14. A problem with programming
It's a wiring issue.
Dear Reader,
I wasn’t sure how I’d find my way to Framfield for my ‘Not Getting Lost’ course – the sequel to May’s navigation and safety course – earlier this month. Although I knew vaguely that it’s one of the little rural villages between the nearest town and my own village, the fact that it isn’t the sort of place anybody drives through to get to anywhere else means it’s just not on my radar.
My husband took pity on me and pushed me out of the front door, grabbing the keys to his van on his way out behind me.
‘You don’t want to get lost before you even get there!’
I don’t like being teased about my inability to accurately point my car to where I’m supposed to be going, but he was absolutely right: I didn’t. I climbed into the van.
It was just going to be the two of us today: the tutor – Allan – and me. Having taken his previous course I knew I’d be in good hands, and having his undivided attention was an unexpected bonus.
Allan was beside his car, lacing up his walking boots.
‘Don’t get lost!’ My husband was laughing as he turned the van out of the car park, leaving me behind.He’s so funny.
We walked to the churchyard and sat in the shady lychgate to look at the map and talk about the course. Although we wouldn’t be using it today, Allan also showed me a contour-only map. ‘Where do you think this is?’
I’d come across contours before, and I know that they represent inclines. As Ordnance Survey1 puts it, ‘by studying the contour lines you can work out lots about the surrounding terrain including gradients of hills, valleys and steepness of climbs.’
And I like this definition too, from US Geological Survey:
Contours are imaginary lines that join points of equal elevation on the surface of the land above or below a reference surface, such as mean sea level. Contours make it possible to measure the height of mountains, depths of the ocean bottom, and steepness of slopes.
I wasn’t about to start measuring the height of any mountains, but I could already see that the contour-only map Allan was showing me would give me the gist of the landscape.
I spotted that the bottom left corner south-western extremity of the map was the sea, and to my relief I even recognised the shape of the coastline. The contour-free area north of that must be a river valley, soooooo… ‘That’s Lewes! And that high point – or that one – must be Mount Caburn! So the tallest point on that long ridge – the ridge is part of the South Downs – is Firle Beacon!’
I was so pleased with myself. So, it seemed, was Allan. ‘That’s great, Rebecca! We’re going to have a good day!’
Our own route today took in neither Lewes, Mount Caburn nor Firle Beacon: instead, we would be following a circular route from Framfield on easy terrain through farmland, woodland and a local vineyard.
We talked about some of the place names on the topographical map we were using. ‘Borough Pit Shaw – there, look, a shaw is a narrow long strip of woodland designated by topography.’ We looked across, and there was just such a strip of trees set either side of a small river. ‘And a dean is a wooded valley – most of Brighton was built on wooded valleys, and so now there’s Withdean and Woodingdean and Saltdean and Bevendean and all the rest of them.’ I made a note to look at place names more closely in future and try to recognise in the landscape the topographical features they related to.
By now I’d thumbnailed2 the way to our first junction, and already knew which of the paths on the map we’d be taking.
Reader, it wasn’t there. The path we were on kept going, but that wasn’t our route. Another came in from the left: again, that wasn’t ours. A third path took a sharp right through a hedge, and I knew from the map that our route from here was to take a right turn of sorts, but nothing at that angle.
There was nothing else on the map to help me. I knew what I was looking for, but to my intense frustration the thing I was looking for didn’t exist in the landscape in front of me.
Allan calmed me down. ‘If you’re happy with what’s showing on the map but can’t find it on the ground, what do you need to do?’
I shrugged. This was no fun at all. ‘I’ve no idea!’
‘You need to move to prove’, he smiled. Then, really loud: ‘TRAVEL TO UNRAVEL!’
With that he walked two metres to our right, and popped through the hedge. ‘What do you see now?’
I saw a gate. A yellow footpath arrow. A path in the right direction! Now we were getting somewhere.
‘It’s confidence, Rebecca, that’s all. And we’re going to be working on that!’
I thumbnailed my way to and beyond various landmarks, and I set the map3 at regular intervals. We were making good progress and I felt reassured that we hadn’t yet gone wrong.
Our lunch stop was at a shady spot on a high plateau beside a wheat field ripe for harvest, although that’s usually a job for August. This year a dearth of rain since April followed by extended hot spells has meant that grain has been ripening and hardening before it has had the chance to swell. I was sad that this peaceful patch of beautifully golden arable land concealed such deep environmental concerns.
Remembering and recognising where I’ve been before are not my navigational strong points. But today, to both my surprise and considerable relief, some of the paths were already familiar. Over the past few months I’ve been exploring footpaths close to home and have been slowly adding to my routes, joining up my shorter walks together to make longer ones. A small part of today’s route, then, was my turf: a set of paths I’d already walked repeatedly in both directions. Because I knew the way, Allan and I chatted our way through these bits, and I was pleased with my unexpected level of route recognition.
We arrived at a familiar junction. When I’d encountered it for the first time on one of my own walks I’d been utterly stumped: back then my map had told me that I needed to cross the track and continue straight on, but there had been no such path.
Although on that occasion I’d eventually found it, I told Allan about the map not having matched up with reality, and while I scooted off into the bushes to answer a brief call of nature he sat on the stile and looked at the map. He was scratching his head.
When I returned from the al fresco facilities he asked me how I’d dealt with not finding the path. ‘I burst into tears and rang my husband’, I said. ‘I sent him a screenshot of my map app, and he looked it up.’ I thought back. ‘He had no idea either.’
I explained to Allan that a passing dog-walker had kindly asked me if I was okay, and that I’d explained my predicament. She’d turned and pointed at a path that came off the track a little way up the hill. ‘That’s it, there. Right, then left.’
The fence and stile Allan had been sitting on looked relatively new. ‘Look, this is a great example of a footpath that’s recently been moved’, he told me. ‘Instead of coming out directly opposite the next path, as the map is telling us, we’ve arrived 20 metres out. But we’re not wrong: this time the map is. Again, you need to travel to unravel!’ I was relieved: this was proof that I’m not stark, raving bonkers.
With that mystery solved, Allan asked me to estimate on the map the distance to the next junction, and to then check it using the scale on my compass. ‘A hundred and fifty metres’, I said.
‘Right. Now pace it.’
I knew that 64 of my double paces4 (counting every time my left foot lands) equals 100 metres, give or take 2%. I set off, counted 64 and then stopped. Allan was a couple of steps behind me. ‘What now?’ he asked. ‘I need another 32’, I said. ‘I remember your telling me not to add up sets of 100m into bigger numbers, but to count whole 100m stretches and then whatever the last bit is.’ Allan grinned. ‘Go on.’ ‘So, rather than doing 96 paces, I’m doing my 64 and then another 32! That’ll be 150 metres.’
Reader, I knew what I was doing!
I finished counting, and stopped. We were on a bend. No junction. ‘Where is it?’
‘Two percent, remember! And it’s very hot today, we’re getting tired, and this is sloping ground. What can you tell me?’
‘Well, I haven’t passed it.’
‘Right then. Move to prove!’
I took three more steps. And there it was.
‘SEE? You can do it!’
Having walked a circular route of around 10km away from and back to Framfield I sent a please-pick-me-up-in-20-minutes text to my husband when we were nearing the village. As we walked through the recreation ground and past the children’s playground I commented to Allan that Framfield seemed like a pretty little village and I’d like to know it better.
Figuring we were heading for the church, I looked at the map while we walked so as to work out my next move. Allan was just ahead of me and crossed the road first. ‘There, just what we need: a nice shady bench!’ He sat down. So did I.
I was confused. Weren’t we ever so nearly there?
Why had we stopped?
‘What did you think?’ he asked.
Strange question.
‘Well, we’ve crossed the road now, so we’ll be heading left, but I had been going to say that when we got to the road we’d be turning right.’
Allan looked at me, astonished. ‘Rebecca, we’re sitting OPPOSITE MY CAR.’
Reader, we’d just walked through the car park to get to the road.
The car park where my husband had dropped me off that morning.
The one we’d met Allan in.
Where he’d been standing putting his boots on AT HIS CAR.
I’d done so well today. But this – the fact that I hadn’t even recognised the place we’d started from – floored me. I wanted to cry.
When my knight in shining armour van arrived a few minutes later I was still trying to explain.
‘I don’t recognise places’, I gabbled, ‘particularly if I’m coming from the opposite direction. I can’t – I don’t – I can’t feel direction like you can. I don’t get it. It’s not in my programming.’
Allan touched my arm. ‘It’s fine. You’re fine.’
Reader, I can set a map and use a compass at its most basic level.
I can pace a distance.
I know I can ask other people the way.
And if I’ve walked a path a dozen times before in each direction the chances are that I might now and again recognise where I am.
But will I ever develop a sense of direction? What chance do I have when there’s clearly something wrong with my wiring?
Love,
Rebecca
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Do you have any fun tips for finding your way, like Allan’s ‘travel to unravel’?
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Ordnance Survey is the national mapping agency for Great Britain. You can read more about what they have to say about contours here
Thumbnailing: marking the way on the map as you go
Setting the map involves lining up the path you are taking with one of the black lines on the base plate of your compass, and turn your body, map and compass until the N of the compass needle points to the top of the map. The direction of travel arrow on your compass will now be pointing you straight down the path you need to take.
To read how I learned this very basic form of map reading please have a look at 12. The start of the learning process
Being lost might be the best way to discover. Go for it without worry and the world will unravel.
You have such a fun way with words. As far as you not recognizing the parking lot, that happens when you come to a place from a different direction. I had to take a different route the other day (in the car) down a street I hadn't gone down in years. I remarked that it felt like I was in a different city. So I wouldn't worry about it.