Fear is the bag filler

I must not fear. Fear is the bag-filler. Fear is the extra-weight that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see my path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Apologies to Frank Herbert fans, but who can resist.

It has oh-so-slowly dawned on me, packweight is a function of fear.  A stroll to the shops means I have enough money in my pocket to buy what I intend.  The further I move from this comfort-zone, the more comfort I seem to need strapped to my back.

We all know this is self-defeating.  The comfort I need if the weather does fall to –20C for some reason on the South Downs in July is crushing the fun out of my hike.

It’s clearly an example of absurdity but looking back at some of the things taken in my ruck over the years its not out of the realms of possibility.

And modern Britain is a Britain of fear, everything and everyone is out to get you.  Hanging baskets of flowers which once greatly enhanced the look of your high street are in fact earthy death dangling by very thin threads over your grossly under protected head.

The countryside is so dangerous Health and Safety dare not even venture. OS maps should re-introduce “here be dragons”.

As an example, running stream water.  We all know it’s got nasty stuff in it.  Modern pollutants run rife in it, bacteria and viruses would probably leap out at you if they could and do ruinous things to your interior.  Every time you look at it, you can imagine that bloated, fly-blown animal carcass seeping hideous fluids into this bright sparkling water.

The open sewers of 18th century London would be fitter places to drink from.

With all this in mind, I am prepared.  First off my pack has plenty of water in it in the first place, 3 litres of the stuff, woefully inadequate of course.  Apparently we are all terribly dehydrated, even in our own homes we don’t drink enough water (oh these fears are endless).

So avoiding dying of thirst on my weekend hike will require more skill.

There are limits to how much water I can carry, especially given all the other fear-induced crud filling my pack to bursting.

Right, water filter, that’s the answer to it.  In the pack it goes.

But this thing only kills 99.9% of all known beasties.

The 0.1% must be the superbugs which will kill you stone dead within four paces.  And what’s this about “known”, the unknown is even more terrible.

More fuel needed, time to boil the hell out of the water as well, better be safe than sorry.

And so it goes on.  Fear is good for sales and keeping a populous in check, it does not add a lot of fun to life, but that is not it’s function.

My pal knows the place well, trained here, army, different set of fear values.  He has a tin mug, dips it in the water, slurping noises, smacking of lips.

He is on his second mug full of this liquid death before I can untangle myself from filter tubing and try to hurl myself between him and the stream.  He may not have consumed a lethal dose if we can get him airlifted to civilisation.

Of course no harm came to him and you feel impossibly feeble telling a bloke between Afghanistan tours that the water might not be safe.  Yeah, like that’s his main life concern. 

He had less weight on his back and less iodine and meth fumes in his system.

Of course I don’t recommend it (the water is full of death you know).

And that is just the water, lets not start in the 3 hats and all those extra mid-layers and clever technology I am humping about in case it gets unseasonal out here.  The weather has become fearfully unpredictable with this global warming thing don’t you think?