You know that classic image of a desert island, with a lonely palm tree, a seashell, and some poor lost soul looking aimlessly for a boat in the distance? That shit is my jam. Don’t ask me why, maybe it’s a symbol of self reliance, or solitude, or perhaps it’s a yearning for wholeness, or some equally abstract notion that tries to explain why I want to stand on a rock in a bit of water.
I decided that the best way to find a good island would be to ask for help, and so I took to kayaking groups on Facebook. I was amazed, over 60 answers! There was, however, one answer that stood far above the rest. Wall Holm, on Ullswater Lake, in the Lake District.
As I’ve covered before, ✓ Project Bucket List is about making things happen that I’ve been putting off. I got this kayak years ago, and I haven’t used it nearly as much as I’d’ve liked to. Loosely, I’d planned to sell it on at some point. The thing is massive and it takes up a lot of space in the garage. You know that one scene in Toy Story 3 where Andy gives up his toys? Whereas he had Buzz Lightyear and Woody, I have a small boat.
Eventually, you reach a point where some parts of life take priority over others, and while I could make some poignant comment about growing as a man, this one mostly comes down to garage space.
I made a decision.
I’ll go stand on the island, one last hurrah for the kayak, then I’ll sell it. It feels fitting, somehow, though I’m not sure how. Like a nice send off. The next time I’m in the Lake District, the kayak is coming with me, one last time.
It’s 2 months later, and it’s Kymberley’s birthday. As a treat, we’re headed up to the lakes for a relaxing weekend of lounging around Windermere and soaking in some well-missed nature. Thankfully, Kymberley is perfectly happy to deal with my quarter life crisis, and encourages me to take the kayak along.
We arrive at Ullswater, the second largest lake in England, and one of the most beautiful spots this country has to offer. Winding tarmac through a mountain valley eventually opens up to this beautiful patch of blue spread out between the hills. Ahead, tiny sailboats dot the water as we approach, and hikers stop and watch us pass from the sides of the road.
There in the lake, you’ll see islands dotted around, Cherry Holm, then Wall Holm, and off in the distance, Norfolk Island. To the left of Wall Holm is Glenridding Sailing Centre, where we stop and get started.
It’s only a 5 minute paddle, just 200m away from the shore, and in no time at all, the island is creeping closer, details of the rock coming into focus. It feels good to be on the water again. I can’t remember the last time I kayaked properly, especially after that mishap last year. It takes a little while to get into the swing of things, but before long the paddle is spending more time in the water, longer and longer strokes.
Up ahead of me, the rock blends into the lake, and I find a place to land. I feel nervous as I step onto the island, I’ve created this island as a big thing in my mind. I drag the kayak up onto the rocks, and I step onto the shore…
This is going to sound really silly, but when I actually got to the tiny island where I can see all sides – it really is just a tiny island where I can see all sides. I know.
I looked around the island. I looked at the plants. I looked at the geese, and they hissed at me. I took the drone up and looked at some of the most gorgeous views known to this Godforsaken country.
Around me, sail boats and paddle boarders lounge lazily in the distance, and the valleys stand tall and rugged up either side. I can hear birds chirping at each other, geese honking, and the faint sound of cars as they snake around the lake.
When I was a small child, I used to love rockpools. I’d spend hours hunched over them with a net, prodding seaweed and crevices to find little creatures. Returning to the same beaches time after time led to a near encyclopaedic understanding of every nook, and every cranny. I knew the shape of each rock and where to stick the net to elicit a near guaranteed crab, like a rigged slot machine.
I spent 30 minutes on Wall Holm Island, and in that small amount of time, I realised that I had become very familiar with a crevice of rock. Perhaps it’s how little space there is surrounding it, perhaps it’s the limitation, and that reflects my area of awareness as a young child? I found myself imagining that, after spending a full day on this island, I’d know every crack on every rock and every pebble on every slope.
I don’t know what to do with that idea, but I know that I don’t feel the same when I look at my own garden.
I wrapped up the bit of filming I wanted to do, took a few photos, and made some more geese-shaped enemies (hisssss), then I decided to head back to shore.
Hopping in the kayak, I started to paddle back, thinking about how I was going to spin this one. How would I turn a good story out of “yeah I wanted to stand on a tiny island where I can see all sides, and I did indeed do it“?
Maybe I make it about how it’s nice to appreciate the landscape or some equally green-voter nonsense. I paused for a moment, looking around, then I realised, it was actually a really nice day. The sun was shining, birds were swooping high up ahead, in the distance I could hear people laughing, and the faint whoosh as a gentle breeze danced across the lake.
I let the water carry me for a moment, running my hand through the water. It’s calm on Ullswater, not very choppy at all, and the water is cool and clean. I think we often forget. To run your hand through clear, calm water is like running your hand through silk.
I looked back at the island. It was a really nice day.
I started paddling again, and felt a sense of sadness that this would be the last send off for my kayak. But hell, what a beautiful way to send it off.
I paddled some more.
Wait.
The stars align, as a perfectly placed photon crosses millions of lightyears of space to hit the perfect spot in my brain.
A thought.
Neurons activate like a flash of lightning across the night sky.
Do I have to sell the kayak?
I’m the only person here who had decided to sell the kayak. The cops don’t know that I planned to sell it, and they can’t force me to do anything anyway. I’m unstoppable. I can do what I want. I have free will.
I paddle back to shore, and dismount. It’s a pain to drag the kayak across the sand and into the car park, but it feels lighter when I lift it onto the top of the car, like it’s not as much of a burden.
I have decided not to sell the kayak. Garage space be damned.
When I added this one to ✓ Project Bucket List, I’m not really sure what I was expecting. Maybe it’d bring clarity to something emotional and deep-seated about myself. Maybe it would just make for a cool shot of a guy on an island. What I didn’t really expect was to have an anti-police breakdown halfway back to shore.
And so, at the end of a bit of a rambling story, a call to action. If you’ve got a hobby that you’ve left in a cardboard box marked “Attic” (See: Toy Story 3), dust that box out. Go and re-explore it. Go rekindle that love of whatever it is that you left behind.
Take the time to listen to the birds, and stick your hand in the water while you’re at it.
