Blog – Page 47 – My Outdoor Living Room

Life catches up with all of us. Dreams become forgotten memories if you are not careful enough to water them and tend to them. My mind these days is like a perpetual carousel of ideas and trains of thought, very much as though I am spinning plates. So far I haven’t smashed any…though it’s been a close call a few times. One day, my priority is my training, the next day it is revision, the day after it’s planning a trip. Add in places to be, things to pay (‘orrible grown up stuff) and it’s no wonder things get unceremoniously shoved down the crack of life.

It dawned on me a couple of weeks ago that I haven’t spent nearly half as much time out in the mountains this summer as I’d like to. So I decided to plan a day walk. Pencil to paper, I came up with a pretty full on 10 mile slog which included five mountains. Now, let me just clarify what a mountain is by British definition before any international readers get the idea that I’m some sort of athlete. In Britain, as decided by the Queen (I call her Lizzie as that is how she signs off her Christmas card to me), a mountain is defined as any area of high ground, grassy or rocky of a decent area, with an elevation of 600 metres or more. By this definition, I planned five, although really, it was only two, but they are so close together, you could count them as one. So, let’s say five anyway.

The whole experience was magnificent. The weather perfect, if a tad too hot. In the space of five hours I saw four different species of birds of prey. One was effortlessly soaring on the thermals over the summit of the highest peak. It will be one of those days that will live long in the memory. That is what it’s generally all about, and up until now I thought all it was about was putting one leg in, one leg out, in, out, in, out and pretty much shaking it all about.

On Sunday evening, whilst enjoying my dinner al fresco, I couldn’t help but overhear my neighbour speaking very loudly to his daughter on the phone. This guy is mid fifties perhaps, leaves the house well before me each morning and is seemingly in a prestigious job. When we do speak, it’s often about my latest exercise escapades, for which he calls me the “mad man”, which then turns to all the things he used to do. He was obviously very active until work took over. He’s a living warning to me about the pursuit of “success” and what it means in later years. Anyway, the gist of this loud conversation was that he is going away to spend a few days in a log cabin by a Loch in Scotland. In his words, he said it was time he started making some memories before he’s too old, and it’s been work, work, work for too long. I’m pleased he’s making choices like that, as he’s spot on.

Back on the mountains, the day was filled with pleasant chats with other walkers, busy footpaths followed by deserted ones, views to kill for and just that satisfying knowledge that you’re here. If there’s nothing else at all, you’re here. It’s great to be in the present, seeing it, appreciating it and living it. It’s the way I want to be in all aspects of life. Back to plate spinning again.

Three months ago I spent a week in the mountains. The weather, as documented in blogs at the time, was bad on the first day, getting gradually better as the week progressed. The experience I am about to relay relates to the final walk of the week. The original blog can be read here:

https://wordpress.com/post/myoutdoorlivingroom.blog/274

If you haven’t followed the link and read it, in a nutshell, the weather was perfect, warm and bright and was a great day.

Now. I am fairly open minded. This applies to anything really, existence of God, life in space, ghosts, and whether Elton John wears a wig. Whilst I am open minded, experiencing things that I can’t explain disturb me just a little. When I was younger I saw a shape move across the top of the stairs. There were also times when loud bangs would be heard upstairs while we’re all in the living room. There were probably other examples during my life when odd things have happened. The latest thing is what happened to me on this mountain.

It was on the last leg. I’d climbed out of the valley onto the highest point of the walk. On the saddle of the ridge, it was very windy. So I took advantage of a drystone wall to shelter behind to check the map. Bearings found, off I set on a gently sloping path, a terrace, clinging to the eastern slopes of the mountain. Luckily, it was out of the wind, baked by the sun, and covered in heather and other vegetation. The first half of the slow descent was fairly lonely, just a couple of girls coming down from the summit, crossing my path on their way straight down to the valley floor. A five minute chat and we were all on our way again. I have to say, mountain chats are by far the best ones. I just know I’m going to have some utterly positive and uplifting conversations with complete strangers. I guess it’s because it’s so easy. It’s clear that the fact you’re all up there on a weekday shows you all have a mutual love of the outdoors and uplands.

After my new friends had left me, I stopped occasionally and turned to watch them disappearing down the hillside until after twenty minutes or so, I could no longer make them out. I continued my slow descent until a strange uneasy feeling came over me. I can only describe it as just feeling a little nervous, on edge (pun intended), and hurried. This feeling was then followed by what I first thought was the wind whistling through a buckle or toggle on my bag, but there was no wind. It then became apparent that it was a humming sound. A tuneful female humming sound. I checked about me and was definitely alone. It was like the sound of a mother soothing a child to sleep.

It was strangely soothing to hear after the initial uneasiness. It probably only lasted for twenty or thirty seconds in the first instance. A couple of minutes later I heard it again. The next hour was spent in a very technical descent which required concentration, yet I found myself listening carefully for the lady’s voice again. It never came and I reached the car, heading out of the valley, occasionally looking at the path and mountain in the rear view mirror.