Adaptability

The fire roared in the grate, the wind howled outside. The rain spattered against the windows. But the inside of the converted barn was dry and warm. The sofas and chairs which had seen better days were occupied by a group of 9 adults. Before them was a man who was sat by the fire and talking to the group in a relaxed and confident manner. This was not what  Stuart had paid for. He tried not to slip into the soporific comfort of the scene, give himself up to sleep.

Of his own volition and expense,  Stuart had signed himself up for a week’s survival course in England’s Lake District. He thought it would be a good challenge for him personally but would also upgrade his professional skills for when he took children into the outdoors.  It was the school holidays. And yet here they all were, having their money taken under false pretences. They were very comfortable. If it had suddenly been revealed that there was an hot tub and a fridge full of beer downstairs, nobody would have been surprised.

Chris, the instructor, droned on and Stuart felt his eyelids close and was almost unconscious. It was only his increasing irritation at Chris and his business enterprise which was warm and comfortable, cozy and cosseting, that kept him awake. Stuart was not a bairn to be swaddled. He grumbled inwardly. They had paid for an outdoor challenge and not a lingering, lounging lap of luxurious loiter. Stuart would not have been surprised if a Chinese Takeaway suddenly arrived and they were treated to a feast. He looked around at his new acquaintances and noticed that several had given up the battle and drifted into a doze.

“OK, five minutes and let’s go”.

Chris was now standing before the fire about to move towards the door.

“Hurry up. Time to start moving.”

Nine heads shook in surprise, nine sets of legs slowly moved, eighteen disbelieving eyes looked through the windows at the darkness and the storm. They gave their heads a shake. Inner reluctance mixed with disbelief, mixed with a slow realisation.  They were suddenly to be heading out into the weather, leaving behind all that their bodies and minds craved.

Packs on their backs, wet weather gear offering some protection, they were walking away from their warm accommodation into a wind buffeting stormy darkness. They didn’t know where they were going, nor for how long. Stuart guessed it was close to midnight, they had had their watches taken away on arrival. He convinced himself that they would only be out for an hour or so and soon back and into their warm beds. Chris found a pathway in the darkness and suddenly they had started to climb.

    Three hours passed and they had now found themselves on a ridge. They had no idea where they were. Always ahead of them was Chris and his head torch. Always ahead of them was the wind and the buffeting rain.  People rarely spoke.  Eventually Chris stopped, gathered them in and opened his back pack. He was issuing them all with orange plastic bivvy bags, not enough for warmth but reasonable for keeping them dry.

“Find a spot in the heather and get some rest. You deserve it.”

So the group found individual spots in the heather and the darkness, laid out their bivvy bags and got into them fully clothed. Stuart had enough sense to take off his boots and wet socks. But every movement in the  bag seemed to find a bone chilling dampness. He tried to sleep but every time it came, he adjusted his position and his head found  moisture. He could not get comfortable. And the wind blew and the storm did not abate.

They shivered their way into the dawn. They were now hungry.  They had plenty of food and had been told not to unpack their packs when they arrived for their course. They cooked their oats, made a cuppa tea and were urged to move off. The sun came up. Slowly the warmth returned to their bodies. Their wet gear was hung from their back packs. With food and warmth, the day suddenly looked brighter, the undulations of the ridge  less intimidating. Smiles and banter slowly materialised. They proceeded to enjoy where they were.

As night began to fall, the maps and compasses with which they had been issued, took on a meaning. They were each given a solo destination. Stuart discovered that his day’s walking was not over despite the gloaming of the early evening. He was to climb yet further and find a sheepfold where he was to spend the night. He dug out his head torch and prepared to walk off. Suddenly they were to be on their own which was hard to take after they had got along so well during the day. Stuart was tired but knew he had to find the reserves of his focus because his map reading skills were not that great.  At least the sky was clear and it promised to be dry. As they went their separate ways, Stuart found himself going downhill. He groaned because the map told him that his destination was uphill. Losing height when he knew he had to gain height was anathema.

It was several hours later when Stuart stumbled on the dilapidated walls which were likely his shelter for the night. Still tentless, he found the most sheltered ground away from the detritus of the stones, cooked himself something dehydrated , dug through his pack and put on every last piece of clothing he had. He settled himself in for what he assumed would be another cold sleepless night. But, of course, the sky was clear. He had a magnificent view of the Milky Way and the stars. Ursa Major and Minor, Cassiopea, Castor and Pollux, Orion’s belt. He knew the names well enough but did not have the wherewithal to spot them accurately. For the umpteenth time he promised himself he would try to learn more about the night sky. But, in his heart of hearts, he knew that when he returned home then life would get in the way again, and he wouldn’t.

Some time that night, in that strange half world ‘twixt wakefulness and sleep, Stuart heard movement and eventually a voice calling his name. He thrust his head outside the bag and there was Chris.

“How are you doing?”

“Bit cold but fine”.

“You know if you look around the site a bit more you will find wood and enough splintered dry stuff to make a fire.”

And he left. Stuart got up and sure enough found wood that had somehow escaped the storm of the previous night and, after separating some of the bark to make spills, Stuart felt that he could make a fire. So, knowing that sleep was not going to get any easier, he set about the task. By about 2.00 a.m. he had a fine blaze. He spent the rest of the night poking and manipulating his fire, sleep forgotten but now warm, now able to look around himself without the angst of the chill. He started to enjoy  the presence of the multiple universes above him, the distillation of his fears was almost complete after he had downed his third or fourth cup of very sweet tea. When the morning light finally made its way over the horizon, Stuart was regretting the fact that he was to leave this place and return to the planned rendezvous and the warm company, the warm food and the warm bed that he knew was going to be his at the outdoor centre that night. At least  that was unless Chris sprung another surprise. But if he did, then Stuart felt ready.

Jumping to conclusions and making assumptions seem to me to be a symptom of lives that are too busy. Calm came to Stuart on that dark, chill, clear night in England’s Lake District when life became so much less complicated.

Jumping to conclusions and making assumptions seem to me to be a symptom of lives that are too busy. Calm came to Stuart on that dark, chill, clear night in England’s Lake District when he and life became so much less complicated.