A Word Of Caution - For Myself

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All this week, I have been Tweeting and posting on Facebook short videos where I describe how immersing myself in Nature is good for my recovery from severe depression. There is no doubt being active in the outdoors, surrounding myself with the grandeur and beauty the Isle of Mull has to offer, is beneficial for me. I am most comfortable with myself when I am out in the wilds. I am a confident and accomplished outdoors person being fortunate to have accrued an incredible amount of wisdom and knowledge through my many years working and adventuring in the wilds. Because of this, my interactions with wild spaces and Nature tend to err on the more adventurous and possibly physically demanding. It’s through a combination of subliminal connection to nature and facing challenge that I gain the most from these experiences for myself. However, as beneficial as this usually is, it’s not always the most healthy or safe approach for me to pursue.

There are time when Nature may not be the panacea for my depression and I need to take care. This has nothing to do with facing the actual risks associated with adventurous outdoor activity, though of course these are a factor to be considered. It is more about me keeping myself safe from myself.

The extreme safety consideration for me is my level of ideation for completing my suicide. I wrote about this a long while ago and you can read about this - here. It makes complete sense that I do not embark on a solo sea kayaking trip if I’m at the depths of a depressive episode when I have strong desires for my suicide. This is a safety consideration akin to asking some one to abseil without a rope. I wouldn’t do it. Despite my strong desire for death during these difficult times in my depression, there is enough of a sense of preservation within me to know that kayaking on my own would possibly be a bad idea. The safety factor which I attend to most when making these decisions, is asking myself - “How impulsive do I think I am at the moment?” If I’m confident I’m in control of my impulsivity, then I might consider it safe for me to maybe kayak on my own around Tobermory Bay, having given Karen clear details about my plans and the time I expect to be ashore again. The benefits of such a sojourn in my kayak would undoubtedly outweigh the risks in that particular kind of scenario. If though I am thinking of a longer journey with a night or two away, then even though I might feel in control of my impulsivity, I would decide against embarking on such a journey because I would not know how I would cope with any stressors on the way, or how I would cope with my solitude.

To be honest, when I’m at the depths of my depression, I usually lack the motivation to embark on a lengthy kayak trip even if the weather and sea conditions were perfect.

It’s in my make up to expect a lot of myself, to be strong, to persevere and not give in. When I am well, this trait of mine can be an attribute, enabling me to undertake some demanding adventurous challenges - and enjoy doing so. However, when I’m not well, then having this desire to push myself hard can be counter-productive. It’s probably this fact alone which I have increasingly learned to pay attention to when making a ‘risk assessment’ about my engagement with the outdoor realm. The question I find I have to ask myself is - “What do I want to achieve?” The answer to this will be internally debated, weighing up the merits of the endeavour, opposed to the risks of possibly failing to complete the task and what these may mean for my mental health. An example of this occurred a year or so ago. I was not long out of a prolonged hospital admission and in a customary show of bravado, I stated I would kayak solo around the Isle of Mull. I plastered my intent over my social media outlets and blithely set off down the Sound of Mull, overweight from unconstrained hospital eating and dreadfully unfit. Needless to say, I managed just two days of the trip before I phone Karen and asked her to collect me and take me home.

A positive reflection of this experience is the fact I knew I needed to stop my expedition and acted on this. I took care of myself. In fact this one experience forms the bedrock of my decision making processes since then. While I may not have been at risk of completing my suicide because where I was in my recovery at that point, there was considerable to stunting or even reversing this recovery through the consequences of ‘failing’. I push myself hard with an expectation of succeeding and when this does not occur, I can be painfully self-critical. Self-criticism is one of the driving forces for my depression, so avoiding situations where there is a risk where this may occur makes good sense. In hindsight of course, I ought not have set out on an ambitious circumnavigation of Mull given I was just out of hospital. As I write this I notice I’m internally berating myself for even thinking that kayaking around Mull at that point my life would be a good idea. The result of this internal criticism is a huge sigh and exhalation and a profanity laden exhortation. Thankfully though, at the moment I’m strong enough not to allow this one negative thought, lead me into a self-destructive cycle of rumination and instead, I have moved on to think about the positive outcomes of what I am sharing here.

The point I think I’m labouring here is, there may be times when immersing myself in Nature may not be a beneficial option for me, if my expectations of my ability outweigh the realities of the same. The negative consequences of incompletion and a sense of failure would be detrimental to my fragile mental health. This may be true even for considering to paddle around our local Calve Island or not. This is a trip of just a couple of hours and of no great challenge at all. However, there are times in my depressed state when my energy levels are so low, that to undertake even this, might leave me wanting.

Currently I’m at a place in my life where I’m able to assess these situations with a strong level of self-care in place. It’s not difficult for me to judge whether an activity in the outdoors will be good for me or not. Paddling out to the Isle of Rum and back in three days is a great example of this. There was always the risk I may have stumbled with regard to coping with the strenuous nature of the endeavour, but the outcomes to my sense of self would not have been adversely negative. As it turned out this one trip, and possibly the one before it to the Treshnish Isles, have been transformative. As a result of the truly incredible experiences I enjoyed on both these journeys, my self-esteem is stronger than ever before and I’m enjoying a level of personal contentment I can’t recall feeling in many years. With both these adventures, the possible benefits exceeded the risks of incompletion or a sense of failure.

I’m well versed in personal risk-assessment when it comes to my interaction with the natural and wild realms. It’s a dynamic process for me, multidimensional and sometime complex. The bottom line is my safety of course, but what I may positively gain for myself through the endeavour is of equal consideration.

If there is any wisdom I have gleaned from my experiences which I think may be useful for others, then it is this. Be aware of what you are feeling. This will guide you when deciding how and at what level to interact with Nature. You will know yourself best and you will understand what your feelings are informing you. For example, you may find yourself thinking it a good idea to go for an all day walk, but you feel incapable of such a challenge. In this case, it becomes a decision based on what the outcome will be for you if you fall short of your plans and how this may affect your mental health. If it were me, I would err on the side of caution and choose a definitely manageable route and thoroughly enjoy walking it without worrying about incompletion.

Finally, I think this bog post proves how complicated my thinking can be at times and how I’m forever inquisitive about the choices I make and whether these are good for me or not. It also shows my interactions with Nature and wild space are never without thought or consideration. The positive outcome of this is how impactful every moment I spend outdoors can be for me.

Easing Covid 19 Restrictions - Responsible Activity

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This blog entry has been inspired by a Twitter encounter I had when I recently expressed my hope I would soon be kayaking again when the Covid 19 restrictions are incrementally eased here in Scotland. Thankfully, much to my relief, the Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon has confirmed undertaking a non-contact outdoor leisure activity is now allowed and this includes kayaking.

The Scottish Government current advice for Exercise and activity can be found here.

The pertinent lines from the advice for me are as follows. You should use judgement and take part in any activity only if you can do so safely, maintaining physical distancing and not putting yourself or others at risk. It is important to plan in advance and not take unnecessary risks that may result in the need for medical care or emergency services support.

What I like about this instruction is the invitation for me to make my own mind about what constitutes a risk and how to undertake my kayaking activity safely. The communication is from one adult to another. As someone who has placed personal safety at the top of my consideration when sea kayaking, I feel pleased that this is accounted for. Of course the Scottish Government do not know me personally and they were not directing their advice directly at me, but the adult nature of their missive leads me to feel welcomed out into the world again, as someone who is trusted to play my part. Likewise too, Scottish Mountain Rescue welcome people back into the mountains again, as long as they follow the guidelines of not travelling excessive distances to reach the hills. Their advice can be found here.

They even answer the question, “Should I feel guilty if I need to call MR (mountain Rescue)?” No, accidents happen, we would be concerned if you didn’t call us. We are here to help, not judge. Remember in an emergency in the outdoors call 999, ask for Police, then Mountain Rescue.

The R.N.L.I. advice in Scotland is more circumspect and parental in its tenor. Stop. Think. Stay Safe. Just because the lockdown restrictions are being relaxed, this does not mean our coasts are safe. The dangers that have always been there remain. Please exercise locally, avoid taking risks, and do not travel to the coast. Do not put yourself, your family and emergency services at risk by taking risks or assuming it ‘won’t happen to you’. (Source: Facebook RNLI Scotland Information).

My motivation for reengaging with sea kayaking is borne out of a desperate personal need. My mental health thrives on my ability to immerse myself within the natural world where I feel healthily physically and mentally challenged. In personal development parlance we call this ‘Peak Experience’. This is where my innate kayaking skills and wisdom allow me to engage with the activity and the wild realm safely and enjoyably. I am able to face significant challenges without risk to my personal safety with the outcome of my wellbeing enhanced.

Given the extraordinary circumstances of the Covid 19 threat, I do not view the fulfilment of my personal mental health needs in isolation. I fully understand the consequences of me making a mistake out at sea may require the involvement of rescue services coming to my assistance and thus, putting them and myself at risk of the transference of the virus. To ensure I avoid any prospect of this occurring, I will set my kayaking goals to fit well within my level of experience and knowledge. There are a wide range of considerations I normally take into account when deciding whether to put to sea in my kayak, even accounting for the possibility of the unexpected. Ascertaining the hazards and the resultant risks is a dynamic process for me when I’m kayaking (or any other outdoor activity for that matter). All the time, I’m assessing the level of acceptable risk to enable me to enjoy moments of serendipitous peak experiences when out in my kayak. In the diagram, I work with my level of skill and ability to meet the appropriate level of risk and challenge to ensure I do not stray into the realms of irresponsible activity. The higher the risk and challenge, the higher the skill level I require.

For example; if the forecast is for winds of force six and above with moderate seas and I’m feeling physically tired, the risks and challenges are higher. Because I am tired, my ability will be reduced. This means the choice of route and duration on the water will need to match my ability with the conditions, if at all. In this example, given the extraordinary nature of the Covid 19 threat, I would probably decide not to go kayaking. However, with light winds and calm seas the story will be different, even if I may be feeling tired.

Being allowed to make personal judgements with regard to my sea kayaking invites me to pay closer attention to all the factors which influence a safe, enjoyable and rewarding time out on the sea. I do not feel I am being treated as a person incapable of maintaining my personal safety. I understand the hazards involved in sea kayaking and that too, the unexpected may happen. All the time I will be prepared to assess the risks and have the ability to resolve even major issues for myself, only seeking outside assistance as a last resort.

I will not be kayaking with a light and carefree attitude because despite the consideration of avoiding the unnecessary involvement of rescue personnel, I am mindful of the ultimate sacrifice thousands of people have made during this dreadful pandemic and the tragic aftermath for their families. I will be respectful and in my own way rejoice what life has to offer so that their loss is not in vain.

Endurance

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Lying awake at 3am under a wildly flapping tarp, the icy rain spattering an ear bursting discordant tattoo in gusting bursts, I began to wonder what all this was about? At the tender age of 56, why do I continue to seek out moments of difficulty and hardship for the sake of doing so? A bivouac on a small Scottish island simply just to say I’ve done so - why? Not only this, but a bivouac a month on different islands. Ah, this begins to make some sense of the why. There is a pattern here. Add in the mix a fundraising angle, and the reasons become clearer. But still, bivouacking in some of the worst winter weather to realise these abstract goals? Why do I choose to do this to myself - push myself physically and psychologically?

A straightforward answer quite glibly is; “Because it’s there.”

To Serve, To Strive and Not to Yield.

One notion is seeking the heroic quest, placing myself in the role of hero. Here I am the protagonist in search of adventure. Seeking goals I set for myself and setting about attaining them. The tale of the hero is as ancient as time itself. Humans thrive on such stories and many of us dream of these occurring for ourselves. The heroic ancient tale of Odysseus inspired the emergence of the Outward Bound movement and their motto; “To serve, to strive and not to yield” is attributed to Tennyson’s poem of that Ancient Greek adventure. Working as I did for twelve years as an Outward Bound instructor, I could not help imbuing this tenet of the motto and taking it to heart, many of my decisions to immerse myself in adventure guided by those simple principles. To serve - my community (fundraising), to serve myself. To strive - to reach out beyond the normal in my life. Not to Yield - this then is the crux; face the risks, the hardships, the solitude, the discomfort and the joys with equanimity.

Courage is one attribute at the heart of this drive within me. It manifests itself in how I explore for myself how far I’m willing to go before courage gives way. In achieving this, I discover the possibility of extending preconceived limitations which then serve to strengthen a healthy view of myself. Through placing myself in situations where my resolve is tested, I gain insights into my ever-developing personality. I am fascinated by this evolutionary process and I’m eager to understand it all the more.

Endurance on its own is a fascinating subject. The ability to endure is an attribute all people manifest many times in their lives; living with an illness, living though loss, a difficult work environment, unhappiness, loneliness, and more. There are those though who willingly seek endurance; ultra-distance runners, Himalayan mountaineers, deep sea divers, and many more. I am in awe of the many who test themselves to the limits.

Sea kayaking is not in my mind an extreme sport where endurance counts, but there have certainly been high endeavour achievements where the kayakers will have faced extreme challenges; crossing the Atlantic (3 times by an elderly Polish man), crossing to New Zealand from Australia, a woman kayaking alone from Europe to Australia, a woman paddling solo around the Americas having already circumnavigated Australia, and those of the crossings to the Faroes from Scotland and crossing back to Scotland from Iceland! There are many more fine achievements I haven’t listed here.

The severity of these sea kayak challenges are beyond me, but they illustrate what sea kayaking has to offer me and fulfil my desire to experience my tenacity in the face of hardship - to test my endurance.

Outward Bound Aberdovey

Why is this important to me? Again it’s an existential matter - I experience discomfort and pain, therefore I am. By sitting with discomfort I’m seeking enlightenment. As a result, I will enjoy clarity of thought and visionary insights pertaining to myself, my world and my relationship with others. In many respects I’m not unlike a 9thC monk seeking solace through the hardship of a contemplative cell in a dark cave or perched on a sea stack on the west coast. The rigours of the experience expunge the distractions of everyday life and help focus, in that moment, what really matters. Attempting a similar level of meditative practice in a benign setting does not allow for deeper insights. My mind skitters across the surface of any deeper thought, too easily distracted by perfunctory matters.

When I worked for Outward Bound, we used an activity called ‘Solo’ as a means of encouraging course participants to consider more deeply their Outward Bound experience and hopefully how this reflects in their lives in general. The activity was designed to provide an element of hardship which would encourage resourcefulness from the student. They were provided the means to construct a rudimentary shelter, a basic set of rations and the means to make a hot drink. Of course they had spare clothing and their sleeping bags. They were not allowed to wear watches, carry phones, use cameras or have any other means of unwanted distraction. They were allowed their course log-book and a pen. An Outward Bound solo occurred, whatever the weather. For many participants, this experience was the highlight of their course. This was because for 36 or 48 hours they endured complete solitude, with bare essentials throughout whatever weather conditions occurred at the time. For all of them, this was a totally unique and novel experience, probably never to be repeated. At the course end, I heard many times students describe the enlightening insights they gained from their solo.

It is not lost on me I seek to emulate this process for myself during most of my sea kayaking journeys. I choose solitude for this main reason. I choose simplicity without the encumbrance of extraneous equipment. I choose difficulty over easiness and I choose remoteness and wildness. The feeling of accomplishment after completing a gruelling solo challenge is a most pleasant reward. With every accomplishment and setbacks too, my wisdom incrementally increases. My tenacity in the face of hardship and possible danger is possible because I have accrued the wisdom to understand these difficult moments will eventually pass. Probably more important than cognitive understanding is an all encompassing acceptance. Accepting the difficulty as an impermanent experience, no matter how intolerable it may be. Nevertheless, there will be times when the level of discomfort overrides my ability to see it through. This is when I have to be even more vigilant because it is in these moments I may make a poor decision. There follows an internal dissonance choosing whether to follow on with the course of action or abandon it altogether.

The ability to be tenacious is not only about physical prowess but overcoming the mental challenges too. My mind is continually assessing the situation, the course of progress, the risks and possibility of failure. Throughout the day I will be forever questioning myself and checking I’m essentially doing the right thing, always seeking an opportunity to escape but never following this option. Overcoming negative thinking is as strong a process as coping with the physical discomfort. Facing these thoughts head on and challenging self-limiting perceptions requires an almost constant internal dialogue where the wise-self within me encourages the nervous-self to take the chances.

Cape Wrath 2015

The rewards for tenacity and endurance are for me, sublimity. Invariably I will find myself on the sea in a situation I would not have attained if it weren’t for the effort I had exerted. Rounding Cape Wrath on my own during my 2015 kayak journey around Scotland is a fine example. I was fearful right up to the point I arrived at the Cape. A number of times I tempted myself with a return to the sheltered waters of Kinlochbervie. Instead, beginning before sunrise, I set off with purpose on a day’s paddling which I knew would test me to my limit. The fear was real and so were the temptations to turn back. When I arrived at the cape, I found myself swallowed by the glorious immensity of the place, the indefinite oceanic landscape, the neck arching cliffs, the cacophonous birds, dervishly wheeling above, the exhalation of the waves gently spending themselves on the cliff bases, and the great arch - the portal I would kayak through marking the end of my journey up the western seaboard to the northern. My innate endurance had brought me to this point. An endurance informed by wisdom, tenacity and willingness to face risks.

I choose to endure the difficult because I know this difficulty is impermanent, beyond which wonderful new experiences may lie. I choose to endure because I am offered enlightening insights into my self. I choose to endure because I enjoy the challenge, setting myself against myself, never a competition with the sea or nature. I choose to endure because from this experience, I realise I’m able to endure other aspects of my life, primarily my fight with depression. So often I remind myself to sit with my depressive discomfort because it will pass. I do not endure to show off or to seek fame. This is a private and personal process for me. Some challenges may appear impossible but these are only limited by my imagination. Facing the challenge no matter how arduous this may be, adds the flavour to the recipe of achievement.

Adventure or Misadventure

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A while ago, in late July, I sullied my sea kayaking record. It feels like I am an advanced driver who has been caught speeding and received points on my licence. When kayaking along the Pembrokeshire coast I was caught by a huge breaking wave, was capsized, exited my kayak and ended up swimming. This is the first time this has happened to me (when not playing) in 25 years of sea kayaking. In my defence regarding not rolling my kayak and having to swim, my paddle was broken during the incident, hence not rolling upright. However, I have no defence regarding being caught by the wave in the first place. I hold my hands up and admit to being inattentive and being too relaxed. 

Phil in his element along the Pembrokeshire coastline.

My good friend Phil and I had completed an enjoyable and challenging circumnavigation of Ramsey Island off the Pembrokeshire coast. This was the first time that I had paddled this route despite having regularly visiting the infamous Bitches tide race in Ramsey Sound to surf the waves there. The seas off the west coast of the island were lively to say the least and this with a fiercely running tide, made paddling conditions pretty exciting. I'm an experienced sea kayaker and I can hold my own in variable conditions but even then on this occasion, I was surprised by some unexpected bouncy waters, steep standing waves and some fierce tidal eddies which, at one point, spun me 180 degrees! Needless to say, Phil and I whooped and hollered our approval at being tested in this way.

Our history of enjoying shared adventures goes back over thirty years. It has become something of an 'in-joke' amongst our friends that when we get together, there'll be high adventure of some sort. It's not that we egg each other on in a macho fashion to achieve the impossible, we simply embody a strong spirit for adventure. When we come together we somehow match our aspirations for a day of enjoyment and excitement in the outdoors. We are well matched skills wise and probably more importantly, we are well matched judgement wise too. We each have the innate ability to anticipate the likelihood of success or risky failure when looking at the activity we are planning to undertake. What we end up doing is taking ourselves to the edge of the adventure and flirting with misadventure. 

Thirty years of shared adventure.

One story to recount is the time we set out to kayak to the Shiant Isles just off the Isle of Lewis across the Minch from the Isle of Skye. At the time I lived on the Black Isle near Inverness and Phil lived in Kendal. This meant that by the time we had met each other and travelled to Skye, we were running behind time. We packed our kayaks in a hurry and hastily launched into a lumpy sea in the hope that the last of the tide would set us up nicely for the long crossing to the Shiants. It wasn’t until we were well into the Minch that we realised we weren’t making any worthwhile forward progress. The far hills of Harris steadfastly held their position on our port beams. Additionally the sea state was deteriorating and we were threatened with the prospect of arriving at the far off islands in the dark. We decided to turn tail and head for the nearby Fladda Chuain islets five miles off the Sky coastline. Eventually after a total of eight hours hard paddling we pulled ourselves ashore, staggering and slipping up the slippery boulder beach of the main island. We made camp and turned our attention to making a restorative pot of tea. “Have you got the water?” I shouted across to Phil who was pegging out his tent. “No, I thought you had it” he responded. We looked at each other aghast. Here we were, two seasoned adventurers without any drinking water on a small waterless island in the Minch! We berated ourselves but couldn’t help laughing at our predicament because thankfully, before leaving the Black Isle, we had purchased six bottles of Black Isle Brewery beer. We wouldn’t die of thirst. Our journey continued the next day and ended safely though we never did make it out to the Shiants. We ended up paddling along the Skye coastline instead.

Finding myself swimming in a restless Pembrokeshire sea and knowing that Phil was in the water too was a salutatory reminder of the fine edge I sometimes traverse between enjoying high adventure or encountering misadventure. All worked out well. We self-rescued and we were on our way again, somewhat chagrined but none the worse for the incident. However, since then I have gone on to replay the event in my mind, berating myself for my inattention. Truthfully, I was a little shaken too.

Reaching the Shiants in 2015

I am predominantly a solo kayaker and there have been a number of times during long journeys where I have found myself coping with tricky situations. Every time I have coped well and come through unscathed, largely because I am an able kayaker well used to facing uncertain situations. Nevertheless with each of these moments, things could have taken a different course and I would have found myself possibly dealing with far more than I would have liked.

For example, during my 2015 sea kayak journey around Scotland, along the east coast of Harris, I found myself caught out by a huge ‘boomer’. This is where a usually submerged rock is suddenly uncovered by a receding wave and then covered again with the booming wash of a replacement wave, often accompanied with spectacular bursting white water. I had just rounded a small headland and hadn’t seen this particular spot, so when I suddenly found myself seemingly in mid air above a rapidly exposed barnacled and weedy rock, I knew what I was in for. With instinct more than anything else, I threw my weight to my right and readied my paddle to support me on the wave which inevitably cracked ominously at head height and broke onto me, sweeping me down and towards the exposed rock. Supported by my paddle and leaning onto the raging surf, I tensed myself for the inevitable dreadful crunch when my kayak would be crashed hull first onto the ragged rock. I was resigned to a severely damaged boat and possible injury to myself. Instead with incomprehensible relief, I realised that instead of the crunching crash, I was simply surfed over the rock and into a patch of lively and disturbed water where it seemed that once spent, the waves gathered to recompose themselves. I had survived and so had my kayak.

The consequences of crashing into the rock can only be imagined. I was in a remote and unpopulated section of the Harris coast where my predicament would have gone unnoticed and rescue would have been a long time in coming. There were no beaches to haul myself onto and the rocky cliffs were being pounded by hungry waves fed by a force wind. I would have found myself in a tricky situation - there is no doubt about that. If my kayak had been damaged and was unseaworthy and I was in the water unable to self-rescue, I would have had to deploy my emergency personal locator beacon and call for assistance on my VHF radio. The Leverburgh Lifeboat (which I had just visited) would have taken an hour to reach me.

Of course none of this happened and I went on to complete my 1850 mile solo journey without ever having to use my emergency equipment. This isn’t to say I didn’t face further moments of peril. When thinking about my mishap on the Pembrokeshire coast in late July, I reminded myself that I had coped with potentially more severe situations without trouble. The event with Phil had occurred because I had switched off and relaxed. Normally, when I’m paddling on my own, I’m far more wary and observant. However, the potential for misadventure is always there. This is because I’m naturally drawn to extending myself, to exploring the unknown and to testing my ability. During my 520 mile Three Peaks by Kayak journey this year, I noticed how willing I was to put to sea in conditions I would have avoided in 2015. This is a result of my increased confidence in my ability and a strengthened fortitude to face more challenging situations. I’m not over confident or braggartly blasé, but rather more self assured. As I grow into my sea kayaking, my wisdom, my judgement and my ability match pace. It’s only natural for me to continue to extend myself.

Reflecting on this, I accepted that eventually I would find myself overstepping the mark and calling upon every level of skill I possess to resolve a tricky predicament. I accept that this is the nature of my adventuring and in fact of my personal growth too. It is often my mistakes and mishaps which provide powerful learning. Rather than continue to give myself a hard time about breaking my non-capsize record, I instead have chosen to look at this Pembrokeshire event as a rich source of helpful information. For a start - even when relaxed, maintain a level of alertness. There are many small but important steps I would take differently based on the learning I have drawn from this one event and as a result, I’m confident that an occurrence of this nature will not happen again.

Cape Wrath

My accrued wisdom however, informs me that there will undoubtedly be another time some where in the future where I slip on the tightrope between adventure and misadventure. I’m confident though that when this happens, like this time in Pembroke, I’ll be well equipped in mind, in skill and safety kit to deal with it. This is what adventure is about. As Phil and I say to each other every time we embark on a shared journey into the outdoors - “An adventure is an experience with an unknown outcome.”

Finding Focus

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The summer is speeding by for me. This is probably a good thing in a way, because it means that I'm living it fully. I think this is probably true, though I have difficulty in recounting what I get up to each day. Not a huge amount to be honest. 

Anyway, I've recently returned from a journey down south where I gave a presentation in Aberdyfi about my 3 Peaks by Kayak journey, visited my parents in Herefordshire and then spent a few days camping with a group of friends in Pembrokeshire. This journey turned into a rewarding experience for me where I gained significant insights which I believe will be useful for me in my future. 

My presentation in Aberdyfi turned out to be an unqualified success. Seventy or so folks came along to the Yacht Club in the village to hear me give an illustrated talk about my 3 Peaks adventure. To be honest, I hadn't really prepared in any detail what I was going to talk about. I had chosen a number of photos to show and these would offer me prompts to recount anecdotes from the journey. I did have the intention of speaking about how profound the journey was for me and how I gained deep insights into my mental health recovery process as a result of it. As the presentation unfolded, I found myself speaking with eloquent openness about my struggle with my depression, ideations of suicide and how powerful moments of insight into these were highlighted by incredible experiences I encountered. Without preparing for this, I found my voice and it carried impact. 

The feedback I received afterwards was difficult to accept because it was so effusive in its praise. Such is my low sense of self-worth that I literally had to force the compliments into my 'memory banks'. It was when people I had never met before came up to me and spoke of the profoundness of my talk, that I realised that I had given something worthwhile. This was a good feeling for me. 

A few days later down in Pembrokeshire, the compliments continued to roll in and this time they were more thoughtful because folks had given time to thinking about the impact of my presentation. I couldn't help but glow with a sense of satisfaction that my voice had such impact. My intuition that sharing my personal struggle with depression and suicide as an adjunct to the powerful experiences I encountered during my kayaking journey had paid off. With relief, I realised that my desired future path of publicly sharing my outdoor adventures as a source of inspiration for others struggling with mental health issues and general self awareness, was a good one for me to pursue. 

Driving north to the Isle of Mull, I pondered on how I can build on this and make it happen.

Writing seems to be the most obvious pathway. I like writing but I'm not good at focussing and completing writing projects. However, recently submitting an article about my recent kayaking trip to the notable sea-kayaking publication, Ocean Paddler, and having this well received, with an invitation to submit further articles, has boosted my confidence and provided me with the incentive to approach my writing seriously. I have a number of books I would like to write and of course, many shorter pieces specifically about the transformational power of Nature, the outdoors and adventure per se. 

Public speaking is also an obvious route to embark on. I have come to accept that I'm adept at this and I can hold an audiences' attention through my voice and story. I have much to say and I do enjoy sharing my views and tales when these moments arise. However, I'm slow to grasp opportunities to speak publicly or even seek them out, instead waiting to be invited to do so. This will be a challenge for me, to publicise myself as a worthwhile speaker, worthy of hiring. 

Running workshops was another consideration of mine. I enjoy being a facilitator, managing group process and working with the 'here and now' material as it arises. Again, like my writing aspirations, I have a myriad workshop titles in my notebooks. The key here is finding a market for these and more to the point, a relevance for them. In my time, I have worked as an independent workshop provider and facilitator but I found this a stressful process for me. I'm not business minded enough to have made this a success and this dissuades me from following this path. 

Of course there is social media where I can highlight what I have to offer. My Twitter account is a healthy one with wonderfully meaningful engagement with friends, acquaintances and strangers. Here, I largely present myself as I am, not really hiding much away. It would be easy for me to build on this online persona and 'market. what I want to offer. Facebook is a little different and since the international wrangle with 'false news' and manipulation, I'm wary of this platform. I am on Instagram but I don't engage with this as best I could.

Then there is this website and developing my 'Life Afloat' brand. This is an obvious point of reference for what I want to develop and share. Like my writing, I will need to focus more on this, developing useful content and make it an interesting resource for folks to want to visit and remain connected with.

Finally, my Blog. I simply need to keep up with this and keep writing material for it.

If you have ideas and suggestions in response to what I've shared here, then please drop me a line through my contact page. I welcome any feedback you may wish to give me. Thank you.  

Ground-rush

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In my life so far, I have completed only two parachute jumps. The first as a fund-raiser for a friend and the second the day after the first, because I had enjoyed it so much. They were static line jumps from two thousand feet high, involving the classic process of pushing out of an open light aircraft door, arms and legs akimbo, yelling (or screaming) - "One thousand, two thousand, three thousand..... check canopeeeee....!" These jumps took place in 1986 and so the mists of time have mellowed my memory of them since then. However, I do recall that I felt more fear during the second jump than I did the first. 

Analysing this now, I make the assumption that the first jump was one of pure excitement and because I had never jumped before, I really had no fearful expectations apart from the possibility that my parachute might malfunction. The rest of the experience was purely an adrenalin fuelled moment, which I had longed to complete ever since I was a young boy. I loved flying. I had been an Air Force Cadet at secondary school and I took any opportunity I could to fly in the ancient Chipmunk aircraft on summer camps and regular unit trips down to the nearest RAF airfield. I also gained my Glider Pilot wings before I passed my driving test, flying solo at the age of sixteen. My solo flight lasted just over sixty seconds and earned me the right to volunteer at the RAF Gliding School every Saturday, with solo flying at the end of the day, for two years after. My first solo glider flight is worthy of a separate story in itself.

So, by the time I found myself shuffling towards the gaping doorway in a Cessna aircraft, high above the quintessential rolling Herefordshire countryside, I was an avid aviator of sorts, who wondered what it would be like to hurl myself from an aircraft and drift down to earth under a silken canopy. I felt no fear, simply excited anticipation. The poor man who was sitting beside me on the cabin floor was weeping silently. Our relative perceptions of this mutual experience couldn't have been more different.

The first jump itself was everything I had hoped for. The complete exhilaration of sitting in the open doorway, my legs dangling with nothing below them until the ground far below and then the command, "Go!", followed by the few seconds of buffeting mayhem as the parachute snapped and cracked open and my body hanging motionless beneath the ochre canopy. These were the days before the 'square' canopies and the large round billowing mushroom above me spilled the air softly, just like the handkerchief parachutes I used to make for my plastic soldiers when I was a boy. What will remain with me in memorable crystal clarity for ever, is the silence. For the brief minute or so I was drifting earthwards, I was suspended in a solitudenous silence which, quite simply, took my breath away. It was one of those perfect moments of absolute awareness. It was probably the first time in my life where I was conscious of all that was occurring - around me, to me and for me.

Less than two minutes after leaving the plane, I neared the ground and seconds later, I saw the hardened grassy surface of the airfield rushing to meet me. With a thud which extorted an unbidden, "Ooft!" from my lungs, I hit the ground and I executed what I thought to be a worthy parachute roll. The air in the canopy dissipated and it collapsed in a whispering rustle beside me. My first ever parachute jump was complete and I was elated!

Imbued with confidence, back at the parachute club offices, I readily signed up for another jump the next day!

Twenty four hours later and once again I'm sitting on the cabin floor of the Cessna aircraft and this time there isn't a weeping man beside me. Instead, it's me who was feeling the nerves. With the naïve and excited anticipation no longer present, I was free to contemplate the possibilities of risk and failure. My stomach was tense and I was not enjoying the moment as much as I hoped I would. The moment of the jump arrived and instead of sheer exhilaration swamping my senses, I was agitated and matter of fact. I want the jump to be over. What I remember of that moment is fearing the landing. I looked forward to the moments of hanging silently beneath the billowing canopy but it was the final seconds and the rush to the ground which filled me with fear.

Needless to say, everything was fine and the jump was effortless and enjoyable. Even my landing was not as I had feared, though I do remember thumping onto the airfield as hard as the day before. 

Now, in the present day, I'm about to embark on my third major sea kayaking fundraising trip and I'm feeling the nerves. There is no longer first expedition naivety to mask my concerns and I am finding myself dwelling on aspects of my forthcoming journey which require particular attention because of possible hazards and the risks involved. Similarly too, I am worrying about my overall ability to pull this venture off - to succeed in its purpose. I worry that because I have been successful in past sea kayaking adventures, folks will have expectations of me doing so again and I have much to live up to. I realise that more than anything, I am expecting a lot of myself and it is actually myself who I don't want to disappoint. As the departure date for my journey draws closer, I am experiencing a sense of ground-rush, time concertinaing and the many important preparatory tasks rushing towards me. The memory of my parachute jumps thirty two years ago reveal themselves clearly in my mind and it is the memory of the ground-rush which I feared the most.

What I realise though, is to hold onto the recollection of that incredible moment hanging in space under the parachute canopy, alone and in awe of the world around me and below me, enveloped in peace and serenity. For it is this experience of solitude, alone on the vastness of the ocean, which fills me with this peace I crave in my life. This is why I return to these journeys in my sea kayak, time and again. The senses of fear and the ground-rush of anxiety then, are merely distractions which serve to heighten my preparedness to safely enjoy my oceanic solitude.

The moment I scrunch my kayak off the shore and into the sea on the 7th May, will be like the moment I'm dangled my legs out of the aircraft door for the second time all those years ago. All that awaits is the final push, and I'm away, encompassed in a world where anything is possible.