Lessons in Life from Alfred Wainwright

It is hard to visit the Lake District and not be reminded of Alfred Wainwright, the celebrated fellwalker and author whose Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells in seven volumes remains the leading authority on hill walking in the area.

Whilst out in the open air last week many of his written thoughts also came to mind. The joy of shared experience and of the human sub-conscious perhaps, or an attempt to answer the most profound of questions that haunt our every moment.

Wainwright's answer however, whilst illuminating, fell short of providing a definitive answer to that one word question, "Why?":

"...more and more people are turning to the hills; they find something in these wild places that can be found nowhere else. It may be solace for some, satisfaction for others: the joy of exercising muscles that modern ways of living have cramped, perhaps; or a balm for jangled nerves in the solitude and silence of the peaks; or escape from the clamour and tumult of everyday existence. It may have something to do with man's subconscious search for beauty, growing keener as so much in the world grows uglier. It may be a need to re-adjust his sights, to get out of his narrow groove and climb above it to see wider horizons and truer perspectives. In a few cases, it may even be a curiousity inspired by A Wainwright's Pictorial Guides. Or it may be, and for most walkers it will be, quite simply, a deep love of the hills, a love that has grown over the years, whatever motive first took them there: a feeling that these hills are friends, tried and trusted friends, always there when needed. It is a question every man must answer for himself." (Book 4, The Southern Fells)

Perhaps I ought not to have placed too much faith in an author who is also notorious for writing,"There's no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing." (A Coast to Coast Walk).  

The Lake District is renowned for its wet weather (how else could it be so green) and even clad in appropriate layers with waterproof trousers, hooded coat and boots, there was no disguising the torrents of rain and swirling cloud that followed the snow and for most of the week deprived us of any kind of view whilst turning the ground into a slippery muddy bog.

Still there is always his: "The fleeting hour of life of those who love the hills is quickly spent, but the hills are eternal. Always there will be the lonely ridge, the dancing beck, the silent forest; always there will be the exhilaration of the summits. These are for the seeking, and those who seek and find while there is still time will be blessed both in mind and body." (Book 7, The Western Fells)

Unfortunately, in my case he totally underestimated the effect. I certainly spent a week in our favourite location in Langdale revelling in a forest beside a beck surrounded by high ridges. However, whilst I may have felt blessed in body, somewhere along the way my capacity of mind let me down again. Moreover and as has previously been the case, my lack of mental awareness was again closely related to a beloved camera. Last March I regaled for you the tale of how the dropping of a camera case set off a chain of  inopportune lapses. Then on our last stay in Langdale, in August 2017, I managed to leave behind the camera charger that I so much needed for the ensuing trip to Norway, recovering it a month later (and that after mislaying a charger for my previous camera). On this most recent occasion, however, I have outshone all previous failings and appear to have left behind my recently acquired camera, lens protector, case and USB connector! My mind may have been blessed, but with what I do not care to speculate. 

Of course, I am still in denial. Didn't I check our lodge before leaving; surely the camera case and contents were by my feet throughout the journey even if I can't now recall actually seeing them there; how come I even felt smug in the knowledge that I had most carefully made sure to pack the charger and ensure that the camera and accessories were piled on a chair for collection with an assortment of other important items all of which made it home? Was I really so distracted by the rain tumbling from the sky in torrents that, in preparing to make the short run from door to car, I overlooked my most treasured and constantly used item?

Yes I have made a telephone call. Somebody is ringing me back tomorrow. In the meantime I can only hope and draw solace from another of AW's quotes:

"You were made to soar, to crash to earth, then to rise and soar again."

At present, I am in crash position, crumpled and dejected.