The overhanging branches were so tightly entwined that they blocked out
the sun and thus provided much-needed shade on that day of cloudless, azure
skies in August 1989. After half a mile, I emerged from under the leafy canopy back out into the glaring light and
stifling heat. The road now ran parallel
with the sparkling waters of the lake and on the opposite shore, the shattered
screes stood menacingly in the shadows.
Never before had I seen such stark contrast of light and dark,
tranquillity and danger. Ahead lay the
Wasdale valley encircled by an arc of bare high mountains; to the left,
Yewbarrow - shaped like an inverted boat, then the great steep bulk of Kirk
Fell with the inn at its foot, and to the right; Lingmell and the Scafells. In the centre stood the pyramid-shaped Great
Gable, its height
emphasised by a purple-red hue and the deep gulf separating it from the other
fells. It was love at first sight.
It
was the scenery, the chocolate-box images of Ullswater and Grasmere that
initially drew me to Cumbria and those early visits
represented escape and freedom. I wanted
to be in contact with the natural world and beautiful landscapes. I was preoccupied with ‘bagging’ fells,
panoramic views and covering as much ground as possible. I studied maps
and guide-books but soon realised that they could only tell me a limited
amount. My sense of Cumbria was changing
and with it, the nature of my activities.
It became more important to take
things at a slower pace, dispense with goals and pre-set destinations and just
ramble and explore. I
decided the best way to gain a real knowledge of the place was to abandon day
walks and instead trek and wild-camp high among the fells.
Only a walker knows the sheer joy of putting one foot
in front of the other along a mountain path, feeling the earth beneath your feet and the
sense of freedom that comes with big skies and open space. Walking is the best way to fully encounter a place as the close contact
with the physical environment fosters intimacy with it. During my many walks I followed in the
footsteps of the Vikings and Romans, generations of local farmers, shepherds
and miners, poets and artists. I explored
the ruins of farmhouses and castles, visited abandoned mines, handled the
debris of megalithic axe factories and traced the carvings of stone circles
with my fingers, wondering all the while about those past lives and feeling the
mystery and magic of these places. I spent time observing birds and wildlife,
peering into tarns and wild flower heads, observing the
changes of the seasons and the cycle of birth, growth, death and re-birth. I learnt to read and interpret the subtle
changes in the atmosphere, to understand and recognise the moods of the high
places. I slept under star-filled skies with the base of the tent beneath me,
aware of my body pressing on the earth and the smell of the grass reaching me
as I slept. I bathed in the rivers and
drank from the fast-flowing streams and waterfalls. I cooked food and shared it with the birds
and wild animals, came to know the red squirrels, deer, pine-martins, the sheep
and cattle. I
had been a stranger here without
familial or links of any kind, a visitor, but Cumbria ceased to be a mere holiday destination, a place that provided rest and relaxation and aesthetic beauty. My growing experience and knowledge of the
geography, geology, flora and fauna, history and stories, developed into a deep
admiration and attachment to the area. I
was beginning to see the world with new eyes and appreciated
the small, the ordinary even more than the majestic and the sublime.
In her
book ‘The Living Mountian,’ Nan Shepherd says of her walks in high places: “I
have walked out of the body and into the mountain.” I think this is such a beautiful and heart-felt
way of expressing the feeling that I too experience when walking across the
fells. Among the ageless mountains and
streams, the vastness of the sky and rolling hills and fields, you lose
yourself. But then around the next bend, or over the brow of the hill, you bump
into yourself. There are no words to
aptly describe the phenomenon but it happens.
It is a fleeting glimpse, a momentary deep understanding of the bigger
picture of life. Such close contact with the natural world has
left me feeling more at-home with the universe and I feel part of something bigger, greater and
mysterious. The
sights, sounds, colours and creatures I have encountered have given me a heightened
sense of being alive. The years of walking and wild-camping experiences in
Cumbria have taught me that this county is only a tiny part, a microcosm of the
wider world and represents what I truly love; the natural world, the living
planet.
Back in the city, the fells and running water
called to me endlessly. Images of particular fells, lakes, tarns, paths,
ridges, sunsets were the scenes that blocked out the buildings, shops and
pavements. In the end, I realised I
could not live so far from what I loved.
My beloved called, and frequent visits did not fully satisfy the craving
so finally, three years ago I relocated to Cumbria. I left the concrete and steeI,
the traffic-jams and noise to settle amid the birdsong and flowing streams,
with the fells as a backdrop to my daily life and the horizon stretched out in
front of me.
