Night shift lunch, it’s dead
Mountains and woodlands are more day to day. If I don’t have to take the brood out and can push further into the Dales or up to Pennines country, both with mates but better alone, it pulls all your senses in. We don’t get coastal vistas but drive to any number of routes and the Dales have tons of tors, sweeter views than Glastonbury too. You have to tune in as your feet can’t afford to fuck up, you have to prep and weather watch in case a system of black skies rocks up
Mountains are visually expansive, woodland more of visual limiter but you pull your aural focus right in - range of bird calls present in and around your route, the breeze - so never subsequently found wood/forest horror tropes believable due to wood love crew. Alders, oaks, beeches especially, silver birches, none of the acidic lo-lite forestry commission plantation proliferations even if they serve a sustainable purpose. Lichens on glacial erratics are always engaging. The human urge to climb stuff kicks in. You look at trees and think yes of course that’s the branch route to the middle to look out from like a PhD in tree climbing
Water sources and the very British mix of tumbling mossy stones leading down and along tributaries. Seeing the state of water health if the fish are feeding., might have to do a R Lambert. This is why you are always best off not tagging anglers into the mix; they’ll try and angle every fuckin place along very different water courses with angling talk, the fuckers surrounded by em
The last two psilocybin trips taken were in woodland and elevated dale country. You don’t need a stone circle or god forbid a drumming circle at a stone circle, just a day and night and morning seeing sunrise up as a finale (not a Cafe Del Mar marketed cliche mode) and an extended grounded spraff, rather than a cue to start racking up behemoth lines of gear although the comedown from an extended coke binge is its own download apotheosis. When any and every cocaethylene godhead control session of metaphysics has been shattered and your eyes remain bloodshot for a week after. Same with the occasional extended drinking session. Your recovery can include moments of almost transcendent calm. You went too far, all systems rebooting, yet the signal is somehow clearer, muted yes to degrees from spiralling oblivion. Rarely enjoy a first coffee and cigarette as immensely or as nourishment as in these attuned/de tuned/down tuned miasmas
The eventual drive home from a mission out somewhere involving, it can be the built environment for many whatever your pleasure, you feel the shift. It’s already occurred, a subtle but profound subconscious shift. It might be one of the few elements Dissensus agrees on. Not just the physical exercise. You’ve absorbed microclimates and birds of prey, or cycled a city at dawn, tuned up is more accurate an expression
The Lincolnshire coast with uncompromising slate grey North Sea views you can push beyond to the Wash and up to Humberside, has masses of nature reserves with huge, mind bending fish-eye lens skies. Out past irrigated villages to the rhythm of waves breaking. getting as far away from populated locales as possible. Tufts of gorse and grassland ruffs rippling before you get to the open beach….and no-one’s there. Pebble and ground shale crunches under your boots. If you can’t tune-in/up like this I must be missing the point. Even HmmGuv had a moment staring out into the sea
Rivers are getting a bad deal pumped full of literal excrement let’s be honest, tick fucker numbers are up but you have to explore, lockdown surely gave everyone a nudge here for multiple reasons we don’t have to agree on