Issue #69 The Misc Adventures Digest
Is Remoteness the Same as Wildness?
The first proper warm day of the year is always a shock to the system. More so this year, after the wettest, longest winter known to humankind. Afternoon such a prolonged period of gloom, I am absolutely not about to start complaining about it being too hot, but a bit more of a gradual approach would have been nice. Instead, we get wooly hats one week, suncream and shorts the next.
Saturday morning broke warm and humid. Our thick stone walled house holds on to winter’s chill - a wave of warm air washed over us as we stepped out the door. Despite the predicted heat, we had decided on a long hike in the mountains. It has been just over a month since we we last able to get into the fells due to poor weather and general life annoyances, so with a full weekend of sun ahead we knew we needed to make the most of it.
When we first moved to the Lake District a couple of years ago, curious about our new surroundings, we spent a lot of time pottering around locally - just kind of driving to places with funny names or walking up random paths and following signs to places we had never heard of. On one wet and wild day we followed a path up into the hills guided by a sign that read Haycock. We didn’t get very far - it was boggy and wet and Benji’s legs had not yet acclimatised to hill walking - but from our elevated position we could see all the way up the valley towards the distant mountains, shrouded in mist and mystery. We did not know which mountain Haycock was, but it seemed so very remote, the landscape so vast and rugged in comparison to the gently rolling hills and woods we had left behind.
A lot has changed since then. We have joined the dots in the landscape, and we are comfortable in the mountains, no longer daunted by the prospect of the three of us climbing a distant peak together.
That said, at nearly 800 meters high and a long walk in on a sweltering day, Haycock was still tough. It felt good to be walking, putting one foot in front of the other over rocky terrain, each step carrying us further away from the tedium of life admin, but as the sun beat down, we wondered, not for the first time, if we had picked the right day for a long, exposed hike. How quickly threats change in the mountains; gone are worries of snow and fading light only to be replaced with thoughts of sunstroke and dehydration. We worry not for ourselves, but mostly for Benji for whom we want our outdoor adventures to be full of joy rather than danger.
As we gained height, it grew progressively cooler and a strengthening wind provided welcome relief. Haycock certainly feels remote - it is a long walk before you even reach the foot of the mountain itself.
But is remoteness the same a wildness? I fear not.
From our raised vantage point, the neighbouring fells of Seatallen and Pillar stand bare and exposed, revealing the true state of Nature in the uplands across the UK. These hills are mostly barren and lifeless, the chances of an encounter with wildlife of any kind practically zero. A steady process of ecological harm to make way for agriculture over thousands of years has eroded any sense of wildness from huge swathes of the landscape. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know what I know about the workings of Nature. I long for the bliss of ignorance. Aldo Leopold’s famous quote “one of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds” is never far from my mind. One only has to travel to the uplands of other countries at similar latitudes to see what life the hills could harbour, or to seek out those few places locally where trees and wildflowers find refuge - steep gorges and cliff edges too precarious even for sure footed sheep. Sometimes I am in awe of the totality of destruction - who did this? How and why does nothing remain? How did we let this happen? Nature still exists here, in the form of rock, water and in the way the land interacts with the rising and setting sun, but for the lover of wild things there is little to enjoy.
On our way back down, we stopped for lunch on the edge of a small ravine. Something catches my eye below us - a patch of white flowers nestled in a hollow between three rocks. Wood anemones? A plant of ancient woodland out here in the barren uplands? I can scarcely believe it so I scramble down the steep bank for a closer look. Sure enough, this little cluster of wildness, a remnant of an ancient biome has found a way to survive, isolated geographically and chronologically. I am simultaneously amazed and saddened. It is not too hard to imagine what this spot would have looked like in the past - a steep, tree lined beck, its banks flanked with wildflowers, thrumming with connections and interactions. I can relate - I too am a wild spirit cast adrift in a world gone mad for productivity and material wealth. I bid the small fragment of wildness farewell and scramble back up the bank to join Emma and Benji.
On our way back down the valley, the cool breeze ceases and we swelter in the afternoon heat. We stop to splash and play and cool off in the tumbling beck. I imagine that we will hiss and sizzle as our hot skin meets the cold water - the disappointing reality is that we do not, but we are refreshed nonetheless. Our feet groan as we put our boots back on and carry on down the rocky trail where the promise of ice cream awaits…
Well, that’s all for this week- this should have gone last week but as usual we have too many things to juggle, apologies! We’d be interested to know, how does your knowledge of nature affect the way you see the landscape around you? For us it is a blessing and a curse; we are able to find beauty and unravel stories in places overlooked and ignored by many, yet too easily we see the damage inflicted upon the land and are acutely aware of the precariousness of the small fragments of nature that remain.
We hope you enjoyed the warm weather and have many more summer slow adventures ahead.
With warm wishes,
Andrew, Emma and Benji
x
Thank you for this piece! How complex it is to live in a time where we have to exist withing so many contradictions and wounds, as the quote says. I loved, however, to read about the rock and the water, the wind and the sunset as those minimal but resilient presences of the wild.
Great adventure! The knowledge and history add a deep complexity to the land. The areas I backpack through seem wild and remote, but almost all of it was logged and clear cut just 100 years ago. Many of the trails follow defunct logging roads.