And He Called Me "Brave"!

The month of August. During the 35 years as self-employed, I always referred this time of the year as the "Silly Season". When all schools and colleges are closed for the Summer break. And the month when a proportion of my clients vacate their homes for a couple of weeks and head for the airport, which leaves a resulting dent in my weekly income. It's quite a contrast to when I was a boy. Back then, August was the month I daily watched the other boys from neighbouring homes in our street play cricket, quite seriously too, on one of the lawns fronting a typical avenue terraced house. That was back in the mid-sixties, when the only one monochrome TV sat as if forgotten in the average living room, turned off of course, because otherwise it had nothing to show other than the Test Card backed by constant music-while-you-work sound output. These days, if not sliding down a flume at a Spanish water theme park or chatting to Mickey Mouse at Disney World in Florida, our present young people remain shut away from the outside world, transfixed to their play stations and other high-tech wizardry which leaves the outside lawn and local park strangely deserted, except for an occasional dog walker or a family out on a picnic.

This change of culture over the decades is no doubt due to parent's anxiety over their children's safety. I recall the times when I went out to a playground more than half a mile from home, or a stroll into the woods with some friends, or venturing out for some adventure, none of which raised an eyebrow among my parents, and unsupervised play was the norm. And so were the shopping errands Mum sent me out so to learn independence, long before seeing the inside of a secondary school classroom. Does the thought of a paedophile lurking at every corner, waiting for a lone child to pass by, bring such unsubstantiated anxiety to parents of the present day? Also back in my school days, being driven to the gates by car was not only unheard of, but no boy would ever dream of such an option! When I was old enough, I first had to walk alone to school while watching other boys cycle. After enough pestering for a bicycle of my own, Christmas 1966 saw the first mount I could call my own - a second-hand single speed "crate" - as the other boys called it - with a broken part but still deemed ridable.

Ah, children! When boys were really boys and girls were grateful. How did we ever manage without technology? Those were the days when a bat and ball were sufficient playthings. And there was the local open-air swimming pool fronted with a large area of lawn bringing in families and youths alike. Especially during the week when both my parents were at work and my younger brother was looked after by a kindly neighbour whose house was directly across the road. Off I would saunter to the pool to spend the whole day there. Given any warm weekend the pool would be busy, mainly with younger people while their parents would literally crowd the lawn with their picnic baskets whilst sunbathing. And sure enough, to get to the pool from home involved a two mile walk, on my own. I have to conclude that the world was a safer place during those days when the nation was more Christian-oriented then at present, allowing boys of my generation a greater sense of independence - which would have an enormous influence in the years to come.

And influence they had. I recall the days soon after returning from my second backpacking trip across the USA in 1978 (the first trip across the Atlantic was a year earlier in 1977.) I had returned to work at a State-owned engineering company, when a colleague approached me with an announcement that I was seen walking along one of the streets of New Orleans. After telling me that he flew to America with some friends and travelled together, he then asked me if I was alone. I answered that I was by myself, who held a Greyhound Bus Ameripass ticket, which gave me unlimited travel from New York to Los Angeles, to Florida with New Orleans being one of my stops, before arriving back to Manhattan to spend the last day on the roof of one of the World Trade Center towers before heading to the airport.

His response was, By heck, you are brave!

I was very surprised to hear such a compliment, and I felt rather chuffed. But the main reason of the 1978 trip was because there was one location I missed out on the first trip, due to a lack of long-haul travel experience, and that was the Grand Canyon. I recall the Greyhound bus I boarded at Albuquerque New Mexico, for an overnight ride to Flagstaff Arizona. Overnight? Not quite. The bus dropped me off at was I thought was five in the morning Mountain Time. I groaned when I discovered that I had just crossed into the Pacific Time Zone, which meant that I had a three-hour wait at the bus station instead of the expected two-hour wait. And rather to my surprise, there was no-one else around. It was when the departure time approached that a small crowd began to form.

In those days there was a Greyhound Bus link between Flagstaff and Grand Canyon Village. It was this I was waiting for. At the South Rim, I was taken back by the glorious sight of the Grand Canyon. My initial plan was to spend the day at the South Rim, then return to Flagstaff to board a bus for the onward leg of the journey to Los Angeles. But as I found myself standing close to Bright Angel Lodge, I noticed a trailhead not far off, with hikers entering and leaving. That's when I made an enquiry about the trail at Bright Angel Lodge. The assistant announced that there has been a cancellation, and asked if I would like to take a spare bed at Phantom Ranch, at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I snapped up the offer and paid for the admission ticket. Suddenly, the plan for the day has dramatically changed. Such is the wonder of independent backpacking.

How could I ever forget that afternoon during August 1978? As I started the hike, the trail was crowded with casual walkers, some consisting of families with children. But as I progressed further down the crowd thinned down. By the time I reached the three-mile rest station, I was entirely alone, while thunder began to roll across the overcast skies above. I found the whole experience rather overwhelming, even coming across a sign warning of flash-flooding that follows heavy rain. I read the sign as I crossed Tonto Plateau, a flat ledge halfway down the Canyon, and separating the edge of the Inner Gorge from the cliff wall of the South Rim. After passing through the pleasant oasis of Indian Gardens, the trail took a dive into the Inner Gorge over a series of stiff switchbacks known as The Devil's Corkscrew. By this time the near straight outline of the North Rim seen from the vantage of the South Rim had greatly distorted, while isolated pinnacles or buttes dominated the North Rim vista, giving a view of a mountain range. These buttes have names: to the left Cheops Pyramid was prominent, with Isis Temple just behind it. Directly in front loomed Buddha's Temple, and still out of sight from this point, Brahma Temple butte and Zoroaster Temple pinnacle are prominent from the riverside. 

I have learnt later that the main reason why there are four "Bright Angels" is to counter the sites named after the Adversary. The "four Angels" are Bright Angel Lodge, ~Trail, ~Canyon, on the other side of the Colorado River, and ~Creek which flows through it to join the main River. The thunder continue to roll as the massive cliff walls of the Inner Gorge began to loom above me. Accompanying the thunder was the continuing, endless screech produced by the numberless crickets and other insects living in the bushes which lined the trail, but fortunately there was no rain to activate the flash floods that would have swept me to who knows where. Alone in such an environment I could not help feel a little frightened. But at the same time I was determined to proceed and finish the hike.

The high cliffs opened out to the River which runs through the Canyon. The sound of rushing waters was exhilarating, and the trail I was on became the River Trail. For the first time I saw the pinnacle of Zoroaster Temple dominating the river, rather like an eternal watchman guarding the flow of the waters.

Eventually I crossed the River on Silver Bridge, one of only two bridges which crosses the river at the bottom of the Canyon. A little further on, my hike ended at the Ranch, a series of huts, each containing several beds, each hut for separate genders, and nestling peacefully among a copse of Cottonwood trees. The gentle sound of waters of Bright Angel Creek can be heard nearby as it flowed to the main river, and a short walk took me to a little footbridge which spanned the stream. I claimed my bed along with a German hiker and two Americans. There were a couple of beds which remained unoccupied. The German hiker wasn't alone. His girlfriend was in the female hut nearby, as the two Americans also hiked as a pair.

The next morning, at four o'clock, the German woke me up, and after breakfast at a nearby restaurant, I began to make my way back up to the village, under clear skies and strengthening sunshine. It took me nine hours to climb back out, which I did successfully. This was twice as long than the four and a half hours it took me to descend the day before. But after arriving home, I discovered a major disappointment. The cheap camera I was using had failed at the bottom of the Canyon. This meant I was not able to string together the many photos I had attempted to take whilst hiking. This led me to strongly desire to hike the Grand Canyon again, using a far better camera. This wish wasn't fulfilled until seventeen years later when another attempt to create a full photo album in 1995 proved successful.

Here are some photos I took of the 1995 hike, completed on the same trail. They show the basic route from the rim to the Ranch:

Near the start of hike

Battleship Rock

Indian Gardens, with Cheops Pyramid on the left. 

Entering into the Devil's Corkscrew, Inner Gorge.

Near the bottom of Grand Canyon

Approaching Colorado River

Zoroaster Temple pinnacle dominates the River

Silver Bridge

Near Phantom Ranch

Phantom Ranch

Together with trips to Israel, and especially Jerusalem, the Grand Canyon is to me the greatest natural wonder I have ever come across, along with the Niagara Falls in 1977, together with the active crater of Mount Etna which I visited in 1982. Three natural wonders overseas visited in my lifetime, at least so far. But it is, and will always be, Jerusalem which will have a special place in my heart. For I thank the Lord for his dynamic Creation, the sheer beauty of his works (and the United Kingdom has its own natural beauty, including the Lake District National Park, the Jurassic Coast of Dorset and Devon, and the rugged sandstone cliffs and twin stacks of Duncansby Head, Northern Scotland, with both stacks having a remarkable resemblance to the sandstone buttes within the Grand Canyon).

But is is the city of Jerusalem where God himself has chosen to put his name there forever. What an act of grace that is. For God himself will dwell among men in sweet fellowship and strong love. And all that because God sent his Son to die on a cross to atone for all believers, was buried, and rose from the the tomb three days later.

The glorified Son, to which all Creation must bow.

An "If" on Facebook.

As one who is committed to blogging on a weekly basis (or any other basis), there are times when, as the weekend approaches, I find myself pacing around the room asking myself, What shall I write about this week? - as I try to look for inspiration. Then, at the last moment something comes up, even at the most inappropriate places, which cause me to think, Ah! Consider this graphic which appeared on my Facebook wall, posted by a good friend of mine:

I guess the one giving directions is an American Police Officer or a Sheriff (there is nobody in the driver's seat otherwise) who gives the impression that he would be far more committed in following either the New York Giants, the Dallas Cowboys, or the Chicago Bears, rather than in religion or spiritual matters. And what he answers to the inquiring driver looks at first to be a catchy phrase. After all, it was none other than the Lord Jesus himself who brought up the parable of the two roads: to put into American terms, the Boulevard and the Trail (Matthew 7:13-14).

The illustration speaks even more than its initial implication. Anyone can drive a car along a boulevard, but driving a car along a trail would be nigh impossible, if I understand the American meaning of the word. It has always come to me as meaning a hiking trail, or footpath - as we call it here in the UK. And probably the best hiking trail I have ever navigated was the Bright Angel Trail leading from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon to the Colorado River. 

Bright Angel Trail at Plateau Point, Grand Canyon 1995.

And that what makes hiking on a desert trail such an exhilarating experience - no cars. Just the sound of wildlife and of my own footsteps breaking the otherwise utterly still silence. Nearer to the river, the continual, non-stop screech of millions of crickets and other bugs brings the environment to life, along with the backing sound of the river as it flows over the rapids. The sounds that either cannot be heard in a car, or it is restricted by traffic noise.

If trail hiking could be seen as exuberant as Heaven itself, then that is quite a point. Of course motoring has its advantages. It gets you over a long distance from A to B with very little effort, and you can travel in all weathers with minimum discomfort. Sure enough, hiking under the hot sun without an adequate water supply, along with a shortage of electrolytes and food can lead to heatstroke, even hyponatremia (if not adequately supplied with electrolytes) or hunger. There is a record of death among hikers in the Grand Canyon who proceeded with their journey without proper provisions. And I myself watched as I was overtaken by a ranger leading a distressed hiker on a mule back to the park village. But having said all that, hiking is without doubt a very rewarding experience, taking in the sights which would never be seen from a car window. Then there's the hassle of driving itself  - the morning commute to work in the pouring rain, stuck behind a slow-moving truck, caught in a long stationary traffic line, another driver cutting in, horn blasts, lights forever on red, gasoline costs, oil and maintenance, breaking down at the middle of nowhere, tax and insurance, feelings of frustration, foul temper, collisions - often fatal. Such are the joys of motoring!  

But the point the sheriff was getting across, I believe, was about leaving the car behind at the trailhead. If I have a proper understanding of American terminology, you cannot drive a car on a trail or footpath. Such being the case, it is implied in the graphic that the car is left behind at the trailhead, and the believer continues his journey on foot. I see some good Biblical parallels here. The car represents the easy life of self-centredness, the cause of sin, and in full control of one's life. The highway is broad, smooth and fast, leading to the possibility of a fatal collision. At the turning, one sees the Cross and believes, leaving the symbol of his former life behind, and following a trail, littered with boulders perhaps, but already appreciating the beautiful flowers blooming on the edge, together with fantastic views, both of which he had never noticed before. Sure, the Christian life is not all plain sailing, as the boulders represent, but with God's help, they can be overcome.

A good illustration, or maybe a lousy one - it's up to the reader to decide. But one thing I did see which caused my face to drop in disappointment, and that was after the Gospel was delivered, the sheriff rambled on: I guarantee that if you stay on it, it will take you to the gates of Heaven. The reason why my face dropped was because this implied that the grace of God is not enough for salvation, human effort is needed to supplement God's free gift, and to add to this, the Cross did not impute the righteousness of Christ into the sinner's account, as the Bible teaches (Romans chapters 3, 4, and 8). Instead, all it did was to wash away all his past sins, making the believer wary of not straying off the set trail. This reminds me of a painting based on the parable of the two roads, one leading to death and the other to life. And the painting depicts a third path branching off from the way to life, and leading to death as well.

The trail passes through rocky crags, Grand Canyon 1995

John Bunyan, in his 17th Century book Pilgrim's Progress, depicts this turning off the road to life, onto a path that looks more easier to walk on and looking less unpleasant, but afterwards finding himself in a difficult or threatening situation. Arminian scholars has used Bunyan's work as endorsement to their insistence that a believer can lose his salvation if he strays away from the faith. The illustration above also says it well. However, after some discipline the author had to go through to learn his lesson, he finds himself back on the road to life, and not ending in death. But more relevant to this, the Lord only used two routes in his parable, not three or more. The third path was added long after Jesus was crucified and risen, and long after the churches had become established in Europe and elsewhere. The idea of a third path was added by man, and it has never been part of the Bible itself. Yet it seems to be accepted by many Christians to this day.

If my experience has anything to go by, I have seen many Christians who believe that salvation can be lost living their lives more seriously and less joyfully than those who believe in eternal security. There were times when I had questioned whether they were the most pleasant people to have around, and to my dismay, often (but not always) they were not. In the past I have found the atmosphere heavy by their presence, which bid me to leave, and not return. Back in 1994, one fellow looked at me with a fierce expression when I said I believe in Eternal Security, and made no effort to hold back in rebuking me for such blatant "heresy." He was often seen praying aloud as he paced back and forth in the living room in front of his young daughter, for whom I felt much pity. Furthermore, also back in the 90's, I felt helpless when a friend of mine was verbally bullied by the entire home group for believing in Once Saved Always Saved. Even the leader's wife rose from her chair with anger. Not long after this, the group dissolved. More recently, I know of at least one person with the same beliefs who actively dislikes me, and even foretold my eternal fate with the Lord's words:

Not everyone who says to me, "Lord, Lord," will enter the Kingdom of heaven...Many will say to me that day, "Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons, and in your name perform many miracles?" Then I will tell them plainly, "I never knew you. Away from me you evildoers!"

(Matthew 7:21-23.) 

The very fact that this fellow used the Lord's words to actually wish me to Hell for all eternity says a lot on his own perception of God. I have learned that it is not difficult to see how a fellow believer perceives God's character. Just watch how he relates to others who may not agree with him, especially in matters pertaining to salvation. However, try to picture yourself in that crowd to whom the Lord was addressing. You just heard him saying that not everyone who calls him "Lord, Lord" will enter the Kingdom of Heaven. He then adds that they will be many who performed amazing works who will also not be let in. How would you suddenly feel? How would you respond to such declarations? Would you instinctively ask him, What must I do to do the works of God? (John 6:28.)

Looks familiar, doesn't it? And this took place roughly in the same region as the words depicted by Matthew. This is the work of God, that you believe on him whom he has sent - v.29. Although the New testament does not say this, such two discourses could fit into each other as one conversation. The Lord's initial declaration and the natural human response go together. And the Lord answered that it is the work of God. If it is God who does the work, then he won't be making mistakes. Yes, I could stray from the road of life, but because of his love, he would bring me back on track. Just as was the case with John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. Or the trail inside the Grand Canyon. At Plateau Point, the trail begins to cross a level area known as Tonto Plateau. If I strayed from the trail at this area, I would be able to walk on the level ground for a while, but to ascend back to the rim, I must return to the trail. There is no other way up unless I endanger myself.

Bright Angel Trail (centre) seen from South Rim, 1995

Hiking is to me at least, a good illustration of the Christian life, a walk with God. Although I chose the Grand Canyon, having hiked it myself, there are many, many natural wonders around the world which are magnificent hiking areas. Each is unique, having its own beauty. But one of the basic truths with trails is that cars, or any other motorised vehicles, don't use them, as in most cases they cannot. I guess the same applies to justification by faith. With this, the righteousness of Jesus Christ is imputed into the believer. Since Jesus had never sinned, this makes His righteousness eternal, making us fit for Heaven, where sin cannot go. As the Sheriff should have answered,

Leave your car here, and start hiking the trail with the Cross of Christ at its head. Heaven is guaranteed! 

Travels - Looking Back...

Feeling a little down with post-Christmas blues? I guess you know what I'm talking about: weeks in preparation - buying of presents, Christmas tree, baubles and other decorations and coloured lights, both inside and outside the home. The time and effort spent putting all these up, along with writing and dispatching of cards, and with always the case with cards, you receive one from the only person you totally forgot to include on your list. And it's already Christmas Eve.

Then whoosh! It's all over. The tree, decorations, cards and lights are still all up but all looking somewhat tired. The bins outside are crammed with torn Christmas wrapping paper, together with the ribs of the turkey, along with a few boiled sprouts the children didn't eat. While the kids happily play with their presents before boredom with them begins to set in, you ponder whether the present given to your loved one was really appreciated, or you received as a gift a piece of clothing which was either a horrible colour, does not fit properly, or just plain ghastly - or all of these.

Buying presents for my nieces when they were children was a nightmare, believe me. How does a grown up, unmarried male know what's in the mind of a female child? And not having much cash to boot either? These days I resort to gift vouchers, a tremendous idea thought up by the popular superstore chains, for those of the likes of myself who haven't a single clue what to buy for my grown up female relatives. With vouchers, even though they lack the Christmas glitter, they will always guarantee genuine appreciation!

Christmas comes round every year, and its very much the same, year in, year out. Although I love my nieces to bits, if my brother had a son as well, I would have thought Christmas would have been more to my appeal. Think of the electric train sets I would have bought, and on the day help my nephew lay the tracks, erect the station, position the tiny people on the platform, and making sure there is more than one hand control, and more than one engine, both of us would have raced our trains round and round the circuit. And each year the addition of tracks bought would have slowly turned the simple circuit into a complex layout which would have suited a hobbyist's dream. Lets face it, the only difference between a boy and a man is that a man's toys are more expensive.

Indeed, playing with your nephew's (or your son's) electric train set while Grandfather sitting next to the blazing coal fire smoking a Havana cigar would have made such a dream Christmas so memorable. These would have been special days in the year which would have stood out from the humdrum of a daily routine of working to keep the weekly or monthly budget afloat.

While Christmas can be either a dream fulfilled, or a horrible nightmare with unwanted presents and flaming rows in the household or among visiting relatives, the special day comes round annually at a regular pace. At the time of writing, (on December 28th) I can say,
Oh well, just three hundred an sixty-two days to go, and it will be Christmas once again, yippee!
 - there are days in my life which stand glorious among the humdrum of day-to-day living. The main difference to these days and Christmas day is that these special days can occur only once in a lifetime, and if they indeed fulfilled a dream, those days will hold memories to the extent that no Christmas day can match. I'm talking about my travels, particularly when I was single.

Some of my readers had shown interest in my travel experience, along with my niece. So I thought, while relaxing during the Christmas break, not going anywhere today as the weather outside looks particularly gloomy, I thought a take the opportunity to share one or two experiences here. And this may also be a good time to write, as this is the time of the year when post-Christmas holiday booking frenzy meets its peak. The British public have now turned to the coming summer break, a panacea for the depth of the gloom of post-Christmas blues.

Perhaps unlike Christmas, no two travel experiences are the same, even if the same location is visited more than once. One striking example of this is the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. My first visit to this incredible location was in 1978. To get there, I alighted the Greyhound Bus terminal at Flagstaff, as I recall, the only one to do so too, at what I thought was five in the morning. When I checked the time, it was actually four o'clock, as I had already entered into Pacific Time zone, from Mountain Time. I groaned within at the three hour wait at the terminal before a connecting Greyhound bus whisked me to the South Rim, after leaving much of my belongings at a left-luggage locker at the bus terminal.

By contrast, when I visited the Grand Canyon again in 1995, again I arrived at the terminal at four in the morning. But this time the connecting Greyhound bus was replaced by a private taxi service which left at seven o'clock. When the driver finally arrived, I paid him his fee, which by then a group of backpackers, like myself, had assembled in the departure lounge. When the driver made his count, he approached me and asked,

Do you mind if you wait here, and I take the rest to the Canyon, then I return to collect you?

Yes I DO mind! I answered firmly without being rude. I have paid you my fee, you are obliged to take me with the others.

But you will have to sit on the floor, the driver objected.

Okay, I'll sit on the floor. But you are taking me. Now.

Evening view of the Canyon from South Rim, 1995

As in 1978, I arrived at the South Rim in good time to start the hike. But in 1978 I come to learn an important lesson. That is, to never go on a trip of this extent with a cheap camera, or lacking photographic experience. Many of the Canyon photos from that year failed, when I had the film processed after returning home. I was bitterly disappointed.

In 1978 I did not expect to hike the trail down to the bottom of the Canyon, but an opportunity arose when I asked at Bright Angel Lodge about accommodation. Due to a cancellation, a bed became available at Phantom Ranch, right at the bottom, not far from the Colorado River. Without hesitation I bought the ticket. But my mistake back then was that I lingered for too long at the rim, and I did not begin the hike on Bright Angel Trail until late afternoon.

But once started, as the switchbacks making up Jacob's Ladder took me deep below the rim, the clouds gathered above and a thunder growled. August was the most likely time of the year for summer storms across Arizona. It rained a little, but not enough for a drenching. At Indian Gardens, I passed a sign warning of storm floods. Just the sort of encouragement I needed.

Indian Gardens, halfway down into the Canyon, 1995.

After crossing Tonto Plateau, where Indian Gardens are located, the trail descended into the aptly-named Devil's Corkscrew. Here, the trail plunged along switchbacks into the ravine, resulting in gigantic cliffs towering over me, as I head towards the river. As the thunder rolled, this gave me an eerie experience, totally alone in this vast Inner Gorge of the Canyon, but I kept on, as it was also getting dark. As I approached the river, in the midst of the constant buzz of millions of insects, I saw a fellow human enter a hut, and by then feeling ever so lonely, I called out to him.

He invited me into a hut, where a couple more were having a bite to eat. After accepting his offer of a snack, they virtually begged me to spend the night with them in the shed. But I insisted in finishing the hike and I left them with a friendly farewell before setting off, as the river came to view for the first time.

The river came to view for the first time, 1995.

I walked for a while along the river until I came to Silver bridge, one of only two bridges over the river in the entire Canyon. After arriving at Phantom Ranch, which was by then totally dark, I used the ticket to claim a bed for the night. I woke up at around four that morning to begin the return hike soon afterwards, as I was advised at the Bright Angel Lodge the day before.

In the 1995 hike, exactly the same route was taken, and I also had a better camera and greater experience. Also this time I had to carry my full rucksack on my shoulders, as the left-luggage lockers at the Flagstaff Greyhound bus station were all removed by then, most likely for security purposes. I also made double sure that my camera was fully up and running. In fact, that was why I hiked again in 1995. To take pictures of scenery where the first camera failed in 1978. Not was only the photography on the second hike more successful, but I stayed in the vicinity of the river for much later in the morning, giving me views of the scenery I missed out on the first hike in 1978. But added to this, where in 1978 I headed direct from the Ranch to the trail head back on South rim, in 1995, on my way back, I took a detour at Indian Gardens to Plateau Point, which gives fantastic views of the Colorado River, adding three more miles to the whole hike, making it about 23 miles long in total.

View of the Colorado River from Plateau Point, 1995.

I share on how two hiking experiences at the same location and on the same route can also be so different from each other, somewhat unlike Christmas, which each year we expect the same. But travel, especially as a lone backpacker, brings many diverse experiences, each different from each other, yet none are ever forgotten. One reader has already suggested writing a book on my travels, something I would undertake if only a fixed agreement with a publisher can be set up. But unfortunately, this is easier said than done.

These days, as one of a married couple, travel is far more restricted to the Mediterranean, but as a package tourist rather than a backpacker, I still get a thrill of the beautiful places visited, whether natural or historic. Fine architecture can inspire me just as much as a mountain stream, the crashing of the ocean waves on to the rocks or a delicate flower blossoming.

As Psalm 104:24 reads:
O Lord, how manifold are thy works! In wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.

Travel has enriched me spiritually. Yet the above testimony is only a fraction of my experiences overseas. I would advice anyone to travel, especially a Christian. No doubt, you will never regret it.

Especially if you bought your loved one an unwanted Christmas present.

Happy new year to you all.
 

Hiking - Stress-Free Travel

When I was a boy Mum used to send me to shopping errands on my own. I wasn't even ten years old then as I popped to the groceries only a couple hundred yards from home at the quiet residential area of Pimlico, SW London to buy a loaf of bread or a tin of peeled tomatoes. But again, for children to be outside unsupervised in those days was quite normal. Yet walking was something I grew up to enjoy, mainly that although slow, it meant that I can appreciate my surroundings without the stress of traffic, whether it's by car or bicycle or even from the bus or train when long distance transport is not on the agenda.

It was about that age too, that I walked from my home to Battersea Park, and even on one occasion, to the Natural History Museum in South Kensington. During my last year at primary school in the heart of residential Fulham, where the four chimneys of Fulham Power Station looked into the playground, I stayed behind with a few other children for Play Centre, then made my own way home by catching a bus at Kings Road to Victoria Station and walking home from there.
It gave me a wonderful sense of independence and I guess, responsibility. I guess this is where my love for travel had its origins. There is a world out there waiting to be explored.
Having grew up in Central London, I always felt at home in the city. And walking from one side of London to the other I found to be inspirational.

And it was years later, in 1998 that I hiked Broadway, in the heart of  Manhatten. Starting at Uptown, near Harlem, the Broadway runs north/south, intersects with West 42nd Street at Times Square. At 5th Avenue and West 23rd Street I was looking up the peculiar structure of Flatiron Building, the world's first official skyscraper and for a short while enjoyed being the tallest building in New York before the Metropolitan Life Building rose to eclipse it. Eventually the hike terminated at Battery Park, on the southern tip of Downtown, from where ferries to Staten Island, the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island departs. All this was done in a day, hence dayhiking as it's known in the States, or rambling over here.

But hiking was most challenging out in the sticks. The best venue I enjoyed hiking was at the Bright Angel Trail, Grand Canyon National Park. Hiking, as opposed to rambling, involves at least one night spent on route. At Grand Canyon, I spent the night at Phantom Ranch, at the bottom of the Canyon, close to where Bright Angel Creek joins the Colorado River.

1. Bright Angel Trail - about halfway down
2. Zoroaster Butt overlooking the Colorado River
3. Bright Angel Creek
4. South Rim Grand Canyon -evening.

Special preparations were needed for this hike. I needed to take plenty of water and some salted food such as nuts. Although the public was advised not to go down on their own, I did anyway. This was because of my experience in walking. In 1978 I completed the hike, taking about four hours to reach Phantom Ranch from the rim, and nine hours to climb back out, which I did on the following day. I repeated the hike 17 years later in 1995 for better photography and a three-mile extension to Plateau Point, where one has a terrific view of the Colorado River from above. This made the first hike 19.2 miles round trip, and the second hike 22.2 miles long, both involving a night spent at the bottom.
But hiking was not restricted overseas. Here in the UK there are three distinct trails I hiked ether on my own or with two close friends. Dan, Tim and I hiked the Hadrians Wall Trail from Carlisle to Newcastle in 1996. Believe it or not, of the three of us, one being an accountant and the other a financial advisor, I was the weakest hiker, despite completing the Grand Canyon hike just the previous year. But perhaps I was the most determined. On day three of the hike, the trail became a 22 mile long, straight and very tedious road leading into Newcastle. Tim opted out of the hike on the morning of the third day. Dan would have done so too. But I insisted on finishing in the heart of the city, so Dan and I finished by nightfall of the third day, while Tim made his way back to Carlisle, where all three of us were reunited at the station.

Hadrians Wall was unique for its history. At each mile along the wall the Romans built forts, or Chesters. These were mainly quadrangles where guards watched at the gates. But one really intrigued us. Called "Chesters" this fort was the most well preserved Roman ruin in the whole of the UK. Not only were hypercausts for baths located there but latrines in near full working order were also in the vicinity.

The two other trails I completed on my own were the Lake District National Park, involving a lot of hill walking from Kendal to Keswick, in about five days. Each night, was spent a a different hostel, including Ambleside, on the shores of Lake Windermere. The hostel was the largest in the UK outside London and the lake itself being the largest in England.
The West Coast Path was the other, where being nearer home, I hiked and rambled here, mainly between Bournemouth and Exeter, on several occasions. It is in my opinion one of the most dramatic and beautiful parts of the whole of the UK. My favourite is Purbeck, which includes the resort of Swanage.

1. Old Harry Rocks, Dorset Coast Path at Purbeck
2. Dorset Coast Path approaching the Pinnacles

All these hiking trails, except the last part of the Hadrians Wall hike, were on trails, or footpaths away from any motorised traffic. The scene was always peaceful and serene, no matter how challenging the hike was. Both the Grand Canyon and the Dorset Coast Path, part of the West Coast, offered stiff challenges on steep hills. Yet one can stop anytime, have a refreshment snack, admire the scenery, hear the sweet sound of nature, e.g. birds singing, insects buzzing, the sea crashing on rocks or the near silence as the path crosses a field, save perhaps the bleating of sheep, or as in the UK, from time to time the patter of raindrops or the howling of the wind. But even with adverse weather, nothing is nicer than arriving at the hostel or hotel to enjoy the comfort of the warmth within.