By: Vague
The outdoors. It is an interesting word in itself – carrying connotation and loaded meaning. Why choose a word that pretty much encompasses the whole world and turn it into “us and them”? Out of doors. In other words, not a safe, man-made place. Something beyond the barrier; frightening, and not to be trusted. An irony; we are all originally from outdoors. Not too long ago there were no doors. Equally interesting is the way different countries approach this subject. In Sweden it is The Nature. I prefer this phrase.
I have always spent a long time out of doors. Beyond. It has led to some of the most miraculous and powerful moments of my life.
I wake for no reason, other than that the sun is already up and hot. I rise, make the fire and head to the beach to watch the waves, while the water begins to heat. Then I catch a glimpse of something moving offshore. At first I think it a seal, but I am quickly disabused of this notion by the arrival of a tall dorsal fin, carving the sea ten metres away. Another appears, and another. Soon I am stood silently gazing as half a dozen orcas move leisurely from my right to my left. A calf swims close to its Mother. Then they are gone around the headland. I release the breath I didn’t know I had been holding and glance at my watch as I head back to the fire. It is four o’clock.
I am carving a spoon. The wind is light but steady enough to keep the midges from distracting my hand; the trickle of smoke from the banked fire keeps away any stray biters. I pause and place the knife in its sheath, old habit prevents injury. I stand and stretch; muscles thankful after intense concentration. Raising my eyes skywards they lock with those of a mature golden eagle who is lazily quartering the hillside feet above the tree tops. Obviously this bipedal interloper strikes curiosity, since the eagle turns for another sweep past my camp. Barely a beat of the wing, economy of movement, mistress of the thermal. I watch as the eagle moves slowly away, climbing and climbing until no longer visible beyond the mountain.
Night comes swiftly in October, swifter for being camped on the northern slope. We have headed to bed, or hammocks to be precise; food has been cooked and eaten, a wee dram, some star watching and poetry reading enjoyed. I drift off to sleep to that familiar sway of the hammock, enclosing, womb-like and safe. Then I wake suddenly. My senses in the city are sharp; out here they are preternatural (or perhaps simply more natural?). I hear movement a short distance beyond the small cliff that forms the eastern barrier of our encampment. Then the woodland and hillside echoes with the roar of a rampant stag. It is a sound that needs to be experienced to be truly understood. I tell myself it is just a deer. But this deer conjures a feeling of fear, images of his huge rack of antlers running towards us, lashing out at the cocooned forms dangling between his trees. We have invaded his territory and he will defend it. He roars once more and I hear branches breaking as he comes closer. Suddenly he must change his mind; he ceases his charge towards us and heads the other way, one last roar from further up the slope reminding us of his ownership of this mountain, his dominance. The following morning after breakfast and hushed recital of the previous night’s event I find and follow his trail; showing my companion where he turned around, where he stood as he bellowed his primeval anger. He continues his fight further along the mountainside, defending his harem against all; echoes of antler crashing together provide an aural backdrop for our stay during The Roaring.
Sea, sky and land.
Why write these vignettes? You should already be aware of my penchant for the outdoors, The Nature, from previous posts. But now that time has come to leave civilisation for a longer period, follow that dream, escape the confusion and machinations of complicated women (or should that be the complicated machinations of women?). Things are simple when you need to find water, food and shelter; yet it is a simplicity that is awe inspiring in its complexity. For me it is real, what we are biologically programmed to do. I have a departure date set and, as stressed as I am about all I need to do prior to this date, I am hugely excited and also strangely calm at times.
Bruce Chatwin understood the urge of the wanderer, that nomadic instinct within many of us. If you haven’t already read it, I would advise you to locate a copy of The Songlines. In many ways it is a rough book, one that could use some polishing, yet it shines like an uncut diamond. Chatwin altered names in his novels, yet had a habit of upsetting many of the individuals who created his characters, something I also have some experience of. Sometimes people do not like to read how they are viewed by others. The link Chatwin explores between the aboriginal people of the Australian Outback and their landscape is the key theme; something I have also researched and find fascinating. And this leads to why I am doing this.
I need to test myself, not just my skills but also my mental fortitude to complete such a tough journey. At risk of sounding too much like a hippy, I also need to connect with the landscape of the western and northern coasts of Scotland, find my path and follow it. There is no real metaphysical destination, I am not searching for something per se, but I hope to learn lessons along the journey. I am not running from, nor running towards something; this is about the journey. The first stage of the physical journey is due to end after three months of wilderness wandering, in Wick with my family; just in time for Christmas. I am tired of living in this city now, with the sole exception of friends (and they will be my friends no matter where in the world I am) there is nothing for me here any longer. It is a chapter I am completing and it is time to start writing a new one. What the future holds, I don’t know, and in some ways, I don’t care. What will be, will be.
One thing is for certain though; I will be chronicling my journey, keeping you all up to date with events, adventures and potential mishaps. Vague Preoccupations will be joined by Vague Wanderings, the former reserved for musings not connected with my travels, the latter a tale of adventure and derring do… New and exciting things will be happening with our esteemed site, as well as the ramblings of my possibly deranged mind, I will also be sending photographic evidence of my location. I look forward to having my camera ever-present, able to capture new vignettes with the visual as well as the written. I am determined to get some pictures of our wildlife in an oh-so-wild setting, demonstrating the enormous variety and beauty of this country, before potentially doing the same somewhere else on this small planet of ours.
So, here’s to the future. Uncertain it may be, frightening it is, yet it is also hugely exciting and precisely the right thing to do at this juncture of my life. I hope you join me on this journey and please feel free to get in touch!