Vision Quest - Day 6

Day 6 – Townies and country lads!

Sunday – “the day of rest”. I woke with a feeling like I wanted to press a reset button; one that would make me instantly refreshed and give me a new tent and clean clothes. I searched around for a while, but my efforts were fruitless. Eventually I surrendered to my chores, (albeit reluctantly,) and started the day by collecting water.
I think Saturday’s nine mile walk around the lake was the main reason for my feeling tired. Yet even as I climbed out of the tent and set off down the hill towards the stream, I felt my energy begin to return. The forest was comforting and beautiful; last night’s rain had mostly been soaked up by the dry ground. There was a slight shower of rain as I made my way down the hill, but as soon as I reached the stream it stopped. On the way back up I could see the sunlight piercing through the trees, creating beams of golden light that illuminated the forest. The air smelled cleaner for the rain and as I hauled my water container back up the hill, I was filled with a peaceful feeling. The sounds of the forest were calming and the sunlight reflecting off of the few puddles made the whole scene sparkle. I no longer felt tired, despite being physically active.
I cooked some porridge and stopped to enjoy it. The rain threatened once more, but abruptly it stopped and that was the last of it for the day. The sun shone brightly and warmed the air, so I cleaned up my dishes and meditated. Since it was “the day of rest”, I then spent a few hours happily reading my book. There’s nothing like a good fantasy book to switch off to and get completely lost in!
Suddenly it was midday! I felt I had rested enough and got to work on the cleaning duties. The first job was to sweep out the dust and debris from my tent. I had to improvise a brush, so I used a leafy branch, much like I did on the first day to sweep my pitching area. I placed everything onto the left side of the tent before sweeping the right side. Using a piece of paper as a dustpan, I removed the pile of dust. Then I transferred all my belongings on to the clean, right side before sweeping the left. Again, I used paper to scoop the dirt out of the tent. I reorganised my belongings so that there were different sections for cooking equipment, sleeping gear, food, books etc. Then I packed all my dirty laundry into a plastic bag in one corner, ready for washing.
Feeling stiff and achy from the sudden flurry of activity, I stood up outside and began stretching my muscles. It felt good, and woke me up even more. I did a few pull-ups on the tree for exercise, then washed my face and combed my hair. By the time all this had been done, I actually felt as if a reset button really had been pressed. The irony was that the result had not come about instantly or without effort – restfulness had been achieved through hard work and labour!
Of course, the process was not yet complete; there was more hard work to come. Tomorrow I would have to walk again to Wiveliscombe and do my laundry, which means I would want a shower before changing into the fresh clothes. I sat and made plans to leave my clothes to wash while I caught the bus to Taunton. I would go for a swim in Taunton leisure centre, both for the exercise and so I could have a hot shower afterwards. By the time I got back to the tent, washed and wearing clean clothes, I would indeed feel ‘reset’!
As the afternoon wore on and I tired of reading my book, I decided to pay a visit to the Lowtrow Cross Inn. After eating a can of spiced beans for supper, I put on a jumper and started walking. By now I was becoming used to the road and its corners - I knew where the blind spots were and how to avoid them. For the most part no cars came along, and if one did it was heard long before it was seen. Still, I decided to be cautious as I ambled along the country lanes, unhurried and relaxed. It was an enjoyable stroll; the sky was fascinating, full of a mix of cloud and sunshine.
I had been hoping for a table in the pub to write at, forgetting that Sunday is a popular time for pub diners. I was kindly given a table, before being equally kindly ‘booted off’ again half an hour later. The tables were all booked, and meals were being churned out like headline news from a stand in central London!
Taking my pint outside, I noticed the evening was a pleasant one; a dark cloud loomed in the distance but avoided coming our way. The sun was bright, even as it began to set; it reflected off the wispy clouds in the sky and sent beams of light up into the air. I sat outside on the bench and continued writing as I moved onto my second pint of Exmoor Ale.
A man came outside for a cigarette and I recognised him. He had been at the bar as I ate my meal on Friday evening. So close was he to my table that I engaged in conversation with him, discovering that he was, (as I had guessed,) local to the area. As more old men came outside, joining the first in ‘smoker’s corner’, conversation began to flow. Soon we were discussing a helicopter crash that had happened not far away. (After returning home, I discovered that many of my friends had read about this in the newspaper. Here I was with no newspaper, hearing the same story, but by word of mouth!)
As the group dwindled, I was left talking with an elderly gentleman. I decided to approach the topic of hunting, as I had seen adverts for a hunt inside the pub.
“There’s a hunt goes from here, isn’t there?” I asked him inquisitively.
“Yeah, there is.” He replied solemnly. “It’s just not the same though, now they don’t use the hounds.”
“I see. So they haven’t stopped hunting completely.” I tried to console him. I hate the thought of deer being killed, but watching this old man get lost in his memories of old hunts made me feel a certain sadness.
“They say it’s cruel!” He said at last. “Well, it’s no more cruel than shootin’ or fishin’.” I nodded for him to continue. “Someone tried to convince me that fish don’t have emotions, and can’t feel anything. What a load of rubbish!”
“That is silly!” I agreed.
“And what about pheasant shooting – they scare the animals half to death and then shoot ‘em, so why is hunting with hounds so bad?”
“I’ve heard the hounds are very quick and efficient with their kill.”
“Oh, they’re good at what they do.” He assured me. “I mean, ‘tis no more cruel than fishing.” He concluded. I decided not to mention my vegetarianism. I could have spoken about the cruelty of slaughterhouses and the inhumanity of packaged meat, but felt it would only confuse the situation. Despite my moral stance on the killing of animals, I was beginning to agree with this gentleman that the ban was indeed an irrational move.
“So even after all the banning,” I began, “you’re still allowed to shoot the animal!” I sighed despairingly.
“They go making all these rules up in the towns, but they don’t what they’re talking about.” This, I certainly agreed with! “Townies don’t know what life in the country is all about!” Suddenly he gave me a curious look, as if seeing me for the first time. Blue jeans“You’re from the towns, ‘aint you?” He said at length. I laughed playfully, and took the opportunity to pause for a while.
“I am,” I answered with resignation, “but I consider myself more of a country lad!”
The conversation ended with him telling me he has hunted for forty-seven years. “And now, it’s just not the same,” he muttered, almost to himself as he turned and left, “It’s just not the same…”
The cloud in the distance had grown darker and larger, yet still it avoided us. The sun was disappearing behind it, but golden light still shone out and the sky was a deep, fiery red. I drained my glass, returned it to the bar with a nod to the bartender, and began marching back to my tent.
The walk had set the Ale pumping through my system, making me feel both merry and hungry! I ate the last of the carrot cake when I got back and then sat happily reflecting the day’s events. It had indeed been the day of rest; I was sure I would appreciate it fully when walking to Wivey in the morning. However, I felt somewhat less satisfied than the previous evening. Then, I had settled knowing I had walked around the entire lake in the course of the day. It was a good feeling. Now I felt as though I had missed out. As I pondered this, I began laying out my sleeping bag and rolling up my jumper into a pillow-shape. The next thing I knew, I was lying down with my eyes closed, drifting gently into a peaceful and happy sleep.