Posts tagged with "wilderness"

A-gendered Wilderness

I have been reading some papers on women and wilderness for the literature review of the report on Natural Change.  They have been very interesting, pointing out the power that wilderness experiences, solo time, and therapy can have for women.  Equally they write eloquently how these experiences can challenge particular issues that women face in modern societies…  However there seems to be an underlying assumption, or perhaps a question unasked - ‘are women’s experiences of wild places different to men’s?’ It seems that all the benefits these authors talk about such as raised self-esteem, change in perspective, mental clarity - are things taken from the men in this project (including myself, and confirmed in my wider experience doing this sort of work).

Steven Harper writes about the way that gender comes out on his wilderness programmes - he feels that both the biological facts and the socialized roles of gender emerge, but he doesn’t claim that gender affects the nature of the experience.  Robert Greenway notices some difference between men’s and women’s approaches - men looking more towards challenge and conquering fear, and women tending to feel that they have ‘come home’ to nature.  But these points aren’t expanded.

From my perspective, bringing together the research findings, i would be reluctant to make any claims about differences between men’s and women’s experiences, i would be happier to talk about the difference between people’s experiences…  

What do you think? 

I have included some references for those interested:

Angell, J. (1994). The wilderness solo. Women & Therapy, 15(3), 85 - 99.

Greenway, R. (1995). The wilderness effect and ecopsychology. In T. Roszak, M. E. Gomes & A. D. Kanner (Eds.), Ecopsychology: restoring the earth, healing the mind. San Francisco: Sierra Club.

Harper, S. (1995). The way of wilderness. In T. Roszak, M. E. Gomes & A. D. Kanner (Eds.), Ecopsychology: restoring the earth, healing the mind. San Francisco: Sierra Club.

Pohl, S. L., Borrie, W. T., & Patterson, M. E. (2000). Women, wilderness and everyday life:  a documentation of the connection between wilderness recreation and women’s everyday lives. Journal of Leisure Research, 32(4), 415 - 434.

Powch, I. G. (1994). Wilderness Therapy. Women & Therapy, 15(3), 11 - 27.

Sanctioned Sanctuary

In Birmingham late last November I took this picture of two temples; the church and Selfridges.

The steeple seems to be teetering and wispy in the face of the hulking, brooding retailer’s temple.  It strikes me as an image of the times; out of proportion, overblown, and bloated on credit.  Yet what both of these places of worship now have in common is a sense of living on borrowed time.

In this time of conflating crises; global recession, war, climate change, where do we take sanctuary? Retail therapy or spiritual retreat, ……..the wilderness?

My fellow bloggers have spoken of ‘enough’, that there is to be found, or sought, peace and sanctuary in contentment.  Perhaps neither are available at the church or Selfridges?  Probably a discontinued line.

Where do we find sanctuary?

Did we find ‘enough’ in our festivities? Was contentment unwrapped in our giving and receiving? Did our resolutions, if we made any, sanction ourselves to do less?

Monkey business

Spaces inbetween

I have spent my week since Blair Atholl in lots of different settings and environments, which have made me think a lot about how spaces and places affect our mood. After an amazing weekend in a place of stunning beauty, where I (eventually) felt calm and nurtured,  I then spent five days rushing around, finding myself in: three busy airports; London - enough said;  a nightclub venue doubling as a conference space for one of our major events; the official opening of a massive new high-tech office conversion and then - the ultimate - the new chimp house at the zoo for a meeting!!

In amongst them all were my office and home, and the spaces inbetween them. What struck me, by the end of the week, was how affected I was by my different environments - they had an impact on how I felt, how I behaved and how I spoke to, and behaved, towards others. I worked hard to fight against that ghastly tension in London, where so few strangers are kind to each other, and so made a point of looking people in the eye, smiling and saying thank you in cafe’s and shops. I was heartened by the reaction - warmth every time.

At our event in the nightclub, a large part of the atmosphere was of our own making - our job was to create a space and environment where young people would feel comfortable and confident, able to take part and express themselves, to talk about the future of their country and their aspirations for it (the good news is the environment came up - lots).

And there there was the zoo - it’s the Budongo Trail in Edinburgh, where they have cleverly built a boardroom right in the middle of the pods where the chimpanzees live. One wall of the meeting room is glass, so we found ourselves in the middle of earnest discussion only to look up and see a chimp intently looking at us, observing what was going on. It was fantastic - great on a basic level to be so close - but even better was the impact it had on people’s way of being. People approached the meeting with a different outlook and - dare I suggest - maybe even reacted to each other differently. By moving to that space - where we were so closely linked to wildness - it completely altered our mood and approach.

I don’t suppose any of these observations are rocket science, but my point is that I am becoming much more aware of my surroundings and THEIR impact on ME - much more. If I can feel so soothed and centred by being in the wilderness, then the opposite must be true of a big city. The trick is how to take the wilderness with you, how to keep its sustaining power as part of your daily urban life? Big questions, but right now, I’m off to fill up the bird feeder again…

Privilege, wildness and middle-class navel-gazing

There’s been some talk recently, on Louise’s blog and coincidentally in various corridors of power, about the potential for the Natural Change project to be privileged middle-class navel-gazing.

Is going to wild places a privilege? Yes, definitely. Is this privilege a problem? Well maybe the point is being missed.

The work I do outdoors is exclusive. Less physically able people can’t do it, elderly people find it too challenging, those who can’t afford to equip themselves with all the right clothing meet an economic barrier to taking part. So, on this basis, should we say it’s unfair for anyone to go out there?

Being in wild places has the power to transform the way we think, feel and act towards the natural environment, each other and, indeed, towards ourselves. John Muir famously took someone who was extremely privileged out into the wilderness of the Sierra Nevada mountains - President Roosevelt. The result was the US national park system and the American Wilderness Act. Both of which are now global phenomena.

I think, on balance, the world is better off thanks to that particular camping trip.

I have numerous other examples of this type of process: Wilderness experience leading to radical personal and often social change. I wrote my masters thesis on the topic.

I think it’s important not to throw the baby out with the bath water, or to fall into the trap of mutual exclusivity. Just because wilderness approaches to personal and social change aren’t accessible to all, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be used by some, or that they don’t ultimately effect many.

And then there’s the simple fact that outdoor access has always been a staunchly working class issue. In the 1930’s the largest mass trespass in British history took place on Bleaklow in the Peak District. The leader of the group was confronted by the Duke of Devonshire and his hunting party out on the moors. “Get off my land”, shouts the Duke. “Why?”, responds the trespasser. “Because my forefathers fought for this land.” The trespass leader casually took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and calmly said, “Right then, I’ll fight you for it now!”. Working class rhetoric at is Mancunian best. Access to wild land is not a middle-class privilege. It’s a privilege full stop.

To achieve social change for sustainability we all need to be working wherever we are most effective. We all have a place along a broad frontier of change. As long as we each move our bit of the frontier in the ‘right’ direction, we are helping the cause.

I work with people who have influence and I work outdoors. It’s where I find it easiest to create change. I think the “wilderness is a middle-class privilege” mantra is completely true. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a hugely powerful and effective way of achieving social change.

After all, what are we trying to do here?

Of Stags & Men

Our second Natural Change wilderness weekend, in the rolling glens of Perthshire. We are on a managed estate this time and it feels very different, though still very wild! It’s prompted some interesting questions and debate about the “huntin’, shootin’ & fishin’” type of life, and the industry around it, at the lunch and dinner table.

It’s turned out to be yet another transformational experience – for us all in different ways – and as before (and in the intervening weeks since Knoydart) there are lots of similar and parallel themes and metaphors arising. About a sense of place, and what does that mean; to the tensions between us imposing ourselves on the land and the land imposing on us; on tumult versus serenity and calm. That last one has come from the amazingly powerful river – The Tilt – which is flowing alongside us. It’s this incredible mass of energy and power, in full spate and the sound of it is almost like white noise. In places it seems to bubble up, rather than flow, and we’ve all been drawn to it in different ways.

This sense of the wilderness as metaphor, and it offering us the place and space to reflect, is now so much clearer for me, and I’m very open and receptive to it. It’s been around as a tool or voice forever of course, in poetry, books, film and song, but I suppose the danger is this becomes both self-indulgent and romanticised. That has been offered a sharp contrast by the signs around us of economic activity and the reality of living, surviving, here.

The thing that epitomised that for me was when I was out on one of the activities, and came across these two beautiful white ponies – by all accounts they are bred in this area. I could see that their coats were kind of dirty and matted at the sides, but just thought it was mud and rain. But talking later, I was told it was the stains from the blood of stags, which are shot, and then the ponies used to transport their carcasses down the hillside. My instinctive reaction was just horror, on a whole range of different levels, but the argument is that it is better to use the ponies than some 4×4 or moto-cross type vehicle, which churns up the land etc. I find that so hard – just because it’s sustainable, does it mean it’s right?

The Big Conversation

Start with a blank sheet of paper.....

Ahead of this second wilderness outing in Glen Tilt with Natural Change I was reading ‘Utopian Dreams’ by Tobias Jones. Thinking about what needs to change in my generation and how renewed ideals can be translated into action, I came across this quote;

“the generation that came to maturity after 1989 have minimal idealism. There might be micro-beliefs, and single-issue-sacred-cows, but there’s no macroscopic, universal, cosmic creed..”

Our group conversation on Friday evening soon began to put that to the test. Starting with a blank sheet of paper, we wrote on it everything that we wanted to change in the world. Poverty, injustice, war, prejudice, ignorance…….Then we linked them together, those that impacted one another, soon revealing a web, none discrete or isolatable, instead a vortex of problems.

At this point it was easy fulfil the ‘minimal idealism’ forecast by Jones. But thinking about the quality of relationship between these interconnected things and that it could be positively redirected by every one of us I felt I could begin to see a universal creed come into play. This creed embraced several themes that could be summarised as:

• Quality relationships: individual, family, community, national
• Overcoming; fear, trauma, instinctive drives that are negative
• Structures that perpetuate status quo and need overturned
• Living a balanced life
• Spirituality driven; our collective consciousness, intentions, faith

We’ve all had those pub conversations when we put the world to rights; this was the ultimate, yet without the alcohol. I didn’t last till 3am but wish I had.

Re-entry damage

Two weeks have passed. Just two weekends ago I was learning to slow down, to open up my senses and allow myself to be cradled by the earth, to find my place and remain in it.

In the first week back I did not stand still. I have taken planes, trains and automobiles London, Edinburgh, Newcastle. I’ve realised none of these were as important or impactful upon me as ‘my place’ that spot by the rowan tree, in Gleann Meadail, Knoydart.

I have discovered a row of rowan trees behind my house, bordering the road, and I needed to go to the last wilderness of Scotland to notice them. I’ve lived a decade in ignorance of the natural world around me.

I listen better too. The deep listening experience of the solo day has stayed with me. I’m not a good listener. Perhaps the clatter and din of the urban life, of which I am now more acutely aware, has progressively desensitised me, with regard to the earth I’ve been almost deaf to it.

I see more sharply, noticing more things, like my neighbourly rowan trees. Such visual acuity I can’t imagine living without now.

Maybe I’m in a culture shock of sorts. The guilt flight back from London City to Glasgow really was disgusting. Cramming ourselves in a pressurised tube, hurtling together at hundreds of mph, breathing one another’s breath, sweating one another’s sweat. Scrambling for phones, pda’s and laptops, ordering cabs, grasping bags of duty free.

I was dismayed by the pace and wastefulness of our consumption culture, now I am more disgusted. So what am I going to do about it? What do I do next? What do I not do next? Apart from the obvious - not flying (have cut this down already folks) What’s the next most obvious thing? Then what are the subtle changes, cultural ones, and life structural ones, ones that will shift the herd culture? Steps that need taken to avert the precipice tumble of human lemmings?

It’s only a walk in the Pentlands, but…

Beautiful day, and just needed to get out, out, out. Headed for the Pentlands - on the surface a relatively poor relation to Knoydart - but good enough. I never quite escaped the roar of the bypass, but it was so lovely just to walk in amongst the bracken and trees, listening to the birds, under a blue sky, and then sit for a while, looking closely.

Sunlight through the trees 1

Snatches of conversations that I’ve had with people about this project come to mind - about the danger of romanticising or mythologising the wilderness; or making sure we don’t start to apologise for our evolution - that lots of the advances that we have made as human beings are wonderful ones. So I suppose it is all about balance - finding ways to live together, or, to use that hackneyed phrase, “tread lightly”.

Solo flower

Someone made this fantastic comment on Emma’s blog: “I guess it makes me think we should find time for the wilderness in our lives, rather than try to (re)build our lives in the wilderness. And maybe we will get more from our experiences of nature when they are shared.” Hear hear. So I decided to do some more sharing - and bought a fantastic bird table on the way home, racing into the garden to set it up straight away. Sure, it’s only feeding the birds, but…

Grubs up - 'mon the birds!

All Alone

 

Waking up in silence the next morning was bizarre. I felt the need to say ‘morning’ to everyone, or at least acknowledge them in some way.

After a bit of brekky, I set off at dawn in the direction of my chosen clump of trees. I was searching for a place which I could be happy with for the rest of the day, but most of the places I came across just weren’t good enough. They were either:

Too exposed!

Too full of litter!

Too dull!

Too restricted!

Not nice enough views!

Too low!

Too high!

Too dangerous!

NOT PERFECT!

Every place I tried out just left me feeling dissatisfied and it occurred to me how many needs I was trying to fulfil with just one space.

I eventually settled on an old decaying tree, which looked just the ticket. If I climbed up it I would get a view of the sea and lots more and there were so many vivid colours to see in the place. So I climbed my tree and settled in for the day with the wind blowing into my face and felt pretty content. But…appearances can be deceptive.

The wind got up and the rain started – it was time to move down the tree. I began to discover what an unforgiving place this wilderness could be.

At the bottom of the tree, I started drawing for something to do and once I’d got bored of that I thought I’d use my pen knife to carve something from the wood. Then I’d have something to show off from the day. But the wind blew the dust from the wood back into my face, and into my eyes. And I couldn’t get it out and it was so sore my eye was watering and I had to just shut them; there was no way I could draw or even look at things any more. So I threw my piece of the wood on the ground in anger and felt like throwing my journal away. What was the point of this? I wasn’t learning a thing! I shut my eyes and must have just drifted off to sleep for a bit.

I woke up feeling so angry and cold and frustrated, even though I had all the clothes on that I’d brought with me. I started to feel that it was about survival out there, even though I knew I could leave at any time. And my determination to stay frustrated me even more.

I felt like I was trapped in the wilderness, like a caged animal. It was the not being able to go out and explore the place I was in that was getting to me. And I began pacing around, like an animal in the zoo. I thought about the behaviour of these animals – big cats prowling round and round - and I understood why.

Some time in the afternoon (no idea what time, no watches allowed), the sun came out and I knew it was beautiful. I felt I should appreciate it, but I couldn’t. I had so much tension in my body from the few hours before that all I wanted to do was get back down the hill and have a shower and some food (I had decided to fast for the day – well, when else was I going to get the chance?)

I began to set off down the hill towards home, happy to be able to appreciate the evening now I knew I was leaving that place. I took my time on the way and noticed my route back, taking time to enjoy retracing the steps I had taken out at dawn.

I was surprised to realise how physically, emotionally and mentally drained I was when I got back. Even though I had gone without food for the whole day I could hardly eat 3 spoonfuls of soup. I took a hot shower and once I stepped out of it I had to lie down immediately, I felt so sick. I went straight to bed and slept for 10 hours that evening.