Keith Foskett - Travelled Far

Travelled Far

Keith Foskett

Travelled Far

Copyright 2016 by Keith Foskett.

All rights reserved.

The right of Keith Foskett to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the authors prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is produced and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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Observe the minds logic, but chase the hearts passion.

Travelled Far

I dont recommend camping in thunderstorms. Please note the in word not under or near, but in. This may sound obvious, but as with many aspects of life, occasionally we dont see events coming.

A particular summers evening in south-east England springs to mind to illustrate my point. I was sixteen and walking the South Downs Way with my best mate, Andrew. Setting up camp on Kithurst Hill, there was no sign of any impending doom. The sky was ablaze with red and orange as harmless clouds drifted across the scene, trying to resist a light breeze.

Six hours later, in the early hours of the morning, both of us were screaming in terror at the unexpected prospect of imminent death. A huge storm had rolled in, illuminating our world every few seconds with lightning as the deafening roar of thunder cracked. I genuinely thought my life was over.

Come sunrise we emerged from our leaking tent sodden and exhausted, just glad to be alive. We abandoned our mission and plodded to the train station. I remember wondering if hiking was an interest I wished to pursue.

* * *

Since then Ive hiked around 12,000 miles through remote and unforgiving landscapes around the world, and some kinder environments too. Ive battled many more storms, meteorological, physical and psychological.

I chase dreams, shun societys expectations, run from financial commitments and flee from relationships because my most important goal is freedom, or as near as I can get to it. Sometimes, like that night in the thunderstorm, I fail and make poor decisions. But I learn from those mistakes.

In this book I share a few of my adventures, from the rolling South Downs near my home, to the wild and unforgiving landscape of the New Mexican desert. Ever since the storm all those years ago, I continue to love the great outdoors, our wild and free open spaces. They have taught me, and Ive learnt from them.

Ive travelled far.

This time cannot arrive soon enough. Winter has its own personality and its a character I struggle to be with. Like a friend whose company I enjoy occasionally, we dont socialise often. Although beautiful, it can be harsh, unforgiving, dark and cold. I prefer my seasons a touch more forgiving.

Winter is a dark time for me, and not just because the days are short. I find the period between December and March difficult. Im an outdoors person and I demand sunlight. Energised over the summer months, my batteries recharge. By the time I come up for air in March those cells are dangerously flat, sometimes almost empty.

Some elements of the austere months tempt me out of the dark for a while perhaps a sunny day when deep blue skies contrast with a crisp, white landscape, and I try to suck every last minuscule portion of pathetic warmth I can discover. Winter is beautiful in its own right, and the countryside shines a different light.

But, the closer I creep to spring, the further up from the depths I swim, reaching for the surface with outstretched arms until I break the barrier and heave in a delicious lungful of the new season.

This is my time and I drink it. Ill take more than my fair share, devouring until full and then more. Anticipating the next few months, it starts right now. Blink and you will miss what is happening; the seasons pause for no-one. Each day I see the changes and the subtle progress. The wild garlic poking through musty soil, then a week later the broad leaves have matured, shining and signalling with a delicious aroma (were over here!). Primrose flowers, absent but primed one day, then sporting closed buds bursting with enthusiasm the next, until a week later yellow splatters the woods. An artists palette yearning for contrast. Bluebells will oblige the harmony in a few weeks, one of my favourite sights of spring. A brazen carpet of such unique colour I never experience the same hue anywhere else.

Nettles, the new growth, vibrant green poking through last seasons old. I have missed the young leaves a taste that will now accompany my camp meals along with wild garlic, tossed in for just a minute to transform my evening dinner.

The ground changes. Slowly the leaves will lift, part to one side and allow the virgin vegetation to change the floor of the woods from a crisp clutter of dead browns to a new, living and breathing visual delight. Young buds, curled shyly, tentatively peek out like frightened children.

Trees offer the finale. I sense the impatience, waiting for leaves. Each species comes to life, each corner of the woods changing until a giant canopy has unfolded. The oak, beech, birch, ash and accomplices waiting their turn. Amazed at the birth of one, the next cacophony of green always makes me smile. The love of looking skyward, lost in the illumination of leaves.

Gratefully I acknowledge a rise in the temperature. The chill diminishes, the cold days recede, losing a battle with my new friend warmth. Now I live in the change, an odd place between winter and spring. A corner where winter struggles to let go, and spring fights to regain control once more. A frosty night, a misty morning that dissipates and surrenders to hazy sunshine. I pause on my walk and lift my grateful face to suck up the heat.

Shadows lengthen and linger. The dents, creases and ripples of my home on the South Downs take on a new personality, experimenting with light and shade. Summer storm clouds, a days anger clashing with blue, sunlight streaking through breaks and racing across the landscape.

Im just following the lead of the animals. A glimpse of an adder sliding away through the grass. Rabbits diving back to the hedgerow, a startled fox adamant she had the woods to herself. The call of the birds, more of them every day, new songs as we progress.

Spring can never arrive soon enough.

The South Downs Way

With a childish, giddy excitement I parked my car in Winchester at 6am on a beautiful Saturday morning. The weather report held much promise spring was waking from a long sleep, suddenly realising there was much work to be done. I itched to walk the South Downs Way in a decent time and stretch my legs for the new season.

The previous year, I had walked its hundred miles in three days and was eager to skim a little time off that. This is not to boast I can hike quicker or faster than anyone else, but I enjoy precisely that. I love the buzz, relish hitting the twenty-mile mark, smile when I see my average creep over three miles an hour, and when I pass thirty miles I feel like a superhero. Anything above that and I giggle.

It is my local trail in the county where I was born and raised. I can reach it in twenty minutes, know the route without a map, am aware of the best camp spots and what time the cafs open. It winds through perfect rolling downland, offering scenery from a classic English postcard. I absolutely adore it up there.