Night Walking

I became a walker of the dark years ago when troubled by problems and unable to settle, I found that tramping alone in the darkness calmed and consoled me.

My problems felt insignificant when I looked up and contemplated the age and distance and time between the stars and me.

The slight unease at being alone in the darkness gave me another focus for my worries.

I was lucky to live in a place where there were no threats from strangers, the only things to be feared were my own imaginings.

There was a loop from my house that would take an hour to walk, I would pass a handful of houses and not a single street light. The occasional crack of a twig, rustling of leaves or creak of tree rubbing against tree in the wind, would make my heart beat faster, but, I would speed up and put those crackles, rustles and creaks behind me.

Lambing time was also a privilege of darkness, to unlatch the gate and wander up onto the croft. On dark, dark nights with torch in hand, but, I always preferred to be without the artificial light, to let my eyes adjust to the dark, to become acutely aware of the feel of the ground beneath my feet and the sound of my own breath and rustling waterproofs, listening for the sound of the sheep, breathing and chewing, looking for their darker shadows against the dark grass.

One year a ewe had a premature lamb, who could not suckle. So I had to milk the ewe and bottle feed her milk to the lamb. For a few successive nights we sat, the lamb the ewe and I in a small enclosure on the Croft hill. The Northern lights above our heads. The sound of the wind on the grass and the quiet breathing of the ewe the lamb and I.

January 2026. Svalbard in the Polar night

We arrived in Svalbard on January 8th. It was pitch black both day and night.

I felt a slight panic contemplating the darkness and knowing that there would be no daylight of any kind to distinguish between day and night.

The sun disappears in mid November and the light does not return until February.

After a few days I settled into the darkness and began to notice a change in the middle of the day. We started to see a navy glow behind the mountains that surround the town and to make out the shape of them and feel their bulk above us.

As for the mountains on the other side of the fjord, they did not appear until there were some cold star filled skies and a beautiful lilac light illuminated the snow for longer periods each day.

Here though there are predators. A real danger that means wandering on my own at night if troubles perturbed me was not an option.

You can wander in Longyearbyen itself without polar bear protection, but you cannot wander beyond the town unless you have a gun, the training and know how to protect yourself.

I love paintings and illustrations that capture this darkness. It’s so difficult to achieve.

I keep trying. I see the light I want to draw, but, my art materials are difficult to distinguish one colour from another in the dim light. If I put on my head torch to search through my crayons, my night vision is destroyed and I can no longer make out the tones of the thing I am trying to draw.

The Ona lighthouse in Norway.

I resorted to drawing from the photographs I took, not my favourite method, the photograph presents boundaries both visual and sensory. You are no longer in the moment, but, trapped inside the artificial capture of that moment.

Svalbard. Walking the dog in the Polar Night.

There is darkness in the world that is nothing to do with day and night or the quality of the light. There are many things that keep me awake at night to worry about my fellow humans and the creatures we share this beautiful planet with.

But, still, night walking with an eye to the stars reminds me of the enormity of the universe and the smallness of myself and my thoughts, which I still find comforting.