Photo of the Month: February

This month's photo of the month is the descent into Dr Bannister's Hand Basin at Upper Long Churn Cave in the Yorkshire Dales:

Wild Places, the Elements & Surrender - Part 3!

 

 

 

Wild Places, the Elements & Surrender - Part 2!

Yesterday’s blog prompts so many thoughts.

'… After the passage of an immensely physical time attempting to drag boats into the wind it became clear that we had no option but to give in to the elements. We were competing with forces much greater than ourselves and to continue was folly, so along this wild shore, above the high water mark, a temporary camp was established to offer us some respite from the conditions. We rested for many hours in this wild place. Surrender it was …'

 

 

Are our lives filled with 'wild places'; everyday circumstances and situations that we seem to have no control or charge over, with little or no understanding of?

Are there 'battles' going on that fought in our own strength will bring us down, leaving us weary and restless?

Is it time to rest and find our paths of surrender?

 

 



Wild Places, the Elements & Surrender!

Wilderness and wild places have had a profound effect on shaping a life and a lifestyle to which the outdoors has been central. There isn’t, what I would regard to be, real wilderness remaining in this country. However, wild places cling on tenuously in the face of an insatiable desire to bring about “development”. Much has been written and spoken on the need in our “over-civilised” society for such wild places, it is my personal opinion that they are of the most fundamental importance and their loss would be to our ultimate bankruptcy.

John Muir said: “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike.”

Over an extended period of time I have deliberately attempted to devote some time each year to not only visiting wild places, both here and overseas, but also to spending quality days as a resident in them.

It’s more than a decade ago now that we took a trip for a few days to explore the area of Lochs Sunnart and Teacius by open canoe, a trip planned to last for several days wild camping by the water side each evening. It was early spring and we were treated to a wildlife spectacle as a school of porpoises swam by us on the open waters of Loch Sunnart and seals followed us swimming under our boats. Deer were close by overnight and some of our larger native birds of prey circled high above the wooded ground that we chose to camp on alongside Loch Teacuis. The weather for the first few days was fine and cold but we knew before embarking on the journey that this was not likely to hold through till the latter stages of the expedition. Lying under a tarp in the darkness of the last night it was a restless few hours as a booming wind could be heard above our heads. Strangely, upon waking on the last morning the light revealed grim grey skies but a relatively calm surface to Loch Teacuis. We set off after breakfast making steady progress from close to the head of the loch in the direction of its “mouth” the gateway to the larger Loch Sunnart. The closer we got the more difficult progress became. Beaching the boats some hundred metres or so short of the “confluence” and peering into the expanse of Loch Sunnart, past the island of Carna, revealed what could only be described as maelstrom as the wind howled and white breaking waves crashed against the island and all along the shore. I can no longer remember why but we attempted to make some progress by tracking the canoes on ropes along the stony beach but I remember well the glaringly obvious which was that the open crossing of the Loch that we needed to do to complete the trip was, under these conditions, impossible. After the passage of an immensely physical time attempting to drag boats into the wind it became clear that we had no option but to give in to the elements. We were competing with forces much greater than ourselves and to continue was folly, so along this wild shore, above the high water mark, a temporary camp was established to offer us some respite from the conditions. We rested for many hours in this wild place. Surrender it was.

Twilight began to gather and was accompanied with abatement in the wind, the waves calmed. We made the decision, that in these less than ideal conditions, we would attempt the open crossing of the Loch. As we paddled the wind consistently dropped and the ever growing darkness was accompanied by rainfall that built in intensity. With head torches lit up we pursued our bearing across the Loch in the direction of Glenborrodale. As the last glimmer of natural light faded into the dark wet night a light was turned on, on the shore, directly in line with the bearing we were paddling. One light in this dark world that we were negotiating made all the difference. Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour later canoes beached we stood soaking wet but exuberant on the beach – wilderness journey complete.

A Few Photos From Washington Wild Camping Society

Washington Wild Camping Society have been playing around with some photos from recent trips, I quite like them (!):

 

 

 

Ash Wednesday

During Advent we embarked on a journey of exploration and found that the baby named Jesus was born with our whole life well-being and eternal destiny in mind.

Traditionally Lent is seen as a time to prepare ourselves to celebrate another day in history: that day when the baby from the manger became the man on the cross who then walked free from a sealed tomb!

This season is linked to 40 days and 40 nights of ‘desert living’ in preparation for a work to be done: a time of surrender, solitude, sacrifice and temptation.

Over the next few weeks of this Lent period we will take some ‘mini expeditions of reflection’ and once again we invite you to share with us in this experience.

 

 

 

 

Historical Graffiti

Written on the rocky wall in copperplate hand writing the words - I Archer August 23 1855 - will be recognisable to anybody who has strayed even very slightly off the beaten track in Smallcleugh Mine, Nenthead.

I love Smallcleugh and spend much time working in it with groups and on a personal level exploring its further reaches and connections through to other mines. Its a fascinating place, in many ways a time capsule, with a rich social history attached to it. Today we explored the mine following the well trod path through to the remarkable Ballroom and returning via a short abseil above Wheel Flats and a squeeze through the letterbox underneath Gulley Back Cross Cut. However, it was later discussion on Mr Archer's graffiti that prompted the gist of this post.

Sure there will have been great change in what has gone on at Smallcleugh since 1855 as the mine's fortunes have fluctuated ultimately leaving it now as an abandoned historical ruin, no longer an engine for industrial and economic growth, rather a venue for leisure time pursuits. However, it is difficult to imagine that Mr Archer wouldn't find the setting most familiar should he return to his former workplace today. I did a quick Google search on I Archer 23 August 1855 and it turned up nothing, so at the time of writing I know little about him other than the assumption that he visited this place presumably as a mine worker of some kind on at least that day in history.

As mentioned above the mine will have seen much change in the years that have passed, the world indeed has seen much more: a revolution in the way society is organised; major conflicts; and the dawn of a new technological age that would have been difficult to predict even 50 years ago - to name but a few. Today's trip through time in Smallcleugh involved a mother and her teenage son with an agenda to spend some time together - in relationship. It was a time of shared experience, endeavour, conversation and challenge: a good time which prompted us to consider how society's interaction between its members might have evolved since the days of Mr Archer and whether we are richer or poorer in this respect some 160 years on?

After a good three hours or more underground we left the mine to a clear cold North Pennine evening, the sky touched slightly pink by the setting sun, our journey back to the van undoubtedly was a scene featuring elements that would have been very familiar to one I Archer on 23 August 1855.