Latest news with #wildswimming
Times
a day ago
- Times
Seven of the UK's best hotels with wild swimming
Infinity pools and Scandi-inspired spas are all very well, but for a truly invigorating dip, nothing quite compares to the sensation of swimming outside, surrounded by nature, with the soundtrack of birdsong. The trend for wild swimming shows no sign of slowing down and an increasing number of hotels around the UK are cottoning on to its popularity by factoring it into their programmes. Several offer tutored sessions with experienced coaches who can help you to perfect your stroke, improve your breathwork and learn techniques for coping with cold-water immersion; wetsuits and tow floats are usually available for less-experienced swimmers. But the great joy of wild swimming is its simplicity — aside from a swimsuit and perhaps a pair of goggles, there's no dire need for any equipment. The only other thing you need is the courage to take the plunge. This swish hotel on the banks of Ullswater in the Lake District is one of the top UK destinations for water activities. Its programme takes in everything from paddleboard lessons to kayaking and wingfoiling, but it also runs regular wild-swim sessions under the gentle guidance of the champion open-water swimmer Colin Hill, who has swum the Channel, coached the UK swimming team in the 2012 Olympics and was the country's first person to swim the ice mile (one mile in a water temperature of less than 5C with no wetsuit). Plunge into waterfalls, swim under the full moon and stargaze while you backstroke. The hotel's three-night Float into the Wild package includes a sauna and a wild-swimming lesson. Details Half-board doubles from £336 ( • Read our full guide to the Lake District This ivy-covered castle has been the family seat of the Cunliffe-Listers since the 1880s and its estate encompasses 20,000 acres of the Yorkshire Dales — including a lily-filled pond (rather unfortunately called Coffin Lake) with a purpose-built swimming platform from which guests can take a wild dip from 7am to sunset from May to September. For a less chilly swim, the hotel also has a sumptuous spa with a heated indoor pool and a thermal suite. Stay in the castle or keep up the wild theme by booking a tree lodge or yurt at Swinton Bivouac. Details B&B doubles from £306 ( With a private lake in 1,000 acres of rewilded countryside on the Norfolk/Suffolk border, this countryside retreat in the Somerleyton Estate is a must-visit destination for wild swimmers. There's a twice-weekly tutored swim during which you can get stroke coaching and tips on technique courtesy of the Peak Open Water Sports team, from May to September. Alternatively, there are lifeguarded wild-swimming sessions on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. If you're in need of a post–dip warm–up, there's also a floating sauna. Choose from smart clubhouse rooms, cottages or cabins, and be sure to book a table for dinner at the estate's restaurant, which sources much of the ingredients from its kitchen B&B doubles with dinner from £225 ( • 29 of the best hotels in Norfolk Anselm Guise, the owner of the Elmore Court Estate, is returning 250 of his 1,000 acres to nature, inspired by Wilding, the bestselling book by Isabella Tree. He has also built six treehouses for guest stays, along with a Scandinavian-style sauna next to a pond, variously known as Bottomless Pool, Groundless Pool or Madam's Pond. This is proper back-to-nature swimming — reeds, frogs, dragonflies and all — and there are foraging sessions and nature walks with which to continue your wild adventure. The timber-clad treehouses are architect–designed and filled with handmade furniture, and you can order breakfast hampers and charcuterie boards to your Two nights' room only for two from £610 ( Just back from the popular Gyllyngvase beach, this hotel is great for early-morning sea swims — the sand is two minutes' walk away and the Gylly Beach Café is on hand for a hot chocolate. St Michaels runs three-night wild swimming breaks with the instructor Salim Ahmed, who offers yoga, mindfulness and swimming tuition through his company Swimlab in October, January, March and May ( St Michaels Spa is lovely too, and in summer you can book a sauna on the sand with Kiln ( Stay in one of the Spa Garden Lodges, which have outdoor baths and private B&B doubles from £225 ( • 12 of the best places to visit in Cornwall This off-grid escape in Enniskillen has waterside cabins, transparent bubble domes and a slinky spa beside the peaceful waters of Lough Erne. Head to the jetty at dawn or dusk, slip into the lake and listen to the hoot of curlews and the swoosh of sandwich terns as you swim. Afterwards, go to the spa for a session in the shoreline hot tub, a salt float or a stint in the forest relaxation room. Paddleboards or kayaks can be borrowed to explore one of the many islands in the lake. The Sky Suites and cabins are cool and contemporary, but for stargazing potential, book one of the domes, in which you'll feel as though you're sleeping outside, with the added benefits of king-size beds and rolltop B&B doubles from £202 ( There are dozens of wild-swimming options in the Cairngorms — from glassy lochs to icy-cold rivers. At the luxurious Fife Arms, the gillie team will pick your spot with the help of Wild Braemar, which knows all the best locations the owner, Annie Armstrong, grew up here and is an experienced outdoorswoman and nature guide (from £250; Sessions are about two hours, or for a longer day out you could combine your wild swim with a forest hike, picnic and session in a mobile wilderness sauna beside a clattering brook. Then it's back to the hotel for a warming dram in the Flying Stag bar and dinner in the opulent Clunie Dining Room. The suites are full of Highland character, from four-poster beds to Arts and Crafts wallpapers, or for cosiness choose one of the croft-style rooms, which have snug cabin Room–only doubles from £850 ( • Aberdeen has a buzzy new scene — and now is the time to visit Have we missed your favourite? Please share your recommendations in the comments below
Telegraph
5 days ago
- Telegraph
Why Britons still aren't ready for ‘social nudity'
As a Briton, I feel I have much in common with my Scandinavian cousins: an endurance of long, cold, grey winters; a love of thrillers; a passion for wild swimming and saunas. In the course of researching two books on sauna culture, I've spent years sweating it out around Estonian lakes, and in hotboxes on windswept Norwegian archipelagos. Generally, when enjoying these activities I've been wearing a swimsuit – and this is where any similarities to our Nordic neighbours end. For in these bathing nations, nudity is a given, and it has been for generations; a deep, clean sweat is a naked one. Why wear an unhygienic swimsuit which prevents your skin from breathing and lessens the sensory experience, when you can go without? Why indeed. I can think of many reasons. Shame, embarrassment, legacy of a Catholic schooling, scar tissue from unwanted sexual advances, the male gaze, unachievable images of female perfection. Through my work, on research trips around Northern European cultures where nude bathing is the norm, I have had to confront my body issues; I have been in situations where being the only swim-suited one feels out of place. I have had to dig deep not to be the stereotypical British prude. I've been told to remove my sarong in a 200-person naked sauna event in the Netherlands, and come a cropper in a smoke sauna in southern Estonia where no-one ever wears clothes. Slowly, I've relaxed a little, shed the layers and come to appreciate that being naked in the company of others – and in a safe setting – can be freeing and healthy. It's just taken me a while to catch up with those enlightened bathers in Scandinavia, Germany, the Baltics and beyond. And I'm not alone. According to an Ipsos poll, 6.75 million Brits people claim to be naturists, up from 3.7 million in 2011. The survey stretches that definition from being naked in a private hot tub to being an all-out naturist, but slowly, it seems we are unbuttoning, unravelling the threads of convention. When it comes to public nudity, the burgeoning numbers of wild swimmers and sauna bathers are driving the trend, which appeals to all ages – and is largely being led by women. In the Outdoor Swimmer 2025 trend report, of 2,500 swimmers surveyed, 59 per cent of women reported wild or cold-water swimming weekly or more, compared with 37 per cent of men. More than half of those aged 25 to 34 started swimming after the pandemic. In these novel settings, we seem more likely to relax long-held social conventions. 'It starts with accidentally forgetting the dry robe, or the underwear,' says one of my wild swimming pals. 'Then there's the faff and fuss of carting all the swim clobber to the water and back. It's so much quicker and easier to travel light, to keep the changing kit to a minimum at the risk of exposing a nipple, or a pale goose-bumped buttock to the elements. Over time, you just don't care any more, and nor does anyone else.' Ella Foote, the editor of The Outdoor Swimmer magazine, offers guided wild swims to groups. 'If I have a same sex group, I'll sometimes suggest a skinny dip at the end. They all look at me with wide eyes, and it only takes one and then they all strip off and go in. Swimming naked is a natural transition to being at one with nature. And because you're submerged, it feels safer; it's a good space to play at nudity. People tell me all the time that their relationship with their body has improved.' Sauna culture is playing into it too, as quirky horseboxes, pop-up tents and cosy barrel saunas provide places to sweat on beaches, lakes and rivers everywhere from Crieff to Cardiff. In the nine months I spent travelling around the country, researching these new hotspots and sharing the bench with athletes and recovering addicts, builders, barristers, mums and teens and pensioners, I came up close to the complex relationship the British have with our own – and other peoples' – bodies. I met bathers who wear wetsuits, leggings and sweatshirts in the sauna – anything rather than nothing – and I've been to 'clothing optional' sessions where everyone is naked. Often these are started by the community and evolve organically. Take Quays Swim in Surrey, a 50-acre swimming lake with two saunas near Mytchett. More than 75 per cent of its visitors are female and the venue hosts two ladies-only naked swims for Breast Cancer Now. After stripping off for these dips, a group of women set up a naked sauna. 'I don't know what it is about clothes, but when you discard them, you're discarding a whole load of other issues as well,' says one participant, who got into cold swimming after the death of her husband. When she first bared all, she found it 'liberating, as though the swimsuit was holding everything in. All that pent-up emotion was set free, and that's what I love.' Beach Box Spa Brighton runs a 'clothing-optional' session hosted by German sauna master Mika Valentini, 34. 'Everyone comes for themselves; they're not looking at others, and it's understood that nudity doesn't mean a certain outcome. They feel relief about exposing their bodies, which builds body confidence.' The event is carefully screened off, and there's always someone supervising. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Beach Box Sauna Spa | Brighton | Aufguss | Pirtis (@beachboxbtn) Valentini grew up in Munich where on a hot summer's day the city's swimming lake is packed with naked bodies.'I have a healthy view of my body as I became accustomed to nudity from a young age and it's not linked to sex,' he says, adding that in Germany there is also an attitude of, 'It's my body. This is my natural self and how I want to be.' Not everybody in Britain is relaxed about the gradual arrival of social nudity to our shores. Cut to Corton Beach in Lowestoft, Suffolk where this spring the parish council came under fire for trying to ban naturists from its famously beautiful sands. It was forced to remove signage banning ' lewd behaviour ' to the dismay of disgruntled locals who had complained of sexual activity in the dunes. Public nudity is not illegal in England and Wales but the laws around it are open to interpretation; under the Sexual Offences Act 2003 unless a naked person has the intention of 'causing alarm and distress' it is not a crime to wander around naked anywhere. But one person's distress is another person's freedom. 'There was a time when the legislation was clear,' says Andrew Welch, the national spokesman for British Naturism (BN), a non-profit group with around 8,500 members which organises naked events around the UK. 'If you were going to strip off, you had to go to a designated beach. Now you can go anywhere.' Earlier this month, nude-fearing locals will have had to endure thousands of bathers taking part in The Great British Skinny Dip, organised by BN. For many, it will have been their first 'dare to bare' experience and more than 60 venues participated. Among them was Whitmore Lakes near Stoke-on-Trent where male and female wild swimmers dipped in a small private lake. That event was led by Whitmore Lakes' operations manager Lauren Pakeman, 31. 'People here are wild swimmers and understand the health benefits and they want to strip back and go to the next level, really feel the elements.' Harry Beardsley, the commercial director of PortaSauna, provides tent saunas to locations across the UK. 'Clothing optional events are definitely more spoken about in public now,' he says. 'People seem to be becoming more accepting of nudity. Many of them are familiar with sauna cultures in other countries where it's weird to be in swimwear. But our society is not really built for it,' he cautions. 'Public naked events need to be handled very sensitively so that both participants and the general public are protected. It will take time and practice. Where's the line? We have to prepare for the worst as we are so behind the times.' Fast forward a week, and Beardsley's cautionary words were in my ears. In the name of research and in what, for me, was an epic act of bravery, I attended a naked swim organised in association with British Naturism at a leisure centre in East London. The group included five women and 23 men of mixed ages and a naturist couple in their 70s. The atmosphere was strange; naturists are not the new wave sauna folk I am used to meeting, and I couldn't orient myself. Was there a sexual undertone? Being so heavily outnumbered by men, I felt squeamish and suspicious. Some attendees said, when I asked them, that they were there that evening because they love swimming naked. Others were clearly enjoying the sociable atmosphere; nudity can break down barriers and almost everyone but me appeared comfortable. But my gut feeling proved a trusted ally when one young man turned to me and said: 'You're the journalist, right? I'm finding all these tits and vaginas overwhelming.' I later spotted him touching himself inappropriately and reported him to the organiser of the evening. I vowed never to return to a naturist event and left, my intuition muttering with a 'told-you-so' righteousness. The next day I received an email from the BN organiser: 'I was absolutely gutted when you told me about the incident which occurred,' it read. 'It was absolutely against the mood, intention and guidelines of our event [..] We don't need this kind of bad apple to lower the tone of our sessions. The night was fantastic, our busiest so far, and I'm pretty angry that his actions have cast a shadow over the event.' The culprit was banned and the code of conduct was made more visible on the event webpage, but what about me? An apology can't undo the impact the incident had on me. I am seasoned in both nudity and crude male commentary, but how would a younger, more sensitive female have felt after such an episode? There are reasons, tested over millennia, why, in almost all sweat bathing nations, men and women bathe separately. But, in this country, won't 'bad apples' always be drawn to public events where people are naked? I quiz Welch at British Naturism. His response is not robust: 'I'm sorry that you've experienced this in practice, but I think it [lewd behaviour] is more of a perceived barrier than a real one. The number of times people have to be told to behave or to leave a place is a lot fewer than you would imagine.' Suspicious of BN's approach to safeguarding, I call Barry Sykes, the artist in residence at the British Sauna Society, who has also had experience with BN events; we have often shared the sauna bench together. We discuss how there can be a naïve, clubby idealism among naturists, something Sykes says he also noticed when he was commissioned to develop an art project at the naturist community Oakwood Sun Club near Romford in Essex. 'As a white middle-aged man, I was in the majority there, so maybe less likely to feel vulnerable, but I often wonder whether the committed naturists have been doing it for so long, and it feels so unquestionably comfortable for them, that they can struggle to empathise with what it's like for newcomers,' he says. 'I always found going to Oakwood a welcoming, cathartic experience that took me outside of normal behaviour. Organised naturism has been a fringe aspect of British culture for nearly 100 years and I find its absurdity fascinating, but it still takes a great deal of thought and care to host people safely and ensure everyone feels relaxed but respectful.' Some of the new generation of sauna owners have similarly idealistic dreams of bringing authentic, naked sauna culture to our shores. But the results so far are mixed. Katie Bracher, 43, is a co-founder of the British Sauna Society and the director of Wild Spa Wowo in Sussex, a cluster of saunas and cold plunges set in woodlands. 'When I launched a weekly naked session, I had hoped to move British bathing culture forward. I'm not a naturist but when you get used to having a naked sauna, it's so much nicer, and I wanted people to experience that, in nature, at ease with their bodies.' It started well, she says, with a relaxed festival vibe, until some nearby campers complained about seeing naked people. Then the split between sexes shifted. 'It evolved from being the same number of men and women, to being mainly men at which point the women started covering themselves. In the end, it became too complex,' says Bracher. Charlie Duckworth, a co-founder of Community Sauna Bath which runs sites all over London, came to a similar realisation. 'I like being naked in the sauna and I started out wanting to create an authentic Finnish experience but after we had a couple incidents, I gave up trying to move the needle on it.' When did it come to this? Why are naked events in this country so fraught with jeopardy? Surely our Stone Age ancestors sweating in communal saunas in Orkney would have been naked? The Romans bathed in the nude too, and the first Victorian Turkish baths offered single sex sessions where most bathers were naked. Malcolm Shifrin, the author of Victorian Turkish Baths, says: 'There were differing views, but overall casual nudity in the Victorian Turkish bath was more or less the norm during the second part of the 19th century.' But beyond the bathhouse, modesty was also the norm. Clothing became tied to morality which blended with shame. Is our Victorian moral code still deeply engrained? Valentini thinks so: 'Brits never want to offend and I think the belief is that the body is private and shouldn't be displayed.' Towards the end of the 20th century, there was a creeping change, not from public bath operators but from bathers of other religions and couples swimming together in costumes. But the real death knell of naked bathing was the take-over of local authority-run Turkish and swimming baths by private enterprises. 'The brief of the local authority was to provide a community service, which private companies could not afford to do,' says Shifrin: 'If new bath operators had led the way by providing happier, healthier facilities, a majority would have followed them, ensuring that some provision was made for those who prefer costumes. Germany, it seems, has it absolutely spot-on.' So too the Scandinavians. In 1432, Venetian nobleman Pietro Querini, shipwrecked near the island of Røst in northern Norway, wrote, 'The inhabitants of these islands are very pure living people [..] their customs are so simple they do not bother to lock up their belongings […] In the same rooms where the men and their wives and daughters slept, we also slept, and in our presence, they undressed naked when going to bed. They used to take a badstue (sauna) every Thursday and they would undress at home and walk a bowshot (around 450 metres) naked to the badstue and bathe together men and women.' Should this sea-faring Venetian have washed up on, say, the Isle of Wight, his observations would have taken a different tone. Given that we need SAS-level training on how to behave together naked (Rule Number One: Look people in the eye, and only in the eye), is it simpler to separate men and women, as they do in Finland, Japan and other evolved bathing nations? I ask the Surrey women, who treasure their weekly naked sauna, if they would ever welcome men? No, they cry emphatically. 'We would not do this with men because you get tension where you feel self-conscious and all of that,' says one. Another adds: 'It's boring, and it just changes everything. If it went mixed, I wouldn't come any more.' Carry-On style spectacles such as the World Naked Bike Ride inevitably attract coverage. (Our ancestors would surely have donned a practical loincloth before jumping onto the saddle of a bike had such a thing existed.) British Naturism get-togethers such as Nudefest – a naked festival in Somerset, and events such as naked pottery classes, dining and pétanque – do little more than provide nudge-nudge entertainment for outsiders. And as I discovered, going to an unclothed event with naturists can be like diving into the deep end before you have learnt to swim. Perhaps this new wave of nudity chimes better with the naturists of the 1920s and 1930s, those doctors, psychoanalysts, avant-gardists and health lovers who advocated nakedness as a non-sexual route to a fit, sun-kissed, healthy body. Eager to ditch stuffy Victorian attitudes, they too looked to Europe for inspiration. Annebella Pollen, the author of Nudism in a Cold Climate and a professor of visual and material culture at the University of Brighton, points out some major evolutions: 'The 1930s naturists believed in a cult of beauty; it was not an inclusive movement. Today, in the age of social media, we make conscious efforts to celebrate bodily imperfections.' TikTok trends such as 'Naked Moms', in which young women talk about how seeing their mothers naked as they were growing up helps with body positivity, and a focus on how our relationship with our bodies negatively affects our mental health have shifted the narrative. 'There are new agreements and understandings especially among the young who are careful about how they're seen and who's looking,' says Pollen. 'The dominance of older men among nudists may be off-putting to younger women.' Can we change and mature? More education and boundaries are surely needed and it won't happen quickly. 'Promoting the benefits is only half the job,' says Sykes. 'People need to know what is expected of them. But we have so much anxiety about our bodies and it can be undone. Exposure changes attitudes.' Perhaps it's a gentle, gradual journey, a series of small reveals, before we can ever come to see that in the end, a body is just a body.
BBC News
15-07-2025
- Health
- BBC News
Headlines: 'Disgraceful' hosepipe bans and blocked police car
Here's our daily pick of stories from across local websites in the West of England, and interesting content from social media. Our pick of local website stories A mum-of-two who said her breasts "tried to kill [her]" after she was diagnosed with breast cancer just four weeks post-partum is calling for more research into treatment options, Bristol Live a man died in a Wiltshire river, an ambulance worker who attended the scene is calling for a ban on unsupervised wild swimming, according to Wiltshire Swindon Advertiser said a trade union in Swindon has called Thames Water's hosepipe ban "disgraceful" and criticised the company for wasting "billions" of litres of water. Our top three from yesterday What to watch on social media A police car on an emergency call was filmed being blocked by planters installed in the East Bristol Liveable City Hall has defended its decision to host controversial political commentator Katie "biggest walking Rugby Festival in the world" took place over the weekend.
Times
09-07-2025
- Times
Five of the best walks with a swim in Scotland
Y ou know that feeling. The slog, the sweat, the relentless uphill grind, all to get to that hidden spot. But then you see it: a river pool shimmering like a jewel or a slice of the sea sparkling at the foot of a cliff. The clothes come off, the inhibitions vanish and you plunge in. A shock, a gasp and then pure, unadulterated joy. Here, Daniel Start, the author of Wild Swimming, reveals his five favourite swim-walks. These gorgeous, clear pools are one of the highlights of beautiful Glen Rosa, leading up to Goatfell. They're reached via a pleasant 2.5-hour circular walk from behind the Arran Brewery (there's a car park opposite). Follow the path from here along the edge of the forest. Coming out onto moorland (this can be boggy), you'll find the pools are just above the footbridge. After a swim, turn left back at the footbridge to follow the path (later a more defined track) out of the glen. Details
The Independent
30-06-2025
- The Independent
Off the grid in Norway – and more connected than ever: How a trek across peaks and fjords made me feel alive
I'm standing at the edge of a fjord, gazing across glassy, gold-lit water under a sun that never set. It's just past midnight, and I'm bleary-eyed and exhilarated. Norway is full of moments like this: vast and bright, offering a kind of beauty that makes you feel both tiny and impossibly alive. I'm in Bruvik, a small village an hour outside Bergen on Norway 's west coast. Rugged mountains rise out of the glacial water, inviting me to take an icy plunge. Despite Bergen receiving 250 days of rain per year, it's a balmy 26C and not a cloud in sight. Perfect for a rookie outdoors enthusiast whose main brush with sleeping under canvas happens at a music festival perhaps once a year. I've been brought here by outdoor brand Helly Hansen, testing the brand's latest gear against the elements. Known for kitting out Olympians, national teams, and mountain guides, the brand is now putting its professional-grade kit to the test on someone like me – the living embodiment of 'all the gear and no idea'. We're met by the Norway Mountain Guides, naturally dressed head-to-toe in Helly Hansen. These modern-day vikings look like they've been climbing mountains since they took their first steps. Eager to connect – maybe even impress – I mention my fondness for wild swimming. 'Wild swimming?' one of them asks with a jolly chuckle. 'You mean ... swimming?' Apparently, braving the Hampstead Heath pond doesn't quite earn you stripes in a land where people think nothing of plunging into a glacial fjord before breakfast. The trip coincides with Helly Hansen's 'Open Mountain Month', an initiative designed to encourage people of all experience levels to explore the outdoors. The itinerary includes hiking, swimming, camping, and even a helicopter ride with Norway's RECCO search-and-rescue team. Slowly, the intimidation I feel begins to melt. The guides aren't here to judge, but to share what they love. We begin with a hike up Bruviknipa, a peak that sits just over 800 metres above sea level, with panoramic views of the fjords below. It's a modest distance – around 10km there and back – but steep enough to warrant several pauses, as I hope no one can hear my wheezing above the wind. At one point, we stop beside a stream trickling down the rocks. 'It's clean,' a guide says, crouching to drink. 'Just check no one's peeing at the top.' I really hope he's joking. Still, the water is ice cold and impossibly fresh. As we pick our way up, more of this stunning landscape reveals itself. The fjord stretches out below, hugged by jagged peaks, the sapphire water permeating the air so everything is dipped in an ethereal bluish hue. Wind whips across the rocks as I take in the view – a vast, jagged sprawl like a crumpled map that refuses to be smoothed out. I'm short of breath, and not just from the climb. The view is the kind of quiet drama that stuns even the noisiest of minds into silence. 'Snack anybody?' Music to my ears, until I see one of our guides hunched over a girthy and rather dubious looking sausage. 'Reinsdyrpølse!' he beams. Reindeer. I check my liberal carnivorous sensibilities at the door and tuck in. It's rich, smoky, and perfect after the hike. At this altitude, the sweat from the climb quickly turns chilly. I'm glad to pull on the Helly Hansen Loke Shell Jacket – a lightweight, waterproof shell that feels too light to be doing very much, until you quickly realise you've stopped shivering. It's windproof, breathable, and has a deceptively simple design for something so durable. But it's the RECCO reflector sewn into the hood that really sets this garment apart. A tiny, passive transponder that makes you searchable to rescue teams. No batteries, no activation, just quiet peace of mind. At £120, it's reassuring tech for anyone craving off-grid freedom without compromising on safety. While this isn't the cheapest on the market, it's rare to find something that balances weight, durability, and safety this well. Unfussy but effective, it quietly makes sure someone could find you, if you ever really needed them to. Helly Hansen's gear doesn't shout. It just works. This same RECCO technology is used by professional rescuers to locate missing people in avalanches and other outdoor emergencies. Before our hike, we were taken on a search and rescue demonstration by helicopter to see how it works in action. Watching how wide an area the signal can cover made me realise that being searchable doesn't ruin the feeling of escape. It simply adds a reassuring thread of connection back to the world, just in case. It's a contradiction that lies at the heart of the outdoors: a hunger to feel off-grid, disconnected from the endless noise of emails, deadlines, and The Group Chat, but not so disconnected that we can't be found if something goes wrong. This tiny piece of tech, tucked invisibly into the fabric of a jacket, threads that needle with quiet brilliance. The descent from Bruviknipa proves even tougher than the climb. My legs have the consistency of slightly underset flan, but sturdy soles (and perhaps a bit of pride) prop me up. The kit holds up, and even more amazingly, I do too. More than that, there's a clear feeling I'm exactly where I'm meant to be: outside, heart pounding in my ears, breathing fresh air, unbothered by phone signal, group chats, and the noise of everyday life. We make it back to camp damp, a little delirious, and glowing with the kind of satisfaction only a tough day outdoors can bring. The next morning, I strip down and step into the glacial lake. The cold hits like a breath-stealing punch that jolts me awake. Astonished that I'd ever considered Hampstead Heath remotely 'wild', I force myself to stay in longer than feels comfortable. High on a mountain in Norway, wind in my ears, reindeer sausage in hand, I felt more connected than I have in a long time – and in a way that truly matters.
