The Beginning

Welcome!  I’ve finally decided to take the plunge and enter the blogosphere…!  I've hesitated as once thought they were an ego-boost for celebs and board Chief Execs trying to “stay-in touch”, but a good friend of mine - http://colpeakbagger.blogspot.co.uk – has convinced me otherwise.  So here goes nothing… I'll try not to be too similiar Mr W...!

My name is Colin Greenwood – well it would rude not to introduce myself.  That was easy, but shock horror, I now need to define myself… or do I?   At this stage I suspect all you need to know is this.  If a day involves walking boots, my camera, a few beers and bumping into interesting people with tales to tell then Lou Reed can start flexing his tonsils on his signature tune… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYEC4TZsy-Y.  The rest will all come clear as the blog develops.

So where to begin musing?  Well for once I guess the beginning is as good a place as any.

June 2008 and I’m seeing the light after a troubled period of my life and lying in bed one Saturday morning with a mild hangover.  Whilst piecing together the night before I recall a conversation over a pint about my desire to visit Cornwall, having not given the county such courtesy at any time in my adult life.  With my renewed outlook on life and as the alcohol induced haze cleared I sprang from my bed and decided to go to Cornwall.  Not right then mind, work commitments meant that couldn't happen.  But 2 hours later trains and beds were booked and 2 weeks later I found myself in Cornwall.

Some context required now… back then my experience of solo travelling was limited to the odd night in a boring hotel on business and maybe a weekend in London.  In terms of walking, well I’d been on a sponsored walk at school, does a stroll to the pub count?  It’s 200 yards so probably not, oh but I did like maps – no doubt we will speak of this topic in future blogs.  And my camera was a Nikon Coolpix that I could barely turn on.

So I find myself in a cliff top car park just outside Padstow lacing up a brand new pair of walking boots - looking around Rick Stein’s empire and paying £8 for fish and chips was not my thing.  I didn’t have the local OS Map, in spite of my love.  But I had heard of The Bedruthan Steps, ok I fess up - I’d read about them in the Rough Guide to Cornwall.   Have I painted a picture of sufficient naivety and unpreparedness yet?  I did had proper walking boots and wasn’t wearing a football shirt, I wasn’t such a greenhorn.

Despite a strong south westerly clearing its throat I decided to head onto the coast path.  My bravado concluded that the likelihood of getting lost on a coast path must be limited, even without a map.   The next half mile was to change my life and open my eyes to the wonder and beauty of this glorious country.  As I strolled over a headland there out stretched before me was this rugged and wild array of undulating sea cliffs and plethora of outcrops of tortured rock being battered by the Atlantic Ocean at full tide.  The noise was feasting on my ear drums and the rain and salty sea spray was enhancing my experience of shear vulnerability, and despite being 15 minutes from the car, a great sense of isolation.

Looking out to sea always gives me that feeling of being so ridiculously small and insignificant against the power and scale of nature – it’s a reassuring feeling and one that imparts a respect for the world and its natural wonders.

I just sat on a rock watching in awe as the Ocean roared to the World, pounded rocks that had been pounded for eons and boiled white as the tide turned.  I finally dragged myself away and continued along the coast path.  Over the next 2 hours the weather calmed as the tide retreated and the sun appeared low in the evening sky.  The absence of a map meant at some point I had to turn around and retrace my steps.

On returning to Bedruthan Steps the contrast could hardly haved be greater.  The raging turmoil witnessed just hours earlier had become a calm oasis.  Could this be the same place?  The Atlantic was slowly and calmly retreating and revealed the deep golden sand: untouched by man.  The rock outcrops that looked most forbidding now rose silently out of the beach with the odd Gull perched prior to supper.  In no time at all the sun was setting in the red sky.

Probably for the first time in my life I truly appreciated the contrasting pictures of the beauty of nature: one of immense power the other of unrivalled serenity, and in the same place.  I was hooked I wanted to know what other delights this natural show could provide.

The day after I splashed out on a map and explored more paths on The Lizard, made footprints in virgin sand at Kynance Cove.  Just 2 weeks later I found myself on the summit of Ingleborough at 7am and was scouring Amazon for good walking books, during which the name Wainwright kept popping up?  He would play a major role in  the coming months and years.  My friends admired my photos from Cornwall and I went shopping for a camera. 

A new journey had begun, where would it lead?  Stay tuned, I promise not to tell of every footstep or photograph since 2008, in fact the next blog will hop to the present day.  Tales from the past will from time to time be weaved in, but as it should be the journey will be constantly looking forward.