The Nature of End to End lake Swimming

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As I was approaching the luminous inflatable sausage that signified the end of the one way swim of Coniston I heard a man say there is no way she has kicked liked that all the way, well Mr doubter yes I had, I had six beat kicked my entire way down all 5.25miles of Lake Coniston. I had survived despite a lack of training; I had survived despite the lack of knowledge. Turning up to find my fellow competitors had energy gels shoved up every wetsuit orifice, how did I miss this in the briefing? I had even survived with a broken finger and gaping wounds on my knuckles and knees from a bike crash the previous weekend. I survived despite terrible sighting, missing buoys then crashing into the next. I even survived the drive home despite not being able to change gear on account of my very sore arms. I exited the lake and thought never again, no way, not ever, yet here I am a few years on, having swam 3 miles in lake Windermere at night, having swum Lake Bala end to end alone and having completed a 10km swim in an old quarry. 

Swimming end to end has an allure, and it has a completeness, it has beauty and challenge. It is cold, dauntingly deep, lonely and exhilarating. The ebb and flow of the stroke is smooth and natural. There is a calmness in a lake, and it is allowing you a water level view which is a rare perspective, it is primal. It feels as if it is for the privileged few who brave the depths. Swimming is good for the soul.

I have ambitions to swim amongst the mountains and fells in the UK and abroad, I am drawn to lakes in the same way others are drawn to the sea. As I swim, I want to glance to the side and see the majestic peaks glide by through misty goggles. I want to earn the right to view the mountains from the glassy lake surface.

Lake Windermere is not the deepest of lakes at a mere 66m or 219ft but it does hold the title of the largest natural lake in England at around 11 miles long, I have camped many times around its shores, dipped in and swum around it’s ribbon shaped edges on beautiful frosty mornings and enjoyed swimming against the rising and falling chop on a windy days. I have cycled around the lake many times, intrigued by it view from different vista and angles and I climbed fells and orientated myself using the glimmering green and blue hues of the surface. On account of its accessibility it is not the wildest of lakes, but it is perhaps the most iconic. There is something that lures me back to lake and often I will stand on the shore and wonder, just wonder when, not if I will set forth and swim end to end. In 2020 I completed The Lap, a 47 miles run over the fells bordering  Lake Windermere. I have cycled the lanes surrounding the lake many times, that I fear leaves only one thing……….

The Spirit of My Favourite Welsh Mountain

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Cadair Idris lies at the southern end of Snowdonia national park, the name translates to ‘ Chair of Idris’ Idris is a giant warrior poet in Welsh legend. The mountain was my grandfather’s and is my own father’s favourite mountain. Cadair is often used as a training ground for climbers planning an Everest ascent. It has claimed the lives of a few that hve climbed it. For me, this mountain sums up the wild spirit of all mountains, it is foreboding, unforgiving, wild and stunningly beautiful. It is glacially formed with the most beautiful of lakes sat in a crater underneath the slate face. My father used to swim in the freezing lake with his father before swimming the ice mile became a thing. I have climbed each of the faces many times and the mountain still surprises me. There is a feeling when the wind blows that the rock could swallow you up, it is as if it is telling you to go cautiously. For me to walk amongst mountains is a privilege, they demand to be respected. The joy of being amongst them is to be exposed to the wild, untamed nature it is not simply to conquer the summit. At the peak of the mountain is a hut, it used to be manned so each day a gentleman would climb the mountain to sell tea to thirsty hikers, what remains now is a stone shelter, a basic Bothy that is filled with cold soaked walkers on a typical Welsh wild wet summer’s day. There is an old legend that claims that if you spend a night on the mountain you would wake up either a poet or a madman, I have yet to test that one.
Llyn Cau is the name of the lake which lies in a deep glacial crater about halfway up Cadair. To reach the lake the path follows a very steep ascent through some beautiful woodland. As a 5-year-old I would get this far and then picnic by the lake with my Mum and my sister Charlotte whilst dad, accompanied by our trusty family dog would climb to the summit and return. The expectation was that Charlotte and I would walk, so we walked. We spent hours playing in the mountains, by streams and lakes. This summer I realised a long held ambition to swim in this lake. Of all the restrictions we have been subject to this year nothing can reduce ambition and connection to nature. 
I have since climbed this mountain many times, it is a fantastically wild place, glorious in the sunshine, but bleak and disorientating in bad weather and it remains one of my favourite places to run in Wales. Great running routes include the classic lines followed by the annual Ras Y Gadar fell race which takes you up and down the pony path from Dolgellau with almost 1000m of climbing in 10.5 miles, the record for this is a mind boggling 1hr 21 minutes. My favourite route would have to be the up the Minffordd path to the summit, down the Pony path and then use the network of footpaths to return via Mynydd Moel, it makes for a varied, tough and long day out.
Our childhood adventure on Cadair Idris taught us to be cautious in our judgement but brave with our capability. We understood that the summit is only halfway the descent were often the harder part of the journey, often made harder by tired limbs and minds. We were taught that often the braver decision is to turn back, it was a life lesson. The spirit of the mountain is humbling, there is no place for ego or self-importance. The path before you is marked by the footprints of all those that have gone before, to walk where my Grandfather found such joy and then my father after him gives a special meaning as if we are all connected through the environment and our experience of one place, of one path. To me the spirit of the mountains is like coming home.

The Twists and Turns of Life

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The long-distance paths of Alps evoke a feeling of wildness; they conjure an image of freedom and happy days spent on beautiful trails that guide you through lush valleys intersected by high alpine villages. Many of the paths cross verdant wildflower meadows and zig-zag somehow endlessly through deep larch forests that brim with life from the canopy to the anthills.

The trails are the ancient routes of old, designed to cross mountain ranges rising from the valleys to the next col. On a clear day the col will reveal endless peaks jutting out to form a jigsaw of aesthetic wonder through which your trail leads to reveal your journey. The path denotes the twists and turns which will, over the next few days, become your future. The long-distance trail is representative of life, the challenges, the adversity, the joys and revelations. 

Some years ago, I ventured out on my first long-distance path alone; the experience became a defining moment in my life, I would go as far as to say it was transformational. The simple pleasure of putting one foot in front of another and your fate being completely in your own hands is empowering.

I believe that journeys have a way of revealing our authentic selves, of slowing us down and reminding us who we are in the context of the grandiosity of nature. Travel and particularly solo human-powered journeys remove the social norms that we conforming to, it eliminates the materiality of modern life and leaves only the connection to the ground beneath our feet and desire to keep on walking. Whenever I set out on a trail, on the first day I feel a physical slowing down, a realignment of objectives as thought sinks with the metronomic rhythm of feet, alone the mind wonders and the stresses of life slowly ebb away. It seems that the trivialities of life become inconsequential when we consider that we are just such a tiny cog in such a magnificent natural world.

Walking alone enables new possibilities; it allows you to choose the pace; it allows you to divert and spend time just sat watching the world. Still, I believe it also makes you more engaged with nature, with fellow travellers and it breeds a curiosity that is hard to find with others. As you move along the trail facing the reality of tired legs, inclement weather, and the weight of necessary stuff filling your rucksack, you become comfortable with your internal dialogue. At some point, your world shifts and your own belief in your ability to navigate life become more tangible.

Days on a trail connect us to nature, the simple objectives are only making it to the destination and eating enough food to fuel the day’s journey. The simplicity of this combined with a better insight into our self can have a profound effect on our lives. 

While I started on the long-distance trails in Europe, the UK has some incredible long-distance paths so I would encourage anyone, with a few days to spare, to fill their rucksack with a few necessary provisions and kit, plan to camp, or research lodgings and set forth on a journey that may just change your perspective on life.

The Future is Slow

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The desire to travel is within us; it is not a curve that can be flattened. It is a curiosity and a craving for a new perspective, to discover new places, to escape and to feel free. As the borders of Europe start to open many of us are planning adventures, seeing them as the antidote to months at home and the return to a greater normality. This period has been a chance for reflection and introspection so as we plan our next trips we must ensure that the lessons learnt are applied our future adventures.

Travel is defined by the movement of people and despite borders being closed for the previous four months never has the concept of human connectedness or the consequences of a globalised world been felt so acutely

In previous years the idea of slow travel and slow adventure has been gaining momentum as a remedy for over-tourism in key destinations. Adrenaline-inducing instagramable activities have been on the increase and countries have struggled to manage visitors numbers in key locations. The slow movement originated in Italy with the slow food movement; it was developed to preserve local cuisines, traditional culinary methods and advocate the use of local ingredients. It asked consumers to support producers; it is the antithesis of the fast-food revolution. And so the slow adventure movement is the antithesis of the tick box form of travel, of arriving at a destination taking a selfie-and moving on. Slow adventure is about the journey; it is not just arriving; it is not jumping on the plane; it is the road trip your parents used to love. Slow travel is immersive, it is about connecting to and understanding destinations, it is about spending enough time in one location to gain a sense of place and an appreciation for local heritage and traditions which breeds empathy for local communities.

This summer and into the next year, the slow adventure movement has never been more fitting as a tourism concept. Through 2020 many of us have enjoyed a slower pace of life, we have had time to reconsider what is important to us and our families. This combined with a potential economic downturn and concerns for how to stay safe while we adventure will undoubtedly affect how we travel. Choosing wild and remote places and immersing ourselves in one location for longer may appear safer and more cost-effective. Considering the provenance of food, opting for human-powered travel over public transport makes good sense. For those that can, travelling in the less busy seasons will be cheaper and will mean less contact with other travellers. Picking activities that will suit a smaller group such as foraging, cycling, kayaking etc. will be popular. For the destination we are choosing to travel to, this means direct investment in local communities, it means tourism money staying within the country it is spent and being more evenly spread throughout the year. All of the above results in less impact in high season and more jobs in the shoulder season. It means fewer movement of people, not less. It teaches the traveller about heritage, landscape and traditional skills and ultimately it has less impact on the landscapes that we love.

Before we return to the race against time that defined our pre-Corona world we should think about the destinations we want to visit, the adventures we want to have and consider how we can do this whilst encouraging safe travel and meaningful experiences that benefit both ourselves, the destinations we travel to and communities we temporarily become part of. We are privileged to be free to move within our own countries and across borders, but with freedom comes responsibility, therefore we must respect this by must choosing to travel responsibly and embrace slow adventure.

The Path Less Travelled

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As adventure travel companies grapple with how best to deliver group holidays in a socially isolated world, it raises the argument that there has never been a better time for a self-guided trip.

The joy of an adventure is in part in the trip’s anticipation, of pouring through your resources and digging out that glimmer of an idea implanted on a previous journey. In finding maps and blogs and others’ experiences, you can learn much about the geography of the area which may develop your idea and enhance your trip. I love dreaming what each location may reveal, how each place may look, invariably and wonderfully I am surprised.

By going alone, you can choose to travel on lesser-used routes and paths which in a socially distanced world makes a lot a sense. Campsites, hotels and youth hostels that you have to walk into, as opposed to ones with easy access, are likely to be less busy. In U.K. campsites are already reporting that bookings are up 60% on last year so we can expect by midsummer there will be limited availability to stay overnight unless you travel to places where wild camping is deemed acceptable. National Parks need support, but they are fragile and already struggling under the pressure of the number of annual visitors and they are likely to be vastly overpopulated this summer, so seek out the path less travelled. Perhaps consider routes that take in other interests, be it history, nature or just a part of the U.K. you have never been to. Use the opportunity to discover new places.

Planning your trip is likely to be less predictable than taking part an organised tour, but with proper planning, it can be straight forward and more engaging. In my case, there are likely to be a few disasters, be it getting lost, or planning days that are far too long, but that is where the adventure begins. When we let go of the predictability of guided tours, we have the opportunity for experiences we didn’t foresee; these are always the most memorable days. Those are the experiences we seek in adventure, the ones that teach us something about life, or ourselves, things which can not be distilled, package, regurgitated in a classroom or learnt on some else’s adventure.

The motivations to seek adventure do vary; most look to have experiences outside the confines of their normal life. This summer choose the path less travelled, find landscapes that set your heart on fire, pick challenges that motivate you, research and plan your trip but most importantly go in search of your own experiences and let the adventure unfold.

The Time to Rediscover

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This time of year the U.K. hedgerows should be classed as a national treasure, they are something to behold, they are verdant, lush, and brimming with the expectation of summer. I like so many others have used the network of footpaths, bridleways, and access new routes to rediscover long-forgotten corners of my home landscape, taking the time to rediscover nature on my doorstep. The dawn chorus this year has been nothing short of spectacular, it may be the reduction of traffic noise, or reduce pollution, or perhaps we are merely taking the time to listen. This time has left me with a feeling of calmness reminiscent of endless childhood summers and a reconnection with nature, providing an enhanced mental map of my home environment.

Experiencing the seasons and more acutely the week by week changes in our surroundings is for many people the reason they run, walk, cycle or do any other outdoor activity but what about foreign travel. As planes lay grounded at airports around the world, how does this reconnection to nature and our new experience of having more time affect our desire to pack that bag and head into the skies to discover new destinations? In today’s society, we have stopped relying on measuring our day by the rising and setting of the sun; instead, we compartmentalise time, using the idea that time is duration. We allocated time slots to each given task, and this is no different with travel with the amount of time to arrive in a place being a critical factor in destination choice. When the planes take to the skies again and holidays are sold as a means of escaping our beloved home trails, we will rush to jet off to new or favourite destinations, in doing isolate ourselves from the landscapes over which we travel? Will we return to our lives being a race against time? Despite what happens to the price of air travel it is for many essential for work, and perhaps the only practical way to travel long haul,  but it does reduce the possibility of the experience of travel. Through air travel, we lose the connection to the landscape we journey over and choose predictability over the opportunity to learn,thereby lessening the chance for adventure.

 This period has been a return to measuring days by the rising of the sun, forgetting if it is a weekday or the weekend, and taking the time to discover and rediscover; this feels like a gift of time which is a rare treat in the modern world.

As the urgency of modern life returns and overseas travel resumes and we go back to managing our lives through the arbitrary division of time, I am hoping that instead of jumping on the first plane to foreign climes we can enjoy seeking out the unknown on our doorsteps and when possible across the U.K. We should dig out our maps and set forth to journey across our countryside, to rediscover the joys of our varied and beautiful island and take time to experience and learn about the to the new landscapes over which we travel and the country we call home.

The Gift of Adventure

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I was brought up in a household full of maps, boxes of the things grouped into regions and each one offering the possibility of discovery and adventure. I have continued this tradition in my own home; I have shelves filled with an array of orange Ordnance Survey maps and a rainbow of continental cartography. When I was 30, I was sent a map by my friend Serge who is a Swiss mountain guide, on the back there is a note saying,’ I have marked some lesser-known tours, good luck, with love Serge.’ Not only are all Swiss walking maps a thing of beauty as the tone and detail are astonishing, but Serge has taken the time to highlight a plethora of hut to hut routes. He has used intimate knowledge of his home landscape to introduce me to trails I would never have discovered. This map is indeed the gift of adventure.

The word map comes from the medieval Latin phrase ‘Mappa Mundi’ meaning sheet of the world. These two-dimensional sheets are the stuff of my dreams; they give adventure possibility, ambition and access.

As humans, we possess an innate skill of spatial orientation, our brains have a specific region for navigating the spatial environment. As the use of tech, specifically digital GPS devices increase so this part of our brain is diminishing. Reading maps is the skill listed as most likely to be lost in the next generation. Still, the great news is that after decades of decline, sales of printed maps are rising. This is in part due to companies such as Ordnance Survey integrating digitally downloadable options with the printed form.

Often when people get into hiking they seek advice on buying a GPS device that is waterproof, lightweight, cost-effective and long-lasting. The map does this entirely in most instances, perhaps the most crucial point is these humble sheets will never run out of battery. Outdoor organisations, including mountain rescue teams, have spent years championing the use of printed maps to ensure safety while outdoors.

I could list endless reasons why everybody should be passionate about maps, but as the travel restrictions of 2020 roll on why not use the time to look through your maps or buy new maps of places you want to travel. Grab sticky notes, a pencil and a highlighter, annotate routes, see how landscapes interlink, find huts and bothies and hidden lakes, discover historical landmarks or new byways, cover your kitchen table with the map and plan your adventure. Better still, give the gift of a map,  highlight some favourite or lesser know routes and send it to a friend for them to experience some of the nature and landscapes that you love. 

Traditional cartography will always have a special place in my house and my heart as my adventures always begin with a map, they are the art that describes the landscape. The two-dimensional sheets that line my shelves hold the possibility of every place I have yet to discover, and I will continue the joy of giving maps, of giving the gift of adventure.

The Essence of the Mountain

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There is no doubt that the mountain environment is changing. On the evenings I have spent in mountain huts, invariable the conversation will at some point get to a somewhat resigned discussion of what has been lost and how things are changing. Huts conversations are most often multilingual, but the debate about the environment, through gesticulation, is easy to understand. As the ski season shortens, glaciers retract and summer routes become less passable due to the instability of rock in the ice, humans need to find a balance between the economic value of the guiding and tourism versus the environment. As glaciers retract and become a dirty brown as the rock from under is churned through the exposing ice, we build roads to get closer access. As the routes become less accessible, we use helicopters for quick ascents, and as the ski season shortens we create manmade snow. Can these actions be the answer?

The number of guides qualifying is in decline, and yet the job is perhaps becoming more and more difficult. The guides have a near-impossible task of balancing the expectation of the clients with respecting the changing landscape and the increased risk. Companies of younger guides are now emerging with a new marketable environmental approach, car sharing for clients, carbon offsetting, instance on human-powered ascents. To protect their livelihoods guides are diversifying to offer canyoning, or paragliding etc. An excellent guide, one that has a lifetime of experience in the mountains move as if they are part of the landscape; they inherently understand the changes that are occurring and are certainly part of the future solution.

Most mountaineers aim to climb specific peaks; often, these are the most known and recognised summits. As humans it feels natural to move forward and up, nailing the summit is a clear mark of achievement, but perhaps to protect our mountains we need to move away from the manmade idea of conquering and find satisfaction in the sense of being in the mountains. Talented guides are passionate and knowledgeable about the geography, geology, wildlife flora and fauna of a mountain, all leading to an enhanced experience for the client. They understand the intangible feeling of just being; this is a hard message to package to tourists who want to summit bag, who want an instagramable experience. Still, as tourists, we must learn to understand how we can change to ensure the awesome mountains are to be enjoyed for many generations to come. We must let go of the idea of summiting and learn to be fulfilled by the essence of just being in the greatness of mountains.