Isolation

Wilderness is a term that typically brings to mind vast open savannahs seen on David Attenborough programmes, or quiet creeks and jagged peaks quintessential of North American national parks. But Essex is wild. Maybe not desolate and far enough from human habitation to be called true 'wilderness', but there is definitely a wildness about this part of the coast. I have at times been miles from anywhere, hardly seeing a soul. The feeling of isolation is quite profound, scary at times, threatening to overraw me. But it's this isolation that must be embraced and come to terms with. How rare is it that we are truly alone, not relying on the words and presence of others, in person or through music, podcasts or films, to fill the silent gaps between our own trails of thought? It's then that we are forced to be with ourselves and accept who we are as humans. That is one thing I have learnt from my journey so far; we are all human. And at that, intrinsically linked to the natural world around us. Our history, heritage, language and culture is shaped by the geography and ecology around us. If there weren't any herring in the River Blackwater, the Vikings may never have invaded as the estuary wouldn't have looked like as much of a well-stocked larder as it did, and our former Saxon society would not have had the cultural mixing and trade it did to make us who we are today. The mudflats around Essex are some of the most biodiverse in the UK; I have seen countless shellducks, oystercatchers and other waders. Their stability and protection ensures the protection of marine communities through the dissipation of wave energy which would otherwise erode the coastline. The crossroads between coastal and terrestrial ecology is striking; where else can you listen to cuckoos call and shellducks cry in the same moment? I write this from someone's back garden. I knocked on their door, explained why I am walking and they offered me a field to camp in. Pure, spontaneous generosity. As the owner was walking me to the field, he was proudly telling me about all the deer, owls and other wildlife visitors he receives that I shall see. It is this pride of our natural heritage that survives despite society's apparent disconnection with nature. It perhaps lies dormant in some people, but deep down we are all still innately connected to the natural world. From boatyard workers to cafe owners to dog walkers, everyone I met is proud and protective of the coastline, creeks and estuaries they live beside. This is why there is hope in coastal conservation, and why we need to ignite that spark that will inspire tomorrow's ocean scientists and protectors. It's not too late to save our wild places.

Wild camping on my first night by the chapel of St Peter on the Wall. It was rather profound as the chapel, a holy site for many Christians, marks the end of a 40 mile long Anglo-Saxon pilgrimage route, but the start of my journey.

Aptly named Shell Beach, with views of Bradwell power station in the background.