from my Field Notes

I spent last week working on my book proposal while fighting off a nasty cold. Surprisingly, I managed to actually get some writing done from my cocoon of blankets. I thought I would share it with you all.

The book proposal is for a project I have been working on for several years. It explores rewilding and our relationship with nature. The foundation of the project is a series of hikes in the southwest, during which I take photographs and write field notes.

The hope is that the eventual book will include both, that the writing will work with the photographs, self-contained fractions of a story that when brought together can create a new whole and explore wider themes.

The words and photographs below are some of the first edited pieces. There is still a long way to go with the writing but I hope you enjoy this draft. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

West Cornwall - Summer

The path shrinks, becoming a small track before it disappears among the rocks and short grass. I can just make it out, an impression left by hundreds of feet. I pick my way across to the gate. It’s hot. It even smells hot; rich and earthy scents mixed with the salt air. The sun pounds down onto my bare skin from high above me, the warmth from the world melting into me. The ascent isn’t steep but in the close heat it feels as though I am climbing forever. I am covered in a light sheen of sweat.

When I reach the top, the land is a flat tabletop of short grass, scattered here and there with stones. An old stretch of dry-stone wall is half buried, appearing from among the bracken like jagged teeth of mottled grey and white. Gulls take off cawing through the centre of a flock of small birds, cutting it in two.

Now bare dirt the path appears to shine as it snakes across the land ahead, going on and on in front of me. Huge rock formations appear to tumble down the cliff, jumbles of boulders sitting as though they have been piled atop one another, each one so perfectly angular they appear carved into shape. Lichen, moss, and ivy grow across every crevice in greens, white and yellows. Far below the sea is deep dark blue with white tipped waves. More gulls fly in and out of view, circling. The blackberry bushes growing along the coast path are full of ripening berries, each one a jewel among the green. A tiny butterfly in forget-me-not blue spreads twitching wings in the sun. A mouse disappears into the undergrowth without a sound. Perhaps I scared it.

I walk on, following the path as it cuts closer and closer to the cliff edge. Suddenly below me is a deep cove, waves cutting into it. The rock face is black and wet with four fingers of rich green land reaching out into the water. Each one is sharply ridged and ends in bare rock, like the paw of some giant beast, claws flexed. It is late in the day now and I there is a rhythm to my continuing steps. I am walking into the sun.

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