Lake District life of a photographer searching the Distant Hills

22nd May 2016

Rewilding

What is a wild landscape? In fact is there any where left in the British Isles that could realistically still be described as a wild landscape? Does it even matter if there are wild places left?

My home, the Lake District is evidently a very beautiful place, where rugged and rough terrain abounds. There are steep, exposed buttresses of cathedral proportions hanging over verdant plains, filled with all sorts of wildlife. There is the obvious and ubiquitous lakes and tarns, scattered across the district. These bowls of clear water are either held like precious jewels within the glaciated basins high up the Fells, or laid out like ribbons across the valleys.

These are very beautiful places but are they wild landscapes?

In fact, what is meant by describing an area as a wild landscape?

Those who study and interrogate the environment from scientific and philosophical perspectives equally find this a tough question to answer. Do we mean a wild landscape is a 'natural landscape'? A landscape that is untouched by the hand of man? Where there are no paths and roads that crisscross the terrain, framing man's image of the world within a network of lines? A landscape that is free willed and does not reflect needs, motivations - perfunctory functions of humans, but exists (as it does) not because of, but despite us?

This is a landscape that is not only untouched by man, but also sits outside the very understanding of man. A city could only be made by man, as it reflects how our minds work. A wild, or natural landscape is free from and may even be hidden to our designs and motivations.

Therefore, can the moniker of 'wild landscape' be attributed to areas like the Lake District? They do contain wide, open spaces, streams, rivers? Places full of all types of flora and fauna going through their day to day struggle to survive and replicate? They are full of life that seems independent to man?

However, despite the wild vaneer of these places, I believe it would be very difficult to describe places, like the Lake District, as wild, natural landscapes. Their appearance, with walls, tracks and roads, the use of water courses to fill reservoirs, provide fresh water for farms, villages, cities, the slopes covered with livestock, the use of crags, rivers and summits to provide adventure and distraction all dictate not only how the land looks, but how nature interacts with the landscape. The space, the life within have all been third person anthromorphologised by the impact of man. The land, it's make up, reflect our values and what we believe is worthy.

To conceptulisatise this phenomenon (through the language of man) these landscapes are a mix of natural and cultural elements. An idea that is captured within the European Landscape Convention's definition of landscape: 'An area as perceived by people, whose character is the result of the action and interaction or natural and/or human factors.'

Therefore I live in a 'cultural landscape', where the so called 'wildness' is the consequence of mans influence and activity, and the 'wildness' in this form is a human understanding of wildness.

This could mean our wild landscapes are in fact not wild at all. These landscapes could be the product, just like the Elizabethans with their introduction of gardens, as a means to tame and control nature. An Eden where the apple represents order and the snake the wild, unruly nature of the landscape(?)

So does this matter? Do we or our fellow planet inhabitants lose anything from this situation?

Aldo Leopold, a professor of forestry and land management, argued that we should extend our view of what we see as valuable (from the respect of human society) to include animals and the natural world, or what he referred to as ‘the biotic community’. Leopold suggested,

‘A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise’.

He goes on to argue that:

“All conservation of wildness is self-defeating, for to cherish we must see and fondle, and when enough have seen and fondled, there is no wilderness left to cherish."

This last point could easily be made about many of our so called wild landscapes.

Taking up the baton, George Monbiot (another environmental spokesperson) suggests we should try to 'rewild' our landscapes as by doing so we also 'rewild' ourselves. He proposes that we make large areas wild so we too can experience "something close to the full grandeur of nature. places where we can rewild ourselves, as much as rewild nature".

Monbiot however warns that this process doesn’t just mean "restoring trees and peat bogs to the sparsely-populated uplands, as rewilding also asks fundamental questions of us, our relationship with nature, "and how we look after it."

Like Leopold, Monbiot believes we should question how we value the world around us and warns not to view landscapes, the life that inhabits, purely from a human perspective. We have to step outside of our 'anthro mindset' and recognise we are just bit players who merge into the layers of nature, where we should be shaped by the landscape, not shape the landscape to our image. The landscape is not a commodity for financial gain, but something to be understood beyond our human needs.

It is we have very precious landscapes, even though they are no longer wild (in the purest way of thinking). However, there is value to be had, from attempting to gain a greater understanding our landscapes, by changing how we view landscapes. This would require us to change our activity in these places, whilst understanding the landscape not from our own values, but recognise the value of of all the elements that make up,the area. This perspective would allow us to perceive the true character of a landscape and allow wildness to prevail.

This, in turn, might make for own better integration and harmony with life on this planet. We would be rewilded.

“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”
― John Muir

14th April

Travelling Minstrels

The days have suddenly become bright, warm, with the sharp line of the mountains standing out, clean and stern against the background of cloudless skies. This is a wonderfully sublime period as the Spring weather, along with bright blue skies and double figure temperatures has changed the mood of the landscape and attracted a new company of avian actors and musicians to the drama.

In the last week Grey Wagtails and Dippers have been prolific and seen around the fast flowing streams and rivers that wind through the mountains. Like a jet fighter, a Dipper steers along the twists and turns of the River Esk, whilst remaining no more than a few centimeters above the water surface. Then, once arriving at a rock that sits proud in the middle of the swift flowing river, he proudly and defiantly cocks and bobs his head, delivering his solo in the form of punctuated of tweets and trills.

The following day is greeted by more cloudless skies and more layers of song are added to the surrounding soundscape. The players are gathering.

This time, as I pass through the wooded valley of Duddon, following the Beck, that weaves through steep crags peppered by birch and sessile oak, my journey has a musical accompaniment. This comes in the form of descending scales sang by Willow Warblers.

It's like I have gate crashed a troupe of opera singers going through their warm up exercises. I enjoy the singing and take even more joy from actually being able to see these little, olive coloured birds. It is often very difficult to catch these soloists, as they fade back into the curtain-cover of natures theatre - (as the season progresses and there are more leaves on the trees, they become hidden amongst the foliage).

Finally another day, but this time a day that opens with a little more 'seasonal' wind. I therefore head to the westerly hills above the Duddon Valley as it offers some protection from the NE wind.

It is whilst climbing up past the remote Seathwaite Tarn, a mirror of water, held in a narrow valley, bound by crags and rocky buttresses, I was accompanied by the white daubed Wheatears. These new arrivals have already claimed their territory and are keen to escort me 'off their land' leading me for one rock to another, until I pass over their border.

In all cases they are ensuring they distract me in such a way as to lead me away from their nest.

After reaching the Tarn I headed over to the overlooked Bronze Age stone ring that sits just above the water. Views from here look towards Harter Fell, with it's pyramid shaped slopes being reflected in the tarn. Whilst, further north, the view is pulled towards the high, wild valley of Upper Eskadale and the mountainous land of the Scafell. A Tolkienesque like landscape, as the distant crags and buttresses still hold snow.

Even though this valley is remote and relatively untouched, I was in no mood to have my day regimented by following well worn, busy paths, so just headed straight up the mountain, via a boulder strewn ghyll and past small rocky outcrops. Soon, after a lot of hard work, I could see the summit ridge ahead. It was at this time, skirting past a fractured crag, that I came across my first Ring Ouzel of the year.

I occasionally see them up here, on the Duddon side of the Coniston Fells. They are often seen flying from the steep ledges of Dow Crag, or along the face of the disused quarries around Caw and White Pike. Their little white collars adding contrast to the dark grey crags they inhabit.

Early Spring provided a few wonderful days in the hills, full of music and drama. The newly arrived visitors are most welcome, just like the weather they have brought with them. However, whilst writing , things soon changed, as the temperatures have plunged and the mountain tops are once again covered in snow.

Winter has returned, silencing the song of Spring. Hopefully this is only a temporary hiatus before there is a crashing crescendo of Swallows, Cuckoo, Warblers, Finches and others join the assembled company of players.

7th April

Do we create the world or does the world create us?

This macro versus micro is a tantalising question for many social scientists and those trying to understand themselves and the world around them. Does the function of society result in stylising and culturalising our behaviour (to ensure harmony, cohesion and progress) or is it our 'small group' and individual interactions, with our need to advance socially that dictates how we approach and operate in our world. Which one of these 'forces' is influencing what we do, how we express ourselves and react - who we are?

Having now immersed myself into a rural landscape; one that is defined by its geology, I sense a wider perspective to this question is required as it seems the nature of our environment has a significant influence.

As an illustration, I live in a landscape where villages, the movement of people, the abilities of modern technology are all dictated by the shape and size of the land. The geology of the landscape even dictates, in an immobile, profound manner, the very directiion and gravity of the motion of people.

If you live in Coniston your children will likely go to school in Ulverston, a slow 15 mile journey along a narrow road, whereas the closer Lakes School is only 10 miles away. The difference is the Coniston valley points towards Ulverston. The walls created by the mountains, the streams, the great expanse of lake that is Coniston Water all flow southwards towards Greenodd Sands and Morecombe Bay, so the human flow follows. To head towards Windermere would require driving steeply up and out of the valley and falling into Langdale, where the landscape is typified by the layers of steep sided Fells and tight, twisting valleys. You enter a different and in contrast an almost alien realm.

I once walked from Muker, a small hamlet tucked in the folds of the Yorkshire Dales, over the intervening moorland of Birkdale Common, to arrive in the Cumbrian town of Kirkby Stephen. The journey is arduous as the moorland is boggy, bare and wild. However the distance between these two habitations is only 14 miles (by road). Almost the same distance between Guildford and Farnham. However, there is next to no human habitation between each as the geological definition of the land creates a separation. This separation results in two distinct ascents - the land impacting on how we speak, and therefore how people describe and interpret their world.

If you travel from Cornwall to Cumbria or Surrey to Sutherland, the changes and character of the countryside affects the way we 'use' the land, which in turn defines our language as we create word for aspects of the countryside and our activities within it. It seems the Geology is defining the way people live an understand an area. each valley, the rocks, flat and wet lands, the sea beats against each shoreline all strongly influence how we interact with our world. So, it could be argued, the landscape dictates a way of doing things, therefore forming culture as the landscape is directly effecting our understanding of the surrounding world.

"Systems create culture" C. Handy

Furthermore, we should consider how the landscape effects weather and climate (from seas to mountain tops) and how these forces then have dominion over the type of flora and fauna. Therefore, the geology of the land directs the ways in which the land can be used to produce food.

The wild upland, full of either tractor sinking bog, or riddled with a minefield of rocks and boulders, cannot be ploughed to grow energy full cereals. Whilst the rich soil of the flat lands of Anglia can, but the land has to be drained, with management of watercourses essential.

The way we use the land is governed by the physical features of the landscape, which in turn effects our way of understanding and describing the immediate world. The land stimulates words, legends and myths, it forms meaning that is shared by all that live in the same area, but may differ from that of other parts of the country (be it just the next valley over) We may, due to this 'geosociological' process, have different words and values for exactly the same thing, or have words that describe something another 'group' do not even know.

My grandfather, born in the early 1900's was a farmer of the, soil rich, rolling hills of the south of England. A very physical man, who was formed by his job. He understood livestock and new where to poach a trout or pheasant. Often a rabbit was hanging in the larder. He was aman of the land, with his own words to describe his life and activities. He knew nothing of the upland hill farmer, or the trawlerman as he had his own unique view of his world, shared by his colleagues and those who lived in the same area. THey all did everything the same, described things in their own language, as the land had formed their understanding, value and meaning of both themselves and each other.

Therefore, (going out on a limb now) perhaps these mini, 'geologically formed' cultures have created the early tribal groups that made up ancient human society(?) This, in turn, became the basis for power politics, as we would want to defend our land and lifestyles. Our understanding of the world, formed by the crags and streams around us, was the the force that determined, ultimately, who we were. This, in turn, would require us to either defend our land/values/culture or spread the message by absorbing and conquering our neighbours land, so lifestyle.

However, we would soon need to parley, make truces or allegiances, to protect our way of living. Defending the land that shaped our understanding we had suddenly had politics, diplomacy and ideology. The macro and the micro coming together to form who we 'are'.

However, it all started by the indomitable nature of the land we inhabited

Every rock, it's colour and texture, every hedge, why a tree is where it is (as we chose to leave it) reflect our vision and understanding of the land - the land ultimately effects us and how society develops.

The original question, "do we create the world or does the world create us?" is obviously, but entirely, framing a human perspective where, be it a large society, or the small human interactions, have created the way we behave, understand and interact with the world. However, this seems to disregard the subtle, though powerful influence the landscape has on dictating our species development. Be it the god like heights of distant hills or the crashing seas, they all have had and continue to have a profound influence that models us at the very foundation.

"Men have become tools of their tools" ..H.D. Thoreau

27th March

Spring's Symphony

"Out on the lawn I lie in bed" W.H. Auden

There is a change occurring all around and as each day passes a new layer of texture and complexity is added to the scene.

My recent sojourn into the hills and valleys of the Lake District has been accompanied by an ever changing and deepening assault on the senses. Visually the range of colours are broadening from the winters washed out browns to now include bright, sun reflecting yellows, pulsating purples and pinks, all creating tonal variations and layers to the scene.

The new group of performers have started to tune up and practice their scales - snow drops providing the baseline to Daffodils and Celedine, whilst early chords and melodies of Golden Saxifrage and Coltsfoot are now ascending through the drone tones of Dog Mercury and Wild Garlic. All preparing for the other players to join them in a crashing crescendo.

Although the world is still bearing the drab cloak of winter, every day brings new additions to the scene. A more intricate tapestry of colour and sound is being woven and gently spread across the land.

Every tree and bush is playing host to a company of energetic and frenetic thespians. These actors, in the guise of kings proclaim their 'right' over all they survey. Thier procolmations are made from the tops of crags and trees - chirps and cheeps that state their power and dominance over their kingdom and they are prepared to fight off every potential invader or King in waiting.

From the wild, rocky upland of Upper Eskdale, where winters grip clings to snow covered buttresses to the gentle pastoral lands of the Rusland Valley; and from the wide open, barren landscape of Bethscar Moor, there is a restlessness behind the stillness.

As cold winter waters tumble and fall from the Kentmere Fells, the Dipper has heard the advancing drums of Spring, and now makes syncopated flights up and down Hagg Gill, marking out his territory to the rhthymn and beat of the stream. Although his land is surrounded by bare, steep, scree covered slopes, the crash of waters over each rock carries a message that soon the bracken and mosses will grow and soon the all important insects will return.

Just like the Dipper, the red breasted and pioneering Stone Chat, seen high on Bethescar Moor (early returnee to these high moors) now publicly and noisily announces his participation in the cycle of life. The Stonechat is the seasons percussionsit as he sits atop the almond scented gorse bushes of Bethcar Moor, beating out a rock clinking song.

Then over in the mountain amphitheater of Moasdale, a Peregine rehearses their soprano inflected aria amongst the steep valley walls below the tumbled verticality of Crinkle Crags and the high buttresses of the summit of Bowfell. The Peregrines song is punctuated, alarming, bringing a sense of drama to the landscape. Before, quiet, calm - now the air is charged and the pulse is racing as this grey streaked creature merges from the very rock to thunder across the land like a jet fighter.

Further down the valley, overlooking fields that are gradually filling with the baying of newly born lambs, two Buzzards sit upon a stone laid wall. Like statues on the marble pillars of the gods, these animals demand attention and hold a tacit power. On approaching they seem to pay little attention, but eventually (with little perceived effort) lift off with a nonchalance that seems almost a rebuke.

Spring doesn't come at once but arrives in a series of layers. Just like filters applied to a digital photograph, each day Spring brings a new colour, added depth and a greater complexity to the landscape. Each layer adds a scent, or another chord and melody to soundscape. As each day passes these 'sensory layers' strengthen and becomes louder - from solo to full symphony.

With the approach of Spring, the seasons' company of performers, with their various musical instruments, from viola to clarinets, flutes to trombones and drums to cymbals have started to arrive. Theirs is the symphonies, operas and folk tunes of the new year as it visually and sonically regenerates.


"...Enchanted as the flowers
The opening light draws out of hiding
With all its gradual dove-like pleading,
Its logic and its powers"

Summer Night (WH Auden)

Secret Ways - 14th March

There is a secret and hidden highway that crisis-crosses the hills and mountains of the UK. A connection of routes that link each Fell, tarn, crag and stream and winds around the slopes of the high places providing safe access to some of the most extreme and vertical locations.

An almost invisible system of tracks, unrecorded on any map and only known by a few and even this small group only know 'their' small area. 'They' are rarely (if ever) given the chance to see how their private network might be part of the bigger picture - grasp a view of the larger map and how these paths link village to city, sea to summit. A tracery of lines, like arteries threading across the landscape.

These are not routes formed by the illicit activity of smugglers and bootleggers, whose surrupticious movements follow secret ways through the hills in an attempt to avoid the authorities; neither are they pathways trodden by a persecuted faithful, who furtively duck behind boulder and tree to safely make their clandestine congregation. Neither are these paths the result of miners, farmers and quarrymen who had daily set out to reach the wild, windswept place of their work - though all these paths are encountered whilst following this network of secret tracks. These tracks are older, and like the secret society of Masons, they exist and operate unnoticed by the mainstream.

The interconnected patchwork of faint lines in the grass, the almost indiscernible consolidation of stones and pebbles, or the mysterious scrape marks over slabs are the only evidence of these hidden pathways. Like the labyrinth that encircles Glastonbury Tor, following these tracks feels like you are on a magical journey, passing through time and journeying into a new and mysterious realm. The subtly of the paths is astounding as the network is enormous and probably larger than any modern man made road network - they are hidden in plain sight.

I refer to, of course, of the sheep tracks (or Trods, depending on your location) that have been formed over hundreds of years by sheep moving across the landscape. These beasts, maybe due to their innate hefting instinct, have crafted an intricate network of tracks all over the UK. When you follow these tracks you are taken on a roller coaster journey that leads the traveller into some wild and unexpected places, but always via a safe means.

Following these routes I have safely negotiated steep drops, found dry ways through boggy and marshy ground and been lead down steep mountain slopes to comfortably reach the valley floor. These tracks, have also lead me to hidden gems that are lost to the cartographer. Following a thin sheep trail, as it winds around the mountainside, I have come across beautiful tarns, cupped by a fold in the rock, reflecting the sharp ridge above and supporting all sorts of wildlife, from Grey Wagtails to Grey Herdwicks. Many tracks have taken me to the remains of old stone buildings. The scattered remains of a forgotten way of life. These buildings are often merging back into the hillside and it is only the sheep track that 'remembers' its existence and its former glory.

Using this secret highway you rarely meet another person, there is little noise and the biggest surprise is for the sheep as they do not expect to see you. These tracks also make you look more intently at the land, as the routes are not on the map or recorded in a guide, so concentration is required. This helps you to look at the landscape again and in more detail. So, these sheep tracks are not only a secret highway, but also a highway that provides a journey of interest and understanding.

3rd March 16

Winter above Wasdale

It was a grey, overcast day and according to the weather forecast, there was little prospect of any sun to brighten the day. However, at least it appeared to be a still day as there was little wind, or so I thought.

My plan was, as usual, scant. I did intend to visit Wasdale as I was to meet a friend, nearby, later that day. However, what mountain I would climb, what route, how far I intended to walk were all unknown. I would decide on my drive to Wasdale and refine the plan based on local conditions.

Wasdale was very quiet, symbolised by only 4 cars parked at the valley head. With so few other folk about the wild character of valley is more easily understood. As I looked up to the precipitous crags of White Napes, surrounded by a sea of scree and boulders and with its famous Napes Needle just visible, I thought this must have been how the valley was 50 years ago. No extraneous noise of cars or marching walkers, just the wind blowing down the valley and the occasional baying sheep. I love Wasdale when it is like this and from my very first visit, I have always relished in the wildness and the severe mountain architecture of the valley.

The steep sided mountains present a seeminly impenetrable wall, giving the valley a fierce, rugged demeanour. These iconic mountains do not so much invite, but challenge and with the obvious remnants of winter clinging to the crags and dark, cold buttresses, this was a challenge not to be taken lightly.

However, as I still had not formed a plan in my mind as to what I would climb, I found myself ascending the slopes of the mighty Great Gable without my winter climbing gear. As I ascended the conditions changed radically and winter was firmly in control once I reached the hause (Beck Head) between Kirkfell and Great Gable.

The views here are some of the best you can get in the District. I looked down into the lonely, untamed Ennerdale and over to the Buttermere Fells. I was surrounded by steep sided slopes of crags and scree and had intimate views of England's highest, covered in snow and penetrated by deep Ghylls and ravines.

Therefore, I knew I had to now make good decisions as the conditions were likely to get worse higher I climbed, plus I was now exposed to a strong wind that was producing face piercing spindrift.

A quick coffee and a look at the map, I felt that Kirk Fell was the better choice. I could see that the main ridge was mostly free of snow and the map (and my previous visits) informed me that the summit was broad and held few rocky problems. How wrong I was.

On reaching the summit plateau I was now standing in a world encased in concrete hard snow. However hard I kicked into the snow, I made no impression. The slightest inclines had now become treacherous and the seemingly gentle slope to the summit was now an incline that would produce an uncontrollable slip. I therefore had no choice but to retreat. My lack of planning meant I didn't have the gear to safely proceed and especially not safely descend the far north eastern slope, as it would likely hold even harder winter conditions and the ground was steep.

The irony of all this was I had all my kit stored in the back of my car, but my general lack of planning and lack of desire to carry more than I had to had led me to this point. I was frustrated as I (probably irrationally) hate not getting to the summit, but I knew to carry on was full of risk. No, my best plan was to head back the way I came as I knew the ground was passable.

As I descended the weather worsened, with the wind increasing in strength and sleet and snow now blowing up the valley. My choice was not only the best decision, but also timely.

On my return, I sat in the little church of St Olaf that humbly sits in the valley. This tiny church is very beautiful and peaceful and reminds me of a similar church (St Mary's) tucked into the South Downs near Bepton. I remember sitting there in complete silence other than the occasional scrapping noise of the church mouse. The peace found in this environment penetrates so deeply into the soul it resonates for a long time after leaving its safekeeping.

The silence of St Olaf's, was also very quiet, except the wind moaning outside. The peace inside was in juxtaposition to the wild character of the valley outside the church. However, the two combined - the wild, untamed nature of the valleyand the peace of Gods house created a deep sense of peace and a feeling of well being.

16th Feb

"You keep on knocking, but you can't come in"

Slowly, but surely the days are lengthening. Though the weather is still unsettled, with a mixture of very wet or very cold conditions, there is just a slightest and most subtle hint that things are changing.

As you meander along the southern facing valleys, following fast flowing streams, there are small indications of Spring. These seasonal markers include the 'drift' of snowdrops, adorning the grassy banks, or filling the lawns of adjacent cottages. There are the ubiquitous Daffodils, Spring's quintessential emblem, found alongside the azure, gold and purple brilliance of Crocuses. These jewels provide a kalidoscope of colour to the bare hills and woods, and represent life coming back into the Fells.

However, any journey this time of year feels also like a journey in time, as seasons can advance or retreat depending on where you are.

Heading up the Duddon Valley was like being on a conveyer belt of time, but going backwards. The low winter sun, offered a tepid, though warming glow to the day. However, further the journey more winter the scene became. Where the hint of Spring warmth was felt at the opening of the valley, as I journeyed further into the depth of Duddon, this heat was blocked out by the valley walls suddenly hiding the sun. Hiding in this shade was a cold and unsympathetic wind, that uncovered any gaps in clothing and bit at exposed skin.

However, despite these harsher conditions there was still symbols that the season was changing. There were flocks of finches (a mixture of Chafficnch, Goldfinch and Greenfinch) swooping from one tree to the next. Their chatter indicating that the soundscape of the year was changing, heralding a new, and hopefully warmer, more settled period.

However, as I ascended the slopes of Harter Fell, the line between Spring and Winter became painfully obvious. There was a definite terminator, a dividing line between Winter and the slow advance of Spring and as I stepped across this line a bitterly cold wind bit.

Further I climbed deeper the season reverted back and on reaching the summit I had fully entered the realm of Winter. All around me was snow and ice clinging to every rock and buttress. Where lower down there was the golden crowns of freshly emerged daffodils, now there was icicles. Like the teeth of winter and as hard and cold as steel, they hung from every crag and stream like portcullis. All thoughts of Spring seemed a distant memory.

Whilst on the summit I dawdled for a brief time to take some photos, but soon the cold was all I could bare. My exposed fingers had quickly become very cold and were numb and struggling to function. The bite of winter was still cruel, so I quickly headed back down into the valley, chasing time to catch up with Spring.

And Spring is most welcome, as the cold dark days have had their day. However, though Spring is standing at the threshold, knocking on the door and waiting with some impatience, at the moment she cannot come in.

10th Feb 16

Opening the door

A wonderful thing about living in the mountains is the variety of weather conditions you can experience. Regardelss on the type of weather, it can have a profound effect on the landscape, where rain turns streams into raging torrent and snows can turn Lakeland Fells into Alpine like giants. The weather also impacts on a human level as it can impact on how we go about our daily lives.

Even though I have moaned about the recent storms, every day did bring something different and I was forced to think about my approach to each day a lot more than I would have when living in the south of England. Each day required more attention and care, this in turn, forced me to give extra focus on the land and see it with greater clariity. The weather forced me to see the land differently and recognise its character more keenly.

However, my enthusiasm is all too often dampened when I look out onto a dull day that will seemingly be an endless, torrential downpour. The wind and rain, as it lashes against the window pains, stirs my primal instincts of seeking warmth and security. It's as if the thought of poor light and the prospect of being soaked through to the skin just makes me want to go back to bed.

However, mainly due to my obssesive character and, as the day progresses, an ever increasing sense of claustrophobia, I will inevitablyventure out. This approach, regardless how bad the weather, never fail to surprise. Whatever the conditions I am always amazed how many wonderful things I experience and how truly beautiful the day can be.

There is always something new to see and more than often enough, the severe weather has created something mind blowing. This might be a river in spate or a stream that has appeared where before there was just a rocky slope. Phenomen that not only astounds but helps to better understand how the mountain landscape 'works'.

The weather can also have effects on the wildlife, allowing you to see them in a different light. Many times, on windy days, I see Ravens chasing each other. It's as if the weather gets into their tail feathers and sets of a sense of play and mischief. They tumble and soar in an airborn dance and their constant croacking echoes around the hills. These aerial acrobatics are show stoppers, especially when the Ravens soar around the side of the hills like jet fighters. They can move at great speed, leaving a swooshing noise in their trail.

When the changing weather meets the mountains it can produce, stunning unique features. In the last few weeks, with the weather constantly changing from unseasonable warm to seasonable cold, with snow followed by rain, the embroidery of crags and buttresses that line the mountain slopes, have often been covered in a gossamer of thin mist. As the moisture, from the melting snow, rises it forms a flotilla of mini clouds that slowly drift over the rocky profile of the mountains. The convoy of clouds creates a 3D effect, that stretches out along the valley, giving perspective that enhances the relative size of the landscape.

The weather, regardless (or bacuase) of creates many stunning phenonemon, just waiting to be experienced. Just like every season has its weather, every 'weather' (however bad) has its character. Therefore, however poor the weather, however wet and windy and however low my motivation to venture forth, I never regret my decision to open the door and get out into the hills.

The Door

Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.

Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.

Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.

Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.

At least
there’ll be
a draught.

Miroslav Holub

7th Feb 16

Old ground, new ways.

The weather has not been good again as another storm (Imogen) thunders across the west coast, bringing with it high winds and more rain.

This has meant the conditions, for next few days, have not been conducive to traversing the high Fells. Therefore, my plans involved crossing some of the lower, more humble and also more familiar landscapes. Due to the conditions I intended to head to places I have been many times before, and to hills and valleys that offered no technical difficulty beyond some basic navigation. All I needed was appropriate items in my rucksack to keep me warm and dry, and the enthusiasm to explore.

My explorations initially took me over high ground at the southern end of the Coniston fells, then around Torver Common, returning along the western side of the lake and, finally, on a windy journey over Silver How and into the boggy depths of Blindtarn Moss.

Despite how many times I walk these places I always find something new to see. On my latest outings this was especially the case as I intended to not follow any established paths, and certainly none shown on a map. In fact I planned to follow a course that kept me out of the worst of the wind and rain, using the shape of the terrain to guide me.

This meant I had to assess the landscape, and especially when there was potentially hazardous crags and buttresses to be avoided. I had to look at this landscape again, as despite my regular visits I was approaching it differently, with no eye to the map, just my knowledge of the area, my keenness to avoid the worst of the atrocious weather and a desire to understand the land better.

Marcel Proust challenges the fashion driven urge to seek new places and experiences, by suggesting that beauty and enlightenment can be found in the familiar. However, we have to be prepared to look at the world differently, by casting off pre-conditioned views and perspectives and to look again free from learnt values. The weather conditions prompted me to look at the landscape in a different way.

Therefore, despite the weather (or maybe because of) my recent expeditions (though humble in aim and challenge) allowed me to find new perspectives of a well known landscape (or so I thought).

I struggled across wet, slippery slopes, avoiding the worst of the bog, precipitous and slimy outcrops whilst being pushed and pulled by the wind. However, this unplanned ramble meant I also found paths lost to cartographers. Routes that wound across the hills, crossing little streams and tarns, whilst passing the skeletal remains of stone buildings. These structures, the wall projecting like ribs, are parshaly hideen bybracken and Juniper bushes. tHese are dwelling that would have been in usehundreds of years ago, but now in disrepair, and like their occupants not only gone but forgotten.

You cannot help but wonder what the day to day lives of these people looked like. The remoteness, the lack of basic comforts such as warmth and light. As I stood, my back set against the howling wind and rain, I wondered why anyone would chose such a harsh and wild location like this to live. Hidden in amongst the folds of the hills, far from any village and exposed to the harshest of elements (?)

My understanding soon changed, as after allowing noises of the hillside and the impact of wildness of the terrain penetrate my consciousness, the answer soon became clear - this place was not randomly chosen. This location was home as it offered security and fresh water, it was an area that was protected by the mountain and gave space for animals to graze, whilst offering relatively secluded location.

Furthermore, as I looked at surrounding hills, with their coving of buttresses and crags and allowed myself to be absorbed by the character of the location, I detected the power of the landscape. The wind echoing around amphitheatre of crags, the continual thunder of falling water as it poured into every wrinkle and crevice, gathering volume and pace, before crashing down to the valley floor, Here, in its it's micro environment, there was a sense of everything being instinctively natural and in its proper place.

I suspect I would have missed this most simple of understanding if I had not chosen to walk off the beaten path, as my unplanned route made me look again (and with extra scrutiny) at the familiar terrain around me.

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes".

Marcel Proust.

19th Jan 16

Touching our ancestors

Snow has finally come and the pristine covering seems to purify the landscape. This blanket sparkling snow hides the effects of man and the damaging effects of the recent storms, whilst making an already wild landscape seem even wilder.

In addition, with the coming of snow, there is a transfer of power, now the land and nature are master; as man's daily routines are challenged and our movements are restricted by the deep snow. Once out in the hills, at times like this, you need to be vigilant as conditions can soon leave you exposed and a long way from a warm and safe place.

And it is this type of weather that hints of an earlier existence as it brings a sense of vulnerability. A time when our ancestors had to fend for themselves and, due to the pressure of existence, were much closer to the land. This weather peels back the centuries, hiding the impact of man's years of incursion and exploitation. The harsh winds, the impact on mobility, the perceived distances to be traveled, make us feel exposed and make us focus our attention more on the land we immediately occupy. We are, in this season, closer to our ancestors than any other time of the year.

Today I headed into the Yorkshire Dales, scaling the rocky routes over Twisleton Scar and up to mighty Wherenside. And all along, I was aware of the presence of the steep sided mountain of Ingleborough looming on the horizon.

The views were both stunning and primal as there was a sense of time unchanged and untouched. As I looked up to the lofty crest of Ingleborough, across the bare, snow filled plateau of Twisleton, I could gain a sense of the view that was little changed to that seen by the ancient Britons. These people once occupied the fort on Ingleborough's summit and for a moment I almost believed I could reach out them.

10th Jan 16

Windows

I have been spending too much time just peering forlornly through the window, looking into a murky, grey world of endless rain. Even though I cannot escape the gloom I have a sense of optimism as there is anticipated change in the weather. With the approach of Spring (and despite the recent Armageddon predictions of forecasters) thing will soon improve.

Therefore, I grab every moment, how few and rare, where there might be just the slightest break in the weather. It doesn't matter how subtle as any respite from the torrential downpours are precious. Windows of hope, that look out to that moment when every storm weakens. As the cold front passes over, or a change in the wind direction making the clouds temporarily break. For these are the moments I have been staring so intently out of the window.

As I have noted in previous blogs, the recent weather has been extraordinary, even for the standards of the Lake District. The effects of the weather have had a disarming impact on mind, body and soul of all have had to experience it. With the wind and rain battering the windows and the clouds almost touching the roof, it is difficult to shed the feeling of being besieged. I hanker for the Fell tops. Therefore, my recent foray onto the hills west of Wasdale and my escape over the high ground of Duddon have been particularly special as these occasions gave a freeing of both body and soul.

On my first foray I managed to grab a few hours on Middle Fell, at the western end of Wastwater. Ascending was difficult as the terrain was every wet. Hwowever, this monor inconvenience was made up by coming to a peaceful Greendale Tarn and then later experiencing the most amazing sunlight projected onto Scafell Pike and Yewbarrow. I saw no other person and was able to enjoy a peaceful, though cold day in the mountains.

Then a few days later I was again cold, this time due to a change in weather, with strong winds and snow laying on the tops. Once again I spent my day not seeing anyone else as I headed up onto White Pike, White Maiden (the southern Fells of Coniston). On this journey I was accompanied by a pair of Ravens and Buzzard who, despite the winds, were managing to glide gracefully high above. Once back down in Duddon I had a rare sight of two Marsh Tits.

Even though the views were transitory, with each clear window being darkened by passing showers or enclosed by a curtain of cloud. It was good to get out into the mountain air and excercise an unfit body. Soon the weather will change, probably snow this time as there is a definite chill in the air, but I look forward to grabbing more of these windows in the weather.

31st Dec 2015

Another New Year

A new year, another 365 days have past, another birthday, another step along the inevitable path. However, despite tempus fugit, I have had another year full of new experiences and discovered wonderful things about the place I live.

Like most of us I made plans for 2015, which included ensuring I got out in the great outdoors as much as possible. Looking back it seems that I was only modestly successful as I didn't get to visit many of the places I had hoped for. I had planned to resume my tour of Ireland (only County Sligo to go than I have walked around the coast of Ireland and Northern Ireland). I was to complete the Wainwright's for the third time and though I have climbed many, in the last year, my excursions were too unplanned to ensure success.

I had also planned to revisit the South West of England, in particular the Cornish coast and the Dartmoor National Park. Again, I failed and have, therefore, subsequently missed experiencing these, wild and profoundly beautiful landscapes.

Therefore, it might be easy to conclude that 2015 was a year of failures and missed opportunities?

However, I think not, as despite not achieving these things, I have enjoyed the many other experiences I have had, and as a consequence come to know the Lake District and the Yorkshire Dales even more intimately.

Sometimes there is benefit in not moving, staying in one place and just get to know the landscape you inhabit. By just staying still I feel I have deepened my knowledge of this corner of the NW England as I have been able to better experience many of the places that are all around me.

I have found new locations to take photos that were just a stones throw away from the routes I usually follow. These new locations reveal completely different perspectives of a well known landscape, so offering a deeper insight into the nature of place.

Furthermore, even though I might be traveling through a well known area I have been able to investigate many of the 'lesser' fells and minor paths, which can take me to crags or streams I hadn't appreciated existed. There can be little gems, off the main route, that are too good to be missed and as each of these new places and experiences are encountered, despite the familiarity, I now have encountered more layers to the landscape. 2015 gave me a deeper, fuller picture of the place I live.

30th Dec

Silence after the Storm

Much of the north of the UK and Ireland has been bettered by an ongoing fleet of storms. The source of these severe weather systems is the unique weather phenomenon, El Niño, developing in the South Pacific. However, El Niño has a long arm as its impact is seen in the disruptive and destructive weather that has been pounding the UK.

As each storm crashed into the land, one after the other, man and the land has been humbled. The land is sodden and the rivers swollen. There is no room for any more water and people no longer have the strength to fight it. These storms have not only brought physical damage, but also created a weakening of the will.

Therefore, it is quite wonderful to experience the contrasting stillness after the storm has passed over. For a moment, the day is bright, as the sun picks out the warm colours of the distant hills. Sheep, that are spread over the valley fields, busy themselves with well needed grazing, adding a calm to the scene.

Robins and Blue Tits are out in force, flying from branch to branch, collecting berries. Their energetic activity and sudden burst of colour offer just the very faintest hint of Spring, however far off it really is.

There is now a deep silence that can almost be felt as the silence is in contrast to the force and aggression of the recent storms. It is brighter and the tops of the mountains provocatively peak from the wisps of clouds and mist. It seems that the earth, in a moment of reflection, is taking a deep breath and taking an opportunity to have a good look around.

The world is beautiful and at peace once again, but we now await the possible devastation of Storm Frank. Just a comedy name, but I fear one with a dark sense of humour.

Sat on a train, looking forward or back?

As the end of another year approaches we find ourselves reflecting on the past year, pondering our journey through the last 365 days. It is inevitable and during this reflection we try to assess how good the last year has been. We define our hopes and needs by reviewing the progress of where we have come from in a belief this might inform where we might go in the future. We measure our lives and value by our past experiences and use these experiences to shape our hopes for the future.

We are irretrievably defined by our past, as each experience encountered, the choices and decisions we made, the hurt and joy felt have chiseled our character. The constituents that make us a distinctive and forms the platform on how we further interpret the world around us and our plans for the future.

However, these characteristics and the way they inform our choices need not be determined in such a way as to produce fixed outcomes. We are offered a multitude of options and, like that experienced in Frost's - The Road not Taken, we encounter situations, choices and have questions asked of us. Questions that, by the very nature of who we are, may not be fully answered - we are not fixed.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference"

One way of looking at our journey through life is to compare it to a train journey. We sit either with our backs to the direction of travel, or facing forward.

With our backs set firmly against the forward journey - we are always looking back, to a past that is increasingly disappearing. Our understanding of the journey ahead is limited, and our understanding of the journey is made by making sense of the speeding scenery as it zips past and stretches far away from sight.

Then, if we decide to sit facing the front, we see our destination heading towards us, where we are able to see bends in the tracks and approaching stations. However, we have lost sight of all that was behind. Our past, the departure point and the land between there and now is stretching away, disappearing over the blue horizon. Our past is now cut off.

So which way to face on our journey? Do we determine our path by looking to our past, or by searching into the future? Should one tense take dominance over the other?

Rebecca Solnit recognises this dilemma as she points out that we navigate our journey via a series of abstractions, where we are looking into the distance (be it far ahead or far behind). In the end we are navigating our lives by peering towards the distant hills on the horizon. From this viewpoint we look for the meaning of things from shadowy shapes drawn from memory or hope. Whilst the real information, the necessary guiding waypoints, are immediately around us, in the here and now. To see them, and understand our journey we may need to simply get off the train and stop, look around for a while.

All journeys involve new experiences and we learn and develop from how we interact with these experiences. We need to make our lives free flowing journeys where we are prepared to just get off the train every now and then. Psychologists and physiologists believe the brain is most active when walking, plus if the brain experiences disruptive events it learns. Therefore, we need to occasionally get off the tracks.

How ever we approach our journey it will reveal much we never knew before and this understanding should be treasured. We should not care what seat we took, but just engage with the journey and if choices come, take them without regret, or hesitation as every choice will bring new learning, skills, understanding and an appreciation of the 'now'......Happy New Year and future journeys.

The Layers (Stanley Kunitz)

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

22nd Dec

Solstice Fire

It is the shortest day, the winter solstice. A time that seems endlessly dark, drab and unforgiving as an uncanny and unsettling quiet falls over the land.

We are filling our houses with light and greenery to push back the dark and we all look forward to the sun rising once again, though we are temporarily lost to the dark.

Despite this, I love this time of year. There is something, and please excuse the cliche, that is magical about this period as there is a wildness that seems appropriate to the seasons festivities. As I head out into the Lakeland Fells, everything is rarefied, harder and more threatening. The winds, the rains, the rock all seem to be harder, or increase in steepness and ferocity.

The grip we have on the world slips as we are no longer in control of the environment we inhabit. The time of year expresses a contempt and disregards our claims of authority, as its allegiance is now to the force of nature. Our power is diminished.

This time of year is the unchallenged domain of nature. She is proud, raw and at her most powerful and must step aside. However, I am a true disciple of Nature as it is this time of year I truly feel alive. I am forced to reconnect with my environment as it dictates my day to day life. Where I go, how I might get there (or not) the chances I take now have very serious consequences. This season I am one of her humble citizens and I only dare to look into her fire at my cost.

13th Dec

The vanity of Cnut.

In contrast, to the benign Autumn, the coming of winter has been a shock. Late November and early December has been accompanied by a series of disruptive storms that have delivered and extreme amount of rain. The extent of these conditions have had a profound impact on not only the environment, but also our fragile human grip on the landscape.

To help us to become more aware of storms the Met Office have now given each storm a name. The naming system is meant to make each storm log out not our consciousness and help us to appreciate the damaging effects that the storms might bring.

Cumbria is, so far, very aware that it has bore the brunt of Abigail, Barney, Clodagh and Desmond. The later being the most severe for many years as it not only came with high winds, but also a biblical volume of rain. In less than 24hrs Desmond deposited over a 1/3 of a metre of water onto the Fells and villages. The name Desmond will be remembered for many years.

The amount of rain that fell is without exception, and therefore carried a high cost. The rain gathered and regrouped in every stream, turning small watercourses into raging torrents and transforming the normal major, but gentle, waterways into inland seas, with currents, filled with a flotsam and jetsam of branches, vegetation and many incongruous objects like cars and common household items.

The normally tough covering of the Fells were tested beyond their limits as the sheer volume of water supersaturated the slopes, causing the once impervious, solid landscape to begin to flow and crash downwards. These landslides of rocks and soil did not come alone, as they brought with them shrubs, trees and eventually bridges.

The Lake District is a small, condensed mountain environment. Everything is defined by its geology, and to pass through the area you have negotiate routes that are defined by the mountains. There are a limited number of options available to the traveler who needs to journey from one place to another. This means the destructive effects of Desmond has further limitted the choices of travel as many roads and bridges have collapsed or are covered by the rubble from landslides.

I have no idea if this recent spate of extreme weather is due to global warming or just a random event, as part of the complex algorithm of nature. However, when these events take place, regardless of the causal effect, it becomes clear that the human world is extremely fragile. It took no time before we were all unable to travel, many experiencing damage and loss of possessions, and all of us exposed by our reliance on electricity, access to hospitals, shops, etc. It is events like Desmond that all the aspects of our lives, that we take for granted, are put into sharp contrast.

We sit in our comfortable chairs, accessing our world via our WiFi, but like King Cnut, the tide of winter keeps coming in (because of, or regardless of us).

28th November

Irrepressible New Forest

Though it was a dull, grey day with strong winds and heavy showers, the natural beauty and peace of the New Forest shone through.

The wonders and qualities of the area are not as obvious as some other National Parks, but if you look closely you soon notice a wonderfully diverse mixture of wild life and a very subtle, varying landscape.

Today I saw large flocks of Redwinds and Fairfields, some scatty Marsh Tits who were completely immersed in their feeding to take notice of me and flocks of deer fading into the woodland. All around were the ubiquitous New Forest ponies who were particularly skittish as I saw many running across the open forest and occasionally flipping their back legs. Even as drove into the park a small herd of ponies were running along the side of the road, causing equal amounts of wonder and concern for drivers. I am not sure what was stimulating this behaviour as it was widespread (from Fritham to Linwood) but I suspect the windy conditions might have been at least part contributer.

Finally, after visiting the best pub in the park (The Royal Oak in Fritham) I came across a large black and white pig happily snuffling its way through the forest. It was not bounded by fences or walls and was free to roam wherever its snout led.

All of these experiences with the domestic and wild animals, along with the changing environments of mixed woodland, pine and wide open heathland make the New Forest a very special place. Every nook and cranny deserves investigation as all sorts of creatures may be found, a survey of every fallen tree should be made as wealth of moss and lichen will be encountered and all compass horizons have to be studied for the movement of deer.

It does not matter what time of year, or on the weather conditions, the New Forest is always an amazing place to visit. It's beauty is irrepressible.

26th Nov

Understanding 'Place'

“To know fully even one field or one land is a lifetime's experience. In the world of poetic experience it is depth that counts, not width. A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields - these are as much as a man can fully experience.”

Patrick Kavanagh

Most of us have a particular place that we feel connected to. A place where we unconsciously know the layout and alignment of the land. An area that seems to call out in welcome. However, with the changes to lifestyle (driven by technology and social change) we can all too easily lose the intensity and strength of connections to place.

The Human Geographer Yi-Fu Tuan picks up on this theme by commenting that:

".. the grip of these places on us is light. Switching allegiance is common. Even our home does not command loyalty. The phenomenon I have just described is a familiar one and we know it to be a consequence of mobility, itself a consequence of economic well-being, backed by a speediness of transportation and communication that has cut down the historic onus of distance. Still, the lightness of our current attachment to place makes us wonder whether it is a serious loss, affecting our mental health and even our moral sense, which calls for strong commitment."

Yi-fu Tuan also argues that, despite the erosion of connection caused by modern life, we inevitably grow attached to our native place. This phenomena is keenly seen when we consider the exile. They feel disconnected from their new reality and always have an eye for home. They are defined even more strongly by place than most, but a place they now have no access too. Mahmoud Darwish captures this thought:

"I am from there. I am from here.
I am not there and I am not here.
I have two names, which meet and part,
and I have two languages.
I forget which of them I dream in.”

(Mahmoud Darwish)


Therefore, if the impact of place is diluted by our modern lives, and the lack of immediacy to find food, and the ease to travel great distances, whatis the impact of the places we visit or inhabit? Are we still able to 'be' and 'substantially exists' in a place, even though it may be new, or briefly experienced? Are we able to gain and benefit from any connection to place in these modern, mobile days?

My view is yes, as long as we are able to fully live in the moment that we share with place. Therefore, we need temporarily put aside the day to day matters that overly absorb our lives and disconnect from the many thinsg distract us from enjoying place for what it is. We need to attempt to cast off the mundane, the human noise we carry with us, and just be fully in the moment if we are to truly experience the place we currently occupy.

We have to be able to ignore the pressures that inevitabley fill our lives, as these are distractions that pull us away from where we stand. We have to temporarily put aside how we are defined, be it by our jobs, our daily burdens, responsibilities and social norms as we need, for a moment, to allow the nature of place, and our connection to it to take over.

For this to happen we have to allow ourselves to be absorbed by place, where every sense detects and absorbs the surrounding noises and scents. We need to allow our affective domain to dominate and inform. Where our feelings detect the wind, the grass below our feet and we concentrate so we are only aware of our immediate selves and the place we stand.

In so doing we may begin to sense the universe and its design in the most mundane. Any place, any landscape or environment need not be an ill defined image we pass through. It can be a high definition experience full of contrast, bright and clear. By truly 'inhabiting' place the most subtle of things may shine out, how brief the moment. A place where thoughts stand stark and bold against the distant horizon of our day to day lives and a place where we find space for ourselves.


I've felt a shadow passing over me
It could stay for ever more
Like a wave I'm breaking far at sea
There's no one to hear the roar

The days are drifting into seasons
They're the hardest I have known
A million holes in the earth to fill
But no going home
There's no going home

Exile (Show of Hands).

Unseasonably warm

It has been an interesting Autumn as October was very warm and dry and the beginning of November being excessively wet. Everything has had the appearance of autumn, mists and fogs, the leaves changing to every possible hue, along with the nights drawing in. However, regardless of these typical autumnal changes the day temperatures have hovered around 19C and there has been no hint of frosts in the mornings.

Despite these unseasonably warm temperatures the activity of wildlife has seemed to be following their normal autumnal patterns. The Fells have been bursting with colour and many species of migrating birds have been stopping off as they journey south. I have seen large groups of Geese flying over head and large flocks of Golden Plover (30 to 40 birds) on the high slopes high above Kentmere and Haweswater. The males are now wearing their darker winter colours.

Everywhere I go there are large gatherings of finches and tits fluttering from one berry laden tree to the next. Added to these Passerine filled distractions I have seen my first ever Yellowhammer in the Lakes (near Torver) and enjoyed a rare appearance of a Nuthatch by Birks Bridge in Duddon.

Things never stay the same this time of year as the beginning of November has been accompanied by a dramatic change in the weather. All of a sudden the land has been submerged by days of endless and heavy rain and battered by strong, gale force winds. The Lakes feels more isolated as roads have been closed, and any journey requires diligence, planning and extra caution. It has still been unseasonably warm and it may well be these temperatures that have allowed me to see a few Red Campion and Meadow Sweet still in flower.

The one benefits of the shorter days is that it is easier to experience the activity of wildlife during the hours of dusk. Today I was honoured to witness a Barn Owl hunting over its territory. For over an hour I watched it flipping and rolling over the wet bog that was its domain. He would the suddenly hover, for a what seemed an age, before diving onto his prey. This was a precious and wonderful experience, and one that seems particularly connected to this time of year.

As I now look out onto the land I see a tapestry of rocky islands surrounded by the recent flood waters. The landscape appears as if it was from a Robert Louis Stevenson treasure map, with a complex archipelago of hillocks and raised ground sits above flows of water. However, this change in weather marks , tangibly, the passing of Autumn and the beginning of winter. Furthermore, a symbol of this transition is the recent promise of snow (it has already been snowing in the Highlands and there was a fine coating on the higher Fells. Particularly Helvelyn and Fairfield).

With the seasonal change I notice how we subtly change too. We are already talking about Christmas, making roast dinners, setting fires, etc. We are shutting out the dark and cold by planning and changing our behaviour. We want to feel comforted and secure, keeping the dark winter far away. We may view the bleak conditions through a thin transparent barrier, but the warm and snug nest we sit in makes the outside seem far away.

What are National Parks for?

What are National Parks for? What function do they serve? Why have them?

If asked many years ago I would have suggested National Parks were formed to conserve rare, wild and beautiful spaces and to protect varied and vulnerable wild life. This protection would ensure fragile and diverse Eco systems survived, whilst providing the nation with beautiful landscapes.

The National Park web site points out how the revised Environment Act 1995 set out two statutory purposes for national parks in England and Wales:

"Conserve and enhance the natural beauty, wildlife and cultural heritage.

Promote opportunities for the understanding and enjoyment of the special qualities of national parks by the public"

They also add that when national parks carry out these purposes they also have the duty to:

"Seek to foster the economic and social well-being of local communities within the national parks"

There is an additional caveat that was introduced by Lord Sandford, that is used to test any new initiative.

Sandford Principal

"Where irreconcilable conflicts exist between conservation and public enjoyment, then conservation should take priority"

The values contained within this revised 1995 act mirror my own views, however, it is not clear to me that these principals are strictly followed through by authorities. Tacitly accepted within these aims is the commercialisation of the landscape, where the interpretation of the Sandford Principal is being stretched so far as to be irrelevant - I fear the baby is being thrown out with the bath water.

All of our National Parks (NPs) are now branded, with fancy logos, colour schemes where activities and messages are all about staying 'on brand.' An increasingly significant function of the NP is marketing, promoting and selling. Selling the NPs as lifestyle venues by exploiting the popularity for endurance and adventure events.

My own area, the Lake District National Park, is a popular venue for a wide variety of visitors, but increasingly, due in part to this type of marketing and branding it has now become a popular destination for races, sportives and all manner of physical challenges. The Lakes has always had its' Fell Races and its landscape has inspired amazing physical feats. However, these activities fitted into the culture and history of the area and only represented a thin layer of the sub culture of the outdoor fraternity.

The NPs have jumped on the band wagon, by positively marketing the Parks as a place to come to race or take on a challenge. Every weekend there are hundreds of runners, cyclists, swimmers, car rallies, off road convoys, motor bike meets. Activities that, in my view, do not meet the Sandford Principal.

This can be seen when these activities are applied to the Sandford Principal:

"Where irreconcilable conflicts exist between conservation and public enjoyment, then conservation should take priority"

Plus when the conservation and education aims of the NP are viewed:

"Conserve and enhance the natural beauty, wildlife and cultural heritage".

"Promote opportunities for the understanding and enjoyment of the special qualities of national parks by the public"

In this context it is clear these mass involvement events are not compatible to the purpose and function of a NP. This point is emphasised when the very character of these events is considered. Many of the race/challenge activities are very formalised and are motivated by physical and mental achievement. These activities, come with a mind set that wants to exploit the landscape for its shape and physical attributes. It is the physical challenge and not for the less tangible value of appreciating its unique habitats and beauty.

The increasing worry is that more these these activities take place the more they become embedded and culturelised, resulting in a standardised landscape as it is primarily viewed as destinations for 'thrills and spills'. The hills and dales become asset free race tracks, that attract an income stream.

In this context the landscape is only being used for commercial ends, where each hill, summit, stream offers a physical challenge. The landscape, is an open air Boot Camp, where every slope, and contour is commodified and standardised. The land's only significance is its ability to be the venue for adventure.

As Edward Relph warns:

"The making of standardised landscapes results to the insensitivity of the significance of place".

If this 'insensitivity', through regularity and cultural acceptance becomes normalised, then a key NP aim is compromised. The NPs need to appreciate and understand that activities are done for their own sake as the participants are driven by personal, intrinsic needs. Destination National Park is not about the landscape and environment, it is about its physicality. The landscape is only a means to an end, not the end itself.

In addition these types of activities, due to their frequency and the huge volume of participants, have an immediate and long lasting impact on the fragile environment. This impact is not just the physical harm, but also because it develops a mindset of indifference.

Oliver Rackham notes the four ways in which the landscape is lost; "through the loss of beauty, the loss of freedom, the loss of vegetation and wildlife, and the loss of meaning"

The nature of these events, and due to the motivations of its participants, is arguably little to do with wildlife and beauty of the landscape. The events do not incorporate, or consider an appreciation or sympathy that helps understand the delicacy of the environment. The consequences of these activities are much removed from the true meaning of NPs original intentions. The meaning of the wild, beautiful and fragile landscape is lost.

This mind set is further reflected in the many adverts and strap lines of the businesses that exploit the 'adventure' culture. "Beat the Mountain" "Conquer the Outdoors" "Take on the challenge". In all cases the NPs values are lost under the sweat and Lycra of people with very personal human, physical aims, that are arguably remote to the aims of the NPS. None of this activity promotes an understanding of the environment, enhances the beauty of the landscape or help participants better appreciate the cultural heritage of the area as the activities are self serving and insular. The purpose of these activities is to be 'completed' not necessarily appreciate, immerse and learn about the land they flow through. The fact it was completed in a NP gives the participant extra kudos, however, the same challenge could have been completed, in just as daunting and difficult an environment, on a track found in a metropolis. They are, every weekend.

Furthermore, I also argue the NPs are failing its visitors as these Parks intended to be places that foster an ability to reflect, learn, understand and gain a broad appreciation of oneself and the place we inhabit. A moment that is separate from the hectic human world, that helps put 'us' in context with the larger world outside our daily routines. As Peter Lanyon points out:

"I believe that landscape, the outside of things and events larger than ourselves, is the proper place to find our deepest meanings"

Unfortunately, these events mean most participants speed past, they miss the nooks and crannies that hold the most beautiful secrets. They overlook the detail of the landscape as their only motivation is to get around this course as fast as possible. There is no inquiry into the places and things that inhabit these areas, as there is no time. The 'purpose' is to complete the event.

I recognise that these events bring people into the wild landscape, but I also fear that the consequence of these activities is to develop unseeing eye. The purpose of the event means the land, its inhabitants and the processes of life are unintentionally ignored. These types of activities do not promote and educate participants about the landscape a y more than playing football informs the participant on the science and technique the groundsman used to prepare your pitch. It is just a space that 'is there' and to be used for the 'game'

As a person who has spent most of his life developing and promoting sport, and working with sports men and women, I understand the intrinsic motivations to take part in these activities/events. I also recognise that the nature of these activities result in fewer people truly engaging with the land they pass through. There is no time to notice and appreciate the environment, the aim is complete and beat the challenge. It is about self and not beauty of a babbling Beck, or the vulnerability of the thin soil and the mosses it supports.

By default, these activities reduce the appreciation of the landscape and falls far from the aims of the NP as participants are distracted from the broad content and process of the environment. They pass through it but do not see it. This journey ignores the landscape and its life, there is no active recognition of the phenomena and entities that inhabit the land.

An ignored landscape soon becomes anonymous space, where anonymity can reduce our appreciation, understanding and attitude towards an environment. Soon we lose the names for things that fill the land and the phenomena that takes place. When this happens our attitude toward the land will inevitably direct our behaviour within these fragile landscapes.

If we do not know the words for the things we encounter, we soon lose the words to describe our feelings of place. The land was passed over, unnoticed and we lose the language and depth of vocabulary to understand the wider world and our place within it.

I have previously commented:

"Language, words are vital to human understanding of the world. How frustrating it is to not be able to convert our feelings into words. We grasp and grab at something that seems formless and hidden in a mist of swirling feeling, that is undefined. We need it to take shape so we can bring order to the storm of chaos that surrounds us. We need to categorise and identify and thereby gain perspective and understanding. A meaning - meaning to our own world.

Through (naming the unidentified, they) now stand out against the, as yet, uninterpreted world. The (now) identified shine like beacons within our consciousness, prompting and helping us notice and then enjoy, and then appreciate, and then understand the little place we pass through.

Each name is not only bold against the backdrop of words, but now each bird, flower, insect, etc stands out against the complex scenery of life. We start to see animal or plant in its setting and maybe begin to recognise patterns, so gain a better understanding of the process of its life. In short, the name helps us better define and the appreciate our world"

However, the concern is that the NPs are happy to accept these events as they increase the footfall into the NP, thereby increasing income, but without developing a vocabulary and appreciation for the environment the event takes place in. If the activity attracts an increasing number of visitors who have and will not gain an appreciation or understanding of the landscape as they pass through then the NP authority is failing. The 3 Peaks fund raising event is the most obvious as the park is used and abused, with little return. This is because these types of activities indirectly reduce (due to their nature) meaning and sensitivity towards the landscape, beyond the needs and aesthetic of the activity.

I am not proposing that the NP authorities act like mini police states, however, I strongly feel the NPs have a moral responsibility to better consider the use of the spaces they oversee (beyond the P&L). Any activity endorsed (directly or indirectly) by the NP must build knowledge and appreciation of the fragile landscape by developing an environmental lexicon for its visitors. The authorities need to ensure only events/activities are compatible, as the engagement in these activities would provide an opportunity to gain an increased understanding, appreciation and developed meaning of the landscape; a vocabulary that can describe more than the exertion and personal achievement, to one that can talk about the non human. Support participation that reveal how the rare and fragile landscapes are and these paces are more than just a place to take on a challenge. Make sure activities 'see, a value in the landscape that is beyond our own needs (as it has its own, hard to describe, value).

"People exploit what they have merely concluded to be of value, but defend what they love, and to defend what we love we need a particularising language, for we love what we particularly know"

Wendell Berry.