Expedition Recovery & Reconnecting with Nature
- Tom Napper
- May 14
- 9 min read
Updated: May 15
It finally happened! After five years of painting, networking and getting accidentally stuck in other countries I made it out there as a paid Expedition Artist! Excitement! Danger! Discovery! I did it!
Except the universe has a great sense of humour. The entire trip is protected by non-disclosure agreements so for the time being I can't tell you anything about it!
Touché universe.
This makes writing a blog of my experience decidedly tricky. But what I CAN write about is the aftermath.
Safe to say it hasn't been too pretty. The recovery journey is still ongoing so this isn't an article full of advice per-say. I'm still working out the answers. But for the sake of my own sanity I'd like to put pen to paper and perhaps my journey will help someone further down the line.
It's difficult to explain the nature of the expedition itself without revealing any of the details but at very short notice, I was invited to drop everything and spend over a month living and working at sea. Having never been on an expedition of this scale before, and my marine experience being only a week of citizen science on a small schooner in Iceland, I had absolutely no idea what to expect. But in the spirit of SayYesMore, I was sure as hell going to snap up the opportunity.
What transpired tested me both physically and mentally in ways I didn't even know were possible. The hours were long, the environment unfamiliar and the surroundings unavoidably isolating. I couldn't believe the lack of nature! I didn't see a single bird in over a month!? No insects. No plants. Just three single barracuda, no doubt wondering what on earth we were up to. Essentially, imagine being back in a pandemic style lockdown but on a constantly moving object with nothing to look at outside the windows except a LOT of water then you're getting somewhere close.
With my less than optimal mental health set up (depression/anxiety) I knew that the extended hours, intense stress and lack of sleep would be playing with fire. I'm no stranger to "Post-adventure blues" and as a result, fully expected to come back as a hot mess of a person. But good lord, I had no idea how difficult it would be to decompress and reintegrate!
When first returning to land I was surprisingly upbeat and functional. Excited to be back in civilization. TREES!? Look at them being all green and wonderful doing their thing! I'd dreamt of sitting in their shade for weeks. People who aren't wearing protective gear every time they step outside!? How novel! They all look so busy. I wonder what they're all up to? I couldn't walk in a straight line for a week or so, but the fact I didn't have to slightly bend my legs all the time to counteract the ground throwing me into things was pretty great.
But things didn't feel quite right. As I stepped through my front door (yes I have a front door now, but that's a story for another time) everything felt alien. I felt like a visitor in my own home as if my partner was kindly letting me stay over. The rooms were unfamiliar. Pictures, books and my beloved lego collection, previously jam packed with happy memories, left me feeling disconnected and numb. I felt completely blank. Who even was I before this expedition!?
My relationship had also subtly been affected. I'd been away quite a bit longer than expected and quite rightly, Christina had been getting on with her life. She'd adapted to me not being around and it took some adjustment to remember that I wasn't the only one who had been through something challenging and isolating. It would take a while to find each other again. An uncomfortable, scary experience that I don't wish on anyone.
Interacting with the general public had become a little tricky. Feeling a similar level of anxiety as to when I was first diagnosed over a decade ago, I found it difficult to step outside the house again. I hadn't felt like this in years! When I did make it out, places that had previously felt safe to me, like my local climbing wall or the lecture theatre at the Royal Geographical Society felt overwhelming. I wasn't used to being around so many people and understandably, everyone wanted to know all about my trip. The confidential nature of everything meant I couldn't say a word, trapping me with my own experiences.
But it's not all doom and gloom. Hopefully you haven't stopped reading by now!
In that first month of recovery, somewhere, amongst all the feelings of being lost and confused, I found myself drawn to nature. Perhaps I'd spent so long deprived of it that deep down my body knew that's where I needed to be. As a result I spent a lot of time in the garden (I have one of those now too!). I'd never had the privilege of owning one before and I revelled in the blank canvas that lay before me. For four days straight I dug over a flower bed as I received regular visits from a local robin, gobbling up the freshly revealed worms (sorry worms). It also gave me the excuse to regularly visit the local garden centre where I would walk down every aisle, ogling all the different plants. Their patterns, colours and intricacies hypnotising me as I went. Have you seen plants!?
They're bloomin' great!
*wanders off to the garden centre while that pun sinks in.
With my new hobby well and truly owned, I also revived one from my past. Several years back I remembered the Headspace app recommending that if you're feeling directionless, try reconnecting with what you enjoyed as a child. So after a month of licking my wounds, Christina and I booked a long weekend in Lyme Regis. My family holiday destination for FOSSIL HUNTING!
Childhood me used to ruddy love a good rummage around a beach, collecting ammonites, belemnites and if you were lucky, bits of actual freakin' dinosaur! But somehow this passion got lost somewhere along the way. I guess teenage Tom decided it wasn't "cool enough". Oh the shame of it all! Haha! Well tough luck past Tom. This adult is off to get his fossil fix.
For the sake of still needing safe, familiar places, we booked the same little cabin that I'd stayed in five years previously, right before heading off to New Zealand and turning my life upside down. After being battered around by several years of misadventures, returning in one piece, not to mention with a long term partner was a powerful experience.
For our first day we set off to Monmouth beach. Our host warned us that it had changed a lot in the last decade and we'd find nothing but flint. But, for the sake of nostalgia, we went anyway. Unfortunately, he was right and there were pretty slim pickings. All was not lost though. Following the recommendation of a local fossil hunter, we hoofed it through town to the Easterly beach between Lyme and Charmouth. The tide was against us so we pushed as far as we felt comfortable and were rewarded with the motherload of belemnites. The active mudslides regularly bring thousands of the things down to the beach to be washed and revealed by the action of the waves. We quickly went from desperately grabbing the first fossils we found, to having to reign it in a bit else we'd have had too many to carry back!
With Christina properly initiated into the world of walking up and down beautiful beaches whilst staring at the floor until you get a sore neck, the following day we decided to take it up a notch. Well, at least, I did and she humoured my daft adventure plans.
Looking at the tides, I'd worked out that you could pull off a 12km loop hike if you set off from Charmouth first thing in the morning and fossil hunt your way down the beach towards Seatown. A pub lunch would see us turning back the way we came but over the cliff tops.
It all started off fine. Charmouth being famous for small "pyritised" ammonites making them look coated in gold. I couldn't believe the number of people pouring onto the beach. Things had certainly gotten more popular since this stretch of coast gained recognition as a UNESCO World Heritage Site but we still managed to find some really nice pieces, washed up along the water line.
What I hadn't banked on was a 2km stretch between Charmouth and Seatown being completely AWFUL to walk on. Once the tide came in and hid the nice flat, sandy beach, we were left nothing but round, fist sized lumps of flint to navigate. It was slow, repetitive and hard going in the heat of the sun and I braced myself for the moment Christina had enough and threw in the towel. But to her credit it never came! She's a tough cookie! And before we knew it we were below Golden Cap. Another childhood location which I remembered being a good source for larger ammonites.
It felt like we'd been transported back in time. There wasn't another soul in either direction and for the first time in as long as I can remember I felt a similar spark of adventure that I would have in the back country of New Zealand. Pushing our luck with the tides, we had another rummage to see what we could find. Being careful not to step on the squishy green and purple anemones waiting for the tide to come back in.
Not that fossil hunting is a competition… but Christina totally kicked my ass! Picking up a beautiful complete ammonite right out from under me! The cheek of it!
After an impressive lunch at The Anchor Inn, Seatown, and the best sticky toffee pudding I've had in my life, we shook off our lunch legs and made our way to the top of Golden Cap. OK it wasn't exactly the majestic peaks of the South Island and it was much MUCH less remote, but the views from up top were still pretty epic, even on a foggy day.
As we made it across the cliff tops I found myself surprisingly curious about my surroundings. As if the time away had allowed me to view flora and fauna with a fresh set of eyes. Spring had well and truly sprung and simple things that I'd previously taken for granted felt new and fascinating all over again. The shape of oak leaves. The colour of blue bells. A male pheasant, confidently yelling his mating call across half of Dorset. They were all so vibrant and alive. The last time I had felt like this I was sitting on my bike, pedalling like a lunatic down the length of New Zealand. Now I felt it in what was comparatively my own back yard! Mercy of mercies, I still had some passion left in me somewhere!
Safely back to the car with tired legs and arguably too many fossils (is there such a thing!?), we signed off our little adventure. Christina was converted to fossil hunting and I couldn't wait to get home to paint what we'd found.
As I write this it's been two months since the moment I stepped foot back on land, and I wouldn't exactly describe myself as "fixed". I still have a mild tremor that makes it tricky to draw in straight lines. It's still difficult to get out of the house from time to time. I even had a strange episode where I thought I was still swaying in my cabin bunk, six weeks after the fact. But if there's a silver lining to all this, it's that I seem to have connected with my local wildlife in a way that I thought I never could. My previous experiences abroad have set the bar for what I deem "exciting" or "interesting" so high that I was concerned that I'd fallen out with the UK forever. It turns out that you just have to starve yourself of essentially all forms of wildlife for an extended period of time and it makes EVERYTHING exciting again!
A recent Explore webinar with the RGS taught me that "the expedition itself is just a third of the journey. There's the prep, the expedition and then there's coming home". In some ways, I've found the aftermath of an expedition even more challenging than the trip itself. The almost indescribable sense of disconnection from your surroundings and loved ones. The deep, confusing lack of direction. It's a scary and uncomfortable place to be. But if you're gentle and patient with yourself, the clues towards recovery are there. A simple urge to be in the garden. A pull towards a childhood holiday destination. All meaningless acts on their own, but combined they create a trail of breadcrumbs to rediscovering your joy, and hopefully purpose.
I'm still working on the purpose bit. I'm committed to making a difference in the world with my creative skills. I have no idea what that looks like. But at least I've felt that spark of curiosity again. I'm still painting. I'm still observing, and I'm still writing. That's got to be a step in the right direction...
Thanks for reading!
Motion Graphic Designer, Expedition Artist & Illustrator available for commissions
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