Edale: circular
It’s late November. I’m shin-deep in heather on the brow of Kinder Scout. I’m on my weekly microadventure: a solo Sunday scramble through the Peak District. Just a few hours ago, I was standing on platform 15 in Leeds City Station surrounded by dirty stop-outs on the shame-train home; now I’m on the spine of England thanking the weather for its kindness. Later, when the walk is done, the moon will take its place up here above the world, its belly full of light. Tonight, I’ll sleep in ease, grateful for the warmth of my double duvet and ready for the week ahead. But for now - as I stand speechless on this fell - life is here in the span of my daft arms, and in the chill that keeps my cheeks tight, and in this smile as it coasts across my face. What a day to be alive!
It was my uncle Dom who first introduced me to the Microadventure: a mind-altering local adventure that requires little time, effort, or money to complete. He had first learned about it in a book by the same name. (Available here: Alastair Humphreys Microadventures). Following Dom’s recommendation of the book, I felt that I didn’t need to read it to receive the message. It seemed that the concept spoke for itself, when plucked from its original source; I could begin implementing its advice right away. And so, I didn’t read it - at first; I just... started.
For the next two years, I began taking myself on these weekly expeditions: hopping on trains that were heading out from the city to anywhere-but and spending my Sundays with the local rambling club or roving the hills myself - packed lunch in bag and book at hand. I wasn’t confident at first, but I was keen, and that was enough to keep me going, keep me living at the edge of my comfort zone. I wanted to gain more independence and experience in leading excursions of my own, no matter how small or simple. I wanted to learn more about the great outdoors; I’ve always had an unquenchable thirst for learning, exploring.
When I was little, Dom and his dad - my grandad - would take me and my brother Callum out rambling in the Lake District and parts of the Yorkshire Dales. Needless to say, those memories are some of my fondest to date. We absolutely loved it: a day out in nature, surrounded by clean air and postcard-picture views; a nice warm meal and a night of scrabble in the nearest hostel; followed by a long, mellow car-ride back to the familiarity of our precious little pebble of a town. Being out on these summer scrambles and weekend adventures kept me dreaming.
On days like these, when it feels like I’m hiking the heights of an elbow song, I realise my fortune. I know; I have a lot to be grateful for. Returning to the city, I feel the buzz still pulsing through my body as my boots hit the platform. I whisper to myself - some kind of mantra: a day like this is never not necessary every now and then. You do right, pal. You do right.