As I write this, my name is on the waiting list for a bed on Succouth Ward, the psychiatric unit at the hospital in Lochgilphead. Despite a seemingly turn towards the better, I find myself yet again with compulsions to end my life. I am desperately exhausted from the interminable conversations I have with myself about keeping on going in the hope life will become better. Over the last week, I have found myself at the point of making an impulsive choice - almost as if I were standing on the gunwale of the ship before leaping. The draw of inestimable peace death would bring from the anguish I feel, is deeply attractive in these moments.

What stops me?

Well, the very struggle I speak of. The struggle to remain alive and not accede to the final demands my illness is asking of me. It’s a constant process of accounting for the pros and cons!

I do not want to go back to hospital. This would seem to be an unforgivable failure after my ebullient discharge last August. Yet, I crave the peace and safety hospital will provide. A place where I am able to attend to my illness without fighting with it out of sight of the world. I have wonderful plans for the year ahead, and if I go into hospital, a fair chunk of time will be lost and plans will go awry. Yet, if I give myself time to recover again, I’ll be stronger for the rest of the year.

I’m not one to follow the easy route and there is a fighting spirit within me which encourages me to hang tight, see this bout through, and find myself much stronger to face the year ahead. The risk here, in one of my deeply unhappy moments. my impulsiveness will win and that will be me.

While I was struggling with these thoughts I was reminded about difficult decisions I found myself facing when kayaking around Shetland in 2015. I went into my incomplete book about this journey and found the chapter detailing my Shetland experiences. Reading this again, I find the parallels run deep and this is incredibly helpful for me.

I hope when reading the excerpt below, you may see the connections.

Shetland – excerpt.

I worked out I had four days of paddling ahead of me to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland to reach Lerwick. The forecast was mixed with strong winds promised for much of the week ahead. There were a couple of exposed sections of coastline to contend with, particularly Esha Ness with a reputation for rough seas and few places for a kayaker to find shelter. For the briefest of moments, I pondered portaging
from the west side of mainland Shetland to the eastern side into Sullom Voe over the curiously named Mavis Grind, a neck of land which separated the west seas from the east. Mavis Grind it turned out when I asked Hylton, wasn’t a 1950s dance but a derivation from Old Norse meaning gate of the narrow isthmus. The isthmus, under thirty-five metres wide at its narrowest section, is the land link between the Northmavine
Peninsula and mainland Shetland. Even though portaging here would considerably reduce my journey to Lerwick, I wanted to enjoy the achievement of kayaking around the whole of the island.

In hindsight, as Hylton suggested, I ought to have stayed at Aith another two days, because shortly after setting off I found myself struggling into the teeth of a minor gale. The winds were from the north west, the direction I was heading. I paddled slowly out of Aith Voe, one laboured paddle stroke after another, realising I was exiting a natural and excruciatingly long wind tunnel. I cursed my stubbornness in insisting I would press on, no matter what. As I struggled to gain forward momentum, my conscience niggled with criticisms of my impetuousness. I mouthed silent thanks I left Aith too early in the morning for folks to spot me struggling away up the voe.

Eventually I passed Papa Little island and crossed to the island of Muckle Roe. Along the shore here I was out
of the worst of the wind and I caught up with myself a little, this respite easing my bad temper. Despite the wind, the day was gloriously sunny, the sea glittering with thousands of dancing diamonds. I looked up at the Scandinavian influenced farmsteads and dwellings and felt again the exoticness of being somewhere wonderfully foreign. I turned from Busta Voe, a name which made me smile because it sounded like a 1980s Ska singer, under the bridge linking Muckle Roe to the mainland, and into Roe Sound. Ahead of me through the narrow stretch of water was the expansive St Magnus Bay across which, nine miles away, was the rugged headland of Eshaness. The wind was blasting down Roe Sound and once more, I found myself digging my paddle blades deeply hard with sweat inducing effort to make headway.

I was less than a mile from Turvalds Head (who was Turvald I wondered?) This was the point where I faced the choice to turn eastwards for Mavis Grind and the short portage into what assuredly would be the easier seas of Sullom Voe or press onwards towards the Eshaness headland. Choosing the Mavis Grind route would ensure I would have the wind behind me thus significantly easing the remainder of the route to Lerwick. As I reached forward over another choppy wave and pulled hard, crossing into Sullom Voe was deeply attractive. I was sorely tempted by the prospect of easier paddling, another shoulder wrenching paddle stroke over a steepening wave, emphasising the point. I told myself however, it was yet half an hour before the requirement to make this crucial decision.

The forecast before I departed, assured me the strong north westerly winds would persist for at least two days, possibly three. I realised now, if I continued up the west coast of Shetland, I would significantly struggle against them. The seas off Eshaness would be nasty and recalling my fearful experience along the west coast of Orkney, I didn’t want to face those conditions again. It seemed to me wisdom should prevail and with a heavy heart I was close to acceding to the inevitable. The glitter went from the day despite the diamonds continuing to dance about me. Despite the wiser prospect of easier conditions in Sullom Voe, my disappointment was palpable. My heart was set on completing a circumnavigation of Shetland mainland. It seemed to me my journey was in danger of unravelling. I was losing purpose. My original somewhat ambitious plans for my adventure, had included paddling right up to Muckle Flugga, the most northerly piece of land in the British Isles. In the cosy comfort of the small saloon aboard our yacht, and with the alluring
aid of Google Earth, I had glibly drawn a route to this most northern point without much thought for the reality of the weather conditions I now faced in a rather bleak Roe Sound. As ever with a decision such as this, there were variables to consider, each validly presented. My task now was to sort through these in a logical fashion wisely arriving at an eventual choice.

The natural realm, the great outdoors as we often like to call it, tests me in many ways. From the dawn of
time, humans have pitted themselves against the elements. I would imagine for hunter gatherer peoples thousands of years before, the natural environment was their world, the milieu where they lived, thrived, and coexisted with wild beasts in this mutually shared space. I could not imagine they sought to climb a
mountain simply because it was there. Even paddling an animal skin boat along the coast because they saw this purely as a personal challenge. I imagined for them, life held primary purposes; gathering food, finding shelter, and protecting their children. The essentials of life. As humans moved away from a transient
lifestyle to one of settlement and permanent shelter, our aspirations through the millennia shifted and altered to the point where, here I was, a modern human, sitting in my kayak, on a wind whipped Shetland sea, enjoying the luxury of fulfilling a personal aspiration to kayak around Scotland. If there was no life sustaining purpose for me being here such as hunting for food, what did this moment serve me? What did it matter if I chose to cross Mavis Grind and curtail my circumnavigation of Shetland, instead of pushing further westwards to realise my aspiration for a Shetland circumnavigation? I wasn’t going to starve.

The answer to my insistent rhetorical inquisition was this; the personal purpose of my adventure was indeed life sustaining. It was offering me an important opportunity for growth and development. Physis is a Greek word which describes an innate natural force within every living entity which drives us to grow. In humans, physis refers to the energy invested in health and the expansion of our personal horizons. This is the urge to do something different, the aspiration to be who we want to be, and to choose our destiny. Good mental health is not only the outcome of sound relationships but also the fulfilment of essential universal drives within us including belonging, self-fulfilment and survival.

Physis involves change. No living thing can avoid change, we are constantly in the process of evolution. However, because we crave equilibrium, continuity, and safety in our lives, change is often difficult to accept. We hold onto what we know because this provides us with certainty. This desire for stability is called homeostasis, the opposite to physis. Humans are therefore pulled by these two opposing forces, homeostasis and physis. It is this unresolved struggle which underpins the struggles many, like me, face when making life choices.

My struggle with clinical depression is most likely an outcome of this tussle within me, which is why, suddenly, the decision to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland or cut it short, had become a vitally important one for me to resolve. It wasn’t simply a matter of portaging into Sullom Voe to avoid the winds. It was about the importance I placed on facing, or not facing, the challenge the strong winds presented. Homeostasis determined I would seek the less demanding route, to ensure I maintained my schedule and avoided the probability of serious and demanding sea conditions. Physis on the other hand, invited me to push on, even though success was uncertain and there was a high probability of becoming storm bound with inevitable delays. I think having worked as an Outward Bound instructor, assisted me with rationalising the presenting facts of the issue, ascertaining the consequences if these are ignored or considered. The underpinning factor is personal safety, so if there were an indication the task being considered was
completely reckless, would determine an immediate avoidance. Though, if the risks were such serious harm may occur but with care, could be avoided, then the task was worthy of consideration.

It would be simple to avoid the complexities within the decision-making process, to not heed them or desire self-understanding. For me though, this would diminish the opportunity for self-awareness. I consider this to be integral to an adventure experience. Without understanding, there is no wisdom to be gained. It was clear from the outset that my journey around Scotland was so much more than simply visiting the lifeboat stations. It was an opportunity for me to gain deeper insights into my ‘self’. This would help me grow into the older man I hoped to become. I didn’t want to slide into my old age. I wanted to arrive with as much energy and enthusiasm for life as I had when I was in my twenties.

So it was, with renewed determination Turvals Head slowly slipped behind me. I continued out into the steep and uncomfortable waves of St Magnus Bay. The 1950’s dance, Mavis Grind would be enjoyed another time. Despite my resolve to face my adventure head on, shortly after setting out into the bay, uncomfortable sea conditions seriously challenged me. I had previously coped with trickier conditions but somehow, I wasn’t in a
sound frame of mind to cope with this continuous onslaught of broken waves and a powerfully gusting head wind. Searching as far ahead as I was able to, I saw conditions around Lang Head, my next headland, were dreadful. Even from my sea level elevation I could see an angry race kicked up by wind over tide. I was
faced with another crucial decision. I was able to turn back to Mavis Grind or I could find somewhere to stop nearby in the hope the conditions eased during the day. Pressing on around the headland in these conditions was not an option.

I resolutely held onto my desire to round Shetland. I pressed on another mile through some lively seas to a small island called Egilsay where with a relieved scrunch, I landed on a shiny pebble beach. A small cohort of common seals welcomed me in, snorting and splashing in the waters behind me. I pulled the kayak up the stones and wandered over to the far side of the island where I would gain a better view of Lang Head. From a
raised elevation it was immediately clear to me I had made a wise decision not to attempt to get around. It would be a nasty piece of water to be kayaking alone in these windy conditions. I wandered back to the boat and dug out my flask of lemon and ginger tea, always a soothing drink when my mind is troubled, and I need to think things through. I had managed only ten miles out of the thirty I had hoped for in the day. If I stopped here, the wind would only increase in strength and I would be stuck for a couple of days at least, the seas around Lang Head worsening in the near gale force north-westerly. I looked morosely back to where I had come from minutes before. The entrance to the short voe leading to Mavis Grind was clearly visible, only a mile away. With the wind behind me, I would reach there in no time at all and within the hour I would be unpacking my kayak and portaging my kit, my boat and myself across into the sheltered waters of Sullom Voe. I sighed deeply, noticing the seals looking back at me, almost it seemed with sympathetic gazes.

“Fuck!” I shouted and was immediately answered with a few splashes in the small bay as my profanity
caused some alarm. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I was fed up with the winds and I was fed up with what seemed to be a continual process of evaluation and
re-evaluation. Why couldn’t I simply enjoy a carefree passage along this stunning Shetland coastline? Was fate trying to tell me something?

I refused to entertain the idea of giving up on the circumnavigation and belligerence within me mobilised my inert body. I heaved myself to my feet and set about unpacking the kayak, making a comfortable camp on sun warmed short cropped turf a few metres away from the beach. My mind was unyielding. I would sit out the gales on this island after which, I would complete my circumnavigation of Shetland.

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