and the softness of the snow does nothing to support my feet and overwhelms me again. Once more it feels like it wouldn’t take much to fall and then to not stop. I cannot see where this slope ends thus making it seem even longer and further away than it probably is. I castigate myself - I’m International Mountain Leader. I take people on mountain hikes in the Alps. I should be able to do this without the drama that is going on inside my head.

I’m reflecting on that day again now. Last night I read about self-compassion and also about over-identification within difficult situations (Self Compassion by Dr Kristin Neff). I now know that is where I was - in a drama entirely within my own head. I needed to be able to step outside my thoughts at that point and to see what was scaring me was indeed only inside my head and not an actual reality. Thankfully Paula was there to keep me going. To bring me back to earth. To simply keep me pointing in the right direction. To give me time to gather my thoughts. To show me the compassion I was unable to bring to myself. To be gentle and kind.

In the end all that one can do in that situation is to put one foot in front of the other. To keep making progress toward the final goal - the summit. Of course we reached the summit that day and celebrated with photographs and more food and drink. And then began the long trudge back down to the car park via a thankfully much more straightforward route.

On further reflection, I now think that having such moments of self-doubt and being so scared make me a better Mountain Leader. One who can empathise when someone else has reached their panic zone. To calmly talk them through what is going on and what is needed to accomplish what is ahead. If I can help them see that the worse battle is the one inside their head and that each step will get them closer to their goal. If I can help to coach them on and to give them the wider perspective that they have lost. And if I can do this gently and kindly and supportively then I can guide them through. Together we can conquer ourselves and reach the summit.