Whilst hiking the Appalachian Trail, many individuals report having revelatory and truly life altering moments of clarity, insight, and realisation. Apprehending both how simply and complexly beautiful the world in which we exist is; rediscovering within oneself a life long passion that has been suppressed for many years in the name of maintaining a career that brings little satisfaction; or seeing that the relationships one maintains, with beliefs, substances, or individuals within our lives, are often unhealthy and detrimental to ones well-being. When surrounded by such awe-inspiring beauty on a day-to-day basis, when experiencing a way of life so alien and incomparable to normality, and when participating in such a vibrant and active community whilst also sampling the flavours of true isolation and silence, it is perhaps not all that much of a surprise.

Awakening on a sublime April morning, camped in a densely forested col between two unnamed mountains just short of the 800-mile marker, I found myself feeling alone, free, and extraordinarily grateful. As the morning light gently illuminated the interior of my burnt-orange tent, I remained sealed in the warmth of my down-filled cocoon and read for a while, in no rush to leave this haven of comfort and peace. After eventually starting to move an hour later, I made myself a pot of blueberry oatmeal with peanut butter and a steaming pot of black Folger’s instant coffee, then packed up my gear and began my day of walking. Having planned to cover 22-miles that day, including scaling three of the most formidable mountains in Virginia that the trail winds up and over, I quickly settled into a comfortable rhythm. Spring was beginning to crack through the seemingly immutable frontier of winter: the song of the cardinals, blue jays, and sparrows filled the air and the first pioneer trillium were forcing their way out through the decaying leaves on the forest floor. As was typical, I began the day without listening to any music or podcasts and allowed thoughts to gently meander through my stream of consciousness.

The evening prior I had been blessed by having a sufficiently strong cell phone service, which had enabled a call to my mum and brother, Joe. Still feeling lifted by their humour, kindness, and love, I began to meditate on the ways in which my communication patterns had changed over the preceding two months. I have not, at least for the past five years, at all been a fan of social media. Seeing such sites as both orchestrators of and catalysts for dissatisfaction, envy, falsity, outrage, division, addiction, time-wasting and brain-numbing, I had largely removed myself from each site, only using WhatsApp to communicate from America back to the UK. Phone signal in the mountains of the South was sporadic at best but when given the opportunity I would send a few photos and a short update of life on the trail back home to my Mum and immediately family. She, very kindly, forwarded any such updates on to aunties, uncles, grandparents, family friends, cousins, and other loved ones. In turn, she would then forward me their responses or they would email me directly. I realised that despite being on the other side of the Atlantic ocean, I was paradoxically feeling closer to my extended family and family friends than I probably ever had.

By disavowing social media so ardently in the years prior I had missed out on utilising the astoundingly impressive interconnecting tools that the internet can provide to aid the maintenance of relationships with those who are not nearby. My wariness of social media nonetheless persisted, still believing that in its current incarnation it is incapable of achieving meaningful and sincere communication, but I set myself to thinking as to how I could still use the internet to share the things I find interesting with those that I love. Whilst I remain grateful for her having done so over the months I was away, one can probably imagine that filtering all my communication through my Mum was neither a sustainable nor an optimally desirable long-term solution. As I began the slow and arduous climb up a mountain named The Priest, with the now-baking sun warming my shoulders, I had a moment of insight. Neither on the life-altering level that I described earlier nor unfortunately a moment of religious enlightenment (as would have been beyond poetic on a mountain of such a name), I had the idea to build a website. A website on which I could blog about, well, pretty much anything. Just for friends and family, a place to share interesting ideas I have come across, articles I have written about adventures, food, philosophy, or life, photos and videos I have taken and edited, or reviews of books and films and music I have enjoyed. Somewhere that I would able to avoid the “like” metrics, feedback loops, and funhouse mirrors that we are forced to view ourselves through on social media, but still a place where I could share things with those I love without having to use the postal service.

And so, five-months and more than 1,600-miles later, here is that website. I hope it has been made clear that this is not a place for simple self-promotion and image cultivation. If you disagree or have any thoughts about something I write on this site, if you have a book or a film recommendation that you think I may enjoy, or if you just want to say hello, please please please do get in touch. I would love to hear from you.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you have a beautiful day.

All the love, all the power. Sam