Night shift. Eternal light shift.

Part of the job role as a Station Support Assistant is to do two weeks of night shifts. Two weeks of nights, followed by three weeks of days. A night shift starts at 10pm and finishes at 7am. It involves three rounds of checks – making sure that nothing is flooded, nothing is on fire, that the generators are running, and that certain science stuff is going to plan (including checking the temperature of the freezers containing thousand year old ice cores, & waking up the sparky if there’s a problem). There’s also a 15 minute listening watch in the Ops tower at 12pm, 3am, and 6am – these are the designated times for field parties to contact the station should they need. In between those checks there is cleaning to do, some random jobs, and usually a bit of fun. Describing it as a night shift at this time of year is slightly misleading though; in an Antarctic summer it never gets dark. I’d often go out for a run, sometimes around 2am and it would still be perfectly light. In many ways it’s the best shift to see the changing colours of the sky, and because there are only ever two others working it can feel like you’ve got the place entirely to yourself. The stillness, the storms, the thinning of that layer which often makes us feel detached from the natural world. These are some of the moments I’ll never forget, but they are also the moments that are the most difficult to define. A wordless beauty; not just concerned with how things appear, but how they actually are, and how they make you feel.

You do begin to crave a little more human interaction though, a little more conversation. I remember sitting around at breakfast at the end of one particular night shift listening enthralled to Ernie telling me the exact dates and times of his last seven dental appointments. Felt like the best thing I’d heard in a long while, and I was having none of it when he said, “how do you know I haven’t just made all of that up?!” I think that working nights might temporarily do something a little bit odd to your mind – either that, or it’s your normal mind but with less restrictions. I’ll often leave notes in peoples offices, and always leave one up in the tower for the Ops team. I’m kind of hoping that these might get archived; classified as Antarctic heritage. One of these notes includes my theory that everything in the world (going right down to neutrinos) is made up from elephant seals and onions. Another documents a dream I’d had after eating some stilton. Vivid dreams are reportedly a thing down here. I’m not sure if there’s a scientific explanation for it – I reckon that we are just more attuned to them as we are not constantly bombarded by the internet and mobile phone stuff. I was up in the Ops tower, and for some reason there were a few other people there as well. They told me about this night watch check that I should be doing, that no one had told me about yet. All I had to do was to open a door and look through it, and when I looked through it I would see the world for the very first time. That pretty much blew my mind – just about the coolest dream I’ve ever had. There’s actually some truth to it though I think; that each time we see the world it is for the first time (because it has changed since last we looked). And in that sense you could argue that it’s getting newer rather than older. Which is all very well for most things, but when it comes to the Dairy Milk recipe and climate change I wish we could go back a bit.

Speaking of vintage Dairy Milk; I did come across a stash of it one night in Fuchs (the Field Guides building), best before 2006. I spent a good few moments just looking at it in awe, and then started to wonder what I could possibly offer in return for a bar. Like for like I suggested a Toblerone, but then I branched out to slightly different ideas. I had the beginnings of a conspiracy theory about elephant seal poo and crop circles which I thought might be of interest, but failing that I added to the bottom of the note that I still have 2 kidneys. The following night there were three blocks of Dairy Milk left out with a message attached; ‘Leave a kidney in the Nido jar.’ I took the chocolate but recognised that I now had a bit of a problem if I was to honour my deal with the field guides. I wondered briefly if there were similarities here to people who sell their soul to the devil, and then realise that they don’t really want to fulfil their end of the bargain. Anyway, I came up with a genius plan and left a return message. ‘Thanks so much! I’m sorry, I might have deceived you about the state of one of my kidneys – but here it is!’ Next to it I sellotaped a cashew nut. There has been no retribution. Yet. Other fun night watch activities included a delayed game of noughts and crosses with Blair on the whiteboard in Fuchs. At least, I thought I was playing against Blair but after a conversation about it, it turns out I was mostly playing against myself. That whiteboard was also used to exchange quotes with Tom L about magic, and to write a suggestion list of words that might help you fall asleep in 20 seconds. There is a guy on station who has apparently trained himself to fall asleep in 20 seconds; I’ve not watched (that would be weird), but I do believe him. You need to block everything out by focusing on just one word. I gave it a good go, but could never decide which word I was using which I suppose defeats the object.

The way the rota pans out means that you work the first week of nights with one person, and the second with another. For me that meant being on shift with Lynsay, and then with Jules. We’d also find ourselves declaring a few folk as honouree night watchers; those who’d often be around for a bit after 10pm and help us out with a few odd jobs. It’s as much the chat and the company that’s the lovely thing; you get a bit of a catch up about what has happened in the day, and it’s always good to start your shift on a positive. Bav is one of the best for this, and also Tom L, both of whom have a late night habit of eating epic sandwiches. Bav is also great at helping out with the kitchen laundry, even if he does steal the oddly satisfying job of untangling all the apron strings. Most night shifts are fairly standard, but every now and then you’d find yourself doing something that definitely wouldn’t be classed as ordinary back home! These things tended to happen when I was on shift with Lynsay; no real reason for that other than perhaps that she’s a little bit mental (in the best of ways). There was the night we tried to move what seemed like a ton of chocolate from one building to another using a plastic sledge. We then had to mount a retrieval operation for all the boxes of Snickers that had fallen off into the snow. On another occasion we were tasked by the Station Leader with a top secret mission – the details of which cannot be disclosed other than to say that it definitely falls into the category of ‘things I didn’t imagine I’d be doing whilst in Antarctica!’

Life on Station

It’s amazing how normal things become, how quickly you adapt. That’s not to say you lose the wonder of a place, but elements of day to day life do become routine. It’s certainly a strange mix of the surreal and the relatively mundane – standing at the washing up sink battling piles of baked on lasagne dishes whilst watching icebergs, penguins, and elephant seals out of the window. This mix can actually bring about a degree of internal confusion, especially when you throw in the perception of outsiders, their reactions to photos posted online etc. These pictures can in some ways be deceiving – not deceiving of its beauty, but deceptive when it comes to other realities. Even in such an incredibly stunning place a person is still subject to the usual human emotions, the highs and the lows, the bad days and the good. In many ways the extreme nature of Antarctica brings these things more sharply into focus. On the whole my experience here so far has been overwhelmingly positive; BAS are a fantastic organisation to work for, and I’ve met so many incredible, lovely people. Life here is not without its challenges though, and without a doubt (for me at least) the greatest of these is the highly concentrated social living. Interestingly though, this is also one of the best things about it – community and people are integral to the entire experience. Nothing could exist without it, and this extends much further than the confines of the station. You rely much more on others, but you also come to rely much more upon yourself. Living in this kind of environment requires a great deal of self-awareness – it’s really not easy at times and it can seem quite a struggle not to lose yourself a bit. But these are the moments, if you can hold onto what you deem to be important - those things are strengthened more than might be possible elsewhere. The people you work with are also the people you live with, and there’s nowhere else to go but here. There’s not a lot that goes unnoticed, and everything you say and do will inevitably have quite an impact. It’s so important to try and constantly be aware of this, to be mindful of others, but also not to fall into the easy trap of overthinking everything too much. Despite, and possibly because of all of this it’s an absolutely fascinating place to spend some time.

You might find yourself sat around at breakfast chatting to Canadian pilots of Chinese planes – stopping off at Rothera for a night on the way to the pole. I later asked some of our pilots if they’d ever been there, what it’s like, is it difficult to land, etc. They described it as the Heathrow of Antarctica, or probably JFK as it’s run by the Americans. These folk are great to chat to, the little things, the big things – there are even a few who were here in the last days of the dog teams. This is just a three month spell for me, but for many it has been their life. These stories are everything – it’s pretty much the entirety of the culture and human history of this place. I’m not even sure it can claim a culture of its own; the only continent on earth not able to support permanent human inhabitants. It does have plenty of its own peculiarities though, and plenty of different characters.

There is certainly not a shortage of reminders that life down here is a little different. Next to one of the phones is a telephone doodle book, and on the inside front cover is scribbled the mobile number of Elvis Presley’s eldest son. There is also a poster on the wall kindly reminding people not to chew the telephone cable because replacements are hard to come by in Antarctica. In one of the accommodation block there is the ‘Sledge of Dreams’. This is a big old fashioned sledge where people can leave things they no longer require, and it’s free for anyone else to help themselves. Some of the more random objects I’ve seen on there are a framed photograph of Dermot O’Leary, and a cuddly Cornish Pasty. I guess we all must miss slightly different things when in Antarctica. I can’t say that this was near the top of my list, but one of my friends sent me out a Lake District bus timetable in case I was feeling a bit homesick. It did cause a fair bit of mild amusement though, and Ernie even asked me to check if there was still a bus running from Glenridding to Keswick. He then proceeded to tell me the story of how he’d taken that bus once, that the route was on very windy roads, and that by the end of it he felt quite sick. Ernie is definitely one of those folk about whom it would be easy to fill an entire blog post – someone that brightens many a day. There are people from all different walks of life here; chefs, mechanics, sparkies, plumbers, scientists, plant operators (some who back home are farmers – and very passionate about what they do). I’ve been told that at Sky Blu (one of our field stations), pictures of bikini clad women have actually been replaced by photos of favourite tractors. There’s also a number of different nationalities represented here; French, Dutch, Canadian, American, New Zealand (or Australian, depending on how much you want to wind Cameron up). Cam is down here as a vehicle mech, and never fails to entertain with his stories and turn of phrase. He even has his own weather measuring system – as he walked into the dining room one morning he declared, “It’s blowing 40 bastards out there!” He was also conducting an interesting survey the other day, asking people if they prefer to do it with or without their socks on.

All the accommodation here is shared; either 2 bedded or 4 bedded rooms. There are not many people in the world who are aware of the use of Crocs as a ‘vacuum cleaner’ (particularly efficient at shuffling up hair). So when Rachel and I were sat in our room (within the first week) enthusiastically discussing this shared knowledge, our relationship was only ever going to go one way. We often go on ‘dates’ around the point, and the Station Leader (Jess) was asking what the female equivalent of a bromance is. It’s hard not to love someone who leaves random notes, makes you a cotton mouse out of a tampon, and mixes up your Rubik Cube so that you can solve it again. Rachel also gave me my Rothera nickname – Nails. It stems from my love of running in slightly ‘interesting’ conditions, mostly on the runway when it’s a little breezy out. I’m not really sure what I bring to the relationship, but I did show Rachel the gravel rash near my bum from falling over when playing football. No one else got to see that, although Hannah did say that she’d like to – in exchange for some peppermint teabags. It’s amazing what passes as currency in a place without any money!

Running the flag line

I’ve been here a week now, although in some respects it seems quite a bit longer. It’s not an easy place to get your head around, near impossible to ever figure out I’d say. The scenery is utterly breath taking, but like anything beautiful there’s no way of holding onto it; no possible sense of ownership. You have to keep looking again and again because it’s changing every minute, sometimes in the subtlest of ways. The remaining winter sea ice is starting to recede, and towering icebergs that were once attached are beginning to move. There’s a noticeable increase in bird sounds, and the first Weddell Seals and pup have been seen. You can also hear the movement of the water now, as the wind blows the Southern Ocean onto the rocks. The temperature isn’t that cold, and even a sub-zero day seems a lot warmer than its equivalent in the damp UK. You never go out unprepared though, even around the station. The weather can change quite dramatically, and when the wind picks up you don’t want to be without layers.

Perhaps the strangest thing, and it’s difficult to really explain (even to myself), is the contrast between environment and people. There’s the isolation on the one hand and then then highly concentrated communal living on the other. I suppose part of it is the expectation, a sort of sense that being in Antarctica will make you feel something entirely different than you ever have before. And in many ways that is of course true, and by the nature of the landscape here it means that you have a very different interaction with it (and the people you’re living with) than perhaps you might elsewhere. There is a definite challenge to our concept and ideals of freedom; the freedom that such a vast ‘empty’ space should bring. But it is actually this vastness, the wildness of this environment which reduces the amount of it we can safely access. After all, the freedom to wander into a crevasse is not much of a freedom at all. And so the restrictions put in place are not to limit but to liberate. My job here is almost completely station based; my outside recreation boundaries are the 2km route around the ‘Point’, the 900m long runway (depending on flights), and what’s known as the ramp and flag line. After one attempt at running on the treadmill – a 5k that seemed to last an unpleasant eternity, I’m now running exclusively outside. Whilst I’ve always highly valued the escapism and headspace that running (and other outdoor activities) can bring, it has taken on an even greater significance here. And the things we often given significance to (in terms of running) back in the UK almost utterly fade away. I don’t time how long I’m out for, and I don’t measure how far I go. The only time considerations are to do with the tagging out board, and the only distances that matter are the ones inside your mind.

Flags are the signposts here – a coloured square of fabric tied to a long wooden/bamboo cane. The flag lines mark the safe routes, and crossed flags means it’s a no go. As the summer progresses much (if not all) of the snow around station will disappear, but it will remain up the ramp and along the traverse to the local recreation areas. The field guides use radar to check for crevasses, and then designate the safe/unsafe routes. And so on an evening, an evening that might be as late as 10.30pm, it’s an incredible feeling, an incredible privilege, to put on my trail shoes and go for a run along the flag line. The ramp is steep and long, and extra hard work in the snow; but the rewards are quite extraordinary as you leave the station far below. Time and space seem to have their own rules here; expanding or contracting more rapidly than is possible elsewhere. Nothing remains the same; neither the landscape nor yourself. The mountains that you once thought to be at the limit of your vision now appear in the foreground revealing new worlds beyond.

Antarctica - First Impressions

It’s hard to say what strikes you first; the beauty or the silence. A silence which is not the absence of sound, but those indescribable moments where there is no discernible noise. And a beauty which, if you try to speak about it, brings you to the brink of tears time and time again. This place is beyond anything I could have possibly imagined; the wildest of dreams in the wildest of places. There is nothing in the world I have had to question half so much as to whether it’s all real.

The flight from Punta Arenas to Rothera was very much a part of the whole experience. Flying on a Dash 7 is nothing much at all like your usual commercial flight. There were 14 of us on the plane, and in front of the passenger seats were all our bags strapped down by cargo nets. Once we’d taken off we had pretty much free reign to wander around the cabin. I think Lyndsay might have regretted taking the seat next to me as I was either incessantly talking or getting up to find a better window to look at the view. Perhaps she didn’t mind too much though as she didn’t stop offering me the unnaturally coloured sweets that she’d picked up at the airport! I went up to the cockpit to chat to the pilots – they said you could go an entire year, an entire lifetime, and you’d never see Patagonia looking so clear. It was utterly breath taking, and it completely dwarfed any representation of the Andes mountain range seen on a map or in photographs.

The flight lasted in the region of 4 and a half to 5 hours, and the cloud cover started to steadily increase as we neared Rothera and the Antarctic Peninsula. It was getting a bit bumpy at this stage so I closed my eyes and remembered to breathe – the second part of which is always useful. A few minutes later though Lyndsay gave me a nudge and told me to look out the window. My first glimpse of Antarctica – and I wasn’t able to utter anything more comprehensible than ‘oh wow!’ Snow covered peaks rising straight out of the ocean, clouds drifting to reveal mountainous icebergs, and then, tiny amongst it all, the scattered buildings of Rothera Research Station.

Considering that the runway was covered in snow & ice, and that it’s a mere 900m long, the landing was incredibly smooth. I was making a conscious effort to take it all in – this was my moon landing, and I’d never be able to do it again for the first time. For obvious reasons – mostly with it being an international airstrip – we didn’t hang about long on the runway. Before we could set foot on the continent though we had to walk our boots through a disinfected mat. Issues of bio security are taken extremely seriously – this is the most pristine environment on earth, and we want to do everything possible to reduce our impact here.

We were met by Jess (Station Leader), welcomed to Rothera, and taken inside for a cup of tea. It soon became apparent that the structure of each day seemed to pretty much resolve around having a brew – “we are British after all!” There was then a few briefings – information to supplement what we had learned in pre deployment back in Cambridge. And before we could begin our work it was necessary to have two days of specific onsite training. This would include everything from how to access the computer system, to using gators and a skidoo!

Setting Forth

In the grand scheme of things three months isn’t long at all. But, all of a sudden, when your factor in where you’re going it becomes a different proposition entirely. Antarctica is about as remote as it comes. There’s no need for money, no shops, no mobile phones. It’s governed (so to speak) by the Antarctic Treaty - a continent dedicated to science and peace. There are no claims, no military presence, although I can imagine there’s a fair amount of friendly rivalry when it comes to ‘international’ football matches. I’ve been told that there’s an actual Rothera football kit, and there are matches against the Americans when their ship comes in. The football pitch is on the runway apron, and play can begin when all the flying is done for the day. Occasionally penguins will wander onto the pitch sometimes, & the match is temporarily suspended until they realise the humans are not other penguins & wander off again. I learnt all this while waiting at Heathrow departures, chatting to one of the GAs (General Assistants). I think I must have arrived at the airport a good few hours earlier than I needed to be, but I’d always rather it be that way. My friend Kirsten had kindly given me a lift to the airport, & not having seen her for a year or so she picked me up early and we went for some food. I wasn’t paying too much attention at this point, was happy to let Kirsten make all the decisions. She just said we’d go somewhere nearer the airport, somewhere about 15 minutes drive from the terminal. Sounded good to me. We parked up, & started walking through the streets. Kirsten has google up on her phone, and was listing various options for brunch. Again, I left the choice up to her...”we don’t have any of these places in Eskdale, so you’ll have more of an idea what’s good.” I did see somewhere that was clearly serving breakfasts, & not fussy, I pointed it out. Kirsten however was not impressed, “I’m not letting you eat at Weatherspoons for your last meal in the UK for a while!” As we walked on a bit further I noticed how touristy this place was, saw all the shops were selling  British souvenirs, & one even had face masks of Donald Trump next to ones of Johnny English. I started to say to Kirsten, “I didn’t realise that.....wait, where are we?!” She just burst out laughing, and asked if I’d not noticed that we were standing right next to Windsor Castle?! I had noticed the castle (of course) but my brain clearly wasn’t at its usual level of sharpness. “I hadn’t realised that Windsor was so touristy!” I’d probably only seen a similar thing in London, or Cambridge & Oxford. Not that I go to many cities anyway. I was also surprised and saddened by the number of homeless folk about. One gentleman told us a special code to put in the parking ticket machine to reduce the cost by £4. Kirsten didn’t have any change, and I only had American dollars to use if needed in Chile. Think we both left wishing we could have done something to help. We just thanked him and said take care. 

There was a group of BAS staff taking the same flight, so I waited for them before I checked my bags in. My friend Dee had been messaging me the few days before, asking how heavy my bag was, and was I taking this thing or that. I hadn’t actually weighed my bag, just guessed it was about 12kg judging by how easy it was to pick up. Dee however was struggling to get hers under the 23kg limit - something to do with a seven month supply of daily contact lenses (she is working a longer contract). I offered her the free space & weight in my bag. 

The first leg of the journey was a short hop from Heathrow to Madrid where we set up camp in Starbucks until our flight to Santiago later that evening. It was on this flight, the longest flight I’ve been on, & first time to the Southern Hemisphere, that it really started to sink in. It was also the reminder that there is an unglamorous side to any adventure. It’s not the picture we ever post on social media, the long waits, the queues at passport control. Nor the slight travel sickness, sleepless nights, and trying to get comfy on airplanes without pissing off the stranger sat next to you for 13 and a half hours. My first taste of South American air was more relief than excitement, and this was dampened by an overwhelming desire for a shower & some sleep. We had about an 8 hour wait at Santiago before the flight on to Punta Arenas....and then we learnt that this flight had a stop off point en route. 40 minutes on the ground at Puerto Montt while some passengers got off & then a load got on. I’m sure everything was perfectly organised, but it was slightly amusing when those not getting off were asked to sit down so they could count the exact number left onboard. 

It was an incredible feeling to finally reach Punta Arenas, to get off the plane, & take in a bit of Chile on the way to our hotel. Upon arrival we had a safety briefing about the Dash 7 flight, met the pilots, that sort of thing. We were told then that the flight was unlikely to leave tomorrow, but there would be another briefing at 8.30 the following morning. That turned out to be the case - a low pressure system had developed over Rothera so there would be a high chance it would be too risky to land. In many ways, although obviously keen to get to Antarctica, it’s an amazing opportunity to spend a day here in Punta & get a bit more rest as well. It’s also a chance to get in touch with home, to let friends and family know I arrived safely, that sort of thing. This came as an unexpected bonus because I had assumed any communication to be limited at best after leaving Heathrow. It always makes any journey extra special to share it with people, both the people you’re with, and the folk back home. 

One summer after another

The Lake District summer passed in a daze. Seems like that looking back now, anyway. At the time there were moments when it felt fairly enduring, mostly because of the heat which was relentless for weeks. Afternoons would be spent in Blea Tarn....Rachel & I would head down the valley, sometimes bundling Ben into the back of the van, too. On my days off I’d mostly drive over to Borrowdale, stay in my van, & play football for Keswick Ladies. That in itself is a highlight of the summer - it’s the 2nd season I’ve played for them, 9 aside on a Wednesday night. I love the friendships you make through team sport, feels almost like family in many ways. I guess there’s always going to be bonds formed when you turn up to a ground that has no facilities, and have no other choice than to have a team pre-match wee behind a wall. These are friendships that go beyond football, & I’m remembering now going for a run around Buttermere with Rach in the most horrendous weather. I’d got out of the van first, and still sat in the drivers seat Rach had a look on her face that made me think, “oh shit, she’s going to lock the doors, drive off, & leave me to it!” Turns out she actually ended up joining me for swim in the Lake half way round. I think she reckoned we couldn’t get any wetter, and at least the water gave some shelter from the wind! Then there was the camping trip with Laura up the Langstrath valley. The weather was stunning, & we set up camp near a beautiful pool in the river. That evening we headed up Stake Pass for a bit of a walk, light fading over the valley. Laura suddenly starts saying....”Do you ever come across a place and think, this would be a good spot to bury a body? No one would ever find it, & even if they did, they’d never know that I’d done it.” I kindly pointed out to her that this probably wasn’t the best thing to ask someone when they’re about to spend a night in a tent with you nearly 10km away from civilisation. 

As with any team sport there is always a fair amount of banter and piss taking. I seemed to be on the end of quite a lot of it for some reason. During the warm up before one of our home games I was telling them that I’d been stood outside the hostel at Eskdale on Sunday cheering on the riders in the Fred Whitton. I must have clapped about 872 cyclists, and 3 of them commented on the speed of my clapping. One of them said, “why are you clapping so slowly, is it because I’m doing so badly?” I felt a bit put out and assured him that this was my regular, best clapping. Of course the girls then asked me to give a demonstration of my clapping, at which point they all burst out laughing & said that it did sound pretty sarcastic. For the rest of the season I had to endure their slow clapping every time I scored a goal. 

I don’t know how it came about, it must have been after watching a Portugal game in the World Cup. I think I lost some sort of bet, and Laura said that if we got a free kick in the match I had to take it in the style of Cristiano Ronaldo. Of course we did get a free kick, and I managed to keep a straight face even when Laura was bent over laughing in the penalty area. After the match I apologised to the rest of the girls, “sorry for looking like such a d**k when I took that free kick.” Seemed though that no one had really noticed, & surprised I asked, “what, not even when I pulled my shorts right up?!” Ange just replied, “I thought you must have had an itch!” 

I loved the weekly football matches, also loved catching up with friends at the Borrowdale hostel. Turned up one Tuesday afternoon, saw Kate, & said I’d got a present for her. “Oh my god, is it stale?!” I laughed, and replied that it wasn’t quite there yet. Something you should know about Kate, she’s got a thing for stale rice cakes. Has a stash of nearly empty packets under her bed, getting progressively more inedible...saved up for a special treat. I was explaining about this to Chris once, and he looked at me aghast, & said, “What kind of people do I have working here?!” I wondered if I should tell him about the time I nearly trapped Kate in her room...I tried pushing a packet of strawberry Angel Delight under the door, but it got stuck. So did the door, temporarily. 

There was also the 2am chatting sessions with Helen, & no matter how often we said we needed an early night, it always seemed to be 2am when we said goodnight. She seemed quite relieved when I got a job elsewhere for winter, “at least I might get some bloody sleep while you’re away!” 

That might have been the case had I not nominated Helen to take over nighttime Honister runs/antics with Charlotte from me. Charlotte took up running a little while ago, and in a really short space of time she’s become pretty damn good. We’d go out on a nighttime once a week, running up to the Honister Pass grit bin, & then a little bit further each time. We’d get back and if Ellie was still around she’d asked how far we went - and we’d answer knowingly, “ah we got to THAT tree this time.” I would rate these outings as rather tame though when compared to the day we decided to go up Barf. Charlotte is in the process of ‘Hooping the Wainwrights’ which basically involves summiting each of the 214 peaks and then doing some hula hooping at the top. These are all being recorded on video, and this particular afternoon I agreed to go along as camerawoman. It was only when we were halfway up the mountain, scrabbling in the dirt on hands and knees for bits of tree root and heather to hang onto, that I remembered where I’d read about Barf. “Hey Charlotte! I’m pretty sure that this route is a Mountain Rescue blackspot!” But we were absolutely fine, and even met a guy in jeans who seemed utterly unconcerned. He reached the top in time to witness the Hooping, & even made a sneaky appearance in the video. We mentioned that it would be put on twitter, and did he mind? He said it was cool, said that no one was looking for him, that he wasn’t hiding from the authorities or anything. He said that if anyone had anything to worry about from the hula hoop video it was us! 

As summer in the Lake District was coming to an end, another was appearing on the horizon for me. Way back in January I’d applied for the position of Station Support Assistant with the British Antarctic Survey - a job based at Rothera Research Station, Antarctica. More of a story for another time perhaps, but I was successful with both application & then interview. 

I was pretty excited when I told Rachel, “This means I can take the music of Chris de Burgh to the most remote continent on Earth!” No part of this planet shall remain untouched by his genius. Rachel, while not exactly disputing this, replied...”but surely he’d have to be known as Chris de ice Burgh over there?!” I’d also mentioned something about Chris de Burgh to my friend Clare who was visiting with her daughter, Naimh. They thoughtfully came up with a comprehensive list of ‘10 ways to die in Antarctica’, the most realistic of which was probably: You play Lady in Red too many times and everyone turns into blood-crazed zombies and eats each other. Including you. They also had this theory that Antarctica is actually heavily populated by sheep, it’s just that no one can see them because they are white. Anyway. Tomorrow I start the journey to Antarctica. Flying out from Heathrow, via Madrid, via Santiago, and via Punta Arenas. All being well with the weather & such, I should land on the 900m runway at Rothera Research Station on Friday. Even with it being so close now, there are certain realities that can only be realised upon arriving. Ever since it became a possibility, even when I was just considering applying, I’ve been imagining what it might be like (but never truly believing it might happen - because there are some things in this life that struggle to make it into our dreams). On occasions we can have a tendency to think that things like this only happen to other people, people who are more exciting, more inspiring. I’m experiencing a mix of emotions at the moment, mostly excitement, but also a healthy amount of nervous anticipation. I want to be able to take it all in, savour every second of this incredible opportunity. I also don’t want to lose sight of the significance of it all, not for me, but of the work being done. 

Giant Calculators & a Camelback full of Irn Bru

Once again I find myself in a position where I haven’t written for so long that it feels incredibly difficult to even make a start. This hasn’t been for any specific reason, other than perhaps busyness and (moreover) a lack of discipline. It’s easy to get distracted. I’m over in Borrowdale for my days off, & I was chatting to Helen about this earlier. She’s experiencing a similar thing, and her advice was to just write something - it doesn’t matter how crap, just get some words down. 

Time, as it is want to do, seems to be passing so quickly. I’ve got little over a month left of this 3rd season in Eskdale. I know it’s not just me who is experiencing this - towards the end of July, Mick shared an insight with me: “I’m really enjoying August. I know that it’s only early on, I know that’s it’s actually still July, but I’m enjoying it so far. Think it’s going to be good.” One thing is for sure, there is absolutely no doubting Mick’s optimism and enthusiasm for life. I’ll never forget the Health & Safety talk he delivered earlier in the year for the YHA Lakes World Earth Day beach clean. Stood on the back of a tractor at Selker Bay (West Cumbrian coast) he cheerfully announced that unexploded MOD ordinances very occasionally wash up on the beach, & if we were in any doubt then best not to touch them and everything would be ok. He asked me afterwards what I thought of his speech...”I thought I better say something to make it all official, especially as Paul (Mick’s boss) was there.” I reassured him that it was the finest health & safety speech I’d heard in a long, long time. While Mick’s positive outlook is not in question, some of his knowledge about certain things might be described as sketchy. One particular example of this is calculators. I think Mick must own in the region of 6 calculators, all of varying size. He has the unfortunate habit of misplacing calculators, so each time he buys a new one it has to be a bit bigger than the one before (as he believes a bigger calculator will be impossible to lose). The other benefit (in Mick’s mind) of having a giant calculator is that the bigger the calculator the bigger its brain - therefore making his accounts easier to do. Another example - on a completely different topic - is when one morning we were discussing musicals, in particular Joseph and his Technicolor Dream Coat. I was singing bits of it, but replacing the word ‘Joseph’ with ‘Rachel’. Perhaps to stop me from singing, Mick started saying....”Having gone to church as a boy, I think I know my bible stories pretty well...Joseph, Noah, Moses, etc. But what I can never remember is which book of the bible James and the Giant Peach comes from.” 

We might be far from the bright lights in Eskdale, might be without phone signal, & without WiFi for most of the time, but life here is certainly never dull. We have some lovely, & quite interesting neighbours...perhaps no more so than Struan, who works at the Woolpack Inn. I’ll never forget that time he told me, in all seriousness, that Mick used to be the 2nd nicest person in the world. At least until the King of Thailand died - then he became number one. Struan is not much of a walker, but one afternoon he wandered down the road to the hostel with a backpack on. He found Mick & Rachel and proudly told them that he was going to walk around the nature trail (about 1km long). “I’m fully prepared. I’ve got some water in my bag, plus 4 bottles of cider, and 2 cheese sandwiches. I think that should do the trick.” 

It’s not just the locals of course, we also get our fair share of interesting guests coming through. Occasionally you can’t help but overhear bits of conversation going on in the self-catering kitchen or dining room. I was particularly interested in one such discussion about electrolyte drinks to combat dehydration when walking. One woman commented, “I can’t stand them...I just use water. Tried one once when I was walking up in Scotland, but it was so disgusting that as soon as I got to Ullapool I tipped it all away and filled my Camelback with Irn Bru instead.” Pretty sure it was the best thing I’d heard all day. 

Earlier in the season we had a parcel delivered to us in error - it was meant for the manager of YHA Ennerdale. After getting in touch with Kirsty, we found out that it was some bath bombs, wasn’t urgent, & could wait until the next team brief, or something. Turns out they sat around at Eskdale for quite a while, until I struck upon the idea of giving them to a couple of guests who were walking from us over to Black Sail. They accepted the mission with great enthusiasm, although they did ask why Ennerdale needed an express delivery of bath bombs, & said they were quite glad they weren’t actually staying there as everyone probably smelled. Just before they set off, I suddenly thought it might be a good idea to give them a plastic bag to wrap the parcel in. “Here, take this...it may well rain today or you could fall in a stream, & I don’t suppose you’ll want your rucksacks to be filled with foamy bubbles!” 

It’s not uncommon that we will see the same guests year after year, or in my case I’ll see the same folk that have stayed in Borrowdale at some point over the winter & are now visiting Eskdale. One such guest is perhaps more memorable than others. I was on reception when he came to check in, “Oh, hello! You’re from Borrowdale, the wild swimmer!” We exchanged the usual sort of chat, & I didn’t think any more about it until the following afternoon. I was going into days off, & had headed up to Stony Tarn for a swim. Deserted at the best of times, & today I was fairly certain I wouldn’t see another soul - the cloud was down, and the rain persistent. But who should appear while I was swimming. We had a brief chat, he inquired about the water temperature, & asked the quickest way back down to the hostel. At some point in the conversation I think he must have realised that I was skinny dipping, & he respectfully said goodbye and went on his way. The next time I bumped into this gentleman was when I was visiting my friend Dave who works at Patterdale YHA. I was brushing my teeth in one of the wash rooms when he walked in. I tried to say hello (through a mouthful of toothpaste), but he just looked slightly confused. He glanced back at the outside of the door, & it was then I realised my mistake. At all the other hostels I’ve been to the toilet and shower facilities are unisex. This, is was now apparent, was not the case at Patterdale! Still with a mouthful of toothpaste I said, “oh god, I’m so sorry...I just assumed they were all unisex!” He told me not to worry, and kindly pointed out that the Ladies’ was just a bit further down the corridor. Sometimes we might think that others consider us a little bit crazy. Other times we don’t think, we just know. 

In early June we had a visit quite like any other that had gone before. Nick was undertaking a truly remarkable expedition - the 3 Peaks by Kayak. This involved covering approximately 855km paddling & on foot. I think the closest he got to luxury transport was a cycle ride from the Cumbrian coast to Eskdale YHA. A lift to the pub for food afterwards was even declined. The journey was entirely self propelled. 

I’d been following Nick on Twitter for quite a while; inspired by his posts of life on a boat just off the Isle of Mull. What struck me most of all, not just the beautiful photos he would share, but his humanity, & new and ongoing battles with depression/mental health. It takes a lot of strength, a lot of courage to speak so openly & honestly. 

Nick had previously worked for Outward Bound (in Eskdale), & because of this he wanted to walk Scafell Pike from Eskdale. His Expedition Patron, Alan Hinkes, is a YHA ambassador, so it made sense for them to use YHA Eskdale as their ‘base camp’. It was so lovely to meet Nick in person - he’s exactly as he comes across on Twitter, humble & kind. His visit created a real buzz around the hostel, and it was an utter privilege to play even the smallest part in his incredible journey. What was absolutely amazing was that, on his return from the summit of Scafell Pike, I had just checked in 2 guests who knew Nick of old (and it was complete coincidence that they were here). There was much hugging and tea drinking! It really is a small world. 

Nick’s visit and his achievements had quite a profound affect on me. Not all inspiration has to shout, there is a calm, quiet strength - found so often in nature, recognised so rarely in our lives. 

 

 

Health & Safety Officer v Hardknott Pass

I’ve been back in Eskdale a while now, almost a couple of months in fact. In many ways much is the same, but there’s also a natural difference, an evolution in the way we experience the world. I must admit that I found the first week or so quite difficult - struggled to get back into any kind of routine. Mick, Rachel, and Fiona all pretty much said the same sort of thing. It picked up pretty rapidly though, especially when we finally got around to naming the new dishwasher (John the Baptist). 

Every so often we get a visit from someone at Head Office, and April was the turn of the health and safety officer. Seemed like a nice guy, didn’t bat an eyelid when I walked into the office (thinking it was Mick in there) & called out ‘COO-EEE’ in rather dramatic style. Anyway. The morning he left us (to go to Langdale YHA) the weather was a bit iffy for driving, or at least had been fairly cold over night. Mick strongly advised not to go over Hardknott Pass as would likely be icy, lethal. However, either not believing Mick or for some other reason, that was the route he took. Initially anyway. Over an hour later he returned to us, having got stuck part on ice, part off the road, called the police but was soon helped back down by some passing folk. Mick called Langdale to let them know the health and safety officer would be late, & they informed us that they would have an incident/accident form ready for him to fill in.

The summer football league started again early April, although the pre-season mini tournament was cancelled due to waterlogged pitches. It would be my second season playing for Keswick FC Ladies - a really top group of lasses. Matches are played in the evening midweek, and I’ll often stay over in my van at Borrowdale afterwards. Great to have a change of scenery, and lovely to catch up with friends at the hostel there. Went out for a walk with Kate one sunny Thursday, to a favourite swim spot in Langstrath Beck. It was that kind of day which makes you almost giddy with excitement. “Oooofff. Suns out, bums out!” And when we passed a National Trust land-rover I commented that they might see more than they bargained for today. Kate snorted, & replied, “National Trust? More like National Bust!” As it turned out there were just a few too many people out and about to risk my usual sort of swim, so I went in with my undies on while Kate found somewhere to sit and eat her lunch. I must have been swimming for quite a while, as by the time I got out I found Kate curled up asleep on the grassy bank (hand half clawed around a flask of tea). 

A few weeks ago, in Eskdale, I was about to start my evening shift at work when (out of the blue) Charlotte, Helen, and Glen turned up to say hello! Apparently it had been some sort of last minute day off decision, but I’m not sure Glen had any say in the matter at all. From what I can gather, Charlotte and Helen turned up at Hawkshead YHA and bundled him into the back of the van. It was so lovely to see them all, introduced them to Mick and Fiona, and made them a cup of tea. They were very impressed by our catering kitchen, especially the oven/hobs. Charlotte was actually in awe...”that’s the cleanest thing I’ve ever seen!” Not just talking about cooking appliances here. I said that Rachel pretty much had everything to do with the immaculate state of it, but Mick then pitched in...”hee hee, it’s because we don’t actually do any cooking you see!” 

My friend David came down from Scotland to stay for a few days bringing with him Gill (the dog), and updates about the Highland Council’s atrocious plan to close many of the public toilets. He later sent me a copy of the Northern Times (The Raggy) which had a front cover story about the toilet protests, including how Smoo Cave had now been renamed Poo Cave. It was also good to find out who had served the tea at the most recent Ardgay village meeting. In contrast, I rather felt I was running the gauntlet going to Barrow for a football match - the police there are on the look out for a man who has been throwing table legs at cars (information source the Barrow Mail). We were fortunate to have a few days of largely dry and bright weather. I was able to show David one of the adders which had recently come out of hibernation. I was so excited the first day I saw them again. I think that they are incredible creatures, incredibly beautiful, incredibly fear inducing. It’s amazing to be able to see them in the wild, and while I do go out quietly looking for them, if it really came down to it I much prefer lambs or giant pandas. 

Ice swimming, & 2 weeks in Scotland

The winter season at Borrowdale finished for me at the end of February. However, my initial plan of heading up to Scotland on 1st March was postponed by the ‘Beast from the East’. The roads weren't so bad where we were, certainly not impassible. But elsewhere it was a different story, and some places were cut off for days. I went out for a run one afternoon - the snow had stopped falling, the skies were blue, and the sun almost felt warm. Heading to a favourite swim spot in Langstrath Beck I never imagined for a moment that the river would be frozen - but where I usually got in there was a thin layer of ice. Sometimes I head out with the mindset of absolutely needing a dip, & this was one of those times. So I stripped off, stepped through the ice and reached a narrow unfrozen channel. I broke my usually silent swim with a whoop of joy, and as I ran back to the hostel afterwards I was pretty sure that I’d just experienced the greatest moment of my life. The water temperature was just below zero. I was telling my housemates about it when Claire suddenly asked, “How are you not dead?!” I didn’t have much of a scientific explanation other than that my heart was still beating. The weather worsened again the following day, the wind picked up dramatically, and the snow fell in a blizzard. We later heard how one guy claimed to have been lifted 4 feet in the air by the wind further up the Langstrath valley. While men sometimes have a tendency to over-exaggerate length/distance, this story was pretty much believable. Claire & I discovered this when we went out for a run and really struggled to stay upright. She had wanted to see me break the ice, so I thought I better mention before setting off that I don’t wear anything when I go swimming. “I don’t care if you don’t?” And that was that. 

What had been a thin layer of ice the day before was now looking decidedly solid and far more widespread. There was no open channel of water, and throwing a few rocks in made little difference at all. So I started using my hands and feet to break through, lifting up and moving aside quite large chunks of ice. Every so often I’d ask Claire if she was ok - I was worried that she’d be getting cold just standing around. She didn’t really seem to hear, and just said, “you are actually insane.” I managed to clear enough ice to have a ‘swim’, and fully submerge a couple of times. On the way home we made a detour to a pool in the river just upstream from the hostel. Apart from at the very shallow edges there was no hint of ice here. Claire, out of the blue, announced that she was going to do it. Before I think even she knew it, she was knee deep in the water, & for a moment she declared, “it’s warmer in than out!” However, this was quickly replaced by cries of, “Oh f**k, f**k, F**K it’s cold!” as she started to swim. “You have to tell them all I did it, K!” When we got back to the staff house Helen started making us cups of tea and offering us a selection of cakes she had been baking. I showed Charlotte some of the photos that Claire had taken - including one of me holding two blocks of ice to cover up my modesty. Charlotte laughed, but then looked a little put out....”I can’t believe Claire saw your boobs before me!” 

One of the things Helen had been baking was chocolate covered flapjack as a leaving present for me. It hadn’t turned out perhaps the way she had planned, & she resorted to bundling it up in tin foil so it looked quite like a shiny football. “You better take it anyway. Keep it in your van for emergency rations in case you get snowed in somewhere. Failing that, I reckon it would be pretty good for breaking the ice when you next go swimming....in fact, that might actually be a better use for it!” I was going to miss this lot, miss the craic, miss hearing stories from Kate about the time she accidentally put a rat through the dishwasher. Glen had already left, moved to Hawkshead to start a new job there. Things change, time moves on. Even though it wouldn’t really be goodbye, it’s easy to wish that the very best bits of life could happen all at once and forever. Instead you find yourself split, wondering where you should be, & questioning where you really want to be. But it’s not possible to live one life at the expense of another, it just doesn’t work like that. You’re never missing out, never could be doing something better. It’s hard to get your head around it really. I don’t think it’s predestined, nor happens for a reason, but I understand how they came up with the term. There’s something liberating about it all, though. Something liberating that lets us embrace whatever it is we are doing at the moment. A lot of the time though I default to a way of thinking that makes me dream about another time and place.  

A few days later and the roads were quiet and fine. I reached Aviemore with no problems at all, and spent a few lovely days with family there. I had no real plans for this trip, and so when a friend who worked the previous two summers in Eskdale messaged me, I headed over to the Applecross peninsula to catch up and spend a few nights in my van. Jo was staying in the village of Fernbeg - a village in this case being a collection of about ten houses. At first there was no one else around apart from an elderly lady who stopped off there twice a day to walk her small white dog. It soon because ‘busy’ though when a couple arrived at one of the cottages and started flying a drone. I find those things to really be quite an intrusion. One day I headed down the coast to Applecross itself, & I’d got the idea in my head that I’d run to the top of Bealach Na Ba (The Pass of the Cattle) and back. Near the top the snow had been piled up on the side of the road to a height much higher than my head. They’d being doing one heck of a job keeping the pass open all year. From the summit cairn you could see for miles, out over the sea to Skye, to the snow covered Cullin mountains. I don’t normally listen to music when I’m running, but everything about the day had me slightly euphoric. So on the way back down I put on a Bob Dylan live album full blast. The plan was to spend the night in my van at Applecross campsite, and I was so looking forward to a shower when I got there. The place Jo had been staying had no running water over winter, and so I was a good few days without a wash (other than a sea swim). I went to reception to book in and pay, & was met with the news that the boiler had broken so there was no hot water but I was welcome to stay for free. I explained my situation a little, and asked if there was anywhere else in Applecross I could get a shower, asked if there was any water coming out of the showers at all? There was, but it was ice cold, and before I could say that I really didn’t mind, she went to call the B&B to ask if I could use their shower. A moment later she returned, and told me to walk through the field and knock on the door of the B&B; they’d be expecting me. No charge. Nothing at all. Just kindness to a stranger passing through. Which, I suppose, is the best thing you can ever hope for and hope to give in this life. 

After Applecross I headed over to Torridon. The weather was fine so I carried on sleeping in my van, but I did call into the hostel there to have a chat with the staff. Seems to be some sort of universal hostel camaraderie, and it turns out the lady on reception was originally from the Lake District. There was still quite a bit of snow on the mountain tops, and not having the correct equipment or experience for the conditions I stayed to the lower levels. There’s something so exciting about looking at a map, and then going to explore an area for the first time. I picked out a track along a river to some waterfalls and set off. I found somewhere to have a dip, and later on wandered down and watched the sunset over the Loch. A few days there felt like a pleasant eternity - off the grid bliss. It’s amazing how much longer a day can be without WiFi, TV, and no place at all to be. I was heating up some soup on my stove one afternoon when a man walked past carrying two dead rabbits on a stick. He paused for a moment to say hello and ‘that looks tasty’ before carrying on. Sometime later a long haul trucker stopped - he was looking for some hatchery or other. I hadn’t heard of it, but I showed him the map and he said he thought he knew where it must be now, thanked me and moved on. I reckon I could have stayed there forever and gained an entire lifetime of little stories like that to tell. I suppose that’s the truth wherever we happen to be. 

The last few days of my break were spent visiting a friend (David) in Sutherland, and catching up with my aunt and uncle before returning to Aviemore en route to the Lake District. Another season at Eskdale was about to begin, and although it would be the start of my 3rd year there, it in no way felt stale or old. I was excited, and looking forward to getting back.

Sweet Potatoes, & The Six Nations

It’s always fun when the Six Nations comes around. Ellie supports Ireland, Bianca supports Wales, and I support Scotland. No one seems to give too much of a damn about England - which was probably a good job this year. A friend of mine had 2 tickets going spare for Wales V Scotland at the Millennium Stadium. They messaged me the day before the match. Bianca & I cooked up some mad plan to get down to Cardiff, but I was in work from 7am-4pm and my friend who had the tickets lives in Portsmouth. There was nothing to be done about it this time. Instead I asked Chris if I could finish a little bit early if it was quiet so I could watch at least the 2nd half on TV with Bianca. He said it was absolutely fine, as long as it wasn’t mad busy or some big disaster hadn’t occurred. Feeling the need to qualify, chris thought about my question for a moment before replying, “a flock of sheep in the building.” I enquired whether this was likely, had it ever happened before? “No. But we once had a whole load of sheep in the grounds and they covered the place in poo. I guess you’d be cleaning up all evening if they ever got inside.” There was no way I was taking this possibility lightly - so I briefed Kate and Glen on the state of play. “The absolute priority today is making sure that no sheep enter the building between now and the end of my shift.”

“What about afterwards?” 

“No problem at all.” 

They did a grand job. 

Given the result in that match though, I think a few Herdwicks in the bar might have been more bearable to witness. 

A few weeks later it was the big one. Scotland v England at Murrayfield. The last time Scotland won the Calcutta Cup I was only just out of university. That’s many years of hoping that things might turn out differently this time. My dad is, and always has been, a big Scotland rugby fan. My mum showed me tickets she kept from when they were living in Pitlochry and went to see Scotland play Australia at Murrayfield. They cost something like 63p. A lot has changed since then. My decision to support Scotland in the rugby came about in my late teens. If my dad had supported Wales it would have been Wales. I’m English. It had nothing to do with nationality for me. It was simply to have something in common with my dad, some shared interest, some connection. There had been none of that since he left when I was 6/7, maybe not even before. That’s not really a judgement on anything - it’s just the way it all worked out. You can’t take away even one single moment of your life - it’d be unrecognisable. So what started as a love for my dad, has since become a love for Scotland rugby, too. But whatever the result, my favourite thing about the match is exchanging a few messages with my dad. There’s always something beautiful about creating something that wasn’t there before. 

I don’t think it will be a rugby game I’ll ever forget. I had it on the TV in the staff house. I was the only one really watching it. Bianca had to go into work partway through, and Ellie was in the middle of a cake baking mission. Charlotte and Adam were in the living room, though. They were doing some sort of crazy hardcore workout routine. Adam had a bottle of water next to him, Charlotte had a bottle of wine. At one point I asked Adam if he could do some push ups with Charlotte lying on his back. He could. That was a funny thing for Glen to walk in and see. They didn’t seem in the least bit bothered that I was jumping up and down, and yelling ‘Come on Scotland’ at the TV. Maybe because I was cheering for them, too. Charlotte said she was exhausted, it was the hardest work out she’d ever done. I said she should think about supporting Scotland. She didn’t disagree.  

Around that time the Winter Olympics started, and I’m pretty sure that Glen became something of an expert in it all. He seemed to think that I would make a good ski jumper anyway. This based on his observation that I could balance really well on the wobble board that lives in the middle of the living room floor. Claire came in around about that point, and hearing us talking about jumping she recounted her nightmare at school of being made to do the hurdles on sports day. “I knocked down every single one. I’ve never been able to jump, still can’t now!” We couldn’t really believe this, but after Glen insisted she jump as far as she could on the rug, we realised it was pretty much true. Glen on the other hand was quite good, but this was ultimately to his cost. He went beyond the rug and collided with the sofa. 

I had a few minutes left on my break one morning - just enough time to watch a world record being broken in the short track speed skating. That was all the motivation I needed for the rest of the day, even if my mopping of the drying room was hindered by my pretending it was an ice rink. I was even more excited though when I got to do some vacuuming, and I asked Chris if we could turn the corridor into a curling arena temporarily. I’ve always thought that the vacuum is a little bit like those brushes they use. Chris wasn’t so keen on the corridor idea, but suggested that the lounge would work much better. He placed a doormat in the middle of the room as a target, and then went off to get a beer keg which he would try and roll into place (as I ‘swept’ with the vacuum). Kate was brought in to film the action, and so I now have about 10 pretty ridiculous videos on my phone. Mostly because Kate couldn’t work out how to record too well. 

You wouldn’t have to have known Kate for too long to be surprised by that, though.  One thing about Kate - she’s a damn good runner, goes out most days, sometimes on epics, always exploring. She’s been in Borrowdale for quite some time now, since mid summer. However. For months and months she couldn’t find the Langstrath valley - “I always seem to end up somewhere else, and you all talk about it but I can’t find it!” It’s an understatement to say that from the hostel it’s much more of an achievement to have never been there. Kate was getting quite upset about the whole thing, to the point where she almost believed it possible that we could have made the whole place up. Especially when one day she asked me where it led to, and I replied, “heaven.” Truth is, we were all pretty certain that she had been there but just hadn’t been aware of it. After all, it’s not easy to say where something like that starts exactly. 

There’s seemingly no end to her running related stories. Sometimes not even what you’d think of as a complete story, sometimes just a line or two. “Johnny gets a bit frustrated when we go running together. I have to stop and eat a sandwich. But if he eats anything he just pukes.” Another time she was telling me about an afternoon run into Keswick....”I called in at Booths and found that sweet potatoes were on offer. I bought as many as I could fit into my little backpack. It was such a lovely day, and I was so happy about the potatoes that I just had to run up Latrigg. But I had tried to cram too many potatoes in though, and I was halfway up the hill when my bag burst open, and all the potatoes rolled and bounced away.” 

One day she put a note under my door to thank me for some stale rice cakes I gave her (she like the stale ones best). On it she had drawn a picture of a moth, with the words ‘this was meant to be a drawing of the flowers on my windowsill but I got distracted.’ Kate is one of the most astoundingly cheerful, enthusiastic, and kind people I know. She’s also utterly crazy. In a good way. She wants to create a multi-sport event over the Lake District fells which involves running, bum sliding, and finishes of by paddling across Grasmere on an inflatable swan. I said I couldn’t believe no one had thought up that idea before. She replied, “I know.” 

There are some folk here who have a seemingly more measured approach to life, though. They’ve got a system, they’ve got it all worked out. Take Tim, for example. Lives and works at YHA Honister (at the top of Honister Pass). Has done now for quite some time. In the winter months he will do some shifts down at Borrowdale. He doesn’t have a car, so over the winter when the bus isn’t running he will cycle up and down, or walk or hitch depending on the black ice situation. If you ever want to hear a collection of near miss black ice stories - Tim’s the one you want to talk to. Also anything about cricket, or Katmandu. He was telling me a bit about a recent trip to London - how he was pretty tired when he arrived, so he went to the public gallery in the House of Lords, sat down in the comfy seats and had a sleep. One evening Charlotte and I were sat around in the living room when Tim came in to eat a pizza on his break. I’m not quite sure how we got onto the topic of conversation, but Tim mentioned that he needed to cycle to Penrith to buy some white chocolate. “I’m pretty sure they sell white chocolate in Keswick, Tim?” I replied. Penrith is quite a bit further to go. Apparently though the chocolate there is too ‘touristy’, and what’s more, the library in Penrith lets you use the internet free for two hours. Most places it’s only one. “The best bit is that I can take books out there and return them in Keswick, so I don’t have to cycle that far every time.” I kind of felt like I was hearing some great secrets of the universe, and that I had a long way to go before I had anything figured out.

Introducing Charlotte, & a note on Wild Swimming

Charlotte is a vegan, and I’m pretty sure she lives off hash brown sandwiches and red bull. This morning though she had pastry, red onion, and gravy. She kept biting her fork because she was eating so fast. ”I should slow down, but I’m so hungry and eating more slowly seems like a waste of time.” So she finished her breakfast, and went back to making giant wooden leaves out of old ping pong bats. When I saw her again later on she was sticking a pair of googly eyes onto a pastry brush with pritt-stick. Rumour has it she has 50 hula hoops of all different sizes and colour in her room. Her room is next to mine in the staff house, and we had a conversation through the wall the other evening. It got a bit mixed up, though. I thought she asked me if I had great tits, to which she replied, “not great tits, grey tits.” Turned out she was actually trying to find out about the name of a type of small garden bird. Truth be told, you couldn’t really ask for a better next door/room neighbour - when I had a really bad cough she asked if I was dying, and then shoved a whole strip of strepsils through the door (never once telling me to shut up). She told me in the morning that she’d been googling late night pharmacies, but even with her driving she couldn’t have made Whitehaven in time. Better than all that though is the random objects that have been steadily appearing in the living room. The most noticeable being a foot tall statue of a one armed Native American Indian called Steve. There’s also now a world toilet calendar hanging up in the kitchen area. It arrived in the post and she still has no idea who sent it to her. I was looking through the pictures with great interest, and was overcome with excitement when I saw the November toilet was in Cumbria! Claire and Charlotte did some internet research and found out that this particular toilet was located in Penrith. “What! That’s not far at all....maybe we should go on some sort of pilgrimage?!” They both thought this was an excellent idea, and Charlotte was all for going right that very minute. Trouble was, it had gone 10pm and we were pretty sure it wouldn’t be open 24 hours.  It was also agreed that spiritual things such as this couldn’t be rushed, and while we were on that sort of topic, Claire suggested that it be renamed a Poo-grimage (it was after all, not just a regular pilgrimage). 

I wouldn’t say I prefer running at night than in the day, but sometimes it’s exactly what you need. It’s an entirely different experience - just the world immediately in front of you created by a headtorch. I tend to stick to the road at these times, takes away the uncertainty to some extent & gives more confidence to focus entirely on something else. It’s often the sounds of the night, creaking branches, an owl, and the ever present movement of water. I love the magic of a nighttime swim, positioning my torch on a rock to give just enough light. Sometimes you don’t even need that if the moon is out and full. To see the patterns dancing on the clear surface of the river, and your hot breath rising as you enter the beautifully cold water. I’d gone out one night last week after finishing a split shift at 9pm. I braved the route to Seathwaite farm and back - this was the first time I’d done this since being stopped by the farmer and ‘accused’ of sheep rustling! I had reached the end of the road, only to find a man crouched down behind the wall with a pair of binoculars. At first I though he was some wildly disorientated fell walker, but upon asking if he was ok, he started demanding to know what I was doing. I turned my headtorch off, stood there in my shorts, and explained what I thought was obvious - I’m just out for a run. The farmer stood up, and said, “Oh. I thought you were sheep rustling.” Thankfully there was no one behind the wall this time, but on the way back an oncoming farm truck did stop alongside me. I also stopped, expecting them to wind down the window, but no. They just peered out for a bit and drove on. When I got home Bianca was in the living room - she gave me a despairing look, and said “have you been in the river again?!” 

I suppose it’s partly the nature of it, but for me wild swimming has always been a solo pursuit. One exception to this was when a friend of mine, Clare, was staying at the hostel last week. I first met Clare when she was staying in Eskdale with her partner, & after subsequent stays in both Eskdale and Borrowdale we struck up a friendship. Clare is one of those remarkable women, someone who gets it, gives a shit about the important stuff, and has a spirit which you know can only have come through tough times. I suppose we really got chatting when I found out that she was a poet, then I mentioned that I wrote a little, too. Talk about writing led to talk about other things, including wild swimming. I think at that time it was something that Clare was just getting into - but it rapidly became a part of her life (as it had done mine). No two people ever experience something in the same way (not even the one same person can do this), but sometimes there are similarities. I was trying to explain a little bit about it to a friend on Facebook...about the cold water, and the joy of immersing yourself in nature so that you no longer know where your body ends and the world begins, and for that time you can forget yourself entirely. Clare commented, “Yes, exactly this.” There’s also definitely an element of ‘the usual rules don’t apply’. I remember one swim in particular, a dip in Lingcove Beck on the way back from going up Bowfell. I could see the Scafell range from this pool, and the late afternoon sun was drawing patterns through the water on my skin. I was filled with a deep sense of contentment, and without a trace of vanity I felt beautiful both outside and in. I’ve been more used to feelings of utter worthlessness which have led to self-harm. Wild swimming is for me transformative. It is healing. 

Clare is doing a UNICEF fundraiser for Syrian refugees - cold water swimming every day in January. As I wasn’t working the following morning, I agreed to join her for an early swim before she headed back to Yorkshire. Snow was forecast overnight, but we had one good headtorch, one crap headtorch, and a pair of hand warmers that Charlotte had randomly given me earlier on that evening. I was studying the instructions on these hand warmers intently when Clare asked, “Is this what happens when you live in Borrowdale? You read the notes on everything as if it’s a missive from the outside world?!” I dismissed her comment, and told her that it was very important - “I’m trying to ascertain if there will be any adverse effects if I put them inside my bra after I’ve got out of the water. I don’t want to burn my boobs.” There was indeed snow overnight, and we didn’t need either headtorch when we set off in the morning - the world was white and light. We walked through Stonethwaite, and a short way up the start of the Langstrath valley. The water was icy cold, but perhaps it felt a little warmer than moments before being stood barefoot in the snow. We didn’t stay in too long, a swim up the gorge to the waterfall letting the current bring us back. It was exhilarating, and I really enjoyed the company - I’m not sure there are many people I’d have been utterly comfortable sharing that experience with. Clare often goes swimming with a small group of her friends (also doing the fundraiser), and she commented that this was the first time that someone had been in the water before her, got out after her, but was still changed first! I think she was also pretty impressed with my strange high knee walking style & weird karate sound effects as I tried to warm up afterwards. I didn’t even realise I was doing it, so I suppose it must be some sort of interesting inbuilt survival technique.

Quidditch, & pesky squirrels

This will no doubt be laboured and clumsy, such as it often is when starting again. Although I’ve been thinking about this for a little while now, the first words never came to mind. So I’ll just begin quite plainly, and hope that something more interesting comes to pass. I’m back working at the hostel in Borrowdale for a few months over winter, and as far as plans go I’m here until the beginning of March (just before the main season at Eskdale restarts). I arrived just after Christmas, having taken an extended break in Scotland and elsewhere. I really was glad to be back, refreshed after time away, and ready again for the structure/purpose that work brings. That in itself though isn’t half the joy - as I’ve often said it’s the people here (and of course the place)which make it the life it is. It was lovely to see Bianca, Glen, Chris, Rhys, Simon, and Ellie, as well as meeting new staff (here from other hostels like me). 

The initial few nights were spent in my van, and coming into work at 7am I was excitedly telling everyone that I felt like an arctic explorer because the water in my water bottle had frozen. It got even better though when on the 3rd night I fell asleep with the doors open, and woke up to find snow on my pillow! I thought moving into the staff house might seem a little dull in comparison, but the lure of not having to go outside in the middle of the night for a wee was too great to ignore.

One morning Rhys came into the staff lounge in a bit of a funk. “Those pesky squirrels, they gone off with my bird feeder again - I’ve looked everywhere but can’t find it this time!” This apparently had been a recurrent theme of the winter so far; a hostel under threat from ninja red squirrels. The downstairs window in the staff house is a great place to watch for wildlife as it looks out onto a steep wooded hillside. I was sat down there having a coffee a few weeks ago when I spotted something and sort of screeched at Glen to come and look. “I think it’s a white stoat Glen, if there is such a thing?!” We were transfixed for a good few minutes as it made its way across moss covered boulders and part way up tree trunks. Google confirmed my initial thoughts, but Glen looked a little put out as he was convinced that he had just seen the world’s smallest dog. 

Sunday 7th January was the date of this year’s King of the Castle time trial fell race. A short but demanding course starting from the hostel bar and finishing at the top of Castle Crag. Amongst the starters was the YHA’s very own CEO. James Blake, a keen runner and advocate of mental and physical health, was appointed to the role last year. Although we had previously ‘spoken’ on Twitter, this was the first time we’d actually met. Chris, hostel warden, excelled himself at slightly awkward introductions. “James, this is Kirsten....she’s special, a special character. She goes skinny dipping in all the rivers and lakes.” 

It was a beautiful day for the race, cold, clear, with some elusive winter sunshine. I was helping marshal the event, and I set off up the hill with a saucepan and wooden spoon (given to me by Chris to create a cowbell sound to cheer on the runners). I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and was even complimented on my gate holding open skills. I think perhaps the performance of the day had to go to Patrik (our volunteer from the Netherlands). Not only did he undoubtedly set the Dutch national record for the event, he stormed up wearing jeans, boots, and a thick woolly cardigan. 

Things were to get even more exciting the following week though....as I once again persuaded my colleagues to take part in a game of Quidditch. To be fair though, Bianca was as equally enthusiastic as me, and Simon & Rhys sourced an entire stash of brand new broomsticks (mop handles). Glen was also fuelling up for the event in order to maximise wizarding performance...”Is that blood on toast you’re eating, Glen?!” It was actually just regular jam. Unfortunately our internationally renown Quidditch referee, Tref Hughes, retired last year, but his place was admirably filled by Ellie Bray. As Zach is now in Shetland, the position of golden snitch was taken by Simon. With a vague nod to health & safety he even located a yellow construction hat to wear. We had representatives from Australia and France this year, but the secret weapon was undoubtedly Helen Sellers. To describe her as competitive might be a slight understatement, and at the end of the match she was quite insistent that we should enter a team into the Olympics. The rules and the refereeing could best be described as fluid, and as such it was little surprise that Ellie declared the end result to be a draw!