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!

A long time coming

For the first time in months I'm starting to feel like myself again. I can only describe what has characterised this time, rather than trying to explain what actually happened. Even then it is not easy to say, as the characterisation is more a feeling than anything that can be put into words. Throughout this period I have often found myself unable to voice my unhappiness, a feeling of perhaps not being able to think freely (or at least being unable to think dispassionately). In my mind I could not separate out something that should be good from something that wasn't actually good (for me). But you cling onto the good you can see, and before you know it you've accepted a lot of things that aren't good as being ok. It creates a huge amount of inner turmoil when you want something to work out but this same thing is causing a great deal of worry and stress. I was finding that my anxiety levels would build to the point where I would just breakdown, and any joy for life was contained and subdued. On the face of it though life carried on as normal; I've been going to work, playing football, running and skinny dipping, and spending time with friends and family. But all of this was a mere shadow to what it had been, my mind was often elsewhere (pulled in a thousand directions) and the true, full experience of life seemed to be passing me by. One way or another a breaking point was coming, and even a week ago I was sure that the breaking point had broken me. When your greatest vulnerabilities are spoken against you, you perhaps naturally think that you'll never be able to trust anyone ever again. That for me was my humanity gone, and I really couldn't see any point in carrying on. What (now) seems entirely contradictory was that I was able to share those thoughts with a good friend and someone from my family. It wasn't a case of them having to 'talk me down', but in simply speaking to them I realised that I did trust, and could trust, and love. While I know that I will experience a whole range of mixed emotions for a while to come, there is a lightness and happiness again that has been a long time coming.  

I was unsure how much if any of this to share, but I cannot write without that element of honesty. Not in a blog that is little more than a documentation of my experience of life anyway. I have lost track of the number of times I have started to try and write a blog post. But each time I started I found that the words were devoid of emotion. This is where my emotions were focused instead, and now this told, I can begin again to tell of other things. 

I'm actually in Borrowdale at the moment - a change of scenery for my days off, sleeping in my van, & catching up with the folk here. A game of pitch and putt was organised for this morning, and even though Glen is away on holiday in Canada we thought it sensible to warn him to look out for stray balls. He was most grateful that we alerted him, as he wasn't sure that he was at the minimum safe distance. I drove Bianca into Keswick (she didn't want the worry of 'un-parking' at the other end), & Rhys and Clare joined us there. For once I had managed to organise a staff sporting activity in dry weather! This was mentioned more than once (it seems that no one has forgotten the torrential rain last time we played, nor the hail storm during our Quidditch match). The golf course was a little busier than when we played in winter, so it was probably a good job that Hanna and her 10 'practice' swings has gone off travelling! I really do miss not being offered a cup of tea made with out of date milk though! It was a fun morning, and pretty successful all round. Bianca didn't fall over, Rhys won, but Claire didn't have to buy Rhys a van (as he never got a hole in one), and I only lost 2 balls (they didn't quite reach Canada so Glen was safe). I'm back to Eskdale tomorrow, and all the ongoing craziness! It's not possible to fill in all the gaps and recount everything that has happened there since I last wrote a blog post, but it remains the most special of places with the most wonderful (mad) people.