A Word Of Caution - For Myself

All this week, I have been Tweeting and posting on Facebook short videos where I describe how immersing myself in Nature is good for my recovery from severe depression. There is no doubt being active in the outdoors, surrounding myself with the grandeur and beauty the Isle of Mull has to offer, is beneficial for me. I am most comfortable with myself when I am out in the wilds. I am a confident and accomplished outdoors person being fortunate to have accrued an incredible amount of wisdom and knowledge through my many years working and adventuring in the wilds. Because of this, my interactions with wild spaces and Nature tend to err on the more adventurous and possibly physically demanding. It’s through a combination of subliminal connection to nature and facing challenge that I gain the most from these experiences for myself. However, as beneficial as this usually is, it’s not always the most healthy or safe approach for me to pursue.

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There are time when Nature may not be the panacea for my depression and I need to take care. This has nothing to do with facing the actual risks associated with adventurous outdoor activity, though of course these are a factor to be considered. It is more about me keeping myself safe from myself.

The extreme safety consideration for me is my level of ideation for completing my suicide. I wrote about this a long while ago and you can read about this - here. It makes complete sense that I do not embark on a solo sea kayaking trip if I’m at the depths of a depressive episode when I have strong desires for my suicide. This is a safety consideration akin to asking some one to abseil without a rope. I wouldn’t do it. Despite my strong desire for death during these difficult times in my depression, there is enough of a sense of preservation within me to know that kayaking on my own would possibly be a bad idea. The safety factor which I attend to most when making these decisions, is asking myself - “How impulsive do I think I am at the moment?” If I’m confident I’m in control of my impulsivity, then I might consider it safe for me to maybe kayak on my own around Tobermory Bay, having given Karen clear details about my plans and the time I expect to be ashore again. The benefits of such a sojourn in my kayak would undoubtedly outweigh the risks in that particular kind of scenario. If though I am thinking of a longer journey with a night or two away, then even though I might feel in control of my impulsivity, I would decide against embarking on such a journey because I would not know how I would cope with any stressors on the way, or how I would cope with my solitude.

To be honest, when I’m at the depths of my depression, I usually lack the motivation to embark on a lengthy kayak trip even if the weather and sea conditions were perfect.

It’s in my make up to expect a lot of myself, to be strong, to persevere and not give in. When I am well, this trait of mine can be an attribute, enabling me to undertake some demanding adventurous challenges - and enjoy doing so. However, when I’m not well, then having this desire to push myself hard can be counter-productive. It’s probably this fact alone which I have increasingly learned to pay attention to when making a ‘risk assessment’ about my engagement with the outdoor realm. The question I find I have to ask myself is - “What do I want to achieve?” The answer to this will be internally debated, weighing up the merits of the endeavour, opposed to the risks of possibly failing to complete the task and what these may mean for my mental health. An example of this occurred a year or so ago. I was not long out of a prolonged hospital admission and in a customary show of bravado, I stated I would kayak solo around the Isle of Mull. I plastered my intent over my social media outlets and blithely set off down the Sound of Mull, overweight from unconstrained hospital eating and dreadfully unfit. Needless to say, I managed just two days of the trip before I phone Karen and asked her to collect me and take me home.

A positive reflection of this experience is the fact I knew I needed to stop my expedition and acted on this. I took care of myself. In fact this one experience forms the bedrock of my decision making processes since then. While I may not have been at risk of completing my suicide because where I was in my recovery at that point, there was considerable to stunting or even reversing this recovery through the consequences of ‘failing’. I push myself hard with an expectation of succeeding and when this does not occur, I can be painfully self-critical. Self-criticism is one of the driving forces for my depression, so avoiding situations where there is a risk where this may occur makes good sense. In hindsight of course, I ought not have set out on an ambitious circumnavigation of Mull given I was just out of hospital. As I write this I notice I’m internally berating myself for even thinking that kayaking around Mull at that point my life would be a good idea. The result of this internal criticism is a huge sigh and exhalation and a profanity laden exhortation. Thankfully though, at the moment I’m strong enough not to allow this one negative thought, lead me into a self-destructive cycle of rumination and instead, I have moved on to think about the positive outcomes of what I am sharing here.

The point I think I’m labouring here is, there may be times when immersing myself in Nature may not be a beneficial option for me, if my expectations of my ability outweigh the realities of the same. The negative consequences of incompletion and a sense of failure would be detrimental to my fragile mental health. This may be true even for considering to paddle around our local Calve Island or not. This is a trip of just a couple of hours and of no great challenge at all. However, there are times in my depressed state when my energy levels are so low, that to undertake even this, might leave me wanting.

Currently I’m at a place in my life where I’m able to assess these situations with a strong level of self-care in place. It’s not difficult for me to judge whether an activity in the outdoors will be good for me or not. Paddling out to the Isle of Rum and back in three days is a great example of this. There was always the risk I may have stumbled with regard to coping with the strenuous nature of the endeavour, but the outcomes to my sense of self would not have been adversely negative. As it turned out this one trip, and possibly the one before it to the Treshnish Isles, have been transformative. As a result of the truly incredible experiences I enjoyed on both these journeys, my self-esteem is stronger than ever before and I’m enjoying a level of personal contentment I can’t recall feeling in many years. With both these adventures, the possible benefits exceeded the risks of incompletion or a sense of failure.

I’m well versed in personal risk-assessment when it comes to my interaction with the natural and wild realms. It’s a dynamic process for me, multidimensional and sometime complex. The bottom line is my safety of course, but what I may positively gain for myself through the endeavour is of equal consideration.

If there is any wisdom I have gleaned from my experiences which I think may be useful for others, then it is this. Be aware of what you are feeling. This will guide you when deciding how and at what level to interact with Nature. You will know yourself best and you will understand what your feelings are informing you. For example, you may find yourself thinking it a good idea to go for an all day walk, but you feel incapable of such a challenge. In this case, it becomes a decision based on what the outcome will be for you if you fall short of your plans and how this may affect your mental health. If it were me, I would err on the side of caution and choose a definitely manageable route and thoroughly enjoy walking it without worrying about incompletion.

Finally, I think this bog post proves how complicated my thinking can be at times and how I’m forever inquisitive about the choices I make and whether these are good for me or not. It also shows my interactions with Nature and wild space are never without thought or consideration. The positive outcome of this is how impactful every moment I spend outdoors can be for me.

Mental Health Awareness Week 2021

From today, the 10th May, it’s Mental Health Awareness Week with its underlying theme of ‘Nature’. As such, I’ve made a public commitment to contribute my thoughts and experiences with regard to my own journey with severe depression and how immersion in the natural world helps me with my recovery. When thinking about what I would offer, I soon realised I had a huge amount of information to share and innumerable illustrative tales to recount. For a few hours I found myself overwhelmed with the numerous avenues I could follow, from which I would offer a range of personal insights and wisdom I’ve gleaned through my nearly sixty years. In fact, for a brief moment, I thought there was enough for me to write a book but I hastily put that idea to bed since I have promised the world two books, yet to be completed.

Instead, I have decided to follow a natural path, allowing myself the leeway of choosing as they come to my mind, some of the pearls I hope will be helpful for others. Since the theme of this awareness raising week is ‘Nature’, it’s apposite I should allow myself the opportunity to travel the trail less travelled and enjoy the adventure. Quite literally, share through my online channels, anything which crops up and which I think will be of interest and I have the time to create, write or film.

The first thing which jumped into my mind when I thought of this awareness week and its theme was the word ‘life’. It has been clear to me for many years now, that my immersion in nature is life sustaining, quite literally so. In fact during recent kayaking trips over the past few weeks I have somehow been acutely aware of this as I witness the proliferation of pelagic and littoral life with the advent of the Northern Hemisphere spring. There is a quality of ebullience to the sea, coastlines, islands and cliffs at the moment. When thinking of this I recalled I had written about this, or something like this, in the first draft of my book of when I kayaked around Scotland in 2015. This book has yet to see the light of day but I thought I would share this long excerpt here as a way of introducing my personal philosophy about my connection to nature and why I choose to do what I do.

The story picks up at Aith on the mainland of Shetland, the most northerly of the R.N.L.I. lifeboat stations of the 47 around the Scottish coastline I was visiting in one continuous solo sea kayaking journey. The theme of my adventure to this point had been coping with the seemingly incessant strong winds which plagued me. Indeed the title of this uncompleted book is “Strong Winds Are Forecast”. I hope the rest makes sense.

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Aith R.N.L.I. Lifeboat, Shetland

One task I had to achieve was my laundry. There was a washing machine at the lifeboat station, and I made full use of this facility, hanging my freshly washed clothes to hang in the blustery sunshine on a rudimentary clothes-line I had created from my tow-line. I laughed to myself as I hung my clothes over the rope in a haphazard manner, thinking of my wife who never allows me to hang out the washing. According to her I never do it properly! There’s not much to do in the hamlet of Aith, so I spent my day off kicking back in the crew room and gazing out of the picture window at the magnificent view up the Voe. I worked out I had four days of paddling ahead of me to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland to reach Lerwick. The forecast was mixed with strong winds promised for much of the time. There were a couple of exposed sections of coastline to contend with, particularly Esha Ness with a reputation for rough seas and few places to hide. For the briefest of moments, I pondered portaging from the west side of mainland Shetland to the eastern side into Sullom Voe over the curiously named Mavis Grind, a neck of land which separated the west seas from the east. Mavis Grind it turned out when I asked Hylton, wasn’t a 1950s dance but a derivation from Old Norse meaning gate of the narrow isthmus. The isthmus, under thirty-five metres wide at its narrowest section, is the land link between the Northmavine Peninsula and mainland Shetland. Even though portaging here would considerably reduce my journey to Lerwick, I wanted to enjoy the achievement of kayaking around the whole of the island.

In hindsight, as Hylton (the lifeboat Coxswain) suggested, I ought to have stayed at Aith another two days, because shortly after setting off I found myself struggling into the teeth of a minor gale. The winds were from the north west from the direction I was heading. I paddled slowly out of Aith Voe, one laboured paddle stroke after another, realising I was exiting a natural and excruciatingly long wind tunnel. I cursed my stubbornness in insisting I would press on, no matter what. As I struggled to gain forward momentum, my conscience niggled with criticisms of my impetuousness. I mouthed silent thanks I had left Aith too early in the morning for folks to spot me struggling away up the voe.

Eventually I passed Papa Little island and crossed to the island of Muckle Roe. Along the shore here I was out of the worst of the wind and I caught up with myself a little, this easing my bad temper. Despite the wind, the day was gloriously sunny, the sea glittering with thousands of dancing diamonds. I looked up at the Scandinavian influenced farmsteads and dwellings and felt again the exoticness of being somewhere wonderfully foreign. I turned from Busta Voe, a name which made me smile because it sounded like a 1980s Ska singer, under the bridge linking Muckle Roe to the mainland, and into Roe Sound. Ahead of me through the narrow stretch of water was the expansive St Magnus Bay across which, nine miles away, was the headland of Eshaness. The wind was blasting down Roe Sound and once again I found myself digging my paddle blades deeply hard with a sweat inducing effort to make headway.

I was less than a mile from Turvalds Head (who was Turvald I wondered?) This was the point where I faced a choice to turn eastwards for Mavis Grind and the short portage into what assuredly would be the easier seas of Sullom Voe or press onwards towards the Eshaness headland. Choosing the Mavis Grind route would ensure the wind would be gratifyingly behind me whilst I paddled the remainder of the route to Lerwick. As I reached forward over another choppy wave and pulled hard, this choice was an attractive insight. I was sorely tempted by the prospect of easier paddling. I was half an hour away from having to make my decision.

The forecast assured me the strong north westerly winds would persist for at least two days, possibly three. I would struggle against them if I continued up the west coast of Shetland. The seas off Eshaness would be nasty and recalling my fearful experience along the west coast of Orkney, I didn’t want to face those conditions again. It seemed to me wisdom should prevail and with a heavy heart I was close to acceding to the inevitable. The glitter went from the day despite the diamonds continuing to dance about me. Despite the prospect of encountering easier conditions in Sullom Voe, my disappointment was palpable. My heart was set on completing a circumnavigation of Shetland mainland. It seemed to me my journey was in danger of unravelling. I was losing purpose. My original somewhat ambitious plans for my adventure, had included paddling right up to Muckle Flugga, the most northerly piece of land in the British Isles. In the cosy comfort of the small saloon aboard our yacht, and with the alluring aid of Google Earth, I had glibly drawn a route to this most northern point without much thought for the reality of the weather conditions I now faced in a rather bleak Roe Sound. As ever with a decision such as this, there were variables to consider, each validly presented. My task now was to sort through these in a logical fashion to arrive at an eventual choice.

The natural realm, the great outdoors as we often like to call it, tests me in many ways. From the dawn of time, humans have pitted themselves against the elements. I would imagine for hunter gatherer peoples, the natural environment was their world, the milieu where they lived, thrived, and coexisted with wild beasts in this mutually shared space. I could not imagine they sought to climb a mountain simply because it was there or paddling a log boat along the coast because they saw this purely as a personal challenge. I imagined for them, life held primary purposes; gathering food, finding shelter, and protecting their children. The essentials of life. As humans moved away from a transient lifestyle to one of settlement and permanent shelter, our aspirations through the millennia shifted and altered to the point here I was, a modern human, sitting in my kayak, on a wind whipped Shetland sea, enjoying the luxury of fulfilling a personal aspiration to kayak around Scotland. If there was no life sustaining purpose to me being here, what did this moment serve me? What did it matter if I chose to cross Mavis Grind and curtail my circumnavigation of Shetland, instead of pushing further westwards to realise my aspiration for a Shetland circumnavigation?

I discovered the answer was this; the personal purpose of my adventure was indeed life sustaining. It was offering me an important opportunity for growth and development. Physis is a Greek word which describes an innate natural force within every living entity which drives us to grow. In humans, physis refers to the energy invested in health and the expansion of our personal horizons. This is the urge to do something different, the aspiration to be who we want to be, and to choose our destiny. Good mental health is not only the outcome of sound relationships but also the fulfilment of essential universal drives within us including belonging, self-fulfilment and survival.

Physis involves change. No living thing can avoid change, we are constantly in the process of evolution. However, because we crave equilibrium, continuity, and safety in our lives, change is often difficult to accept. We hold onto what we know because this provides us with certainty. This desire for stability is called homeostasis, the opposite to physis. Humans are therefore pulled by these two opposing forces, homeostasis and physis. It is this unresolved struggle which underpins many of the unhappy responses we have to our life choices.

My struggle with clinical depression is most likely an outcome of this tussle within me, which is why, suddenly, the decision to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland or cut it short, had become a vitally important one for me to resolve. It wasn’t simply a matter of portaging into Sullom Voe to avoid the winds. It was about the importance I placed on facing, or not facing, the challenge the strong winds presented. Homeostasis determined I would seek the less demanding route, to ensure I maintained my schedule and avoided the probability of serious and demanding sea conditions. Physis on the other hand, invited me to push on, even though success was uncertain and there was a high probability of becoming storm bound with inevitable delays. As so often when faced with this process, it is conducted beyond my consciousness. What I am aware of though, is rationalising the presenting facts of the issue and ascertaining the consequences if these are ignored or considered. The underpinning factor is personal safety, so an indication the task being considered was completely reckless, would determine an immediate avoidance. If though, the risks were such harm may occur but with care, could be avoided, then the task was worthy of consideration.   

It would be simple to avoid the complexities within the decision-making process, to not heed them or desire self-understanding. For me though, this would diminish the opportunity for self-awareness. I consider this to be integral to an adventure experience. Without understanding, there is no wisdom to be gained. It was clear from the outset that my journey around Scotland was so much more than simply visiting the lifeboat stations. It was an opportunity for me to gain deeper insights into my ‘self’. This would help me grow into the older man I hoped to become. I didn’t want to slide into my old age. I wanted to arrive with as much energy and enthusiasm for life as I had when I was in my twenties.

Lang Head from Egilsay

So it was, with renewed determination Turvals Head slowly slipped behind me. I continued out into the steep and uncomfortable waves of St Magnus Bay. The 1950’s dance, Mavis Grind would be enjoyed another time. Despite my resolve to face my adventure head on, shortly after setting out into the bay, uncomfortable sea conditions seriously challenged me. I had previously coped with trickier conditions but somehow, I wasn’t in a sound frame of mind to cope with this continuous onslaught of broken waves and powerfully gusting head wind. Searching as far ahead as I was able to, I saw conditions around Lang Head, my next headland, were dreadful. Even from my low sea level elevation I could see an angry race kicked up by wind over tide. I was faced with another crucial decision. I was able to turn back to Mavis Grind or I could find somewhere to stop nearby in the hope the conditions eased during the day. Pressing on around the headland in these conditions was not an option.

I resolutely held onto my desire to round Shetland. I pressed on another mile through some lively seas to a small island called Egilsay where with a relieved scrunch, I landed on a shiny pebble beach. A small cohort of common seals welcomed me in, snorting and splashing in the waters behind me. I pulled the kayak up the stones and wandered over to the far side of the island where I would gain a better view of Lang Head. From the raised elevation it was immediately clear to me I had made a wise decision not to attempt to get around. It would be a nasty piece of water to be kayaking alone in these windy conditions. I wandered back to the boat and dug out my flask of lemon and ginger tea, always a soothing drink when my mind is troubled, and I need to think things through. I had managed only ten miles out of the thirty I had hoped for in the day. If I stopped here, the wind would only increase in strength and I would be stuck for a couple of days at least, the seas around Lang Head worsening in the near gale force north-easterly. I looked morosely back to where I had come from minutes before. The entrance to short voe leading to Mavis Grind was clearly visible, only a mile away. With the wind behind me, I would reach there in no time at all and within the hour I would be unpacking my kayak and portaging my kit, my boat and myself across into Sullom Voe. I sighed deeply, noticing the seals looking back at me, almost it seemed with sympathetic gazes.

“Fuck!” I shouted and was immediately answered with a few splashes in the small bay as my profanity caused some alarm. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I was fed up with the winds and I was fed up with what seemed to be a continual process of evaluation and re-evaluation. Why couldn’t I simply enjoy a carefree passage along this stunning Shetland coastline? Was fate trying to tell me something?

I refused to entertain the idea of giving up on the circumnavigation and belligerence within me mobilised my inert body. I heaved myself to my feet and set about unpacking the kayak, making a comfortable camp on short cropped turf a few metres away from the beach. My mind was unyielding. I would sit out the gales after which, endeavour to complete my circumnavigation of Shetland.

The small island of Egilsay became my home for two days and three nights. It transpired, this enforced castaway existence became one of the magical experiences of my journey. There was no phone signal and therefore no internet connection either. For some reason I could not pick up Coastguard broadcasts on my VHF radio either. I was unable to communicate beyond the shores of the island. I was not concerned for my safety because I knew that the YB-Tracker would indicate my location, even pinpointing where I had placed my tent. Nevertheless, I did wonder if the Aith Lifeboat would pay me a visit because they might wonder what had occurred. Without communication there were no on-line distractions which joyfully offered me the opportunity to appreciate uninterrupted solitude. When I was a boy, the tale of Robinson Crusoe enthralled me and ever since I wanted to experience island solitude, the unique alone-ness which a body of land surrounded by water affords. The coastline of the island was a natural boundary beyond which I was unable to venture without paddling in my kayak. Devoid of humans apart from me, my company was the small group of seals, screeching terns, skittering oystercatchers, rather dreamy fulmars, and a cantankerous black-backed gull. To the east, over a mile into Mangaster Voe there was a ubiquitous fish farm. Thankfully with the wind from the direction it was, I wasn’t disturbed by any noise this produced. I chose to ignore it most of the time. One vital thing the island did not contain, was a fresh water supply. Not for the first time or last, I acknowledged with gratitude my obsession, insisting I carry at least ten litres of water every day.

The joy of enforced time ashore creates a delicious sensation of relaxation. There is permission to lie in bed in the morning, brew coffee or tea whenever I feel like it, read, write, read, or simply wander and explore. The time is also valuable for making and mending, attending to bits of kit which require caring for, and re-evaluating plans for future route options.

I embraced my island solitude with enthusiasm. The angst about losing time was easily forgotten and replaced with a tranquil enjoyment of my island surroundings. I explored every inch of Egilsay, clambering along the rocky shoreline, striding over the sheep cropped slopes and ambling alone the small beach, eyes cast down in the hope of finding interesting flotsam. I looked for signs of ancient human heritage, a Viking grave perhaps or evidence of an iron age home. I carried my binoculars everywhere and would sit motionless on the rocks gazing out to sea, wondering if I would spot a killer whale. I desperately wanted to see a killer whale. I sang to myself, loudly and out of tune, idiotic made up songs which were bawdy and full of nonsense. I read, and I slept. I caught up with my journal. Then I wandered around the island again, and again, and again. At six hundred metres long and two hundred and fifty metres wide, it didn’t take me long to stride around the island.

At one point I pondered solitude as an experience. When I worked for Outward Bound, one of the most significant experiences we offered on the classic three-week courses was what we termed, ‘solo’. This important course element would occur midway through the programme (a personal development course for adolescents and young adults). This was the point when self-awareness was becoming apparent for the participants. Ideally, the solo experience lasted for forty-eight hours; two nights and two days of solitude. Each student was provided with rudimentary materials to construct a basic shelter, a change of spare clothes, their sleeping bag, enough water and minimum rations. They were encouraged to keep a written journal but not allowed the distractions of watches, cameras, phones, music players, or books.  The purpose of the solo was mindful self-reflection. Out in a forest or a wild area, each person was placed so they were out of sight of the other group members. They were given clear boundaries for their solo site and asked not to wander, both for their safety and not breaking another person’s solo. Their safety and welfare were monitored throughout the forty-eight hours by the course instructor, such as me. The solo was a pivotal moment for many students during the course, when significant personal insights were achieved. This opportunity for solitude is rarely attained in our modern lives.

One Of My Egilsay Neighbours

I was enjoying my personal enforced solo, though I did have a watch and other distractions which broke the rules. I quickly became aware the effect my presence on the island was having on the lawful inhabitants. Unwittingly, I had pitched my tent a few metres from a tern’s nest. Thankfully this did not disturb the guardian birds who took flight when I emerged from my tent quickly returning when I had wandered away. In the hidden seclusion of my tent I enjoyed listening to the parent’s soft chuckles as they went about their egg warming duty. The seals were extremely nervous, and I wondered if this was due to the proximity of the fish farm. However, by the time I came to leave, one or two of them appeared less eager to slip into the sea from the beach any time they glimpsed me wandering around the island. The highest point of the island belonged to a large male black-backed gull who protected his domain with a vengeance. Anytime I dared come close to his spot, he launched into the sky with screeching cries, wheeling above, gaining height before turning like a fighter plane, accurately diving for my head, causing me to involuntarily duck. I usually scuttled away. The flock of terns were just noisy! If I wandered too near where they were perched, as one entity they would rise into the air, yelling and screeching in their high-pitched tones, all the while flapping like wooden bird marionettes. I attempted to minimise my disturbance on the island but recognised too there was little I could do about my presence. I was not there to cause harm to any creature.

I was relieved to find on the third morning the wind had sufficiently dropped for me to proceed with my journey. I said my farewells to my feathered neighbours and enjoyed the company of a few seals for a fair distance after I had paddled away. I think they were seeing me off their property. Lang Head presented no problems and it wasn’t long before I was crossing St Magnus Bay towards the eponymously named Drongs, a magnificent cluster of bare and jagged stacks standing a mile offshore. These were the first natural highlight of what developed into one of the finest days on the sea during my journey. The sea state was lumpy but not unmanageably so. Crucially the wind had diminished and shifted to become a now helpful south westerly.

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So there you are. I eventually succeeded in my quest to paddle to the Scottish lifeboat stations, eventually arriving at Eyemouth one thousand and eight hundred and fifty miles after setting off from Kirkcudbright four months earlier.

Over the coming week I am really looking forward to using this as the basis from which I share my thoughts and ideas about mental health and why being in Nature is so good for us.

Thank you.

Time To Get Serious

May the 28th, 2020! That was my last entry on my blog. It’s definitely time to get serious.

The prompt for my reengagement with writing my blog has come from my recent heightened exposure on Twitter and Facebook along with my contribution to an event marking Odyssey’s 25th Anniversary, which I was invited to speak at.

I think, like many, the arrival of the pandemic early last year and the subsequent lockdowns and restrictions threw my best made plans into the air and in a bizarre sense, allowed me to wallow, shiftless and shapeless, using Covid as an excuse for my lethargy. Certainly my mental health suffered terribly last year and I was hospitalised yet again in the summer. Thankfully, it was a short stay of just over a month on the ward and I left with a determination to work on my recovery from my depression. Sadly though, I never regained the momentum with regard to my fundraising effort for Odyssey and this fell by the wayside.

(Find out more about Odyssey - here.)

That is until now. You see, I’m proud to have been nominated as an Ambassador for Odyssey, a role which hadn’t really sunk in until I gave my presentation at their celebratory event earlier this year. Here I met many people whose lives had been substantially altered through their involvement with Odyssey, either as a course participant or as a volunteer or member of staff. I was struck by the genuine passion for the charity and for the first time in many years, I felt the rekindling of the powerful sense of belonging, a feeling I have not felt for many long years. In fact loneliness is an important contributing factor to my depression. I miss the opportunity to spend time with like minded people, speaking of what’s important for us and sharing joy in shared accomplishments. It struck me that despite the disparate nature of the Odyssey community, it is indeed a community with a strong shared philosophy which continues to inspire all of us.

Odyssey grew from the shared vision of former Outward Bound staff, where the Kurt Hahn’s tenets were lived to the full by all who worked for the organisation. These beliefs in living life to the full through challenge and shared adventure, were easily replicated with incredible effect for the Odyssey courses. Personally, when I worked as an instructor on these courses, I couldn’t help but be inspired by the responses of the course participants to the challenges and adventures we offered them. When someone with a life-limiting illness reframes this into an awareness that their longevity may be limited but living their life is certainly not limited, I find myself inspired.

After my presentation to the Odyssey event, which I feel I gabbled and rushed through, I found myself thinking of the inspiration I draw from others and by consequence, the inspiration I may offer in return. In fact, realising I am inspired by the fortitude of Odyssey participants and the selflessness of my colleagues, I understood what it means when people tell me, I inspire them through my approach to my mental illness and recovery from depression. For the first time, I realised what I have to offer.

Many who know me, will know I’m an avid user of Twitter, the social media platform which has as many detractors as supporters. My experience using this method of connecting with friends and strangers has been predominantly positive. In fact I draw considerable support from the thousands of people who offer me words of encouragement when I am facing mental health challenges. It is a platform where I am surrounded by a lively, positive, generous and deeply warm hearted people. I believe I get to see the best of humanity through my Twitter feed and I’m grateful for this.

Recently, after I have posted some wonderful encounters on my sea kayaking trips, a couple of my films and photos have gone ‘viral’. According to the analytics for my Twitter account, over the last 28 days my tweets have been seen by 3.03million people and I increased my followership by 2092 to reach an incredible 18 903 followers! To be quite honest, I have difficulty in fully grasping the enormity of these statistics but I do appreciate them and I’m thankful for all the interactions I have with my followers.

All of this has led me to this particular point - it’s time to get serious.

So, I have reopened my online fundraising page for Odyssey - here - and once more I dedicate my adventurous lifestyle to raising funds for the charity. The fundraising page is open ended. I am now making films about some of my adventures which I post on You Tube. It is my intention to increasingly use these films as a platform to share my views about living adventurously, facing risks and enjoying life to the full. Additionally, I will be open about my recovery from depression and my continuing relationship with the illness. I hope by being open, honest and sometimes frank about how I’m experiencing my adventures, I offer insights and inspiration for folks to draw on. For a short while, I considered building a community of Patrons who would pay various levels of essentially donations for the privilege of supporting my film making. After, I put out my first proper film I quickly knocked this idea on the head - it did not sit well with me at all. However, I do believe what I share holds value and I hope if folks realise this value for themselves, they will choose to make a donation to Odyssey.

I benefit from this arrangement in a positive way. I am actively supporting the charity which I hold close to my heart and which provides me with an essential sense of belonging. This gives me purpose, something I miss a lot in my life. I am encouraged to continue to seek adventures in my life, knowing by doing so, I will share my insights with others. Importantly, I receive positive recognition for what I do. This is one of the basic psychological drives of the human condition - to be positively recognised. (I could go into much more about this but not now.) I will hold a positive view of myself. I am my own critic, a harsh one at that, and knowing I am using my privileged lifestyle to hopefully support Odyssey will enable me to ease up on myself with regard to the constant belief I should be doing something worthwhile. All in all, I know this feels good for me and it is a source of useful motivation for future endeavours.

Thank you for reading my blog, for following me on Twitter or following my LifeAfloat page on Facebook. Thank you for the support so many of you offer me, your words of encouragement and your kind comments about my films and photos. Thank you for being one of the many who have created the wonderful community I am surrounded with on my Social Media platforms.

Easing Covid 19 Restrictions - Responsible Activity

This blog entry has been inspired by a Twitter encounter I had when I recently expressed my hope I would soon be kayaking again when the Covid 19 restrictions are incrementally eased here in Scotland. Thankfully, much to my relief, the Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon has confirmed undertaking a non-contact outdoor leisure activity is now allowed and this includes kayaking.

The Scottish Government current advice for Exercise and activity can be found here.

The pertinent lines from the advice for me are as follows. You should use judgement and take part in any activity only if you can do so safely, maintaining physical distancing and not putting yourself or others at risk. It is important to plan in advance and not take unnecessary risks that may result in the need for medical care or emergency services support.

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What I like about this instruction is the invitation for me to make my own mind about what constitutes a risk and how to undertake my kayaking activity safely. The communication is from one adult to another. As someone who has placed personal safety at the top of my consideration when sea kayaking, I feel pleased that this is accounted for. Of course the Scottish Government do not know me personally and they were not directing their advice directly at me, but the adult nature of their missive leads me to feel welcomed out into the world again, as someone who is trusted to play my part. Likewise too, Scottish Mountain Rescue welcome people back into the mountains again, as long as they follow the guidelines of not travelling excessive distances to reach the hills. Their advice can be found here.

They even answer the question, “Should I feel guilty if I need to call MR (mountain Rescue)?” No, accidents happen, we would be concerned if you didn’t call us. We are here to help, not judge. Remember in an emergency in the outdoors call 999, ask for Police, then Mountain Rescue.

The R.N.L.I. advice in Scotland is more circumspect and parental in its tenor. Stop. Think. Stay Safe. Just because the lockdown restrictions are being relaxed, this does not mean our coasts are safe. The dangers that have always been there remain. Please exercise locally, avoid taking risks, and do not travel to the coast. Do not put yourself, your family and emergency services at risk by taking risks or assuming it ‘won’t happen to you’. (Source: Facebook RNLI Scotland Information).

My motivation for reengaging with sea kayaking is borne out of a desperate personal need. My mental health thrives on my ability to immerse myself within the natural world where I feel healthily physically and mentally challenged. In personal development parlance we call this ‘Peak Experience’. This is where my innate kayaking skills and wisdom allow me to engage with the activity and the wild realm safely and enjoyably. I am able to face significant challenges without risk to my personal safety with the outcome of my wellbeing enhanced.

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Given the extraordinary circumstances of the Covid 19 threat, I do not view the fulfilment of my personal mental health needs in isolation. I fully understand the consequences of me making a mistake out at sea may require the involvement of rescue services coming to my assistance and thus, putting them and myself at risk of the transference of the virus. To ensure I avoid any prospect of this occurring, I will set my kayaking goals to fit well within my level of experience and knowledge. There are a wide range of considerations I normally take into account when deciding whether to put to sea in my kayak, even accounting for the possibility of the unexpected. Ascertaining the hazards and the resultant risks is a dynamic process for me when I’m kayaking (or any other outdoor activity for that matter). All the time, I’m assessing the level of acceptable risk to enable me to enjoy moments of serendipitous peak experiences when out in my kayak. In the diagram, I work with my level of skill and ability to meet the appropriate level of risk and challenge to ensure I do not stray into the realms of irresponsible activity. The higher the risk and challenge, the higher the skill level I require.

For example; if the forecast is for winds of force six and above with moderate seas and I’m feeling physically tired, the risks and challenges are higher. Because I am tired, my ability will be reduced. This means the choice of route and duration on the water will need to match my ability with the conditions, if at all. In this example, given the extraordinary nature of the Covid 19 threat, I would probably decide not to go kayaking. However, with light winds and calm seas the story will be different, even if I may be feeling tired.

Being allowed to make personal judgements with regard to my sea kayaking invites me to pay closer attention to all the factors which influence a safe, enjoyable and rewarding time out on the sea. I do not feel I am being treated as a person incapable of maintaining my personal safety. I understand the hazards involved in sea kayaking and that too, the unexpected may happen. All the time I will be prepared to assess the risks and have the ability to resolve even major issues for myself, only seeking outside assistance as a last resort.

I will not be kayaking with a light and carefree attitude because despite the consideration of avoiding the unnecessary involvement of rescue personnel, I am mindful of the ultimate sacrifice thousands of people have made during this dreadful pandemic and the tragic aftermath for their families. I will be respectful and in my own way rejoice what life has to offer so that their loss is not in vain.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Sunday - Always Hope

Sunday 24th May and the last day of Mental Health Awareness Week. I hope my daily blog posts through this week have been of interest and even better, raised crucial awareness about aspects of living with mental illness and the concept of recovering from it. Throughout my writing this week, I have been aware of a reoccurring theme for me, and this is the one of ‘hope’.

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Hope is a word I use a lot when I describe my recovery. It projects me into the future where I attempt to forecast my well being and mental health. Recovery from my depression is a certainty. After a bout of severe ill health, I will recover from this. What is less certain is the enduring nature of the recovery and the achievement of the ultimate aspiration of a lengthy period of stability. Given the truth I will recover despite the illness persisting, there sadly is always the possibility the depression will triumph in the end. The hope then is, it will be me who will prevail and manage to achieve healthy homeostasis for a months and years.

I am pleased to say I do not leave the achievement of a hopeful outcome to chance. I am active within my recovery and as I grow in strength during post depressive bouts, I bring to bear my increasing levels of self-awareness to actuate helpful changes in my life. This is very much a dynamic process and requires determination on my part, each and every day. Sometimes this can be mentally if not physically exhausting. However, I am certain my eventual recovery will not have occurred purely through good fortune. Neither too am I totally alone on this repetitive journey. Karen is by my side as are my wider family and my cohort of friends and supporters. Karen in particular though, is a keystone in my process and without her steadfast tolerance, understanding and love, I would not have the ability to access to my personal resources when I need them most. She is there to hold me still when I feel at my most vulnerable and wobbly.

Alongside my personal supportive network, I am blessed with an excellent collaborative professional relationship with the Community Mental Health team, in particular my Community Psychiatric Nurse. Without this warm person-centred professional support and intervention, I would not have managed to maintain a realistic level of personal safety when edging towards, or immersed in, moments of depressive crisis. My regular appointments with Mairi and knowing she is there at the end of the phone, enable me to ground myself in reality when I have needed this the most. It is extremely helpful too the language used during these interactions is one of hopeful uncertainty rather than unrealistic certainty.

I am eternally grateful for all the support and love I receive.

I am well along my pathway towards what I believe to be an enduring period of robust good health. All the positive indicators are there for me. I am extremely hopeful at the moment (and I wrote this with a smile on my face). However, I am at the moment proceeding with caution because I am aware of my tendency to grasp at every straw floating my way and state these moments indicate a completion of my recovery process.

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog and for interacting with me if you have. I appreciate the interest you show and the comments you make. If you suffer from mental illness then I hope your recovery processes are well under way and you are enjoying a settled equilibrium in your lives.

My very best wishes to you all.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Saturday - Real Self

I often state, “When I’m in the outdoors, I can be my true self.” It is true I am most comfortable with myself when I’m in my kayak out the sea or wandering the wild hinterlands. This is why I attach so much importance on my connection with the outdoor realm to my mental health recovery process. I believe I gain greater insights into who I am and how I can move beyond my discomfort when I’m outdoors than I ever do in the more normal aspects of my lifestyle. I remember once being challenged by a therapist during group therapy when I stated this. He wanted to know why it was I could be ‘myself’ out doors and not ‘myself’ at home or anywhere else. At the time this intervention stumped me.

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#1

Many folks are familiar with the psychological concept of the ‘true self’ and the ‘false self’ and may have seen this theory explained in a variety of forms. Because I find my relationship with the outdoors to be a simple one, I like the simplicity of this concept. There is no point for me to analyse the process any more complicatedly than need be. It follows, I am happier with myself in the outdoors than I am in more regular settings. Therefore, when outside I am who I truly am. I return to my core individuality, unencumbered with various strategies to cope with a life where I expect myself to be viewed in certain ways. The simplicity of this concept is best described through Diagram #1.

This is my interpretation of the concept. The inner circle denotes ‘My Self’, who I was born as and who my core attributes are. This is the me without the impediments I employ to enable me to exist in the manner I do. From a very early age I began to adapt my personality to meet what I perceived was required of me, or which helped me feel the most comfortable for my existence. This ‘Adapted Self’ is denoted by the outer circle in the diagram. The adaptations of my personality are not the true Nick. For example, I have a tendency to want to please people, not to disappoint them, and to do so even if this means I feel unhappy doing so. The pay off for me doing this will be what I think to be recognition and it is this psychological reward I am seeking through my behaviour. Delving further into this particular example, I may become self-critical of my perceived lack of being ‘good enough’ if I believe I’m unable to please others or I think I let them down. What is happening, I’m searching for this outer circle of my existence to be soothed through my adapted behaviour rather than feed my true self, my core, with genuine responses to my genuine capacity for compassion, kindness and generosity. In fact my outer circle is so powerful, it prevents any genuine recognition for my core capacities from getting through meaning I will forever be self-critical.

When I am outdoors however, my relationship with myself is far less complicated. Out ‘there’ so to speak, I do not feel I have to adapt myself to relate with the natural world. Nature will never judge me and indeed has no expectations of me other than who I am. Within minutes of paddling from the shore, away from the normality of my onshore life, I feel the weight I place on myself dissipating and the many masks I wear drop away. In doing so, crucially, the relationship I have with myself becomes less fraught and noticeably less critical. I continue to mull things over in my mind and of course I replay many memories where I’m unhappy with my conduct. However, in these I am able to rationalise them without laying huge amounts of blame on a personality I dislike and wish would disappear. As Nature does not judge me, neither can it forgive me. This is what I do for myself. I can achieve this balance though with Nature’s guidance, where my immersion in the natural realm feeds the healthy psychological hungers my core self desires.

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#2

In Diagram #2, there are six psychological hungers as determined by Eric Berne, the originator of the Transactional Analysis Psychological Theory of Personality. Again there are variations on a theme with this particular theory and this is the one which makes sense for me. In fact, this particular model is at the forefront of my mind when I’m contemplating the processes at play when I’m outdoors. The key word when describing these psychological hungers is, healthy. It’s possible for these hungers to be addressed through unhealthy responses which will not feed into my true core but only serve the outer circle and sustain the critical view I hold of myself. Sometimes I may not be aware of this differentiation and follow a course of action where I feel I am healthily meeting my core needs but end up harming them.

• Contact. This hunger is determined by Berne to be our human need for physical contact, our healthy desire for touch in whatever form this may be. Hugging, caressing, a kiss, handshake or a simple pat on the shoulder. Through this healthy contact our sense of identity is enhanced. Of course, since much of my time outdoors is enjoyed solo, I do not have others around me to fulfil this for me. However, I have determined Nature is a perfect substitute. Through the physical contact I receive from the wind, the waves, the rain, the sun and sounds and smells, I gain a strong sense of my identity with a realisation I am human and there is an importance for me to receive physical contact.

• Recognition. This refers to our psychological need for healthy acknowledgement from others. Again, although much of my outdoor activity is conducted in solitude, I enjoy being recognised because of this. I recognise myself as a person who is comfortable with my alone-self where solitude is a healthy aspect of who I am. It is helpful for me to have this validated by others who respond with warmth to my accounts of my solitary outdoor experiences. Likewise too, when I do share the outdoor realm with others, I receive recognition for the ease with which I am related with in this environment because of the ease I am with myself.

• Incident. This is the hunger which feeds our healthy need for a frisson of excitement in our lives. This is a strong reason for my propensity to seek adventures in the outdoors. I knowingly seek risk and challenge because through these, I feel alive. I do not set out to place myself in harms way where my life will be at risk but the challenge is such that there is a perception this may be the outcome. It is always the case I assess these risks within the context of my personal ability and skills. At a very basic level, living with incident in my outdoor life enables me to move beyond my comfort zone to where I learn more about myself.

• Stimulus. This is the healthy fulfilment of all our senses being healthily aroused and soothed. It goes without saying being outdoors assails me with myriad stimulations which feed my senses of sight, sound, smell, touch and taste. Nature provides all of this without any cost to me apart from my investment of my time and energy.

• Structure. There is a psychological requirement for frameworks within our living which provide a sense of purpose and meaning. Nature provides me with the natural rhythms of life which I easily form into a structure within which I exist. From sunrises to sunsets, the times of tides, the seasons and other more subtle considerations such as weather lore. I choose to frame the structure of my time so it fits with the natural order and by encompassing this, I am able to achieve the personal goals I wish to attain. When I’m on a long kayak journey, the structure of my life is entirely natural, determined by my understanding of Nature and my non-combative relationship with it.

• Sexual. This is the natural healthy fulfilment of our human desire for procreation and pleasure in doing so. We are sexual beings. Nature is awash with procreation, displaying a vibrancy for life which is joyously inspiring. As a human male, I am forever reminded of my own sexuality when I am in the outdoors and my capacity for passion and romance. This psychological drive is not only completed through the act of copulation itself, but through a healthy awareness of my desires, my ability to love, to experience passion and to enjoy sensuality. All of these can be fulfilled by my awareness of the fecundity of the natural world.

My recovery from depression is best served when I healthily address my psychological needs. I know how do to this when I venture into the outdoors. The experiences I enjoy ‘out there’ provide me with innumerable metaphoric anchors with which I’m able to reference when they are needed most. I have a healthy and vibrant relationship with Nature where I’m not judged or where I overly judge myself. The benefits for me in undertaking regular meaningful immersions in the natural world are tangible to say the least. Equally the outcomes from these are helpful within my relationships with others, in particular my wife. By regularly gaining insights into the healthy core of me, I am more at ease with who I am.

As stated in my previous blog entry, this journey is far from complete. What I am certain of is my fundamental relationship with my healthy ‘Self’ when out in Nature. By embracing this and transferring this awareness to my life outwith Nature, I will develop the ability to live more from my core being rather from the perception of the protection of my outer circle, my ‘Adapted Self’.

The story continues to be written.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Friday - Nurturing My Nature

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My parents tell me as soon as I could walk, I would trot alongside my Dad through the bush down to the sandy dry Mzingwane River when we lived at West Nicholson in Matabeleland, Zimbabwe (then Southern Rhodesia). By the age of five I regularly went out with him on ‘Patrol’ into the wild and uninhabited lowveld bush around Triangle in Zimbabwe where we would sleep under the stars beside languid rivers within which the eyes of Crocodiles would be reflected back by torchlight, wake in the night with Hippo grazing around us, and get up in the dawn to watch the sun rise over the African bush from the high vantage point of a granite domed kopje (a low rocky hill, pronounced koppie). My early life memories are infused with many encounters with the wild, learning to walk silently on the balls of my feet, to sit for hours at a time without flinching, silent, eying the fringes of the bush for movement and the eventual reward of a wildlife sighting. How to follow animal spoor, interpreting their size and their intentions. How to simply ‘be’ in the wild, appreciating the fecundity of nature around me. Our family holidays were always camping trips to isolated parts of the country where we immersed ourselves in the wilderness, absorbing every nuance it had to offer.

Moving to Britain in my early teens, I continued to live a life where the open air and wide spaces were integral to my existence. Not one to follow a more usual teenage pathway, many of my weekends were spent camping on Bredon Hill in Worcestershire where sitting by a campfire was more fun than partying in friends houses. Later I would hitchhike to the Lake District whenever I had the chance to immerse myself in the fells and explore the mountain tops. My academic studies took second place to my passion for my involvement in the Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award and the school Combined Cadet Force. I volunteered as a Cotswold Country Park Warden building stiles and dry stone walls. I learned to fly gliders solo before I could drive and every weekend I would head out into the country to explore, history and nature being my passions.

It was no wonder then, I miserably failed my academic studies and my pathway into adulthood led me further into the world of outdoor activities and adventure. At the age of twenty one I became an instructor for Outward Bound and the rest as they say, is history. My life since then has been incredibly rich where I have been privileged to have shared so many wonderful moments of sheer outdoor joy with friends, colleagues and course participants and clients. I have worked in Wales, the Lake District, Lesotho, South Africa, Zimbabwe and Scotland, all the while facilitating personal development awareness for a huge range of people, young and adult. All these experiences have imbued a richness in my life which to be truthful, I find difficult to quantify. Suffice to say, I am truly grateful for the thousands of opportunities I have faced.

Now at the moment, my life is governed by my recovery from severe depression. As best I am able, I continue to live a life of wild outdoor connection where I take myself sea kayaking along the incredible Scottish coastline and set myself reasonable personal challenges. I love nothing more than spending nights out under canvas, somewhere silent and empty of humans. Key to my recovery process is nurturing my natural draw to nature and a need for personal adventure. Without access to this, I very much doubt I would have sufficient meaning within my life to inspire me to keep up the fight.

Outwith the moments of insight in the depths of my depression, my most powerful personal life lessons have occurred during my adventures. There are innumerable moments when my experiences in the wild have proved to be potent metaphors for my life and ones I continue to draw on time and again. In the moments when I’m in the desperate grip of a depressive episode, it’s these metaphorical insights which help me maintain a semblance of self-identity. For example, when asked who I am and what I do, I say my name and that I’m a sea kayaker. I do not qualify this but within myself I know I am a person who is an adventurer with a deep connection to the wild and natural realms. My adventuring spirit does not pit me against nature, but immerses me within it so I come up against myself. It is within this process I learn the most about who I am and my life. In tomorrow’s blog I will explain this in greater detail.

Nurturing my natural connection to nature is fundamental for my existence. I believe this to be true for millions of people too and there is nothing extraordinary in claiming this truth for myself. However, it’s not until recently I have fully embodied this awareness and to some extent, given myself permission to accept its validity. I think I continued to hold onto the notion of fitting myself into societal norms and certainly undertaking a more cautionary medically influenced approach to my recovery from depression. I am not out of the woods by a long stretch, but my understanding of my recovery and the importance of my nature within this is far clearer. There are hurdles to overcome and these require considerable focus on my part. Essentially, I continue to struggle with the belief I do not hold worth and until I rationalise this, my potential for change and success will continue to be locked within me. Paradoxically, it is through my adventures and my natural experiences where I challenge these notions of worthlessness, and again this is why it’s crucial for me to nurture my nature.

My story continues.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Thursday - Recovery

I was first diagnosed with clinical depression in 1995 when I was admitted to a mental health respite care home when living in Wales. At the time I had no idea what depression was let alone understanding the concept of mental health recovery. I remember the term used to describe my long period off work at the time was ‘experiencing a breakdown’. My next admission, this time to a hospital psychiatric ward was in 1998 in Kendal. After a further two admissions over the next year, it wasn’t until 2000 when I started working in the Mental Health field I came to hear of mental health recovery as a particular process.

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I don’t think it’s true now, but in those early days, my experience of engaging with the concept of mental health recovery was a political one (with a small p). Service users as we were known were gaining voice with regards to our right for our involvement within our mental health treatment. Up until this period in time, as far as I could make out, treatment for mental illness was administered with medical authority where the expert was the psychiatrist. Through a growing movement for change within service user groups and charities, the model for mental illness treatment was shifting from an authoritative top down approach to one where the patient’s personal experience and awareness was increasingly taken into account and validated as shared expertise. In short, it was becoming accepted that mental health sufferers were very much experts in their own suffering.

In 1993, William A. Anthony Ph.D., then the Executive Director of the Center for Psychiatric Rehabilitation at Boston University wrote a paper titled, “Recovery from Mental Illness: The Guiding Vision of the Mental Health Service System in the 1990s.” (link here). Within this article he explored and outlined his understanding and vision for a recovery-oriented mental health system. Essentially, he describes a treatment oriented approach as one where the symptoms of mental illness were managed and alleviated. He describes a recovery incorporated approach as one where recovery can occur even if the illness is not ‘cured’. Recovery from mental illness involves much more than recovery from the illness itself.

It is that last sentence which hugely impacted me when I first read it in 2000 and for the first time, I began to consider my own mental health recovery process.

Twenty years later and I’m still working through the implications for myself of the recovery philosophy W.A. Anthony so wisely espoused. It is his wisdom which continues to inform me about my mental health journey and my pathway towards recovery. Indeed, this is a journey without a destination but always with achievable horizons. There are many other recovery centred models which are variations of a theme. However, I chose to adhere to this one simply because I like the apolitical nature of it. I have never signed up to the political nature of service user emancipation. Although I am antiauthoritarian, I do trust the expertise of the psychiatric professionals involved in my care. I prefer to work with them within the psychiatric system as it is, rather than ‘against’ the system where I determine my rights for recovery set precedence over anything else. This is not to say I do not disagree with those who follow a different path to me and in fact, I support many who have negative experiences of past mental health treatment and seek change as a result. I accept too there are many aspects of our current mental health system of care which could be enhanced, but I hold the view, we are fortunate to have access to what we have here in Scotland and I’m appreciative of this.

This is how I endeavour to live my recovery from my mental illness, the roots of this process set within the words from W.A. Anthony. I understand my recovery is a deeply personal and unique process where I’m developing my attitudes, feelings, goals and skills based on my mental health at any given time. My recovery is about me fostering new meanings and purpose in my life as a I continue to grow beyond the effects of my depression. I am hopeful this will lead me towards living a satisfying life where I believe I contribute even within the limitations set by my illness.

Helping me along my recovery path are these truths.

• Recovery can occur without professional intervention. This is important for me to accept. I hold the key to my recovery, not anyone else. It is down to me when to seek the interventions and support I require. By accepting this personal responsibility, I become responsible for my eventual recovery from a depressive episode. I do not rely on the mental health system to ‘cure’ me and rather view my relationship with them as a partnership.

• A common denominator of recovery is the presence of people who believe in and stand by me, the person in need of recovery. Crucial to this statement is the non-judgemental relationship I need with those close enough to be involved in assisting me through my mental illness. Key of course is my marriage with Karen and her unswaying support throughout my distressful episodes and subsequent periods recovery. Without her love I would not be here today. My collaborative relationship with my Community Psychiatric Nurse is another key example of where I am supported in an equitable and empowering manner. Knowing I am not being judged for being depressed is fundamental to my recovery.

• A recovery vision is not a function of one’s theory about the causes of mental illness. It is extremely helpful to me in my recovery process for an archaeological exploration for the roots my depression to become a key element in my treatment. The fact I suffer from the illness is enough and there is little to be gained by seeking the causes. Understanding a triggering catalyst may help in terms of increasing awareness for the future.

• Recovery can occur even though the symptoms reoccur. This is hugely important awareness for me to embody. By doing so, I accept the possibility of becoming ill again as a reality. This way I will never hold the expectation I will never suffer from depression again. I may hope this may be the case, but this is different to expecting it to be so.

• Recovery changes the frequency and duration of symptoms. Essentially, symptom reoccurrence becomes less of a threat to my recovery as I become increasingly accepting of living with depression as an illness.

• Recovery does not feel like a linear process. As someone who’s professional life has been involved in facilitating personal development awareness for others, I understand my recovery will involve growth and setbacks. There will be periods of change and times of little change, moments when I experience powerful insights, and times when I feel directionless. It is an acceptance that there is nothing gained from planning my recovery and hoping for systematic outcomes.

• Recovery from the consequences of the illness is sometimes more difficult than recovering from the illness itself. As an example of this, I continue to struggle with the awareness because of my last episode of severe depression, I damaged important relationships in my life at the time. Coming to terms with this is just as difficult for me as it is suffering the symptoms of my illness.

• Recovery from mental illness does not mean that I was not really mentally ill. Again this is an important truth for me to embody. As I become increasingly lucid after a depressive episode, I have the tendency to become apologetic for ‘being the way I was’. I minimise the illness as a character failing rather than an integral aspect of my overall health.

All of this is of course not the complete story of my recovery process. There are many subtle nuances which contribute, some more helpful than others. The key for me to understand and accept is the fluidity of my recovery and with this to be patient with its developmental path. Key too is trusting the fact I will recover, the truth that periods of depression will pass to be replaced with opportunities for my life to be lived to its fullest extent.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Wednesday - Self-kindness

It’s not lost on me how easy it is to offer kindness to others and not as simple to offer it to myself. In fact, being kind to myself can be an anathema for me. The compassion I hold for others does not it seems, apply to myself. I believe this is not unusual for folks who struggle with depression and in my case, self-cruelty and unkindness are the features of my constant depressive rumination.

I wrote yesterday how receiving unconditional kindness from so many people is invaluable for my recovery. This is because these acts of compassion become models for me to emulate with regard to caring for myself. Implementing this awareness is a huge challenge for me, particularly because I’m so heavily self-critical. My wife Karen with her custom loving tolerance will often challenge my many self-defeating outbursts by asking, “Would you say that to someone else?”

Invariably my reply is, “No I wouldn’t… but then that’s different.” There is of course no difference. Why is it OK for me to severely cuss my self when I wouldn’t do the same to anyone else?

I believe for me the key lies in acceptance. This is not an acceptance for who I am at a deeper existential level, but an acceptance of my depression as an illness. After a period of sound mental health and when my mood is beginning to slip towards a depressive episode, I will almost deny that this is occurring and there is a possibility I may become ill again. I avoid acknowledging my deepening gloom and instead push myself harder to effect an outward sense of indomitableness. I make plans for greater adventures and live my life at a an aspirational pace I’m unable to match. I simply don’t entertain the possibility of another bout of depressive frailty. Indeed, when I do begin to realise my mood is deepening I disavow depression as the cause. I attribute this to a weakness within me and so begins my cyclical struggle with severe self-criticism.

It was only during my last hospital admission last year, I realised (with considerable excitement) that my depression is an illness and importantly, I am not my depression. Understanding this has been crucial in my ability to accept I am liable to repeated depressive episodes when I may become ill again. After all, my prognosis is ‘treatment resistant depression’. If and when these may occur I am hopeful I will embody this knowledge soon enough for me to access the element of self-compassion so crucial to my recovery process.

The moment I begin to ease up on myself and offer self-kindness, my road out of my depression will be so much less painful and easier.

World Mental Health Awareness Week 2020 - Tuesday - Kindness

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Love and Compassion

When reflecting about todays blog entry, I realised in my life with depression I’ve experienced nothing but unconditional kindness. In fact, searching through my memory banks, I’m aware more of the kindness shown to me by others than general acts of unkindness. I have therefore been fortunate in my life to have been surrounded by people with warm hearts.

I often say when describing living with my depression, having regularly visited the darkest places within my psyche and being, I’ve had the privilege of deep insight. As painful and dangerous as these times have been for me, I’ve come to realise the importance of love, in particular the love shown to me by others. Without this love I doubt I will have survived.

The wonderful aspect of humanity is our innate capacity for compassion. As a person who suffers, and who has made my suffering public, I enjoy experiencing compassion from others on a daily basis. Every day I encounter acts of kindness which soothe me and validate my existence. Receiving compassion is an unconditional act of recognition, a fulfilment of a vital human psychological drive. Without recognition for who I am, I doubt very much I would see much reason to fight as hard as I do to overcome my depression.

Compassionate kindness then is a fundamental element in assisting a vibrant recovery process from my depression, and importantly, maintain a strong healthy sense of self. In my experience kindness occurs in many guises, some expected and most unexpected. Kindness is the human expression of feelings of care and love for others and in most instances is processed out of our awareness. A smile is probably the simplest act of kindness we perform and one which carries considerable potency. Receiving a smile a stranger in an unexpected moment of internal stress can alleviate feelings of powerlessness, providing a warm glow of recognition and human support. Without much thought, everyday we perform acts of kindness for those we love, our friends and our colleagues. Likewise too, we offer kindness to people we don’t know. For example, we may offer a space in a line of traffic for a driver waiting at a busy junction. We may put this down to simple good manners, but this act of selflessness may have had significant impact for the other behind the wheel who might be facing a tough day ahead. Our casual wave and the briefest of eye contact may have been enough to alter a deepening sense of gloom for the person.

This then, is why kindness has been and continues to be so incredibly important to me in my recovery from my depression. My experience of kindness is this - it’s always unconditional and it’s offered in these forms:

• love

• affection

• humanness / humanity

• patience

• tolerance

• sympathy

• good will

• tenderness

• forbearance

• courtesy

• gentleness

• respect

• unselfishness

• understanding

• grace

• robustness

• honesty

• individual

• humour

• empathy

• professional / professionalism

My attempt to end my life this time last year released a flood of kindness which buoyed me through my intense treatment in hospital and subsequent recovery. For three months while on the ward I received countless letters, cards and gifts from family, friends, friends I have yet to meet, and strangers. Every one of these acts of reaching out to me told me of my worth and were unconditional in their generosity. For this is what kindness means to me, it’s unconditional. The giver expects nothing substantial in return. There is no quid pro quo. In a way I had cried out in pain and others (you) responded with concern, warmth and love. Our innate human capacity for compassion.

The struggle I face with my depression is one based on overcoming a deep sense of low-worth. Simply put, I believe I have little of value to offer except a deeply flawed character with the tendency to harmfully affect my world around me. To receive unconditionally contrasting expressions of the opposite truth from so many people has undoubtedly helped me shift these self-destructive views I hold. Not only were these acts of kindness helpful during my hospital recovery, but they continue to be the case. In a box on a shelf next to the desk where I’m writing this I have every one of the cards and letters I have received in hospital and since. I dip into this box whenever I feel my mood beginning to dip. The written affirmations of love and concern for me will forever hold value.

Likewise too, I continue to receive messages of love and support through my social media outlets, in particular on Twitter. Here I receive nothing but overwhelming recognition for who I am and the life I live. Only once have I had to respond to a hurtful comment about my depression. Everyday I interact with my global community, I receive far more in return than I could ever expect or wish for. Everyday I’m thankful for the unconditional warmth I receive, even if it’s the simple act of acknowledging my contribution with a ‘like’. There are folks who I know I’ll never meet who show me incredible depths of kindness through their words and their attention to my presence within this online world.

Then too, there is the unconditional professional compassion I received and continue to receive from the psychiatric carers involved in my recovery. Here, the doctors, the nursing staff and support staff have chosen a profession where they will care for others, many in deep distress. I recognise the selflessness involved in their work where they give of themselves so others may recover. I am deeply grateful for their innate humanness given to me within the professional context of the hospital psychiatric ward where the intention was maintaining my safety and enhancing my recovery. When thanked to a person they replied that they were merely doing their job. I hope they know there to be an element of untruth to this response because they are special individuals.

Receiving kindness, particularly when in the depths of my depression can be tough as well as heart warming. There is a juxtaposition between acknowledging I am loved and recognised to believing the kindness to be unwarranted. While it is important for me to understand I hold worth for others, it is extremely difficult for me to believe this for myself. This then is where much of my struggle lies and indeed, it is a horrendous struggle at times. The fact kindness shown to me as a constant, is consistent and is forever unconditional is instrumental in helping me slowly shift the destructive beliefs I hold.

This kindness becomes a powerful reference point with which to base my recovery.

As per my ability to self-criticise, I do give myself a hard time for not always acknowledging acts of kindness shown to me. This may be in the form of a failure to respond to messages, Tweets, Facebook posts or cards and gifts. In the depths of my struggles and with huge amount of contact I receive, I find it difficult to physically keep on top of what I term to be ‘my admin’. Days and weeks will go by while I fight my depression, all the while building a deepening sense of guilt about not having responded to the kindness I’ve received. To this day I find myself shuddering with unhappiness with my lack of what I think to be the good grace to respond. It’s difficult to make amends for this except to focus my energy on my recovery in the knowledge this is what people are hoping for me.

It goes without saying I am deeply and truly grateful for all I have received from family, friends, social media contacts, professionals and strangers. Thank you seems such an inadequate expression but in our English language, those two words carry the greatest weight for me. I cannot (and will not) single out any specific expressions of kindness I’ve received and I hope for everyone who reached out to me, you know you have touched my life and you helped me make the decision to live and not to die.

Thank you.

World Mental Health Awareness Week 2020 - Monday

The theme for this years World Mental Health Awareness Week is kindness. This appeals to me greatly and I hope to expand on this when I write a daily blog over the coming week. My intention is to mark this week with personal insights into living with and recovering from severe mental health issues. Having kindness as the theme will certainly assist me in remaining grounded in one of my strongest recovery tenets, this being “be kind to myself”.

It’s probably best if I write an update about my recovery so far. It’s difficult to believe this time last year I was in hospital suffering from the worst episode of depression I had encountered. Indeed, I had attempted to end my life by jumping from the Isle of Mull ferry. You can read about this incident from an earlier blog post here. This hospital admission was tough for me but it provided me with the best opportunity for recovery I had experienced in many years. I returned home after three months on the ward with a renewed sense of self and a determination to overcome my illness.

As is often the case, the few months after hospital are the most hopeful for me and indeed, it seemed as if opportunities were falling into my lap. We made a significant change to our lifestyle by moving ashore from seven years of living on a yacht. This in itself was a huge investment in my recovery process because I hadn’t realised how insular my life had become on the boat. With recovery comes aspirations and I confidently made plans for the months to come and the following year ahead.

I wasn’t alone. I continued to receive generously warm professional support from my Community Psychiatric Nurse and regular appointments with the Psychiatrist. My wife too, as always, was the bedrock in assisting me maintain clarity and remain grounded when instability threatened. My wider family too were just a phone call away with their expressions of love and support. Friends and online acquaintances provided me with friendship and connection which helped me gain a sense of myself in the world.

The months leading up to the Christmas and New Year passed in a blur and I find it difficult to remember anything of note from that period. Mostly I recall a huge sense of relief of having made it out of the crisis I had found myself in earlier in the year.

I think my mood was dipping before Christmas but in the January of this year, I descended into a bout of deep depression. This time there was no catalyst, nothing I could define as a trigger. The winter months have always been tough for me but this itself was not the cause. It was another battle with my inner demons and my existential angst. The spectre of suicide became a concern for me again and this time, because I had made the attempt almost a year before, I knew I had it within me to carry through my desire to take my life. Quite simply, I believed once more, I have nothing to offer and my presence in the world is a burdensome waste. Allied with this was the increasing exhaustion of continually fighting to remain alive, indeed , merely function. Because I dipped so low again, I was on stand by for another hospital admission to keep me safe.

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Thankfully, and for no discernible reason, I have climbed out of the black pit I lived in since Christmas. It has been as recent as two or three weeks I have lost all thoughts of suicide and self-destructive thinking. I find myself enjoying my engagement with the world again. Hope is welling up within me once more and this is expressed in my increased activity. My connection with the outdoors has been a constant through my life which has served to enhance it even when I’m at my lowest. However, it’s always a sound indication of my recovery levels when I notice my positive presence in the outdoor realm. This is the first step to regaining a sense of self-worth. Despite the inhibitive lockdown, I have managed some wonderful long walks where I have relished my immersion within the wild landscapes I’m fortunate to live close to, even wild camping one night a week.

In an attempt to break my cycle of depression, earlier this year I had announced 2020 to be my year of adventure. I made a fairly good start too by bivouacking in some pretty challenging weather conditions (and enjoying this!). However, frustratingly, the pandemic brought me up short and like everyone else, I have been twiddling my thumbs aching to get back out in my kayak and venturing further afield. Despite my inactivity, I have used this time to evaluate the importance of adventure and wildness in my life. This time has been helpful for me to write about this and to plan future expeditions. Moreover, I have been honing the incredibly useful process of mindfulness, particularly during my periods of lockdown outdoor exercise.

I am in recovery from my depression, an almost continual and fluctuating process. At long last, once more, I see my potential and recognise my value. The key is maintaining this awareness and strengthening the foundations. I hope by sharing my insights every day this week, I will help raise awareness of what it means to live with chronic life threatening depression and the continual hope of recovery from this.

Solo - Not What I Expected

Solo, I thought it would be a doddle, maybe slightly boring, but nothing too difficult to cope with. I was wrong.

The moment Karen wished me well, kissed me goodbye and turned away, I felt a distinct wave of lonely discomfort sweep through me. I didn’t want to be alone and certainly not out there in the sun dappled woodland overlooking the Doirlinn of Tobermory Bay. I was shocked at the strength of my negative response to finding myself alone on my ‘solo’. After all, I had made a big deal about how much I was looking forward to my solitude over the next couple of days.

I immediately gave myself a stern telling off for my immediate quavering and somewhat chagrined, I sat down on a nearby moss quilted log to assimilate my situation. I needed to reign in a strong desire to shout after Karen and catch up with her before she reached where we had parked the car. Twenty minutes later and feeling much calmer, I rose from the log and set about making camp, ensuring I would be comfortable through the night and felt a sense of outdoor homeliness. It took me less than ten minutes to set up my tarp, unpack my rucksack and get a pot of water on the stove for a mug of tea. I grimaced ruefully to myself. Sometimes it isn’t helpful to be so efficient. I had hoped to eke out the task of establishing camp to eat away at empty time. With my scalding tin mug of tea, I sat down on the log once more and attempted to ease myself into my solo experience.

I was perplexed. What had come over me? I normally relished challenges such as this, especially since the weather conditions were absolutely perfect for a comfortable time out of doors. I am used to solitude, seeking the condition over companionship for many of my outdoor experiences. Now though, I realised with a shock I was not enjoying myself at all. In fact I was feeling decidedly fearful, of what, I couldn’t be certain. I tentatively sipped at my lemon and ginger tea, searing my lips as a result. This jolted me out of my internalising reverie, causing me to once again rebuke myself for not wholeheartedly throwing myself into this unique opportunity I had before me.

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The woodland above the Doirlinn.

The hours dragged by. I had my note book and pencils by my side and from time to time I managed a few desultory lines of prose. My hoped for inspiration for writing did no materialise. Instead, I was filled with a deepening disquiet which was expressed through capricious behaviour and thinking. I couldn’t settle on any train of thought or action. In situations like this I attempt to sit with my discomfort to see if I’m led towards any insights through this approach. On this occasion though I simply couldn’t sit still long enough to give myself an opportunity for any self-enquiry. The one thing I was certain of was my deep tiredness. Weeks of insomnia had worn me down and in the warmth of the bright spring sunshine, my eyes drooped heavily.

Late in the afternoon (without my watch I couldn’t be sure of the time), I allowed myself to succumb to my fatigue and I stretched myself out on a comfortable solar heated bed of bright green sphagnum moss. I fell asleep almost immediately.

I woke with shivers wracking my body. The sun had arced across the sky, it’s warmth now directed elsewhere. I had no idea of the time but assumed it must have been close to eight thirty in the evening. Groggily I set about readying myself for my sleeping bag under the shelter of my nearby tarp. I was looking forward to more deep and dreamless sleep. Having sleepily cleaned my teeth and changed into warmer clothing, I snuggled into the cosy familiarity of my sleeping bag and experienced with horror a wakening mind. Tiredness persisted but sleepiness had well and truly dissipated. Try as I might, shuffling around with grunts to find the optimal position of comfort, I couldn’t fall asleep. Neither too did the night time darkness arrive as I assumed it would. It must have been a lot earlier in the evening than I thought. With a deep sigh, I resigned myself to a long night of wakeful rumination.

The dark eventually arrived, the night gradually becoming inkier as the hours dragged by. Strangely my mind was now empty of ravaged thinking. I found it comfortable to lie on my back with my hands behind my head, eyes wide open and my hearing accentuated. As usual when I turned my attention towards auditory stimuli, I cursed my intrusive tinnitus, the left ear much louder than the right. It was difficult to distinguish between the chirruping in my inner ear to that of the nuthatches flitting through the Beech tree branches above me. Despite this I found myself feeling a lot calmer than I had a few hours earlier. My mind was at last open to curiosity.

It was therefore quite a shock to discover the underlying emotion driving my thinking was sadness. My internal sadness I know from experience, is a reflection of deep level change occurring within me. I was experiencing loss in some form and I was curious to know what this might be. It was evident to me, I was affected by the changes wrought by COVID-19. I was angry too. Last year I had lost most of the summer to my psychiatric hospital admission and I was looking forward to this year celebrating my recovery through plenty of sea kayaking and other wild adventures. With the lockdown and requirement for isolation, I see another summer of joyful activity disappearing before my eyes again. This realisation though didn’t satisfy me. I sensed my sadness was rooted deeper than this.

What was changing for me? I cast my mind around in the gloom, attempting to land on a glimmer of insight but none was forthcoming. After what seemed a considerable length of time I must have drifted off into a fitful sleep where I would regularly wake with my body in violent shivers of cold.

It was with considerable relief when the promise of the dawn crept into the sky. I was able to relinquish any hope of worthwhile sleep and instead focus on the emerging day. I clambered out of the snug warmth of my sleeping bag and sat once more of the moss covered log. A pot of water came to the boil and I treated myself to a few warming mugs of tea. As the orange hues of the sunrise deepened, my thoughts once more returned to my sense of sadness. Then, it suddenly struck me, I realised why was I not enjoying this solo experience. I was attempting to complete an activity I had long wanted to achieve with the mindset of the twenty-something Outward Bound Instructor I once was. I had placed myself out on my solo with the aspirations I once held in my younger adult years and I expected myself to respond accordingly. I realised with a shock that this was a “Hungry Caterpillar” moment for me. The instance where I shed an important part of my old-self to emerge into a bright and colourful new-self.

It was clear to me I was grieving the loss of my youth in preparation for an acceptance of advancing age. For months I realised with some excitement, I had been aware of a change within me but couldn’t put my finger on it. Ever since capsizing my kayak after my island bivouac in January, I’ve had a nagging doubt about my ability to undertake challenging outdoor activities. I put this down to a knock in my self-confidence which would soon bounce back, but this hadn’t. Instead, I increasingly found myself questioning my competence. I saw myself becoming more and more physically uncertain and unbalanced. Clumsy even. Sitting there on the ancient log in the breaking hours of the morning, I marvelled at how I had stumbled onto this enlightening realisation. This didn’t lead to a resolution of my sadness and in fact I now felt more unhappy. I knew I had to let go of the expectation my body was still that of a thirty year old and not that of a man nearly now twice that age.

Well after the sun had climbed into the sky I finally concluded there was no reason why I had to force myself to continue with my solo experience. I decided to return home even though it felt a failure to do so. My disquiet caused by my night time revelations meant the following twenty four hours would be an endurance and there was a danger this may lead to harmful introspection. Content with having reached the point I had with my self-awareness, I packed my camp away and walked back to the house. After all I told myself, as an instructor I never placed shame on any of my course participants who couldn’t complete their solo experiences. There was no reason I should do this for myself and anyway, I had spent twenty four hours out in full ‘solo’ circumstances.

In the days since my shortened solo, I have given much thought to the insight I came to. I recognise a need for my acceptance of the fundamental changes in my aging body. I also recognise, and this is important for me to understand, these changes do not imply a cessation of my adventurous aspirations. Quite simply I need to alter these to account for my natural frailty and as always, focus more on the enjoyment I gain from my encounters with the wild outdoors in whatever shape or form these may take. I’m not through this process of change yet. I suspect there is a way to go, but I’m much happier now I understand where my disquiet has been centred.

"Solo"

Tomorrow my wife Karen is going to put me out on ‘solo’ and I’m both excited and nervous about the prospect.

I once worked as an instructor for Outward Bound in the UK and Southern Africa. The twelve years I spent with this remarkable charity informed so much of what I understand of humanity as well as delineating my aspirations for a life well lived. Briefly, Outward Bound is an international charitable organisation (nearing its eightieth anniversary), which primarily provides personal development courses in the outdoors and through outdoor activities. As the name Hoover is synonymous with vacuum cleaners, so is Outward Bound with outdoor personal development training. Those of you who know me will understand how firmly my attitude towards living is anchored in the humanistic precepts of Outward Bound, originating as they did from the great educationalist, Kurt Hahn. Google his name and I hope you’ll agree with me that much of the philosophy he espoused in the mid-twentieth century is as relevant today in the twenty first.

Outward Bound courses by their nature, provided myriad opportunities for powerful personal insights for the course participants. One of the privileges of my life work were hundreds of notable moments when I facilitated significant new awareness for individuals or groups, knowing they would embody this for the benefit of their futures. The ‘mountains speak powerfully’ and through many outdoor challenges, people came to realise the limits they set themselves were eminently flexible - outwards. Witnessing this occur so many times, is a strong reason why I seek this process for myself when I undertake my kayaking journeys or other small adventures. I have come to the conclusion that the outdoor personal development process develops resilient self awareness. Resilient because the metaphors are powerful enough to anchor the moment the awareness came to light, for continued future reference.

A key element of the traditionally long Outward Bound courses (three weeks in length), was the ‘Solo’. Here, the course participants would be individually placed, out of sight of each other, in an area of remote wildness, where they would spend 24 to 48 hours on their own. They would have the means to construct a rudimentary shelter, have basic food rations and all ‘luxuries’ would be taken off them. No books (apart from notebook and pen), no cameras, nowadays no phones and no watches. The purpose wasn’t to elicit individual survival skills but to provide a rare opportunity for contemplative solitude. It is highly uncommon for us in our lives to enjoy total solitude without any distractions. We often think of ourselves alone but in the background there maybe a television, a radio, and these days our phones and the internet. Somehow or other, we are permanently connected to a modern pace of life. Even during my long kayaking journeys when I may be alone for three to four days, I am still connected through online activities, texting and informative sources like my radio. It was hoped for the participants, the removal of everyday distractions would provide a somewhat challenging experience of enjoying solitude - aloneness.

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Solitude - the glory of being alone.

The solo took place mid-course when the individuals were now aware of the personal development process and would have the opportunity to test new awareness out after the solo during the latter stages of the programme. Invariably, the notion of complete solitude was alien to most and a great challenge to many. It certainly wasn’t an activity we could take lightly with plenty of emphasis on safety and the emotional well being of the participants. However, it was the element of the long course programme I enjoyed facilitating. Listening to the excited chatter on the night everyone returns from their solo told me all I needed about the importance of this powerful personal development course element. Of course, not everyone enjoyed the experience. There were often quite a few who decided to make their way back to the base before the allotted time was complete. Each individual would be placed in a suitable spot to create a shelter and shown the defined boundary of their solo site. The importance of remaining within this area was pressed on them and they were instructed to return to the base if they felt unsafe or unhappy and not to seek out other participants, thereby breaking their solitude. If time was given by the instructor into establishing a meaningful reason for the activity and framing it so it held relevance, most if not all participants would embrace the challenge.

As an instructor, solo was a time of rest. It was welcome down time from the rigours of delivering a high energy course. In Wales, we would link the solo with the middle expedition so in the end five days and nights were spent out of the centre. We would arrive at one of the four wooden cabins we used in the expansive Dyfi Forest from the expedition to find trayfuls of solo rations and other rewards. For the instructor there would be our solo bag where we would have put our books, our Sony Walkman, or other little luxuries we would treat ourselves to while our group was out on solo. After placing the individuals out, all that remained was a leisurely 24 or 48 hours where we went and visually checked on them three times a day. The rest of the time was ours. When the time was up, we would collect each individual, chat to them about their experiences and send them on their way back to the base where a huge fry up breakfast was being prepared. The following hours would be given to eliciting awareness through hearing each person’s story and what insights they may have gained.

I remember feeling a level of envy at the end of every solo I delivered because I had never experienced what they had just completed. I had never been on my own for that length of time without my watch and rudimentary kit. As I have said, I am used to solitude but not total solitude. This is an experience I have yet to encounter - until tomorrow this is.

With this dreadful pandemic gripping our nation and the subsequent curtailing of activity, it’s not possible for me to sea kayak to the islands I have wanted to bivouac on. It struck me that in a way, through our social isolating, we are undertaking our modern day solos and really, this will be a wonderful opportunity for me to undertake my first and probably only, proper solo experience. Karen will walk with me to the secluded location I have chosen close to Tobermory and leave me there for a full 48 hours. Two nights and two days. When the time comes, she will walk out and collect me. I will follow the rules I set the participants on my courses; no watch, no camera, no reading book, no modern gadgets, basic shelter, basic rations, sufficient clothes and a note book and pen.

I am both ready for this and reticent too. I’ve conducted my own risk assessment with regard to the state of my mental health. I am entirely confident I will be OK and not detrimentally suffer from my solitude. I know and trust myself enough to return home if this waivers. I have no desires to complete my suicide. I will be safe.

I will write up my experience here on my blog when I return. See you in two days time. :)

Endurance

Lying awake at 3am under a wildly flapping tarp, the icy rain spattering an ear bursting discordant tattoo in gusting bursts, I began to wonder what all this was about? At the tender age of 56, why do I continue to seek out moments of difficulty and hardship for the sake of doing so? A bivouac on a small Scottish island simply just to say I’ve done so - why? Not only this, but a bivouac a month on different islands. Ah, this begins to make some sense of the why. There is a pattern here. Add in the mix a fundraising angle, and the reasons become clearer. But still, bivouacking in some of the worst winter weather to realise these abstract goals? Why do I choose to do this to myself - push myself physically and psychologically?

A straightforward answer quite glibly is; “Because it’s there.”

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To Serve, To Strive and Not to Yield.

One notion is seeking the heroic quest, placing myself in the role of hero. Here I am the protagonist in search of adventure. Seeking goals I set for myself and setting about attaining them. The tale of the hero is as ancient as time itself. Humans thrive on such stories and many of us dream of these occurring for ourselves. The heroic ancient tale of Odysseus inspired the emergence of the Outward Bound movement and their motto; “To serve, to strive and not to yield” is attributed to Tennyson’s poem of that Ancient Greek adventure. Working as I did for twelve years as an Outward Bound instructor, I could not help imbuing this tenet of the motto and taking it to heart, many of my decisions to immerse myself in adventure guided by those simple principles. To serve - my community (fundraising), to serve myself. To strive - to reach out beyond the normal in my life. Not to Yield - this then is the crux; face the risks, the hardships, the solitude, the discomfort and the joys with equanimity.

Courage is one attribute at the heart of this drive within me. It manifests itself in how I explore for myself how far I’m willing to go before courage gives way. In achieving this, I discover the possibility of extending preconceived limitations which then serve to strengthen a healthy view of myself. Through placing myself in situations where my resolve is tested, I gain insights into my ever-developing personality. I am fascinated by this evolutionary process and I’m eager to understand it all the more.

Endurance on its own is a fascinating subject. The ability to endure is an attribute all people manifest many times in their lives; living with an illness, living though loss, a difficult work environment, unhappiness, loneliness, and more. There are those though who willingly seek endurance; ultra-distance runners, Himalayan mountaineers, deep sea divers, and many more. I am in awe of the many who test themselves to the limits.

Sea kayaking is not in my mind an extreme sport where endurance counts, but there have certainly been high endeavour achievements where the kayakers will have faced extreme challenges; crossing the Atlantic (3 times by an elderly Polish man), crossing to New Zealand from Australia, a woman kayaking alone from Europe to Australia, a woman paddling solo around the Americas having already circumnavigated Australia, and those of the crossings to the Faroes from Scotland and crossing back to Scotland from Iceland! There are many more fine achievements I haven’t listed here.

The severity of these sea kayak challenges are beyond me, but they illustrate what sea kayaking has to offer me and fulfil my desire to experience my tenacity in the face of hardship - to test my endurance.

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Outward Bound Aberdovey

Why is this important to me? Again it’s an existential matter - I experience discomfort and pain, therefore I am. By sitting with discomfort I’m seeking enlightenment. As a result, I will enjoy clarity of thought and visionary insights pertaining to myself, my world and my relationship with others. In many respects I’m not unlike a 9thC monk seeking solace through the hardship of a contemplative cell in a dark cave or perched on a sea stack on the west coast. The rigours of the experience expunge the distractions of everyday life and help focus, in that moment, what really matters. Attempting a similar level of meditative practice in a benign setting does not allow for deeper insights. My mind skitters across the surface of any deeper thought, too easily distracted by perfunctory matters.

When I worked for Outward Bound, we used an activity called ‘Solo’ as a means of encouraging course participants to consider more deeply their Outward Bound experience and hopefully how this reflects in their lives in general. The activity was designed to provide an element of hardship which would encourage resourcefulness from the student. They were provided the means to construct a rudimentary shelter, a basic set of rations and the means to make a hot drink. Of course they had spare clothing and their sleeping bags. They were not allowed to wear watches, carry phones, use cameras or have any other means of unwanted distraction. They were allowed their course log-book and a pen. An Outward Bound solo occurred, whatever the weather. For many participants, this experience was the highlight of their course. This was because for 36 or 48 hours they endured complete solitude, with bare essentials throughout whatever weather conditions occurred at the time. For all of them, this was a totally unique and novel experience, probably never to be repeated. At the course end, I heard many times students describe the enlightening insights they gained from their solo.

It is not lost on me I seek to emulate this process for myself during most of my sea kayaking journeys. I choose solitude for this main reason. I choose simplicity without the encumbrance of extraneous equipment. I choose difficulty over easiness and I choose remoteness and wildness. The feeling of accomplishment after completing a gruelling solo challenge is a most pleasant reward. With every accomplishment and setbacks too, my wisdom incrementally increases. My tenacity in the face of hardship and possible danger is possible because I have accrued the wisdom to understand these difficult moments will eventually pass. Probably more important than cognitive understanding is an all encompassing acceptance. Accepting the difficulty as an impermanent experience, no matter how intolerable it may be. Nevertheless, there will be times when the level of discomfort overrides my ability to see it through. This is when I have to be even more vigilant because it is in these moments I may make a poor decision. There follows an internal dissonance choosing whether to follow on with the course of action or abandon it altogether.

The ability to be tenacious is not only about physical prowess but overcoming the mental challenges too. My mind is continually assessing the situation, the course of progress, the risks and possibility of failure. Throughout the day I will be forever questioning myself and checking I’m essentially doing the right thing, always seeking an opportunity to escape but never following this option. Overcoming negative thinking is as strong a process as coping with the physical discomfort. Facing these thoughts head on and challenging self-limiting perceptions requires an almost constant internal dialogue where the wise-self within me encourages the nervous-self to take the chances.

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Cape Wrath 2015

The rewards for tenacity and endurance are for me, sublimity. Invariably I will find myself on the sea in a situation I would not have attained if it weren’t for the effort I had exerted. Rounding Cape Wrath on my own during my 2015 kayak journey around Scotland is a fine example. I was fearful right up to the point I arrived at the Cape. A number of times I tempted myself with a return to the sheltered waters of Kinlochbervie. Instead, beginning before sunrise, I set off with purpose on a day’s paddling which I knew would test me to my limit. The fear was real and so were the temptations to turn back. When I arrived at the cape, I found myself swallowed by the glorious immensity of the place, the indefinite oceanic landscape, the neck arching cliffs, the cacophonous birds, dervishly wheeling above, the exhalation of the waves gently spending themselves on the cliff bases, and the great arch - the portal I would kayak through marking the end of my journey up the western seaboard to the northern. My innate endurance had brought me to this point. An endurance informed by wisdom, tenacity and willingness to face risks.

I choose to endure the difficult because I know this difficulty is impermanent, beyond which wonderful new experiences may lie. I choose to endure because I am offered enlightening insights into my self. I choose to endure because I enjoy the challenge, setting myself against myself, never a competition with the sea or nature. I choose to endure because from this experience, I realise I’m able to endure other aspects of my life, primarily my fight with depression. So often I remind myself to sit with my depressive discomfort because it will pass. I do not endure to show off or to seek fame. This is a private and personal process for me. Some challenges may appear impossible but these are only limited by my imagination. Facing the challenge no matter how arduous this may be, adds the flavour to the recipe of achievement.

Fate

I know exactly what’s happening here and I thought of writing to explain one of the processes I face when coping with my depression.

Right now I have a belief the world is conspiring against me. That fate is some how preventing me from achieving the goals I so desperately want to attain. The notion that my depression is governed by an outside force beyond my control. The result for me, becoming lethargic, repeating again and again, “What’s the point?”

A couple of weeks ago I foolishly lost my GoPro camera with all the footage I had taken to create my first You Tube vlog. This vlog is one of the tasks I have set out to achieve this year. Losing the camera was a huge blow, particularly since I lost the footage. For a couple of days, I experienced a deepening malaise.

Then yesterday we ran out of fuel in our car. This is a foolish thing to allow to happen but to be fair, the Tobermory Garage is the only one nearby within 15 miles and they have been without fuel supplies for two weeks! We were on our way to the ferry. Needless to say, there began a comedy of errors interspersed with genuine warmth and help. To cut to the end of the tale, after the roadside rescue had come out and ‘fixed’ the problem, we headed back home. Only, the engine was definitely not well. We couldn’t raise more than 20 miles an hour out of her and going up hill was painful. We arrive back in Tobermory with a poorly overheated car. I can’t bear to think what the problem will be and of course the costs to this.

So, just when I had found a means to pay for a new camera, in time for the next bivouac, this money is now diverted to the car - for good reason of course. Hence, this leads to the sense my life is governed by depressive fate. The conclusion I come to (often prefixed with a deep sigh) - why bother!

Compassion

On the morning of the 14th February, I had a meeting in the Oban Lifeboat Station with two senior representatives of the R.N.L.I.. This was a generous response on their part to a complaint I had raised regarding a film the organisation were supposed to be producing about me, living with severe depression and suicidal ideation, how connection to the wild through walking and kayaking helps me live with this, and finally, how being an R.N.L.I. volunteer was helpful for me too.

It’s not right for me to detail the nature of my concerns and subsequently, the substance of the meeting too. Needless to say, I was deeply grateful my issue was responded to with good grace, concern for my well being, and a desire to set matters straight. This was not a conflictual meeting at all. Without dancing on eggshells, we addressed the main issue concerned. Heartfelt apologies were given and accepted. This was really important for me. Then the conversation moved to the future and how the footage and content of the film would best serve the R.N.L.I. This led into a fruitful and in depth discussion about opening a wider public dialogue about mental health matters, more specifically suicide.

I did not realise this fact, but the second highest reasons for lifeboat launches around the country are for the desperate souls who have completed their suicide or survived an attempt to do so. I noted my shock, when realising I am one of those statistics. The three of us agreed the issue of suicide is more than often too delicately discussed, with me going onto insist, it should become an important part of our societal lexicon rather than being hushed up. There is wide ranging national debate about how this can be achieved, where the information and messages about suicide do not lead to vulnerably ill people becoming motivated to attempt to complete their suicide. This was the main issue of the film about me. I had been frank and honest during production and this was deemed to be too descriptive by two mental health agencies who were approached for advice about the film. While I understand the need for caution, especially the huge outreach the R.N.L.I. have, I did feel it was a lost opportunity to share my story in a manner which does not glorify mental distress and suicide in anyway whatsoever.

There was little more to discuss about this issue. I am hugely relieved to now know what the intentions for the film are and I look forward to my future involvement with this.

The unintentional theme of the meeting for me was - compassion. This first came up when I described my experience of when I was taken aboard the Oban Lifeboat from the CalMac rescue craft which had found me in the sea. With a broken voice of emotion, I described when lying on the stretcher in the pungent warmth of the lifeboat Thomas, a crew member knelt by my head keeping me awake with warm words of encouragement, often referring to my kayaking and connections this had brought for me and the R.N.L.I.. As an aside here, when I walked into the Oban Lifeboat station for the meeting, I was greeted by Thomas. For the first time since my rescue last May, I was able to grip him by the hand and emotionally thank him for all he did. Not only did he look after me on the lifeboat, he also visited the hospital casualty to find out how I was and to speak with my wife. I’m eternally grateful to him and all others who saved my life that day.

Through our discussions about the future of the film, we realised the heart of the matter is the selflessness of the lifeboat crews. We surmised because of this selflessness, it may be easy to miss mental health worries crew members may be dealing with. After all, the culture of a life boat crew is one of robustness, an essential attribute given the primary purpose of their existence. We discussed many scenarios where my messages through my personal telling, of hope, suicide awareness and living with deep depression could be shared for the benefit of all in the R.N.L.I.. We did not come to any conclusions, and I was happily satisfied to know this is a subject which increasingly gaining ground within the organisation.

I experienced yet again, the selfless compassion of the R.N.L.I. personnel from the two managers at our meeting. Their kindness and warmth were authentically generous.

Here I quote from a passage in the book I’m writing about my kayak journey around Scotland where I visited each of the Scottish R.N.L.I. lifeboat stations. This piece comes from the chapter about Longhope in the Orkney Islands:

“Even though they were strangers to me, I connected with each of their names on the plaque, because I understood the motivation which impelled them, despite knowing the danger this entailed, to heed the call for help and head out into that fearsome storm on the night of 17th March. I was certain that their motivation was not for fame or glory. I was certain too, it was a motivation which runs far deeper and because of this, can be difficult to quantify. There are sometimes insufficient words to describe the compassion people hold for strangers, which compels them to risk everything of themselves, to at least have a chance at saving a another’s life. Maybe it can be best explained like this and here I paraphrase from Kurt Hahn, the founder of the Outward Bound movement; “The experience of helping a fellow human in danger, or even of training in a realistic manner to be ready to give this help, tends to change the balance of power in a person’s inner life with the result that compassion can become a primary motive.””

In recent months I had lost sight of the R.N.L.I.’s compassion in the fog of my sense of indignation and self righteousness believing I had been wronged by the charity. From the moment I tabled my complaint to the meeting yesterday, it was the compassionate sense for my well being which set the order for the day. It’s a relief for me believe this once more, compassion is the core our nation’s treasure, the R.N.L.I.

Decisions - always decisions!

As I write this, my name is on the waiting list for a bed on Succouth Ward, the psychiatric unit at the hospital in Lochgilphead. Despite a seemingly turn towards the better, I find myself yet again with compulsions to end my life. I am desperately exhausted from the interminable conversations I have with myself about keeping on going in the hope life will become better. Over the last week, I have found myself at the point of making an impulsive choice - almost as if I were standing on the gunwale of the ship before leaping. The draw of inestimable peace death would bring from the anguish I feel, is deeply attractive in these moments.

What stops me?

Well, the very struggle I speak of. The struggle to remain alive and not accede to the final demands my illness is asking of me. It’s a constant process of accounting for the pros and cons!

I do not want to go back to hospital. This would seem to be an unforgivable failure after my ebullient discharge last August. Yet, I crave the peace and safety hospital will provide. A place where I am able to attend to my illness without fighting with it out of sight of the world. I have wonderful plans for the year ahead, and if I go into hospital, a fair chunk of time will be lost and plans will go awry. Yet, if I give myself time to recover again, I’ll be stronger for the rest of the year.

I’m not one to follow the easy route and there is a fighting spirit within me which encourages me to hang tight, see this bout through, and find myself much stronger to face the year ahead. The risk here, in one of my deeply unhappy moments. my impulsiveness will win and that will be me.

While I was struggling with these thoughts I was reminded about difficult decisions I found myself facing when kayaking around Shetland in 2015. I went into my incomplete book about this journey and found the chapter detailing my Shetland experiences. Reading this again, I find the parallels run deep and this is incredibly helpful for me.

I hope when reading the excerpt below, you may see the connections.

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Shetland – excerpt.

I worked out I had four days of paddling ahead of me to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland to reach Lerwick. The forecast was mixed with strong winds promised for much of the week ahead. There were a couple of exposed sections of coastline to contend with, particularly Esha Ness with a reputation for rough seas and few places for a kayaker to find shelter. For the briefest of moments, I pondered portaging
from the west side of mainland Shetland to the eastern side into Sullom Voe over the curiously named Mavis Grind, a neck of land which separated the west seas from the east. Mavis Grind it turned out when I asked Hylton, wasn’t a 1950s dance but a derivation from Old Norse meaning gate of the narrow isthmus. The isthmus, under thirty-five metres wide at its narrowest section, is the land link between the Northmavine
Peninsula and mainland Shetland. Even though portaging here would considerably reduce my journey to Lerwick, I wanted to enjoy the achievement of kayaking around the whole of the island.

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I Hope This Helps

In hindsight, as Hylton suggested, I ought to have stayed at Aith another two days, because shortly after setting off I found myself struggling into the teeth of a minor gale. The winds were from the north west, the direction I was heading. I paddled slowly out of Aith Voe, one laboured paddle stroke after another, realising I was exiting a natural and excruciatingly long wind tunnel. I cursed my stubbornness in insisting I would press on, no matter what. As I struggled to gain forward momentum, my conscience niggled with criticisms of my impetuousness. I mouthed silent thanks I left Aith too early in the morning for folks to spot me struggling away up the voe.

Eventually I passed Papa Little island and crossed to the island of Muckle Roe. Along the shore here I was out
of the worst of the wind and I caught up with myself a little, this respite easing my bad temper. Despite the wind, the day was gloriously sunny, the sea glittering with thousands of dancing diamonds. I looked up at the Scandinavian influenced farmsteads and dwellings and felt again the exoticness of being somewhere wonderfully foreign. I turned from Busta Voe, a name which made me smile because it sounded like a 1980s Ska singer, under the bridge linking Muckle Roe to the mainland, and into Roe Sound. Ahead of me through the narrow stretch of water was the expansive St Magnus Bay across which, nine miles away, was the rugged headland of Eshaness. The wind was blasting down Roe Sound and once more, I found myself digging my paddle blades deeply hard with sweat inducing effort to make headway.

I was less than a mile from Turvalds Head (who was Turvald I wondered?) This was the point where I faced the choice to turn eastwards for Mavis Grind and the short portage into what assuredly would be the easier seas of Sullom Voe or press onwards towards the Eshaness headland. Choosing the Mavis Grind route would ensure I would have the wind behind me thus significantly easing the remainder of the route to Lerwick. As I reached forward over another choppy wave and pulled hard, crossing into Sullom Voe was deeply attractive. I was sorely tempted by the prospect of easier paddling, another shoulder wrenching paddle stroke over a steepening wave, emphasising the point. I told myself however, it was yet half an hour before the requirement to make this crucial decision.

The forecast before I departed, assured me the strong north westerly winds would persist for at least two days, possibly three. I realised now, if I continued up the west coast of Shetland, I would significantly struggle against them. The seas off Eshaness would be nasty and recalling my fearful experience along the west coast of Orkney, I didn’t want to face those conditions again. It seemed to me wisdom should prevail and with a heavy heart I was close to acceding to the inevitable. The glitter went from the day despite the diamonds continuing to dance about me. Despite the wiser prospect of easier conditions in Sullom Voe, my disappointment was palpable. My heart was set on completing a circumnavigation of Shetland mainland. It seemed to me my journey was in danger of unravelling. I was losing purpose. My original somewhat ambitious plans for my adventure, had included paddling right up to Muckle Flugga, the most northerly piece of land in the British Isles. In the cosy comfort of the small saloon aboard our yacht, and with the alluring
aid of Google Earth, I had glibly drawn a route to this most northern point without much thought for the reality of the weather conditions I now faced in a rather bleak Roe Sound. As ever with a decision such as this, there were variables to consider, each validly presented. My task now was to sort through these in a logical fashion wisely arriving at an eventual choice.

The natural realm, the great outdoors as we often like to call it, tests me in many ways. From the dawn of
time, humans have pitted themselves against the elements. I would imagine for hunter gatherer peoples thousands of years before, the natural environment was their world, the milieu where they lived, thrived, and coexisted with wild beasts in this mutually shared space. I could not imagine they sought to climb a
mountain simply because it was there. Even paddling an animal skin boat along the coast because they saw this purely as a personal challenge. I imagined for them, life held primary purposes; gathering food, finding shelter, and protecting their children. The essentials of life. As humans moved away from a transient
lifestyle to one of settlement and permanent shelter, our aspirations through the millennia shifted and altered to the point where, here I was, a modern human, sitting in my kayak, on a wind whipped Shetland sea, enjoying the luxury of fulfilling a personal aspiration to kayak around Scotland. If there was no life sustaining purpose for me being here such as hunting for food, what did this moment serve me? What did it matter if I chose to cross Mavis Grind and curtail my circumnavigation of Shetland, instead of pushing further westwards to realise my aspiration for a Shetland circumnavigation? I wasn’t going to starve.

The answer to my insistent rhetorical inquisition was this; the personal purpose of my adventure was indeed life sustaining. It was offering me an important opportunity for growth and development. Physis is a Greek word which describes an innate natural force within every living entity which drives us to grow. In humans, physis refers to the energy invested in health and the expansion of our personal horizons. This is the urge to do something different, the aspiration to be who we want to be, and to choose our destiny. Good mental health is not only the outcome of sound relationships but also the fulfilment of essential universal drives within us including belonging, self-fulfilment and survival.

Physis involves change. No living thing can avoid change, we are constantly in the process of evolution. However, because we crave equilibrium, continuity, and safety in our lives, change is often difficult to accept. We hold onto what we know because this provides us with certainty. This desire for stability is called homeostasis, the opposite to physis. Humans are therefore pulled by these two opposing forces, homeostasis and physis. It is this unresolved struggle which underpins the struggles many, like me, face when making life choices.

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Unpleasant Conditions Around Lang Head

My struggle with clinical depression is most likely an outcome of this tussle within me, which is why, suddenly, the decision to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland or cut it short, had become a vitally important one for me to resolve. It wasn’t simply a matter of portaging into Sullom Voe to avoid the winds. It was about the importance I placed on facing, or not facing, the challenge the strong winds presented. Homeostasis determined I would seek the less demanding route, to ensure I maintained my schedule and avoided the probability of serious and demanding sea conditions. Physis on the other hand, invited me to push on, even though success was uncertain and there was a high probability of becoming storm bound with inevitable delays. I think having worked as an Outward Bound instructor, assisted me with rationalising the presenting facts of the issue, ascertaining the consequences if these are ignored or considered. The underpinning factor is personal safety, so if there were an indication the task being considered was
completely reckless, would determine an immediate avoidance. Though, if the risks were such serious harm may occur but with care, could be avoided, then the task was worthy of consideration.

It would be simple to avoid the complexities within the decision-making process, to not heed them or desire self-understanding. For me though, this would diminish the opportunity for self-awareness. I consider this to be integral to an adventure experience. Without understanding, there is no wisdom to be gained. It was clear from the outset that my journey around Scotland was so much more than simply visiting the lifeboat stations. It was an opportunity for me to gain deeper insights into my ‘self’. This would help me grow into the older man I hoped to become. I didn’t want to slide into my old age. I wanted to arrive with as much energy and enthusiasm for life as I had when I was in my twenties.

So it was, with renewed determination Turvals Head slowly slipped behind me. I continued out into the steep and uncomfortable waves of St Magnus Bay. The 1950’s dance, Mavis Grind would be enjoyed another time. Despite my resolve to face my adventure head on, shortly after setting out into the bay, uncomfortable sea conditions seriously challenged me. I had previously coped with trickier conditions but somehow, I wasn’t in a
sound frame of mind to cope with this continuous onslaught of broken waves and a powerfully gusting head wind. Searching as far ahead as I was able to, I saw conditions around Lang Head, my next headland, were dreadful. Even from my sea level elevation I could see an angry race kicked up by wind over tide. I was
faced with another crucial decision. I was able to turn back to Mavis Grind or I could find somewhere to stop nearby in the hope the conditions eased during the day. Pressing on around the headland in these conditions was not an option.

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My Island Neighbours

I resolutely held onto my desire to round Shetland. I pressed on another mile through some lively seas to a small island called Egilsay where with a relieved scrunch, I landed on a shiny pebble beach. A small cohort of common seals welcomed me in, snorting and splashing in the waters behind me. I pulled the kayak up the stones and wandered over to the far side of the island where I would gain a better view of Lang Head. From a
raised elevation it was immediately clear to me I had made a wise decision not to attempt to get around. It would be a nasty piece of water to be kayaking alone in these windy conditions. I wandered back to the boat and dug out my flask of lemon and ginger tea, always a soothing drink when my mind is troubled, and I need to think things through. I had managed only ten miles out of the thirty I had hoped for in the day. If I stopped here, the wind would only increase in strength and I would be stuck for a couple of days at least, the seas around Lang Head worsening in the near gale force north-westerly. I looked morosely back to where I had come from minutes before. The entrance to the short voe leading to Mavis Grind was clearly visible, only a mile away. With the wind behind me, I would reach there in no time at all and within the hour I would be unpacking my kayak and portaging my kit, my boat and myself across into the sheltered waters of Sullom Voe. I sighed deeply, noticing the seals looking back at me, almost it seemed with sympathetic gazes.

“Fuck!” I shouted and was immediately answered with a few splashes in the small bay as my profanity
caused some alarm. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I was fed up with the winds and I was fed up with what seemed to be a continual process of evaluation and
re-evaluation. Why couldn’t I simply enjoy a carefree passage along this stunning Shetland coastline? Was fate trying to tell me something?

I refused to entertain the idea of giving up on the circumnavigation and belligerence within me mobilised my inert body. I heaved myself to my feet and set about unpacking the kayak, making a comfortable camp on sun warmed short cropped turf a few metres away from the beach. My mind was unyielding. I would sit out the gales on this island after which, I would complete my circumnavigation of Shetland.

2020 - So Far

25th August! That is the date of my last entry in this blog. Shameful. Anyway I suppose, better later than never. Here goes.

Yesterday I watched the Scotland versus Ireland play in their opening games of the Six Nations Rugby competition, a hard fought contest between the nations of Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Italy and England. Sporting wise it is a highlight of my year for two reasons. I’m a fan of rugby (used to play it) and think this competition is the finest to watch. Also because the timing of the Six Nations contest marks the end of winter and heralds the promise of spring.

Of course, I want Scotland to feature well in the contest, even win it outright if possible and certainly beat the Auld Enemy, England to maintain our stewardship of the Calcutter Cup. The match between Ireland and Scotland yesterday was a well fought and bruising encounter. Ireland triumphed with 19 points to 12. Both teams were well matched and it was a close call right up to the final whistle. Watching the Scotland team surge close to their opponents try line again and again without success, suddenly clarified for me where I find myself at the moment. The Scotland team were strong, co-ordinated, fearless and at times played with flair. However, at the closest moments when they looked to score a try, they made a mistake and had a penalty awarded against them, or through mishandling, they allowed Ireland to regain the initiative. It was a Scottish onslaught after onslaught with fierce bravery, without success. Even when a try was scored, it was nullified because the player dropped the ball before he placed it on the ground. This moment epitomised Scotland’s fortunes.

I was on the edge of my seat watching the game. As it unfolded and witnessing Scotland’s game, I witnessed through their valiant efforts the experiences I face in my life at the moment. I suppose one of the reasons I haven’t written a blog post for a while is because I didn’t want to hark on about mental health and my depression. Somehow though, there’s no escaping this. I am fighting my depression at the moment as fiercely as Scotland faced Ireland yesterday. I face it head on and tackle it when it attempts to get the better of me, and when I do, I gain ground. Like Scotland’s efforts though, I am often overwhelmed and lose ground again. Since the festive period I have struggled with a bad dose of my depression. So much so, there has been some talk of another hospital admission. I certainly do not want this to happen. I’m determined not to give in and find myself on the ward again watching through the windows, my life pass by.

With a concerted effort to stay ahead of my illness, I have set myself a few achievable goals through the year to provide me focus and the joy of attainment. As you may guess, most of these tasks involve sea kayaking and my connection to the wild outdoors. In 2020 I aim to achieve the following;

• Kayak 2020 kilometres by the end of the year. Given I paddled 2997 km in four months during my 2015 journey around Scotland, I think this is eminently achievable. The summer months will see me undertake a number of long journeys.

• Solo bivouac on a different island for a night once a month through the year. The criteria being; the island must be no longer than 1000m and wider than 500m. I have to kayak to it. The island must be a complete island, not one which dries out at low tide to connect to the shore.

• Kayak around the Isle of Mull closely following the coastline, every loch and indentation.

• Begin a regular You Tube ‘vlog’ highlighting my life connected to the outdoors, my deeper connection through this process, talk more about mental health and how being outdoors helps my process of recovery. Talk about adventure and why this is so important in my life. With this in mind, talk about my approach to adventure, particularly because much of it is solo, and how I ascertain and manage the risks. In general too, share my life here on Mull as we explore the island by walking and camping. I’d like to also portray a number of film projects which interest me; waterfalls of Mull and the Iron Age remains on the island. I have created a long list of ideas.

• Become creative again and begin to make jewellery from found objects along the shoreline. I used to make jewellery from sea glass which is why I want to do something similar. It’ll help me if I can sell what I create to support funding for my projects.

• Finally of course, I have a book to write! I’m confident the reactivation of my physical and creative self, will inspire me with this endeavour.

Somehow though, like the Scotland Rugby team surging against the Irish yesterday, I find myself already feeling beaten back and my resolve tested. I am fighting (I use the word fight a lot), lethargy and sleepy tiredness. My medication, while keeping me above my lowest point, has the side affects of tiredness, trembles and marked problems with my balance. For example, on returning from my first bivouac on an island, I unwittingly capsized in my kayak and ended up swimming in the sea. Having kayaked probably at least 5000km since 2015 without an unintentional capsize, this came as a complete shock. Particularly since I was in Tobermory Bay where I had managed to reach paddling through a sizeable sea. I simply found myself falling to my right and unable to prevent my immersion. If this wasn’t bad enough, I lost my cherished GoPro camera. The saddest thing about this is I had recorded all the footage I needed to post my first vlog. What with the capsize and the loss of the film footage, I feel beaten and demoralised. Not only this, the camera will take time to be replaced because of expense. It is difficult for me to recognise my achievement in completing my island task because of these two disasters.

The effect of the loss of my camera has led me down a path of despondency and questions pertaining my ability to achieve anything in my life. I recognise this is my illness speaking to me, but it can be an overwhelming belief. The analogy of the Scotland rugby team dashing themselves against the redoubtable Irish and not quite achieving seems to be a true on for me. Running this analogy to its conclusion would be the awareness the game is not over until the final whistle, thus never give up hope.

What frustrates me is after my lengthy stay in hospital last year, I left there with renewed understanding on how I can combat my depression through using Cognitive Behavioural methods. At the moment for me, it’s grappling with the knowledge and forgetting how to apply it. I’m irritated by my lack of ability to put to use what I know to be effective.

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There are wider aspects of my life at the moment which cause me worry. The greatest of these is my broken relationship with the R.N.L.I. and the belief I have been exploited by the charity on a number of levels. I have a meeting with representatives of the organisation coming up where I hope my unhappy concerns will be heard and addressed. It’s more the sadness I feel about this which deepens my sense of depressive gloom. This situation also creates high levels of anxiety within me.

The side affects of my antidepressant medication are bothering me too. I ask myself daily what is the point of taking the medication if the quality of my life is affected by the very thing which should be enhancing it? I am jittery, my hand trembles so much so, I find myself clumsy when pouring my coffee for example (and you all know how important my morning coffee is to me). This affects my handwriting and simply when I’m trying to relax. The loss of co-ordination and balance dampens my spirits too. The simple task of taking Ziggy for his walk is sometimes a challenge when I stumble and fall backwards on steeper ground. Then there is the issue of my libido. This is non-existent and for a person who, as mostly every other human does, enjoys the intimacy of lovemaking, this is tough to bear. I do find intimacy with my wife through our deep affection and our love, but the physical expression of this has been absent in my life since my time in hospital. As a husband, this causes me worry and concern despite the assurances I receive indicating the opposite. I am in close consultation with my caring mental health professionals about managing my medication.

Then there is the task of writing my book. I admit here, I am woefully behind in even presenting a few worthwhile chapters for consideration. I know what I want to write and there are many times when I experience the urge to put my thoughts on paper. However, the moment I sit before my laptop, my energy grinds to a halt to replaced with self-doubt and concerns about my ability to write. Karen gave me a Christmas gift of a week long retreat at Monhiack Mor, the creative writers centre near Inverness, focussing on memoir writing which is essentially what my book will be. Again though, I’m pressurising myself to have a good amount of writing to present at the retreat.

It seems to me this has been a self-indulgent blog entry detailing my woes. I guess this is true. It is self-indulgent to share my challenges in a public forum, knowing I will undoubtedly receive many words and expressions of support from many of you. In fact though, these supportive responses are hugely helpful for me. One of the greatest challenges I face is the one of loneliness. Of course Karen is my constant in my life and she is wonderful offering her love, support and expressing her belief in me. I lack the companionship of friendship and so find myself seeking this through Twitter and Facebook. Here, I have very many people I call my friends, most of whom I have yet to meet. The friendship and unconditional support I receive from hundreds of folks, is immeasurably helpful. Again though, I resist ‘banging’ on in my Tweets or Facebook posts about my depressive state of mind, for fear of becoming burdensome and seeking continual attention.

To round this off, having written what I have, I feel a strong sense of hope. I know I will replace my camera and I’ll begin to create my vlogs. I know as the weather improves, I’ll be kayaking almost every day. Now we live in a wonderful house, we have visitors lined up to stay with us, thus easing my feeling of loneliness. I have achievable goals to enjoy completing. Finally, I’m honoured to be the key note speaker at the charity Odyssey’s 25th celebration dinner party in March. This fact alone has helped stabilise my sense of uselessness. In return for this opportunity, I have decided to make Odyssey my fundraising charity for the whole year. I will set up a JustGiving page not for one particular event but everything I do through the year. If folks feel inspired by my adventures and/or enjoy the stories I share, I hope they decide to make a donation to Odyssey.

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I will make it over this hump and I’m certain when I write here again, my mood will have considerably lifted. Thank you for taking the time to read this and as ever, for your unconditional support.

A Letter From Sahwira

When I was in hospital, I was fortunate to complete a course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) sessions with a highly skilled nurse therapist. I found CBT to be an ideal intervention for me and my depression. I was challenged many times with encountering new awareness through exploring my many long held negative beliefs. Through this course of therapy I was able to alter these perceptions and realise new truths. Additionally I’ve been provided with many practical skills to continue to challenge negative perceptions leading to positive realities.

One extremely valuable session for me was when the therapist asked me to write a letter to myself from a person, factual or fictional, or an object or anything or anyone I hold value for and who embodies the wisdom to give me positive insights they have about me. The letter must be positive and enhancing. No negativity allowed.

When presented with this task, I immediately chose my sea kayak, named Sahwira, to write this letter to me. She and I have spent many days, weeks and months together, sharing many intimate experiences.

I want to share this letter with you because it was an incredibly important and helpful intervention during my CBT process. I think too, this exercise may be useful for others too. Choose your person or object and write yourself a positively inspirational and encouraging letter to yourself from them.

Here’s my letter from Sahwira.

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Dear Nick,

I remember the first day we met on the quayside in Oban in April 2015. I was gleaming in my Pigeon Blue, mirror polished and brand new. I remember clearly how excited you were and how you ran your hands over me, checking storage compartments, my footrests and my seat, my deck lines, my skeg and generally giving me a thorough inspection. I knew immediately you were a kayaker who knew his business and you’d take good care of me. I liked you from the beginning.

Now I’m coming up to five years old, not an ancient age for a sea kayak, but in those five years I’ve travelled over six thousand miles with you and this I think, affords me a depth of wisdom which many of my contemporaries may not share. I say this because I think this allows me to tell you what I know.

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Rough Seas, Wigtown Bay

From the moment we paddled together, I knew we would share many great adventures. You’re not a kayaker who cautiously holds back, instead you are decisive and willing to explore the coastline where many may fear to go. I like our robust relationship. You understand I was constructed as an expeditionary kayak, strengthened for tough landings and heavy seas. You cared for me, but also you made full use of my capabilities. I sensed you trusting me. It took little time for us to meld together, where you made the decisions and worked the paddles and I managed the heavy seas or whatever conditions we faced. Do you remember our first shared experience of stormy conditions when we crossed Wigtown Bay? Eight open miles of huge and chaotic seas, with a strong Force 6 wind. I was so proud of you for making the crossing in those conditions and skilfully landing on the rocky shore on the far side. This was the first of countless times I saw you leave your comfort zone and accept the challenge. I remember you taking a photo of me on that day, drawn up the rocky beach with the stormy sea piled up high behind.

From then on, I knew as our confidence in working together grew, so would our ability to move beyond our comfort zones, every time learning something new and of course, creating incredibly vivid exciting shared experiences. This is what I like about you. You seek opportunities to create wonderful memories. There’s no holding back with you. Here are some of my notable memories; rounding the Mull of Kintyre in the 4am gloaming, just about making out the tide race we successfully navigated. Crossing from the Isle of Jura to the Kintyre mainland sixteen miles away in heavy fog and a heaving Force 7 sea. You were in your element then and so was I. Crossing the Minch for the first time from Skye to Scalpay in the Outer Hebrides. Both of us marvelling at being alone during this iconic seaway where the tides run strongly. Then there was the time when we thought we would be dashed on a submerged reef when the sea suddenly exposed it and a huge wave broke onto us. We both waited in those tense seconds for the inevitable splintering of fibreglass, but instead we skilfully rode the heavy wave pushing us over the barnacle studded rocks. Rounding Cape Wrath, the sea kayaking moment you had longed for. The sea was calm, and we symbolically left the Scottish West Coast behind and embarked along the unknown to us North Coast, by passing through the great sea arch beneath the neck twisting high cliffs. Then there was the West Coast of mainland Orkney in that 3 metre clapotic swell, both of us nervous as anything. Making it all the way around mainland Shetland – boy, can you remember those cliffs and caves? And of course, so much more. East Coast Scotland, North West England and West Wales. The Isles of Mull, Skye, Jura, Tiree and Coll, the Outer Hebrides and even Loch Ness! Of course, too our favourite many times over – the Sound of Mull.

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Cape Wrath

I recall all the above because you are an explorer. You are inquisitive about the world, particularly the Scottish Coastline. You are fascinated by your human heritage and the marks humans have left on the land through the thousands of years. I love how you’ll paddle slowly into tiny coves seeking history and evidence of seafarers and communities of long past days. Your inquisitiveness is contagious and when we have paddled with others, you have inspired them to notice the land differently.

One of your key attributes I love, is your deep and almost reverential connection to the natural world. Together we paddle silently, immersing ourselves in the littoral realm and all this holds. Otters, seals, myriad cacophonous seabirds and of course when we’re lucky, basking sharks, minke whales, dolphins and porpoises. Remember in the Hebrides we glided silently past the sleeping seal, so close, you could have pinched its nose, its scratchy snoring blowing a strand of seaweed on its nostril. We were so silent; it didn’t wake up! I could list so many other close and intimate encounters with wildlife, but this would fill ten pages.

This shows me your compassion for the world and your deep respect for all who exist on it. Your affinity with the wild is unpretentious and humbly natural. Many who have kayaked with you as friends or as guided clients, have remarked on your inspirational ability to open their eyes to what is possible without you patronising or lecturing. You simply embody and ooze natural wisdom.

I always feel safe with you. In all the time we have paddled together we have only ever capsized once – that’s six thousand miles with one capsize and this was due to a moment of inattentiveness from both of us. All was well because you knew what to do. Nevertheless, you chastised yourself and you were embarrassed for making this mistake. In fact, I often notice you are hard on yourself, especially when we’ve found ourselves in tricky situations. As I say, I trust you to make safe decisions and I know your risk assessment is sound. How else would we leave our comfort zones every day?

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The Sleeping Seal

This shows how keen you are to learn from your experiences. You do not bury them away, instead talking them through to elicit any learning to be gained. I know there are times when you do this, you feel vulnerable to the criticism of other kayakers. You believe you are not one of the crowd. You choose to forge your own path and this at times leads you to think you are at odds with what you perceive the overly cautious sea kayaking community. You tend to undervalue your experience and achievements in the favour of others. I hope you discontinue to do this. I believe you to be a highly capable, adventurous and natural sea kayaker.

We have had our scrapes and I’ve been hurt and damaged by rocks and heavy landings. This is not because you don’t care for me or take me for granted, you’re simply working with me as an expeditionary kayak and these things are bound to happen. You take care of me and always carefully mend any serious wounds. In fact, I like the scars on my hull. To me, they’re a reminder of our many shared adventures.

You are a wonderful companion. I love how you always place me by your tent at night, even if this means carrying me long distances over interminable beaches or up precariously steep rocky cliffs. This shows how caring you are and how you care for those who mean a lot to you. You’ve never had a harsh word for me – only for you and I wish you’d ease up on yourself. You are brilliant at what you do.

Maybe you could tell others more about the experiences we have enjoyed. I think this will help your confidence and help you understand and appreciate your worth. You’ve so many wonderful tales to recount of our journeys which I think would both interest and inspire others.

You’re an insightful person and you’re quick to notice a wider meaning to your experiences. Your ability to draw metaphors our adventures provided, is quite remarkable and it pleases me to share this with you.

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Companions

All in all Nick, you’re the best paddling companion I could have wished for. You’ve certainly made meaning of what I was constructed for and I truly hope you think something similar in yourself.

Remember:        A kayak is safe on the shore, but that’s not what kayaks are built for.

Keep living Nick, living your life to the full. I look forward with eagerness to our future six thousand miles together. I’m proud to carry the name you gave me, “Lifelong friend” in Shona, the Zimbabwean dialect.

Yours always,

Sahwira.

The Man Who Jumped From A Ferry - Epilogue

Epilogue

Now I’m out of hospital, homeostasis is not an option. Keeping things, the same in my life will not address the fundamental sources for my depression. During the three months in hospital, I had plenty of time to evaluate how I live. With the help of my CBT therapist, I clarified the changes, when made, I determined would help keep me in robust good health.

Change can be challenging. Remaining within my comfort zone may seem safe, but doing so, continues to expose me to the familiar, and thus comfortable, elements which may stunt my recovery process. In much of my life, I haven’t been content to remain in my comfort zone. My many sea kayaking adventures are a testament to this. There were innumerable moments during these expeditions where I could have taken the safest path but instead chose the more arduous. The rewards for doing so were always incredibly richer.

I identified the key element in how I live which hinders my pursuit of joy in life as being loneliness. I miss day to day contact with others. I miss seeing my friends. I miss having friends to visit and stay. I miss sharing my love of the outdoors with friends and others. My outgoing and richly blessed online life cannot sustain this for me. There are many occasions where I find myself aching to meet Twitter friends for real, to chat, to share time with. Yet, it is through Twitter where I find my most intimate connections with others. It is where daily, I am recognised and valued. Of course, it is not possible to meet people in reality – I would have to travel the world to do so.

I can make changes in how I live which will enhance the possibilities for me to connect with others. The fundamental change is one which carries the greatest potential for loss and sadness for me. It requires me to give up on what I have long believed sustained me but in fact, I have sadly identified, is a major limiting factor in my life.

This is living on our yacht.

We have therefore decided to move ashore. The key reasons for this huge decision are these. I am isolated from others when I’m aboard on our mooring in Tobermory Bay. There is no chance of anyone dropping by and there are times when I can spend a week on board without any contact with others apart from my wife. The only contact I have is an online virtual one. This then leads me to become attached to my laptop, searching my timelines for any recognition for my existence. Although I purport to live a free and healthy outdoor life, this is in truth not the case. I am often cooped up in our saloon, sitting in the same spot all day. Only moving to make coffee or visit the heads. My wonderful photos often trawled from my numerous photographic catalogues. Of course, I do get out and about. I take the dog for a walk and there are times when I get my act together and go kayaking.

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Yacht Life

This leads onto another debilitating factor regarding living on our boat in the bay. To get ashore we must row one of small dinghies. This means anything we need to transport ashore must be packed to keep it dry, and loaded in the small boat, rowed ashore, lumbered up onto the shore. There are many times when arriving at the shore, I have realised I have forgotten something on the boat which needed to be brought over. For example, the scutter in taking stuff ashore often demotivates me to the point I’ll choose not to go kayaking. Additionally, if I do go kayaking, there’s not much room aboard to dry my wet kit. All this occurs when we are on the mooring. In the winter months, we are berthed alongside one of the pontoon docks in the harbour marina.

This leads into another aspect which I have increasingly found challenging for me. Living on the boat through the winter. Winter is not a good time of year for me at the best of times. It’s when my mood is most likely to lessen to the point where I’m bordering on a depressive episode. Winter here in Tobermory can be tough. The winds often blow from a quarter which makes living aboard uncomfortable because of the noise and movement. When one of the many winter gales passes through, I can be guaranteed very little sleep. Another major factor which I’m increasingly finding challenging is keeping on top of dampness through the winter months. Condensation is a problem leading to things becoming mouldy and damaged as a result. We attempt to keep on top of this but it’s a never ending task. In the mornings I can be woken by large drips of condensation falling on my head from the window above me. With the heating we use, the boat is generally warm and cosy. We don’t suffer from being cold but with heating comes condensation.

Finally, I have come to accept I’m not a worthwhile handy-person. There are innumerable maintenance tasks which are required to keep the boat functional. For some reason, I find it extremely challenging to keep on top of these and ultimately perform them to a high quality. I accept I’m self-critical of myself, but this aspect does weigh heavily on me. It is an issue which I ruminate about and can build within me as a negative force.

There will be a huge amount I’ll miss about living on the boat. The first one, and this is probably the key one, is my loss of identity. I’m known as LifeAfloat to my many followers in my online world. Moving off the boat removes me from this attribution. I will personally miss acknowledging myself as a yacht live-aboard. An important part of my personal identity will be given up. This saddens me.

I will miss the elemental aspect of living on the boat. This is the deep connection I have developed with the weather, the sea, the tides, the birdlife and the boat herself. I will miss falling asleep to the movement created by the swell. I’ll miss becoming intimately knowledgeable about the weather and living my life, so I’m prepared for it and not too discomforted. To a certain extent I’ll miss the challenges the elements present because they remind me of my place in the world.

I’ll miss the opportunities to drop the mooring and sail off into the wide blue yonder. The itinerant lifestyle, not feeling anchored to one place. However, to be honest, we don’t do this half as much as we would like.

So, it’s with an extremely heavy heart, I’ve decided to bring to end my living on a yacht. It has been seven wonderfully interesting, joyful, challenging, and rewarding years. I’ve learned so much about living a simple life. I’ve learned much about myself too, namely I’m keen to live adventurously despite my age. Most of all, I’ve enjoyed the alternativeness of my lifestyle to the point it became a completely normal existence.

We are moving into a delightful terraced house looking over Tobermory Bay. We’ll have a garden which will offer us uninterrupted views across the bay, the Sound of Mull beyond and then the mountains of Morvern in the far distance. It’s a comfortable house with plenty of room. We were extremely fortunate to find this house, because rental accommodation in Tobermory is rare.

So, what are the opportunities?

I will have a room as my ‘office’ where I’ll write without having to clear my stuff away when we need to eat. We’ll enjoy all the aspects living in a house as opposed to living on a boat. Namely, no condensation. We’ll have a spare en-suite guest room.

“There are many Twitter and Facebook friends I want to meet and get to know. Additionally, it’ll be so much easier to then share some wee adventures together; kayaking, walking, exploring Mull. ”

The latter is extremely important! We hope this will mean we no longer live in isolation with no visitors. We make this room available to all our friends, even those we have not yet met. I am particularly keen our house becomes a hive of visitors where we share time together and connect. There are many Twitter and Facebook friends I want to meet and get to know. Additionally, it’ll be so much easier to then share some wee adventures together; kayaking, walking, exploring Mull.

There will not be scutter involved in rowing everything ashore before I can enjoy a day out kayaking or walking. I’ll simply open the door and walk down to the quay. At the end of the day, I can wash and dry my salty wet kit without stringing it out in two small cabins. I think this means I’ll get out on the sea far more often.

When winter arrives, I won’t be struggling with the gales and the darkness as much as I would be on the boat. This will be good for my mental health.

I will invite friends around and folks can drop by. My life will become less lonely and this too will be good for my mental health.

Finally, our dear dog, Ziggy, is becoming stiff in his legs and no longer jumps with the youthful confidence he once had. Living in a house where he doesn’t have to jump into or out of the saloon will certainly benefit him.

Although I will no longer be a live-aboard, I’m not relinquishing my LifeAfloat moniker. It is my intention to spend more time on the sea in my kayak than I have ever done before. There are huge swathes of coastline for me to explore. Additionally, I will buy a traditional clinker built sea going sailing skiff. I have my eye on one already. I will do this once we have sold our yacht.

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The View We Will Enjoy

This leads into the final point. The money we’ll realise from the sale of our yacht will not disappear into the general pot. We’ll divide it equally for each of us to realise our adventure dreams. I’m formulating a huge expedition to take place in a few years. Karen for example, has always wanted to trek through Iceland on a pony. There are many other aspirations we wish to fulfil. The key here is the spirit of ‘Anna-Maria’, our yacht, will live on through our commitment to enjoy adventures from her sale. This fills me with excitement. The possibilities!

We have no further plans than the immediate ones we have made. We aspire to live a life with as small a footprint as we can. This move into the house is a stepping stone towards our next life adventure.