Hunkering down for... summer?

The term "hunkering down". Normally associated with winter. A cold wind howling through the trees, funnelling through the valley. Watching out the window torrential rain ricochets off the bins, water streaming down the concrete road. "Hunkering down" and lighting a fire, cuddling into a blanket with a good book and a mug of swirling hot chocolate.

What is this hunkering down in summertime? The weather outside is mild, with occasional sunshine brightening the room. 

"Hunkering down" in summer is not to be associated with the weather, but with people.

Seeking out quiet corners of Snowdonia. Photo by Ben McKeown @thebigbluetree

I accepted this mentality a couple of Saturdays back. The surf report was good. There may even have been sunshine. But, getting to the beach could be compared to "running the gauntlet." North Wales' roads are probably best described as "chocca" at the moment. I don't actually feel safe on the roads. So many fast cars with tinted windows acting as though they are on a racetrack. So, we messaged our friend to say sorry, we couldn't face trying to get there. She replied in understanding. "It's fine once you're here....but you got to get here."

We last surfed on one of the last days before Wales opened up its borders again. Even on that day, the car park was busy. What would it be like now?

Adding to my "stay at home" mentality was recent police reports of increased numbers of dogs being stolen in Wales - particularly spaniels. Leaving the dog in my car while we surf? Perhaps not. 

I would normally quite happily describe myself as "a people person." What is happening to me? What has this new Covid-19 age done to me? 

Our last visit to the beach, just before Wales opened up its borders

Here is the answer:

1. A normal tourist season has a gradual build up of visitors, starting around easter time and peaking in August during the summer holidays. This is not a normal tourist season. We have gone from none, to BOOM! Everyone is here.

2. Everyone really is here... people are not travelling abroad. The famous term "Brits abroad" has now morphed into "The Great British Staycation." Our overpopulated island is holidaying in the countryside. 

3. Lockdown gave me a greater realisation of the ridiculous numbers of second homes, leading me to anger. Our house was surrounded by dark buildings during lockdown, which now have a new BMW or Discovery parked outside every week. Villages are losing their communities. The burdens of living in "honeypots" are pushing the locals out. 

4. Mess. Mess left by people. Litter. Burned grass from fire pits. Abandoned tents. Human poo and bits of toilet tissue. That same Saturday, we walked in our fairly quiet village, and found Budweiser bottles and Mickey Fins left in the river. My blood boils in frustration.

All this has lead to my loss of faith in humanity, in our nation. As a teenager, born in England and growing up in Scotland, I used to proudly call myself British. But with our current government in Westminster, and the behaviour of some of the British public, I hide my face in my hands and wish I belonged elsewhere. Then I tell myself off, remind myself of everything I love about the United Kingdom, how grateful I am to live in this quieter valley, and take the dog out for a peaceful walk in the woods. It's about knowing where to go, where to avoid. I'll hunker down in the summer and look forward to the onset of autumn.

What is it about islands?

I've been thinking a lot about islands recently, after a sunny day visit to a beautiful island off the North Wales coast.

What is it about islands? They carry their own magic. They feel special, unique. 

Looking back to the mainland from an island off the North Wales coast

"Island life". The term conjures such romantic images in my mind (and in the minds of many I'm sure). Communities of "locals" and "incomers". Coastal treasures. Crystal blue water. Fishing boats. Jetties covered in creels and broken boats. Deep red sunsets. Lighthouses beaming both warning and safety to passing ships. Wild weather lasting for days. Powercuts. A bustling local pub. Crofts with far roaming sheep. Working the land. Wildlife galore. Cosy cottages. Secret beaches. Sleepy winters. Busy summers.

Taking the boat over the water a few weekends ago felt, in some ways, like I was travelling to a part of "home" within myself. I'm not even sure if that makes sense. I'd never been to this island before, but something about travelling away from the mainland brought a warm fuzzy feeling to my heart. Whilst I did not grow up living "island life", it was pretty close, surrounded to the north, west and south by seawater. We regularly took a ferry ride to get home. That life, living "way out west", so intwined in nature, regularly buffeted by westerly winds, does feel like a part of who I am. The environment I grew up in has, no doubt, shaped me as a person. Everyday, I miss the sea, as though we are in some form of long distance relationship (though, I know the sea does not miss me). That longing is buried deep in my soul. It never fades. 

So grateful for the experiences island visits have given me. Photo by Ben McKeown @thebigbluetree

Yet my visit to that island was merely a day trip adventure. After a wonderful few hours of walking, gazing out to sea, watching lazy seals and day dreaming about what life would be like in this little place, it was time to leave. We were back on the boat, passing the guardians of the island, the true locals: communities of puffins, guillemots, cormorants, gulls. Motoring away, their little pockets of homes in the cliffs becoming all the more distant, and the fuzzy feeling in my heart steadily evaporating into the salty air.

Where do I belong? Such a complicated question. Simply, I belong in a quiet place, surrounded by nature. I think I belong, not necessarily on an island, but certainly by the sea. I dread being asked "where are you from?" It's too complicated. My accent is a ever-changing concoction, affected by who I am talking to. People cannot work out where I am from. I am not really sure where I am from, but I can say where I have lived, and where felt like home. An island could certainly be a home, but whether I will ever fully belong there... will I ever fully "belong" anywhere? And what is it about islands, that instil this longing in me?

My best friend, stood on her island, gazing back to the peninsula where we grew up together

  

Campervan Hostility

I have just discovered the facebook page of Cameron McNeish, "writer and mountain bum", who is writing a lot at the moment about the hostility towards campervans in Scotland.  His facebook page is well worth a browse, and I especially recommend reading the post which starts with:

 "I must admit I'm becoming increasingly frustrated by those community and regional councillors who think the only way to deal with the burgeoning numbers of campervans and motorhomes is by creating bylaws to ban them. The excuse is that campervanners leave litter and faeces behind them."

Day parking on Tiree. Our croft campsite was nearby for the evening/night. See my post on Tiree for more details on camping there

I have been discussing, experiencing and pondering the issues of increased numbers of people in the countryside. I admit, I'm pretty good at moaning about things, but what the whole of the UK needs right now (not just Scotland) is some progressive action. Here is a comment which I wrote on Cameron's post:

What is finally becoming clear to me is that any hope of a "cognitive fix", or "educating the public" to be responsible campervanners is a lost hope. And I work in environmental education!

I agree that the majority of campervanners leave no trace, but with an influx of Brits unable to be the typical "Brits abroad" we now have some who are leaving despicable messes in our wild places. Do campervan companies need to take more responsibility? Ialso totally agree with you that the bylaw in Loch Lomond has worked as a "structural fix" there, but has only moved the problem elsewhere. Yet with a National Park status and an army of rangers, perhaps the problems of mess being left were better tackled there? As a river kayaker at University from 2007-11, I regularly camped at Glen Etive and I don't remember it being terribly busy at all, or seeing much mess there. How times have changed.

However, we have to accept that the UK is simply overpopulated, and we will probably never be able to function like Scandinavian countries when it comes to just being able to park up and live the van life - or certainly not in the busier "honeypot" areas. This breaks my heart to say. In these places, we need some options for people.

I grew up on a west coast peninsula which had one campsite and a lot of hostility towards those who didn't use it. I then holidayed in the Hebrides and saw the forward thinking that was happening there - little spaces with signs saying "park here overnight for a small fee", or bigger car parks with a small fee paid to the local crofter. This is certainly what is needed.

As other people have also said, a lot can be learned from other countries. Pretty much every second vehicle in NZ is a campervan, and they have excellent Department of Conservation campsites dotted all over the country, costing very little money, and some are free. We need more systems like this, not bylaws, which, I feel, takes away a basic human right.