Bathtime
I used to think that people just went for a walk in the woods. Bill Bryson went for a walk in the woods – he walked large chunks of the Appalachian Trail with his dissolute friend Stephen Katz, in the suitably entitled “A Walk in the Woods.” Bears, hypothermia, shotgun wielding hillbillies, and most frighteningly of all, people who wanted to talk about hiking gear weren’t enough to put him off - although they frightened me a bit. I myself have twice walked pretty much the entire length of the east bank of Loch Lomond, twenty miles or more along a heavily wooded section of the West Highland Way. The most brutal section of the entire long distance trail in my opinion - but also possibly the most rewarding. Despite the occasional break through open ground where the mountains filled the backdrop to the opposite bank, I definitely felt that I was having a walk in the woods. Miles from anyone, with the exception of a few other long distance hikers gradually making their way north.
But it seems that I was wrong. Now I’ve learned that what we’ve all been doing is having a bath of sorts. We’ve been forest bathing in fact. Amble along peaceably, stop and cuddle the odd oak here and there, feel the love and then be interviewed by an outdoorsy type of celebrity for a spot on Countryfile. “Outdoorsy” didn’t cause the spellchecker to go into overdrive by the way. Who knew? I’ve always been suspicious of passing fads – terrified that I might stroll through a forest and bump into Gwyneth Paltrow hugging a Horse Chestnut or Will Young baring his soul to a Beech. But what I do find rather soothing is the sound of endless birdsong and the gentle rustle of life somewhere up in the canopy. There’s nothing quite like it. It seems I’ve been in the bath too – it’s just that I never realised that’s what I was doing. I’d better not accidentally bump into Paltrow as it seems that can turn out to be a rather expensive thing to do based on recent events.
Like many of you, each year I produce a calendar using images from the adventures of the last twelve months, and rather than simply compiling twelve shots from the September adventures in Iceland, I prefer each month to be represented by an image taken at the appropriate time. It’s not something I’ll ever be bothered to try and do commercially though, so sorry I can’t take orders – besides which yours is probably far better anyway. Just a dozen or so for family and a few close friends. A few days ago we turned over from Madeira in March to April’s feature and remembered that it’s almost a year since Ali and I took the van to the New Forest to do some forest bathing of our own. I’d forgotten how much I liked this picture. It was one that I’d intended to share at the time but somehow never did. On a still sunny afternoon, one of those when you knew that spring had truly arrived, we took a long circuit through the Ashurst Forest towards the heath, stopping here to enjoy the silence and snaffle a ration or two. Neither Paltrow nor Young appeared to be present, and nor did anyone else for that matter, famous or otherwise.
Of course I’d taken the camera with me, and the long lens did exactly what I hoped it would, eliminating the sky and blurring the background as I focused on the nearest subject. I tried a few compositions, but having the space filled with brown trunks against the yellow floor and the leading subject somewhere around the left hand third seemed the most pleasing version to me. Woodland photography is so often a struggle, but here it seemed simple enough with the regular forms before me disappearing softly into the distance, and the odd spring of fresh green growth to gatecrash the colour scheme.
And what better place to take a dip than in one of the most famous baths in the nation? Room for plenty of people to find their inner wotsit as they search around in the deep end for the soap and the loofah. A space in which to switch off and drop out for a while. Not that we were exactly over exerting ourselves in the first place of course. We’re retired and enjoying the golden years after all. But then again, there’s always another slow lane in which to ease down a gear, put up our feet and watch the rest of the world race by.
Bathtime
I used to think that people just went for a walk in the woods. Bill Bryson went for a walk in the woods – he walked large chunks of the Appalachian Trail with his dissolute friend Stephen Katz, in the suitably entitled “A Walk in the Woods.” Bears, hypothermia, shotgun wielding hillbillies, and most frighteningly of all, people who wanted to talk about hiking gear weren’t enough to put him off - although they frightened me a bit. I myself have twice walked pretty much the entire length of the east bank of Loch Lomond, twenty miles or more along a heavily wooded section of the West Highland Way. The most brutal section of the entire long distance trail in my opinion - but also possibly the most rewarding. Despite the occasional break through open ground where the mountains filled the backdrop to the opposite bank, I definitely felt that I was having a walk in the woods. Miles from anyone, with the exception of a few other long distance hikers gradually making their way north.
But it seems that I was wrong. Now I’ve learned that what we’ve all been doing is having a bath of sorts. We’ve been forest bathing in fact. Amble along peaceably, stop and cuddle the odd oak here and there, feel the love and then be interviewed by an outdoorsy type of celebrity for a spot on Countryfile. “Outdoorsy” didn’t cause the spellchecker to go into overdrive by the way. Who knew? I’ve always been suspicious of passing fads – terrified that I might stroll through a forest and bump into Gwyneth Paltrow hugging a Horse Chestnut or Will Young baring his soul to a Beech. But what I do find rather soothing is the sound of endless birdsong and the gentle rustle of life somewhere up in the canopy. There’s nothing quite like it. It seems I’ve been in the bath too – it’s just that I never realised that’s what I was doing. I’d better not accidentally bump into Paltrow as it seems that can turn out to be a rather expensive thing to do based on recent events.
Like many of you, each year I produce a calendar using images from the adventures of the last twelve months, and rather than simply compiling twelve shots from the September adventures in Iceland, I prefer each month to be represented by an image taken at the appropriate time. It’s not something I’ll ever be bothered to try and do commercially though, so sorry I can’t take orders – besides which yours is probably far better anyway. Just a dozen or so for family and a few close friends. A few days ago we turned over from Madeira in March to April’s feature and remembered that it’s almost a year since Ali and I took the van to the New Forest to do some forest bathing of our own. I’d forgotten how much I liked this picture. It was one that I’d intended to share at the time but somehow never did. On a still sunny afternoon, one of those when you knew that spring had truly arrived, we took a long circuit through the Ashurst Forest towards the heath, stopping here to enjoy the silence and snaffle a ration or two. Neither Paltrow nor Young appeared to be present, and nor did anyone else for that matter, famous or otherwise.
Of course I’d taken the camera with me, and the long lens did exactly what I hoped it would, eliminating the sky and blurring the background as I focused on the nearest subject. I tried a few compositions, but having the space filled with brown trunks against the yellow floor and the leading subject somewhere around the left hand third seemed the most pleasing version to me. Woodland photography is so often a struggle, but here it seemed simple enough with the regular forms before me disappearing softly into the distance, and the odd spring of fresh green growth to gatecrash the colour scheme.
And what better place to take a dip than in one of the most famous baths in the nation? Room for plenty of people to find their inner wotsit as they search around in the deep end for the soap and the loofah. A space in which to switch off and drop out for a while. Not that we were exactly over exerting ourselves in the first place of course. We’re retired and enjoying the golden years after all. But then again, there’s always another slow lane in which to ease down a gear, put up our feet and watch the rest of the world race by.