film

Vitamin Sea

| Rebecca Gibson

Last week there was a film screening event at the Scottish Dolphin Centre in Spey Bay. I didn’t know anyone there but soon found myself chatting to an elderly couple whose fierce pride of Scotland was immediately clear. We chatted about the Moray dolphins and the house that they planned to build with a view out to sea. It was the sort of life I was looking for myself.

The film was “Vitamin Sea”: an hour long documentary that followed ocean advocate and veterinary surgeon Cal Major as she attempted to be the first person to journey from Land’s End to John O’Groats by Stand Up Paddleboard. Cal was raising money for Samaritans and Vet Life in memory of her best friend who lost her battle with depression. I didn’t realise there is a high suicide rate among vets and not enough is currently being done to support them. Cal was also raising awareness of plastic pollution – scooping up hundreds of plastic bottles along the way – and showing how beneficial nature, and the ocean in particular, can be for our emotional wellbeing. If we spend time in an environment and form a relationship with it, Cal says, then people will want to protect it.

What I love about Cal is her positivity. While topics such as plastic and climate change can often bring doom and gloom, she discusses positive solutions and encourages us all to do little things that bring great benefits. Throughout her 900 mile journey Cal meets countless people who donate to her cause, help out with litter picks and show their support in so many other ways. Even in places like Manchester, where plastic pollution was at its worst along Cal’s route, spirits were high and people clearly showed their passion for protecting their natural environment.

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At times the film was very moving. Cal revisited a place where she spent a holiday with her lost friend, and at times broke down from the combination of finding so much litter and experiencing sheer exhaustion. The constant struggles and exertions only made reaching the finishing line more emotional. After two months on the water with a sole purpose, it seemed almost anti-climactic when Cal touched land at the end of her journey. Overwhelmed with emotion, she debated staying with nature at sea and letting it continue to “heal” and “wow” her.

What resonated with me was the “profound sense of joy” that comes with being on the ocean surrounded by natural beauty. Many of us feel an undeniable pull to the ocean – that beautiful, unpredictable element of nature that compels our love and respect. Seeing so much litter clogging beaches where seals and birds roamed was difficult, but knowing that people like Cal are raising awareness with a positive message is so refreshing.

As we watched a drone’s eye view over mountains and stretching ocean at the end of the film, the man beside me leant over and asked, “Do you think you’ll go back again?”

I really don’t think so.

A Day in the Fells

| Rebecca Gibson

As we turned into the car park at Honister Pass, the clouds were grumbling. Geoff Cox appeared and shook my hand in greeting, with the same kindliness he might offer to his closest friend. Having roamed the fells since childhood, the bracing chill and spattering rain are all too familiar to him. A gust of wind blew me sideways as I struggled to catch the flyaway sleeve of my coat and hastily zip it up. Pulling a hat firmly down on my head, I gazed up at the fells. The day was bleak, and an ominous mist obscured the tops of the hills, which would provide a dramatic background for filming.

Today marked the penultimate day of shooting for the second documentary about Geoff’s experiences as a fell runner. During his sixtieth year he attempted to run three notorious Lake District endurance-running rounds: in the Joss Naylor Lakeland Challenge and Gerry Charnley he was successful, but the Bob Graham round defeated him. The film we’d be shooting today was a reflection of this unsuccessful round, and how Geoff found redemption to complete the Charnley. Geoff wrote poems about each round to process these challenging ordeals, and approached filmmaker Richard Berry to transform his words into films. Today, I was joining them to see what happened behind the scenes.

We set off, following Geoff and the other endurance runners up the first incline. Before long it became evident just how comfortable they were on this terrain; while I took my time negotiating uneven and slippy rocks, the rest of the group hiked with confidence and admirable swiftness. As we climbed higher, I was told that the views up here were usually breathtaking, but the fog hung over the entire horizon like an impenetrable curtain. We were completely enclosed, walking along a single clear track with white walls on all sides. “Drifting in the Skiddaw mist”, Geoff wrote in his poem; how apt this line was today.

Now 62, Geoff has been fell running for decades, and can’t remember a specific time when this habit became a continuous routine in his life. “Work and family pressures meant I needed a sport I could focus on which didn’t need other people,” Geoff explained, “With running I could drop everything and go anytime, day or night.”

Fell running in the wilderness of the Lake District is a lonely and secluded past time, something Geoff often welcomes. “I needed a place where I could have a bit of ‘me time’. Society seems to look upon somebody who needs these extended periods of time in isolation as strange and even a bit weird. Long days running in the hills gave me what I needed; something about the independence and self-sufficiency was very appealing.”

In a few hours we reached the right place to begin the day’s filming. Director Richard and camera operator Kerr McNicoll set up and before long shooting was in full swing. Agile as mountain goats, the runners cascaded down the rocky slopes with impressive assertiveness. Surrounded by the silent fells, the only sounds were the cracking of the colliding rocks and soft squelch of mud as feet drove through. Puffs of breath spilled into the sky, and as the runners headed further off, the mist soon swallowed them.

“And again!” Richard shouted, the echo of his words bouncing for miles. After a few moments, the group appeared again. From this distance they looked like small dashes of coloured paint on a white page – the only distinguishable features of the landscape. They looped around a small lake, reflections bouncing on the water. After several takes of this shot it was time for cake – a delicious fruitcake made by Jim, one of the runners. This burst of energy was welcomed with open arms, and once Richard had filmed Geoff scaling a large rocky outcrop on his gimbal, we began to snake back through the fells, gathering footage on the way and constantly referring to Geoff’s poems to capture the essence of his experiences and narrative.

Writing poetry has helped Geoff to process the challenges and obstacles associated with endurance running. “I started writing poetry as a way of processing the mental and emotional garbage floating around in my head, or ‘mental detritus’ as I call it. Prose didn’t work because it has the wrong rhythm. Poetry allowed me to talk about what I’m thinking and meant that I could introduce the pace and metre that matched my memories.”

One of these memories took the form of white theatrical masks, worn by three of the runners looking over their shoulders at Geoff while he hung back, exhausted and near defeat. It was an intriguing idea and as we walked back through the fells I asked Geoff why he decided to include masks in the film. “They’re a symbol of how small doubts kick in and grow more insistent as the run goes on” he explained, “So we made them progressively more obvious throughout. ” This feeling of doubt was linked to people coming out to support Geoff while he competes and the pressure of not letting them down, a burden that can hang heavy on a runner under such physical and emotional strain.

I was astonished to hear that the masks were also a representation of hallucinations that Geoff said will be very familiar to long distance fell runners out on the hills for 24 hours or more. This “sleep monster” phenomenon is a result of exhaustion and sleep deprivation. “My particular version seems to be that I find myself running across strips of beautifully patterned Axminster carpet” Geoff told me, “All the time I’m thinking ‘It’s amazing that somebody has been up here and laid this carpet across these mountains!’”

Fell running in the Lake District is not for the faint-hearted. Unpredictable weather, unforgiving terrain, and a vast secluded landscape, and all with a burning in your legs. Even today, after walking seven miles, I returned to the warm café with aching knees. Geoff has proven that age is no match for will and determination, and is continuously training for new rounds to run. For him, fell running is more than exercise but a way of managing stress and even inspiring poetry. Spending time with him and the other runners opened my eyes to a life spent high above the ground, where so few people think to look.

Wild Film Fest Scotland

| Rebecca Gibson

Last weekend was the first Wild Film Festival Scotland, which took place in beautiful Dumfries and Galloway. Myself and a few other Wildlife Media students were lucky enough to volunteer during the event, which involved some amazing talks and a rather fetching cobalt blue volunteer hoodie.

I headed up to Dumfries on the train and arrived mid afternoon. As I stepped onto the platform I realised what the niggling feeling I’d had was about: no pyjamas. To prevent severe embarrassment at the studio flat I was sharing with Zahrah later on, I made a quick dash up the high street then wandered down to the Theatre Royal to catch a talk from photographer Gordon Rae about his work. He told us about a trip to Churchill in the Canadian Arctic, where there were more polar bears than people, something I found incredible.

Later on was one of the festival headliners: Simon King. Excitedly, Zahrah and I joined the other volunteers and spent the next two hours hearing some extraordinary bird noises. Simon King is a real impressionist; I’d heard some of the animals he impersonated in the wild, and his versions were truly uncanny.

The next morning I headed down to the theatre for my induction, donning my hoodie and making my way to the Robert Burns Centre for my first shift. I welcomed visitors and clocked them in with the clicker, something I found more entertaining than perhaps I should. In between shifts I managed to catch a lot of films and talks, learning some amazing things about the natural world. Being at an event like Wild Film Fest with some professional naturalists made me realise just how much I still have to learn. It’s a blessing and a curse; of course I’d love to be a wildlife connoisseur overnight, but at the same time it’s exciting know how much there is still to find out.

The weather this weekend was stunning. During my lunch breaks I sat by the river and watched the goosanders dive and the mallards struggle against the current. I bumped into Cain, who told me there were otters on the river, but not while I was looking for them. The only wild otters I’ve seen were on the Isle of Carna – by the time I graduate I want to at least see them in Carlisle, where apparently the world and his mother have seen them.

Sunday night was Iolo Williams. The theatre was packed – after checking tickets and doing the headcount, I nipped up to the balcony and watched the talk with a bird’s eye view. Iolo is a great naturalist and a real entertainer. I asked him what he thought about the re-introduction of wolves in the UK, and he replied that the best place to release a pack would be the Houses of Parliament. Like all good naturalists, it was clear he had passion.

In seemingly no time the weekend and the festival were over. After a very nice bolognese at Hugo’s restaurant, we headed to the train station and made our way back to Carlisle, leaving behind a beautiful crimson sunset. It was a brief but really great weekend. Volunteering at the first ever Wild Film Fest Scotland is something I’m proud of, and hopefully next year’s will be an even bigger success.

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Standing centre stage in front of one of the festival’s venues!

 

Kendal Mountain Film Festival

| Rebecca Gibson

Last weekend was Kendal Mountain Film Festival and my uni managed to get hold of some tickets for Friday’s events. We trundled down in the minibus and arrived in Kendal for 9:30am. I’ve been to Hawkshead and Coniston, but Kendal was new to me. As it whizzed by out the window, I thought it looked really cutsey, and just the sort of place my parents would love to visit.

Upon arrival in Kendal, we had a look at the programme to see what we fancied watching. I was one of three Wildlife Media students there; the other six were from Adventure. The films were certainly more angled to them – there was a distinct lack of animals involved – but I was there more for the general experience.

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One film I saw was called Headache, and followed a group of cold water surfers on a trip through Europe, in an attempt to find the best waves. Although I couldn’t get overly excited about the sport of cold water surfing, it was incredible to watch such a visually explosive documentary. The style of the film was similar to what I’ll be trying to replicate throughout my degree, so it was very inspiring to see what a truly groundbreaking film looked like.

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There was such a buzz at Kendal that day. We had a look round the stalls and saw adventurers, both young and old, swapping stories and gazing awestruck at the kit for sale. It would be a lie if I said I was adventurous; at least, compared to the people around me I was far from ballsy. Put simply, I’d rather get the chairlift up a mountain than climb it.

It was fascinating to watch from the sidelines though, and the trip has inspired me in a slightly different way to most of the people there. I certainly don’t feel motivated to fling myself off a cliff any time soon, but it was really great being in such an enthusiastic and excited environment. Ultimately, I will be spending the majority of my career outside with a camera, so although I’ll pass on trying out the adrenaline sports, I still love the outdoors, same as the mountain climbers and bungee jumpers. In many ways, we are one and the same, adventure and wildlife enthusiasts.

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