Hurrah, no more raging against the dying of the light the winter solstice has arrived! Don’t get me wrong, I utterly love when snow has ‘fallen snow on snow’ so unlike Christina Rossetti I wouldn’t describe the midwinter as bleak but I definitely want to celebrate the shortest day of the year. Knowing the sun is starting to climb higher in the sky each day makes me feel hopeful; like the world is spinning forwards.
Living in Edinburgh, the contrast of winter and summer light is monumental (though not quite as extreme as the seasonal difference my father experienced growing up in Reykjavik.) Before I moved to Scotland, I really had not appreciated what an impact daylight has on your mental well-being and I send my thoughts of support to anyone who is affected by it. For many students it can be a particularly difficult time of year as the shorter days coincide with exam seasons and limited daylight hours are spent inside studying.
Despite its relative lack of appearance, I feel the sun gains more agency and control on us in the winter months. Our behaviours are dictated by its warmth and light and I think we notice it’s presence more acutely. For hillwalkers, this is most pressingly an obvious question of safety. Paths that can seem glaringly obvious by day can be impossible to find in the darkness. It is easy to get disorientated and it can quickly get colder as the night-time descends.
Night navigation is never easy and I often have challenging moments but I find walking in the night-time immensely rewarding too. Crossing Rannoch Moor in September, my friend Monika O’Shea and I were so overcome by the clear starry-sky that we flopped onto our backpacks, limbs danging like daddy-long legs just to gaze up at the milky-way. But to show how misleading the darkness can be, we then spent a fruitless hour searching for a bridge across the Allt Na Lairige at the foot of Loch Treig. We tried everything; pacings, bearings, slope aspect, triangulation but with no success decided to call it a night. We camped on the south bank of the river only to find the following morning that the bridge was about 10 metres away from our tent.
Teletubbies say ‘Eh-oh!’ Waking up before dawn to try and see the sunrise on the summit Goatfell, Arran. Feb 2015.
Curious about night navigation? Here are my ten tips that I’ve learnt along the way:
- #LessIsMore Break it down into smaller chunks; other-wise known as “micro-nav”. You’ve got a smaller margin for error in the dark as it is much harder to notice any mistakes you make and even harder to correct them. Work in manageable sections.
- Make sure your compass skills are tidy. Isn’t magnetism amazing? If you’re unsure how to take a bearing don’t even think about navigating in the dark. Don’t wait until it’s too late to find out your skills are lacking.
- Pack some funky and warm gear. Nothing cheers up a dark night like an obnoxiously fluorescent jacket (or gaiters: see above!)
- Don’t bite off more than you can chew. Go out and practise in an area you’re familiar with. Go to a local small hill or even just your local park and practise your skills in relative safety. Find a course or instructor; a quick internet search will provide many night-nav specific courses and if there’s not one near you get in touch with your local hillwalking club who will be able to organise one.
- Take a reliable, poweful headtorch (and don’t forget to pack spare batteries!)
- Check once and check again. It is embarrassingly easy to go 180° in the wrong direction.
- “Never Walk Alone” Yes, I am guilty of breaking this rule many times but from experience I know it is much harder navigating in the dark on your own and it is far safer if something goes wrong.
- Pack a survival bag or group shelter. This is an essential piece of kit and could well save your life.
- Research your route; know your timings and which landmarks to check off. Having prepared and planned accordingly you’ll have a far better idea of what to expect.
- Have a song ready. If things start to get a bit spooky, screaming out your favorite cheesy tune can quickly relive the tension. I find ABBA usually does the trick.
So to celebrate the winter solstice I have joined the nature writer Robert MacFarlane’s #ReadingTheDark Midwinter Reading Group. Through the power of twitter a virtual worldwide group of us will be reading and discussing Susan Cooper’s ‘The Dark is Rising’. The novel is set between Midwinter’s eve and Twelfth Night and I am excited to join the conversation in real-time and learn through others insights. (I will share my own insights in a review when I have finished the book!)
I love to read literature on nature and the outdoors but never seem to find enough time for it so I have decided to set myself a reading project for 2018. Each month I will read an outdoor-related book and review it on the blog. I’ve decided to call the project #ArmchairAdventures and look forward to sharing this reading journey.
Notes: If you think you might be affected by Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) the NHS Choices website provides lots of info and treatment advice: https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/seasonal-affective-disorder-sad/
The title of this blog comes from a song written by John Tams in 1980 called “Snow Falls”. It was arranged by A. Sutton & T. Van Eyken for the soundtrack to the stage play “War Horse” which I saw at the National Theatre in 2008. The song is rich in optimism and natural metaphor but it is Tam’s raw voice that, for me, evokes such a cyclic sense of seasonal determination. When listening, I imagine the wind-beaten face of a Dartmoor farmer, ploughing the fields on a cold, misty morning. Stoically looking ahead to the spring to come and a year about to rise up again! Check out the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ond1QL5lD9E
Freyja's Hedonism 
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