Landscape and Journey

The transformative power of simply going for a walk... becoming lost in a daisy-field, losing a walking-boot over a cliff-top, and an excerpt from my forthcoming book

In my teens, I recall an internal eye-rolling whenever I heard my parents going on about the view, the flowers or nature in general:

‘Oh, look at the blackbird, George!’

Interest in birds, in particular, felt irrelevant to me; as a younger child, I’d taken pleasure from discovering wild flowers like cowslips and fritillaries, once nearly giving my mum a heart-attack as I went missing while she put my baby sister to sleep, having escaped into a neighbouring field to pick long daisies. But later, grown eager to explore the wider world, this attention to the minutiae of the hedge-row and the garden felt frumpish and a little sad.

However – just like many others – I’ve come to appreciate and understand, as I’ve grown older myself, how landscape, place and being in nature can have the most profound influence over feelings and outlook, providing breathing space to help untangle and make sense of ourselves, and our place in the world. Offering up space for reflection, enabling us to process thoughts, to recover from wounds and to grow. Places seem to get inside us and can evoke memories so powerfully, with the capacity to bring comfort - and getting outside, going on a journey, gives opportunity for reflection and processing of all manner of personal stuff. Sometimes, talking isn’t the right thing; we just need to walk, or cycle, or run, and be alone to reflect.

Walking the perimeter of the fields with a visiting friend this week, we came across an old boy and his aged retriever, approaching on the other side of the boundary, in the woods. He carried a stick and wore a camouflage jacket. His face was deeply lined and kind, his eyes bright. He told us he’s friendly with the owners of the land next door to us, and has been coming here every day, from Christchurch, for years - no mean feat. He must know the land and its inhabitants better than anybody.

He pointed to where the two horizontal lines of barbed wire along the fence were pushed and melded together; he’d done this, he told us, because twice, he’d come across a deer that had tried to jump the fence and got a hind leg caught in the barbed wire. He’d had to unhook them, at some bloody cost to his hands. A brief moment of connection, a new story shared, another piece of information to store on this new landscape of ours.

Cheryl Strayed’s book Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail is a deeply personal memoir that chronicles an incredible 1,100-mile solo walk along the US’s Pacific Crest Trail across the ridges and mountains of California to Oregon. I enjoyed every moment - it reminded me of how in life, it’s not so much what happens to us as the story of it we tell ourselves; change your viewpoint – literally - and everything can take on a very different perspective, changing mental and physical responses to situations.

Cheryl was in a bad place, following the death of her mum, the breakdown of her marriage and some bad life choices. Her journey becomes a metaphor for her struggle to grieve over so much loss and pain, as she grapples with physical, as well as emotional obstacles. Woefully unprepared for the hike, she shares her encounters with both kindness and danger from strangers, and her evolving understanding of herself and her needs. Barely able to pick up her loaded rucksack at the beginning, she gradually ‘sheds her load’ as items are discarded and Cheryl learns about her own resilience and strength to push on through to something new. Losing a walking boot over a cliff-edge sets the book’s opening scene… how on earth do you move forward from that?!

Her need for solitude in the landscape, and the redemptive power of being in nature are clear, and connect to other stories I’ve loved, where walking to heal are chronicled, such as Raynor Winn’s The Salt Path, and the film The Way, which charts the coming together of several strangers embarking on one of the pilgrimage trails, the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, across northern Spain. A simple walk turns into a powerful and compelling story as individuals face fears and pain; alone, and together.

For anyone who hasn’t yet read The Salt Path (soon to be released as a film), Raynor and husband Moth lose the home and business they built for themselves overnight when a trusted friend’s investment opportunity goes badly wrong. Not only do they have a week to move out, but they find out that Moth has a degenerative illness that sees him in constant pain. Contending with all of these issues plus the injustice of the court’s decision, the behaviour of someone they thought was a friend, and the coming to terms with Moth’s life-shortening illness feel nigh-on impossible, on top of their newly homeless status.

Choosing to walk the 630 mile South West Coastal Path from Minehead to Poole was a snap-decision taken whilst hiding from the bailiffs’ knocking, under the stairs. With no money left, they rely on £30 a week tax credit cheques. Yet their subsequent story, which unfolds as they put one foot in front of another, day after day, following the path and allowing it to lead them forwards, is enlightening and uplifting.

From the outset, Raynor is grieving already for the anticipated loss of a future that she had taken for granted until her homelessness and Moths’ diagnosis, and carries daily uncertainty about whether or not he will even be able to get up, let alone walk. Cheryl also has doubts and fears about whether her body will carry her forward, but charts how she finds a rhythm, confronting the physical pain she experiences and constantly surprising herself.

Here's an extract from my own recently written book, Lessons from Leaning Trees – A Therapist’s Guide to being Human, where I’m influenced to walk during the pandemic when I see the naturalist and presenter Chris Packham on TV, going for a walk in a location that’s played a significant part in his younger life - along the River Itchen from the town of Eastleigh to Winchester:

‘He speaks so candidly and poignantly about his own struggles with autism and how this beautiful and wild landscape, just a stone’s throw from the M3 motorway, was where his father used to take him; it became a refuge, a pivotal part of his developing love of animals and the natural world, and also somewhere he would take his beloved poodles, Itchy and Scratchy, who had such an impact on his well-being.

I feel so inspired by this walk, which isn’t far away, that I trace Chris’s footsteps one warm late-summer’s day with two girlfriends I’d met through our sailing club. We take a picnic, pause to pick blackberries and sit alongside swimmers taking a dip in the river at Compton Lock. We’re awestruck to spot the most incredible and unreal-looking caterpillar of the elephant hawk moth, perched on a twig in a hedge, with its enormous lime green body and cartoon ‘eyes’. Leaving the river, we climb the steep, chalky incline of St Catherine’s Hill which overlooks Winchester and in the other direction, the infamous Twyford Gap with the motorway now a deep cut, gouged right through it. The downs are a riot of stunning summer flowers, delicate blue harebells evoking memories of my childhood spent on the commons above the Stroud valley and escarpments and beacons of the Cotswolds.

Our descent takes us, grinning, into the city, with such a huge sense of achievement as we pose for a photo outside the cathedral. It’s hard to pin down how the simplicity of coming together with friends and choosing to follow a path can feel like something magical. There’s time to stop along the way, conversation is flowing and it presses pause on the normal pace of life. We’ve loved it so much that we form a walking group, the Netley Pilgrims; walking as often as we can along old pilgrim routes, coastal trails and the glorious but challenging South Downs Way. Our understanding is that some of us struggle with knee or back problems which can mean limping to the end-point at times, propped up by poles - but our ethos is to support one another to get there without pressure or fear of judgement.

Chris ends his programme with a heartfelt plea to any viewer who feels concerned for someone they know who seems troubled, alone or struggling to connect – if only to ask them how they are doing - and then to ask them again.’

If you’ve enjoyed reading this, I’d be so grateful to receive a ‘like’ and would love to hear from you! 😊 What story do you have about the impact of landscape or walking?