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IMPOSSIBLE IS NOWHERE

TEAM EXPEDITIONS C U S TO M-B U I LT T R I P S TV & FILM BRAND PROJECTS SECRETCOMPASS.COM

TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S

Features

D epa r t ment s

14 B I G C L I M B S , S M A L L T R I P S

12 B A S E N O T E S

World class rock climbing close to home

2021 kicks off with an historic ascent in the Karakoram

22 L A S T E X I T F R O M T H E S E C R E T S E A

North by Northwest: bikepacking the Scottish highlands

Lena Drapella

A race against time in the depths of the world

60 B A C K T O B A S E Chris Hunt

Robbie Shone

72 B E Y O N D B A S E

30 D A Y S O F T H E C E L T I C S U N

Glances with wolves

Southwest England by standup paddleboard

Ester de Roij

David Pickford

66 B A S E T E C H

42 B E Y O N D T H E W H I T E R O O M

The Magic Glass: adventure navigation past & present

Wingsuit flying in the Italian Dolomites

Chris Hunt

Tim Howell & Francesco Guerra

76 B A S E G E A R

48 K E M P S T O N H A R D W I C K

The secret diary of Bedfordshire’s greatest adventurer Dan Milner

Outdoor innovations for spring 2021 The BASE review team

78 B A S E C U L T U R E

50 T H E B A S E I N T E R V I E W

In conversation with leading big wave surfer Justine Dupont David Pickford

Portrait of the artist as a locked-down climber Tessa Lyons

Cont ri b u t ors Lena Drapella

Antony Krastev

Justine Dupont

Atanas Ovcharov

Francesco Guerra

Teddy Morellec

Tim Howell

Hugo Silva

Robbie Shone

Bastien Bonnarme

Dan Milner

Xabi Barreneche

Ester de Roij

Editor & Creative Director David Pickford

Associate Editor & Digital Editor Chris Hunt Publishing Manager Emily Graham Design Joe Walczak

Dom Daher

Publisher Secret Compass

Enquiries hello@base-mag.com

Submissions submissions@base-mag.com Advertising emily@base-mag.com

COVER: A caver is dwarfed by the sheer size of Cloud Ladder Hall, Wulong Cave, Chongqing region, China. Cloud Ladder Hall is a naturally formed chamber so large it has its own weather system. From the central ridge overlooking the cathedral-like atrium, the figures add scale to this gigantic cave as it towers into its own atmospheric fog. Measuring circa 51,158 square metres, Cloud Ladder Hall is one of the largest known cave chambers in the world: the roof is well over 250 metres above cave floor. ROBBIE SHONE

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WE ALL

NEED WINTER HELP US ACCELERATE THE TRANSITION TO A CARBON NEUTRAL SOCIETY POW UK is a charity that inspires and equips UK based outdoor communities to take positive action to address the climate crisis.

THE CURRENT PICTURE In 2015 in Paris, the nations of the world came together and, in an unprecedented show of global unity, agreed to take action to limit global warming to 2°C above pre-industrial times and to make every effort to limit it to 1.5°C. With the global climate now around 1°C degree warmer than pre-industrial times and at the current rate of warming, we will blow through 1.5°C in the 2040s and the 2°C target in the 2060s, give or take.

The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) have just released their latest report on what the differences might be between a 1.5°C world and a 2°C. In simple terms, a 1.5°C world is just way more pleasant: fewer extreme weather events, less involuntary mass migration, less intense wildfires, fewer droughts. Put another way, the 1.5°C target is one we should all be striving for.

#WINTERNEEDSUS

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EDI TOR’S LET T ER The ed ge of t hi ng s

T

he lands falls away into a river valley before rising up towards

Local exploration, in any case, often reveals more than its

a line of trees on the horizon. Right before the wood, there’s

global counterpart. By looking into a place you already know

pines grow tall and strong in the centre, marking out this place

plane to the other side of the world. Rather than seeking journeys

an open field that follows the contour of the hill. A pair of Scots as distinct from the landscape that surrounds it. From the edge

of the school yard, as a nine year-old kid, I would often stare at this singular piece of open ground, my eye drawn, perhaps, to its

marginal quality; a place where farmland dissolves into forest,

with fresh eyes, you sometimes discover more than jumping on a to the ends of the earth, the experiences of the past year have

suggested that it’s often more worthwhile to look inside the map, to rummage around, and to dig a bit deeper on your home turf.

Several years ago, the author and political thinker David

where the cultivated merges into the wild. As such, I became

Goodhart came up with a fascinating way of describing the

moments between maths and science. It was a representation

outlook as ‘anywheres’; their opposite are ‘somewheres’, or people

transfixed with this liminal field in those suspended, dreamlike

of the possibility of adventure in the outer world, beyond the exigencies of school. It was also a representation of what I might

discover one day, somewhere in the open country over those hills, as the story goes, and far away.

The extraordinary events that have taken place since you read

the last issue of BASE – published a year ago, in February 2020 – have reminded me of that place I once contemplated from primary

school, for a simple reason. The field on the edge of the woods was

human relationship with place. He defined those with a global

with a more local outlook. For most of 2020 and into early 2021, we were all forced to become ‘somewheres’ for a while. And it

was not, I’d suggest, an entirely undesirable experience, in the

sense that it reset our relationships with the places we call home.

Local captivity, for a lot of adventurous people, revealed new

places and possibilities once disregarded in the rush to the next intercontinental flight. Hinterlands, after all, can be wild places.

It also might have revealed the value of time spent alone or

one thing above all else: a way out. If you're a naturally adventurous

with a partner – time to reflect, to contemplate, to make plans.

enforced captivity within national or local boundaries. How to

the benefits of 'social distancing' are pretty obvious. Many of the

person, difficult and complex questions arise from a state of

escape? What does freedom mean? To what extent can the state control the individual? Who can you trust? What really matters in your life? Interestingly, these were also questions of enormous

relevance to intellectuals and dissidents in the former USSR and

1930s Germany, and they remain of huge relevance in China today.

That's a deeply revealing perspective on the policy of lockdown.

In an era where long distance travel has been made,

temporarily, much more inconvenient, it's become more valuable

than ever to explore the world close to your home; to reimagine

your stomping grounds. It's a theme that runs through this issue.

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For many introverts, and even for socially recalcitrant extroverts, greatest adventures of modern times have been accomplished by

people who set out by themselves, or in a very small group, to

experience a wild place on the most direct possible terms. Solo explorers can be counted amongst the greatest adventurers of all time: Reinhold Messner’s Himalayan climbs, Bernard Moitessier’s

single handed ocean voyages, Mike Horn's Antarctic crossing, or Robyn Davidson’s camel expedition across Australia’s Western Desert come to mind. But there are very many others.

Remarkable journeys undertaken alone often stand out not

just for what they are, but also for what they represent: a desire

to be at the frontier not only of exploration, but also of human

The italics here are mine, not Baker's: I've not heard a better

experience itself. One of the finest books ever written about the

explanation than this for why an adventurous life is something

Snow Leopard, an account of a journey he made to Dolpo in the

outer limits of human capability to an extraordinary degree.

inner journey in a wild environment is Peter Matthiessen’s The

Nepal Himalaya in the mid 1970s. It's more of a work of Zen philosophy than an adventure travel book. Whilst Matthiessen’s

trip wasn’t a solo one – he travelled with the legendary field biologist George Schaller in pursuit of the elusive snow leopard –

he spent a great deal of time alone in the mountains, meditating and observing the world around him. His writing highlights the

mystical experiences that process began to generate. By being alone in the mountains, Matthiessen suggests that we begin

to remember our visceral being: 'There is a rising of forgotten

knowledge, like a spring from hidden aquifers under the earth...

The sun is roaring, it fills to bursting each crystal of snow. These

rocks and mountains, all this matter, the snow itself, the air – the earth is ringing.' This passage is a powerful expression of the instructive nature of solitary endeavour. On a solo, 100-mile hike

along the edge of the Patagonian icesheet a few years ago, I felt

I knew what Matthiessen was talking about as I filled a flask from a freezing stream. Alone in a wild place, you come closer

to what a Paleolithic hunter-gatherer might have experienced physically, if not psychologically, 25,000 years ago. Today, with the new interest in natural navigation, traditional bushcraft, and re-wilding, there is a resurgent sense of the importance of that

worth striving for. A more recent solo adventurer stretched the

His name was Andrew McCauley. A proficient sea kayaker and mountaineer, in 2007 McCauley set out to achieve a seemingly

impossible feat: to paddle a modified sea kayak alone across the Tasman Sea, the notorious thousand-mile passage of water

between Australia and New Zealand. Incredibly, McCauley very

nearly made it to New Zealand; he was lost without trace after making a distress call to the New Zealand coastguard around

thirty miles off Milford Sound on South Island. McCauley clearly intended to have the most demanding adventure

imaginable. Whilst he did not physically survive his journey, in

one respect he succeeded. His voyage was a one-off triumph of

solitary endeavour, and it’s hard not to feel more than a degree

of admiration for his outrageous mission. The following year, the Tasman Sea was successfully crossed by a two man team

using a larger, purpose-built vessel, and by the less dangerous route between New South Wales and North Island. McCauley’s

solo journey between Tasmania and South Island has not, unsurprisingly, seen another attempt. If J.A. Baker reached the edge of things through his birdwatching, McCauley certainly did so in his kayak in the Southern Ocean.

Many of the most memorable adventures of my own have

‘forgotten knowledge’ Matthiessen wrote about over 40 years ago.

also been solitary ones; adventure motorcycle journeys, free solo

experience in the natural world, J.A. Baker explains his fascination

trips. What made all these very different experiences valuable

In another remarkable piece of writing about solitary

with observing peregrine falcons in a small area of rural Essex in the notoriously cold winter of 1962-63 in The Peregrine. Long

overlooked, this one-off, indefinable book is now regarded as a classic of British nature writing.

‘I shut my eyes and tried to crystallise my will into the

light-drenched prism of the hawk’s mind’ Baker recalls, trying

to imagine, in an impressive perceptual leap, what the bird he is observing is itself seeing. He explains how 'I always longed to be part of the outward life, to be out there at the edge of things.'

rock climbs, big ski descents, and long distance paddleboard

was their purity of purpose, their logistical simplicity, and their psychological intensity. Without a support structure, a solo adventure in a wild place is elevated into a different realm of

human experience. On your own, you can be truly out there at the edge of things; a falcon-watcher, a shape-shifter, a visionary. And

on your own, I think, it's easier to notice a place on the edge of the woods like the one I once observed as a school kid: the way out.

On that note of optimism, enjoy this action-packed issue of

BASE. It’s great to be back.

David Pickford

The vast expanse of Campo de Heilo Sur [Southern Patagonian Icecap] seen from Paso del Viento in the Chalten Massif, Argentine Patagonia. DAVID PICKFORD

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BA S E N O T ES

K2: the first winter ascent ‘Just the bare bones of a name, all rock and ice and storm and abyss. It makes no attempt to sound human. It is atoms and stars. It has the nakedness of the world before the first man – or of the cindered planet after the last’

That’s how Italian photographer, mountaineer, and polymath

Fosco Maraini summed up K2, the world’s second highest peak, in his

book Secret Tibet in 1951. It remains a chilling invocation of the unique allure of this most singular of mountains. Rising to 8,611 metres above

sea level, K2 is the most northerly of all the 8000 metre peaks; the only other 8000er with a comparable latitude is nearby Broad Peak

(8,047m), located not far to the south on the other side of the GodwinAustin glacier. K2’s height, latitude, and technical difficulty makes it

a formidable challenge even in the normal summer climbing season,

when most ascents are made. A winter ascent, meanwhile, was long regarded as one of the last great problems in Himalayan climbing: the most dangerous mountain in the world at the coldest time of the year.

After numerous attempts by some of the best high altitude

mountaineers in the world, that problem was finally solved in early 2021 by a team of Nepali Sherpas led by Nirmal ‘Nimsdai’ Purja, a former Gurkha and British Special Forces officer. ‘Team Nimsdai’

reached the summit together via the Abruzzi Spur route at around

5pm on January 16th. Their ascent was not without incident, however.

Around a week before their successful summit bid, a ferocious storm almost completely destroyed Camp 2. Nirmal’s team lost most of their equipment, and were forced to descend in order to replenish their supplies before going back up the mountain.

This landmark climb is significant not just for the fact that K2

was the last 8000er to see a winter ascent, but also because it’s the first record-breaking Himalayan climb to have been made by an all-Sherpa

team. For decades, Sherpas have assisted Western mountaineers in

their ascents of the highest peaks. Now, a Sherpa team has made climbing history – and surely not for the last time.

In an interesting parallel, the majority of first winter ascents of

8000 metre peaks were made by Polish mountaineers in the 1970s and 80s. Poland – a nation with a very strong mountaineering tradition –

missed out on the so-called ‘Golden Age’ of Himalayan climbing in the 1950s and 60s due to the Cold War. The first winter ascent of K2, then,

marks another turning point: the beginning of a new era of historic climbs in the Himalaya accomplished by non-Western climbers.

K2 (8,611m) seen from base camp on the Godwin-Austin glacier. The Abruzzi Spur route, used by ‘Team Nimsdai’ to make the first winter ascent in January 2021, follows the ridge clearly visible in the photo in its upper part. MAREK OGIEN / RED BULL

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BIG CLIMBS, SMALL T RI PS Wo rl d cl ass roc k i n t he UK a nd E u rope Photography | Lena Drapella

Whilst not the easiest year for the free-spirited, 2020 was an opportunity to appreciate what lies just beyond our doorstep, proving you don’t have to travel across the globe to have an adventure of a lifetime. With a touch of creativity, an open mind, and the right company, some of the best memories can be made only a short distance from home.

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FACING PAGE: The Pembrokeshire coast offers some of the best limestone trad climbing in the country, if not worldwide. Here, top Austrian climber Babsi Zangerl cranks out the headwall of Do you know where your children are? (E8 6c) in Huntsman’s Leap, a giant cleft in the cliff-line near Bosherston Head, so named due to the local legend that a huntsman once jumped across its narrowest point on horseback.

THIS PAGE: Jamie Barclay on Sangfroid Direct (E2 5c) at Craig Y Forwyn in North Wales. With a long history of access issues, Craig y Forwyn – home to some of the best inland limestone in the UK – was out of bounds to climbers for decades. It has recently been opened up again; an opportunity to enjoy some of the best inland limestone in Britain, providing the delicate relations with the landowners remain respected.

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THIS PAGE TOP: If you’re after the remote and unknown that’s not so far away, the Tatra Mountains of southern Poland have a huge amount to offer. Here, Wojtek Radzik sticks a deadpoint move on the crux pitch of Metallica (IX/IX+) a stunning granite multi-pitch line in the Polish Tatras.

THIS PAGE LOWER: The ‘never give up’ attitude is not unfamiliar to Svana Bjarnasson.

After losing pretty much all the skin on her hands, she opted for Homeage a Catalunya – a tricky 7b+ slab at Abella de la Conca in Catalonia, Spain. The moves in the photo required no more than half a fingertip – all the skin she had left.

FACING PAGE: Sometimes, sunrise missions can provide a magical change of perspective.

Jan Krauss is captured here in full flow on Flying Flower (7c+/8a) at Abella de la Conca, Catalonia, Spain.

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TOP LEFT: Lara Neumaier firing the awesome headwall of Point Blank (E8 6c) at Stennis Ford, Pembrokeshire.

In between some big falls, she managed – astonishingly – to send both Point Blank and Chupacabra (E9 6c) during her first ever trad climbing trip! [The first ascent of Point Blank was made in 2008 by the editor of BASE magazine, David Pickford].

TOP RIGHT: Top British sport climber Rhoslyn Frugtniet was pushing boundaries close to home in summer 2020.

Here, she’s sending Poppy, a notoriously bouldery, powerful and technical 8b+ at Ansteys Cove, Devon; one of her many impressive achievements recently.

LOWER LEFT: Emma Twyford, the first British woman to climb a 9a sport climb, sending one of the most iconic hard trad lines in the UK, The Big Issue (E9 6c) at Bosherston Head, Pembroke.

LOWER RIGHT: West Penwith, Cornwall, is home to some of the best granite trad climbing in the UK. Stefano De Boni makes the most of its wild geological features by soloing some of the easier lines above the wave-cut platform at Sennen, one of the most popular crags in the region.

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The climbing experience is rarely enriched by the grade as much as by the company - Lena Drapella

TOP LEFT: Whether it’s the Gower or the Greater Ranges, leading British adventure climber and alpinist Tom Livingstone takes the adventurous spirit with him wherever he goes.

TOP RIGHT: Amie Horton pulls the ropes after topping out on Gone with the Wimp (VS) at Bosherston Head, Pembroke.

CENTRE: Svana Bjarnasson finds a moment for reflection in between climbs on a winter’s evening in Catalonia, Spain.

LOWER: Gemma Powell and Benjamin Corbey celebrate Gemma’s scary but successful trad lead. The climbing experience is rarely enriched by the grade as much as by the company.

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LAST EXI T FR OM T HE S ECRE T S EA A race against ti me i n t he d ept hs of t he wor l d Story & Photography | Robbie Shone

In a remote part of the Arabika Massif in Georgia’s West Caucusus, over 2000 metres below the Earth’s surface, a team of top international

cavers are suddenly confronted with a life-or-death situation. With no more than a few minutes to decide the right course of action, in

the deepest part of the world’s deepest cave, they must choose the only option that guarantees their survival. Leading British caving photographer Robbie Shone, who was part of the team, recalls of one of the most gripping escape stories in contemporary adventure sports.

G

eorgia’s Veryovkina is the world’s deepest cave system so

far explored. It is a physically and mentally testing cave,

with many torturous sections, some only just wide enough to squeeze one’s body through. Due to the enormous depth

from a three metre deep hole. The leader, Pavel, and one other

left at this point to go and check how the water levels were changing deeper in the system. Then all hell broke loose.

The water rose so fast it was impossible to tell how

of the system, it is necessary to use multiple underground

quickly it was rising. Petr checked the hole once again, and as

are at -600m, -1,350m, and the final one lies at -2,100m.

deep hole was now full of surging, rising water.

camps to reach the lowest point at -2,212 metres. The camps The process of getting to the bottom of this remarkable cave

is similar to a camp-to-camp ascent of an 8000 metre peak, except you’re going down instead of up.

There’s an average travel time of eight hours between each

of the camps, for a caver carrying two or three bags weighing

he turned around his white face said it all. The three-metre

We knew we had to act fast: the message was passed around

that we had to evacuate our camp. Everyone started running

around, gathering equipment and clothing. In camp we only had base layers on. We had to get kitted up for serious caving.

We put dry suits on – which would save our lives later on

20-30 kg each. After taking four days to reach the bottom,

in the five degree Celsius water – plus harnesses and climbing

lowest camp, which was the ideal location for exploring the

camera gear was spread all over the floor. I grabbed the cards

we spent seven of our fourteen days in the cave based at the

farthest reaches of the system. In general, everything went well, as we made day trips away from the camp to explore and photograph the lower passages. I was able to photograph the

outlandish terminal sump [seen in the image on the previous

pages]: this is the first photograph ever taken of the deepest

gear. Because I’d been photographing only moments earlier, my

from the cameras, put them in a ziplock bag and into my chest

pocket, and left the rest. Had I taken the equipment, carrying a bag would have slowed me down and therefore the people behind me. It would have endangered our lives even more.

‘We’re leaving right now’ I said, as soon as my assistant,

point in the deepest cave yet explored on Earth.

Jeff, was ready. At this point every single hole around camp

an expedition going smoothly, we were suddenly thrust into

negotiate a traverse, which previously had been above a fifteen

Everything changed on day seven of the camp. From

survival mode. We received a radio call from two cavers higher

up in the system to say that there was a flood pulse coming

through, and it was estimated that the water would reach us in about 30 minutes. We continued with our breakfast, unaware

was rising and bubbling with dark water. First, we had to metre chasm. This chasm was now a lake, and the traverse was

only a metre above the water. Then we had to ascend 50 metres of fixed rope pitches, which were all now raging waterfalls.

I don’t know whether I was more scared about the rising

of the seriousness of what was coming our way. Then, without

water behind us or the torrent of water coming down on our

cave was filled with a deafening roar, as if a freight train was

ropes through the waterfalls was to keep our heads down, put

warning, the water hit us. I will never forget that sound. The approaching our camp. And it got louder and louder. Everyone

stood open-mouthed staring upwards, wondering what was going to appear from the black hole in the cave ceiling above.

Then it came. About two minutes after first hearing the

train, the most enormous torrent of white water appeared

heads. The only way to breathe while climbing up the fixed

our chins on our chest, and create a small air space underneath the front of the helmet. I was terrified at the sensation of the cave flooding so rapidly. Panicked, I climbed the ropes as fast as possible, and moved so quickly I lost sight of Jeff.

I honestly thought, for a few minutes, that Jeff and

15 metres above our heads and plummeted down into camp.

everyone else behind me in the cave was dead. Finally,

We decided not to continue with our original plan for the day

yelling at me to slow down; it was a relief to see and hear him.

At first it continued past us, heading further down into the cave.

but to wait around camp and see how it would develop. I took

the opportunity to photograph camp. After a couple of hours, Petr, one of the Russian cavers, could hear gurgling coming

I heard a very angry voice on the ropes below me. It was Jeff We re-grouped and continued onwards to a point where we could wait safely out of the raging water and have a think about what to do next.

PREVIOUS PAGES: In August 2017, 49 years after the cave’s discovery, explorers reach a depth of -2,212m in Veryovkina, setting a new record for world’s deepest cave. In September 2018, the Perovo Caving Team pushed the boundaries of exploration deep beneath the earth. It took four days of abseiling and thrutching through tight passages to reach the bottom. The team spent a week camped at -2,100m from where they made trips to the bottom. Pictured here, leader Pavel Demidov climbs above swimmers in the terminal sump known enigmatically as ‘Captain Nemo’s Last Harbour’. On day 11, everything changed dramatically when a flood pulse hit the cave. In total, the water rose 130 metres above the base level during the flood.

FACING PAGE: At -2100m underground, two Russian cave explorers begin their journey into the lowest levels of Veryovkina. This picture shows the shaft in normal conditions. ‘When the flood pulse came though, this space was wall-to-wall white water. It was terrifying and extremely loud. I didn’t have time to make any photographs during the actual escape’ says Shone.

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It was impossible to tell how fast the water was rising; a hole in the cave floor suddenly filled and surged

Whilst at the safe high point, the first of the other cavers

was several metres underwater when they left. They had to

he’d seen the others: he said no. We didn’t say it, but in our

spat out into an eddy and he had to swim hard to regain the

began to appear from the darkness below. We asked him if hearts we assumed they were all dead.

The three of us continued to the next camp at -1,900m

and waited there. A few minutes later, the other cavers bringing up the back of the group started to appear, much to

claw their way along the cave wall. Pavel, the leader, was rock. Petr injured his knee quite badly, but it was remarkable

that this was the most serious incident from the escape as a whole.

At Camp -1,900m we felt relatively safe, but the floodwater

our general relief.

was still flowing strongly through the cave. We couldn’t

they all carried sleeping bags and stoves, as they knew there

We waited at Camp -1,900m for 16 hours.

These guys are all so strong and immensely capable:

was a food store at the next camp. All eight of us regrouped.

continue upwards because the next waterfall was impassable.

Jeff and I were still in shock, and concerned as to

Everyone had survived, though we learnt that as the others

whether the water would rise even more: we were now stuck

traverse line that was a metre above the water when we left

below and an impassable waterfall above, and surrounded

had left camp, they were swimming above the tents. The

at this temporary camp between the rising floodwaters

THIS PAGE: In the lowest camp in Veryovkina at -2100m underground, the team are captured taking refuge inside the tent, keeping warm, drinking tea whilst on the comms system getting regular updates on water levels from the camp above. What appears to be a peaceful scene was the opposite in reality. Less than an hour after this photograph was taken, holes in the floor began gurgling and soon the gallery itself began filling up with water. There was no time to waste. The last of the Russian explorers had to quickly swim over this tent in order to evacuate the chamber.

FACING PAGE: Three members of the Moscow-based Perovo Speleo Caving Team stop for a discussion before heading back to their campsite – the lowest camp in Veryovkina at -2100m underground. Behind the explorers, a small waterfall enters the cave from above.

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by the thundering subterranean river. Meanwhile, the

It took four full days to return to the surface from the

Russian cavers jovially arrived at the temporary camp,

bottom of the cave. I had planned to photograph the upper

laughing amongst themselves. Eventually after several

flooded, this was no longer possible. For the Russian cavers,

which raised their spirits instantly. Soon they were all hours and some coaxing, we did the same. Whilst four

team members slept, or tried to, the other four kept watch of further rising water levels, and this was done in shifts.

After many hours, the water level died down as quickly

as it had risen: the flood pulse was receding. Jeff and myself

escorted Petr, with his injured knee, to the next camp. The

part of the cave on exiting, but with everything lost or

they learned from this extreme experience of how the whole

cave system reacts quickly under certain weather conditions.

Plans are already underway to improve surface monitoring without the need to have someone physically there for two or more weeks at a time, giving updates via radio.

The premature exit from the cave lost around a day’s worth

others, amazingly, went back down to the lower level to try

of time in the deepest part of the system. Prior to this a number

camera and tripod, which they used for fishing out what else

invertebrates taken for analysis, a number of climbs completed

and salvage what they could from camp. They found my they could find. One of my waterproof containers was located, deformed and wedged in the roof. It remains there to this day, along with the majority of my other camera equipment.

of new passages had been explored and mapped, several cave

to check new high-level passages, and not forgetting the

photography and some filming. Despite – and because – of our lucky escape, it had beed a succesful expedition.

THIS PAGE LEFT: A pretty calcite grotto lies just below the lowest camp in Veryovkina. Here, Jeff Wade follows Roman Zverev and Natasha Sizikova down a ramp coated in thick flowstone. It is very rare to find so much flowstone this deep underground in an active cave that fills to the roof in flood conditions.

THIS PAGE RIGHT: High up in the Western Caucasus mountains lies the unassuming entrance of Veryovkina. Expedition leader Pavel Demidov is pictured here abseiling into the system. In the background, the lights of base camp are just about visible, as several team members finish off preparing for their two-week expedition down the cave. It is hard to imagine that this small hole is the main entrance to one of the largest limestone caves on Earth.

FACING PAGE: Natasha Sizikova and Roman Zverev of the Perovo Speleo Caving Team on a traverse around a deep pool of water in one side passage off the main route through the lowest levels of Veryovkina. During the flood pulse that raged into these chambers during the expedition, this gallery completely filled up with water, and was totally submerged.

28

For myself it was a huge pleasure to work with the Perovo

Speleo Caving Team, and a very emotional trip at that. For

almost twenty years I have been involved in cave exploration and photography. This trip, for the first time, brought home the fact that deep cave exploration is not for the average

caver. To be capable of such an undertaking, years of caving experience are needed. One must have a high level of physical endurance to ensure a sufficient margin of safety. When

something goes wrong in a very deep cave and you need to act fast, it’s crucial that you haven’t used all your reserves up just getting to the bottom of the cave. In mountaineering, the

most dangerous part of the climb can be the descent, and in a big cave the most challenging part can be getting back out

again. One also needs a very high level of technical expertise to negotiate the ropes. Had just one person become stuck on the fixed ropes during the flood, this would have created a

bottleneck, almost certainly killing everyone who remained behind as the flood raged through.

These qualities of great endurance, good decision making,

and teamwork form the basis of the Perovo Speleo Caving Team. It is no surprise, given their expertise in expeditionstyle caving, that they are pushing the limits in the deepest

cave in the world. For me, these cavers are in the leagues of the

A Brief History of Veryovkina Cave 1968 The cave is discovered by cavers from Krasnoyarsk,

Russia. They reach a depth of -115m and mark the cave on the map as S-115.

1982 The cave is explored a second time by a group of Moscow cavers. It is marked as P1-7.

1983-86 Cavers from the same Moscow team continue

to explore the cave and reach a depth of -440m. The cave is renamed after Alexander Veryovkin who died in 1983 exploring a siphon in a cave in the Su-Akan.

2000-2015 Ten expeditions from the Perovo caving team explore the cave further, not making much progress until 2015 when they find a new shaft (named ‘Babatunda’)

that opens the way for deeper discovery of the cave system.

2017 The Perovo team make a major breakthrough in the cave, setting a world caving depth record of -2204m and exploring over 13.5km of cave shafts.

2018 The cave is surveyed by the Perovo team all the way down to the terminal siphon [image in opening spread] at -2212m.

great explorers not just of the modern era, but of all time.

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DAYS OF THE CELTIC SUN A voyage a rou nd S ou t hwest E ng l a nd Story & Photography | David Pickford

I live close to the edge of an island. The sea is an inescapable presence here. It’s where you’ ll end up if you walk out of the door and keep going in a vaguely straight line. On my local streets, there’s often a tang of salt in the southwest wind as it blows up the river from the estuary.

At dawn and dusk, wild gulls wheel across the warehouse rooftops and ride the convection currents through the alleyways. The sea isn’t an abstract thing somewhere beyond the horizon: it is the horizon. And if you head southwest, it goes on and on - until you reach America.

A

t the beginning of the best journeys of your life, you

When travelling significant stretches of open water

often don’t know your final destination; you can’t really

using a small craft, good planning and logistics is usually

fact, when the outcome remains unknown until the very last

the open ocean become possible with experience. SUPs are

imagine the end. We’re talking about the kind of journey, in days. This was one of these journeys.

In

2013,

I

began

experimenting

with

standup

paddleboarding as an alternative to both sea kayaking and

whitewater kayaking as a way of exploring coasts and rivers.

I was initially attracted to the concept of standing on the water rather than being confined within a tiny hull. I quickly began to realise that once you’ve mastered the various

critical. Long trips linking estuaries, headlands, islands and considerably more wind-affected than sea kayaks, due to their lack of draught and the fact that your body can act as a sail.

Whilst it is possible to paddle upwind, if you want to travel

distances of more than fifteen or twenty kilometres in one

push, it is a huge advantage to plan your journeys with the wind, the swell, and the tide in your favour.

An appealing aspect of this process is the logistical

techniques, and with the required level of fitness, you can

planning itself, which is an art in its own right. Friday nights

standup paddleboard. It was a transformational realisation.

models, swell charts, and detailed wind forecasts to ensure

do pretty much anything you can do in a sea kayak on a

It was this new understanding that directed me, several years ago, towards an unusual adventure: a journey around

often must be spent carefully cross-referencing tidal current the weekend is a success.

There can be a considerable level of commitment when

Southwest England, one of the finest stretches of coast

launching a paddleboard downwind and with the tide

It would not be a continuous expedition, but rather a series

simply can’t go back.

anywhere in the world, by SUP. The concept was simple. of shorter trips, eventually forming a complete journey

running with you. In many cases, after a short period you

You’re fully committed to the trip, like the ancient

around the peninsula. This was going to be a jigsaw-like, jazz

Polynesians were when they set out in their wakas [twin-

and completed over several years. This was forced by the

Pacific.

improvisation of an expedition composed of separate parts, unique demands of my chosen mode of travel as well as the

necessities of fitting a long distance voyage around work and ordinary life.

32

hulled ocean canoes] on their voyages of discovery in the I wasn’t going to find any undiscovered islands on my

journey, of course, but I was about to set forth into a world of wind, salt, and silence on a truly epic scale.

Casting Adrift

The tide forces so much water into the bottleneck of the

It all began in August 2017, when I launched from the small

Bristol Channel that this region experiences the world’s second

hazy afternoon, heading west on the powerful ebb current.

tides, which occur twice a month, the difference between

harbour at Porlock Weir on the Exmoor coast on a humid, A couple of hours into the trip, I met my first fellow traveller.

‘I think you’re bloody mad, mate’.

The old fisherman’s voice drifted out across the ink-dark

water off Foreland Point, the broad headland that extends

into the sea off the purple hills over Countisbury. I took his

largest tidal range after Canada’s Bay of Fundy. On spring

high and low water can exceed fourteen metres at Avonmouth.

By using this spectacular tidal power to your advantage, you can travel seriously fast along this coast, making relatively long sections possible within the window of favourable current.

In May 2018, after completing various sections of the

words as a muted compliment; it turned out he’d never seen

Dorset and South Devon coast, I pushed off from Lynmouth

It was the final hour of the ebbing tide, and the low

I intended to use the tide to travel beyond Bull Point and to

anyone on a paddleboard off the Exmoor coast before.

chug of the fisherman’s inboard engine quickly faded as I headed west. As with most of the larger headlands around

the coast of Southwest England, a fierce tide race forms off

just before noon on a perfect early summer morning. the very end of the Exmoor Coast at Mortenhoe, where the Bristol Channel meets the Celtic Sea.

A fresh easterly breeze was forecast, and I picked it up as

Foreland Point in choppy conditions, creating big overfalls

soon as I was away from the shelter of the land, clocking eight

Today, though, the wind was light. Green shadows

the following swell in the classic ‘Hawaiian downwinding’

and standing waves.

extended across the sea, and it was hard to imagine the

violence of the race in full spate. Even so, in half an hour the beginning of the flood [incoming tide] would be racing

up into the Bristol Channel from the Atlantic. Only a short distance remained to Lynmouth, where the East and West

Lyn rivers meet at the end of their descent from the high country of west Exmoor before bubbling into the sea.

knots as I travelled across Woody Bay, catching and riding

style. The tide was already ebbing fast, speeding my progress west past the isolated beach at Heddon’s Mouth. During World War Two, crews from German U-boats apparently made secret night landings at Heddon’s Mouth by dingy

to replenish their supplies of fresh water from the stream that flows into the sea. How did this lonely beach look to a German naval submariner on a dark night in the 1940s?

PREVIOUS PAGES: Heading west towards Woody Bay and Bull Point, North Devon, at sundown.

THIS PAGE: Dorka Fekete crossing the dramatic channel between Tresco and Bryher en route to Hell Bay on the northwest coast of Bryher, Isles of Scilly.

The small islands in the background are Men-a-Vaur (L) and Round Island (the island with the lighthouse), the most inaccessible of all the Isles of Scilly, and the very southestern extremity of Britain. Next stop Brazil!

FACING PAGE: The Atlantic meets the rocks at Boat Cove, West Penwith, Cornwall.

33

Piloting a SUP in the open sea for a sustained

of the reasons this headland has been the site of so many

concentration. The only way to maintain pace and focus is

water between the point itself and the fierce tide race just

period requires strength, agility, good balance, and total

by staying well hydrated and by maintaining energy levels; taking regular short breaks is a good strategy.

A few miles west, Great Hangman, one of Britain’s

highest mainland cliffs, slopes almost a thousand feet down into the sea like a slumbering primeval beast. The wind slackened off here and my pace slowed. An hour later, I’d

made it to Lee Bay, and picked up the last of the ebb tide

wrecks is that, unusually, there’s no inshore passage of calm beyond it. Even on the calmest days, confused waves break

in different directions across the jagged rocks, forming a treacherous cauldron of swirling swell. Compound this with

the tide running off the point at four knots, and you’ve got a seriously challenging environment. Morte Point is definitely not a place to be navigating around in the wrong conditions.

The power of the tide became obvious as soon as I was

rounding Bull Point’s prominent lighthouse. Morte Point was

paddling against the main flow as I rounded the point.

shelving into the sea in the menacing shape of a crocodile’s jaw,

clear of the breaking waves, the nose of my board pitched

the last obstacle of the day’s voyage, a slender prow of rock guarding access to Woolacombe Bay – my final destination.

Approaching the point from the east, I picked up a

southwesterly groundswell, and my speed dropped back considerably. A tell-tale micro eddy around a lobster pot confirmed my suspicion: the tide had already turned and

Staying some way out to sea beyond the offshore rocks to stay and dived through the overfalls and eddies of the race. The groundswell coming in from the west amplified the size of

the waves, but I cleared the point successfully and entered

calmer water on the westerly side. It wasn’t quite over though.

A glance at the rocks two hundred metres to my left

was running against me. I calculated that if I couldn’t make

revealed my position as almost stationary, despite the fact I

current, I could safely land in one of the coves just to the east

now, hauling me back towards the violence of the race. The

it around the point due to the strength of the early flood from where I could pack up the board and reach the coast path. A huge logistical and safety advantage of inflatable

SUPs (compared to sea kayaks) is the ability to land almost anywhere, pack them up, and walk out to the nearest road.

With that fallback plan in mind, I turned the board nose to the tide, and headed west into the stream.

In local Exmoor lore, it’s said that Morte Point is ‘the

place that God made last and the Devil will take first’. One 34

was paddling flat-out. The flood current was running hard

prospect of negotiating those overfalls for a second time

did not appeal, so checking my speed as I cross-referenced a series of fixed points on the headland, I made a ninetydegree turn and executed a rapid ferry-glide across to the shore, making final landfall in a sheltered, sandy cove just north of Mortenhoe. In the thirty-three kilometers from

Lynmouth, this final stretch against the tide had been the most challenging – and tiring – by far.

Piloting a SUP in the open sea for a long period requires strength, agility, good balance, and total concentration

The Atlantic Coast

Coast for rock climbing, I drank some hot black coffee from

between Clovelly and Bude, known as the Culm Coast, is a

of the swell. Perhaps the great landscapes of the heart are not

The wild stretch of huge cliffs, inaccessible bays, and reefs

place of solitude and mystery. It is home to some of the best sea cliff climbing in Devon, and I’d always wanted to see the places I knew so well as a climber from the different perspective of

my flask as the first rays of the sun lit up the inky contours

those that you travel halfway across the world to find; they’re sometimes just beyond your own front door.

Further southwest, a little later that summer, the tide

the sea. I set off from Clovelly on a cloudless June morning

was running strongly with me as I cut through the lively

a punishing headwind all the way on this section, and finally

The momentary drama of the overfalls were overshadowed,

in 2018, heading west for Hartland Point. I had to deal with

rounded the point after a three hour tussle, taking the easy inshore passage through the tide race, only to hit a strong eddy

current running against me for several hundred metres. ‘This often happens after rounding a big headland and is always

race that forms off the point west of Crackington Haven.

though, by the almost continuous rampart of enormous shale

cliffs in the distance – some up to 600 feet high – stretching southwest to Tintagel as I cleared the point.

Passing Beeny Cliff, the coast is a geological marvel of

something to be wary of; I’ve noticed it is particularly likely to

massive, impregnable shale cliffs and offshore stacks. It’s

St. Aldhelm’s Head in Dorset and Dodman Point in Cornwall

in what’s otherwise an inhospitable coast with no sheltered

happen if the headland sits at a right-angle shape to the coast. both produce the same effect from similar topography’.

The following day, between Bude and Hartland Quay,

a distance of just over twenty kilometres, I didn’t see a single

other craft on the water after setting out at first light from Crooklets beach; just a lone hiker silhouetted against the

truly awe inspiring. The tiny natural harbour of Boscastle,

anchorages, is almost unbelievable when approached from the sea. Between two sheer walls of jet-black stone, a narrow, north-running inlet suddenly appears, only becoming truly visible once you’ve actually crossed the harbour bar.

As I was packing up the board on the quay at Boscastle,

clouds as the sun rose behind the five hundred foot cliffs

a man and a boy approached me, inquisitive about where I’d

a mile off Lower Sharpnose Point, the best crag of the Culm

my voyage. The man then exclaimed in a dead-pan tone:

around Cornakey. Riding the early morning tidal stream half

come from, and how I’d travelled. I told them briefly about

FACING PAGE LEFT: The midsummer sun sinks into the Atlantic off Porth Gaverne, North Cornwall.

FACING PAGE RIGHT: Turning into the sun: a moment of reflection offshore in Lyme Bay, west Dorset coast.

FACING PAGE: Dorka Fekete and Gavin Symonds enjoy perfect downwind conditions in Whitsand Bay, south Cornwall, between Plymouth and Fowey.

35

‘Well, great to meet you. My name’s Robert. I clear

The wildness of the granite and greenstone cliffs, interspersed

out the houses of the deceased.’ Had I drowned and

with occasional tiny bays and offshore rocks, between Cape

welcome ashore after paddling one of the wildest sections

the crags and zawns of this coastline well as a climber, but to

slipped into a parallel universe? It was a surreal and fitting of the southwest coast alone. Robert and his son even

gave me a lift back over to my car in the back of their van; I speculated about how many lifetimes’ worth of stuff it had contained as we rattled along the deep Cornish lanes.

A few weeks later, on a day of unreal Mediterranean

conditions, I launched through turquoise water and half a metre of beach surf at New Polzeath under azure skies and

Cornwall and Zennor Head is simply astounding. I know experience the place from the wilderness of the sea takes it to another level. Grey seals, dolphins, basking sharks, and ocean

sunfish [mola mola] can often be seen here. What makes this trip really committing, particularly if there’s any swell, is the fact that there is really only one safe landing along the entire route, at Boat Cove.

On another vintage Cornish day in summer 2018,

a blazing sun. Was this Cornwall or Sardinia? Cutting the

I launched from the slipway at Sennen Cove just after low

to sea. Rounding this epic headland, famous for its links to

lay beyond Land’s End, where the different tidal streams

corner from Pentire Point across to Tintagel took me far out Arthurian legend, was the highlight of the journey, with a lively tide race running through very deep water directly under the three hundred foot cliffs at the apex of the point.

The equally impressive section between Padstow and

St. Ives – passing the great headlands of Trevose, St. Agnes, and finally Godrevy – was completed a little later, over four separate days, taking me to West Penwith and the point where

the Celtic Sea meets the English Channel. Rounding St. Agnes Head, under the sheer cliffs of Carn Gowla, was particularly

exciting. There was a decent wind-chop, which combined with

the clapotis effect [when the waves go in both directions] made

the sea pretty lively. I avoided the worst of the tide race here by navigating an almost invisible channel cleaving through the

cliff on the seaward apex of the headland that was at one point

water. My destination, the small harbour of Mousehole, of the Celtic Sea to the north and the English Channel to

the south converge, creating lots of complicated inshore and

offshore currents: this is the very edge of mainland Britain.

Without much swell to worry about, I navigated close to the

cliffs, through granite arches and spooky zawns filled with the boom of the sea. Tidal rapids often form along here in

the narrow channels between the headlands and the jagged

reefs that surround them; perfect for a bit of whitewater

action. To say the paddling here is world class is something of an understatement. About half a mile offshore, somewhere between Land’s End and Chair Ladder, the rudder-like dorsal

fin of an ocean sunfish flapped lazily for a while against the side of my board before it plunged back into the deep.

Rounding Chair Ladder and passing the coastguard

only just wide enough for my board.

lookout on Hella Point, I’d crossed the official threshold

kilometre section from St. Ives to Sennen Cove is perhaps

groundswell dropped back as I turned north, and a fresh

If I were forced to choose, the final twenty-eight

the finest section of the north coast of Southwest England.

36

of the Celtic Sea and entered the English Channel. The westerly tailwind whipped across the deep blue water.

Tidal rapids form in the channels between the headlands and the jagged reefs surrounding them

The English Channel

Cove by the ruined lifeboat station on the Point itself.

and the last of the flood current carried me east at speed

in Mount’s Bay to the Lizard the following year, in August

Half a mile off Porthcurno, the combined effect of the wind towards Penzance, the first and last sheltered harbour in

the English Channel. With the wind and tide in my favour,

We completed the equally dramatic section from Porthleven 2020, landing in exactly the same place as before.

St. Mawes, just east of Falmouth, is like an artist’s

I reached the shelter of Mousehole quay’s solid granite walls

impression of a Cornish fishing port. It oozes an old

The Lizard peninsula juts out into the Channel to form

to be like – or we’d like to imagine they were like – before

in quick time. It had been a truly exhilarating day.

the most southerly point in Britain. Where the broad shelf of

volcanic rock (an exposed ophiolite complex) that comprises Lizard Point finally meets the sea, it erupts in a kind of maze of jagged, shallow reefs that criss-cross oneanother. Add to

this the fact that the Point experiences some of the strongest

fashioned seaside glamour; a hint of what summers used

package holidays to Benidorm. I set out alone from the quay

at quarter to eight on an azure July morning in the summer of 2020, heading northeast for Mevagissy, a full twenty eight kilometres northeast.

I turned northeast at St. Anthony’s lighthouse on Zone

tidal streams anywhere in Cornwall, and you’ve got yourself a

Point, exiting Carrick Roads and entering the open sea, and the

We set off from Coverack on Easter Sunday 2019, heading

horizon. Dodman, the highest headland in south Cornwall,

working definition of the phrase ‘a ship’s graveyard’.

south for the Lizard on a perfect spring morning. The sea was oily-smooth at first, but by the time we neared Lizard Point,

the tell-tale gusts of a brisk westerly were beginning to make

their presence felt. We flew past the Coastwatch Station at a steady seven knots, and soon passed the Lighthouse looming

brooding prow of Dodman Point appeared dead ahead on the was often the first land sailors in the past would have sighted when

entering the English Channel. It’s a stirring thought to think of

those men on the creaking decks of sailing ships glimpsing it on the horizon, as they returned from months or years at sea.

Pausing for a break close to the offshore island known as

over Housel Bay on the most southerly point of the Lizard.

Gull Rock, off Nare Head, I took in the scene. The sky was

the western side of the Lizard peninsula. As we approached

wind ruffled the sea from time to time, broken only by the

Our original plan had been to land at Mullion Cove on

the southern tip of Britain – the place where the Spanish

Armada was first sighted in July 1588 – I noticed a menacinglooking line of heavy surf on the outer reef to the west of the Point, and remembered the story about two sea kayakers, Chris Duff and Mick Wibrew, who were both wrecked on

Lizard Point in huge seas during their round-Britain paddle.

This forced a quick strategy change, and we landed in Polpeor

an unbroken, impossible blue. The faint breath of a northeast

distant cry of gulls from the cliffs. I could think of no better place in the world to be on a Sunday morning in early July

than out here, half a mile off Cornwall’s Roseland Coast.

It was like one of those dreamlike days from a childhood summer: a moment held still in time. Two hours later I landed

on the fish dock at Mevagissy in a state of Zen-like calm and rapture, my spirits lifted by the freedom of the sea.

FACING PAGE: Gavin Symonds finds the point of balance in a following sea in Bigbury Bay, South Devon.

THIS PAGE: Dorka Fekete catches the bumps heading south towards Falmouth down Carrick Roads (the Fal estuary) powered up by a Force 5 tailwind.

37

The section of coast between Mevagissy and Fowey is

of exciting following seas, we sped downwind from Wembury

made into a superb trip by launching from Lostwithiel, a few

leads around Bolt Head, Prawl Point and Start Point, the

dominated by the huge bight of St. Austell bay. This can be

miles inland, at high water; you head down the Fowey river

on the outgoing tide, enter the sea, then cross the bay itself.

When we did it in the late summer of 2019, a brisk east wind helped our progress west-south-west.

Downwind standup paddling on a following swell is a

to Hope Cove. The more spectacular section to the east then latter defining the western extremity of the vast ‘lee shore’

that is Lyme Bay. In the days of sailing ships, this was a trap in strong southwest winds, driving many vessels to their fate on the mighty shingle reef of Dorset’s Chesil Beach.

Whilst the fast tide races off Bolt and Prawl are fun in

real delight, once you’ve mastered the strange art of ‘catching

their own right, rounding Start Point is particularly exciting.

SUP-surfing a wind-generated wave that isn’t fully breaking.

straight down towards a pair of huge, flat-topped rocks that

the bumps’ as the technique is known; essentially it means Much

of

the

southeast

Cornish

coast

between

Plymouth Sound and Fowey was completed this way.

Rounding Rams Head, the big, blunt headland west of Plymouth Sound, was a highlight. Once we got out

When approaching from the west, the flood tide pulls you

lie just offshore beyond the lighthouse. The idea is to keep as

direct a course as possible through the narrow gap between the rocks as you rise and dive through the overfalls.

After Start Point, the rest of the south Devon coast is

from the shelter of the Sound and into the wind-line,

less dramatic and more benign, although the section between

with a following swell and a fresh southeasterly powering us

the English Riviera’s Air Show made things more interesting.

we cruised across to Downderry at a steady seven knots, along. Who needs the Molokai Channel when you’ve got the English Channel? The coast east of Plymouth is dominated

by the dramatic sweep of Bigbury Bay. Here, on another day

Blackpool Sands and Brixham is idyllic. North of Dartmouth, As we negotiated the offshore Mew Stone rock, the bassy drone of an Avro Lancaster’s V12 Merlin engines seemed to make the sea simmer as the plane banked south overhead.

THIS PAGE: Dorka Fekete heading for Pendennis Castle at the dramatic entrance of Carrick Roads, Cornwall, on an October evening tide after the 20km voyage from Lizard Point, the most southerly tip of Britain. The tall ship on the horizon is sailing for St. Mawes, just to the east. One of the most appealing aspects of SUP voyages in the open ocean is the sensation of being completely connected to what the sea is doing, as this image shows.

FACING PAGE: Gavin Symonds (L) and Dorka Fekete (R) completing a fast and bumpy downwinder from Portland harbour to Ringstead Bay, Dorset, in a Force 6 southwesterly The conditions in this photograph show downwind paddleboarding at its most technical.

38

Once we were into the wind-line, we were immediately doing seven knots with a steady following swell

39

Burn for the Harbour

of poetic justice in the way I entered the expedition’s final

Devon and Dorset coast through the summers of 2019 and 2020.

international travel was effectively put on hold. Some of

I slowly pieced together the remaining sections of the east Dorset’s Jurassic coast between Weymouth and Poole Harbour – and the final section of my journey – is a unique marine landscape.

I used to sail here with my dad thirty years ago, and I’ve spent

hundreds of days rock climbing on the sea cliffs of Swanage

and Portland, so this place is very special to me. On the section between Lulworth Cove and Kimmeridge, we enjoyed perfect

downwind conditions off the jenga-like precipice of Gadd Cliff.

Here, the days that my dad and I spent offshore along this coast during my childhood summers came rushing back. Getting lost in the fog, camping on storm beaches, fishing off the back

stages during the summer of 2020 when long distance the best adventures of all, I have begun to understand, are often found just beyond your own backyard. In August 2020,

doing some island-hopping in the Isles of Scilly, a pod of bottlenose dolphins circled our boards for a few minutes in

St. Helens Gap, just off the north coast of Tean island. Rising for air, vanishing, then appearing again, they moved as silver

shadows through the blue water, signalling something to us

in their own indecipherable language. Where else would you want to be?

On the course of the voyage, I also encountered the

of the boat, refuelling with my grandma’s cheese sandwiches;

hydrographic systems in action in the most direct possible

The past is, of course, a foreign country, as the writer

surge perpetually around all the British islands, under the

all the good stuff.

L.P. Hartley said; the USSR still existed back then, and the

internet didn’t. But the past is also close behind us, and it

shapes who we are today. I’m sure it was those days off the Dorset coast as a kid that instilled my love of the sea that eventually led to this expedition around Southwest England.

I’ve been lucky enough to have travelled all over the world

since those early adventures with my dad. Even amongst expeditions to some very remote places, paddleboarding the

way: the tidal streams, wind currents, and swell cycles that summer sun and through the winter rain. Out there on the water, their awesome results are right there before us. Strange

standing waves two miles out. Huge eddies in the no-man’s-

land between cliff and reef. The darkness of the sluicing water before the outer rocks. The evening light on the stream as it flows far out and away.

The unfathomable power of the sea.

coast of Southwest England over the last four years counts

The author would like to thank Gavin Symonds, Dorka Fekete

evolving psychodrama of things past, passing, and to come:

of the journey described in this article. No support boats or land-

as one of the greatest adventures of my life. It was an ever-

a mission of the heart. There was also, it seemed, an element

and Kelly Vargas, who paddled with him on numerous stretches based support crews were used on any sections of the expedition.

THIS PAGE: Best secret wild camping spot in Southwest England? A room with a view somewhere near Port Issac, North Cornwall.

FACING PAGE: Days of the Celtic Sun: heading west across a shining evening sea towards Foreland Point, Exmoor coast.

40

Epilogue

I’m in the middle of Mounts Bay, the great bight between

The harbour at Porthleven is not far off, but the land behind

September afternoon. My journey around Southwest England

one I shall find ashore. I am alone in a world of wind, silence,

Land’s End and Lizard Point in Cornwall. It’s a gold and blue is almost done; this is one of the last remaining sections I’ d left uncompleted. I’m about half a mile offshore. The old mine

buildings of Trewavas on Rinsey Head stand proud and tall

against the Atlantic. A lone local fisherman in an open boat is pulling up lobster pots, his blue hull merging at times with the waves; ghostly reminders of the days when tin and fish were Cornwall’s great raw materials. In a moment of intense clarity, I inhale the crisp Atlantic air, turning my bow west into the sun.

me blurs into a mirage. Out here, I seek another reality from the

and light. I am free here; as free as I have ever been. The sky burns the horizon with its brightness, and shards of refracted

crystals dance on the dark blue water. In the ocean’s mirror, the

sound and fury of the world is reflected back at us for what it is.

Real adventure isn’t just about a route across a map, but also a

quest for what lies at the heart of your own life. And somewhere on this shadow-sea you might find the unknown world ahead, the voyage to come.

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BEYOND T H E WH I T E RO OM C l imbing & wingsu i t flyi ng i n t he I t a l i a n D ol omi t es Story | Tim Howell

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Photography | Francesco Guerra

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T

he lack of travel, and the enforced restrictions on it, drastically changed the outlook of 2020. Normally my calendar is filled

with ideas and trips abroad, the outcome often being travelling for days on end to remote corners of the world to perform a

As we reach the end of our flight we increase our glide ratio

which in turn decreases our horizontal and vertical speed, and then deploy our parachutes, landing safety in the fields below.

The wingsuit also gives us the benefit of being able to stash

forty second wingsuit flight. For me, the sense of achievement of

any gear we need for the ascent to reach the exit point. The wing

worth the amount of training and experience required to be able

pressurises. It gives us plenty of room to store extra kit like ropes,

being the first person to fly a wingsuit in a particular country is to pull it off. Planned expeditions around the world in 2020 were

cancelled, so my goals had to become more localised. It gave me time to focus on training that needed time and dedication. It also gave me time to explore my surrounding area of the western Alps

a little more; to tick off those big routes or BASE jumps I had

previously overlooked. I’ve been climbing and BASE jumping in

in between my arm and legs is a layered fabric that inflates and climbing hardware and clothes. Climbing a big route and then descending via BASE jumping has always been an appealing way

to combine my two favourite sports. It of course brings up more

technical questions, and more experience is needed to be able to pull off a successful ascent and descent.

BASE jumping is already a niche sport, and when you

the Alps for ten years now but it was time to go off the beaten path,

combine it with rock or alpine climbing – a discipline that’s

had the chance to explore locally, but I’ve never given myself the

of people worldwide who engage in objectives of this nature.

to explore the more esoteric areas for my adventures. I’ve always opportunity to do so. The pandemic was the perfect excuse.

I’m fortunate to live in Geneva, where we have a whole host

of Swiss, French and Italian mountains to explore just beyond the doorstep; a little further out east is South Tyrol. There is something

about the Dolomites that appeals to me; the torturous military

history, and the legendary alpinists who have climbed there

combine to make the place something really special. The amazing limestone formations of rock towers, pinnacles, gorges and sheer

faces form an almost otherwordly landscape. The pocketed smooth holds and pitons from yesteryear speak of a climbing era

become known as para-alpinism – there are really only a handful There are so many variables when trying to plan an objective like this, and it’s very likely that the risk factor is simply too big to

attempt the BASE jump. If, for example, there is too much wind

on the summit of the route and the exit point, then the jump must be abandoned. I’ve spent days travelling across the world for a short wingsuit flight, but we always want the reward to be worth

the risk. If one variable is out of place, days of effort and planning

can be wasted, because until you’ve landed safely from a BASE jump, you don’t know if it’s possible to land safely at all.

Conditions in the Dolomites are often unstable in summer,

long gone, and in many ways more adventurous than the current

with regular afternoon showers and thunderstorms. Fast and light

to seek the next level.

know there is a possibility of an approaching thunderstorm. Our

one. For a climber and a wingsuit pilot there are few better places BASE jumping means jumping from a fixed object using

a parachute to land safely; in this case we would be jumping from cliffs. When we don the wingsuit, we are able to gain a

glide ratio of up to 3:1 [meaning the pilot can travel 3 metres

forward for every 1 metre of descent] gliding at speeds of up to 120mph. We are in full control of the flight, the speed, glide ratio, and direction.

is always our mantra in alpine terrain, and even more so when you

main goal of the trip was to climb the Vajolet towers, involving

four pitches of sustained rock climbing to reach an exit point on the summit of the tower. We spend a lot of our free time

constantly updating and comparing weather forecasts, and we’re

confident on a good weather window at the end of the week. This gave us time to get a few multi pitch climbs in, and a few flights from more well known exit points in the area.

PREVIOUS PAGES: Jumping from Pomagagnon with the early morning blue haze over the town of Cortina, the capital of the Italian Dolomites.

FACING PAGE: Chatting over our exit positions and flight plan before I follow Ed from the exit point at Piz D’Lec. THIS PAGE: Making a two way jump from the summit of Piz D’Lec I followed Ed through the narrow gorges that lead to the Alpine meadows and ski lifts below.

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Until you’ve landed safely from a BASE jump, you don’t know if it’s possible to land safely at all

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I carefully choose only the exact gear we need, as any extra

The clouds have started rising in the valley below, just as

equipment would be an encumbrance on the flight. We look in

predicted. By the time we’re fully geared up the clouds are dense,

on exit and landing, examining the terrain to understand where

below, completely covering our landing zone. It’s now a waiting

minute detail at the weather forecast, the direction of the wind low-lying clouds might build up and where the wind might funnel through. We are then able to plan the path of our flight. I always

squeezing through the col to our left and spilling into the valley game: we are in the white room.

Our gearing up positions have given us a natural jumping

put in maximum effort into getting to the exit with smooth,

order. We wait eagerly. As soon as the clouds dissipate, John

window available at the summit.

the shadows of the north face. With little warning, Ed jumps

efficient climbing. This gives us the longest possible weather

After a night’s camping beside our car, we park in a desolate,

almost deserted alpine village, and start the steep hike up the

valley. The path leads through a steep, narrowing gorge that initially seems unfeasible. Soon, the winding track carefully finds

a way through the limestone boulders and up to a mountain refuge. An alpine lake now sits next to the hut; a muddy puddle

zips his arm and leg wings, gives me a quick nod and jumps into

next to make the most of the cloud-window. I shuffle down onto the exit point; a few people have summited the route

now. I can feel their eyes on me, but I’m in the zone, focused on the perfect body position, and a good, strong push into the dead air.

I take a deep, calming breath, count down from three, and

that used to mirror the silhouette of the three towers when it was

push off. My exit isn’t quite as stable as I would have hoped,

want to be the first on the summit. We fear clouds may start to

digging into my hip has possibly caused some instability. I fly

covered in ice. The Southwest Ridge is a popular route, and we form as the midday heat hits the dewy alpine meadows below, creating convection, which means wind.

A quick scramble takes us to the base of the climb, and an

opportunity to pass another team gearing up at the bottom.

We are climbing as a three, so want to be as efficient as possible.

The first pitch delicately climbs the south face. On the second

pitch, the exposure really hits. I step off my belay ledge, and am immediately hit by the 300 metre exposure of the north face. I now

take mental measurements of the wind when I look out to the valley,

more of a nuisance than a malfunction. The climbing rope

over the mountain restaurant where we will be shortly ordering

beers. After a forty second flight, I change my angle of attack, which slows my forward speed. I close the arm wing and reach

for my pilot chute. I throw it out into clean airspace away from

my burble [the area of turbulence created by the wingsuit].

It inflates and then, in turn, pulls out the main parachute, a life-affirming snap as I check the canopy is fully inflated above my head.

I instinctively unzip my arm and leg wings and take full

and take note of my flight plan for the first time. The rock quality

control of the canopy. I spot Ed and John and try to figure out the

here, chunks of limestone hang delicately in balance, waiting to fall

not scaring the horses in the field, or indeed landing in a pile of

has been impeccable on the whole route until we reach the summit; to the scree far below. We place down our gear, scanning the small

uneven summit to figure out where each one of us can gear up.

prevailing wind in the field. I want to land into the wind, preferably their manure – but I’ll take the soft landing if it comes to it.

The landing is uneven, on wet grass; the same grass that

The exit point for the jump is obvious: we find a clear sight down

created those clouds. Smiling from ear-to-ear, we share our

but clear mountain air for over 300 metres.

excellent flight. With our parachutes stashed, we head to the

the north face, with no ledges or blind corners. We have nothing

I’m very precise and careful when I gear up for a wingsuit

BASE jump. There are many moving parts to the system, and I’m

delicately perched on a pedestal a very long way above the ground.

success; we’d made the right decisions, and pulled off another

restaurant for a well-earned alpine beer. The owner had seen us in flight, and was smiling more than we were.

Looking back at 2020, I clocked up a lot less air miles

There are lots of layers of preparation to ensure a safe jump, and a

than ever before, but accomplished much more than in 2019.

ropes. The process takes time, but I don’t want to rush; gearing up

was a blessing in disguise, as it allowed me to focus on the big

carefully planned sequence enables us to carry all our hardware and gives me time to think over the flight and rest my mind.

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In many ways, the local perspective enforced by the pandemic adventures that lie just outside my front door.

The clouds are dense, completely covering our landing far below. It’s now a waiting game: we are in the white room

FACING PAGE: The striking triple spires of the Vajolet Towers, one of the most distinctive mountains in the Dolomites and the location of the expedition described in this feature.

THIS PAGE: Into the shadows: a successful flight from the Vajolet towers after completing the Southwest Ridge route on the Delago tower.

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KEMPSTON HARDWICK The secret diary of B ed ford shi re’s g rea t est a d vent u rer Story | Kempston Hardwick

Illustration | Dan Milner

Kempston Hardwick is a keen-as-mustard-adventurer and dad, in that order. Old enough to remember when car interiors smelt of petrol, Hardwick defies his rapidly amassing years by seeking outdoor recreation, and the exponentially mind-expanding escape from domesticity it offers at every opportunity. His irrepressible readiness to embrace al-fresco challenges has delivered him with worldly-wise opinions that he

applies to every turn in life, whether bagging Munros or browsing the organic frozen pizza aisle of Waitrose. He sports a curiosity-of-self that’s akin to most adventurers, something that is largely attributed to holidays on Anglesey with his carefree parents. It is believed he was named after the place where he was conceived – a railway station near Milton Keynes. He is good friends with Dan Milner.

Part 4: An Unprecedented Adventure

I

like to opine that adventure is a mindset; a harnessing

of the ability to embrace whatever gets thrown your way.

Anything. Anywhere. Any time.

I told my neighbour this recently during Lockdown One,

while I was recovering my wheelie bin from outside number

‘Great’. I thought, the family is on board too. A family that

mentally adventures together stays together. That’s deep stuff, isn’t it? And catchy, too. I think I read it somewhere, possibly in a review on TripAdvisor.

The olfactory punch of North Wales’ rain sodden, bleating

27 (despite having clearly inscribed ‘17’ on the side of my bin

flocks might now sit beyond my Lockdown Accessibility Radius

under his breath as he walked inside. Something about ‘a punt’

gold with the magic and mystique of sourdough bread. I was

in very large white digits.) My neighbour mumbled something

I think I heard, which makes sense as I think he comes from Cambridge. Reminiscing about his boating days no doubt.

Anyway as I say, adventure is a mindset. I like to think

that this positive, obstacle-swallowing mental state, honed in

my case through repeated exposure to the melodic chants of Tibetan monks during a coach tour of Bhutan, is enough to get us through anything life hurls at us. Pandemics included.

(or LAR as I call it) but I managed to replace such sensory

– of course – going to bake injera, but the thought of making Ethiopian flatbread while so many of the African continent’s

population lack basic nutritional needs sat uncomfortably with me. And anyway, its fermented final form gives me IBS (or

Irritable Bowel Syndrome as the medics call it). So sourdough it had to be.

Now, I was baking sourdough long before the hipsters

Okay, so Lockdown One meant the world of outdoor

discovered it, and their sudden bread-making attentions laid

the rugged embrace of the wilderness we love was to be secreted

Waitrose. I found it ironic that the same people clapping each

adventure slipped beyond my silicon-palmed fleece gloves and

behind closed doors. But when that happened, I merely settled calmly into my Adventure Mindset instead.

I mean, I’ve pushed between jalabas in the spice-tinged

alleyways of Marrakech, emerging without a scrape (having bought two tajines), and I’ve risen above the intimidation of

Avoriaz’ blackest of pistes, notoriously known as ‘The Wall’,

so surely a mere pandemic wasn’t going to deliver my downfall.

And I told Kate as much. She smiled in that way she always

does ­– supportively, I think – and asked if I had anything else for the wash as she was ‘doing Luke’s soccer kit anyway’.

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waste to the organic flour supplies of my nearest branch of

night in an unprecedented, selfie-documented exhibition of

narcissistic altruism from their recycled coconut-coir matted doorways are likely the same who greedily cleaned out the

wholemeal and granary flour aisles. Selfish is not a fourletter word, but it should be. Luckily, predicting this possible

predicament ahead, I’d fully stocked up on flour two weeks

earlier; enough to see me through 17 sourdough batches, by my

calculations. I think it was warranted; I have a family to feed, and

Rose is a bit intolerant of yeast. But the crafting of sourdough, while time consuming, does not an entire lockdown fill.

Self (or PFTTTNS). I’d drawn it flowchart style on the back of a wallpaper sample. (We had plenty of such samples

spare. We ordered lots from an online artisanal furnishings

store called Berlin Wall three years ago when we were going

to paper the hallway. Or was it the downstairs loo? Anyway, I love Berlin Wall. Its range is so eclectic. In the end we settled

for emulsion instead. Toasted Patagonian Araucaria Nut. Yes, it’s from the Scorched Earth catalogue. Hmm, yes, it is a bit like magnolia.)

Anyway, my PFTTTNS plan filled the entire reverse of

the wallpaper, edge-to-edge, although it didn’t really need to.

After all, I was partly transitioned anyway. You see, living and

breathing The Big Outdoors (or TBO), for many years will do that to a person’s soul. Sometimes I even feel that TBO provides

the microbial cement that bonds my very DNA together.

It really is that deep a connection. I was already halfway

though the transition; my myriad interactions with inhabitants of the developing world have given me a deep understanding of what it takes to be caring. When I recently explained this

to my neighbour, he simply shrugged; he was so moved he was clearly lost for words.

Now, zig-zagging across the back of some handmade

wallpaper was a set of personal development steps that included adventuring in the places I still wanted to tick off

before I was 50, and a clear path towards a New Me. This

would be the world where the new normal is not about restrictions and masks and social distancing, but about forging

deep connections with the beautiful world around us. This

I was baking sourdough long before the hipsters discovered it and laid waste to the flour supplies in my local Waitrose

would be a New Me resolutely in tune with the world’s delicate nuances; my very breathing would pulsate in rhythm with the

planet’s lunar tides. This would be a more truthful, organic self whose brain-waves were free to vibrate harmonically with the planet’s sonic mass.

I was excited. I had ambitions. And like all adventures,

this was unprecedented. I even Zoom-called Tshering (sorry, can’t remember his surname), my Sherpa and good friend on our ‘Sights and Struggles of the Annapurna foothills’ trip

that Kate and I did six years ago. I wanted to share the news No problem there though. Ah, the luxury of having the

luxury of time. Time to not only be me, but also to develop me further. Yes, like most other people (I assume), I used Lockdown

One to launch my unprecedented journey towards the new-self.

of my plan with him. He didn’t answer. I think maybe his

Himalayan village’s internet isn’t so good. Maybe I should start

a crowdfunder to install a better a connection there? I’ll add it

to the do-list after that second coat of magnolia in the hallway.

Underpinning my plan, and driving this incredible voyage

The emergent me would finally cast off the choking irons of the

of metamorphosis, was my adventure mindset – a state that

consumption and timetables dictated by work and mundane

the adventure you could be doing if things were different,

PPC (Pre-Post-Covid) world; a world encumbered by over-

activities like the school run. On the other side of this voyage

was a new me; a me that would be more caring, more earthy,

more spiritually awakened, and, of course, less materialistic.

To kick it all off I clicked on Amazon, and ordered up a couple

of books on that complex subject of self-conversion. And then I got on with The Journey.

While Kate home-schooled Luke and Rose in the dining

is easily achieved by closing your eyes and thinking of all

but with the benefit that you can do it in your pyjamas.

Immersed in this empowered mental state, every challenge

can become an adventure, a chance to experience new feelings, an unprecedented opportunity to realise hidden potentiality.

Lockdown, more than anything, was an opportunity for liberation.

And this afternoon I’d launch my Transition Plan. But

room, I squatted (in the fashion I’d learnt in Nepal) between

first, I see I have to retrieve my well-marked wheelie bin, yet

floor. Before me sat my Plan For Transitioning To The New

so long now, I think the sourdough is burning.

our bio-latex yoga mats on our sustainable oak living room

again. And I need to look in the oven. I’ve been postulating for

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50

T H E BA S E I N T ERV I EW Justine Dupo nt t a l k s t o Dav i d Pi c k fo rd

Justine Dupont is one of the world’s leading surfers, and a very well known figure in the international big wave surfing scene.

She began surfing as a teenager in Lacanau on the Atlantic coast of southwest France, quickly progressing to become the longboard vice world champion in 2007 at the age of sixteen. She spent a decade in professional competitive surfing, winning multiple titles, and in 2019

she won two trophies at the XXL Big Waves Awards, confirming her reputation as one of the most accomplished big wave surfers in the

world. She’s a regular at many of the world’s most powerful and legendary waves including Jaws in Hawaii and Praia do Norte at Nazaré in Portugal. In early 2021, she pulled into what may be the biggest barrel ever ridden by a woman during a session at Jaws. She lives in

Seignosse in the far southwest of France, very close to the Atlantic Ocean and the world famous breaks at Hossegor, her local waves. BASE

recently spoke to Justine about her passion for big wave surfing, the high, lows, and in-betweens of the lifestyle of a pro surfer, and the benefits of trampolining as an off-day activity.

Do you remember the first wave you ever rode?

You became the longboard vice world champ in 2007,

the west coast of France, I was maybe 9 or 10. It was a big day,

Oh for sure, definitely. It was also the first time I had to speak

For sure I do! It was a little left in the rip current at Lacanau on

and the swell was huge out back, but I was surfing the smaller

waves in the rip before the big line up. I was with my dad and brother – all my earliest days surfing were with them.

Was surfing a case of love at first sight, or did you

was that a pivotal moment in your early surfing career?

English in a formal context! That was a bit intimidating [laughs].

And after this I got a lot more opportunities for sponsorship, and I quickly became more interested in the possibility of pursuing a career in surfing as a professional.

grow into it as you improved?

In 2013 you became the first woman in the world to

started surfing I just knew I wanted to do it more and more.

What was that like?

I was doing other watersports at the time, but as soon as I On that day at Lacanau, I already knew that surfing would be a big part of my life.

When did you first realise you wanted to pursue a career as a pro?

I think I actually worked this out pretty late, as many pro surfers start very young these days. At around 15, I went to a

high school where you’re allowed to surf during the afternoon, so I could improve my technique and skill all the time. But

surf the legendary Belharra in the Basque Country.

Just a few months before this I’d surfed Aileen’s [a famous wave off the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland], another big wave and my

first proper experience of big wave surfing. I really enjoyed that, and the whole experience of going on a trip with other big wave surfers from France. After Belharra, I really wanted to do

more, I could see all the possibilities of big wave surfing. Even though the first day I surfed Belharra it wasn’t actually a really big, consistent day.

around 16 or 17, I realised I was good enough to become a pro.

Was the Belharra the starting point for your move

other places in France, like Hossegor for example. Growing up

Yes, it was. I had already surfed Lacanau when it was really big,

Lacanau is a good surfing town but it’s not as famous as some

in Lacanau, surfing was just for pleasure, there wasn’t a sense

of surfing being something you did for work or to get involved with marketing for big companies.

into big wave surfing?

and Hossegor, Seignosse as well. I felt like okay, so I’ve surfed

the biggest waves in France and I really liked it. So that was it…

I was totally hooked on big wave surfing by then!

FACING PAGE: Justine Dupont at home in Seignosse, France. TEDDY MORELLEC / RED BULL

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THIS PAGE: Justine navigates her way through a perfect heavy barrel at Hossegor, one of the most famous areas on France’s Atlantic coast. BASTIEN BONNARME / RED BULL

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Big wave surfing is a unique discipline within the

How intimidating is it being towed into a massive Atlantic

between big wave surfing and regular surfing?

you let go of the tow line, and you’re alone on the wave?

broader sport. What, in your view, are the main differences The key difference the whole strategy of surfing as a team – it’s the surfer plus their safety team, not just the surfer on their own as it usually is with regular surfing. Basically, big wave

surfing means having people with you in the water who are also

responsible for your safety, because even if you paddle out for big

wave surfing, you still need a safety buddy on a jet ski. The team

aspect is actually one of the things about big wave surfing I like the most. The other aspect is the feeling of complete freedom you

have when riding big waves, because there’s nobody else around

you as there is in a regular line-up. It’s just you and the ocean.

I also love the feeling of following the swell and the forecast, and

I enjoy the adventurous travelling side of it too. There’s a lot of

swell somewhere like Nazaré? What do you feel like when

It’s a feeling of complete freedom, to go where you want, and

being alive on the ocean. I have complete confidence with my

team, and [my boyfriend] Fred, who rides the ski and is my regular tow-in buddy for big wave surfing. He’s a very good surfer to, and I trust the choice he makes about which wave to put me on, and I trust myself to then catch the wave correctly and take the right line. Trust is very, very important in big wave

surfing! I like the feeling of once you let go of the line, it’s your

responsibility, and only you are responsible for the outcome.

You just have to stick to your instinct and the feeling of surfing and trusting what you’re doing out there.

Maybe I get a little apprehensive or nervous if my feet are

planning and preparation required to successfully surf big waves.

not properly attached to my footstraps [the use of footstraps

When you start tow-in surfing, does that completely change

time to feel afraid. Also, you can be afraid if you feel the line

the nature of what you’re doing as a surfer?

For sure, it changes many things. With a tow-in you have a

lot of choice about which line to take, and you can often catch

the wave much earlier than you can normally as you have that speed before the wave is even breaking. You can enjoy riding the swell itself, and you really have this feeling of freedom on the wave, of being able to go wherever you want.

is relatively common in big wave surfing], but really there’s no

you’ve taken isn’t the best one and you’re in the wrong spot.

Sometimes, afterwards when you see the footage, you can be like ‘oh my god, it could have been much worse if I’d taken that line!’ But there’s not much time for thinking when you’re going so fast on a really big wave. In that moment, you are living the moment on that wave; it’s sensation, not emotion.

THIS PAGE: Justine opts to paddle out on a big day at Nazaré in Portugal. RAFAEL G. RIANCHO / RED BULL FACING PAGE: Enjoying the post-surf high after an epic session at Nazaré. XABI BARRENECHE / RED BULL

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Big wave surfing is all about you and your relationship with the ocean, and not about you in relation to others

Is the capacity to deal with the unknown important

You are one of a very few women in the world to have

Yeah, for sure it is. And you need to be able to adapt all the time.

Hawaii. Do you feel that as you and other women push the

for a big wave surfer?

[on a lefthander] I ride backside to the wave, which makes it

tricky as you can’t see the wave breaking behind you. You’re

facing away from where the wave is breaking. So you have to trust your feelings, and have a sense of a magic connection to the ocean.

What’s the main attraction of big wave surfing personally?

It’s all about you and your relationship with the ocean, and

not about you in relation to others. I was competing for around 10 years, and I had to do all the stuff you have to do in

ridden the truly massive waves at Nazaré, and at Jaws in

boundaries of big wave riding, more women will follow in your footsteps?

Oh for sure, we are just at the start really. We will see more technical surfers coming from the competition arena and

moving into big wave surfing. There are already young surfers

doing turns that nobody else can do, and I’m sure some of them will eventually transfer those amazing skills into the big wave

surfing context. We’re just at the beginning for women in big wave surfing!

professional competitive surfing, which is a tough game. With

The consequences of big wave surfing are far greater

have a much bigger connection with the ocean, and you learn

those risks?

big wave surfing, it’s more about me and my own feelings; you much more about surfing, and about yourself too.

You’ve talked about the way you have nothing but your

own instincts to assess your speed on a big wave. Getting

this right is clearly critical, as if you’re too slow the wave can break on top of you. Can you explain this idea a bit more?

Okay, so it’s instinctive because you don’t think, and the wave

is big enough to be dangerous. Even in smaller conditions on a point break you have to make those decisions. You have

to be able to make decisions very quickly when surfing, and experience is crucial to making those right decisions.

than surfing in small waves, but is it possible to control I think you can. For me, the style of big wave surfing is

improving quickly, and also the safety aspect is improving very fast as well. For example, this year I will have another friend

working in my safety team, so I’ll have a team of three rather

than two. These guys are all professional lifeguards and I trust them all completely, which is very important. Of course, the

size and the power of the waves mean that an error can be much more serious than it can be in regular surfing, but if you

are really drawn to big wave surfing then you should definitely go for it. You can control the risk to some extent if you know what you’re doing. Also, this year I’m using a helmet!

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Have you done any foil surfing [wher an underwater aero

What are your favourite places to surf around the world?

the water]?

in Hawaii this week but because of Covid I couldn’t make it! I

wing is connected to the board lifting it and the surfer above Yes, I have. It’s really interesting, it’s incredibly good physically, foiling is just amazingly good training both for your legs and

for the cardio fitness. You’re often riding a wave for much, much longer than you would in prone surfing [due to the lack of drag and higher speeds] and so the physical demands are very high.

What’s the worst wipeout you’ve ever had on a wave?

About two years ago, I was paddling into the lineup at Jaws in

Hawaii, it was a huge swell that was increasing during the day.

On one set, I was too close to the shore and the wave broke on top of me as I was paddling out – it wasn’t technically a wipeout. I dislocated my shoulder and broke my knee pretty

Nazaré in Portugal, and Jaws in Hawaii. I was supposed to be love that wave. I really want to go to Tahiti, to surf Teahupo’o [one of the world’s heaviest waves]. And I also love my local spots in the south of France like Hossegor. And Mullochmore in Ireland – that is one hell of a wave!

Does cold water surfing in places like Norway or Iceland appeal to you?

Yes definitely, the adventure travel side of this kind of surfing really appeals to me. In places like that, you will have less people

in the line up, and more passionate people. When the water is super cold, you have to be passionate to get in the sea at all!

badly. I also perforated my eardrum on another occasion!

You are the chair of the ISA athlete’s commission for the

Have you ever been in a situation where you felt

surfing as a professional sport important to you personally?

you might drown?

No. Not at all. Because when you’re surfing, your instincts tell

you what to do. That time at Jaws when I dislocated my shoulder, I had to go down to the bottom because I knew another wave

was going to break on top of me, after the one that hurt me.

When I popped up I had trouble to see because everything was

2021 Olympics. Is contributing to the development of

Yes, definitely, and it’s good for surfing to be in the Olympics, it brings in more money to the sport in the form of sponsorship, and gives people more opportunities to travel and to train.

The Federation [ISA] is doing a really great job actually of promoting surfing as a major sport.

white, there was foam everywhere. I knew I was hurt, and that another wave was coming, so I knew I had to breathe deeply

before going back to the bottom again. I didn’t feel fear, I just

knew I had to go down and wait. When I popped up again, one of my safety team came over with the ski to pick me up.

THIS PAGE: Justine piloting a safety jet ski as she trains in preparation for the big wave season in Hossegor, France, in November 2015. DOM DAHER / RED BULL FACING PAGE: Justine loading her boards into the back of her 4x4 before a training session on her local waves in southwest France. DOM DAHER / RED BULL

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To surf at a high level, to do anything at a high level, you have to want it really deep inside

What advice would you give to talented youngsters who want to pursue a career in surfing?

They should ask themselves what they really want deep inside.

To surf at a high level, to do anything at a high level, you have to want it really deep inside. You have to spend a lot of time on

it – so much time – so it will be a huge part of your life. But if you’re truly passionate about it, it won’t matter that you’ll have

to spend a huge part of your life on it. You also have to be happy Do you feel strongly about supporting strong young

to be travelling a lot of the time, and not be scared to spend

sport as professionals?

have to be the best to make a career out of surfing. If you’re

girls or women. It doesn’t matter to me whether I inspire girls

and maybe go to places that other surfers don’t go, then you can

women surfers, and giving them confidence to enter the

many months of the year away. But these days you don’t actually

Oh, for sure I do. But I don’t see myself as a role model just for

good with video and photography, if you’re a good storyteller,

or boys, what matters to me is that people see something I’ve

build a successful career in surfing without being the very best

done and it makes them want to go surfing.

surfer in the world.

Surfing has been described as a sport with an inherently

What’s the most perfect wave you’ve ever ridden?

in the course of your career?

shape of the wave that day was just crazy. It was huge and

there is a macho element in that, of course. But the important

a turn in the barrel and went right to the bottom, it was an

macho culture. Is that something you’ve had to deal with

Oh I know exactly. It was in Nazaré in February 2020. The

Surfing definitely does have a culture of ‘bigger is better’ and

peaky, yet really smooth and glassy at the same time, I did

thing is to be well surrounded, to have a really great group of

absolutely unbelievable wave.

friends and partners who you surf with. It’s about having the

right community, a community with values that you also share.

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How important is the adventurous aspect of surfing for you –

What’s the best thing about living the life you lead?

I would say that adventurous travel is important, but also being

your plans challenged and changed almost every day because

all the travelling to new places, sometimes remote places?

an open and adventurous person is also important. You need

to be able to speak with people who are doing different things

and be open to new ideas. This is the adventure of today, rather

the adventure of yesterday. Adventure is also about being new, about looking into the future.

What do you feel the future holds for big wave surfing as a sport?

In the short term, many new areas will be explored all over the world, that’s for sure. And the other thing that will happen –

and is happening – is more freestyle riding techniques will be

applied to bigger and bigger waves, stuff like snowboard-tricks,

The best thing is also the worst thing at the same time; to have of what the weather and the ocean is doing. As a professional

surfer, you have to live determined by these huge natural forces of winds and swells that are totally outside your control. When

I tell my family I’m going to be there with them for Christmas, I really can’t know I will be for sure, as if the forecast changes I might have to go to Hawaii if a huge swell comes in! As a

surfer, nature dictates what you’re going to do day-by-day, and every day is different and unpredictable. This can be hard to understand for other people in your life. It does help if your

family or partner understand that you’ve chosen this life, and why you’ve chosen it.

360s, 720s, you name it!

What other sports to you do and why?

I do a little bit of trampolining, it really helps my surfing

for sure. I also do some skateboarding, which is a very good

complement to surfing. I also do some running and Pilates, which also helps keep the body in really good condition.

THIS PAGE: Justine heading into the rip to paddle out at Praia do Norte in Portugal. HUGO SILVA / RED BULL FACING PAGE: Justine way down the face of a huge wave during the first winter swell at Praia do Norte, Portugal, in October 2020. HUGO SILVA / RED BULL

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BAC K TO BA S E Nor t h by No r th West | Chri s Hu nt Photography | Ben Wormald

D

espite the lack of headroom, I sit suddenly bolt upright to the imminent demise of our small tent.

The distant rumbling that had commandeered a role in

my dreams had just stepped up a gear; against the surrounding

Nationally, there was a calm in the Covid storm in late

summer 2020, and whilst something close to normal life seemed to resume, we weren’t sure for how long.

Today, our only task would be to cross Rannoch Moor,

silence, it sounded like we were soon to be run over by a train.

a vast swathe of rock, heather, bracken and bog surrounded

Like a 1980s machine-driven dystopia, complete with blinding

of the last significant icefield in the UK. Today the ground is

Scrambling to unzip the tent, we peer out into the darkness. spotlights, metal teeth and pivoting cranes, it took a moment

to make sense of the scene in front of us. This is a full-blown logging operation and we, along with our bikes, are camped

by peaks and lakes. The desolate landscape was once the heart dry and dusty – if only on our gravelly single track path – and there’s barely a cloud in the sky.

Measuring progression in terms of distance in this vast,

right in its path.

bleak expanse is soon impossible. The ever-changing scenery

below the pass above Lawers Dam in the southern Highlands.

passes and hard pack fire roads and forest tracks have been

In the shadow of Ben Lawers to our east, we’re just metres

Having slogged our way up the switchbacks to make over the top before nightfall, a puncture had taken the decision of where

and constant stimulus of fast rolling valley roads, short steep replaced by a single panorama. The going is slow and tough.

I stop to slightly deflate my tyres to ease the fizzing in my

to camp that night off our hands. This small clump of forest by

palms. With no shade from the sun, under the extra strain of

At five thirty in the morning, trying to focus my bleary

and both my headache and the salt-stained t-shirt on my back

the side of the road, would do just fine. Or so we thought.

eyes on the decimation of the pine trees we’d been using as

shelter, I question our decisions. With few words spoken, we hastily pack down the tent, stuff our bikepacking bags, and re-load our bikes before facing the frigid descent into the

climbing fully loaded, my temples pound. It’s late September are testament to our good fortune with the weather. I filter water from a trickling stream at the side of the trail, doing my best to absorb the grandeur of the landscape around us.

The steady, unrelenting gradient eventually eases, marking

valley below.

the summit of this exposed rocky byway. What looked to be

and the roaring cluster of massive saws and falling trees behind

taken us almost to sunset. Now having reached the top, and

Soon enough, the winding road puts distance between us

us. The first rays of late summer sun creep over the ridge ahead

of us as we follow the meandering asphalt into Glen Lyon, Scotland’s longest enclosed valley.

Like all good escapes, this one started with a familiar

routine: the furious bashing of laptop keys, the sending of

partially completed emails and the slamming shut of screens.

This, followed by the inevitable agony over the order in which

we loaded our bikes. For the next ten days we’d enjoy the sense of freedom that comes with self-sufficiency on two wheels, familiar

a simple and fairly and quick crossing of Rannoch Moor has restored with the energy of a fast and wide-open gravel descent,

we fly through the long shadows of the surrounding Munros.

The evening glow takes form, pounding our pedals across the

harder-packed forest tracks beside Corrour, the UK’s highest

and most remote railway station. Along the shores of Loch Ossian, our bikes fall back into a rhythm; the sense of urgency

created by the changing light reignites our excitement for the task at hand.

to us both, but desperately missed over recent months.

FACING PAGE: At over 500m elevation, the exposed trail across Rannoch Moor leading west towards Glencoe is known to tell a different story in harsher conditions.

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Measuring our progress across the vast, bleak expanse of Rannoch Moor is soon impossible

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The first days of any long self-supported trip like this are

Here in Ardnamurchan, the tension and stress of life amidst

always faced by uncertainty. How will my legs perform? Have

a pandemic disperses, and the residual lactic acid from the

the following day, though, we’re sat in a pub on the outskirts

make fire and pour the first of several drams as we watch the

I packed the right kit? Is my bike mechanically sound? Later of Fort William. As I wipe the creamy foam from a pint of Bellhaven Black from my top lip, my cheeks hot from sunlight

and windburn, my thighs buzzing from the day’s expenditure, it feels as though we’re settling into the tempo of the journey.

Lifting our bikes onto the small passenger ferry from Fort

William across Loch Eli the following morning, the water is

a sheet of mirrored glass; a perfect and undisturbed reflection

of the surrounding mountains. Concerned more by the next

previous days of riding drains into the ocean. We arrange camp, sunset behind the silhouetted granite spires on the Isles of Rùm, Eigg and Muck. Skye’s Cullin Ridge looms in the distance to our north, carving a jagged line across the horizon.

We’re packed up and on the road before dawn comes

around. Pointing our bikes in the direction of the first ferry of

the day to the Isle of Skye, we’re on our bikes and on our way well before full daylight has broken.

In the dark, travel by bicycle feels almost ghost-like. Silent

available opportunity to get water than we are of getting caught

but for the gentle buzz of rubber on asphalt, few words are

Saltwater lochs and forest tracks give way to wide open seascapes

along our route. With enough motion to keep our bodies

out by rain, we’re wary of our good fortune with the weather so far. with views over the southern Hebrides as we continue west.

We make our way past the Ardnamurchan peninsula, home to

the UK mainland’s most westerly point. With a brief float in

spoken as we glide undetected through the small settlements occupied, we quietly spin the pedals in the void of the predawn light.

From Skye, our original plan had been to make our way back

the impossibly clear waters, the silhouetted peaks of the Small

to the mainland and the famous switchback Bealach na Bé climb

comprehend our location. Still firmly on the British mainland,

As we watched another sunset fall behind distant mountains

Isles just a few miles across the water to our west, it’s hard to we’ve not left the ground nor crossed any sea, yet the country around us is as isolated as anywhere either of us has been.

that we figured was sure to provide one of the trip’s highlights. of the Isle of Harris, the decision to hop another ferry required little discussion.

THIS PAGE LEFT: Morning mist sits heavy in a bay on the west coast of the Isle of Skye.

THIS PAGE RIGHT: The evening glow, a feature we got well accustomed to on Scotland’s West Coast.

FACING PAGE LEFT: Single track asphalt alongside the salt water lochs of the Scottish north west – a treasure trove in cycle touring terms.

FACING PAGE RIGHT: Under the stark orange lighting of the station platform, alongside cigarette butts and curious hedgehogs this wasn’t going to be the most peaceful or restful night’s sleep, but with a 6am train, possibly one of the more functional.

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Scotland in September was undoubtedly a game of weather

roulette. Touring on bikes with a view only to wild camp, we’d

be exposed to whatever the weather threw at us. Fully aware of

what we were signing up for, we made our peace with what lay ahead. The following afternoon, as we climb Quiraing pass to dissect the north of the island, we’re reminded of the volatility

The process of touring self-supported holds a time-warping quality. Long days pass slowly, yet weeks go by fast

of conditions in the North Atlantic.

Clouds gather at a rapid pace as we board our ferry, and the

islands which once looked so close and inviting now sit behind a curtain of rain and mist. The wind starts to blow and whitecaps cut across the open ocean ahead of us. Apprehensively, I make

Packing my kit in the brisk wind, I’m slapped with an

the justification that in these conditions, at least we’ll see the

sense of anti-climax. Although our route never followed a

We arrive in Tarbert on the Isle of Harris in pitch darkness

materialisation of what we’d been aiming for. Now, with the

real Scotland.

with no sign of open pub or hostel for the night. We battle a 45mph headwind over a short pass to find a spot to camp at Luskentyre on Harris’s western shores, riding in all our

available layers, and pitching our camp in the dunes behind the

firm or specific plan, at some level this is the geographical

weather turning on us, the fatigue of the last 650kms sat heavy in my legs, combined with a cold that was fast settling into my bones. Keeping moving today would mean digging deep.

It would likely be years before either one of us would

beach by bicycle lights and phone torches.

find ourselves stepping foot on these islands again, and it felt

remote as our location suggestions. Clouds grasp the peaks

our time here despite the weather. The Neolithic stone circle at

When we rise in the morning, we feel as exposed and

across the water in front of us while on the cold sand at our

feet, waves break in the stiff offshore wind. The forecast for the day is for gusts of over 50mph with drizzle turning to heavy rain by the evening. We gather together a route with the aim

important, almost as if we owed it to the trip itself, to maximise Callainish is believed to have been established between 2900

and 2600 B.C. Just finding this place was enough drive for today’s pedalling, also we agreed.

With constant positional micro-adjustments to maintain

of keeping it short, remaining as warm and dry as possible,

posture in the wind, high over our heads a golden eagle escorts

defined tan lines on our knees and ankles are now the only

and back is less satisfying than the riding we had in mind, but

arranging shelter in Stornoway for the end of the day. The reminder of the blue skies of the previous days.

us as we battle the headwind to make it to the stones. The out the stones provided us with the target we needed.

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We find ourselves holed up in a small bar in Stornoway that

Our trip concludes at Wick, where the following morning

evening where a TV in the corner relays local news of another

we’ll commence the first leg of our long, arduous journey back

one another. Although welcomed, we’re a little embarrassed to

dirtbag fashion, we opt for the simplest option for our final

imminent lockdown. Much of the bar speaks Gaelic between be the only non-locals in the pub, and find ourselves lowering our conversation.

On the return ferry to Ullapool, we meet self-supported

world cyclimg circumnavigation record holder Jenny Graham.

Having been filming a documentary on the Outer Hebrides, she’s riding home back across Scotland and tips us off with a pie

to southern England by train. Signing off the trip in true

night of wild camping. Filling ourselves with enough whisky to fend off the cold and keep our eyes firmly shut under the stark

orange lighting, we roll out our sleeping bags on the station

platform. Waking only as our early morning train pulls in, for the final time we pack down our kit and load our bikes.

The process of touring self-supported – on bikes, on skis,

shop recommendation up the road. From Ullapool, we join the

on foot or otherwise – seems to hold an almost time-warping

around some of the most impressive landscapes the country has

deceptively fast. Two-day trips often feel far longer, while

now famous North Coast 500, a circular touring route based

to offer. While elevation gain has been a major part of every day so far, today’s ride profile looks like the serrated edge of a

lumberjack’s saw as we head north towards Cape Wrath, the northwestern extremity of the British mainland.

Along the north coast, the road flattens out. We fly through

Caithness with a howling tailwind propelling us eastwards

quality. Long days pass incredibly slowly, yet simultaneously month long epics soon feel dream-like, as if in fact they perhaps

never really happened. Now having tipped the 1000km mark, we struggle to distinguish individual days from one another or recall exactly where our journey had taken us.

Or perhaps it was just the whisky.

towards Scotland’s north eastern tip, and our final destination.

Our heads buried beneath buffs and beanies, we shelter against the wall of the John O’Groats micro brewery, facing the carpark

rather than the short stretch of wild open sea between us and the Orkney Islands; such is the weather on the exposed north

western tip of Scotland. Using the corner of a small stone wall, we pop off the caps of a couple of beers to toast the journey.

THIS PAGE: After a year defined by restrictions, chasing the low autumnal sun seems like a fitting metaphor for the purpose of the trip.

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JOS H B RAND

IBBETT MANAGER

| |

H U NT G BD U R O

BE YO N D 2 0 2 0

WINN E R

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BA S E T E C H The M agic Gl ass: in si g ht s i nt o a d vent u re nav i ga t i on Story | Chris Hunt

Photography | David Pickford

The pace of technological change in the past few decades has been staggering, and the speed at which it continues to advance will define the

coming era. One development with huge global impact is interconnection: the instantaneous sharing of data is the shape of today’s society.

Whilst adventure, for many of us, is a way to escape the data drag-net, information also shapes the way we get outside. Digital navigation and tracking devices have become part and parcel of adventure, whether that’s riding a bike with an onboard GPS, using a smartphone app to plan a hike, or perhaps equipping an expedition with satellite communication. Using such technologies, we’ve simplified the planning phase of many journeys; we’re able to access more remote and challenging terrain, equipped with the knowledge we need to get there and back. But it has not always been that way. This is the story of navigation development from its earliest days to modern satellite communications and positioning systems.

A brief history of navigation

During the Han Dynasty, in 2nd Century China, it was

The roots of the word navigation lies in ocean travel. In Latin,

discovered that by rubbing an iron bar (a needle) against a

to drive. So when we’re talking about the development of

naturally occurring magnet, the needle would temporarily

the word nāvigō, is built upon navis meaning ship and agere, navigational systems, ocean travel is a logical place to start.

The earliest forms of open-ocean navigation are considered

to have been first practiced by ancient Polynesians. Thousands of years ago, huge voyages were being made between tiny islands over thousands of kilometres of the Pacific Ocean. Using the

motion of stars, wildlife, weather and sea conditions, they found safe passage between islands. The knowledge and techniques

they developed were passed from master navigator (PWO) to apprentice and eventually between communities through oral

lodestone (before a form of the mineral magnetite) and a magnetise, thus pointing towards magnetic north. It is also

understood, though, that the earliest forms of magnetic compasses were not used for navigation, but for fortune-telling

and orienting buildings according to the Chinese geomantic

system known as feng shui – a system taking into consideration the influence of good and evil within the natural surroundings.

(The Chinese also invented gunpowder before the Europeans, but did not use it for military purposes.)

By 1040, the Chinese Song Dynasty’s military were using

tradition. The voyages of discovery made by ancient Polynesians

compasses for martial orienteering, and by 1111, the compass

places like Hawaii, Tahiti, and Tonga were first discovered

in medieval Europe, the use of magnetised needles was also

are amongst the greatest feats of exploration in human history; without any sophisticated navigational instruments at all – only human expertise passed down through generations.

Then

came

the

introduction

of

navigational

instrumentation. While the Polynesians are thought to have

was first used for maritime navigation. Around the same time first discovered, and it’s been suggested by some scholars that

regardless of Eastern technologies, the compass was probably also independently invented in Europe at a similar time.

Open-seas navigation using the compass kicked off the

developed their own basic tools, the utilisation of magnets

Age of Discovery in the 15th century, with the Portuguese

the Ancient Greeks understood magnetism, but historians

the Spanish monarchs funded Christopher Columbus’s

really drove navigational tools forwards. It is recognised that believe Chinese scientists nearly two thousand years ago were the first to harness magnetic force as a tool for navigation.

systematically exploring the Atlantic coast of Africa. By 1492, expedition to sail west to reach the Indies by crossing the Atlantic, which resulted in the discovery of the Americas.

FACING PAGE: A late nineteenth Century sextant at BASE magazine HQ. The sextant, invented in the mid eighteenth Century, was a revolutionary device because it allowed celestial objects to be measured relative to the horizon, rather than relative to the instrument – a difference which creates excellent precision. This example once belonged to Vice Admiral John Glossop of the British Navy, the commander of HMAS Sydney in the Battle of Cocos in 1914, when the Sydney disabled the German ship SMS Emden. The inscription of Glossop’s name can be seen on the brass plate on the lower right of the sextant.

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Until very recently, the idea of satellites sending messages through space was the stuff of science fiction

The beginnings of the satellite age

In the first half of 20th Century, the concept of using space to send messages around the world was material for science fiction writers. Literally. In 1945, by combining his

imagination with German rocket science from World War II,

English science fiction writer Sir Arthur C. Clarke (who cowrote the screenplay for the 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey)

At the end of the 16th Century, navigational tools

shifted in focus to measuring the altitude of a celestial body,

first described a version of what we now know as satellite communication.

His design suggested placing stations (although physically

for example the sun or the moon. The backstaff, or Davis

manned by people) into a very specific orbit, at an altitude

Davis which was used by observing the sun’s shadow cast by

would orbit at the same rate as Earth’s rotation and would

Quadrant, was invented by the English navigator John

the instrument’s vanes. In 1699, Isaac Newton’s reflecting quadrant made latitude calculations much more accurate, thus replacing the early editions of the backstaff.

The 1750s saw the sextant [see image on previous pages]

come to life, invented by astronomer and mathematical instrument maker John Bird. Bird’s innovation occurred at the

of 22,236 miles and at a speed of 7,000mph, meaning they effectively be in stationary positions over Earth. This is

what would come to be known as ‘geostationary orbit’, which

allows the same satellites to connect with Earth 24 hours a

day, rather than signals to be interrupted as a satellite moves out of range as it flies to the other side of the planet.

same time as huge developments in horology [clock making],

Two worlds, two systems: GPS vs GLONASS

of the British naval fleet was wrecked on the Western Rocks

satellite into orbit. The small polished metal sphere, named

inspired by the 1707 Isles of Scilly naval disaster, when most with the loss of as many as 2000 sailors. The scale of this tragedy was one factor in the creation of the Longitude Act

in 1714, which offered considerable rewards for anyone who could come up with a way of accurately determining longitude

at sea. This inspired significant innovation that eventually led to Yorkshire carpenter and maverick inventor John Harrison’s

1761 chronometer named ‘H-4’, one of the world’s first truly

accurate clocks. Captain James Cook used a copy of this clock on his second and third voyages of discovery.

Replacing the Davis Quadrant and Newton’s Octant,

the sextant became the dominant instrument for navigation

In October 1957, The Soviet Union launched the first ever Sputnik, was just 58cm in diameter, and had four external radio antennas to broadcast radio pulses. While Sputnik survived just three weeks in active orbit before running out

of battery, its success triggered the Space Race, marking the beginning of a new era of technological developments in the art and science of navigation.

In 1973, the U.S. Department of Defence started the

GPS (Global Positioning System) project, launching the first prototype spacecraft in 1978. Four years later, satellites of the similar Russian GLONASS system were put into orbit.

Owned by the US government and operated by the US

in the mid-eighteenth Century. Derived from the Octant,

Space Force, each satellite as part of the Global Positioning

body (often the North Star) would be measured to determine

approximately 20,200km, providing geolocation and time

using mirrors, the angles of reflected light from a celestial

distance. The use of the sextant demands a trained eye and learned skill, with small errors leading to huge miscalculations of position. The sextant was a revolutionary device because it allowed celestial objects to be measured relative to the

horizon, rather than relative to the instrument – a difference which creates excellent precision.

By the 1890s, radios began to appear on ships at sea. Not

long after this, lighthouses and buoys were placed on headlands

System circles the Earth twice a day at an altitude of information to a GPS receiver anywhere on Earth where there is an unobstructed line of sight to four or more GPS satellites.

Originally limited to use by the US military, civilian use was allowed from the 1980s following an executive order from President Ronald Reagan. By 2010, GLONASS had achieved

full coverage of Russia’s territory and in October 2011 the full orbital constellation of 24 satellites enabled full global coverage.

Over the decades that followed, Global Positioning

and offshore rocks to act as marine signposts to highlight

System went through a number of significant upgrades

In 1940 American philanthropist and physicist Alfred Lee

During the 1990s, though, GPS quality was degraded by the

hazards, pointing to safe channels for approaching ships.

Loomis designed the first version of an electronic air navigation

system which was later developed into LORAN (long range

navigation system). This worked by two radio transmitters sending signals from one to the other. By measuring the

delay between the signals, the distance between them could be calculated.

all adding to the accuracy and the strength of the signals.

United States government in a program they called ‘Selective Availability’. In May 2000, when Selective Availability was

lifted by a law signed by President Bill Clinton, GPS had about a five-metre accuracy. GPS receivers released in 2018

have much higher accuracy, pinpointing position to within about 30 centimeters.

FACING PAGE: The high mountains of the Zanskar Range in the Indian Himalaya seen from the air. In terrain like this, having GPS navigation (and the ability to use it) is extremely useful – as is the skill of old-school navigation via map reading and taking compass bearings.

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The real advantage of modern GPS devices is their two way messaging capability - Tom Bodkin

For navigational devices, being able to use both the GPS

radius. Then if you know you are 15 miles from a second

satellites available which makes fixing locations far quicker

with the first. By adding a third radius sphere, from which

and GLONASS constellations means they have far more

and more accurate, particularly in areas where physical

obstacles like tall buildings, tree cover, or mountain ridges might cause a weak signal.

Receivers

Today, the range of different GPS units available leads the

charge when it comes to navigational tools, from smart

watches satellite tracking, and messenger devices to mapping apps on a mobile phone. But how do they actually work?

Using a process called trilateration, these devices send

signals to connect with satellites to triangulate the user’s location. For example, if the signal being received is 10 miles

from the satellite, you could be anywhere within a 10 mile 70

satellite, you now have a second radius which must converge

you are also 15 miles away from, your location can now be pinpointed within the small area where those areas overlap.

Each satellite carries an atomic clock from which the

GPS device can compare both the time the signal was sent by the satellite with the time the device receives the signal and thus calculate how far away the satellite is. In order to

calculate the longitude and latitude of the device, it must

connect with the signals of at least three satellites. To also calculate altitude known as a 3D location, the GPS must lock onto the signal of a fourth satellite.

Once the device’s location is determined, the speed it’s

travelling at can be calculated simply by continually updating

position with the satellites and measuring the distance the

user has travelled in a specific time. If information such as

Now, with the InReach devices using the Iridium network,

calculate distance and time to destination based on the user’s

the device to a smartphone, the user’s experience is made

destination is entered, the receiving device can then simply current speed of travel.

Going one step further, satellite communication devices

like the Garmin InReach allow two way communication via text or email. This connects a remote operator to the user on the ground, or the chance to trigger an SOS message to a centralised global monitoring and response centre.

Real-world application

Tom Bodkin, founding director of Secret Compass, has been

coordinating commercial expedition support for the best part of the last decade, whether that’s leading adventure tourism

that’s not an issue.’ With innovative updates like pairing far simpler, meaning there’s more communication which ultimately might prevent a rescue or evacuation from needing to take place.

‘The ability to type a message via an iPhone rather than

the actual GPS device might not seem like such a big deal’ says Tom. ‘But for us, when we’ve got TV crew teams or

adventurers out in the mountains, they’ve got a million other

things to be thinking about but we really need those daily updates. The more usable it is, the more likely it is that we get those daily check-ins.’

in Iraqi Kurdistan or for TV projects deep in the Congo

The future

like this are absolutely vital.

one in which billionaire entrepreneurs have occupied the

jungle. For Tom, GPS tracking and communication devices

‘Above all, the real advantage of these things now is the

two way messaging capability,’ explains Tom. ‘On some of the older models you could ping for SOS, but you couldn’t add

any context. It was just ‘I’m in the shit, help.’ But what does

that really mean? The likelihood is that it’s way more complex than that. The rescue effort probably needs to be tailored for whatever is going on and you’ll probably need to move to a

safe location. Because of that, not having the messaging system

Today, we’re witnessing a kind of modern day Space Race, position of governments in the past. Elon Musk’s Starlink satellite constellation, for example, will see as many as 12,000 small satellites orbit at just 550km with the aim to provide

global internet coverage. In 2019, Amazon jumped into the race with plans for their own broadband satellite constellation

called Project Kuiper, while Virgin Group and Japan’s Softbank have also invested heavily in similar projects.

At the same time we’re seeing further development from

means the whole rescue process is massively delayed and that

governments across the world investing in more satellite

the ability to communicate two ways solves that.’

example, began global services in 2018, and Japan’s Quasi-

can be the difference between life and death. In my experience, From anywhere in the world, equipped with pocket sized

GPS communication devices such as the Garmin InReach means that from the Secret Compass offices in the UK, Tom’s team can communicate with expeditions in real time.

‘For high risk TV shoots that’s essential’, says Tom. ‘When

systems. China’s BeiDou Navigation Satellite System, for

Zenith Satellite System (QZSS) – with satellite navigation independent of GPS – is scheduled for 2023. There are also

other ventures including the European Union’s Galileo positioning system, and India’s NavIC.

In 2018 it was estimated that some 5,000 satellites

we’ve got journalists out in Iraq or Syria for example, we need

were in orbit, with about 1,900 of those operational. With

keep on top of dynamic security risks. But at the same time, we

of thousands of satellites into space, the future is certainly

to know exactly where they are and how it’s going so we can might have a team rafting a pretty dangerous river somewhere

very remote. The trackers in this instance are super useful just to be able to quietly keep an eye on the team’s progress.’

For expedition teams like this, where making connections

with satellites is absolutely vital regardless of how remote their

constellations from single projects looking to launch tens looking good for interconnectivity with issues of weak signal or patchy coverage likely to soon be a problem of the past.

As for the night sky, though, since orbiting satellites are clearly visible the future might be equally bright.

position, satellite communication devices like the Garmin

InReach opt for another satellite constellation altogether. The Iridium network orbits just 780 km above the Earth (much

lower than GPS or GLONASS) with 66 satellites spaced out to offer pole-to-pole coverage. With stronger signals,

shorter connection time, and lower latency, the satellites are in motion at a speed of 27,350 km/h.

‘In Mongolia a few years ago we had a team trying to

coordinate an evacuation with us in the UK’, Tom Bodkin

explains. ‘The problem was that they were in an east-to-

west valley in the mountains, and the satellite phone didn’t

have a clear shot north or south to connect with a satellites.

FACING PAGE: Modern GPS and communications units at BASE magazine HQ, including the Garmin InReach and a modern Inmarsat satellite phone.

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B EYO N D BA S E Gl ances with wo l ves Story & Photography | Ester de Roij

S

eeing coastal wolves in British Columbia – let alone photographing

them – is a dream for most avid naturalists on Canada’s Pacific coast.

They can be considered more of a mystery in the Great Bear Rainforest than spirit bears themselves: catching a glimpse of these wolves is far

more difficult and unpredictable. And if you manage it, they’ll be gone in a blink of the eye like ghosts of the forest.

Naturally, they were high up on my own list. I had only seen them

twice in my 18 months on and off the coast. If it wasn’t for some average

photographic evidence, no one would have believed me. A friend of mine who leads bear viewing tours had told me last year about a spot where she thought there might be a den, and in 2019 I began thinking

of placing some camera traps around the area, just as an experiment.

I contacted my friend, and she told me they hadn’t seen any sign of wolves there, but there was another spot where there were regular sighting

reports. I asked her whether it was worth me going and camping out; her response was a definite yes.

Before I knew it I’d cleared a week in my schedule, stocked up on

camping gear, rehydrated food, and a bear canister. Wolves and people

have clashed on multiple occasions around the coast, usually as a result of careless behavior on the part of the campers – but it’s the wolves that

get penalised. The safest way to camp is to bring food with as little odour as possible, and keep it locked in a bear canister all the time. Wolves can get into pretty much anything, so you are advised to suspend the canister from a tree so that it is out of reach of any big carnivores.

I took a water taxi over to a remote beach and had a little scout

around. The beach was fairly short and was bordered by jagged rocks on

either side, backing up into the forest. I hadn’t exactly thought through how I was going to find these elusive creatures, and I figured there’s not much I could do until I got there. On my beach, though, there were many wolf prints in the sand and mud: already a good sign.

I went about setting up my tent. Halfway through unfolding

the flysheet, I heard a howl. When I turned around I saw something white running across the rocks in the distance. A wolf ! I grabbed my camera and went after it. The terrain was very rough, and high tide

did not do me any favours; I was no match for a wolf in this country.

I gave up the chase after about an hour and went back to set up camp.

THIS PAGE: A coastal wolf on Vancouver Island with a unique single blue eye, likely the result of a natural cross-breeding with a husky dog in the wild.

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A short time later, I looked out of my tent at the spot where

Island as recently as the 1970s, where they had previously fallen

peeked out again. Even though there was nothing at the far

genetically distinct from interior wolves; a change that has been

I had seen the wolf earlier, but saw nothing. After a while I corner of the island, I saw what I first thought was a juvenile wolf lying on a log at the back of the beach.

victim to hunting and habitat loss. Coastal island wolves are driven by available food resources more than location.

Coastal wolves rely on marine life for up to 85% of their diet,

I quickly grabbed my camera, and managed a few blurry

compared to 30% of interior wolves. Even within the coastal

trailed by another three small wolves that had been resting

coastal wolves, and coastal island wolves. These groups are again

shots before the wolf decided to get up and walk into the forest, motionlessly around it. I patiently waited inside my tent hoping they would come out again. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later

out they came, a bit further away, trotting onto the beach as if they owned the place, playing and digging in the sand in a very relaxed manner.

One was lying down facing me, keeping a close eye.

Suddenly they all went back into the forest again. I was on high

alert and a minute or two later I head branches breaking right

behind my tent. I leaned out carefully, camera in hand, until I

saw two little faces. They had expressions filled with curiosity, playfulness, and a little caution. They thought about coming out

wolf form, there are considered to be two types: mainland separated by their diet – mainland coastal wolves supplement

their diet with things like black-tailed deer. For coastal island

wolves – the wolves seen in these photos – 25% of their diet consists of salmon followed by barnacles, herring eggs, seal

carcasses and whatever else they can catch. I found some fresh

wolf scat that had some black fur in it. This may have been from a bear, and recently some lucky tourists were treated to seeing one of these very wolves drag a deer out of the water. They

will scavenge on whatever they get their hands on if it’s more nutritious than barnacles.

Wolves and dogs are known to be able to produce fertile

for a second or two, before continuing around my tent in the

offspring. Male wolves have seasonal sperm production to

I stayed in my tent using it as a hide as all four pups

and April, whereas male domestic dogs produce sperm all year,

forest. This time, I could anticipate where they would appear.

appeared in front of me, each egging the other on to get as close as they felt comfortable to do. At no point was I scared –

adrenaline and incredulity were rushing through me – but I did make sure I had bear spray ready to use at arms’ reach. At this

moment, I realised one of the wolves had this gorgeous single blue eye, which I’d not seen before in wild wolves.

They only hung around for a minute or two, but it felt like

an eternity. Here, I was truly in the presence of wild nature.

coincide with females coming into oestrus between January meaning that they are always readily able to mate with female

wolves. The only information known about the wolves I went

looking for was that there was a pair of female wolves on that part of Vancouver Island. When I encountered the pup with

the blue eye, I knew that these pups were most likely born from an interbreeding between a husky dog and a female wolf; the wolf pack here was led by two female wolves.

Coastal wolves can swim more than seven miles, and are

When they’d finally satisfied their curiosity, they went back

very comfortable in the water. They move easily from island

behind my tent. This time they found the courage to come out

whatever is around them. If there are people with dogs in the

into the forest going the way they’d come, and popped out again

and walk along the logs at the back of the beach quickly making

their way back to their play spot a short distance from my tent.

Once they were out of reach of my camera lens, I finally

heard myself breathe out; I was smiling from ear to ear. Not only had this just happened on the first night I was out here

camping, but a wolf had made it to within five metres of me, and all of this in the most beautiful golden light. The magic of the moment was certainly not lost on me.

to island, meaning the wolves will come into contact with

region, the odds of a female wolf encountering a male wolf is smaller than the odds of a female wolf encountering a male

dog who is fertile all the time. From talking to locals, I have understood that the particular case of the blue-eyed wolf in my photos most likely happened by accident, but I also understand

that it is currently popular to get a dog with a percentage of wolf genes in it, and the breeding is sometimes done on purpose.

Wolves have very specific behavioural and physiological

That evening, at nightfall, I caught sight of one of the

adaptations to survive in the wild, and to avoid human

fog had rolled in I saw an adult running past with all four pups

breeding with domestic dogs, the less certain the future of the

adults running past my tent, and the next morning after the in tow before they disappeared out of line of sight and started

howling for a few minutes. They never approached me again

after that first night, but came out to play at their safe distance,

keeping an ever-watchful eye on me. Over the next few days, I only saw the adults when I least expected them, and after about four days the pack relocated, and I didn’t see the pups again.

Coastal island wolves have always been recognised as

a distinct form of wolf from the more common timber wolf

by First Nations groups. Wolves had to repopulate Vancouver

predation. The more these adaptations get filtered out through

wolf looks in our turbulent climate with unreliable resources and extra human pressures. 2019 was the worst salmon year on

record in Canada, and that means that a quarter of the annual food intake of these wolves is under serious threat.

To survive, wolves need to be able to adapt to their

environment, and having their natural mechanisms for this

responsiveness filtered out by humans is the last thing they need.

In my rare glances of these wolves, both their strength as wild animals and their fragility as a species became clear.

FACING PAGE: A juvenile coastal wolf on Vancouver Island. Seeing these animals in the wild is extremely difficult, and photographing them even more so.

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The wolf cubs only hung around my camp for a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity. Here, I was truly in the presence of wild nature

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BA S E G E A R Outdoo r in nova t i ons for spri ng 2021

Petzl Iko Core French brand Petzl has been a leading innovator in headtorches for many years. For those old enough to remember their original headtorches using the distinctive rear-mounted battery pack, the new Iko Core might generate a little deja-vu. If the design is a touch

retro, the technology is anything but. Whilst it is slightly less bright than its counterpart, the Swift RL, the advantages of the rear battery are quite significant. For activities involving close work or fast movement, the absence of weight at the front makes the whole package better balanced. If you try running with the Iko Core, the benefits of the design are quickly apparent: no more stopping to

adjust the lamp as it moves around. The new headband system certainly works well, used with a helmet or without. The additional

features of being able to run three AAA batteries in place of the rechargeable pack gives it the upper hand for expedition use, too, where a power source might not be available – as does the neat concept of transforming it into a lantern using the storage pouch.

Key features: 500 lumens | 100 hours rechargeable battery life | 79 grams | runs x3 AAA batteries (if required) | AIRFIT headband | 3 hours charging time | Flood beam or mixed beam | Lock function to avoid accidental turning on PETZL.COM

Musto Welded Thermo Jacket Britain’s Musto, who specialise in nautical outerwear, launched a new collection in association with Land Rover in 2020, building on the ‘tough

tech’ image of both brands. Their Welded Thermo Jacket, available in both men’s and women’s versions, is one of the highlights of the new range. Using

a very durable 5 layer waterproof shell and Primaloft synthetic insulation, which provides a similar warmth to natural down without the bulk, this piece is a serious addition to anyone’s outdoor wardrobe. The BASE review

team were particularly impressed by the subtle attention to detail in areas such as the stretchy lycra cuffs, large insulated pockets, zip baffles, and the

super warm collar: all these features finish off an extremely well-thought out package. Whilst it’s not the lightest insulated jacket out there, if you’re after

something that’s waterproof, very warm, tough, and stylish enough to wear on

any occasion, then the Welded Thermo Jacket is most definitely worth a look.

Key features: 5 layer waterproof shell | Primaloft insulation with box wall construction | Recco integrated antenna emergency beacon MUSTO.COM 76

Sealskinz Waterproof Extreme Cold Weather Gloves Sealskinz were first recognised for their brilliant waterproof

socks, a game-changer for activities like winter mountain biking.

Their expanded range of gloves looks to do for hands what their

socks did for feet; the realisation that your extremities won’t get cold is transformational for many adventure sports. The gloves

we tested (shown here) are a classic example of what Sealskinz do extremely well. They’re beautifully engineered and carefully designed. It’s hard to create gloves that fit perfectly and don’t

compromise warmth for dexterity - with these, you can still feel what you’re doing, despite their warmth, which makes them great for anything from belaying to colder-weather biking.

Key features: 3 layer waterproof & breathable construction | Tough leather palm | Primaloft insulation | Velcro cuff baffle | Zero liner slip ensuring maximum dexterity SEALSKINZ.COM

Snow Peak Titanium Kanpai Bottle Japanese outdoor brand Snow Peak have the same approach

to outdoor adventure equipment as Lexus do to cars: make something as good as it can possibly be without worrying too much about the price. Which is rather cool, isn’t it? Their superb tents are a good example of this philosophy, particularly

the excellent Fal Air range. Their titanium ‘Kanpai’ drinks

bottle, though, is an even more obvious case of exceptional, cost-no-object outdoor design. The sort of person who splashes

out nearly £200 on a hot flask is certainly at the luxury rather than budget end of the spectrum, but what a way this is to keep

your coffee (or green tea) hot. Whilst eye-wateringly expensive,

this flask is, without doubt, the most beautiful we’ve ever seen.

It keeps drinks very warm for a long time, too; just as you’d expect from Snow Peak.

Key features: 350ml capacity | Ultralight titanium double-walled construction | Keeps drinks hot for 6 hours | Includes tumbler lid, cooler lid, and thermal lid | Made in Japan SNOWPEAK.CO.UK

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B A S E C U LT U R E Por trait of the a r t i st a s a l oc ked - d ow n c l i mb er Artwork | Tessa Lyons, BASE artist-in-residence

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion - Albert Camus

Grimer in London. Ink and digital media.

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Cuillin Ridge, Isle of Skye. Ink.

Gritstone Shadows. Carborundum printmaking.

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Valley Mono. Monoprint.

Mountain Mono. Monoprint.

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Yosemite Valley, USA. Ink.

Life is a travelling to the edge of knowledge, then a leap taken - D. H. Lawrence

Arctic fox jumping. Ink.

Artist and climber Tessa Lyons is one of Britain’s leading creators of wilderness and adventure artwork. She works in a variety of different mediums including ink, monoprint, digital media and carborundum printmaking. Writing about her work, she explains how ‘I’m interested in the visual appeal of geology. Why it is that alpinists are drawn to certain mountains? Why do rock climbers describe their routes as beautiful? As a climber I want to experience these places, but as an artist I want to capture the essence of them.’

www.tessalyons.com

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PA R T I N G S H O T Photograph | Antony Krastev & Atanas Ovcharov / Red Bull

Leading Bulgarian paraglider Veselin ‘Veso’ Ovcharov performs

Veselin Ovcharov was the first Bulgarian pilot to master the

in Namibia’s Namib desert. Spitzkopp, a bald granite peak or

Bulgarian National Academy of Sport, Ovcharov has excelled

an acrobatic turn in the desert skies above the Spitzkopp Massif

‘inselberg’ rising to 1728m above sea level, is the most famous site for rock climbing in Namibia, and renowned for its tenuous

slab climbs and long, alpine-style rock routes. Climbers have to cope with the heat and total lack of water on any ascent.

paragliding technique of infinity tumbling. A graduate of the in acrobatic paragliding, participating in the 2010 film Infinity

Himalaya, and breaking the Triple Infinity Tumbling world record in 2015 (alongside Petar Lončar and Ondrej Prochazka) with 126 synchronised infinity tumbles in Cappadocia, Turkey.

ANY PATH. YOUR WAY.

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