The force of nature or a case for humility

Have you considered recently the risks of walking in the woods behind your house? Or the perils of crossing the Atlantic? Me neither really and I find that this comes as somewhat as a surprise given the potential force of nature.

I entered climate science under the impression that it was a human-made problem, and, hence, a problem that can be tackled with human-made solutions too. I was studying Physics at the time and believed that by adding data to the most pressing questions I would be able to help bring those solutions along. To be fair, I do still subscribe to this world view but a hike gone wrong last summer made me think about all this in more nuance.

In the middle of a rainy and cold summer, my partner and I went on a walking holiday in the English Lake District, a strange decision you might think and you would be right but we both enjoy being outside and long walks. We had previously both hiked in Switzerland and really enjoyed it so, we thought, the Lakes would be a less complicated way of seeing some mountains and spend a few days away from the city. The hike we chose to do, the Langdale Horseshoe, an eight hour hike, was described as an expert hike on the platform komoot. The details said that we would need to be physically fit, sure-footed and need sturdy shoes. Tick, tick, tick. Working on extreme weather, I knew to check the mountain weather forecasts by the Met Office on the morning. It was going to be windy but no weather warning had been issued.

We set off early in the morning and got on our way with bouncy steps. We soon realised that the wind was much stronger than either of us had expected. More than once, I found myself brought to my knees from the strength of the wind. I was still smiling, I work on wind storms and experiencing the force of these winds was exciting. We made slow progress however, and by lunchtime we had barely managed to do a quarter of the walk. After lunch we found ourselves repeatedly bouldering up stony mountain fronts, holding on to loose boulders in the gale-force winds. Mid-afternoon, with the wind and visibility at their worst, we got to a particularly steep descend. The only way we could see was jumping off a stony ledge without fully seeing what was below. Our maps suggested we were on the planned route although there was no visible path.

After circling the area three or four times, an endeavour that in itself was not quite without risk, we decided to jump off the ledge. We could not fully see what was two or so metres below, possibly more stony ground. The wind had brought some moisture (where we in the cloud?) and so getting a grip on anything to hold on to was difficult.

To our own surprise, we managed the jump without any injuries. This however still left us with the threat of sunset while the rest of the hike would still take us an estimated six hours, well past sunset. After much debating we decided to take our chances once again and descend into an uninhabited valley which at least had a country road going through. This more or less randomly chosen path could have faced us with more cliffs and steep drops but through some miracle, we mostly waded through uneven ground and boggy fields.

Once we had reached the road in the valley, still without phone signal, we walked into the direction of the next village. Even though it was dark at this point, we considered ourselves reasonably safe on the asphalt road. At nine pm we got phone signal back and called a taxi which safely brought us to the hotel twelve hours after we had set off. Safe to say the next day was spent mostly in the hotel’s leisure centre moving from sauna to ice basin to hot tub. I was not entirely sure what felt more like a dream, the perilous hike or the relaxing, softened environment of the leisure centre.

So much could have gone badly wrong on that hike and we had multiple situations where I was close to calling mountain services. Frankly, the only thing that held me back was the fact that we barely had phone signal. I still remember the day on those mountains and count our blessings — but I also remember it as a day when my relationship with nature shifted

Although I have grown up in a rural area, surrounded by ancient woods and hills, I had never experienced nature as a threat. Where my parents live, the paths through the woods are gravelled and clearly signposted. Even in the UK where footpaths are more often muddy than not, most walks will bring no risks apart from staining your trousers with mud. In our cities and on our country side ambles, we are safely protected by the many thousands that have come before us. The sheer size of humanity keeps risks very, very low in our everyday lives. This is a good thing, no question. But it also suggests that nature, to most, is beauty and quiet and peace. This is surely true in most situations — but crucially, this is not always the case. Nature can be forceful, it can be evade our predictions, and it can be merciless. How many of us have an intuitive understanding for the force of nature? Surely, if you had asked me before the hike whether I thought nature to be forceful, I would not have argued with you, but I do not think I had an intuitive understanding for it.

Now, how does this impact my work in the climate sphere? I believe humans are easily tempted to think that nifty engineering can ultimately save us from the worst consequences of climate change. Personally, I have caught myself many times since our holiday reminding myself that nature has a tendency to be more resourceful than even humans as a collective can ever be. My thinking on this is still early days, but I think humility about what we can truly achieve with adaptation efforts will be sensible. Going back to Bill McKibben, I do believe that we have sadly changed every little bit of nature. I do not believe, however, we have any chance of outrunning the consequences with technology if we are tipping nature against us in such a way.