Solo - Not What I Expected

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Solo, I thought it would be a doddle, maybe slightly boring, but nothing too difficult to cope with. I was wrong.

The moment Karen wished me well, kissed me goodbye and turned away, I felt a distinct wave of lonely discomfort sweep through me. I didn’t want to be alone and certainly not out there in the sun dappled woodland overlooking the Doirlinn of Tobermory Bay. I was shocked at the strength of my negative response to finding myself alone on my ‘solo’. After all, I had made a big deal about how much I was looking forward to my solitude over the next couple of days.

I immediately gave myself a stern telling off for my immediate quavering and somewhat chagrined, I sat down on a nearby moss quilted log to assimilate my situation. I needed to reign in a strong desire to shout after Karen and catch up with her before she reached where we had parked the car. Twenty minutes later and feeling much calmer, I rose from the log and set about making camp, ensuring I would be comfortable through the night and felt a sense of outdoor homeliness. It took me less than ten minutes to set up my tarp, unpack my rucksack and get a pot of water on the stove for a mug of tea. I grimaced ruefully to myself. Sometimes it isn’t helpful to be so efficient. I had hoped to eke out the task of establishing camp to eat away at empty time. With my scalding tin mug of tea, I sat down on the log once more and attempted to ease myself into my solo experience.

I was perplexed. What had come over me? I normally relished challenges such as this, especially since the weather conditions were absolutely perfect for a comfortable time out of doors. I am used to solitude, seeking the condition over companionship for many of my outdoor experiences. Now though, I realised with a shock I was not enjoying myself at all. In fact I was feeling decidedly fearful, of what, I couldn’t be certain. I tentatively sipped at my lemon and ginger tea, searing my lips as a result. This jolted me out of my internalising reverie, causing me to once again rebuke myself for not wholeheartedly throwing myself into this unique opportunity I had before me.

The woodland above the Doirlinn.

The hours dragged by. I had my note book and pencils by my side and from time to time I managed a few desultory lines of prose. My hoped for inspiration for writing did no materialise. Instead, I was filled with a deepening disquiet which was expressed through capricious behaviour and thinking. I couldn’t settle on any train of thought or action. In situations like this I attempt to sit with my discomfort to see if I’m led towards any insights through this approach. On this occasion though I simply couldn’t sit still long enough to give myself an opportunity for any self-enquiry. The one thing I was certain of was my deep tiredness. Weeks of insomnia had worn me down and in the warmth of the bright spring sunshine, my eyes drooped heavily.

Late in the afternoon (without my watch I couldn’t be sure of the time), I allowed myself to succumb to my fatigue and I stretched myself out on a comfortable solar heated bed of bright green sphagnum moss. I fell asleep almost immediately.

I woke with shivers wracking my body. The sun had arced across the sky, it’s warmth now directed elsewhere. I had no idea of the time but assumed it must have been close to eight thirty in the evening. Groggily I set about readying myself for my sleeping bag under the shelter of my nearby tarp. I was looking forward to more deep and dreamless sleep. Having sleepily cleaned my teeth and changed into warmer clothing, I snuggled into the cosy familiarity of my sleeping bag and experienced with horror a wakening mind. Tiredness persisted but sleepiness had well and truly dissipated. Try as I might, shuffling around with grunts to find the optimal position of comfort, I couldn’t fall asleep. Neither too did the night time darkness arrive as I assumed it would. It must have been a lot earlier in the evening than I thought. With a deep sigh, I resigned myself to a long night of wakeful rumination.

The dark eventually arrived, the night gradually becoming inkier as the hours dragged by. Strangely my mind was now empty of ravaged thinking. I found it comfortable to lie on my back with my hands behind my head, eyes wide open and my hearing accentuated. As usual when I turned my attention towards auditory stimuli, I cursed my intrusive tinnitus, the left ear much louder than the right. It was difficult to distinguish between the chirruping in my inner ear to that of the nuthatches flitting through the Beech tree branches above me. Despite this I found myself feeling a lot calmer than I had a few hours earlier. My mind was at last open to curiosity.

It was therefore quite a shock to discover the underlying emotion driving my thinking was sadness. My internal sadness I know from experience, is a reflection of deep level change occurring within me. I was experiencing loss in some form and I was curious to know what this might be. It was evident to me, I was affected by the changes wrought by COVID-19. I was angry too. Last year I had lost most of the summer to my psychiatric hospital admission and I was looking forward to this year celebrating my recovery through plenty of sea kayaking and other wild adventures. With the lockdown and requirement for isolation, I see another summer of joyful activity disappearing before my eyes again. This realisation though didn’t satisfy me. I sensed my sadness was rooted deeper than this.

What was changing for me? I cast my mind around in the gloom, attempting to land on a glimmer of insight but none was forthcoming. After what seemed a considerable length of time I must have drifted off into a fitful sleep where I would regularly wake with my body in violent shivers of cold.

It was with considerable relief when the promise of the dawn crept into the sky. I was able to relinquish any hope of worthwhile sleep and instead focus on the emerging day. I clambered out of the snug warmth of my sleeping bag and sat once more of the moss covered log. A pot of water came to the boil and I treated myself to a few warming mugs of tea. As the orange hues of the sunrise deepened, my thoughts once more returned to my sense of sadness. Then, it suddenly struck me, I realised why was I not enjoying this solo experience. I was attempting to complete an activity I had long wanted to achieve with the mindset of the twenty-something Outward Bound Instructor I once was. I had placed myself out on my solo with the aspirations I once held in my younger adult years and I expected myself to respond accordingly. I realised with a shock that this was a “Hungry Caterpillar” moment for me. The instance where I shed an important part of my old-self to emerge into a bright and colourful new-self.

It was clear to me I was grieving the loss of my youth in preparation for an acceptance of advancing age. For months I realised with some excitement, I had been aware of a change within me but couldn’t put my finger on it. Ever since capsizing my kayak after my island bivouac in January, I’ve had a nagging doubt about my ability to undertake challenging outdoor activities. I put this down to a knock in my self-confidence which would soon bounce back, but this hadn’t. Instead, I increasingly found myself questioning my competence. I saw myself becoming more and more physically uncertain and unbalanced. Clumsy even. Sitting there on the ancient log in the breaking hours of the morning, I marvelled at how I had stumbled onto this enlightening realisation. This didn’t lead to a resolution of my sadness and in fact I now felt more unhappy. I knew I had to let go of the expectation my body was still that of a thirty year old and not that of a man nearly now twice that age.

Well after the sun had climbed into the sky I finally concluded there was no reason why I had to force myself to continue with my solo experience. I decided to return home even though it felt a failure to do so. My disquiet caused by my night time revelations meant the following twenty four hours would be an endurance and there was a danger this may lead to harmful introspection. Content with having reached the point I had with my self-awareness, I packed my camp away and walked back to the house. After all I told myself, as an instructor I never placed shame on any of my course participants who couldn’t complete their solo experiences. There was no reason I should do this for myself and anyway, I had spent twenty four hours out in full ‘solo’ circumstances.

In the days since my shortened solo, I have given much thought to the insight I came to. I recognise a need for my acceptance of the fundamental changes in my aging body. I also recognise, and this is important for me to understand, these changes do not imply a cessation of my adventurous aspirations. Quite simply I need to alter these to account for my natural frailty and as always, focus more on the enjoyment I gain from my encounters with the wild outdoors in whatever shape or form these may take. I’m not through this process of change yet. I suspect there is a way to go, but I’m much happier now I understand where my disquiet has been centred.

"Solo"

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Tomorrow my wife Karen is going to put me out on ‘solo’ and I’m both excited and nervous about the prospect.

I once worked as an instructor for Outward Bound in the UK and Southern Africa. The twelve years I spent with this remarkable charity informed so much of what I understand of humanity as well as delineating my aspirations for a life well lived. Briefly, Outward Bound is an international charitable organisation (nearing its eightieth anniversary), which primarily provides personal development courses in the outdoors and through outdoor activities. As the name Hoover is synonymous with vacuum cleaners, so is Outward Bound with outdoor personal development training. Those of you who know me will understand how firmly my attitude towards living is anchored in the humanistic precepts of Outward Bound, originating as they did from the great educationalist, Kurt Hahn. Google his name and I hope you’ll agree with me that much of the philosophy he espoused in the mid-twentieth century is as relevant today in the twenty first.

Outward Bound courses by their nature, provided myriad opportunities for powerful personal insights for the course participants. One of the privileges of my life work were hundreds of notable moments when I facilitated significant new awareness for individuals or groups, knowing they would embody this for the benefit of their futures. The ‘mountains speak powerfully’ and through many outdoor challenges, people came to realise the limits they set themselves were eminently flexible - outwards. Witnessing this occur so many times, is a strong reason why I seek this process for myself when I undertake my kayaking journeys or other small adventures. I have come to the conclusion that the outdoor personal development process develops resilient self awareness. Resilient because the metaphors are powerful enough to anchor the moment the awareness came to light, for continued future reference.

A key element of the traditionally long Outward Bound courses (three weeks in length), was the ‘Solo’. Here, the course participants would be individually placed, out of sight of each other, in an area of remote wildness, where they would spend 24 to 48 hours on their own. They would have the means to construct a rudimentary shelter, have basic food rations and all ‘luxuries’ would be taken off them. No books (apart from notebook and pen), no cameras, nowadays no phones and no watches. The purpose wasn’t to elicit individual survival skills but to provide a rare opportunity for contemplative solitude. It is highly uncommon for us in our lives to enjoy total solitude without any distractions. We often think of ourselves alone but in the background there maybe a television, a radio, and these days our phones and the internet. Somehow or other, we are permanently connected to a modern pace of life. Even during my long kayaking journeys when I may be alone for three to four days, I am still connected through online activities, texting and informative sources like my radio. It was hoped for the participants, the removal of everyday distractions would provide a somewhat challenging experience of enjoying solitude - aloneness.

Solitude - the glory of being alone.

The solo took place mid-course when the individuals were now aware of the personal development process and would have the opportunity to test new awareness out after the solo during the latter stages of the programme. Invariably, the notion of complete solitude was alien to most and a great challenge to many. It certainly wasn’t an activity we could take lightly with plenty of emphasis on safety and the emotional well being of the participants. However, it was the element of the long course programme I enjoyed facilitating. Listening to the excited chatter on the night everyone returns from their solo told me all I needed about the importance of this powerful personal development course element. Of course, not everyone enjoyed the experience. There were often quite a few who decided to make their way back to the base before the allotted time was complete. Each individual would be placed in a suitable spot to create a shelter and shown the defined boundary of their solo site. The importance of remaining within this area was pressed on them and they were instructed to return to the base if they felt unsafe or unhappy and not to seek out other participants, thereby breaking their solitude. If time was given by the instructor into establishing a meaningful reason for the activity and framing it so it held relevance, most if not all participants would embrace the challenge.

As an instructor, solo was a time of rest. It was welcome down time from the rigours of delivering a high energy course. In Wales, we would link the solo with the middle expedition so in the end five days and nights were spent out of the centre. We would arrive at one of the four wooden cabins we used in the expansive Dyfi Forest from the expedition to find trayfuls of solo rations and other rewards. For the instructor there would be our solo bag where we would have put our books, our Sony Walkman, or other little luxuries we would treat ourselves to while our group was out on solo. After placing the individuals out, all that remained was a leisurely 24 or 48 hours where we went and visually checked on them three times a day. The rest of the time was ours. When the time was up, we would collect each individual, chat to them about their experiences and send them on their way back to the base where a huge fry up breakfast was being prepared. The following hours would be given to eliciting awareness through hearing each person’s story and what insights they may have gained.

I remember feeling a level of envy at the end of every solo I delivered because I had never experienced what they had just completed. I had never been on my own for that length of time without my watch and rudimentary kit. As I have said, I am used to solitude but not total solitude. This is an experience I have yet to encounter - until tomorrow this is.

With this dreadful pandemic gripping our nation and the subsequent curtailing of activity, it’s not possible for me to sea kayak to the islands I have wanted to bivouac on. It struck me that in a way, through our social isolating, we are undertaking our modern day solos and really, this will be a wonderful opportunity for me to undertake my first and probably only, proper solo experience. Karen will walk with me to the secluded location I have chosen close to Tobermory and leave me there for a full 48 hours. Two nights and two days. When the time comes, she will walk out and collect me. I will follow the rules I set the participants on my courses; no watch, no camera, no reading book, no modern gadgets, basic shelter, basic rations, sufficient clothes and a note book and pen.

I am both ready for this and reticent too. I’ve conducted my own risk assessment with regard to the state of my mental health. I am entirely confident I will be OK and not detrimentally suffer from my solitude. I know and trust myself enough to return home if this waivers. I have no desires to complete my suicide. I will be safe.

I will write up my experience here on my blog when I return. See you in two days time. :)

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.