'New Man' and the story of The Marches - The Band That Never Was

Earlier this year I released a single called 'New Man'. Although not a song as such, a query on Facebook about the minimal lyrics got me reflecting on the history of this track and its place as part of a long 'lost weekend' of music production I think of as 'The Marches Years' from around 2003 to 2012.

I originally wrote it in the late naughties. I'd had a little blip of success with a 'proper song' I'd written and performed called 'Turn It Around' under one of my many alter egos, The Marches.
Although originally recorded in 2003, 'Turn It Around' got released by Brighton label Loaded/Skint in 2007.

After this the label seemed keen for me to complete an album. I'm a slow worker so it took over a year for me to tackle this, particularly as I wanted them all to be 'proper songs' and for each track to be in a different, authentically produced genre that I hadn't necessarily tackled before.  A challenge and a learning curve, but much needed after more than a decade of producing outright club tracks. It was nice to write music by starting with chords on a piano rather than with drums, basslines and samples. Every time I finished a new Marches track I sent it to them and they seemed to still be interested. However, I was one track short of the 10 when I got an email towards the end of the decade saying they suddenly weren't interested anymore. No further explanation was given and due to a combo of pride and fear I didn't seek one.

Whilst the knock back of this meant I almost instantly lost all confidence in these tracks, as the years passed I started to repurpose some of the material. The first release on my new 'label' Cotton Bud in 2014 was 'Shelves', originally half written as a track for The Marches album, as was 'Wolf In Shell Toes', even though both were heavily altered to fit the newer, slower style of dance music I was producing by then, with the latter having a much better vocal performance from proper singer Nicole Simone. 

A Bo Diddley inspired groover called 'Bachelor of Beats' (which was going to be the title of the LP) was recycled in style and spirit for my remix of 'Y Llwynog' by The Long Champs in 2016.

Three of the tracks I released pretty much as originally recorded, only mixed down and mastered a little better, on 2022's 'Songs From the Naughties' EP. 

'New Man' is based on one of the later tracks I completed. Originally titled 'I Feel Like A New Man, Do You?' it was essentially the same tune as 'New Man' - a Moroder/Patrick Cowley-esque camp HiNRG chugger. The difference was that it was a lot faster at 130bpm, a bit more human in its drum timing (an attempt to deliberately evoke the late 70s/early 80s era of gay disco records), and featured much more in the way of lyrics. As with all The Marches tracks it was me singing, but this time with my wife adding some spoken bits as a counterpoint. I'm not a natural lyricist by any means, it's a real struggle, always has been. It was supposed to represent a fictional couple in their 30s, and the man had decided in that 'thirty something early mid life crisis' way to get all fit and buff, only to find out that when he'd managed it he'd just swapped one form of self loathing for another, whilst also rendering himself ironically less attractive to his partner. It was partly autobiographical... but also trying to acknowledge that sometimes men feel pressure to conform to unrealistic body shapes promoted by the media too.

I did salvage a couple of lines to repurpose for 'New Man' earlier this year. Sharing the full original lyrics here may give some insight in what the track is supposed to be 'about', and hopefully works as some some sort of half arsed poem - one which may touch more nerves in this Instagram age where gym monkey narcissism has been seemingly completely embraced and normalised.

'I Feel Like A New Man, Do You?' by The Marches

(Man)

No pain, no gain, been at it for weeks,

It might seem vain but so were The Greeks

They carved the mould for perfect males,

From Michelangelo's David to Chippendales

I never saw the point in exercise,

I thought real men ate all of the pies,

But images in Men's Health magazine,

Have started to get to me

I feel like a real change is due

I want to feel like a new man. Do you?

In bed by nine, go running at dawn

And work out til my muscles are torn

No carbs, no booze, just live like a monk

In three months time I'll look good in trunks

I may be boring but you'll be glad,

When I look like the blokes in the perfume ads

So hang on in there and you'll start to see

A new man in your life

The shape of a new man breaks though

I feel like a new man. Do you?

(Woman)

You’ve changed a lot lately. 

You spend all your free time away from me.

We don’t eat together any more, and when I do see you, you’re tired.

I’m glad you’re getting more confident,

but I feel like I want my old man back…

(Man)

The weeks have passed, the target's been hit,

My Body Mass Index says 'fitter than fit',

Physique is lean, the picture of health,

So why can't I be pleased with myself?

The new man has a side the old one hates

I stare too much in mirrors of late

And ponce around in inappropriate clothes

To feed my vanity

The days of the old man are through.

Now I feel like a new man. Do you..?

(© R. Lane 2008)

Although in terms of releases this near decade of The Marches Years was rather fallow (it also coincided with the demands of having 2 small children to look after and becoming a busy college lecturer) I do feel in the longer run it was very productive. By pushing myself out of my comfort zone and attempting real instruments, singing, lyric writing etc I expanded my skill set a bit. The knock back of being encouraged then dropped by an established label was also ultimately invaluable in informing the next 10 years - The Cotton Bud decade. Creatively I found a happy balance between 'real songs' and club bangers, both of which are in my DNA to some extent. From a 'business' point of view it made me fiercely determined to be independent and not rely on the money or approval of third party labels who can go from hot to cold on your music at the drop of a hat. Whilst still painful to remember, I take some solace from the fact a lot of this material has ended up 'out there' in some form or other, and people have enjoyed it. Just took a while is all...

'You've got to get yourself together, and turn it around'

© Rich Lane 2024

Backpacking with a Bum Bag?

Balls. Barely a week into 2023 I came off my Vespa and haven't been able to do a lot since.

It was quite a spectacular spill, with the bike hitting an unexpectedly slushy patch in the middle of a fast country road at well over 40mph. I'm still not exactly sure how it played out as it all happened so quickly - suffice to say that both scooter and me slid over the Tarmac for quite some distance, on different trajectories, and we got quite beaten up on our right hand sides as a result.

The fact that I wasn't more seriously hurt is nothing short of miraculous - I was standing up, walking around and talking coherently to the kind motorists who found me stumbling around the road moments after the crash, and who asked if I needed an ambulance or any other help. I rode the wonky vehicle home about ten minutes later, with the handlebars pointing one way, and the front wheel in the other. I wobbled at 10mph past a schoolboy at one point, who giggled. I can't blame him.

It seems I only grazed my right ankle in a small but quite deep area, plus I'm pretty certain that I've broken one or more ribs. I didn't bother going to hospital over this second bit, as apparently there is nothing that can be done about it (no splints or casts or anything of course, as your ribs always have to be moving 24/7 due to the pesky business of breathing). I may just have bruised or strained them again but this time I could feel things 'squishing about' and grinding in a most nauseating way, which doesn't inspire confidence. Anyway, as long as you aren't coughing up blood or shitting your liver out they won't even bother x-raying you. No, the NHS website (and my GP over the phone) said to just take it relatively easy, dose up on painkillers, and it should heal in 4-6 weeks like most other bones. 

Well it's almost exactly 6 weeks to the day since the accident and it doesn't feel remotely mended yet. Every few days, just when I feel like it may be heading in the right direction, I'll do something innocuous like look over my shoulder, try to pull a sock up, or sneeze... and it 'pops', as if the break has opened up again. As well as painful, this is incredibly frustrating as I had so many plans for the new year - plans to up my exercise and lose the winter timber, and of course plans to wild camp - neither of which have been possible. Any upper body motion still hurts, and even jogging would send too much impact up through my torso. Careful walking is about the only thing I can manage, and I have at least been managing some local strolls - anything from 5 to 15km.

As you know I'm used to hiking fairly regularly, usually with a rucksack or haversack of some kind, whether that be to an overnighter, a day camp, or just carrying basic stuff to refresh and comfort me through the endeavour. But the thought of any weight at all pulling down on my knackered bread basket is just too horrific to comprehend just yet. So I've been going minimal, with a small bumbag I've had for years which carries only the essentials (bit of water, sit pad, phone, wallet etc) and which places any weight solely on my hips, leaving my ribcage alone. This got me to thinking... are there any more substantially capacious  'hip only' carry solutions out there which would at least help me to head to the woods, put a small tarp up, sit and cook up a meal and a brew for an hour or two? 

Well turns out there is - yet another bit of quality kit made by Polish firm Helikon-Tex. It's called the Foxtrot Belt Rig and it's the mother of all bum bags.

I've used it a couple of times already and it has been a Godsend - even if it's just for day camps, I feel back in the game. Most recently I wore it on a 7.5 mile hike carrying around 6 kilos of kit and provisions - basic shelter, groundsheet, cooking and brew equipment for an afternoon in a local stealthy spot. Despite the fact it does have shoulder straps as backup, I configured it so that pretty much all of this weight was on my hips and lumbar region. This did mean it had to be fastened tight around my beer belly to avoid it slipping down, which could feel a little uncomfy on occasion, particularly toward the end of the hike. But if my ribs start to heal I can transfer a little more of the burden to the straps, and train myself back to accepting a rucksack in incremental baby steps. and get back to overnighters. That's the dream at the moment anyway.

It was a fairly sunny day and I was amazed at how warm the February sun could feel when you got out of the nippy north west wind. But then it's a funny month in the UK, February - it can be cruelly cold and grim, or it can see sunny heatwaves in the high teens. It is less than a month to the Vernal Equinox, which is a mad thought. When I saw the weather I originally just packed a chair and no tarp, thinking it would be warm enough to sit in the sun which would trump any breeze. But a few yards from the house I felt the 8° air, and the icy wind chill, and went straight back home to swap the chair for a poncho tarp and ground sheet, so that I could create a windbreak when I made 'camp'. 

The walk in was very pleasant and my single layer Buffalo Special 6 shirt was in its absolute element, keeping me warm when needed but allowing me to cool off when exerting myself, due to its tried and tested design. No messing about taking layers on and off! Having owned it for a couple of years now, and practically living in it when outdoors lately, I really can't imagine wearing anything else for walks like this. They aren't cheap but it's one of the single best purchases of outdoor kit I've ever made.

I also definitely made the right decision swapping the chair for the tarp - having the breeze off me made sitting still for a couple of hours very comfortable. With a small alcohol fuelled stove I could make brews and cook up an indulgent lunch of sirloin steak and eggs.

This utilised some more new kit : a small titanium plate which could also be used as a frying pan (with a little help from a Trangia pot grabber) and a very dinky little folding spatula from Snowpeak. I've tried to keep the pan 'seasoned' as much as you can with titanium, in order to build up a natural non-stick patina (thanks once again to Des Cattys for some very useful tips - and for the alcohol burner which provided the heat!).  I was chuffed that neither the sirloin, or the eggs I fried whilst it rested, stuck to it.

Not wanting to risk compromising this 'coating' by scratching it with my Swiss Army knife whilst cutting the steak, I instead sliced the sirloin into bite sized strips on a small cutting board first, then added it to the eggs on the titanium 'plate', so that I could just shovel it all down with a plastic spork. I like my steak just about medium rare, but this was more like rare - and it was bloody ('scuse the pun) delicious.

I was in a country park, and quite near to a popular, well maintained dog walking path. It was also half term, and I could hear what sounded like some teens having some fun nearby somewhere behind the tarp, maybe at the picnic table just out of sight. I wasn't at all worried that they could see me as the Polish woodland camo was particularly well suited to the drab browns of the environs. But I did worry that even if they couldn't hear the steak sizzling, they may well smell it! But nothing - I was well stealthed, innit.

One thing I couldn't justify packing was beer, which was a shame as the steak and eggs, sunshine and half term vibes had put me in mind for lovely pints. I packed up (Leaving No Trace, of course...) and headed off to a potentially great pub. I say that because this was one that I had rightfully slagged off in a previous post - the one which once had a place in my heart because our wedding photos were taken there, but which was later ruined by a psychotic landlord that made Basil Fawlty look like an award winning Geisha when it came to hospitality. It has since changed hands and my daughter (who is now at boozing age) had been there and said it was great, so I decided to give it another chance. I'm happy to report that so far, it seems fine, and that's enough when it has the best views from its beer garden of any pub I've ever been to in the UK.

I managed to persuade my wife and son and mate Jack to join me, although he arrived a few minutes too late to see the chilly sunset over Cadair Berwyn in Wales (the location of my first ever solo wild camp) which played out at around half five. He came back to our house for a fun night of dinner, tunes, giggles and beers in the studio shed, which probably went on a little too late for a week day... aren't they often the best nights though?

All in all a great day, where some research (and a bit of splashing out) on kit had enabled me to safely and comfortably get back on the horse for a trot around the field of the Great Outdoors whilst recovering from a relatively trivial but bloody annoying injury. Spring is in the air and it feels great knowing I can at least spend some of it approximating a wild camp. After a painful start to the year, this will most certainly do for now.

© R. Lane 2023

Trappist Beer, but Tynt Belgian...

For a beer to be called ‘Trappist’ it must be brewed in a monastery, by monks. There are only 14 beers in the entire world made this way. 8 of them are, as you may expect, in Belgium/Netherlands. Of the remaining 6 scattered across the globe, one of them is actually made in England, and only since 2018.

Tynt Meadow English Trappist Ale is brewed by the Cistercian monks at Mount Saint Bernard Abbey in Leicestershire. I only became aware of this beer at all because the abbey started liking some of my posts on Instagram - photos of other Belgian Trappist beers I have enjoyed. When I found out they too made similar beer (and were only an hour and a half away) myself and The Good Lady 'La Professoressa' Her Indoors had to go.

It’s a suitably pastoral and peaceful location in the National Forest area outside Coalville, up at quite a height for such a flat county, and with gritstone rock formations in the grounds and nearby - well worth a walk around. They produce excellent pottery (made by Brother Martin, who welcomed us cheerily in his overalls on arrival at the gift shop), honey and chocolate as well as their highly regarded beer. We took a blind punt on a case of twelve bottles without even trying it first.

We weren't disappointed. It’s a strongish (7.4%) dark and rich ale, both in keeping with the other more established Belgian classics, whilst having a definite character of its own. To my highly untrained palate there was some crossover with Westmalle Dubbel, Orval (there is the tiniest hint of sour effervescence) and even the liquorice tang of St. Feuillien. But most surprising was the comforting feel of a rich, strong chocolate/coffee stout or porter.

I’ve already gone through half of the bottles, and when the others run out I shall definitely return. It’s not an easy beer to get hold of, but it’s special on many levels, and buying it whilst visiting in person is highly recommended providing you live a reasonable distance away.

This may well be my new favourite beer.

https://mountsaintbernardshop.org/

Lightening The Load

 

Early February 2022

Going part time at the school has been brilliant. Having 4 days in every 7 away from the tyranny of a timetable now means that I have more of a say in making the most of weather opportunities, and quite often I've been able to enjoy the outdoors on a dry weekday when there are far less people about, and treat rainy, busier weekends as my self employed studio days. I can definitely feel a pinch financially, but I'm so much happier for it. 

I've mentioned before about how much I love winter camping, especially in the woods with its lack of bugs and slugs, allowing open tarp and bivvy dosses without recourse to mosquito nets and napalm sprays. It does make for some very long nights though. I spent the longest of all of these, the winter solstice of December 21st, doing just that. In the video you can see that I survived rather palatially, with chairs, tables, bottles of fine beer, heavy duty sleeping kit, and all the metalwork for a real fire.

The downside of this glamping approach is best summed up about a minute and a half into the video, when I take off the rucksack, visibly and audibly knackered, exclaiming 'ooft, glad to get that off... 22 kilos. Ridiculous!'. I believe that's in the ball park of the load carried by UK soldiers in their annual fitness test. In other words, quite unpleasant, especially when I like to walk to my local camps, usually a good few miles.

So this got me thinking about a challenge. Could I do a very similar camp to this again, living nearly as comfortably, but significantly reduce the size and weight of my pack to much more manageable amounts?

Now first off let me just preempt any 'ultralight thru hiker' types who will be appalled at the following attempt to shave off weight. I have never claimed to be interested in going 'ultralight'. Kipping in single skin garish coloured translucent tents made of gossamer, soaking couscous overnight in cold water, and having a £700 down quilt that packs down to the size of a tangerine wouldn't work for me. Quite apart from the expense, I like my camping to be a mini holiday, and that means hitting a sweet spot of making myself comfy on both the walk in/out AND at camp itself. Plus I like my food and drink. I CAN go down to weights about half of the winter solstice load when hitting the hills in warmer weather no problem, but local woods are often more of a challenge.

So anyway, how did I tackle it? I'll put a full 'load out' list at the end for us nerds, but for everyone else I'll just mention some key stuff.

Firstly I forced myself to use a much smaller rucksack. Out went my Snugpak Endurance, with extra rocket pouches on the side, and all but the kitchen sink attached to the copious webbing. In came a new Helikon-Tex Bergen with way less than half the volume. It's really designed as a day pack but I have seen some videos of folk packing them cleverly for an overnighter.

(It's at this point I'd like to give a shout out to a couple of Youtube channels I've become a real fanboy of - Barney's Bimbles and Bushcraft by Des Cattys. Barney and Des are mates of each other who make great outdoors vids, sometimes of a shared camp, and sometimes solo. I've lost count of the amount of kit I've purchased after seeing it in their uploads, so much so that my long suffering wife would be entirely justified in citing them as third and fourth parties in divorce proceedings. This camp uses an awful lot of said kit, to the point where I'm essentially ripping them off... I hope they aren't offended and see it for what it is, a mark of my trust in their gear recommendations!)

I made compromises with a smaller, less substantial tarp and bivvy combo. I ditched the table and chair as a result, as there isn't really enough coverage under the tarp for that to work anyway. A new titanium water bottle nestled in two pots was not only a much lighter cookset than before, it also forced me to only take 1.1 litres of water - I usually take 2 litres, but always end up chucking some away untouched. No mucking about with candle lanterns, which provide little light and are quite frankly a pain in the arse to clean almost every time. I decided to stop being precious and take my down sleeping bag, which has the best warmth to weight ratio. And no beer this time, opting instead for 8oz of Sailor Jerry's rum.

Titanium Canteen & Cookset

Things I felt I shouldn't cut corners on were the heavy duty German Army 'Elephant Skin' groundsheet - especially as my inflating sleep pad had to be outside of the bivvy in a brambly wood. I was strict in taking all three fire prep tools - axe, saw and bushcraft knife, including leather holsters. The rucksack is beautifully designed to accommodate these in slots behind the pouches. And drinking brews from my wooden kuksa cup is so much nicer than using some folding rubber thing.

I actually went heavier with some kit. The Klymit sleeping pad is cheaper than the lighter Thermarest I used before, so I'd be less gutted if it got a puncture from being more exposed. Also it is camo rather than bright yellow (I was stealth camping after all), and most importantly DOESN'T SLOWLY DEFLATE DURING THE NIGHT. I need to send that bugger back. Plus I had The World's Heaviest Bulkiest Fleece strapped to the underside, another Helikon Tex job. It is early February after all.

Then believe it or not I actually ADDED some stuff I didn't take before. A rain poncho/small tarp for instance, and a book to read (I'm trying to cut back on social media a bit, having removed Facebook and Instagram from my phone). Most significantly (and not included in the pic at the top of this post, as I'd forgotten to remove it from the secret pouch in the rucksack) was around a kilo of prime handmade ironmongery and canvas - a new grill/pot hanger/fire anchor thingy from TJM Metalworks. There was no way I wasn't going to give that a go!

 

I must admit, when I finally got everything in the pack and it came to the weigh in, I wasn't optimistic I'd actually made things much lighter at all. So when the scales told me it all came to 14 kilos I was chuffed to bits. I'd ditched a third of the weight. But would I have as good a time?

I set off into a fairly sunny afternoon with the new pack feeling much more manageable. Heading into one of my favoured spots, I started to get into the mood, grabbing a nice big stick to use as a staff. I felt this gave me some much needed Gandalf-esque gravitas, when in actual fact it no doubt made me look like a prick.

I was a little disconcerted to hear a fair amount of gunshots from neighbouring spots known for pheasant. I thought that all the various shooting seasons came to an end on February 1st? Come to think of it I can hear it going on right now as I type, nearly a week after that. What's all that about? Anyway, I tried not to worry about some careless dentist in a Barbour jacket inadvertently popping a cap in my ass and strode on. 

Once at camp I got to work and as ever I struggled to get everything set up and the wood prepped before dark, but by teatime I was settled and enjoying the fire. The new fire anchor and titanium cookset were immediately put to task with some Soba noodles and grilled sausages.

It all worked beautifully. Being able to adjust the height of the grill in particular meant that I could for once get flame grilled bangers that were cooked through thoroughly, yet not charred to buggery on the outside - magic.

There's no two ways about it, the evening was a long one alone there in the dark, particularly as I wasn't making a video as I was last time. But maintaining even a small self contained fire is still the best bushcraft tv, and I managed a few chapters of the book by the red stealthy glow of my head torch too. There was quite a cold breeze (it was only a few degrees celsius in temperature) but the tarp setup sheltered my back nicely. I didn't really miss the chair and table too much, being able to either sit or lie down sideways on the bivvy. Rum quaffed, I allowed the fire to die out as I nodded off some time after 11.

It was only when heavy and persistent rain kicked in not long after midnight that I realised where my first compromise was. The tarp, in that setup, just didn't quite provide enough coverage to stop some rain coming in sideways around my head, exacerbated by a slight change in wind direction. This was a worry as I was in my down bag - if it got wet, all its insulating properties would be lost and I would be in big trouble. The Snugpak bivvy bag was a godsend though, as unlike the more heavy duty British Army Gore Tex version I normally favour, it does actually cinch fairly decently round your head as a hood, keeping the sleeping bag dry - exactly what a bivvy should do. Another problem was that my asymmetrical tarp setup was making reservoirs of water pool right above me, causing the tarp to sag down until it rested on my midriff and legs. I had to keep kicking it intermittently to pour off the water and get it to spring back higher but it was an ongoing battle. 

Both of these things conspired to keep me awake for what seemed like a couple of hours in the middle of the night. I toyed with the idea of donning the poncho and getting out to reconfigure the tarp to be less open, but I simply couldn't face the risk of getting more wet. If I'd have brought my bigger 3x3m DD Superlight tarp (which I'm shocked to learn now, sitting here, weighs about the same as the one I brought along anyway) I would have had so much more option to configure for wind, rain and sitting height. At 2x2.5m this Helikon Tex one was so much more limited in meeting those needs. You live and learn!

Through hunkering down though I got back to fitful sleep and woke around 7 with the rain stopped. Thank heavens it had, or breakfast would have been a nightmare. Only having a wood stove I couldn't have done this under the tarp really. Luckily I had managed to keep some wood aside and got it safely under the cover before things got precipitous the night before, so the fire was lit in no time, and the smell of grilling bacon lifted the spirits in that magical way it tends to do.

The sun came out and I enjoyed an unhurried breakfast. I didn't have permission to be here but I have never ever come across a soul in these woods during the half dozen or so times I've camped in them, mainly as I think they are such a nightmare of bogs and brambles to get to. I may be pushing my luck, but the way I see it, getting moved on in the morning isn't a problem - the vital bit of getting through the night has been accomplished.

Strolling around camp I was struck by how well the tarp camo worked, particularly from the front. I was worried it was a bit too bright green to blend in, but it was just right for this spot. I was starting to forgive it for its soggy shortcomings. How soon we forget!

The very tips of bluebell bulbs were sprouting up from the exposed ground, a sign of the approaching spring. Whilst feeling excited at the prospect of longer daylight hours, I was also grateful for getting out like this before those damn mozzies came back - they seem to get worse each year! No doubt a climate change thing.

I was very careful to replace the leaf litter and topsoil over said bluebell buds after I'd packed away, as part of my usual 'leave no trace' procedure. Setting off home mid morning I was shocked at how waterlogged the ground was compared to the previous day, making it quite hard going in places. There was obviously a considerable amount of rain last night.

I hadn't done badly at all to stay warm and dry and more or less comfortable. The load out had worked on the whole, and the experience definitely felt almost as much of a treat as the heavier version a few weeks ago, but at a much more sensible weight. Heck, I even had some things that never got used - a sleeping bag liner, the poncho, some insulated gloves and tins of fatwood tinder for example. The poo trowel and first aid kit were untroubled, as they (nearly) always are. But I suppose it's better to be safe than sorry eh? I'd miss all of those things if I really needed them...

I made my way back with that slightly euphoric tiredness that a sunny walk home from another successful wild camp always brings. It's pretty much 3 years to the day since my first ever  woodland tarp and bivvy camp. My passion for this sort of thing shows no signs of fading anytime soon. I bloody loves it, me.

© Rich Lane 2022

____________________

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)