I was determined to get out a bit further afield today. The forecast was poor, but I’d decided on a trip to the Lakes, anyway, so set the alarm for an early start. But then I woke in the small hours, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I’d had this dream about a belligerent copper who’d smelled something bad in my wardrobe, but wouldn’t say what it was. I wanted to know, then I could fix it, but he was rude and stalked off. So I went after him, and caught him being nasty to someone else. He was a right piece of work, so I thought it best to leave him be. I’m lying awake then until I hear the birds, around six. The alarm is set for six thirty, but I knock it off because there’s no way I’m going to be able to get out of bed. So then of course I fall asleep and the next thing I know it’s half past ten.
It’s a bleary-eyed breakfast, and no plan for the day, because there’s no point heading up to the Lakes at this time. I allow myself ten minutes of doom as I scroll the news. There’s a headline about the Metropolitan police being officially declared a bad lot. It breaks the dream, but the associations are too loose to say the latter informed the former, so we’ll let that one go as a coincidence before we claim it as one of those Dunnian dreams. There’s another headline about hundreds of people gone, and going, blind, for want of timely treatment by our struggling health service. By now, it’s eleven thirty.
The best we can do with the day is get our boots on a local hill, just for the exercise. Any hill will do, and the Pike comes to mind, it being a short drive to Rivington. Now, some days I can overlook the tiredness of Rivington, it being somewhat overrun as an amenity, but I suspect today is not one of them. That said, Rivington it is.
We take the big grey car, rather than the little blue one, because it’s raining, and the forecast is for more. The big grey one isn’t as fun to drive but, being more technologically advanced, it allows me to listen to podcasts. I’m listening to one about metaphysical idealism, which describes how everything is basically a mental construct, and we are disassociated alters within a Mind at large. It’s a counterintuitive way of looking at the world, but it makes sense of those areas where Materialism fails. It also seems to have fewer internal inconsistencies, especially when it comes to explaining consciousness.
The inconsistencies of consciousness are proudly on display, when I park up, noting the usual scattering of multicoloured dog bags. Perhaps I should say “self consciousness”, and the lack of it, otherwise no one would for shame treat our environment with such contempt. Today we also have tin cans courtesy of Dr Pepper and Monster Energy, a plethora of wet wipes, and a discarded pair of trousers (I wonder what he/she wore home). It must have been a busy weekend, but then all weekends (and weekdays) are busy at Rivington.
Photography’s not really the point today, but I carry the camera out of habit, and you never know. We take a direct approach towards the Pike, up through the Pineatum, then the ravine. There was one shot here I thought I’d try, but there are people all over the place, and one guy in particular looking comatose, and clearly not for moving. So we grab a different shot and on we plod. It’s a steep route, and I can tell something’s lacking in me. It’s not post COVID, more likely that sleepless night, and sometimes the mind just tells you you’ve not got it in you, and there’s no way you can convince it otherwise.
We make it as far as the lawns, the entire route thus far being marked with a breadcrumb trail of detritus from visitors whose minds are trapped in the low bandwidth regions. There’s an occasional glow from the sun, but the overall mood is gloomy. The Terraced Garden Trust did some sterling work up here, clearing the Great lawn, and the Orchestra Lawn from a near century of scrub, and re-laying them. Summertime brings a delightful rejuvenation of festivals, and family picnics to a once derelict ruin, but I note with dismay the trolls have also found their way up, in their cars, and have been doing donuts. It looks like they had great fun, churning it to slime, and ruining all the hard work.
Decision time for the route. I’ve definitely no puff for the Pike today, so we make do with the Pigeon tower, then descend towards the car-park at Lower House. The track here seems to be disappearing into the earth, as it forms an ever deeper ravine. It sees brutal assault from four by four vehicles, and dirt bikes, then the run-off from the moor gets in it and does the rest. There’s wire cutting, too, to allow access off-piste to rogue mountain bikers blazing slime trails through sensitive woodland. The whole scene is a mess.
As the current BBC series by David Attenborough reminds us, the UK is one of the most nature-depleted countries in the world. A quarter of our mammals are facing extinction, 97% of wildflower meadows have gone, only 13% of the land is forested, and half of that is alien, monocultural plantation, with only a quarter being ancient, native woodland, and most of that in poor condition and under constant threat from rapacious developers. There seems little reason to be optimistic. I suppose the fact of the matter is we’re a small country with a large, and largely ignorant population, who has seriously fouled its nest, and the best it can come up with is to concrete over the nice bits that remain.
The fundamentalist eco warriors would sooner humans were wiped out, then the earth might eventually renew itself and thrive without us, and they have a point, since the earth is as much the rightful home to nature at large, albeit red in tooth and claw, as it is to us. But they’re missing a crucial point, that without us, there is no beauty. Metaphysical idealism to me, amongst other things, implies we are the universe becoming aware of itself, that we are the eyes and the ears of creation. That while the poor old NHS is failing our eyes due to budget cuts inflicted by philistines, we are still the bit of the universe that sees, and is moved by its beauty. Nature cannot do that without us, beautiful though it is. It is we who bear witness, and are moved by nature’s beauty, or horrified by its destruction.
So, as I see it, like it or not, the earth needs us. Without us, there is no point to it, and we have to balance the equation by assuming our proper place in the order of creation, as responsible stewards and witnesses to its glorious unfolding. Poor, tired old Rivington needs us too, or at least enough of us to look around at the despoliation, on days like this, and say oh,… for f*&ks sake.
As we return now to the big grey one, it’s coming on to rain. Three miles, eight hundred and ninety feet of ascent. One hour and twenty-five minutes. Not bad for a bad day with little puff, and we did manage some nice pictures of the ravine after all. But we’re definitely going to the Lakes next time.
The Rivendale Review 
Thanks, Michael, for taking us on this walk! I, too, need to get out! I spent nearly 10 hours in A&E on Monday so I’m badly in need of some FRESH air. Unfortunately, we can’t make it out until the weekend, so some planning to do! Yes! The NHS is in a mess; something needs to be done, otherwise, why did I pay my taxes all those years? 🙋♂️
Hi Ashley. You’re welcome. 10 hours in A+E is an injury in itself that takes some healing. I hope all is well now. Watching the NHS being dismantled this way and readied for the sharks of privatisation is one of the great tragedies of recent times. How the staff find it in themselves to keep going, I don’t know.
We have a wet and stormy weekend forecast, a little better next week, but a return to cold. Today has been glorious in the sunshine.
Hi Michael, as we get older the Puff comes and goes. Some days it is a real drag to walk but without it my leg circulation dies and I would end up like my diabetic grand-dad, without feet.
Hippocrates : “Walking is the best medicine.”
Today I set out and felt great, soon got into the swing of it and the time and miles went really quickly.
I am stuck in a large town at this time and the scenery is *!!^*&**, but thank God I can still walk, many years after my allotted number.
My later life mantra is :”Don’t sweat the big stuff.” In time I will go on “The great Adventure” and I either will get to know all the answers or not.
As for the Gaia nuts? How many stars are there in space? –
There are approximately 200 billion trillion stars in the universe. Or, to put it another way, 200 sextillion. That’s 200,000,000,000,000,000,000,000! (others put above a septillion) If one assumes the average star has only 5 planets, that is a lot of planets, one more or less is not something to worry too much about.
Love someone, let them know that you love them. The rest is really unimportant.
Good advice about not sweating the big stuff. And I agree with Hippocrates. Walking works, on many levels. All the best.
Not a good day by any means. Hope the Lakes next time will balance it out.
Not sure I agree with you about humanity’s importance. The earth is pointless without us? I suppose it had to rub along for several billion years until we came along? Granted, “we” weren’t there to experience anything in our own peculiar way, but considering how many of us are not moved by nature’s beauty enough to keep from destroying it, I’m of the “earth would be better off without us” school of thought.
Ah well, no point in arguing, is there? We’re here, and at least some of us can see and think about what we’ve seen. 🙂
Come come Audrey, Humanity ‘is’ the pinnacle of creation, I read a big book with lots of words that said so.
It failed to mention that the mass of all humanity is less than the mass of the Ants on earth, and as humans average say 140 lbs whereas ants average around 1 to 5 mg that means that they outnumber us by billions to one.
There are Ants less than 1.5 mm long. Their Thorax is the size of the head of a pin, and not the new fancy plastic coloured ones but the old flat heads that Angels dance on.
To see their heads you need a pretty powerful magnifying glass. Yet it contains a moving mandible, have eyes, two compound eyes, and three simple eyes, the two compound eyes, which are the ones primarily used, are made up of hundreds of individual units , the head supports feelers which can smell food and the trails of other ants, also can communicate with their colleagues and the head has mobility at the neck.
In addition ants create huge complexes of galleries and tunnels some hundreds of feet long which have varying functions of storage, nurseries and throne rooms. The temperatures are constant whether an inch from the midday sun or feet underground. They co-operate in their thousands to create, protect, feed and maintain their society. Two weeks ago a trail of ‘Sugar’ ants entered the apartment by climbing 4 stories on the outside of the building in search of food. They must have found something for in a few hours there was a trail of dozens of them with some exploring off trail for more food.
10 years ago whilst living in a bungalow built on a concrete slab, after a week of heavy rain a trail of hundreds (thousands?) of ants left the safety below the slab and each carrying an egg climbed to the eaves. They did not stop at the flat window ledge or the door lintel but continued until they could deposit them in the roof gap.
All this with brain that science says could not contain more than a few neurons or neuroglia.
Of course we are the pinnacle and the planet needs us to keep it safe.
Reading this, I’m reminded of a book I read recently on fungi, and one in particular that infects ants, and turns them into zombies, so the fungi can release spores and spread. Beside the mystery of how a fungus has evolved to do that in so specific a way, there are the extraordinary lengths the ants go to, to guard against the fungus getting into the colony. Ants are fascinating creatures, very successful, and you never see one reading a book.
I didn’t know all that about ants. Thank you! I sometimes think our big brains create as much trouble for us as do good. We are clever but not wise.
Hi Audrey, I admit it is a Romantic view, and you certainly have the weight of evidence on your side. Perhaps on one of the planets orbiting another star out there, there’s a form of intelligent, conscious life that’s worked out how to live in harmony with its environment, but at this point in our history it certainly doesn’t seem to be ours.
I’ve enjoyed this discussion more than the post, but without your post there would be nothing.
I think humans might not be the greatest at appreciation, but that we have destroyed anything else that might have had a chance, along with much that might be appreciated.
Interesting though, that often great literature comes out of extreme poverty, perhaps because deprivation concentrates the mind on what is lost.
The ants might inherit the world, and they might make better of it than we did.
Once the pinnacle of anything is declared in black and white, I think we’re entering dangerous waters. But regardless of all that, the scenery above is jaw-droppingly beautiful. Thanks for sharing.
I also despair at times about the unsocial behaviour of some people. When I was younger I was optimistic about how we could change society for the better through the united action of ordinary people. That it was the nature of society that made some people behave badly. Today, at times, I begin to doubt that and feel that “hell is other people”. But we have to hold onto some optimism.
It is much smarter to be a perpetual pessimist. Sometimes the pessimist is pleasantly surprised but an optimist is constantly disappointed, leading to depression, despair and eventually suicidal thoughts.
Eeyore was in fact much happier than Pooh or Tigger.
(I am just kidding, my life is often pretty wonderful.)
I used to think the same about people, and generally still do, while also recognising, sadly, there’s a portion of society – a small one – that’s simply a bad lot, and irredeemable. I guess the trick is to encourage the former, while treating the latter like one of the more irritating and destructive aspects of nature, like greenfly on your roses, or ticks crawling up your trouser legs. It’s possible optimism is a form of self-deception, but I think it’s better for us in the long run if we can manage it.