Walking to Discover

I’m writing this post having returned from a day of discovery.

Today I walked a route I have never walked before and went to a place I have never been to in my previous 50 years. This place was number 197 on a list of 214 places that I have a plan to discover.

My journey started from a place I know well having already been on several different adventures from this base. Only recently I travelled a route that took me to the top of a hill called Base Brown, number 187, from the north. Today’s route took me around the south of that same hill with delightful views that were hidden from my previous route with rugged crags emerging through the low clouds that became the theme of the day.

The south of Base Brown

Up to this point I had been walking a well defined path which is one of the routes to a Lake District favourite and England’s highest peak. Even this was a discovery and something new for me. Having reached a small stream it was time to join a faint path branching off to the right, it was time for the real discovery to begin.

The Path Ahead

This path isn’t on the maps, well at least it’s not on the maps that I use, but it is in various people’s guides to this walk. While the beginning of this path was visible it was clear that further up the hill the path was indistinct at best. Sometimes when I am out walking each step is a discovery. There were times when I had to take a step to see the next step, by taking that next step, the step after it became visible. Then there were points where even the next step wasn’t visible and I discovered by moving forward without a path. I knew the direction I needed to head to reach my destination and I expected the path to become clear at some point.

I headed towards a small tarnlet which I knew that the guided paths went past, by now I was up in the clouds with very little wind, when it’s like this the world shrinks to the size of the area that is visible. I like it when it’s like this.

A little way along the path reemerged, still faint, but clear a direct to the top where I discovered the two tops of Seathwaite Fell. There’s the summit on the map,and the summit defined by the guidebook writer Alfred Wainwright.

The Top of Seathwaite Fell (as defined on the map)

The best walks are continue their interest all the way up and all the way down, with discovery after discovery and this walk was one of those walks.

Not far beyond the summit there was another small unnamed tarn shrouded in cloud without even the faintest breath of wind. The reflections were wonderful in the cloudy gloom.

Misty Tarn

A little further along Sprinkling Tarn emerged, this is a larger tarn nestled into the hillside with an array of mountains looking down. While the path skirts around one side of the tarn I decided that this feature deserved a wider discover.

The tarn has an unusual shape with an isthmus shaped piece of land sticking out into the middle where I headed. It felt like I was on my own in the middle of the water. What a discovery.

Sprinkling Tarn

From the isthmus I headed back to the path and eventually discovered another path along the route of the stream that flowed out of the tarn and back to my transport.

The stream flows down a cascade of waterfalls and rocky ravines with a different view every few metres. Eventually the path dropped below the clouds and opened up wonderful views across Borrowdale and Derwentwater beyond. This was a new view of familiar friends, another discovery.

The path to Seathwaite with Derwentwater in the background

It was a lovely day of discovery, discovery is connected to newness, but you don’t have to go somewhere new to discover. On my regular morning walks there’s often something to discover. Having said that, I do love to walk somewhere new, I love to discover. I still have 17 more discoveries on my list of 214, and then I’ll have to find a new list to discover.

You can, perhaps, discover more things, more quickly in a car, but discovering as you walk allows you to take in the experience. There’s nothing quite like a walking discovery adventure.

Walking with Delight

I was recently out and about on my morning walk and thoroughly enjoying the rhythm of it. It’s been very wet this year and my walking boots were covered in mud and wet inside, thankfully I had my waterproof socks on and my feet were fine. I was roughly half way around the circuit and I was starting to get that heading for home feeling as I left a country lane and headed onto a narrow path which runs alongside a brook. Just a few metres along a flash of blue down near the flowing water caught my eye. Instinctively I stopped still and turned slowly to look to where the flash had been. There, sat on a twig overhanging the brook was a kingfisher. It sat for a few seconds looked at me and darted off along the stream and into obscurity.

I was delighted.

That delight stayed with me for the rest of my walk and also as a slow fading feeling for the rest of that day.

On most of my morning walks I find something to delight in:

The drill of a woodpecker on a spring day.

The bronze glow of a beach tree in the autumn.

The taste of juicy brambles.

The look of disdain from a fox as is crosses the path and disappears into the undergrowth.

The roar of a stream in flood.

The smell of wild garlic and the beautiful white flowers.

The taste of plumbs ripened in a nearby field.

The mystery of a misty morning as trees turn into shadowy figures.

The excitement of seeing a deer effortlessly bounce down one side of a hollow and up the other.

The discovery of a new path that I’ve never used before and neither has anyone else from the look of the undergrowth.

The emergence of the buds in the oak trees and the promise of acorns.

The brilliance of a bank covered in bluebells hidden away from view.

The screech of buzzards circling overhead.

The crunch of fresh frozen snow.

The shock of startling a hare and seeing it speed across the fields.

The joy of the smaller birds as they scurry about their work.

The list goes on. I’m not upset if I don’t see anything new or unique there are plenty of marvelous things if I just have the eyes to see them. Seeing isn’t a passive thing, you have to train yourself to see, it requires attention, and walking gives that time for attention to build, but I think that might be a post for another day.

I’ve written about delight before – Count Your Blessings #143 – Delight – interestingly, also provoked by a walk and a song that I still love, who’s words I will leave you with:

Amid the rumours and the expectations
And all the stories dreamt and lived
Amid the clangour and the dislocation
And things to fear and to forgive
Don’t forget
About delight

Don’t Forget About Delight: Bruce Cockburn

Header Image: One of those wonderful misty mornings.

Walking for Rhythm

I find walking rhythmic.

The step, step, step, step of a potter from somewhere to nowhere moves from my feet to my lungs.

In my lungs the step, step, step, step says “in, out, in, out”.

The in, out, in, out of my lungs say to my heart “pump-pump, pump-pump, pump-pump, pump-pump”.

Somehow that rhythm says to the rest of my body “calm, calm, calm, calm”.

When I’m walking up a particularly steep bit of a hill I’ll count each step in a rhythm – 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 1, 2, 3… – continuing my progress, slowly, and rhythmically. When my body says that it’s time to stop I’ll make myself continue to the end of the current set of 10 almost likes it’s a bar in music. When it’s really, really steep I’ll make myself stop every two or three sets just to keep the rhythm.

Step, step, step, step.

One of the reasons that I avoid the very popular mountain paths where it’s become necessary to put in rock steps is because the uneven rocks destroy the rhythm, particularly coming down hill. It’s difficult to keep with the beat when you have to measure your every step.

In, out, in, out.

My working life has very little rhythm to it, each day the meetings, the conversations and the emails are all on different topics. A working day is really a set of interruptions, even in meetings it’s difficult not to get interrupted. Sometimes the stack of interruptions gets so high that I forget what the one at the bottom is. Then when the interruptions stop for a few minutes I don’t know what to do because the rhythm has been reduced to a cacophony. At times like this a few minutes walking reminds my whole being of the days rhythm and the calm returns, I’m far more productive in the calm.

Pump-pump, pump-pump, pump-pump, pump-pump.

A joys of a walk before work is knowing that I start the day with a tempo set by the steps I’ve already invested. While I try to make my morning walk stretching I deliberately avoid rushing it, I like to feel the beat. Days without a walk always feel a bit discordant.

Calm, calm, calm, calm.

The daily rhythms build into weekly rhythms.

The weekly rhythms build into seasonal rhythms.

Perhaps we’ll come back to that.

How can you explain that you need to know that the trees are still there, and the hills and the sky? Anyone knows they are. How can you say it is time your pulse responded to another rhythm, the rhythm of the day and the season instead of the hour and the minute? No, you cannot explain. So you walk.

Author unknown, from New York Times editorial, “The Walk,” 25 October 1967

Teaspoons: A Story of Abundance and Scarcity

Earlier this year a colleague was bemoaning the availability of teaspoons in our office’s shared refreshment making facility. This had become a regular gripe, but not one that I regarded as critical or one that I should resolve.

This is the same facility that I wrote about some months ago in The Sub-optimal Kitchen – The 10 Steps to Getting a Cup of Tea where making a cup of tea is a challenge at the best of times.

One evening, however, a thought came to me: “I wonder how many spoons I can buy cheaply to resolve this situation for good, and perhaps I can have a bit of a laugh while I’m at it?”

Spurred on by this though I reached for my iPhone and discovered that I could purchase 48 teaspoons for the princely sum of £7. At 14.5p per spoon I decided that it was worth a giggle. I purchased the spoons and arranged to have them anonymously delivered directly to my colleague at the office. The delivery nicely aligned with a week of vacation and hence I wasn’t around when the cutlery arrived which extended the period of mystery. Returning from holiday I, of course, chose to stay silent on the matter which had clearly become a subject of discussion while I had been away.

What happened to the teaspoons?

Initially the teaspoons were retained by my colleague, but eventually a large proportion of them were placed in our Sub-optimal Kitchen for everyone to use.

For several weeks the spoons stayed where they were, in the Sub-optimal Kitchen, being used collectively as a shared asset. We didn’t monitor the number of spoons closely because they were just there. A few went missing, but mostly they resided where they had been placed. People weren’t great at washing them, but that was fine, a few of us undertook the duty of washing all of them from time-to-time. The teaspoons had become a shared utility which was being used as a shared asset for the benefit of all.

In recent weeks that situation has gone through a dramatic change and today there were just 6 teaspoons left in the Suboptimal Kitchen. Within the space of just a few days the abundance of cutlery has been transformed into an asset of scarcity. The occasional washing duty has been turned into a requirement to wash a spoon every time you want to use one. We have returned to bemoaning the lack of teaspoons.

Why the change?

I don’t know what happened to the teaspoons, for sure, but I have some theories.

Theory #1: I suspect that most of the teaspoons are now on people’s desks and they are taking them with them every time they make a cup of tea. They were initially comfortable to leave the spoons in the Suboptimal Kitchen because they were abundant. The abundance meant that they didn’t need to worry about whether a clean spoon would be available so they didn’t need to have their spoon – they had an Abundance Mindset. At some point the volume of spoons reduced to the point where people regarded them as scarce and their mindset shift to a Scarcity Mindset. This scarcity triggered a concern that there might not be a clean spoon available, and worse than that, there might not be a spoon available at all. Once this mindset shift had occurred in a few people it precipitated a rapid depletion of the shared asset as people sought to secure their own access to the facility for the long term and, in so doing, further depleted the asset.

Theory #2: Someone is a teaspoon hoarder.

Theory #3: Someone has taken the teaspoons home to give them an extra-special clean and forgotten to bring them back.

Theory #4: The cleaner has decided to throw them all away.

What are you going to do about it?

There are a few approaches available to resolve this situation:

Resolution #1: I could send an email to everyone in the office pinpointing everyone’s inconsiderateness and asking them to return the spoons. This would be a perfectly legitimate response to an obvious breach of office etiquette, but perhaps this is a little petty. This will be highly embarrassing if someone has taken the teaspoons home for an extra-special clean.

Resolution #2: I could spend another £7 and return the Sub-optimal Kitchen to a status of teaspoon abundance and reestablishing the shared asset. If my abundance mindset theory is correct this will enable the Sub-optimal Kitchen to function a little less sub-optimally for another period of time. If, however, we have a teaspoon hoarder, this approach will give someone the joy of extending their collection. If it’s because someone took them home to wash them, then we will have an over-abundance, but I doubt that will be a problem.

Resolution #3: Forget all about it and leave the Sub-optimal Kitchen in teaspoon scarcity.

What do you think I should do?

Walking? Why walking?

We have recently been on holiday in a beautiful part of England. It’s a place steeped in history with an abundance of places to walk. While we’ve been out and about I’ve been pondering what it is about walking that I love some much.

As I’ve mused I’ve realised how important walking is to me. I’m currently 90% of the way through a challenge to climb all of the hills in the Lake District that are chronicled in the books by Arthur Wainwright. There are 214 hills in this list and I’m down to the last 19. I do most of these walks on my own and whatever the weather I love it. I have no idea how many hours I have spent on this venture, but it’s a lot.

Most weeks I go out for a walk before work on at least three days. One of the privileges of my life is the ability to walk. This privilege is multiplied when the walking is in the countryside, something I can do from my house. If I walk a little way down my street there is a gap in the houses and a path. The path drops down to another path that runs alongside a brook. From this starting point the choices of route multiply like the branches on a tree.

Walking is so natural to many of us that we barely give it a thought. We put one step in front of another and move from one place to another. Sometimes I walk with a purpose, but more often I walk to walk, it’s the walking that is the reward.

Although walking is, for me at least, an ordinary activity I still love it, and that’s what I’ve been pondering? Why do I love walking? Why do I get out of bed on a cold, wet, dark morning, put on my waterproof clothing and walk with a smile on my face? I’ve never really given it much thought before, and I’ve not really written about it, so perhaps it’s time that I did.

Header Image: This is Embleton Bay looking towards Dunstanburgh Castle taken on a late afternoon walk during our recent holiday.

Because it’s Friday: “Transient 2” by Dustin Farrell

I find storms absolutely fascinating, but I still regard storm chasers as a bit mad.

This film that is a combination of slow-lotion and time-lapse sequences by Dustin Farrell (@duston_farrell) shows the power that storms contain.

Here is my second rendition of storm chasing with a Phantom Flex 4K. The best shots from two years of storm chasing jammed into 3.5 minutes.

Stats: 35K miles traveled, 30 terabytes of hard drive space, 300 hours editing/coloring, 3 speeding tickets

Via PetaPixel.

What do you do on calls all day? Version 2, but still lacking in accuracy

It’s been a long time since I’ve had quite so much feedback on a post as I have to my recent conference call posts:

Conference calls are clearly a huge subject, which I suppose isn’t surprising considering how much time many of us spend on them.

Given the volume and veracity of the response I suspect that someone who set up a therapy group for people suffering from conference call ailments would have a long queue of people wanting to participate 😉

In the last post I asked whether I’d missed anything, well clearly I had, there were 11 segments in Version 1, here in Version 2 we have 20 different segments, and some of those I’ve had to consolidate together to retain a level of legibility. These new segments have all come from people’s comments. I’m still open to further comments from anyone who thinks I’m still missing something.

The size if each segment is, as you may have guessed, completely arbitrary, but I have tried to reflect my own person experience a bit.

What do you do on calls all day? Version 2