Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts

Thursday, 26 September 2019

London Outer Orbital Path (LOOP) - Other Worlds, Other Stories


This walk is not actually in London.

When you hear London, perhaps your internal atlas opens on a shape somewhat like this:


Officially, this is the present extent of what is tellingly titled Greater London: thirty-two boroughs bound within the eternal chain of the M25 motorway. And yet, this map and that concept of London would have been unrecognisable to anyone in it for most of the last two thousand years.

London has traditionally meant a nucleus upon the river Thames – the City of London. This was later supplemented with a second nucleus, the City of Westminster. Most of the rest of this territory was a mix of tiny villages, rolling farmlands, forbidding forests and bandit-ridden wasteland till the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

It was only then, in the living memories of present-day grandparents, that industrial urbanisation and suburbanisation flung out London’s tentacles of road and rail to seize chunks off its neighbouring provinces (or counties as the English call them, a word with Norman French origins). Middlesex, west of the city and north of the Thames, was completely devoured, while most of the remainder of this map was taken off Kent in the southeast, Surrey in the south, Buckinghamshire and Hertfordshire in the northwest, and Essex in the northeast. And it is those lands, now absorbed into the London amoeba but retaining stories, cultures, landscapes and accents that clearly belong to different worlds, that you will come into contact with if you attempt the so-called London Outer Orbital Path long-distance walking trail. better known by its acronym, the LOOP.

The route of the LOOP, as appears on its Transport for London webpage

Most of this route's 24 sections still cover farms, fields, woodlands, riverbanks, parks, or little villages that hold onto distinct identities. They are largely devoid of bandits now (the traditional kind at any rate – it does pass through the constituencies of several unsavoury Conservative Party MPs, among them Uxbridge and South Ruislip, seat of a certain Boris Johnson). It is very green, and people tend to greet you when they pass - itself a sign that London is far, far away.

Many of these locals might well be descendants of people who resisted the encroachment of London and fought to preserve their homes from its all-crushing notions of development. In the mid-twentieth century they managed to get that preservation formalised as the Metropolitan Green Belt: a ring around the capital where new construction has been heavily restricted, much to the consternation of the evangelical free-marketeers and property speculators who have taken over the English housing sector.

The ‘Happy Valley’ in deeper Croydon (Section 5). The ‘green and pleasant land’ is an important image in English national culture and has deep and historic significance for both its celebrants and its critics.

In the 1990s, an expanded London’s municipal officials started getting together with walkers’ organisations like the Ramblers to consider the creation of walking routes, to encourage people to get out and explore these surroundings on foot. The London LOOP was the most ambitious route to be proposed. Over the following years they worked improve its trails to be as safe, accessible and well-signposted as possible. The resulting quality varies, as many separate local authorities are responsible for maintaining it, but the overall outcome is a high-standard continuous route fully endorsed by the Mayor and Transport for London (TfL).

Still stranded in this city, I set out to roam these outskirts in January this year. I began its first section from the town of Erith, far to the east on the south bank of the Thames, and taking it section by section as time and weather made feasible, managed to complete the route on the opposite bank eight months later. But that's only one way to do it; with a dedicated effort you could probably do the whole thing in one or two weeks.

Whether to escape the city for more natural surroundings, to exercise, or to learn more about the English capital’s context first-hand, this is a walk I recommend. 

London in the distance from Havering Country Park (Section 20).
Deer in Bushy Park (Section 9).

Route Details:
Length: Approx. 242km (150 miles) total. Officially divided into 24 sections, which range in length from short 5-6km strolls to day walks of 17-18km.
Access: All sections can be reached by public transport, i.e. trains or London Underground (Oyster Card accepted with one exception), or buses for more remote locations. Most have convenient places to leave or return to the route part-way, so you can split up or combine sections and tackle it however works best for you. Because it is England, always check live transport service status before travelling.

All sections contain excellent picnic opportunities and most pass pubs, cafés and/or kiosks.

The best starting point is the official TfL London LOOP website, which contains maps, route guidance and further information for each of the 24 sections (here’s Section 1 for example). But if you would like to learn more about what you are walking through, or have more detailed directions that will help when the signposting is not so good, I strongly recommend walking with a guidebook as well; I found Colin Saunders’s The London Loop (Aurum Press) helpful.

(For those who would prefer a shorter walking project closer to the city, there is also the Capital Ring, which shares the same origins but is a more manageable 126km/78 miles. Alternatively, if you prefer a more ambitious and transgressive approach to walking, have a look at what the psychogeographer Iain Sinclair did in London Orbital.)

The chalky Farthing Downs over Coulsdon, actually a piece of the North Downs projecting towards the Thames valley (Section 5).
The London Monster as confronted from the Addington Hills, Croydon (Section 4).
Wetlands in the valley of the Ingrebourne, one of the Thames’s many tributaries, near Upminster, Havering (Section 23).
A flavour of this journey’s stories and creatures follows.

Tuesday, 26 April 2016

The Dancing Mountain

















In the heart of Kanagawa stands a mountain like no other.
Raise your eyes! For it soars beyond the grandest peaks of high Tanzawa
To stand amidst the clouds and summer light, tall as the spires of Tōnodake
Vigorous and dark its might – not even dominant Ōyama dares contest.
Its rumbling slopes are rugged as the burnt bronze earths of Hirugatake
Yet on high its woods unfurl and burst to life, lush and sweet like the blossoms of Kōbōyama,
Pierced by shafts and sunbeams radiant as the rhododendrons of Hinokiboramaru.
Oh mighty tower, how your rocky cliffs and rapids thunder in the storm
As though you live – you live! – and dance beneath a golden sky
And when you dance, all the mountains hold their breath transfixed,
Behold your streams and sparkling marshes churn, erupt, disgorge,
Their blistering currents blue and clear as the summer seas beyond Sagami Bay.

Dancing mountain, wild and free, the guidebooks do not list you
No map can chart your whirling ridges, gliding outcrops, twisting paths
And yet, I hear, if I take the train to Hadano Station
I need not make the climb to Yabitsu Pass
Just follow the eyes of the mountains. And there, they whisper, there are two ways up
Each no easier than the other – but oh, the panoramic landscapes, oh the firm and fragrant earth,
Igneous beauty, forged and sculpted in the molten depths, for there, too, you danced, made the furnaces of old your stage and in their flames grew strong;
And then the trail turns rough, on crushing high plateaus of ancient rock that does not break;
There is no shelter here, the winds swing fierce, as though you swerve and bank to sweep your climbers off
Until at last, they reach and grasp the boughs of the deep dark forest in the clouds
Wherein they cling for life, they sweat and heave, dare not look down, for it’s a long way down
But cast their gazes up those sleek and sylvan contours: now the summit comes in sight.
For those who climb the dancing mountain, it is said far more awaits
Than the view as far as the summer seas beyond Sagami Bay.

Although, I wouldn’t know.
For though I weep upon the thought, I cannot climb the dancing mountain.
How I long to climb it, know I must if ever to speak or write of the magic of Tanzawa
And yet, the way is closed. On my approach, the trailheads seal and shift;
No matter where I search, there is no path. It turns away. I cannot dance the mountain’s dance.
I fear I may have wronged it. Or perhaps, the realm it stands in is its own:
Dimensions held apart by walls invisible, the other side to always see but never cross.
A distant realm, a warm and sunlit place too bright for me – my very presence there would blight its light and sully its blissful skies.
Shadow that I am, I can only turn away, cry despair from the evening shore; but then I turn again
For who if not all the mountains can take their eyes from the dancing mountain?
Perhaps, if I set sail and find a different world
(A different world – anywhere but here!)
Then there, somehow, it will be too, its ridges reaching in
That I may yet sit high upon its cliffs, and feel from every side the raw and coursing might of the dancing mountain.
So must I dream, and only dream, as shedding tears that never end
I fly away across the summer seas beyond Sagami Bay.

Wednesday, 23 March 2016

Mountains

















There is a hole inside
It yawns and burns
And for countless years on end, nothing has filled it.

None of the beautiful things in the world could fill it.

The gales that sweep the marshes of Kenashitai roar in a thousand colours
But they do not fill it, and everything hurts.

The autumn leaves of high Aizu dance in a sea of flames
But they do not fill it, and everything hurts.

The namahage of Oga shuffle and wave their cleavers and bellow incomprehensible words
But they do not fill it, and everything hurts.

Date Masamune of Sendai tells it a hundred stories about his own brilliance
But they do not fill it, and everything hurts.

The red and orange dragonflies of Furano fly to my side, an escort up the ridge
But they do not fill it, and everything hurts.

The fuzzy monkeys of Jigokudani come up to it with curious faces and poke it
But they do not fill it, and everything hurts.

The twin summits of Tsukuba stand with the female peak satisfyingly higher than the male peak
But they do not fill it, and everything hurts.

The gorgeous mountains of Chichibu, Tama, Tanzawa, Hakone and Kōshu disrobe before me, lead me into their realms, bid me walk and slide upon their slopes and their curves, to lose myself amidst their valleys and dark places.
They are such beautiful mountains.
But alas, they are earth and stone, while I am flesh
So they do not fill the hole, and everything hurts.

Everything hurts; I can only weep
I have wept on the peaks and peninsulas of Aomori
I have wept in the secluded ravines of Fukushima
I have wept in the endless ricefields of Akita
I have wept amidst the steaming springs of Miyagi
I have wept on the lush plains of Hokkaido
I have wept in the freezing snows of Nagano
I have even wept on the roads of Ibaraki which stretch across the horizons
And I have wept on each of the slopes and curves, the valleys and dark places around the Kantō plain
Where only the mountains hear
And only the mountains care.

But nothing fills the hole.
For how can even the most beautiful things in the world fill the hole
When there is no hug
No warmth?

And how can there be warmth
In a world of otoko ga, onna ni
Or otoko ga, onna o?*
In a world where it is expected
That women are rescued by men
But where for men to be rescued by women is thought ridiculous?

Not by the mountains, mind you.
The mountains are vast
They are kind
They are strong
They do not care that you are smaller than them, or weaker
For they enjoy your company, they listen and talk and it is not small talk.
They teach you and learn from you
Want to be friends with you even if you are sad
And will soak your tears in their soil, their snow, no matter how loud, no matter how long
While on the other hand, those who come in arrogance and gallantry are crushed.
In either case, you are left in no doubt that it is yama ga, anata ni
Or yama ga, anata o**
And they like it that way
The mountains like to play
They do not wait to be acted upon, but reach out to touch you, to take you, to draw you into their world, and to hug, because they like it.
Their wind sweeps upon you, and hugs
Their shuffling branches descend upon you, and hug
Their mud slides underfoot and brings you to the ground, and hugs
Their spider webs stick in your face, and hug
And their fuzzy bears come out from the woods and go rawr rawr, and hug.
The mountains love.
They hold you in the power of their rippling ridges, the fragrance of their woods, the songs of their birds and winds that whisper peace into your soul.
And they do not see love as something you want and they have,
no: not a thing to be won, or bought, or competed for,
nor made conditional on scoring happy-points with them.
No – the love of the mountains is love, real love, that reaches out and leaves nobody behind
For they are vast
They are kind
They are strong.

These human women
I wish at least some were more like those mountains
For in a world like this
There is no warmth







*Japanese:
otoko = man
onna = woman
ga = (indicates subject)
o = (indicates object)
ni = (indicates target or recipient)

**Japanese:
yama = mountain
anata = you

Sunday, 31 January 2016

5) THE HAKKODA MOUNTAINS 八甲田山系 – The Wind Rages

A Voyage to Aomori, Part 5 of 5

  
There are those who claim that happiness has nothing to do with your circumstances, and everything to do with how you choose to respond to them. Such people seem quite numerous nowadays; whether more so than in the past I cannot say.

They are fools.

One does not simply choose to be happy. External circumstances matter. We have created societies that systematically break people. How callous, or plain ignorant, does a person have to be to expect anyone to accept and adapt to a world like that?

And yet, there are places our madness has not yet reached. Places free of arrogance, cruelty, poverty, gender or greed. Places that were there before us and will be there long after us. Places beautiful before anyone was around to corrupt the concept of beauty – a primordial beauty, one we cannot define but know at once when we see it, as though by an instinct as old as love itself.

It was a pain that should not have existed, brought on by the failure of human society, that drove me to Aomori in the distant north of Japan in search of respite. And on my final day there, I found one of the most formidable such places of beauty that I have ever known. It was unexpected – not part of the original plan. And it was guarded by some of the toughest combinations of weather and terrain I have yet encountered.

A location where big explosions once happened bigly.
But it was necessary. It was right. For the winds, the rocks, the trees, the skies, no matter how fierce, how rugged, how sharp, how cold, are not mad. Never have they hurt out of malice. They exclude and alienate no-one; all are welcome in their realm. Unlike society's, their conditions are fair. I could accept them with no hesitation. And in return for what they take, they give a thousandfold.

They give better external circumstances. Beautiful circumstances. Circumstances, if not for happiness, then at least for something magical and profound; something which speaks to your humanity at a level our shallow materialist individualisms no longer bother with.

The Hakkōda Snow March Disaster
Make no mistake, that does not mean the Hakkoda Mountains will not kill you if you do not approach them with care. The Aomori Fifth Infantry Regiment, a unit of the Eighth Division of the Imperial Japanese Army, learnt this in supremely miserable fashion back in the New Year of 1902.

Sunday, 17 January 2016

4) OIRASE GORGE 奥入瀬渓流 and LAKE TOWADA 十和田湖 – Colourfully Lurking

A Voyage to Aomori, Part 4 of 5

The Oirase River.
Lake Towada.

Many of Japan's most popular sites of nautral beauty are also immensely destructive volcanoes. Indeed, that volcanism tends to be precisely what made them so beautiful. This is something the millions of people who flock there to take selfies and soak in hot springs might do well to consider.

Hakone is perhaps the best example, but another may be found in the mountainous heart of Aomori Prefecture. At the centre of its southern border, Lake Towada (十和田湖) is a bright blue lake 11km across and almost perfectly circular. The lake, along with the upper course of the Oirase River (奥入瀬川) that flows from it, is now one of the major natural attractions of the Tohoku region, above all in the autumn when its crystalline blue and white currents are wreathed in flaming yellows and reds.

Aomori Prefecture, with Lake Towada at bottom centre.

In fact Lake Towada is a massive volcanic caldera, formed by six major eruptions over the millennia. It is considered active to this day, and though its eruptions are not frequent, those that have happened have been spectacularly violent. The most recent, in 915 CE (when it was still not really part of Japan), was one of the largest volcanic eruptions in Japan's recorded history and smothered the entire region in ashfalls and pyroclastic flows.


Remarkable rock formations and colours, many more spectacular than this, can be found around the rim of the lake and attest to the dramatic processes that created it.

The photos that follow come from a walk along the upper Oirase River, followed by a boat crossing of Lake Towada to the little town of Yasumiya (休屋), the lake's only settlement. The area can be reached in two to three hours by a regular bus service from Aomori City or Hachinohe, and with good planning can be explored as a day visit. Note again that winter in this region is rough and sees both the bus and ferry service suspended – check before you go.