Anti-racism is the commitment to fight racism wherever you find it, including in yourself. And that is the only way forward.
I’m from a rural area in the northeast of Scotland, and I have spent my career working in conservation, environmental education, and countryside access across the UK, with the occasional diversion into nature tourism and outdoor recreation in the UK and Northern Europe. I write here about my interests in travel, the outdoors, expeditions at sea and on land, and connecting with nature.
I occupy space in this world that is exceedingly white. I do not have to fight for my place in these areas due to the colour of my skin.
While I like to think I am not racist, I’m a beneficiary of the structural racism that winds through our society like bindweed, and that through my silence in not it calling out when I see it, I am complicit. It is vital we, as white people, start to see what has long been evident to Black people, however uncomfortable it may feel in the process; it’s time to grasp the nettle.
To start, we must educate ourselves. By being better informed, we can find a way to see more of the landscape that surrounds us, and be better allies to people of colour. We can start to open outdoor spaces that were once and are still exclusionary, and amplify the voices of those that are underrepresented in our fields.
An old Guardian article which probed the slave-owning history of Britain, and the legacy of fortunes made from the labour of enslaved people and the compensation for their emancipation. It ties into a two-part BBC documentary Britain’s Forgotten Slave Owners, which is still available to view on the iPlayer.
An informative blog post by Eulanda and Omo of Hey, Dip Your Toes In! laying out ways in which we can learn from, support, and advocate for the Black people in our lives, and ensure others aren’t excluded from opportunities arising from our white privilege.
Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.
Leah Thomas introduces intersectional environmentalism and sparks a conversation on the need for anti-racism to be a cornerstone of climate and social justice.
This is just a beginning. I understand that it will not be quick or an easy process, and there will be times where I get it wrong, but it’s time to be idle no more. No lives matter until Black lives matter.
At 1,038 metres (3,547′) Schiehallion isn’t especially close to Ben Nevis in height, but it is certainly one of the most iconic Munros. The distinctive, near-symmetrical profile of the mountain attracts hikers from both home and away looking to experience the great outdoors, and it’s a great choice for first time Munro baggers.
In the heart of Highland Perthshire, close to the very centre of Scotland, Schiehallion has the reputation of being both one of the most mysterious of Scotland’s mountains, and the most measured. The name Sidh Chailleann translates from Scots Gaelic as “the fairy hill of the Caledonians”, and it’s not difficult to find traces of folklore and superstition on the slopes of Shiehallion.
Reach the summit on a summer evening, and you’ll be enchanted by views of Loch Tummel and Loch Rannoch stretching out towards the vast blanket of Rannoch Moor in the gloaming. Descending through the dusk you’ll catch mysterious sounds reverberating across the hillside: secret whisperings of the wee folk, or magical drumming snipe and roding woodcock?
Planning my route
I was taking part in the 2019 TGO Challenge, a coast-to-coast crossing of Scotland on foot, and wanted to include a few mountains on my route from west to east. As it happened, dropping a few planning pins into my ViewRanger map put one close to the peak. After a few days of low-level walking, I reckoned I’d be limber enough to take on the mountain and make a west-to-east traverse of Schiehallion.
From the east and west the peak looks like a perfect pyramid; from north and south, a long whaleback ridge with a more gentle rise to the top. It stands in isolation, easily picked out on the skyline ahead of me as I left Glencoe and crossed Rannoch Moor.
Start Point: East Tempar Farm*
Finish Point: Braes of Foss
Hiking time: 4 hours
Map: OS Explorer OL49
*Note: There is nowhere to leave a vehicle at East Tempar. Parking is available at Braes of Foss carpark (approx. 7km on the road) or in Kinloch Rannoch (approx. 3.5km on the road). I walked along the road from Kilvrecht Campsite, approximately 9km.
The glorious May weather had stayed another day, so despite not being in any particular rush to get underway, I’d been up since 6am with the sunshine, packed my tent (shaking off drifts of tree pollen that had accumulated through the previous evening), loaded up with drinking water, and hit the road to get to my starting point for 9am. Find a route map on my ViewRanger.
From East Tempar Farm a hill track rises gently through sheep pasture, gaining around 350m in a little over two and a half kilometres, to the base of the towering west flank of the mountain. The track continues on to the tumbledown shielings at the col at the head of Gleann Mor, the dale between Schiehallion and the Can Mairg hills to the south.
Gleann Mor is reputedly just as magical as the mountain that looms above. According to legend, the fairies of Schiehallion make their home in Uamh Tom a’Mhor-fhir, a cave in the upper reaches of the glen, and the doors leading into Elfhame (fairyland) marked by tussocks of white heather.
There might be little real evidence of fairies on Schiehallion, but the region wears its history close to the surface. Old shielings are a reminder of the traditional cattle grazing way of life in highland glens, and traces of hut circles and ancient cup-and-ring marked rocks a connection to a more distant and mysterious past.
My route led upwards, over rough ground cut only by deer tracks contouring the slope. I snapped a couple of quick pictures, along with some of some grouse droppings, to perpetuate the haggis myth with which we were teasing my French and Romanian crewmates. Haggis is “…un cochon d’Inde écossais indigène. C’est vrai.” True fact.
There wasn’t a breath of wind when I reached the first boulder field, a patch of fractured quartzite exposed amongst the heather tussocks and spongy lichens. Higher above, the first false summit of my climb marked the point where the vegetation began to yield to the rock, with just sparse turf between the boulders.
The Schiehallion Experiment
The splendid isolation and arresting symmetry of Schiehallion caught the attention of the Royal Society as a place to observe the “attraction of mountains”. In the summer of 1774, Astronomer Royal Nevil Maskylene and surveyor and mathematician Charles Hutton gathered data on the tiny deflection of a pendulum against the position of the stars, revealing the gravitational pull of the mountain.
Between astronomical observations and a survey of Schiehallion’s shape and composition, the experiment provided evidence of Newton’s theory of gravitation, and of the density and shape of the entire planet. During the development of the experiment, Hutton pioneered the concept of contour lines to show relief in cartography, helping me greatly with my TGO challenge route planning.
The Schiehallion experiment is commemorated by a plaque at Braes of Foss, and the eagle-eyed can spot the footprints of Maskylene’s parallel observatories on the north and south flanks of the mountain.
Into the boulder field proper, the true summit rose up behind the last false peak, identifiable this time by the small gathering of people on the rocky outcrop. Tucked into hollows on the northern side of boulders were tiny patches of snow, none larger than my backpack, holding on in the 20°C heat. I scrambled up the last six or seven metres to the top, and turned to take in the view that had been at my back during the climb.
From the summit, I could see across the Tay Forest and Loch Tummel to the Beinn a’Ghlo in the east, south to Ben Lawers, and north to Ben Alder. But the view to the west was the best. The eye skims along the shining surface of Loch Rannoch into a golden-blue haze over Rannoch Moor. On the edge of visibility, I could just make out the Black Mount and Glencoe, where two days ago I’d caught my first glimpse of this peak.
I took a long break to rehydrate, and devoured a packet of Tuc sandwich biscuits that were by now mostly cheese-flavoured dust. This won me the friendship of a springer spaniel called Saoirse, waiting with her dog-dad for the rest of the family to join them at the top. I hunted around and found the spiral carving in the rock. More likely a modern addition than ancient art, but still a reminder that for many the mountains are spiritual spaces.
The route across the boulder field was indistinct, but the following the ridge easterly with the natural compass of the sun was moving in the right direction. Skipping over the loose rock in the boulder field for a couple of kilometres, trying unsuccessfully to pick my way along Saoirse’s chosen route, I found a worn track and reached the top of the path. The way down was much simpler than the way up, dropping down the flank of the mountain on a well-surfaced route.
I reached the carpark at Braes of Foss in mid-afternoon, glad to be able to refill my water supply and find a spot of shade for a cuppa and spoonful of peanut butter. It had been another long, draining hike in the sun. I still had another few kilometres to go to reach the end of my planned route for the day, to the access road for Foss mine, where I was to meet my lift.
On the way round the road, I decided that the TGO Challenge could wait for another day, and rescheduled my rest day for the next morning. I’d take the chance to buy some sunblock, and just enjoy the shade for a while. It was a real treat to get into Pitlochry that evening, pick up a takeaway and some cold beers, and sit in the garden of my friend’s house celebrating reaching half-way across Scotland on the top of that magical mountain.
Schiehallion East Path
Start / Finish Point: Braes of Foss carpark (£2/full day)
Distance: 10km return
Hiking time: Usually between 3 and 4 hours (depending on how long you enjoy the view for!)
Difficulty: Easy to moderate
Map: OS Explorer OL49
Most hikers visiting Schiehallion follow a different route to the one I took, starting and finishing in the carpark at Braes of Foss, and following the East Schiehallion path. In a rare case of mountain rescue, where the mountain itself was the casualty, the path was constructed by the John Muir Trust to manage erosion and protect delicate vegetation on the lower slopes of the mountain. Find a route map on my ViewRanger.
The route is clear and obvious, though there is no waymarking, tackling the east ridge of the mountain in zigzags that avoid expanses of bog but still gives hikers glimpses of wildflowers and bog plants. The area is also home to wildlife like red deer, black grouse, and ptarmigan.
After around 3.5km the path reaches the boulder field on the top of the ridge. Here the route is undefined to the summit, crossing loose rocks and scree, so care and attention to navigation is needed over the final 2km, especially if visibility is reduced.
Incredibly, thanks to an initiative by the FieldFare Trust, the first third of the route has been approved as wheelchair-friendly, with the remainder of the route to the summit deemed accessible at an individual’s discretion, making Schiehallion the first wheelchair-accessible Munro in Scotland.
Descend by retracing your steps to the boulder field to the path, and return to the carpark.
What to wear for hiking in Scotland
Though the warm, windless conditions on the day of my hike suited shorts and a t-shirt, that’s not what I would usually recommend for a day in the Scottish mountains. The best clothes for hiking are thin, quick-dryinglayers, and well-fitting, supportive boots.
The temperature can be quite different once you reach the summit, and a good rule of thumb for planning is that for every 300 metres (1,000′) it will be around 2°C colder. On a windy day, this will feel even more.
Walking trousers are robust but breathable, and usually have good pockets for gadgets and snacks. Shorts will normally be ok in fine weather, but if you’re going to venture off the beaten path and bash through the heather it can be uncomfortable. Gaiters will help protect your trousers and keep them dry and clean. They also double up as a dry mat for sitting on the ground when you stop for breaks.
A waterproof jacket and pair of trousers are always a good idea in Scotland. Even if there’s no rain in the forecast, conditions can be unpredictable, and a waterproof layer can break the chill of the wind.
A fleece or light sweater will keep your core temperature toasty when you reach the top. A warm hat, buff and pair of gloves will be useful in most conditions, but don’t underestimate the sun. There’s no opportunity to escape into the shade on most Scottish mountains. A broad-brimmed hat and something covering your shoulders could be important in summer to prevent heat exhaustion.
What other equipment will you need?
A backpack to carry your gear (with a waterproof cover)
My favourite travel memories from A to Z shared with the #AlphabetAdventure hashtag on social media.
This year, travel has been on the backburner in a big way, with international flights shut down, and many countries, including my home in the UK, imposing a domestic lockdown to prevent the spread of the COVID-19 and ease pressure on health services over the peak of the pandemic.
Throughout April and early May many travel bloggers shared pictures of their travels on social media with the hashtag #AlphabetAdventures. It was a chance to remind ourselves of the wide, wild world out there, waiting for us to explore once the coronavirus pandemic passes, and relive some memories from our travels. It also gave us the chance to travel vicariously to new destinations while we stay safe at home under lockdown.
Five fun microadventures you can make from your own home, suitable for all ages.
Are you familiar with the idea of microadventures? Adventure isn’t all about faraway locations and uncharted territories. Or about being the highest, furthest, fastest at anything.
It’s about the spirit in which you undertake something. It’s being open to new experiences, approaching things with a curious and inquiring mind, and making your own fun and rewarding challenge. And a microadventure is just that, on a simple, local scale.
And while we’re restricted in the things we can do right now, a new activity in a familiar place can be exactly what you need to feel refreshed and excited, and keep your fire for the great outdoors well stoked.
The simplicity of these ideas also make them an ideal way to introduce adventures to your family, even with very young children, and nurture an appreciation for nature and the outdoors to last them a lifetime. And by keeping them close to home, there’s plenty of opportunities to bail out if things don’t go to plan, or to make a spontaneous change to an everyday routine.
So here are five of my favourite microadventures that don’t mean roaming far from home.
Sleeping in an unusual place is almost a determining factor for an adventure. Out in the garden, you’ll become more aware of night-time sights and sounds, and the change in light from night to day, as the world around you begins to wake-up. Make sure you can get comfortable and cosy, otherwise it will become an endurance challenge rather than a fun adventure. If you are used to sleeping in a tent, try a night in a bivvy bag for a different experience, and if don’t have a garden, try pushing back the furniture and pitching a tent indoors or making a bivvy on a balcony. If there’s no room for tents, then a good old blanket fort is great fun.
This activity fits in quite nicely with a night outdoors. Take an hour, or as long as you can, in the morning to look and listen for the wild birds that visit your area. Hanging birdfeeders are brilliant to tempt them closer, but it can take a few days for birds to find new ones, as are water baths. Make a picnic breakfast to enjoy in the garden, or watch from a window. A set of binoculars and an ID guide will help you to get to know the regulars.
If you’re missing a fix of physical activity, this is the adventure for you. Using the stairs in your building or garden, measure the height and multiply that to find the number of times you’d need ascend to scale the magnificent height of Everest (8448 metres or 27,717′). That will take quite some time, so there’s always an alternative available, such as Ben Nevis (1,345 metres or 4,413′), Snowdon (1.085 metres or 3,560′), or your local favourite hill.
There’s no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes. So grab yourself a sexy raincoat and live a little.
Wild Wet Weather Walk
How often do we look out the window at wild and windy weather and decide to stay indoors? But embracing the elements can provide an unexpected thrill. Get kitted out in the appropriate gear, and you can dance in the rain, get buffeted in the breeze, and roll around in the snow. Plus it makes coming inside for cosy evenings feel that much more deserved.
This one is a bit easier if you live in a less urban area, where light pollution isn’t going to impact too much on your dark skies. It takes a little more preparation than other things on this list, as the best nights for stargazing have just a small sliver of the moon visible and clear skies. Apps like My Moon Phase and YR.no will help you plan the best night, while StarWalk2 gives tips for what to look out for, and can help with identifying constellations. But don’t get too transfixed on screens and ID guides, and just revel in the wild and vast universe around us.
Do you have any favourite microadventures you can make from home?
Lessons learned from sailing experiences that prepared me for isolation during lockdown.
I’ve just returned to the UK from Antarctica, to be faced with strange and uncertain times as a consequence of the global COVID-19 outbreak. I spent four months at Port Lockroy, living and working on a small island with a close team, and as some of you may know, before that I worked on several traditional sailing vessels.
Some of the sailing voyages I made were long; bluewater passages far from land, or any other vessels for that matter. Being on the open ocean is both an awesome experience and deeply monotonous, epically profound and incredibly prosaic. And it has been thorough preparation for our current situation. Sailing on an empty sea with the same crew for weeks at a time, often facing stormy and uncertain conditions has taught me valuable lessons that can be applied to this lockdown.
Of course, there are vital differences. Making a long ocean passage is a choice (though by day 19 you may beg to differ), unlike our required lockdown to keep ourselves and our communities protected from infection. But the sense of isolation, precariousness, and cabin fever is familiar.
So, some advice from a sailor, to help us weather these uncertain times. Here are 11 lessons I’ve learned about living in isolation.
The novelty will wear off.
The first few days after setting sail are thrilling; the endless expanse of the ocean, fresh wind in your hair, and salt spray on your skin. The excitement of heading into the unknown. A feeling of complete freedom.
It may be the same during the lockdown period. At first, the luxury of idle time. Oh, the possibilities! But then the monotonous ocean swells of boredom roll on and on over the horizon, no end in sight. It can be hard not to feel a little melancholic, but understand that it’s natural to feel this way, and it will ebb and flow over time. Prepare yourself, and don’t let your worries become overwhelming.
The work is never done.
Cruising along under sail, it might seem like there’s little activity happening aboard a ship. Once the sails are set, what remains to be done? Actually, there’s more than enough to keep busy. A good bosun has a neverending list to work on before the end of the voyage. Make yourself a lockdown list of everyday chores, outstanding tasks, and even aspirational undertakings, adding to it as the days in isolation go on. Aim to accomplish one or more items ticked off each day.
Keep those goals achievable.
That being said, it can be tempting to make some grand plans when you’re without everyday interruptions. “I’ll become fluent in Spanish! I’ll finally write my novel! I’ll train for an ultramarathon!” If you have that level of focus and commitment, good on you.
I find it more effective to set small, attainable goals, so if times get tough, I still feel like I’ve achieved something. Right now, I have two main goals; to do something active every day, to rebuild my fitness after four months in Antarctica, and to write every day. Having these goals in place helps motivation, and sometimes finding that alone can be enough of a win.
You, the crew, then the ship.
You have certain responsibilities as part of the crew to keep everyone safe, and they come in this order:
Firstly, you are the priority. Take care of yourself. If you don’t look after yourself properly, you’re in no position to help anyone else who may need it. Keep healthy, stay well-rested, and ask for help if you need it. You are not alone.
Next in importance, take care of your crew. This applies to everyone on board, whether you are the captain, the cook, or just a deckhand. Look after your people, communicate openly with those around you, and do what you can to ensure those close to you are coping.
Finally, look after your vessel. If your living and working space is unsafe, then everyone in it is unsafe. That applies not just to physical dangers, but also to a hostile atmosphere, and any situation that leaves people feeling vulnerable. Again consistent communication is key; don’t allow small stuff to blow up out of control.
Get away from your gang.
On a voyage you might be put into a small team, called a watch, where you eat, sleep, and work together for the duration of the trip. Being with the same people for days on end, no matter how much you love them, has a way of turning great friends into huge irritations.
There is often nothing more infuriating than continually tripping over your shipmates in a small, shared space. Take it in turns to do various tasks, and in using shared spaces and resources. Make a schedule if you must. Find the time to do activities on your own.
Find space for yourself.
All ships, even big ones, feel small after a few days at sea. There’s virtually no private space onboard (save the heads, and that’s not really where you’d want to hang out), just your own bunk, a narrow coffin where you can shut out the rest of the world. That’s if you have the luxury of not hot-bunking on your voyage. But it soon gets pretty dull if that’s where you spend all of your time.
I always try to seek out a quiet spot to sit and read, write, or just stare at the water without needing to respond or react to others. Carving out a physical space lets you find the mental space you need. At home, we often have a door to close to create that refuge. Headphones or a book to get lost in can help when all your physical space is shared. Communicate with the others in your space about your needs, and when you want to be left alone, and respect that need in others.
In our current situation in the UK we’re permitted to leave our homes for short periods to exercise outdoors, so take advantage of the opportunity. Get out of your room before it starts to feel like a coffin.
I had found that it was not good to be alone, and so made companionship with what there was around me, sometimes with the universe and sometimes with my own insignificant self; but my books were always my friends, let fail all else.
Joshua Slocum, Sailing Alone around the World
Spend time together intentionally.
When you do spend time together, make it feel intentional. While sailing, members of the crew usually had their own roles, but we’d come together to eat dinner every night. At Port Lockroy, the evenings of our rest days became film nights, squashed together on the folded-out sofa bed. We’d find small excuses to celebrate too; Antarctica Day, Burn’s Night (and Heidi Day, of course), a visit to a ship for a sauna, the first penguin chick, a gifted bottle of wine and game of Bananagrams.
While celebrations might be too much to handle right now, find a ritual that feels good for your current living situation. Joyful ways to spend time together makes close company feel like a gift, not something that grates on you.
Keep in contact, at a distance.
Both during time at sea, and in Antarctica, our ability to communicate with the outside world was seriously limited. A satellite connection to send and receive emails, chats with nearby vessels on our VHF radio, and rare satellite phone calls home. In general, conversations weren’t particularly thrilling, but the interruption in the isolation was powerful. Emails from home made me feel connected, despite the physical distance.
There will still be moments that spark your joy.
This is an extraordinary time. It’s going to be tough. We’ll inevitably start to feel frustrated at some point. Many of us are already stressed, even fearful about what may happen. Some of us will end up out of work, others out of schooling, or even without a home. We might become sick, or have loved ones who will. We will lose people. We may not feel like we can cope, and darkness is drawing in. Give yourself the space to process those feelings. It’s ok to be not ok.
Moments of true beauty and joy will exist amid the monotony, uncertainty, and anxiety. The brightest star-filled sky on a night watch; a sunrise that sets the sky on fire; dolphins playing in the turbulent water under the bow. Slow yourself down, savour these times, and share them with others.
You can’t stop the gale, but you can reef your sails.
Right now, it seems impossible to plan for the week ahead, let alone next month or next year. Everything I scribbled into my journal as I sailed away from Antarctica is left on ice. Plans and potential melted away overnight. Now, I only have to deal with what is billowing around me.
We can’t calm this storm, but we can don our foul weather gear and reef the sails while we wait for it to pass. Many things will happen that are outwith our control, and the best we can do is to be prepared and take mitigating measures. Do what you reasonably can, don’t try to control the uncontrollable, or you’ll send yourself round the twist.
Treat yourself when it’s all over.
Unlike on an ocean voyage, we didn’t choose to be in this situation. But we can choose to hold on to hope, and to make the most of where we are right now. At the end of this lockdown, we’ll be able to meet up again, share our stories face-to-face over good food and a few drinks, and go for all the mountain hikes, wild swims, and bike rides that we’re missing right now.
Think about what you might do. Plan that holiday you’ve always dreamed of. Anticipate the meals in the restaurants you’re going to order. Use this time to reach out to friends and family you don’t see regularly, and talk about how you’ll get together again.
You’re more resilient than you think.
You’ve held the helm in the dark and rain for the last three hours, watched the sunrise, and according to the clock, should have been relived; so do you abandon your post? Not a chance. You’re not done until your relief takes over, and you are stood down. At present, there’s little indication of just how long this lockdown might actually last. We’re done when we are relieved of our duty to stay at home.
Right now, our responsibility is to stand by and remain vigilant until that time. Prepare the way you need to, taking each day (or hour) at a time. You are capable of so much, and you might not even know it yet. Believe me, you are tough enough for this.
I’ve put together a list of my favourite sailing movies, including Hollywood blockbusters, all-time classic films, and inspiring documentaries.
In my previous edition of Armchair Travel, focused on Ocean films, I struggled narrow it down to just 10 of my favourites, and not to fill up the list with sailing movies filled with beautiful boats. So I split the two, and decide to offer you up a second helping.
I’ve put together a list of the best sailing movies I’ve seen, a mix of modern and classic, drama and documentary film. Tragedy and terrifying ordeals, unimaginable tales of survival, tempestuous adventures, and inspiring journeys of discovery all feature in my selection of sea-soaked cinema. Perfect for a dry night in on the sofa.
Swallows and Amazons (1974)
A classic film for a rainy Sunday afternoon. Four children (the Swallows) spend an idyllic summer learning to sail in the English Lake District, encountering ruthless pirates (the Amazons), before setting aside their quarrels to take on Captain Flint. The film is all about children’s rivalries and relationships. Swallows and Amazons forever!
Age of Sail (2018)
A beautifully animated short film that captures the end of an era, as the old skipper of a traditional Bristol pilot cutter contemplates his place in a world of steamships. The whole thing (12 minutes) is available to watch on youtube.
Deep Water (2006)
An excellent documentary telling the true story of the first-ever solo, non-stop, round the world sailing race in 1968. The film focuses on the tragic story of Donald Crowhurst and gives a real insight into how extreme solitude can affect mental state.
A nautical horror that takes its power from the simplicity of the plot. A group of friends on an offshore sailing trip decide to take a dip in the ocean, leaving only a young baby aboard. But who remembered to rig the boarding ladder?
White Squall (1996)
Based on the true story of the school ship Albatross, which sank in the early 1960s, with a trainee crew of American teenagers. The voyage of a lifetime, learning about teamwork and discipline, becomes a harrowing battle for survival after encountering freak weather conditions.
Captains Courageous (1937)
A nautical film classic based on the 1897 novel by Rudyard Kipling. A spoiled rich boy falls overboard from a steamship, and is recovered by a Portuguese fishing vessel. To earn his keep onboard, he must join the crew in their work, and soon learns the lesson of hard graft in this touching film.
Dead Calm (1989)
If watching White Squall (awful weather) and Adrift (going overboard) haven’t scared you enough, this chilling thriller will finish you off. A grieving couple set sail on the trip of their lifetime. All is going well until they rescue a lost sailor who is drifting at sea…
British sailor Tracey Edwards made history by skippering the first all-female crew in the Whitbread Round the World yacht race in 1989. This documentary dives deeply into the challenge of the competition on the open ocean, and the sea of misogyny faced by Edwards and the Maiden crew from other competitors and the press.
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Russell Crowe makes a fine Captain Jack Aubrey in this period action film adapted from several Patrick O’Brien novels. Expect a pretty accurate depiction of a ship during the Napoleonic Wars, and some superb sailing sequences as Captain Jack Aubrey pushes his crew and ship to the limit whilst in pursuit of a French warship.
Captain Ron (1992)
A light-hearted comedy adventure film about a family that inherits a yacht and decide to set off on an adventure with the unlikely Captain Ron. I will die on this hill: this is one of the greatest films about sailing ever made, and that Kurt Russell is a brilliant actor (see The Thing, Big Trouble in Little China, Escape from New York, Tango and Cash, and the rest for more confirmation).
Which is your favourite sailing film? Do you have any recommendations?
I’d love to hear from you; let me know what you think in the comments.
I’ve been fortunate to spend a few years living and working on the Isle of Wight, and covering some of the most beautiful stretches of coastline in the south of England as a Wildlife Ranger. As days grow shorter and temperatures grow colder, the island’s beaches, creeks, and estuaries seem to look even more beautiful, whatever the weather, and become havens for thousands of overwintering birds. Without the numbers of tourists that visit in summer, exploring the Isle of Wight in winter often means have beautiful coastal walks all to yourself.
Western Yar Estuary
Route length: 7km (4.5 miles) circular route, with the possibility of an extension to make 11km (7 miles)
Start / Finish: Yarmouth
The Western Yar is a snapshot of the geological past of southern England, a remnant of a much larger river rising from the chalk downland that once stretched from the Needles, at the tip of the Isle of Wight, all the way to Old Harry Rocks on the Dorset coast. Now, a small stream quickly becomes a vast tidal estuary, edged with mudflats and saltmarshes that support hundreds of waders and wildfowl.
Find details of this circular walk from Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, including a route map, on my ViewRanger.
The riverside path from the harbour passes the old mill and joins the old railway line that once linked Freshwater and Yarmouth to Newport. Listen for the whistles and whoops of teal and wigeon, and the piping calls of oystercatchers from the estuary mud. The walking is pleasant and easy, with small birds flitting between the hedgerows lining the trail. The copse further on is a good spot to look for red squirrels scampering overhead.
The walk can be extended from the Causeway towards the narrow ridge of chalk downs, and the coast known as the Back of the Wight. A short distance on footpaths and minor roads takes you past Afton Marsh Nature Reserve towards the golf course. To your left, you’ll catch a glimpse of the Old Military Road, with the crumbling coastline below, and to your right, it dips down to Freshwater Bay before rising sharply toward Tennyson Down.
Rather than retrace your footsteps, a winding path leads down the side of some houses, alongside the early stages of the river Yar, passing through thick reedbeds back to the Causeway crossroads.
From the Causeway, turn left and find the footpath that runs between the Red Lion pub and All Saints Church. The path leads northwards, away from the edge of the estuary, across rolling farmland and through the woods. Look out for views across the Solent to the New Forest as you leave the woodland behind.
Cross the swing bridge and finish the walk back in Yarmouth by the harbour. Pop into PO41, one of my favourite spots on the island for coffee and home-made cake to finish the day.
Route length: 5km (3 miles)
Start / Finish: Newtown National Trust Visitor Centre
One of the most beautiful and historic parts of the Isle of Wight, Newtown was once a thriving medieval port, the most important on the island, with a bustling saltworks and several streets of houses. But after centuries of ebb and flow, Newtown Creek is now a quiet backwater that, in winter, bustles only with birdlife. In the 1960s plans to locate a nuclear power station here were protested by the local community, and led to the creation of Newtown Harbour National Nature Reserve.
Find details of this walk around the Isle of Wight’s finest nature reserve, including a route map, on my ViewRanger.
From the National Trust carpark, cross a minor road and follow the route of the medieval street eastwards. The track opens out into a beautiful area of pasture, with several ancient oak trees (and the entrance to the Upside Down), which is grazed by heritage cattle at certain times of the year.
Leave the field at the far side, turn right then follow the road for around 200m to enter Walter’s Copse, a pocket-sized wood with both ancient woodland and rotational coppice management, that edges onto the saltmarsh of the creek. Follow the trail through the wood and back to the road. Turn left, then right, to retrace your route to the Visitor Centre.
Continue on the road past the church, then take the track at Marsh Farm to reach the Mercia Seabrook hide. National Trust volunteers will open the hide on selected days during the winter, and lead guided walks to show visitors the spectacular winter birdlife; look for hundreds of golden plovers, diminutive dunlins, and a variety of ducks. Grey seals often lounge on the shingle spit on the far side of the creek.
Cross the field to reach the wooden boardwalk leading to the old boathouse, which has views across the creek and out to the Solent beyond. A path leads around the edge of the historic salt pools, and back to the hedgerow-lined meadow. On a crisp winter morning, with the purring sound of brent geese filling the air, it’s a pretty magical place to visit.
Brading Marshes and Bembridge Mill
Route length: 10km (6.2 miles)
Start / Finish: Brading
Brading was once a busy fishing port, and the coastal village of Bembridge, just a couple of small farms on an isolated peninsula. Land reclamation along the estuary of the Eastern Yar* over 120 years ago moved the coastline downstream several miles, creating a sheltered haven between Bembridge and St Helens.
Find details of this walk at one of the best birding sites on the Isle of Wight, including a route map, on my ViewRanger.
From Brading, follow the road towards the RSPB reserve, then bear left onto Laundry Lane. This raised track looks over into marshes and scrapes that fill with waders and wildfowl through the winter. At the end of the lane, bear right on the edge of the main road into St Helens village.
Head downhill from St Helens village green to the embankment, then bear right onto the footpath through the edge of the RSPB reserve. The trail runs alongside a series of saline lagoons, attracting shorebirds seeking refuge over the high tide in the harbour.
From the Tollgate, which has great views across the harbour to the area of sand dunes known as the Duver, follow the road up through the pretty village of Bembridge. Take the road on the right after the church and the library, leading out of the village towards Bembridge Mill.
Picturesque Bembridge Mill is the only surviving windmill on the island, falling out of use in the early 20th century and used as a Home Guard lookout during WWII, before being restored to working condition by the National Trust.
Enjoy the views before heading downhill from the windmill, following the line of the old sea wall, across the edge of Bembridge Airfield, and into Centurion’s Copse, a red squirrel hot spot. Bear right, and pass through the RSPB reserve. The ditches and sluices allow for careful control of water levels to manage one of the most important wetland areas in southern England.
At the end of the old sea wall, you’ll meet the end of Laundry Lane, and be able to retrace your steps back into Brading. Pop into the Auctioneer for a pot of tea and a huge wedge of cake, and even a browse through the latest selection of antiques and curios on display.
*The Isle of Wight has three large-ish rivers. Two of them are called the Yar. The story is that no islanders ever travelled the vast distances from Bembridge to Yarmouth (about 45 minutes drive now), or the opposite direction, so the lack of imagination in naming never really mattered.
Tips to watch wildlife responsibly in winter:
Avoid causing disturbance to birds feeding or resting in coastal areas.
Bring binoculars for a good view without getting too close.
If the birds become alert and stop feeding on mudflats and saltmarsh, move further away and allow them to settle down.
Stick to paths and marked routes where they exist, and avoid emerging suddenly onto saltmarshes and creeks.
Stop for a while on your walk, or move slowly, to see what emerges from nearby hedgerows or reedbeds
Listen to the sounds; they might reveal something you would otherwise miss.
Legend claims that these enigmatic standing stones on the edge of the Cotswolds are a local chieftain and his band of warriors, petrified by a powerful witch, fated to forever stand watch from their lofty location. However, this megalithic complex, which spans more than 2,000 years of Neolithic and Bronze Age development, has more mysteries for you to discover.
Natural chunks of golden Cotswold limestone, the characteristic stone used in local buildings, their great age is evident in their pitted and weathered, and lichen-spattered surfaces. The standing stones known as the Whispering Knights are earliest, dating from between 3,800 and 3,500 BCE, the early Neolithic period. The King’s Men stone circle is late Neolithic, around 2,500 BCE, and the single King Stone is from the Bronze Age, approximately 1,500 BCE.
The Rollright Stones have been reported on throughout recorded history, attracting visitors from the local area and further afield. Antiquarian William Stukeley, who pioneered the scholarly investigation of Stonehenge and Avebury, made early investigations in the mid-18th century, leading to their eventual protection as one of the earliest Scheduled Ancient Monuments in England.
The Whispering Knights
The Whispering Knights are the easternmost stones, so named as their position suggests a group leaning in conspiratorially, plotting against the one who would be king, and the oldest of the three formations at Rollright. It’s believed that they are a “portal dolmen”, a burial chamber that would have originally looked like a stone table (like something from The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe), and the entrance to an otherworldly realm.
Archaeological exploration of the chamber inside the stones uncovered the disarticulated bones of several individuals, along with pottery from early Neolithic, Beaker and Bronze Age cultures, suggesting it was one of the earliest such monuments in Ancient Britain, and was in use over many centuries.
The King’s Men
The closely-spaced stones known as the King’s Men mark a ceremonial circle around 33 metres in diameter, and are reputedly uncountable. If you make three circuits of the stone, counting the same number every time, you’re entitled to wish for your heart’s desire.
There may have once been as many as one hundred, standing shoulder to shoulder in a near-perfect circle, with two stones on the outside marking an entrance portal opposite the tallest stone.
The design of the stone circle is similar to others in the Lake District and in Ireland, and may have been constructed by people from those areas for their ceremonial gatherings.
The King Stone
Standing alone, just below the crest of a low rise, the King Stone is thought to have been erected around 1500 BCE to mark a Bronze Age burial ground. Excavations in the 1980s revealed the remains of wooden posts marking the locations of human cremations in the surrounding land.
The unusual shape of the stone is only partially due to erosion of the limestone. Souvenir-hunters and superstitious cattle drovers en-route to the mart in Banbury would chip off fragments as lucky charms against evil.
The Witch and the King
According to folklore, the notorious witch, Mother Shipton, accosted a petty king out riding with his army on the edge of the escarpment, tempting him with the promise of greatness.
Seven long strides thou shalt take, says she
And if Long Compton thou canst see,
King of England thou shalt be!
The fighting men gathered in a circle to await the outcome of the challenge, while the knights gathered in close counsel. But the foolhardy chieftain, blinded by thoughts of king hereafter, took seven long strides, stopping just short of a low rise on the edge of the hill to the cacking of the witch.
As Long Compton thou canst not see, King of England thou shalt not be!
Rise up stick and stand still stone, For King of England thou shalt be none;
Thou and thy men hoar stones shall be, And I myself an elder tree!
It didn’t sound like that great a deal for old Mother Shipton; through possibly preferable for a witch to being tortured, burned, or drowned. In later years the stones gained a reputation for fortune-telling; to dance naked through the stone circle and whisper to the old king would reveal the identity of your one true love.
Walk: The Rollright Stones from Long Compton
Route length: 13km (8 miles) circular route
Ascent: 245 metres (800′)
Approximate hiking time: 4 hours
The route starts in the Warwickshire village of Long Compton, by the Red Lion pub, heading east on farm tracks and bridleways, before ascending the escarpment to Great Rollright. On the edge of the village, the route joins a waymarked long-distance trail known as the D’Arcy Dalton Way, named for a local rights-of-way campaigner, to follow the ridge of the escarpment westwards.
After passing through woodland, you’ll see the Rollright Stones to your right. From this direction you’ll approach the Whispering Knights first, followed by the King’s Men, and finally the King Stone on the far side of the road. Retrace your steps to the D’Arcy Dalton Way, and continue on to the picturesque hamlet of Little Rollright.
This entire hamlet, once owned by one of the Oxford University colleges, was sold a few years ago; the manor house, rectory, five cottages, and a handful of farm buildings and barns were listed for a cool £18 million. One of the new residents is an award-winning cheesemaker, who produces a lovely-sounding, squidgy, stinky, reblochon-like cheese that I need to track down.
From Little Rollright head northwards following the waymarked Shakespeare’s Way long-distance trail, descending the escarpment back towards Long Compton.
Short sections of the route follow minor roads without a footpath, so care must be taken especially in late autumn afternoons. The sections on footpaths and bridleways can be muddy, and as they cross through farmland, be aware of grazing livestock, particularly if you’re walking with a dog.
Find details of this walk, including a route map, on ViewRanger.
An alternative circular route to the stones starts and finishes in the village of Salford, near Chipping Norton, around 8km (5 miles) and ascending over a more gentle gradient. Parking is also provided on the roadside adjacent to the Stones if you prefer not to walk; the monuments are all within 500m of each other.
The Cotswolds are England’s largest Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB), stretching across Gloucestershire, west Oxfordshire and south-west Warwickshire. The rolling hills lie between the river valleys of the Thames and the Severn, with an abundance of quaint towns and villages of golden stone houses nestled into their folds. The Rollright Stones are located on the Cotswold Edge, an escarpment on the northern edge of the hills, to the north of Chipping Norton.
The island of Coll is breathtakingly beautiful. The sort of place where you leave a little piece of your heart behind when you finally bring yourself to leave.
The turquoise waters of the Sea of the Hebrides wash up on sweeping silver-white beaches backed by lofty, marram-clad dunes, reaching over 50 metres high behind the strand at Feall. Between the coastal bents and the bogs and bare rock inland, is a rare place; machair, a habitat unique to the Hebrides, the fringes of northwestern Scotland, and western coast of Ireland.
In her 2018 book Wilding, Isabella Tree recounts several alarming statistics about the state of nature across the British and Irish Isles, including the fact that around ninety per cent of wildflower meadows have been lost since the Second World War. This has had a devastating knock-on effect on invertebrate fauna, and the birds which depend on them.
The machair of the Western Isles is a last stronghold, lavish with wildflowers through the spring and summer. Common species like red and white clover, buttercups, daisies, wild thyme, ladies bedstraw, and bird’s foot trefoil carpet the pasture, with a scattering of rarer species like the Hebridean spotted orchid and Heath orchid. The area around Hough Bay is a hotspot for bloody cranesbill.
Sea pinks (thrift) and stonecrop find refuge among the rocks. Ragged robin, meadowsweet, and beds of yellow flag (iris) define wetter areas, and provide the preferred hiding spots for crackling, croaking corncrakes, often heard but rarely seen on their summer sojourn from southern Africa.
The drowsy, blossom-sweet scent of the machair charges the air on a warm day in June, enough that passing ships catch a draught on the breeze, like a half-remembered afternoon from childhood. From the beginning of May to midsummer, the machair belongs to the skylarks, singing more than 18 hours a day, from dawn to dusk, and rare bees, bumbling through the flowers, honey-drunk on nectar.
ith a group of fabulous and inspiring women, I took on the challenge of hiking up Pen y Fan in period clothing, including wearing a corset.
Inspired by pictures of the pioneering women that founded the Ladies’ Alpine Club in 1907 and Ladies’ Scottish Climbing Club in 1908, the first mountaineering organisations for women, we wondered what it would be like to take to the hills wearing the fashions of the times; heavy tweed long skirts and jackets, buttoned-up blouses, big bloomers and boned corsets.
The founding members of the Ladies’ Scottish Climbing Club. Photo: Wikipedia
Members of the Ladies’ Scottish Climbing Club training on Salisbury Crags, Edinburgh. Photo: Wikipedia
I’d long admired the early outdoorswomen, who not just tackled some challenging routes in the hills, but were also some of the first to break down barriers for women in other areas of life; in society and politics, education and employment, fashion and convention.
After chatting together on Facebook, we came up with a plan to experience it for ourselves. I really liked the idea of the challenge but was nervous about the corset. I’d never worn a proper one before (though I had one of those corset-style tops in the 90s when we all wore our underwear as outerwear).
In my day job, I wear a lifejacket every day. There’s such a feeling of relief at the end of the day when you feel the weight of it lifting off your shoulders. But that was nothing compared to wearing a fully-boned corset.
The corset and bloomers at the base of my costume.
Whaaaat? How am I going to climb in this?
Introducing Baroness Helga von Strumpfel. I look very Germanic in my costume.
Meet the team
Getting outdoors on your own is wonderful, and can sometimes be all you need, but it’s true to say that some things are even better with friends. You should know a little bit about me already, but meet the others that were part of the Corset Capers team.
Like a total badass.
Lucy Hawthorne: a baby troubleshooter (think modern-day Mary Poppins) who spends as much of her free time as possible outdoors, wild swimming and paddleboarding with her family.
Wendy Searle: though just a normal mum of four with an office job, she’s heading to Antarctica to take on the challenge of reaching the South Pole, unsupported and unassisted, in record time.
Lauren Owen: a polar explorer-in-training, heading for the Greenland ice cap in 2020, with a background in fashion history and amazing costume construction skills.
Jo Symonowski: combining the unlikely careers of corporate leadership trainer and circus promoter, Jo founded My Great Escape born of her experiences.
With corsets laced tightly and bloomers hidden away under billowing tweed skirts, we took our lead from those pioneering ladies of 1907, and headed for Pen y Fan.
My Great Escape
Although our challenge wasn’t a huge undertaking, and really just a silly way to spend a day, we had a serious side to what we wanted to do.
My Great Escape is a programme to support survivors of domestic abuse in regaining their confidence and self-esteem through outdoor adventure. By providing opportunities for challenges and activities that are a break from daily life, we can help people get the space to overcome their trauma and start to heal.
Leaving an abusive relationship often leaves survivors with little or no support, both emotionally and often financially, and hugely depleted confidence. This all makes getting out and doing new things really difficult. That’s where My Great Escape can help.
All of the money raised goes directly into running confidence-building adventures. Everyone on the team is a volunteer.
By rekindling an early love of adventure and being outside I grew in confidence and self-esteem. I conquered real and personal mountains. I found that through connecting with the great outdoors I was able to heal and then build a wonderful new life.
Why Pen y Fan?
At 886 metres (2,907′) high, Pen y Fan in the Brecon Beacons is the highest peak in the south of the UK. It also has a notorious reputation: the UK’s special forces use the mountain to train, completing a 24km (15 mile) route over the mountain carrying 30kg (50 lbs) of equipment, in a challenge known as the Fan Dance.
Though we contemplated the whole Fan Dance route, from Storey Arms to Torpantau station, the fickle Welsh weather wasn’t on our side. With a big weather system moving in from the Atlantic, heavy rain was forecast from around 11am with strong winds, gusting up to 40 knots (46mph), on the tops. So we settled for just reaching the summit in our skirts.
Always take the weather with you.
The Great Corset Caper
Setting off from the carpark at Pont ar Daf the route follows the Brecon Way, with a steady rise in the gradient. It took a while to get used to breathing with a corset, especially the first time I needed to take a deep breath using my diaphragm.
The view of the peak was obscured behind the clouds all the way, so the only clue to our whereabouts was the wind funnelling down the gap below Corn Du. Then suddenly we were just below the summit.
Though safe where we were, it was difficult to strike a pose by the famous marker on the summit cairn with our full skirts catching the wind. We quickly unrolled our banner for some pictures, holding tightly to the corners. We’d made great time to the top, and really enjoyed chatting with the others out on the mountain.
With showers growing heavier, we turned around to head back down to Pont ar Daf. Our outfits had been unfamiliar, though not as awkward as you might imagine. The inconvenience of the wind pushing against my skirt, and having to hold it down to cover my long bloomers, the woollen suits were warm and waterproof enough in the drizzle. I’d probably find a good hat pin, or a scarf to tie around my head for the next time the desire to dress up and head for the hills takes me.
The outdoor gear we women wear now has moved on a long way since 1907 (though there’s still room for improvement when it comes to pockets #pocketsfor women), but we’re grateful to those women that came before us. The ones without whom so many of us wouldn’t have the freedom to take on our own adventures, in whatever we want to wear. I feel that we were able to get a better appreciation of their courage to challenge convention.
We’d like to say a big thank you to everyone who we met out on the hill; your support and enthusiasm for what we were doing was infectious, despite the miserable weather! And another round of thanks to everyone that supported us remotely via social media.
Additional thanks to Bristol Costume Services, who kitted us out with appropriate clothing, and didn’t mind things getting damp* in the hills.