I am the Sea

We’ve all had our share of ups and downs. I can recall quite clearly the highest points of my life; getting married, the birth of my kids, buying my first house, getting that job I’ve waited ages for – those kind of big life-changing highs. I can recall, just as clearly, some of the lowest, some of them upsetting such as the funeral of a 29 year old friend and trying to find the words to speak to his 11 year old daughter, and some moments of gut wrenching depression – being made redundant with a baby only a few months away can do that to you. I’ve muddled through, I’ve kept my head up and done my best to help those around me keep theirs up. My wife has gone so far as to describe me as irritatingly optimistic!

Normally, there’s a big gap between those highs and lows. You post the pictures of the high points up on Facebook or Twitter – you might put a small rant up about the lows, you might just muddle through. There’s no possible way that I could fit the roller coaster of the last 36 hours, and particularly the last 4 or 5, into 140 characters so, for the first time ever, I’m blogging.

Yesterday, 8^th January started off fairly normally. I got up, I went to work, I spent the morning doing what I do at work. Other than a little bit of nerves beginning to build up, everything was normal. Emotional state neutral or – looking back, the calm before the storm.

At lunchtime, I left my “office” and headed off for an interview. Not for a new job as such, but a change of role within the job. I was nervous but quietly confident. It’s a long time since I’ve been through an interview but I was quietly confident that my skills and competence would come through and I’d be OK. I’m not sure exactly when but somewhere in the interview it hit me – this wasn’t going to plan. Worse still, I didn’t know why so I had no way of getting it back on track. Still, we got to the end of the interview and the chair of the panel told me I was out of time. He paused for breath and I think my heart did too. Then he went on to say, “However, you’ve interviewed completely differently to any other candidate so I’d like to ask you a few more questions if the panel don’t mind”

Questions answered I left the interview feeling a bit confused. OK it hadn’t gone to plan but I was fairly sure I’d got what I needed to across. I felt quite positive about the closing comments – after all, if interviewing “differently” was a bad thing, I wouldn’t have had the extra questions; it would have been more like, “You’re out of time, thank you, good afternoon.”

I went home with that positive bit buzzing round my head and got ready for the next challenge. Some of you reading this will know already and it will come as a surprise to others but I’ve been a Freemason for just over 10 years. Last night saw a high point of my Masonic career to date. I had the pleasure of officiating over a ceremony which recognised 40 years in Masonry for a very close friend and, at the same time welcomed into Masonry another. What a night, close friends, 40 years apart in their journey and I get to run the show.  Added to which, because of the significance of the night the top ranks of local Freemasonry were there in support too. My Lodge did me proud, we put on an excellent ceremony and everybody from the Provincial Grand Master to the newest initiate enjoyed it. I’d managed to get a lift organised so I had a few glasses with my meal and bathed in the satisfaction of a job well done and the acknowledgements of a job well done before going home happy and optimistic about the whole day.

Then today arrived. Again, nothing particularly unusual. A day off work, things to do. Feeling a bit rough getting over a cold so I enjoyed a lie in before heading off to get new tyres fitted on the car. Job done and home in time for the kids to get home from school ready to go off and let the eldest choose a new hamster, or that was the plan anyway.

Turns out, the youngest one is already home having been sent home from school feeling sick so I sit and cuddle with her until it’s time for the Mrs to go and get the eldest from school. As she’s going out of the door, my phone rings. I nearly don’t answer as it’s a withheld number – probably some recorded message reminding me I could be eligible to reclaim PPI – but decide to pick up the call. I recognise the voice straight away and my heart skips. It’s one of the guys from yesterdays interview panel. Pleasantries over, I hold my breath as we get to the reason for the call “I’m sorry, you weren’t successful on this occasion” I can’t really remember what I said then but I got to the end of the phone call safely with a well bitten tongue. I wanted to say so much but didn’t want to burn bridges doing it. Knuckles white from gripping the phone so hard, I dropped it onto the bed and started pacing. Every negative emotion was flooding in. I was upset, I was angry. I wanted to break something. I wanted to hurt somebody. All powerful emotions for someone who is normally “irritatingly optimistic.” Next, I wanted to get away from those emotions. They scare me. I’ve not always been so positive. An awful long time ago, as a teenager, I have given in to the negativity. I know where those emotions lead and I don’t want to go back to that place – ever.

But what to do, how do I get away? I can’t just walk out of the door, there’s a sick seven year old downstairs and the rest of the family due any minute. I sit down and fire off a rare negative blast on Facebook. I get up and pace some more. I decide I’m going out for a walk. Luckily, my head isn’t completely shot. Even though I have no plan and no idea where to walk I realise that it’s well after 3pm, nearly sunset and the weather is not the best. I change into suitable gear. Warm layers, softshell trousers with windproof and limited waterproof properties, and my new MRT spec hillwalking raincoat with a head torch and a fully charged phone. The Mrs comes home and there’s two bouncy kids all ready to go hamster shopping. She sees my face and knows something’s wrong. I tell her quite simply. “I didn’t get the job. I’m going for a walk. I’m not going to be very good company for a few hours” – the last thing I want to do is put a downer on the kids happy evening. The eldest has decided that this is what he wants to spend some of his Christmas money on and I want them to enjoy it.

I jump in the car and head off towards the coast. Two places inspire me most, mountains and coastlines. The mountains are over an hour away, the coast is 20 minutes. Or a bit less today. I really shouldn’t drive this angry. Still, it’s tested and bedded in the £300 of brand new rubber. I like these new tyres. They’re pretty good at speed on a greasy, muddy country road. Good choice! That’s better, I’m already starting to think a bit more positive. My phone pings a few times as I’m driving so, when I arrive at the carpark at Summerhouse Point, I take a few moments to check it. One message hits hard. It’s a colleagues reply to my angry rant from just after the phone call and says, simply “What’s up? Not like you to be so negative”

I convince myself that I’ve got reason to be negative so add a bit to my rant then lock the car up and start walking. Or possibly skating. Even with my decent outdoor shoes on the mud is awful. I slip and fall twice which does nothing to improve my mood. I get to the sea watch centre and climb up onto the balcony where I stand staring at the sea. It’s grey and rough and mesmerising. I watch it for some more then decide it’s time to move on. The wind is cold and I’m dressed for walking, not for standing around. I walk a few metres along the coast path and decide that I’m really not enjoying slithering in the mud so I turn around and head the other way which drops gently down towards the stony beach near Aberthaw powerstation. I arrive at the beach having slithered down the muddy path only avoiding falls by grabbing some usefully placed trees. Now I’m not only angry about the job, I want to meet the person responsible for this path and share my thoughts with them!

I stand a bit more looking at the mean, grey and white water. Don’t get me wrong. I’m  not what my employers call Emotionally Disturbed (EMD). I’m not intending to do anything daft, just to be somewhere on my own with my thoughts and some time to sort them out. Standing staring at the sea, I notice that the tide is a long way out. So I open up my Tide Times app and see what’s going on. It’s over 4 hours til high tide, it’s 2 and a half miles to Llantwit Major  – about an hours walk. A plan forms. I’ll walk along the beach to Llantwit then back along the cliff top or maybe walk up into Llantwit for some food and back to the car via the roads. Sounds good.

I’m walking along a corridor maybe 200m wide. The sea on one side and the cliffs on the other. I’m looking at the steadily rising surf in the grey water. The wind is getting up and the sea is looking really interesting. I just wish it was light enough to get a decent picture! Then I notice that there’s been some recent rock falls from the cliffs. Two or three separate piles of rock, each weighing several hundred tonnes lie at the foot of the cliffs.

I have a lightbulb moment. This might sound a bit cliché but it really is what happened right there on the beach at Stout Bay.

First of all, that Facebook message was absolutely right. It’s not like me to be this negative. Must sort this out.

Secondly, the big one. At this moment, here and now, I am the Sea! I’ve been driven into an angry fury by a power largely unseen and definitely outside my control. The damage I could do right now if I don’t calm down is frightening. But look at the cliffs, look at the damage there – mostly done by a calm sea. That’s me too. I don’t care who or what blocks my path. I will be calm. I’ll erode the obstacles, I’ll get where I need to go and it won’t matter what barriers are in the way. If I can’t get through them or break them down, I’ll find a way around.

It clicks into place and my mood lifts. Just that quickly.

I carry on with my walk now in a much better place. I’m already thinking about the next step. Who I need to speak to, where I need to be, what I need to do. I’m moving, I’m relentless. I’m irritatingly optimistic. Again.

I’m also thinking about my last low point and how I got out of it. That time, I went to see a Life Coach. Nadine helped me put together the mental toolbox that got me this far. I think about her advice. “Everything that’s happened in your life is what needs to happen to get you where you are” (I may be paraphrasing, it was quite a few years ago). I take stock of where I am and how I got here. I’ve got a great family, great friends and, believe it or not, a great job. I may have moments that jar my nerves, days when I would really rather be somewhere else but it’s generally a job I enjoy, a job I’m proud to do and one I worked very hard to get. So the next step’s been delayed. Does it matter? I’ve got at least another 20 years of it to go. I’ll find my path. I am the sea.

Everything’s going great now. My head’s clearing, I’m actually starting to enjoy the walk. Then I get to Stout Point. I’d forgotten about Stout Point. Bugger.

Stout Point sticks out into the sea about 1 mile east of Llantwit Major beach. It may still be more than three hours to high tide but the waves are already lapping at the foot of Stout Point. On top of that, the rocks around the point have whipped the sea up leaving a thick layer of foam so I can’t clearly see where the rocks end and the water begins. Bugger.

The foot of Stout Point rises from the sea in a series of steps. Maybe if I get higher up the steps I can drop down the other side. I get to the highest safe point and walk around. That’ll be a no then. Not only are the “steps” undercut on the other side meaning that I’d have to drop down about 15 metres into the surf, Stout Point is actually two points about 50m apart. I’d have to drop down off the first into the surf and swim around the second. Bugger that. People die doing that shit!

I turn around and start to walk back. Then a thought hits me. I’d not planned on walking back. Can I make it? I walk on for a bit thinking about the route. At what point do I accept that there is a problem. My pride says I should keep walking, speed up a bit maybe but keep walking. Then the weather changes. The wind turns so it’s blowing full onto the beach. It brings with it rain and driven, foamy, spray. The rocks become slippery and speeding up is not an option. A twist or sprain or worse, a break, right here, right now will be fatal. That’s the first time THAT word’s popped up. Oh shit!

Swallowing my pride, I reach for my phone. Great, full signal, 75% battery. I speak to Swansea Coastguard control. I’m calm, I’m clear, I’m detailed. I’ve made the decision to do this early. Do it now and it might be just a precaution. Wait ‘til it’s not and it could be to late.

I give Steve in Coastguard Control my name and my grid reference. I describe exactly what I’m wearing and what safety equipment I’m carrying. It’s not a lot but it is the essentials. I’ve got basic reflective gear, I’ve got light, I’m warm, dry (for now) and I’ve got GPS to keep them informed of my position as I move.

There’s a pause and Steve says, “You should be OK. Keep heading East. We’re sending a Coastguard vehicle to Summerhouse Point to make an assessment. They should be able to meet up with you and escort you off but, if not, we may have to consider the RAF. Keep your phone on. We’ll update you as we can”

I keep walking and decide I really ought to let someone else know what’s happening. But who. If I phone the Mrs, my parents or either of my sisters they’ll flap and panic. The whole family will end up making a huge panicky mountain out of a, slightly damp, molehill. I call my brother and give him the short version of the story. He understands. No need to call anyone else unless things start going really downhill. If they go completely tits up too quick for me to do anything else, at least somebody knows. I’m strangely calm.

Both professionally and as a Rescue Volunteer myself, I’m used to being on the other end of these kind of calls. I know what wheels are turning. I’ve got the utmost faith in the guys on the sharp end. I keep walking, it’s all just a precaution anyway. I’ll walk around Summerhouse Point and be on the path. No problem.

The phone rings. It’s Steve. “We’ve done the calculations. You can’t make it. Give me your latest position and stay there. The chopper is on the way. It’ll be about 30 minutes”

He checks again that I’m safe, warm and dry(ish – my weatherproof trousers are not meant to be full on waterproofs) and rings off.

Suddenly, I panic. Not about the situation but because I’ve dropped my hat. In answering the phone, I’ve let my hat drop. I like that hat, I bought it in Iceland. It’s also really good to have right now. It’s softshell fleece which means that it’s really warm, even when it’s soaking wet. Just as well really since I locate it 5 metres away, floating in a rock pool.

I spend the next few minutes pacing up and down the beach. Measuring the slowly decreasing gap between the surf and the cliff and trying to identify where the high water mark actually is. At 6pm, Steve phones again. “The chopper is ten minutes away from you. Have you got anything to mark your position?”

We discuss the settings on my torch and agree that the best setting is a combination of flashing red and white lights. I test it then switch it off again to save the batteries and Steve rings off again. The weather worsens, the rain is driving in sideways and I’m glad I found my Icelandic hat. I’d be freezing without it.

I walk around, looking for what  seems the safest place for the winch man to come in and get me and, having found somewhere, I stand still. Bang on 10 past 6, the helicopter appears and hovers over the beach. Unfortunately, it’s about a mile away from where I am. Apparently, the RAF thought I was still walking East.

At the same time, hand held search lights start sweeping the shore from the cliffs a ½ a mile to the West. Seems the local coastguard think I’m still at Stout Point.

I reach for my phone again. Three times I try but three times the call fails. Turns out, the safest place for the Winch man to land is also a mobile phone black spot in the radio shadow of the cliffs. I move a few metres and speak to Steve again, letting him know that I’m pretty much in between the two search parties with my flashing red and white lights. There’s a pause while Steve relay’s this to the pilot then I hear, faintly, the radio response, “We have a visual”

The chopper turns towards me and, a few minutes later is close by. The lights are one of the best sights I’ve seen in an awful long time. A hand held searchlight points out of the door, lighting up a flat area of rock a short distance away. It’s exactly the spot I’d picked earlier. The light flashes on the same spot and I get the message, making my way over to the spot. As I’m walking, I’m impressed by the flying. The pilot is holding the huge yellow Sea King in a hover, below the height of the cliffs which are now only 30m or so from where I’m standing at the water’s edge. The wind is now howling, the rain and spray mixing with the clouds making visibility awful.

The winch man drops down and loops the strop under my arms and we’re up. Moments later, we’re in the aircraft and I’m being buckled into a seat. A quick check to make sure that I’m basically OK and we start moving. We land in a field at the top of the cliffs. The winch man checks, again that I’m OK. I check our position with him and find that we’re pretty much on the coast path, about a mile from my car. I’m all set to walk on but the Coastguard have other plans. The RAF guys can’t just let me walk away so I sit in the helicopter waiting for the Coastguard team to collect me. As I’m sitting there, a random though strikes me. Last year, I did a parachute jump and took off in an aircraft I didn’t land in. Today, I’ve landed in an aircraft I didn’t take off in. All I’ve done is balance the books!

The coastguard arrive and I shake hands with the winch man before I jump out of the chopper and walk towards them. None of this ducking under the rotors lark. This thing is so big we could build a human pyramid under it!

I turn and wave at the pilot then watch the helicopter fly off into the cloud. In seconds, it’s out of sight and the wind blocks out the noise of the rotors. My phone rings. It’s the Mrs. My tea is ready. “I’m on the coast path between Llantwit and Summerhouse point, I’m just making my way back to the car, it’s about a mile away. You and the kids have your tea and I’ll be home in a bit”

All of which is true. Missing a large part of the story, perhaps, but nonetheless true!

The coastguard walk me back to their vehicle and the walk is horrendous. The wind has really got up and the rain is driving in, seemingly from all directions at once. I turn to where the helicopter was last seen and give another wave. What an amazing piece of flying.

Back at the vehicle, the Coastguard give me a lift back to my car. I can’t lie when they ask what I do for a living. There’s some good natured piss taking which I fully expected. I deserve it.

I’m back in the car and on the way home. The water has apparently got into my phone. It’s turned on the flash light and fired up Google Music which is playing, for some reason, Drink up thy Zider by the Wurzels. I reset the phone and put it in its holder which is conveniently right above one of the hot air vents. By the time I get to Cowbridge, it’s working again and I phone ahead to say I’m nearly home.

I’m in the house and, still soaking wet, giving my family the biggest hugs they’ve had in ages.

A quick change into dry clothes and a hot meal before I’m upstairs to the computer. I know I should be telling the family first but this is “stream of consciousness” stuff that just has to come out uninterrupted – it’s my excuse for some of the dodgy grammar and a change of tense half way through. I could edit it but I think this really needs to be a single draft.

As I’m typing this, the kids are getting ready for bed, with some extra big hugs along the way. Apparently, during the phone call from my Mrs, the eldest exclaimed “Yay, he’s alive” He has no idea what happened, just knew that I’d gone out in a pretty low state and he’d been worried.

So, what’s the upshot of all this?

The negatives – I didn’t get the job I wanted. I got a bit wet and cold. It would be pushing it too far to say I nearly died but I was certainly in a position where that was a very real possibility.

The positives. I’m alive! I have a fantastic family and supportive friends. I still have a job I enjoy and I’m in the right place, mentally and professionally to keep going for that next step in my chosen career path. The walk cleared my head and re-set my mental compass. I didn’t lose my favourite Icelandic hat and I’m still irritatingly optimistic. I am the Sea

Special thanks go to the author of the message that gave me the kick up the arse I needed (You know who you are), HM Coastguard: Both the professionals in Swansea control and the Cliff Rescue Volunteers at Llantwit Major, the pilot and crew of Rescue 169 and all the support staff of 22 Squadron, RAF Chivenor who were able to get that helicopter where it needed to be, when it needed to be there. As much as the politicians go on about Bristow’s ability to run the new privatised SAR helicopter service, having been on the sharp end of it, I don’t believe that anyone can do it better than the RAF.

#Iamthesea