Everyday Adventures
Sand Dunes at Coul Links and Embo Beach photo by D Ross
When you’re unable to get out very often and rarely go anywhere beyond your locale, even little trips become an adventure. You have to make them so. A trip to collect eggs from my friend in a village 20 miles away - a local jaunt in the Scottish Highlands - becomes a day trip, complete with photo expedition, wild life spotting and occasionally, conversation. I take my stainless steel drinks flask and my camera. I’m in no rush. I note the barley is almost ripe, that the golf course has planted their margins - once hedgerows - with wild flowers. A hare runs out in front of the car, mercifully speedy enough to avoid the wheels. A buzzard rides the thermals and reels about the field , looking for lunch. I collect my eggs, taking in the flatness of the peninsula, which in fine weather, gives a large, panoramic view to mountains and water in all directions. I stop at the little village shop come post office and pass pleasantries with the assistant, who I know. I might buy an ice lolly if the weather’s hot, sit and drink my tea, eat my lolly, walk on the beach, take some photos. I could hurry out and back in an hour, speaking to no one, observing little, but I need to make the most of these days. Most of my week is spent at home working through chores and doing more enjoyable pursuits: my baking, writing, painting and gardening, in the summer.
When I’m well enough, I walk and swim, practice yoga. The beach is 400m from the house and there’s a nice 1.5 km walk to and from the beach via the heathland - another micro adventure, which offers up all sorts of delights, depending on the season. Now, in August the fireweed is flaming, magenta spires piercing the bright blue sky, threading puffy white clouds together. There’s meadow sweet, the heady scent of wild rose and the heather is starting to purple up the place. The hum of insects is still audible in this place, despite their catastrophic decline: bees, hoverflies, daddy long legs, gnats, beetles, butterflies, moths. I don’t know all their names and they’re generally too speedy to catch on camera, but there’s a vast variety. There are low growing wild flowers too, bedstraw, buttercups, eye bright, saxifrage, vetch and others whose names I don’t know. I make a mental note to find out and then forget again. A blackbird shoots noisily across the path in front of me, disturbed from its business. Wrens, Goldfinch, Sparrows, Thrush, are all quite common here, as well as less common birds such as Wigeon and Teal. A parcel of Oystercatchers fly overhead, seaward bound and peeping loudly. Life abundant in this wild place whose future hangs in the balance.* Deer regularly graze here and we star at eachother sometimes. My destination is visible throughout the walk, glinting in the distance and into the horizon - the North Sea in all its changing moods. The Mound and Ben Bhraggie 10 miles away, dominate to the north, but my eye is on the prize now, the sea!
I’m already changed to swim, it’s such a faff otherwise. There’s much to distract me here, pebbles and rocks and rock pools, when the tide is out, but for now my tryst is with my lifelong love, the sea - here, unpolluted by human excrement. Greedy men in suits, who live in concrete and travel on tarmac and don’t understand the value of a clean environment - or don’t care. We had Basking Sharks here last year and seals regularly pop up, inquisitive as to what is sharing their space. Last night 3 Orca were spotted a few miles offshore, heading north. I regularly see shoals of small silver fish swim across the bay, their choreographed movements like a dance and once I saw a large flatfish rise from the sand, ethereal and slightly scary. We get Dab, Plaice Flounder and even Turbot here.
The sea is a balmy 16 degrees this week, no longer in the cold water range (anything 15 degrees C and below is regarded as cold and I can confirm that it feels it) It’s August and it’s taken it’s time to reach these highs. I’m expecting to see Moon Jellies, but strangely there are none, none that I can see anyway. They’re usually here in the height of summer with the warmer water. Seaweed fronds dance and the sunlight dapples the clear water. Here I can forget the world for a while, pains lightly numbed, both physical and mental, immersed in something other that also feels like home.
I dislike getting changed on the beach, but equally I dislike staying in wet gear, so I struggle with changing, landlubber that I am - my arms and legs, mottled with bruises, are testament. I’d like to stay and scout out rocks and pebbles, but my body requires sustenance, so I take the short way home, glowing from the miracle of spending time in cool, crystal water.
Pond installation photo by T Ross
Some days, I’m not fit enough for even mini adventures, but the garden is full of life and sitting with a cuppa outside for half an hour will bring all sorts of joys. We share our space with common lizards (not so common now) wood-mice, toads and birds as well as wild flowers (or weeds some might say) and trees. I’ve recently installed a pond and already we have diving beetles. I’m hopeful of more life moving in over the next year.
On the days when I’m not well enough to head outside, there’s always books to transport me anywhere in the world and beyond. Adventures of all sorts await between the pages and I don’t mind living vicariously in my head, when other options are impossible.
It’s easy to get ground down by our various responsibilities and if you’re someone with chronic illness, like me, it can be hard to discharge your responsibilities and very easy to become mired in guilt and pain. Our bodies and commitments don’t always allow us to live the adventurous lives we might dream of, yet our ‘little’ lives can be infinitely expanded by slowness and observation - the qualities that we forced to develop can become our allies, if we let them. Even if you’re fit enough to climb mountains and cross desserts, I would urge you take time out for a mini adventure somewhere local. See what you can discover - it might surprise you.
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*Coul Links is a beautiful and rare natural dune system on the east coast of Scotland in Sutherland. It’s designated as an internationally designated Special Protection Area (SPA) Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) and Ramsar site and yet Highland council voted to allow the development of an 18 hole golf course and a 5* hotel, induced by talk of jobs and wealth. The Scottish Government called a ‘determination’ which means they will review the proposal. It’s too late to object, but if you wish to speak on behalf of nature can send requests to the group fighting to save Coul Links.
Find out more about the current situation here:
https://www.rspb.org.uk/helping-nature/what-we-do/influence-government-and-business/casework/coul-links
Offer your support here:
http://www.notcoul.org/
Sadly most people nowadays are more immersed in their tech world than to appreciate the nature around them. It’s all there, as you say, if you stop, look and observe.
What a lovely essay/love story to your environment. I sometimes feel I have lost the knack of standing and staring at nature although when in my writing shed I procrastinate by watching the birds hop about the lawn or raid the trees for fruit and leaves or squabble on the fences, and the occasional squirrel up to no good.