Hidden Shores

You’re never getting to choose the rental car again.

As he laid down in the boot, Bocian’s legs were about half a calf too long to fit inside the car. I chose a car that was advertised as a combi, but ended up being a small Renault Clio in a combi version, which meant that even after laying down the back seats, the space to sleep in was tiny.

Luckily, the view more than made up for my poor car choices.

Ilha de Sao Miguelo is a Portuguese island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, alongside its many sister islands, it was created by volcanic activity in the Mid Atlantic Rift. The islands, otherwise known as the Azores, are a safe haven in the far reaches of the ocean. Sao Miguelo, or as it’s known in English, San Miguel, is the largest of the islands and houses the regional capital, Ponta Delgada.

Bocian and myself are childhood friends, we grew up mostly in the same neighbourhood in the same group of mates. As time went on, we both ended up leaving our hometown in the north of Poland, myself first to Belgium and then on to the UK, Bocian first moved down south after which his education took him to Lisbon in Portugal. Since opportunities to spend time together became few and far between, we try to the upmost of our abilities, to do at least one trip a year together to somewhere we’ve never been before. The year prior to our trip in the Azores, we drove around the Fjords of Norway, car camping all our way through the week.

Both of us were pretty amateur climbers at the point of our journey to San Miguel, even though that was our main priority outside of touring the island. The information on climbing routes on the island was pretty scarce in that time, however after scouring the internet, we managed to find some hand drawn maps to something that could potentially be a climbing crag. So on a whim and one image off a random group on facebook, we packed all our gear with us. What a good decision that turned out to be.

Following our rather weak information, we cross referenced what we found online with google maps, and narrowed down the possible area of our search. On the first attempt, we drove too far up a road, but at a distance spotted a big cliff that looked like what. Any climber would classify as doable. After bushwhacking it to the base of the cliff, lo and behold, bolts were found. We roped up, and started climbing, only to quickly realise that our skills of assessing routes from the bottom was still pretty terrible. After a few routes that we had to bail from halfway, we decided to call it, and made our way back to hotel Renault for some god knows what to eat.

The next morning, we continued our search. We were sure that the road we slept on, was the one from which a side road led to our X that marked the treasure. Starting from the bottom of the road, we turned into every possible path along the way, until finally finding the one. Halfway down a little cowpath, fairly deep into the forest, we started hearing people shouting in a way that only climbers communicate. We found what we were looking for and much more. The local climbers were really welcoming, and after showing them the treasure map I found on the internet, explained that they intentionally keep the area secret, as to not attract too much foreign attention. They enjoy their areas as a community, aware that if directions and maps were available, their relatively untouched and unknown climbing areas would be overrun, nature abused, and infrastructure created around it. They gave us more information about where we could climb on the island, under the oath of not publishing the maps any further, which out of the respect for them, I will not, neither will there be any pictures here of the crags in question. If you want to go climb in San Miguel you must put on your exploration boots and go searching. It’s really worth it.

The rest of our days on the island, and few they were, we spent driving around the island, into as many little side streets as possible, following dirt roads maybe a little further than our non for by four car should have, and consuming as much local cheese, wine and beer that was available. San Miguel seems like a place functioning outside of time, at a pace that most of us have never experienced, forgotten through the rush of modern society. The island itself is rocked by volcanic activity and has had eruptions wreck havoc amongst the local population even very recently. Nature is dominant in San Miguel, lush forests give way to rolling pastures on the slopes of craters that fall straight into lakes at their centre , crowned by the rims of the calderas. Abandoned hotels are slowly overtaken by the never ending plant growth that seems to sprout out of every possible crevice on the island.

After getting on the small plane that would fly us back to the mainland, seeing San Miguel shrink into the never ending violence of the Atlantic until a cloud shrouded it from view completely, both of us sat in silence through the flight. I for one, couldn’t believe a place like the Azores was real.

August

I guess August passed, characterised by various attempts at self improvement. Many failed attempts, but always restarted, which means they don't classify as defeat. I hope.

Bald morning

Most of August I spent alone with Babcia. It’s self negating, to be alone while spending time with someone, but with her progressing dementia she’s not much in means of meaningful conversation. Looking after her was surprisingly easy during that time, no massive hiccups and to be fair very few moments made difficult by her condition. For most of the time it was smooth sailing.

Last blue moon for 20 years

August was also the month that, for the time being, has been my best month surfing that I’ve ever had. Surfed everyday, for at least an hour at a time, maybe with very few exceptions. I started moving away from a borrowed 9’6” and towards my banged up 7’6”, resulting in a lot of difficulties at the start, but leading to the biggest days I’ve ever surfed. My surfing buddy for the month was Dish, one of the most enthusiastic people I’ve had the pleasure of being around. A lecturer from Manchester Uni, Dish came to the island on a sabbatical from work, following his wife Ari, who works for one of the many UN agencies stationed here. Dish has a rare quality to him, that I’ve observed in only a few other humans out there, and that is to try everything. Surfing?never done it before, let’s go everyday. Climbing on never before climbed cliffs? Sure, why not. Waves breaking well overhead? Sounds like a good idea. He also, at the time, shared with me an important thing, that creates a great adventure buddy. A free schedule. Dish’s time on the Island ran out in early september, and on his last day before leaving he caught an unlucky fin to the ear on one of the calmest breaks in the west. Cut through his ear from the back to the inside resulting in quite a few stitches, and a hospital visit before his flight out.

Tyson coming down the line

Noah Cambell throwing down

Most importantly for me, August was a month, in which I managed to not drink for 3 weeks, which I realised was probably the longest such streak for me ever since I could legally drink. In total, I managed to go for a full month “off it” and felt probably the best I have in a long time. My mental clarity was on such a level that I was sure, if I only concentrated hard enough, I could probably cut through a wall using the power of thought alone. After that I had a drink and promised to try again next month.

L.

Unfamiliar

It’s been a long time since my last write up.

Drill Hall

I’m not really sure how to describe the weird void that the covid era created in my head but it has been difficult to shake off. Before, it was easy, a few year plan into the future, everything was relatively straightforward, but after the pandemic, an already difficult world, became even more puzzling.

Now I’m not talking big picture stuff, because I’m way too stupid to talk about those things. I just mean this on a personal level, and even that one is hard to describe.

I was going to talk about this in the context of work, how an industry i worked in was suddenly shown to be ridiculously unstable during the pandemic, but I think what i want to write about more is the feeling of the unfamiliar.

By now, after a few decades in this life, most of the time i’ve had was in the relative unknown. Not deep in the jungle wilderness of the charts type of unknown, but your day to day type of unknown. What to do, what path to choose, is this the right direction etc. As time goes by, this unfamiliarity that has dominated the time spent here for me, has become more and more pressing. The little respite that I’ve had from that feeling, the moments of warm stability and structure have been few and far between, and more often than not, voluntarily left behind.

Now this is beginning to feel like an intro to something that I’m not really sure I have the end to, no matter the body or the ending. I don’t know, maybe sometimes writing like this, just as the thoughts come into my head does me some good.

As a general idea, or a theme to this whole thing, I think im going to choose the unfamiliar. I realised recently, that it coins quite well the majority of the time I’ve had up till now, and it continues to define my reality now. So from now, the next few entries will be about the past, but only until I manage to catch up with the present. Maybe in some way this will be a way for me to come to terms with everything.

Let’s see.

L.

That didn’t go as planned

Well, judging by the fact that it has been 8 months since my last post here, this has gone nowhere near what i was hoping for in January. Guess thats just the way some things happen.

I’m not very good at staying at it. At least in my private life, and by that I don’t mean the one that i lead with other people - I like to think (and hope) that I’m considered trustworthy. I mean the private life that I lead with myself, the one in which you can’t really lie, because you know very well when you’re trying to bullshit yourself.

It’s very odd trying to write again.

Only now, as I’m trying to write something again I’m realising the same thing that I do every time i try this, and that is how hard it is for me to organise the chaotic flow of thoughts in my mind into a… whatever this ends up being. This little bout of trying to write again is most likely an angst ridden spurt of creativity fuelled by some weird feeling of inadequacy stemming from a motivational youtube video in which a guy thats my age is opening his third giant gym and meanwhile I’m considering to change my career at the doorstep of 30.

30.

Fucking terryfing.

One of the guys I work with today was trying to explain the behaviour of this old farmer that has frequent explosions of anger by saying,

-Ah well, you know, can’t teach an old dog new tricks-

It’s never the persons fault you know? It always seems that you can find some explanation to some dickheads behaviour just by looking at their age. Young person being shitty? Ah that’s just kids being kids. Older folk acting brainless? Can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Is there a point in life in which that shield of age doesn’t apply to you? Is it in the brief moment of being a young adult? You know, the stage when you slowly realise the consequences of being forced to make life forming decisions as a teenager, when your brain is a step above overnight oats?

Anyway, ranting aside, the end of my third decade has crept up on me too fast and out of nowhere. Can’t say I’m anymore prepared for whats coming than I was 5 years ago, and to be fair I’m not that sure where the last 5 years have fucked off to either. The whole pandemic episode seems to have reset the clock by a few years and stolen a bit of progress that could have been made.

I wish I could say that I’m looking at the next decade with “hope and excitement” but thank fuck I’m not such a bubbly person. Truth is I’m scared. I feel like the moment I cross that one way bridge out of my twenties all of the excuses that I’ve used of “trying to figure out what I want to do” or “how I want to live” will not cross over with me. To be fair, they won’t even wave goodbye. The moment that bridge is crossed, those excuses, explanations, happy-go-lucky charms of youth will be ripped off, and what little was built underneath that cloak will shimmer dimly, all alone.

Then again, I might be exaggerating.

It’s only a birthday.

L.

Another beginning

Well, let’s give this another go.

This will be my second attempt at creating and maintaining a website. I’m not fully sure just yet about what format this is going to be, nor do i know what exactly the leading idea behind this is. It’s going to evolve as time goes by, and maybe end up as something interesting, maybe not. For now, I’m going to call this an attempt at regular writing. Not because I’m trying to be a writer or anything, but to maintain the ability to do so. Of translating thought into, well, whatever this becomes.

Second, this site will contain whatever pictures I decide are worth sharing. My head is too much of a mess to be able to formalise a singular visual theme to keep gnawing at, which is something that I think would be in order if i would like to show my pictures in the form of a gallery or something. So maybe, this can be an exercise in that as well, but for now the pictures will be more messy than not. One thing at a time, don’t want to get ahead of myself just yet.

So, I guess that’s going to be it for now.

Not too little, not too much.