Back To School - ish

 

Late September 2021

BACK... TO... SCHOOL...

I'm sure for many parents out there these are three joyous words, but for me they are among the most chilling in the English language. I have spent around 30 of my 48 years as a slave to term times, and as anyone who works in education will testify (if they are honest), the feeling at the end of August that September is looming is a horrid ball of angst in your soul. Few of us get a decent night's sleep on the last day of the summer holidays. It's that childhood Sunday night 'I haven't done my homework and teacher is gonna kill me' feeling writ large.

One of the saddest things about working in education for me is that the very word 'September' is inherently negative. Even the splendid Earth Wind and Fire song of the same name brings up negative thoughts in me ('imagine September being so full of joy that you write a great disco song about it? Lucky, smug, spangly suited buggers...'). Too many years I've spent staring out of a school or college window longingly at golden sunny September days, often after a manky grey August, aching to be enjoying it. There was a glorious period in my life between the ages of 17 and 28 where I was self employed and adored September - the weather, the colours, the growing freshness in the air. Hell, I even used to have holidays then. Would I have to wait until I was knocking 70 to enjoy that again? Or would I go institutionally loopy way before that?

Yet here I was, on a schoolday in late September, out in the sticks, out in the sunshine, walking, walking, walking for miles, hardly encountering a soul... and heading for an overnight camp next to a stream in a secluded wood. How was this even happening?

Something had to give or I'd go spare. Last term I had applied to reduce my hours quite significantly for the new school year, and it had been approved, giving me some much needed flexibility outside of the weekend to do my other self employed music work and yes, maybe live some actual life. Well, on this particularly fine September weekday, all my work was done, and I was living alright. 

Golden September Fields

Leaving my front door on foot at midday with a fairly loaded rucksack and some camera equipment, I commenced a 25 mile round trip.The first section wasn't the most peaceful as the footpath followed a major train line where I was regularly buzzed by engines of all types - from two carriage rattlers, through sleek Virgin Intercitys, to endless slow freight haulers. Passing some usually very fine private woods I found them full of hard hatted, hi viz workers doing something major with heavy machinery. It didn't look good - I would have stopped for photos but the sheer scale, plus the vans containing scary Alsation guard dogs barking at me, put me off. What the hell was going on? A few days later my good friend Gordon surmised that it was likely HS2 work already underway - he had seen from plans that it was going to plough right through said wood. The German Shepherds were no doubt there to 'deter' protesters...

So I would never see that wood looking nice again. I'm quite thankful that I hadn't worked this out at the time of walking past, as it would have really spoiled my otherwise good mood. As it was I soon forgot about it as I walked onwards.

It was unseasonably warm at around 20 degrees, but I could for once drink my water supplies fairly freely knowing that there was a stream at my destination to replenish - a rare luxury on my camps. I passed a couple of lovely looking pubs which were both shut for the middle period of the day. Would I have stopped at either had they been open? Had I changed my views on public houses since being very vocal about my issues with them during lockdown?

Well, yes and no. The double-vaccinated me did sit in beer gardens on a handful of occasions towards the start of summer. This was during that sweet spot where pubs were back open again after lockdown but HAD to provide table service, and much of it outdoors. So I didn't have to go inside and queue at an unnecessarily unsafe and uncivilized bar. During this period, it worked so well that I had visions that a corner had been turned in our backwards culture, and that British boozers would now start to catch up with the rest of the world in terms of customer service, rather than contemptuously demanding punters join a scrum for attention just for the privilege of handing over a fiver for a pint of lager. I promised myself that I would only visit pubs that carried on offering this outdoor table service as an option gladly, rather than because the law forced them to against their will. Needless to say, I've yet to come across a single one since the rules relaxed. How naive am I?

A birthday pint with my family, early July - served at my table. Imagine that!

Anyway, the option of breaking my Batman rule on pubs wasn't tested on this occasion. On I walked, dreaming of lovely pints. To be fair I do a lot of that lately, due to the fact that I'm two months into a 3 month spell of abstinence from alcohol. Just one of those things I need to do now and again. It certainly makes for a lighter rucksack at least.

The first day of walking ended up being about 14 miles in all - through grass, trees, eight foot tall maize, a few roads. and ending up in a public access (though seemingly seldom visited) woodland. The whole walk felt somewhat reminiscent of the start of the hobbits' journey out of The Shire in The Fellowship Of The Ring.

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”
(J.R.R.Tolkien - The Lord Of The Rings)

Nearly 6 hours after setting off I arrived at my chosen spot with an hour of daylight to spare. This was just enough time to get my accommodation set up and replenish my water with the help of the aforementioned stream and a very nifty new water filter.

In the absence of booze it was kettle on and I supped nuff brews throughout the evening. It turned dark rapidly due to being in quite a steep little valley shrouded with thick trees. A morale boosting candle lantern was lit and the lonely man's scran of choice, the Pot Noodle, was deployed. Went down a treat.

It's usually around this time on a camp that I look at my phone and see a message from the wife checking I'm ok, to which I normally respond with a pic of me safely in situ. Tonight I set up my posh camera at the other side of the stream and spent a fair bit of time faffing about getting a decent pic in the dark with me sitting outside the tent. After doing all this I went to send it and noticed I had absolutely no signal whatsoever, phone or data. I think this has only happened once before in all my wild camping trips - I've been very lucky in that respect. I started to worry that she would be worrying that I hadn't been in touch. I tried walking up and down a bit in the hopes of getting a bar or two, holding my arm up as I went, but no luck. I couldn't really venture far as it was very dark and the going was potentially dangerous in terms of slipping on the steep valley sides, or having my eye out on one of the low branches (it had been tricky enough getting in during daylight). 

Plus truth be told I found venturing far from the tent a little spooky - this was a new spot for me and I was still a little on edge, especially without the Dutch courage of any swally to take that edge off. So unfortunately she didn't get any contact from me until the next morning when I had more light. She had been a little worried but guessed this was the case.

 

The 'camped up safe' pic for the wife...

This was my third time camping right next to a babbling stream, an experience I was fine with earlier this year (helped by Plum Porter and Bourbon) but which freaked me out on my first ever semi-wild camp, similarly sober, 3 years ago. I did occasionally hear things like footsteps or voices or animal noises in the random gurglings, but I didn't let it unsettle me quite as much, as I knew it was just my mind trying to make sense of a chaotic and constant stream of sound. That said, I didn't linger outside the tent as long as I usually do in woods, and was enjoying the interior of my most luxurious and homely tent, the MSR Elixir 1, before long. Tiredness came on swiftly after all that walking, and I had a fairly decent, if somewhat broken, 7 hours or so of sleep with the stream strangely not letting up its racket for even a second.

Dawn is deceptively late at this time of year and it was around 7am when I got up to a gloomy woodland floor. Brews and porridge warmed me up nicely as I enjoyed this most special part of a camp, where I often feel most relaxed and most satisfied. I'd made it through the night comfortably and there was nothing stressy to follow, other than the mild mither of packing up.

Leaving no trace as always, I set off on the trek home around 10am. I went a different and shorter route, with a few more roads. and with a real spring in my step. Enjoying the warmish sunny air I thought a lot about my relationship with this month, about how I'd treated her unfairly for too long due to bitterness at my own life circumstances and choices. But I'd chosen to make a practical change for the better at last and although it was early days, the fact that I could feel myself falling back in love with September again was a hopeful sign that it was for the best.

© R. Lane 2021

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(I also made a video of the trip for my YouTube channel)