An Act of Appreciation for Time and Place

A Summer solstice wild camp close to home

After weeks of rain we could scarcely believe the forecast when it looked like the summer solstice would coincide with the first few days of sunshine in what feels like forever.

As the weekend drew nearer the forecast remained unchanged; a window for our solstice ritual was becoming increasingly likely. With so much daylight to play with it’s easy to get carried away with ideas of overnight adventures combined with early morning summit bids on the longest day. One idea was to walk into the Wasdale valley in the evening and hike to summit of Great Gable for sunrise. Last year’s sunrise excursion to the summit of crinkle crags on one of the hottest days of the year nearly killed us however, so we decided to plan something closer to home; a celebration not only of the arrival of summer, but also of our first year living in a new area. An act of appreciation for time and place.

We set upon a very local slow adventure - walking out late in the evening to the summit of a nearby peak, just a 5 minute drive and a 2 hour hike to the top, laden with bread, cheeses and cured meats with plans for a fell-side feast before setting up camp and watching the last slither of golden light fade from the longest day.

It’s hot as we hike up out of the valley, zig-zagging our way up the now familiar face of one our favourite small mountains, welcoming the breeze that increases as we climb ever higher. We scout for places to pitch our tent on the way up, but decide to have dinner first in a sheltered nook near the summit. We are in no rush. At 8 o clock several hours still lay before sunset.

At the very start of our hike, Benji says:

“I’m lucky to have a family that does this sort of stuff aren’t I?”

It catches us off guard, and I’m not sure how to respond. Is he saying this for our benefit or does he really feel lucky?

As we eat dinner, the conversation comes back to this. He wonders why more people don’t do what we do. They’re missing out he says. The feeling of freedom. We talk about society, and how the value of spending time in Nature has been overshadowed by the distractions of work, money and screens. We talk about privilege, and of education and of people not even knowing where to begin when it comes to spending time outdoors. He is so comfortable in Nature, so at peace in the outdoors that he cannot fathom how anyone could find it otherwise. It’s a big topic and we are careful to avoid making it appear that our way of life is better than anyone else’s. Sketchbooks come out and we draw together, watching the landscape turn yellow as the sun wheels ever westward. I lay back on the grass, and breathe in deeply, at peace, knowing this is the right life for me, wholly content with the choices I’ve made and heartened by the knowledge that we’ve raised a child who feels it’s the right life for them too.

Dusk creeps towards the land, we set up camp and settle in to watch the show; soon the earth will rotate far enough to hide the sun from view and everything will glow golden before fading to purple and blue. The three of us sit together outside the tent, but soon Benji can’t stay awake any longer and snuggles into his sleeping bag leaving just the two of us with a rare moment of uninterrupted togetherness.

The river reverberates in the gorge below; we have been there so many times I can picture each pool and fall. The river cares not for day and night, or for season or for time, rumbling on relentlessly since snow and ice departed some 10 thousand years ago. The sun becomes a slither of fire as it dips behind the mountains into the sea and then is gone. At that exact moment a chill breeze passes through, rustling the tent, giving goosebumps to my arms before all is silent and still. Sleeping bags beckon and soon the rumbling river flows into my subconscious, mixing dream with reality.

The last light

True sleep never comes, but I don’t mind. It’s no hardship to be awake in the pale night of midsummer. Peering out of the tent, stars fill the sky despite the lack of darkness. There is not long to wait; alarms are set for 4am to catch the first rays of sun. It’s almost light when I peer out the tent again but it’s hard to know whether the sun has risen yet; the horizon hides behind the mountains to the east and it will be some time before the sun shows itself in all its glory. Our plan is to pack up early and be back at home for 6:30 for another couple of hours sleep. As I stuff the tent into my pack, shafts of pale yellow begin to fall upon dark green slopes and we know that day is slowly dawning.

The first rays of sun

Making our way down, the land still sleeps in the cold shadow of the mountain, blissfully unaware of the eagerly approaching dawn, but soon the sun appears above the crested ridge, cutting through the blue remnants of the midsummer night, setting the world ablaze and filling dew drops with starlight as a new day begins on planet earth.

When we celebrate solstice, we celebrate not only a turning point in the year, but also our place in the cosmos, our spinning, wheeling world somehow perfectly placed to allow life to flourish, a world of beauty, abundance and connection. Something we would do well to remind ourselves not just on the solstices but every day…

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Well, that’s all for now! How did you celebrate the solstice? We hope you managed to get out in Nature for your own moment of appreciation of time and place…

With warmest wishes,

Andrew, Emma and Benji

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