Beginning the Ascent

Two hundred and twenty-five years ago British poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge embarked on the ascent of the left face of Brockley Coomb in Somerset, "a deep narrow glen...sunk between steep rocks...rising to 300ft...adorned with many noble trees, and all the fissures and ledges of the cliffs enriched with...mosses and other vegetation...and masses of columnar basalt." (National Gazetteer of Great Britain and Ireland, 1868).

He penned his appreciation of the venture in what was for him quite a short poem, for I find many of his offerings rather long-winded, and coming from me that's saying something. I've had to discipline myself over the years to cut out and slash and burn in my quest to state what is necessary rather than burden a piece of writing with excessive verbiage. Two years of writing haiku certainly helped, but already I'm getting off the track.

In heading towards retirement I have embarked on a purge of my belongings, determining as I go the destination of the contents of drawers which have remained unopened for a while, shelves which have long since run out of room for anything new, and cupboards of this and that which haven't seen the light of day for many a year. Things that once held sentimental value are becoming less so as I get older, whereas others are still handled with a degree of reverence and tucked back in their hidey holes to be dealt with at some later date. The process has begun. The task ahead might take a while and feel like a bit of a mountain, but tackling a little at a time seems the best way to go.

What on earth has this to do with Coleridge you say. Well, I manage an Op Shop, and my little book of Coleridge poems was just one item among others relocated from the house today. A very small addition to the rows of books on offer in the shop, I doubt anyone will discover it for quite a while, but you never know who might breeze in who's studying the English Romantic poets.

In the reading of Coleridge's Brockley Coomb I was struck by one image in particular. For him it was the ancient yew trees embedded in sheer rock, and for me the picture resonated with parts of the local bush I have photographed many times. Around here there's about one centimetre of topsoil, then rock, so plants and trees must make the most of what little nourishment they can find, often to rather dramatic effect.

Clinging to the edge of rocky banks, gnarled roots wind themselves around the obstacles beneath to seek out sustenance, grounding themselves, determined to remain despite the elements and the situation in which they find themselves. Our bush is a mixture of dry temperate eucalypt forest, ferns and lichen-covered rocks, cliffs dotted with fossils, and a meandering creek under the canopy providing its own micro-climate abounding in moss and fungi.

So, with apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge for my slight changes, I found this little nugget within his poem most appropriate.

From the deep fissures of the naked rock
the Gum tree bursts! Beneath its grey green boughs
...where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
I rest.

Excerpt from Brockley Coomb
Subtitled Lines composed while climbing the left ascent of Brockley Coomb, May 1795

Samuel Taylor Coleridge