SINCE I ANNOUNCED my new book One Year One Mountain and explained that I wouldn’t be revealing the mountain’s location I’ve been asked a certain question several times: why not say where?
This is, of course, a perfectly reasonable question. You’re writing about a specific place. Why not say where that place is? To be honest, I did expect this. In fact, I anticipated I’d be asked this question a lot! I answer it extremely carefully in the book itself… but in an attempt to head the question off at the pass I also thought I’d post a brief answer here.
To put it simply: I’m keeping the location vague for reasons all true nature-lovers will (hopefully) understand: to avoid sending trampling crowds to specific untrampled places.
Basically, when my journey began it was focused on getting to know a specific place. However, as the best journey’s do, this one didn’t unfold as I’d imagined it would and instead led me off on a tangent, away from the beaten paths on the mountain I was getting to know and into locations trails don’t reach. These quieter corners weren’t where I’d originally planned to spend my time, but they were where the journey took me. Unexpectedly, they became the journey’s focal point.
To my delight, these hidden off-trail places delivered experiences and rewards that made the entire project worthwhile. Ultimately, what I found during my journey among them felt too valuable to keep to myself. This is especially true of the ‘biggest’ find that came right at the end, an insight I hadn’t seen coming: that there was ‘a missing piece’ to my relationship with nature, a piece I hadn’t known was missing. Even though my nature-relationship felt pretty deep and full after thirty-eight years of wandering it turned out I was still missing something obvious. I was astonished when I saw it. This missing piece is a fundamental aspect of being human. It’s something we possessed for millennia but have mostly lost in modern life. Even during most long journeys into nature and most thru-hikes this aspect is usually overlooked. It was overlooked by me and, curiously, I haven’t seen it mentioned in other nature and hiking memoirs. I can’t recall seeing it discussed anywhere. And yet it should be!
It’s to share it, as well as to share the journey and the experiences that led to it, that I’ve written the book.
Originally, when I began my journey, I planned to reveal the mountain’s name and location. It didn’t cross my mind that I wouldn’t. But that was before I wandered into the fragile hidden corners. Eventually I came to understand that it would be profoundly harmful to give these places away. The evolution of this understanding is part of the story. The reasons, however, are straightforward enough and it’s not a story-spoiler to share them.
We live in an age where even a single photograph can ruin a place. It happens often: someone stumbles upon a special place, shares it, the location goes viral, then thousands visit and trample it to death. We’ve all seen it happen – undiscovered places suddenly discovered then trampled beyond recognition. Mainstream media sources often publicize fragile locations without a thought for the harm being done, without any attempt to educate people on how to visit gently. Even niche outdoor media sources that ought to know better do it. Eye-catching clickbait stories like: ‘Top Ten Paces to Find Solitude’ and ‘Ten Hidden Gems You Need to Visit’ appear all too often.
I’ve written One Year One Mountain partly to counter that, to not only describe the experience of getting to know one place intimately and the benefits of doing this, but also to focus on the intrinsic value of untrammeled natural places and the importance of visiting them softly and sharing them carefully.
I’ve also written the book because the approach to nature that underpins it – the journey to get to know one place well – feels too universally beneficial to keep to myself. The journey I took is the kind of journey millions could take. There was nothing ‘epic’ about it. It wasn’t a multi-month thru-hike that one has to give up one’s life to go on. It wasn’t a grueling suffer-fest of athletic endurance. It didn’t require any special skills or knowledge. Instead, it was merely a series of ‘ordinary’ visits to one natural place. The only extraordinary part was that there were so many visits. The only extraordinary part was the cumulative effect these visits had: the rewards that going back again and again led to.
The key detail is that these rewards aren’t location specific. They, and versions of them, can be found no matter where a natural place is. Any mountain, forest, hill, moorland, valley, seashore, heathland, or natural pocket of any kind offers them. I am absolutely certain of this! I’ve seen hints of this truth in many different places, even on the edge of big cities, especially now I know what to look for. I’ve written One Year One Mountain to describe the insights and experiences that millions of people could find… IF they were to get to know one natural place well, if they were to go back repeatedly and spend a year (or more) ‘traveling in one spot’.
It’s my hope that One Year One Mountain will inspire readers to try a similar journey themselves, and hopefully through it experience the many rewards that a regular nature habit and a strong connection with place can bring. Above all, it’s my hope that after reading the book more people will understand the true value of our sacred wild places and will think carefully about how they visit and how they share them.
I could, of course, have not written a book at all. Believe me, I wrestled with the ‘should-I-shouldn’t-I?’ dilemma long and hard! For most of the year that followed my journey I didn’t think I would be writing a book. I gave up on the idea because I didn’t want to be responsible for sending crowds to specific places. But eventually I saw that keeping what I’d found to myself was selfish. Sharing the general idea of ‘traveling in one spot’ but not the specific location seemed like a good compromise.
(For more on why I write about nature despite the risks of causing harm see this overlapping post here: The Importance of Responsible Nature Writing.)
Ultimately, I’ve written One Year One Mountain because I believe that the more people there are getting out into nature, and the deeper people’s nature connection becomes, the better off we all are. I want to encourage people to go… just not all to one place. I want to encourage people to go… but to go gently.
This blog post is, of course, only a brief answer to the opening question. But I hope it’s as reasonable as the question! If it isn’t full enough, and if anyone wants to take the discussion further, please do reach out to me through my contact page, or on social media. When published, the book will also provide a far more detailed and nuanced answer.
Until then, thank you for reading!
