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Nineteenth century American philosopher Henry David Thoreau advocated the great outdoors as a source of succour to the masses, a refreshment to the soul, as free psychotherapy. One of his most famous quotes is, “”In wilderness lies the preservation of the world.” Is this profundity or truism, penetrating insight or trite? To answer, we must look at the man. Thoreau was no idle dreamer, he was a pragmatist and believed that civilisation and wilderness could, in fact, should co-exist. He was an educationalist who believed in introducing children to the wonders of nature. He advocated the simple life, was an exponent of hiking for pleasure and believed wilderness should be preserved as public land. He felt that only through experiencing nature would man come to love and cherish it. In short, he was one of us.
It’s arguable that Thoreau’s thinking led inexorably to the national parks we enjoy today. One of the founding principles of Britain’s first national park, the Peak District, was that it should be open to the public. There was a recognition that those who toiled all week in the factories of the north, Britain’s engine room, should have a safety valve. Access to the beauty of the Peak District should not be confined to the moneyed few, but open to all. There are cynics who would say that the demise of heavy industry has lessened the need for such a haven for the working classes, but are they really suggesting that today’s stressed out wage slave doesn’t need the balm of a walk in the fresh air?
The fact is that Britain’s open spaces are as important now as they’ve ever been. ‘Men have become tools of their tools’ (Thoreau). Time away from the tyranny of the computer, the television and the playstation is time to reflect, time to understand briefly the importance of simple pleasures, time to reawaken the imagination. Unfortunately, this is not universally understood, either by those who could benefit from it or those who could legislate to encourage it. Too many people have suffered a childhood devoid of adventure, untouched by Britain’s open spaces and maintain that indifference into adulthood. While the government lectures about fitness and health, it subsidises the National Opera more than it does the Peak District National Park Authority. What kind of skewed priorities are those when the rights of the opera lover take precedence over the nature lover? Were the government to pay more than lip service to the value of the outdoor life, the payback would be far beyond the outlay from the public purse.
The great outdoors is a source of unlimited free exercise for mind and body and the positive effect on both physical and mental health is self-evident. But for most of the people who read Planet Fear, there is a further dimension, and the clue is in the name. Risk is an essential part of the equation for many of those who spend time in the wilds, a little dose of fear to inject spice into everyday life. The quote with which I began is sometimes subtly altered to “In wildness lies the preservation of the world.” Even misquoted, Thoreau is profound. The innate wildness of childhood, the determination to take risks, to test oneself, is something that shouldn’t whither with age, it should become a fundamental part of adult life. Those of us who indulge in risky activities know instinctively that it is good for us, we don’t need academics to spell it out. The rush you get from having completed a testing adventure race or surviving a particularly fraught climbing experience can last for days. It can be resurrected in a flash when the need arises, when the monotony of the working week threatens to overwhelm you. Colin Mortlock, educationalist and theoriser on the subject of risk, actually equates action with reflection and says in his book Beyond Adventure, an Inner Journey, “Quality action and quality reflection on that action are of fundamental equal importance.” Our adventures are so much more than simple thrill seeking, they are problem solving, brain stretching, heart pumping work-outs. They add context to existence, tone to muscle and cultivate self awareness. With risk, we take life by the scruff of the neck and shake it. Without it, we are simply passengers.
William James suggested that ‘The problem of man is to find a moral substitute for war.’ Some find that substitute in commerce, some in Grand Theft Auto and still more in the vicarious pleasures of the telly. Which poses a question. If this is the example we set our children, is it any wonder they are prey to the evils of addiction, nihilism and violence? In a society prone to hysteria however, exposing children to real risk is becoming problematic. The health and safety industry is predicated on an entirely false notion, that risk can be legislated for. This is fundamentally wrong, and even Sir Digby Jones, the Government’s Skills Envoy, has said that an obsessive “safety first” approach to life is creating a generation of children who are ill-prepared for a world that requires daily risk-taking to achieve success.
For all its faults, outdoor education has provided an escape route for many a tearaway, though too often these days it is reduced to a couple of hours mind-numbing top-roping or easy paddling or problem solving. The challenge is to use our open spaces to their full potential and expose kids to risk. For this to happen of course, society must come to terms with the inevitability of accidents. We turn a blind eye to chilling road casualties, yet treat every death in an adventure situation as a cause for national mourning. The equation is simple enough. If we wrap our kids in cotton wool, they will make their mistakes at the wheel of a car or with a syringe. If we expose them to real adventures in the great outdoors, they will learn from the experience and carry that lesson for the rest of their lives.
I recently rode the Glentress trail centre in the Scottish Borders. As I toiled up the innumerable switch-backs to get to the top of the red route, I found myself surrounded by a group of taciturn teenagers led by a guide. When we stopped for a rest, they stopped with us and we attempted to engage them in conversation. The thickness of their accents and the fluency of their profanities encouraged the belief that they were probably from one of Glasgow’s less salubrious areas. Eventually, we followed them to the top of Spooky Wood, probably one of the most celebrated downhills in the country. We looked on in wonderment as the guide briefed them, amazed that he was going to take them down such a testing run. He suggested we went first, and we set off gladly, assuming that carnage would follow. Arriving at the bottom with whoops of glee they congregated round us excitedly, wreathed in smiles, garrulous and plied us with questions. “What’s this place called? I’m coming back!” The transformation was miraculous. Exposure to risk and the sheer exhilaration of the run had taken a can opener to their emotions. I am absolutely convinced that the experience was a life changing moment for some of these youths, whose only adventure to date in all likelihood had been running from the police.
The combination of wilderness and risk is a fine example of hybrid vigour. The result is greater than the sum of the two parts. Society underestimates the importance of open spaces and adventure at its peril. To characterise risk taking as perverse or selfish is to ignore the importance of testing oneself, of using this mortal frame as more than a receptacle for junk food and junk ideas. Let Thoreau have the last word, “This world is but a canvas to our imagination.”
Never a truer word spoken, a great piece of righting.
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Well written indeed, but I suggest there is need for some form of control if our under-pressure open spaces (especially down here in the sarf0 are to provide spiritual sustenance both for the person who seeks uncrowded beauty and the ‘silence’ of breeze and birdsong as well as for the bike rider looking for the rush of a fast and skilful descent.
And I have never been able to reconcile the fact that, while all wild places should, as you suggest, be available to everyone, that statement puts their very wildness at risk. I give you Mt Everest and cruise ships in the Caribbean as examples. Not the risk you have in mind, I think.