#95: The First Stile + Black Sheep Reviewed + Victor Frankl
Happy Friday!
One man chased after me waving his stick because my train ticket (used) fell out of my pocket. Another beckoned me down a shortcut into town.
The pasty saleswoman seemed to be competing with me for variety and number of ways to say thank you.
The cafe owner took me outside to show me the Three Peaks (they were hidden by the houses and a dense bank of cloud), describing the distinctive challenge of each and the wonderful views to be had (on a fine day).
I set off down the pedestrianised centre of Abergavenny, clutching my map and compass, in a thoroughly good mood, and in thoroughly the wrong direction.
Correcting my course back to what turned out to be the wrong church, I realigned my map and strode up the lane to The First Stile.
The First Stile is always a significant moment in any hike and merits a pause for a snack, despite the fact that you haven't really gone anywhere yet, and a photograph, despite the fact that you are well aware the view from here will not fall into any memorable category when you get back home.
But this is The First Stile and protocol must be followed.
Suitably refreshed, the tussocked slopes start tilting and the sheep munch steadily at my side. Another stile or two and I'm out among the scattered farmsteads.
I cross an old footbridge over a tarn, the wooden boards growing into and out of the roots of an ancient apple tree. Then a stiff climb up to a car park and into a field of black sheep. A metaphor drifts hazily into mind, without ever really settling - much like the spots of rain that never really build up the momentum to hit the ground.
I'm into open access land, which I've just learned about, brushing my way through nipple high ferns to another view across Abergavenny and the valleys south, the views that came so highly recommended in town.
I overtake a pair of walkers. 'Don't get lost!' they cackle when I reveal that this is my first time in the Black Mountains. I wave my map merrily in response. They scoff: 'Not much use, that, when the mists come down!'
Luckily I just dropped £4.99 on a bright orange emergency whistle.
Orienteering, to my disappointment, is rather easy. Ahead is the cone of the Sugar Loaf (ASIDE: What is a sugar loaf? A sweetmeat cross between a bread and a jelly bean?) and the path is scored unmistakeably on the hillside. I practise taking bearings anyway, happily agreeing with myself that the mountain top is Thataway.
I come to a cave-like nook which is most suitable for stopping and looking down over the valleys, sheltered from the wind. But I'm so close to the summit that this is not the time. So I tramp onward, taking big steps up the rock staircase to the gentle slope that leaps to the solid familiarity of the trig point: The Destination.
Along with The First Stile, The Destination is a significant moment. But unlike The First Stile, The Destination is overrated.
We're here, so now what? Well, now you must take more photos and send them to friends. You must cling on in the wind and try to enjoy the views without completely losing your map. You must eat that half-cooled pasty and an apple.
You must share the summit with the other walkers who have triangulated on this pyramid of mountain rescue sponsored stone.
Conversations pop up from nowhere: 'We're bang on timetable', 'I don't see why I have to be the bad guy', 'I'll take you, and then you take me', 'You agree with me, don't you?', 'Jump up on the stone, then!'
It's all rather exhausting, especially when you're trying to watch the unlabelled bird of prey who makes a noise like a firework before folding in its wings and diving for the sheer hell of it.
The other side of the mountain is another pretty postcard and, now The Destination has been attained, the hiker is free to enjoy the wilderness.
I angle for an unfavoured path that leads down into an overgrown gorge. The path marked on my map appears to be at one with the stream bed, but I whack my way through the thick ferny undergrowth and find myself in a wooded mushroom wonderland, kicking up autumn leaves and scuffing fungi from the forest floor.
Tracks made by mammalian scurriers lead me through the valley, above where the stream burbles and pops, ducking under the old tree branches, stepping over and between mossy boughs.
After the spare humid Sugar Loaf slopes and the busy wind-scorched summit, the wood is a soothing respite, ripe with diversion for the senses. This is where the real walking is to be found. The beetles who roll around on the leaves beneath my feet, showing their blue bellies as they tumble.
But somehow I find myself drawn onto a forestry track that leads inexorably away from the cool stream and into the hamlets that overlook the town. One final field of horses and their attendant deposits and I'm down among the children being led from school to 'Is it football or rugby you've got this evening?'
Episode 1 is GONE already :(
Episode 2 has now also GONE
This is like Tarquinius and the Sibylline Books all over again, so you'd better catch Episode 3 (The Boyzone One) and Episode 4 (The Ralf Little One) before they too disappear and with them your hopes of becoming the ruler of a mighty empire.
IMPORTANT: If you want to hear more from Foiled next year, then we really bloody need you to tweet about the show.
Yes, really: this is how showbiz works.
@bbcradiowales will do the job - THANKS!
[EXCERPT] Black Sheep Backpackers Hostel: a mild review
Exceptional holiday accommodation deserves - nay, demands - to be saluted in that most modern of valedictions, the online review.
Sadly, my 1,000 word review (not including photographs, diagrams, maps, illustrations and appendices) of the Abergavenny Black Sheep Backpackers Hostel exceeded Hostelbookers paltry 500 character limit, so instead I will post it here and urge you all to make your own visitation at the earliest imaginable convenience.
~~~
I knew I was in for a treat the moment I checked in. Onto a perfectly professional backpackers business card, the barman copied out the front door code, my room door code and, hallowed be, the wifi code.
Security here was obviously of primary importance. I disregarded the lager umbrellas, the daytime telly gameshows, the rising taste of damp in my nostrils, the enormous bulldog fast asleep on the table, and I considered myself reassured.
I waved away the kindly barman's offer to show me to my room and mildly asked, 'Are you busy tonight?' The barman checks his bookings book: 'There's a couple of guys in the other dorm, but looks like you'll be on your own in Number 4.'
Gleefully, I bound up the stairs, ignoring the peeling paint and not testing the cracked bannisters with the full weight of my frame. I carefully tap out the dorm door code and throw open the door: I'm first greeted by a wave of sweat and Lynx deodorant, then by the shock that I am far from alone.
Choking, I stumble to the windows, pull aside the curtains and, by now gasping for air, jam the windows open. The light reveals my predicament in all its glory. Room 4 is fully occupied by a menagerie of foresters who've been living here for at least a couple of months.
I return to the bar, where the barman frowns at his bookings book, apparently somewhat mystified by the presence of half a dozen woodsmen in his establishment. I am reassigned to Room 5, across the hallway.
The barman, once again, meticulously copies out my new door code and I retrace my climb up the stairs, with somewhat diminished enthusiasm.
However, it soon becomes apparent that, no matter how carefully transcribed, I won't be needing that door code. Although there is a keypad, there is no longer an actual lock mechanism in this door. Indeed, there is not even a catch...
>> Read the rest of the review on my blog, including encounters with Gulf War Syndrome, Anabolic Muscle Fuel, bacterial showers and, of course, my final rating out of 10!
>> INPUT
[AWE] Awe Walks. How to experience awe while on a 15 minute stroll around town, country or even the office. From the University of California Berkeley’s Greater Good Science Center.
[AUDIO] Quickly Kevin is BACK. If you have even a passing interest in 90s football, then you'll find this hilarious. Otherwise, pass.
[VIDEO] The Ultimate Triathlon. Alastair Humphreys tries to look hard. Really rather entertaining.
[SITCOM] This Country. 'The best sitcom since The Office,' says comedian Beth Granville. High praise, and I couldn't argue. 12 episodes are on iPlayer: use them. Thanks to the two cyclists I met on the ferry from Den Hoek for the recommendation.
[BOOK] Landmarks by Robert Macfarlane [Guardian review]. A staggering miscellany of essays and glossaries that shed light on how Macfarlane keeps finding new ways to describe the British Isles.
OUTPUT >>
Overwhelming Kindness (September)
The Victor Frankl 5-a-Day Book Cult: Day 20 (September)
The Victor Frankl 5-a-Day Book Cult: Day 19 (September)
Thighs of Steel: A Community on Wheels (September)
...COMING UP...
A weekend of calm, beside the sea again.
The Bike Project are going to be on BBC One twice in 3 days next week. Catch us on Inside Out on Monday at 7.30pm and then again after the 10 o'clock news on Wednesday. I may or may not feature in one or other of those as a breathless talking head.
Now On: The Victor Frankl 5-a-day Book Club!
Membership Criteria: Read 5 pages a day of Man's Search for Meaning to complete the whole darn text in only 28 days. I'll be tootling through the text at just 5 pages a week, so you've got plenty of time to catch up online.
Day 21
Today's pages are some of my favourite in the whole of Man's Search for Meaning. I say that not lightly.
First, a (re-)definition of Frankl's logotherapy:
[Logotherapy] considers man a being whose main concern consists in fulfilling a meaning, rather than in the mere gratification and satisfaction of drives and instincts.
This search for meaning, however, creates an inner tension on which good mental health is based. This goes against what Frankl calls the 'dangerous misconception' of many psychologists that a state of mental equilibrium is desirable.
Using his own experiences in Nazi concentration camps as an example, Frankl declares that:
[Good] mental health is based on a certain degree of tension, the tension between what one has already achieved and what one still ought to accomplish, or the gap between what one is and what one should become.
This state of tension is perfectly natural to the human being and is, moreover, 'indispensable to mental well-being'.
What this means is that, far from chasing mental equilibrium, we should not be afraid about challenging ourselves and others with the daunting search for meaning and a life of purpose.
What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task.
This instruction, Frankl writes, applies - particularly applies - to people who are suffering from poor mental health.
If architects want to strengthen a decrepit arch, they increase the load which is laid upon it, for thereby the parts are joined more firmly together.
Unfortunately, tragically, many of us often face 'the total and ultimate meaningless' of our lives.
They are haunted by the experience of their inner emptiness, a void within themselves; they are caught in that situation which I have called the 'existential vacuum'.
Frankl is sympathetic. Since the demise of the church, man's challenges are twofold: 'No instinct tells him what he has to do, and no tradition tells him what he ought to do'. This bind leaves us open to two dangerous paths: conformism and totalitarianism.
The existential vacuum manifests itself in a state of boredom. To fill the void, many people succumb to 'depression, aggression and addiction', compensating by indulging primitive drives for power and money, or pleasure and sex.
Any psychological treatment must consider how to fill the existential vacuum: 'every therapy must in some way ... be logotherapy'.
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We continue next week...
When I put the effort in (which I almost always do), this newsletter takes a few hours to put together. Don't get me wrong, I love doing it - but if you enjoy what you read, please do me a massive favour by sharing it on your networks. Here's an easy, self-aggrandising link for you to Tweet...
Have a great weekend!
Much love,
- dc
CREDITS
David Charles wrote this. David is co-writer of BBC Radio sitcom Foiled, does copywriting for The Bike Project and is pretty much always available for work. davidcharles.info // @dcisbusy
Prostrating myself before The Mushroom.