{"id":15941,"date":"2017-02-16T10:34:14","date_gmt":"2017-02-16T10:34:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.walkhighlands.co.uk\/news\/?p=15941"},"modified":"2021-01-19T13:45:56","modified_gmt":"2021-01-19T13:45:56","slug":"what-have-the-mountains-ever-done-for-us","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.walkhighlands.co.uk\/news\/what-have-the-mountains-ever-done-for-us\/","title":{"rendered":"What have the mountains ever done for us?"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"DavidDavid Lintern wrestles with the outdoors, inside.<\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019ll confess that writing anything about \u2018the outdoors\u2019 at the moment is a struggle. I\u2019m driven to distraction by world events. Five minutes chat at the school gate or surfing the stormy seas of social media and it\u2019s clear that regardless of political persuasion, we\u2019re mostly confused, worried and angry. As the Chinese curse has it, we live \u2018in interesting times\u2019.<\/p>\n

The call of the wild is strong when our human world is fraught, but I\u2019m resistant to the idea of the mountains as pure escapism, because I think by getting out we\u2019re aiming towards something, as much as away. But there\u2019s something a little unbalanced about all this seesawing from one place to another, spending my \u2018indoor\u2019 days wishing I was somewhere else. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Rising above it all on the Ballachulish horseshoe, November 2016, a day of spiritual renewal. But what goes up\u2026<\/p><\/div>\n

On the very best and very worst hill days, we\u2019re taken beyond our usual frames of reference, and those times are transformative. Our world is recast in a new light. Transcendence is all well and good, but by definition it can\u2019t last. Then what? Am I only coming up for air just to hold my breath (or my nose) the rest of the time? <\/p>\n

Experiences in the hills don\u2019t happen in a bubble. So I keep asking; to what end? What can I bring back from there to here, what lessons can I learn? I\u2019m taking some time here, to remind myself\u2026<\/p>\n

Time<\/h3>\n

I\u2019m remembering now a trip I took with good friends last autumn. We alternately strode and stumbled over the hills of Ardgour for 3 days, from Fort William to Glenfinnan via the 3 Corbetts of Stob Coire a\u2019Chearcaill<\/a>, Sgurr Ghiubhsachain<\/a>, and a third sitting inbetween these two, obscure enough to eschew a name altogether. Deer rutted and frost nipped, the route finding was engaging and the scenery magnificent, but what remains in hindsight is that it wasn\u2019t \u2018time out\u2019 at all, but \u2018time in\u2019. We didn\u2019t leave the sullied world of politics on the Camusnagaul ferry, we took it with us \u2013 discussing, debating, and\u2026 listening. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

A Corbett before breakfast \u2013 Stefan on Sgurr Ghiubhsachain, \u2018peak of the pine wood\u2019, with the red dot of the tent down below.<\/p><\/div>\n

Time is needed to mentally process our daily grind, and it won\u2019t be rushed. Some of the processing is oblique, and that\u2019s the beauty of a wander in the wilds; our mind is often on other things, so time can go about its business without us interfering. This is also true of solo ventures into the hills, but in Ardgour there was also the enjoyment of sharing and learning about the place we were in \u2013 new to all of us \u2013 plus the ebb and flow of our group dynamic. Travelling solo means more time tuning into the environment, but travelling with fellow humans means more practice at compassion. Empathy is a skill that needs rehearsing like any other \u2013 the mountains seem like a great place to do that.<\/p>\n

In Ardgour, I went with friends but came back with allies. I returned feeling as if my own values had been realigned with who I am at my core \u2013 a sort of chiropractice for the soul. I came back stronger.<\/p>\n

Space<\/h3>\n

The \u2018freedom of the hills\u2019 is more than just a platitude. When I wrestle it back from the ad men, what does it mean? It\u2019s means travelling with my own agency, under my own steam. Within reason, I can go where I like, when I like. There are few places where this is more true than in Scotland. Whether we use them or not, our access laws are a cornerstone of the northern consciousness, and have an explicitly political dimension. Like Cole Porter, we won\u2019t be fenced in. Our neighbours can keep their enclosures if they like!<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Spindrift at the head of Glen Eidart in the Cairngorms. I would never have imagined being able to keep myself safe in this environment. But I learnt, and so can most.<\/p><\/div>\n

That sense of agency is surely a draw for many of us: Skill levels, nerve, fitness and stamina can all be grown, evolved over time. We can get good at being outdoors, at whatever level; draw on some of that elemental power for ourselves. Both literally and metaphorically, the mountains challenge us to aim high.<\/p>\n

But an important component of this freedom is not knowing the outcome beforehand. Freedom is defined by the acceptance of risk, and the willingness to fail. We try, to see if we can. One of the chief lessons I have learnt outside is to trust my instinct – to go with my gut. But committing to the unknown takes practice, and lots of it. And evaluating risks can be learnt, but the risks are always changing. I often get it wrong.<\/p>\n

Besides ourselves<\/h3>\n
\"\"<\/a>

The bealach under Beinn nan Aighenan<\/a>, the \u2018hill of the hinds\u2019. Getting along just fine with only an occasional visit from us for the last X million years.<\/p><\/div>\n

Wild places aren\u2019t merely a metaphor for tight-lipped endeavour or a theme park for high fives and selfies. They are just there. A great source of their power resides in their difference and indifference to us – their \u2018self-willed\u2019 nature. If, in our lives off the hill truth is subjective and facts are alternative, at least on the hill, 2 and 2 still equals 4 \u2013 most of the time. And yes, rest assured – a falling tree makes a hell of a racket, whether we\u2019re listening or not! <\/p>\n

Perhaps the greatest gift of wild places is this perspective. They remind us there are limits to our freedom \u2013 gravity, weather, terrain – things our technologies can predict, but not control. They show us that the balance of being human is in the tension between knowing and not knowing. They remind us we are small and unimportant, but capable of extraordinary things. They show us how frail our bodies are, and how strong they can be. They ground us in physical reality, both beauty and danger, and in doing so give us the impetus to move beyond these limits. There\u2019s something in the stoicism of wild places I can draw on, too \u2013 getting on with it, in the face of adversity. So, enough with the self-praise and the fairy tale sales pitch \u2013 outside of Instagram, there are no instant wins. The reality is more mundane, but also more achievable\u2026 <\/p>\n

The mountain muscle is like any other muscle \u2013 it needs exercise. If it gets used often enough, it grows. If it doesn\u2019t get worked, it atrophies, and then hurts like hell when it\u2019s called into action. Freedom isn\u2019t free. I have to work at it. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>


Mick getting free on Beinn an Dothaidh<\/a>, this time living up to its name, translated as \u2018the hill of the scorching\u2019.<\/p><\/div>\n

\u201cExcellence is an art won by training and habituation: we do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but rather have these because we have acted rightly; these virtues are formed in man by doing his actions; we are what we repeatedly do<\/strong>. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.\u201d \u2013 Will Durant<\/em><\/p>\n

Beware those who\u2019ve turned this into a mantra \u2013 they are probably trying to sell you a gym membership or a self-help course! My \u2018excellence\u2019 is not yours; we all have different expectations, aims and ambitions for our journeys, on and off the hill. Freedom and the will to exercise it, is relative. What\u2019s empowering about the above quote for me is that we\u2019re all gifted with the ability to improve at something, over time. The humility at the core of this, as opposed to the hyperbole of \u2018be all you can be\u2019, is why I also like the playwright Samuel Beckett\u2019s take on proceedings:<\/p>\n

‘Ever tried? Ever failed? No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.’ <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Failing better at what\u2019s left of my campsite on the slopes of Beinn Tulaichean<\/a>, \u2018the hill of the hillocks\u2019<\/p><\/div>\n

Perhaps we should ask, not what the mountains have done for us, but what we have done for the mountains? But that\u2019s for another time. What about the crux of my question: In these \u2018interesting times\u2019 I need all the help I can get, so what lessons can I take home with me? For what it\u2019s worth, (and I only wish my goldfish brain will retain this!) here\u2019s what I\u2019m running with:<\/p>\n

Pinch yourself, it\u2019s all real. Be humble. Be curious. Make no assumptions. Freedom is a muscle; use it or lose it. Train your eye to pick a way through. Accept your defeats when they come, it will make success all the richer. Friction is the best teacher. Enjoy learning as it\u2019s own reward. Look out for each other. Take the time to look up.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

David Lintern wrestles with the outdoors, inside. I\u2019ll confess that writing anything about \u2018the outdoors\u2019 at the moment is a struggle. I\u2019m driven to distraction by world events. Five minutes chat at the school gate or surfing the stormy seas of social media and it\u2019s clear that regardless of political persuasion, we\u2019re mostly confused, worried and angry. As the Chinese curse has it, we live \u2018in interesting times\u2019. The call of the wild is strong when our human world is fraught, but I\u2019m resistant to the idea of the mountains as pure escapism, because I think by getting out we\u2019re…<\/span> <\/p>\n

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