From the Lake District to Mount Etna, via Indonesia, Africa and Borneo, it has been an accidental journey of ancient mountains and active volcanoes.
Nothing was planned. It has been more a case of finding a common thread than following a charted course. It could just as easily have been beaches – from Druridge Bay to Isola Bella – except there’s less to say.
There could be lots of people to blame. Whether it’s Roger Matheson and his goddamned A level geography. Or Terry Garry for getting me off my arse – more than once. Or even Simon Winchester and his eminently readable books on Krakatoa and the San Francisco earthquake which keep bringing plate tectonics back.
Ultimately I’ve only got myself to blame. For not taking more interest in geography and geology, and thus being able to provide only half-witted explanations of what I’ve seen. Or for not studying journalism and therefore actually having the ability to write about it.
The exciting thing – for me at least – is that there’s still plenty of the world to explore. I can’t ever see myself going anywhere near Everest, and exploration of mountains will never involve technical climbing, but there is still plenty of walking to do and plenty of nature to see.
I may even one day understand how to measure the rate of a river’s flow using little more than an orange.