Autumn Colours: my favourite season?

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that I love living in a country with very obviously different seasons. I like all of them in their own way, but if you were to press me for a favourite it would have to be Autumn . . . . I think.... ask me again in Spring.

It's the variety that appeals. Some days just as warm as summer, other days waking to early frosts and steaming breath. Sunrise at a time of day which still feels early (without being ridiculous), but not robbing too much precious daylight. Some wildlife arriving for a protracted visit; some preparing for an elongated sleep, others still bidding us fair well and good luck with the cold weather as they abandon ship for warmer climes. But of course it is the colours that are the headline act - anyone who cannot appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the changing colours of Autumn, at least to some extent, is a truly hard-hearted individual.

My new job is keeping me pretty busy at present, by which I mean I'm not getting out of the office as often as I would like. But my office is right on the edge of Cannock Chase AONB, a thoroughly suitable place to appreciate the changing colour palette of the natural world. Particularly when the forecast suggests clear skies and cool temperatures - a combination which often means mist! 

And so it turned out earlier this week when I left home an hour or so early to take a sunrise walk before settling in front of my desk and screen for the rest of the day (working in conservation, contrary to what many people seem to think, does not equate to endless days out of doors enjoying the sunshine!). It was well worth the effort: the colours are really getting into their stride. With the bracken and silver birch working together with the low sun to create truly stunning 'colourscapes', and the mist and rolling heather covered hills gradually fading into a distant haze, the scenery was as good as I have ever seen it there - and I've seen it look pretty nice! Hopefully the handful of photo's here demonstrate even a hint of the pleasure I derived from my short walk that morning.

The Fallow deer are on the move as well, I didn't hear any bellowing but it can only be a matter of time, and I did see several bucks of various sizes moving around the heathland on their own. a sure indication that the rut isn't far away because the rest of the year they tend to form groups. I'm looking forward to try and capture some deer rutting activity before the autumn is through! But that is for another time! 

The new job is one excuse for why this blog hasn't been updated regularly of late - but in reality it is more to do with my personal procrastination. Hopefully I'll make time for the next installment in a more timely manner!

Finished; failed; learned; excited for the next time.

This blog post has been two months coming - apologies for the delay. 

I'm getting settled into the new job and new circumstances now, so 

hopefully from now on the gaps will be much smaller!

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We made it to the coast! But while that is where the story meets its logical conclusion, that doesn't really sum up the story very well. You see, our adventure didn't quite go to plan.

Rob, my younger brother and adventure companion on this trip enjoying one of the briefer than hoped for spells actually in the water, upper Ystwyth Valley. This picture (and several of the others below) was taken on an Olympus TG-5 waterproof camera kindly lent to me by Olympus UK for this trip, I'll be writing a brief review of the camera in due course. 

The goal was simple enough: travel from the source of the River Ystwyth in the hills of mid Wales, to it's mouth at Aberystwyth. The plan was to spend as much time in the water over the course of that journey as possible. As such we were travelling simultaneously light and heavy.

Light in the sense that our normal 'camping' kit list had been slimmed down pretty much to the minimum; bivvy bags rather than tents, that sort of thing. But then... camera gear to record it, swimming gear, towels, a spare pair of shoes each, buoyancy aids, 5 car tyre inner tubes (our water based transport solution!), a foot pump to inflate them, wet suit, and an assortment of dry bags to keep everything which was supposed to be dry, dry! You get the idea. 

Ironically it was those final items, the dry bags, which we hoped would be our salvation from certain discomfort and inconvenience, which proved to be almost the opposite, and ultimately were the main reason for the departure from our original plan. We packed everything we could into a couple of large dry bags fitted with 'rucksack style' straps and the rest into two smaller dry bags. This meant we were carrying two each from the start. The weight itself wasn't too much of an issue; it was reasonably heavy, but a lot of the stuff was fairly high volume, low density - we had both carried heavier loads before, but the weight bearing system was the weak point. 

'Rucksack style' straps, it turns out, do not come with guarantees of comfort, or even with an assurance that it won't cause you excruciating pain within the first few hours. 

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This bridge at sunset was particularly photogenic, and the location for our swim before we headed for home at the end of the second day. Another Olymous TG-5 capture

Early starts are an integral part of any adventure. Even after a late night, and way too few hours kip, when that alarm goes off... it's go time! And when the first stage of 'going' involves driving right across Wales - which is stunningly beautiful for those of you haven't had the pleasure - why wouldn't you look forward to it? Departure day dawned pristine, much like the days preceding it, and the forecast was for the blue skies to remain and the temperatures to rise. That outlook made the prospect of getting in the water later that day even sweeter! 

As we drove we kept an eye out for the spot on the route where we would need to come back to later that day. The fading earth mounds marking the remains of a Roman fort was the 'X' that marked our spot on this occasion; when we saw that again we'd need to get off the bus. It looked steep! Beautiful, wooded and wild, but steep. 

We drove west until it wasn't an option anymore, well, not without a boat anyway - Aberystwyth. Gathering our gear, we made the most of civilised plumbing facilities before catching a nearly empty bus back to our start point. The real adventure was about to begin! 

It's rare to do all the uphill in one go on a big hike - but that was what we were looking at! The bus had done a fair chunk of it of course, which was not unappreciated! But we still had a few hundred meters of elevation to gain to reach the source of the river, and there was no path! We followed a forestry track for a while but before long it started contouring around the hill and we needed to go up it. We turned up the slope, pushing for the glimpses of blue sky between the trees.

The slopes were north facing, damp. A deep blanket of Sphagnum moss covered decades worth of spoil from forestry work. Every other footfall penetrated the blanket and caught on unseen twigs and branches, or slid off damp and smooth logs and stumps. It was a botanical mine field, on a 45 degree slope, with brambles standing in with admirable accuracy for the barbed wire! A little scratched for our efforts, and not particularly proud of our average speed, we eventually breached the final barrier of wind blown trees and the blue turned from a glimpse to a panorama. The trees surrendered to peat bog and moorland; the sponge from which the first trickles of our river was being wrung!   

We pushed on to the top of the ridge and stopped for a late lunch. Our source to sea trip was about to begin.

A kilometre across the grassy tussocks and mossy hummocks the channel was developing nicely. By the time it dived beneath the prickly canopy of another forestry plantation another kilometre or so down hill our trickle was already a confident and established stream. Keen to make better progress than our uphill battle to the source, and to get to deeper water, we flitted between the stream and paths or tracks which traced its route. Wind turbines turned lazily on the hillsides above us. A forestry harvester noisily stripped trees from a forestry block on the opposite bank. I know commercial conifer plantations aren't to everyone's taste, but I still think they look better with the trees on than a fresh and messy plot of recently clear felled forestry! Butterflies, dragonflies, hoverflies and every other type of -flies fluttered and darted along our route. Some after the flowers which were both plentiful and beautiful despite the recent dry spell, others after the flower seekers themselves.

We dropped out of the trees at the confluence of our stream and another - it was becoming a true river now. At this intersection all the paths headed up; so we got into the water and kept heading down. For the most part the down was undertaking at a steady, gentle gradient but as the valley got deeper and steeper, we came to places were it tumbled and leapt down instead - it was starting to get interesting. But...

... by this point a few things had become clear to us both: 1) the river was running pretty shallow; the weather may have been beautiful but it certainly wasn't conducive to peak flows! 2) we were a bit too heavy laden for following the river everywhere, we'd already had to take a few detours up and around the biggest drops, and 3) our bags were eating our shoulders alive.

At another confluence, just below the lonely road up into the Elan Valley we stopped for another break and assessed our options. It was a great place for option assessment, and one we vowed to return to! Having briefly scoped the river ahead (without our bags - blessed relief!) we could tell that we weren't going to be able to get the inner tubes out (and thereby lighten our packs) anytime soon. The river was a series of deep, dark pools (which looked amazing for a leisurely swim) and shallow, rocky slopes with regular drops and falls. It would have been great fun, but we needed to make more distance that day and it would have been too slow, and realistically required a few more safety measures than we had brought with us - but we will be back!

Reluctantly and tenderly we started down the road, determined to push on to a point where we could get into the water as soon as possible. Our shoulders, by now sporting either a fleece or a hoodie each as a futile attempt at better padding and reduced discomfort, were not best pleased with this plan, and protested strongly. A minor victory came in the shape of an old track way which we followed for a while. Not marked on the map, it followed the river more closely than the road, allowing us to keep closer to our original route - a small conciliation.

The valley was beautiful, breathtakingly so, and not just because of the physical exertion. As we progressed down the river the parallel ridges towered higher and higher above relics of previous industry; mines of some sort. The sinuous river in the valley bottom was by now catching the warm light of a low summer evening sun. A quiet single track road wound along the valley sides and floor leading us through scattered hamlets and a small village before we left it to cross the river above a series of water falls.

By now we were on the look out for a suitable camping spot, but high vegetation and steep slopes meant they were in short supply. For a mile or two we trudged along the valley, getting more and more eager to identify a spot to stop and sleep. It was gone 9 pm by now: we had left home before 6 am, and had been walking for over 9 hours. Our shoulders attested to it.

The options were limited enough that after casting about unsuccessfully for a flat spot in the undergrowth on the flood plain - the valley floor had started to flatten and widen out at this point - we simply bedded down on the footpath. It was flat, the grass was short, and the biting insects were far less voracious than we had feared they might be. We slept well that night.


Well enough that the sun was a fair way up when we woke, slanting down the curve of the valley and lighting the opposite hillside on fire (thankfully not literally) in contrast to yet another day of beautiful blue skies. The aches and pains of the day before had been dulled by a good night rest, but were present enough to prompt an evaluation of what was realistic that day. The bags were the weak point in our kit list, the bruises on our shoulders were more than just the result of a heavy-ish load, the 'rucksack style straps' were not up to this load over this distance. Adding to that we discussed the prospect that if the water levels we had seen so far were anything to go by, we might walk the entire way without any stretch of the river being consistently deep and rock free enough to float our kit, or ourselves, downriver.


The unanimous decision called for a change in the original plan. We set off having repacked the bags accordingly. Before long we reached a point on the route which enabled us to put the revised plan into action - we stashed the big bags and the bulk of our kit in the woods at a point where we could easily return with the car to pick them up. Then we carried on  with just the essential kit for the day in the smaller kit bags, aiming to get all the way back to Aberystwyth, the source of the river and the car before the end of the day. At about 20 miles this was eminently do-able, but a little less relaxed than the original itinerary.

And that is what we did. Many miles of beautiful scenery and clear water came and went in the process. Not to mention rope bridges, ancient woodland, re-purposed railway lines, quaint secluded farms and cottages, small villages steeped in Welsh culture, derelict remains of a more industrial past and more sheep than either of us could count (not that we tried) all came and went during a hot day which passed at a reasonably rapid pace! The discomfort levels were way more manageable but the damage had been done the day before and even with the lighter loads and a few rest stops to bathe hot feet in the cool river, we were ready to take a load off by the time we reached the car in the late afternoon.

I could describe that in greater detail, but that part of our route was never the plan, so it feels a bit like drawing out the description of our failure - it was a pleasant walk, but not what we intended. Having made the mouth of the river, we had completed our journey, but our adventure was left unfinished. But we shall return. Consider this as a hard earned reconnaissance mission, with plenty of useful information garnered along the way. Next time we will return with slightly different kit and a modified itinerary - and have more fun, and less bruised shoulders as a result!


And there will definitely be a next time. I've wanted to make that journey for years, based largely on a few hundred meter stretch which we visited most years as I grew up. On our journey we discovered that while that is a very pleasant section, that that river and valley hold way more yet to be explored and enjoyed. So until the next time I will leave any one wishing to do anything similar with two pieces of advice - 1) beware dry bags with 'ruck sack style' straps - they may try to kill you and 2) mid Wales + Summer = midges! Don't forget your repellent!

Richard

PS - I should probably mention that I did get a swim in the river before we finished for good. After we got back to Aberystwyth we drove back up to collect our kit before taking a scenic route home. But before we left the valley we stopped at a spot where we had taken a rest on the way down. We had clocked some deep, still looking pools as we passed and logged it as one of the many parts of the valley which we needed to return to. As we approached we could see fish rising in the centre of the pool, enjoying the insects which, being late evening by this time, were starting to come out in abundance. The swim was short but lovely; the water warm after the initial rush of cold on first jumping in. It was a snapshot into what we missed out on in a way. But we knew that we had made the right call - anything else would have ended in needing to resort to public transport at some point and that would have been an even greater failure!


After one of the fastest changes of clothing the world has ever seen to get away from the now swarming midges, we completed our adventure by watching the sun go down. First behind the hills over shadowing an earlier section of our route, the upper reaches of the Ystwyth valley, and then again (new, higher vantage point = double sunset!) behind the Elan Valley as we drove out on what has to be one of the most beautiful stretches of road in Wales. Highly recommended for those who prefer to adventure on four wheels (or two) rather than on foot.

Sunset over the Elan Valley on our drive out. What a stunning part of the country!

What's next?

I slept on top of a hill last week. And it was good! 

It wasn't a long night; I bedded down late and was back up to watch the sunrise, but by other measures it was easily the best night sleep I had that week. To rouse from comfortable slumber to see a million stars over head and breath fresh, cool air; roll one way and see the sparse twinkle of lights hundreds of metres below in Edale with the dark mass of Kinder Scout looming behind; roll the other and see the cement works at Hope... not quite so romantic perhaps! 

I've been saying I'll sleep out in the Peaks since I first started working there 2 and a half years ago. With opportunities running out, I seized the moment and made good on my plan. 

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I've told you about the new job, what I know about it anyway. And my 'wild' experiences through that role will continue to feature in any ongoing narrative you get from me. 

But this blog has never just been about my job. To get the most out of your interaction with the natural world, you need to make opportunities. "You reap what you sow" after all. Back at the beginning of the year I wrote about how I wanted to make 2018 the year I 'did' rather than 'talked about' (that one's here). I've done OK so far - I've climbed Snowdon, something I've been saying I will do for years, and I visited the Outer Hebrides (Part 1 here, part 2 yet to come...), which has been a dream of mine since I was a teenager. 

A few of the plans I originally set have changed - that's life, we'll pick up the delayed ones next year or some other time. Later this week though I'll be departing on the next part of the plan which is another that has been waiting for years. 

I've been visiting the Ystwyth river in mid-wales for as long as I can remember. Since I was old enough to start plotting hypothetical journeys and adventures, following a river from it's source right down to the sea has been a recurring day dream and goal. The Ystwyth has been at the top of that list since well before I stopped growing. Appropriate then that when I set out for that journey in the early hours of Thursday morning one of my brothers will be going with me. 

Of all the trips I've done so far this year, I will be furthest out of my comfort zone on this one - I'm not the strongest swimmer in the world. I'm confident I'm as prepared as I can reasonably be, and I'm not one to take unnecessary risks... only calculated ones. I guess I can report in a few days just how far out of my comfort zone I get. 

The plan is simply. Drive to the mouth of the river, park the car, take a bus back inland, hike to the source, then travel the 27 miles back down river by any means which pass the miles - walking, wading, swimming, floating. Sounds good doesn't right! I'll check in when I'm done. 

Richard

Delays and updates

Sorry; it's been a while hasn't it!

Firstly, to give some explanation to the long period of silence: just a few days after I last posted on the blog I had a job interview, and to cut a long story short, I got the job. Now I am just a few days away from starting that new role. Between winding down my current employment, preparing for my new job and getting some other loose ends tied up so I can focus on my new role without distractions, my blog writing simply slipped down the priority scale. Hopefully I'm back to a point where I can be writing more regularly again.

My new role is with Staffordshire Wildlife Trust, an organisation I've volunteered for in the past and done some seasonal work for too. The full job title is quite a mouthful - "ERDF Sunrise Senior Biodiversity Project Officer"... I think, something like that anyway. I'll be quite happy to go by Biodiversity Officer to be honest. 

I'll be working on a new Project, the "SUNRISE" Project, funded by the ERDF (European Regional Development Fund) and with the remit to restore, enhance and improve urban green space habitats, with a focus on river corridors in Stoke-on-Trent and Newcastle-under-Lyme. SUNRISE stands for: "Stoke and Urban Newcastle; Restoring its Secret Environment"; as acronyms go I think that's pretty cool actually. No doubt more details of what I will be doing will filter through my blogs and pictures over time, as they have done with my other work previously, but I better get my own head around what I'm doing first. 

As my current job has been a pretty common source of images and stories of exciting landscapes and successful conservation you may wonder why I am leaving - the simple answer is distance. No job is perfect, and there are things which I would have changed had the opportunity presented itself. None of them were big enough on their own provoke a change, BUT... my office is 35 miles away! That's 70 miles of commuting a day when I work from the office. Certainly as long commutes go mine was pretty scenic, right through the heart of the Peak District National Park. I'll probably put a post up just about that commute soon. But the time away from family and the fuel cost killed it and had me looking for other opportunities. I wasn't ready to jump ship for just anything, it had to be something worthwhile and relevant, something that allowed me to continue to do what I enjoy, not to mention something which had a shorter commute. I'm fairly confident that's what I've found - fingers crossed! The commute element is certainly going to be significantly improved, my longest commute should be half of my current one, and some days it will be just a few miles each way.

I have thoroughly enjoyed my time at the Moors for the Future Partnership and would encourage anyone looking for work in the conservation sector to consider a role there (hint hint - there will be a few coming up in the near future; by coincidence I'm not the only one leaving over the next few weeks). The work they (I suppose I can justifiable claim 'we' for the last few years) have achieved is nothing short of remarkable, and the benefits of their success wide ranging. They got some interesting years ahead in the sheer scale of works they are going to be delivering and I wish the team there all the best. They have been a great bunch of colleagues. 

The other fairly significant update is that the other 'work' I've been involved with over the last few years as Project Manager over at The Riddy Wood Project has also come to an end. Sadly the financial side of the operation was proving to be unsustainable and so we had to make the sad decision earlier this year not to renew the lease. We've not done any woodland management there in 2018 and after we've finished removing the last few bits and pieces (which we delayed until the summer simply so the grass track into the wood was dry and firm) we will be finished with our involvement there. 

This is a real shame, both Geoff (check out his blog over at www.bushcrafteducation.co.uk) and I really enjoyed our work there. We were starting to see some real differences in the areas that we had coppiced and thinned, the wildlife there was great, and the groups and individuals we had hosted and taught there had enjoyed the experience and the setting. But it just wasn't working the way it needed to and we weren't in a position to control enough of the limitations to make it work better. We will both be looking for other opportunities to replace The Riddy Wood Project with something else which still meets the aims of giving people an opportunity to connect with and learn about the natural world - watch this space.  

That then brings us more or less up to speed - as I said, there's been a fair bit going on, and this is just the employment side of things. I'll leave other bits and pieces for another post - this one is too long already. More normal service will hopefully be resumed soon, with more interesting things to write about that changes in circumstances! 

And don't worry, I'll be finishing my account of my trip to the Outer Hebrides at some point! 

Richard

Barra (Part 1)

It isn't everyday that a Ringed Plover runs past you while sitting in an airport cafe. 

I had woken earlier than planned that morning - that has been known to happen when one suddenly realises they are laying in 2 inches of water. It appeared that the strong winds which had buffeted my tent most of the night - despite my carefully selected and pretty sheltered camping spot - had been strong enough to lift the edge of my fly sheet a few inches. Even that small opportunity was sufficient for the famous Scottish horizontal rain to blow right into my tent. With the exception of some higher ground by my head (luckily where my camera and other rain sensitive kit had spent the night) and the inside of my sleeping bag everything was drenched. To be honest, I was surprised I had slept as long as I did!

Deciding there was little to be gained from attempting a lay-in that morning I struck camp, packing everything the best I could in the still pouring rain and gusting winds, with the nagging thought in the back of my mind that with everything wringing wet there was no way my rucksack was going to meet the baggage weight allowance for my flight. On the way out I had only been 0.1 kg inside the limit!

I limped (Oh my aching knees - it had been a long time since I walked that far, with a pack that heavy!) the short distant across the sand dunes, just half a kilometre or so, to the nearest proper shelter - the airport. It was closed of course, at that time in the morning, but it gave me something to stand behind out of the worst of the rain and wind while I attempted to repack my sodden kit into a format that would be accepted on a plane! Luckily not long after I finished consolidating my pack the cafe owner arrived to start setting up, took pity on me and let me sit inside despite being two hours before opening time- thank you!

That I was this close to the airport was not by chance, this was my final morning on the island before flying home. I'd hoped for the weather of the previous day to hold and allow me to enjoy a morning mooching along the white sandy beaches, or exploring the small area of Barra north of the airfield, before my early afternoon flight. But it was not to be - shelter from the rain and rest for my achy legs won favour that day.

And thus I came to be sat by a rain lashed window, reading my damp-around-the-edges book* when a small but rapid movement in the corner of my eye alerted me to the plover's presence. I love these dumpy little birds but it didn't hang around for long, darting across the tarmac onto the runway. A strange place for a small wading bird you may think, the runway of a commercial airport.

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Three days previously the small, propeller powered De Havilland Twin Otter aircraft I was aboard dropped out of thick cloud over the sea. We hadn't seen the ground since taking off from Glasgow almost an hour earlier. As the air cleared the cluster of islands at the southern tip of the Outer Hebrides came into sight below, a view I had been waiting 15 years to experience. As we overflew the tiny control tower at Barra airport and banked hard left to land into the wind I looked south across the island at the hills I had planned to cross that afternoon. They looked higher than I had anticipated.

Seconds later the fixed undercarriage was touching down on wet sand. Yes, sand - the only commercial flight in the world which lands on a beach, when the tide is out of course. It was this novel claim to fame that first brought Barra to the attention of my teenage self, with aspirations of a career as a commercial pilot. The novelty of landing on a beach, the aircraft which flew the route, the back-to-basic nature of the operation; no automated landing aids, just a wind sock, the pilots skill and the favour of the Scottish weather and tides all complied to make this the route I wanted to fly! When I accepted in my early twenties that a commercial pilots licence was financially out of reach I tucked away this novelty as a 'must-do-one-day' item; a bucket list entry.  And now, finally, here I was.

I was well into 'pinch myself, this can't be true' territory as I disembarked from the plane after a thoroughly enjoyable flight, and stepped over sea weed and shells into the 'terminal' - a.k.a. the cafe. Collecting my rucksack from the bus shelter which passes for a Baggage Reclaim I repacked all my kit into a single bag and headed south under dark grey skies. At the end of the beach (well, runway... whatever) I left the road and headed up to the summit of Beinn Eireabhal (201m above me) after stopping to watch the plane I arrived on departing with a fresh load of passengers.

My plan had been to go directly south, straight down the spine of the island. While the shortest route in some respects, it certainly would not be the quickest. It would be cross country all the way with plenty of ascending, and descending, before arriving at the highest point, Heabhal, a full 383m above my planned destination of Castlebay (Bagh a Chaisteil), the island's main town. 

And I needed to get to Castlebay before the shops shut. One item I had intentionally left out of my kit list up to this point was a gas cylinder for my camping stove (which of course you are not allowed to take on a plane). The internet had suggested that the only shop on the island likely to stock them was in the main town, and the prospect of having no hot food was not particularly appealing. It wasn't exactly warm after all, there had been snow on the hills around Glasgow that morning.

I wasn't feeling on top form that day (having made an overnight coach trip with hardly any sleep the night before might not have been helping in that regard). I'd also already walked 8 miles that morning from the bus station to the airport (stupid mistake, next time I'll just pay the bus fare!), there was a cold wind blowing and a steady rain getting gradually heavier which looked set to continue for the foreseeable future. I'll be honest - I was ready for the easy option that day.



The 'easy' option was the main road, the A888; a little longer than the cross country route but much flatter and easier terrain. It runs around Barra in a big circle and from where I joined it the distance was pretty much even either way to get to Castlebay. I settled on walking the western route; the wind was coming from the east and the potentially more sheltered route seemed like a good idea at the time. Despite being an 'A road' it is single track for probably 95% of its length (I walked pretty much the whole circle while I was there). Even that option still left me with 5 1/2 miles to walk before the shop closed - I made it with less than 10 minutes to spare!



Those miles from airport to Castlebay, regardless of the wind and the rain and the sullen grey skies revealed a beautiful island which seemed as detached from the hectic pace of modern life as it was from the mainland itself. I had always admired the Twin Otter as an aircraft, but I had no idea it was also a teleportation device. I had left the crowded, industrialised, dirty, noisy madness of Glasgow and been transported to another world. A world of scattered crofts and white sandy beaches, of turquoise water and rocky moorlands, of moss and heather, sand dunes and wading birds, of lobster pots and fishing boats, where all the locals wave as they drive past - my kind of world!

That first afternoon I wasn't really able to enjoy it to its fullest - my ankles were hurting, my stomach was tying itself in knots and my primary focus was getting to Castlebay in time - but boy could I see the potential. The beaches I walked past called to me, the hills and moors beckoned me 'higher up, and further in' and the birds were a constant reminder that this was no ordinary afternoon stroll - Stonechats and Redwings, Hooded Crows, a Peregrine; nearer the sea Oyster Catchers and Redshank, Cormorants and Shelduck; Meadow Pipits everywhere.

Even when my goal was achieved (by the skin of my teeth), and with gas bottle and extra food rations in tow I started walking again, the then even heavier rain and wind drove me to my first planned camp site without much pause to take in the stunning landscape. One final cruel obstacle made me work for my peace and rest. From the maps I had poured over while planning my trip I thought I could access the isolated little cove I had ear marked as overnight stop number 1 by following the shoreline. It was not so.

A quarry carved out of the hillside met the water at the point I had hoped to make my way around - the stone walls were sheer and wet, and a fence pinned into the rock itself barred the way beyond it. Even fresh, dry and pack-less it would have been an interesting clamber round - maybe at low tide, I'd have given it a shot. But I was none of those things, and the tide was almost fully in - I would have to back track and go up and over to reach 'my' valley.

Back track I did, and up I went passing a dried up starfish some 40 m above the tideline. Doubtless dropped by some shoreline scavenger it looked as out of place on that heather hillside as I had felt that morning, sporting walking boots and a large rucksack, in the city. I was not destined for city life - give me the lonely hills any day, even in the rain.


Having scrambled back down to my planned camp ground I hurriedly pitched my tent on the flattest spot I could find. Too hurriedly as it turned out - it wasn't flat enough. Unceremoniously shoving all my gear inside I followed it in and out of the rain; very shortly there after I crawled in to my sleeping bag, eager to be stationary, dry and horizontal. I stayed there. The hot food could wait until morning. The rain continued to fall, lulling me off into fitful sleep. I love the sound of rain on canvas, it feels like cheating the weather, but my stomach was still doing abdominal gymnastics.

And so my long awaited trip to Barra was book ended by rain, the last morning mirroring the first afternoon. Was this a bad thing? I won't lie, at the time I'd have happily settled for a bit of sunshine, or even just a dramatic, stormy sunset to finish the day off with a bit of style. But looking back on it now, a few weeks later, would I have appreciated the weather I was gifted over the next few days as much if it hadn't started out miserable? I don't think I would. The best was very definitely yet to come, but that will have to wait for the next instalment.

Richard

* My book was 'The Song of the Rolling Earth' by John Lister-Kaye, founder of the Aigas Field Centre in the Scottish Highlands. A thoroughly appropriate read for the circumstances about the natural and cultural history of Scotland, albeit with justifiably greater focus on the highlands than islands. It's a fascinating read and I'll be writing up a 'Best Books' post when I get around to finishing the last few chapters.

Looking North for an upcoming adventure

During the daily grind when my mind wanders, and I have to admit it often does, it most frequently heads North.

Not always - the wide open spaces of Africa with it's diverse (and large!) wildlife; the mountains of Corsica and the GR20 long distance trail I've wanted to hike since I was teenager; the blue waters, exotic fruits and tropical forests of the Caribbean; New Zealand, the European Alps, the Atlas Mountains, the Amazon Rainforest... I'll stop there, you get the point, I mentally wander south sometimes too.

But most often it's North. Landing on a high mountain lake in Alaska in a De Havilland Beaver float plane; watching the Northern Lights dancing over the snow covered forests in Arctic Sweden; and very, very often its Scotland.

I first visited Scotland as a 17 year old - I worked on an RSPB reserve on the edge of the Cairngorms National Park for a week (as a volunteer) as part of my Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award. That week introduced me to a stunningly beautiful country which I have visited relatively often since, but no where near as often as I would like. There is still a lot I would like to explore and experience - luckily I've got a good few years to keep exploring and my wife loves Scotland too!

That trip almost 13 years ago also introduced me to the idea that working in the conservation industry wouldn't be such a bad way to make a living - a pivotal moment in many ways. But at that time my career aspirations lay elsewhere - to be entirely specific they lay a hundred miles or so west, flying small commercial passenger planes around the islands of the west coast of Scotland - that was my dream job. When the time came a commercial pilots licence was a cost I just couldn't justify and I followed my back up plan, went to university and now work in conservation.

But in just over a weeks time I will be fulfilling a small part of that 15 plus year old dream and flying onto a small Scottish island - Barra - in one of those very same small commercial passenger planes where I will land on a beach (the only commercial airport in the world which operates from a beach - yes really!). I won't be the pilot of course, sadly, but this is still a whole lot closer to that dream than nothing! 

Barra is the most southerly inhabited island in the Outer Hebrides island chain, and just 10 miles north to south, and 7.5 miles east to west. Small enough to explore by foot over the course of the 3 days I'll be spending there. I'll be camping during my visit so I've got my fingers crossed that the Beast from the East Part 3 doesn't bring a quite the cold snap that some reports are suggesting! I also need to go through my gear and thin it out a bit to meet the baggage allowance for the flight in.

I'll leave that kit discussion for another time. For now you may have gathered that I am pretty excited for my upcoming trip! And you can be certain in the knowledge that you will hear more about it on here in due course.

Richard 

Wild Moments: The precious privilege of cultivating the spirit of adventure in a young heart.

** Another 'Wild Moment' considering something close to my heart - family, children and introducing them to the natural world and adventure **

Life is busy, isn't it? I'm sure it's not just mine. Commitments pile up, calendars fill and free time dwindles at an ever increasing pace. I often talk of needing to 'make' time and it sometimes does feel like a significant project to engineer opportunities for time out of doors, or for 'an adventure'. Adding children to that mix doesn't make it easier (or cheaper) - 'bed time' is suddenly 4 or 5 hours earlier; a 'good nights sleep' becomes an exception rather than an expectation; a 'walk' with a toddler can be considered long if you leave the car park rather than the county!

BUT - and it is a big one - as a parent you have an opportunity to plant the spirit of adventure in a fresh heart, and to see the excited twinkle of exploration in new eyes. I have always loved the outdoors, I still do, and I am fairly confident that I always will. I still enjoy spending that time in the natural world alone and at my own pace (which I like to think is reasonably quick... unless I'm taking photos). But there are very few things I enjoy more than witnessing the excitement in the eyes of our children when they are presented with the opportunity to do something new, something adventurous! Adventurous to them is at a different place on the spectrum than it is for me, of course it is. After all every one starts somewhere - Sir Edmund Hilary didn't start with Everest, nor was Amelia Earhart's first flight an around the world venture. *Add your favourite example of an intrepid adventurer here*. 

As parents we have tried (there is still a lot we could do better) to cultivate that adventurous spirit in our children because we hope that if we start them young that it will sink deep and they will seek 'adventure' for the rest of their lives. Yes, there are times when this meets with resistance: 'it's too cold', 'it's too wet', 'it's too windy', 'it's too sandy'. But that resistance will weaken over time. Our daughter once spent a whole warm, summer day on the beach sat in a folding chair with her feet on a towel because she refused point blank to get sand on her feet! The following year we visited a Scottish beach in April (it was much colder!) and she loved it! She played in it, rolled down sand dunes, dug holes and jumped in them - when we got back to where we were staying there was sand everywhere. Stick with it and the resistance will fade.

I was 24 when our daughter was born - that is pretty young these days to have a first child and I often have conversations where the reaction to learning this (sometimes spoken and sometimes inferred) is that my opportunities for fun therefore ended at 24. But I see it entirely differently. The way I see it is that when she becomes a teenager I'll still only be 37 (and 40 when our little boy becomes a teenager). Hopefully I will still be fit enough at that relatively young age that I will still be able to keep up with them when they take that spirit of adventure which we have instilled in them and want to do something really interesting!


So yes we may have sacrificed some of our perceived freedom as young adults to have a family early. But to me, rather than missing opportunities for fun and adventure, we have created the opportunity further down the road to share our fun and adventure with the people who matter most to us - our children.