#40 Clean It Up
Jun 16th, 2008 by doing better
Plastic may be wonderful for water bottles and new noses, but when we descended from a remote Scottish coastal path to a picturesque beach, only to find that the shore and hillsides were covered in plastic trash that had washed out of the ocean, the (plastic) recycling bin never looked so good.
My mother and I picked our way through the garbage and climbed back up to the cliffs, feeling that our pristine beach experience had been spoiled by inconsiderate people on the other side of the world. Apparently this bit of littering was not even the tip of the iceberg of trash in the ocean: there is in fact a Great Pacific Garbage Patch bigger than Texas. (http://www.independent.co.uk/environment/the-worlds-rubbish-dump-a-garbage-tip-that-stretches-from-hawaii-to-japan-778016.html).
As we rose above the trash and continued our cliff walk, I recalled a description I had read which described sections of the path as “perilous” and “treacherous” and “unsuitable for vertigo sufferers.” Although I am not a vertigo sufferer, I couldn’t rid my head of the image of us plunging to our deaths on the rocks below.
The path wasn’t terrible, although it would not have held up to the health and safety standards expected of, say, a sidewalk by a busy road. It was more or less firm, but that was no consolation to my enthusiastic imagination, which eagerly offered a number of unpleasant scenarios. I held my breath as we strode grimly onwards, waiting to be struck by light-headedness as the ground crumbled under my feet. Once or twice I made the mistake of looking down. It was an absolutely stunning view of sparkling water and mountains in the distance, but the chant of “perilous, treacherous” never left me. Taking frequent sips from my plastic water bottle did not relieve the dryness of my mouth. I was exhausted and overjoyed when at last we came to firm ground and walked the rest of the way along a road. Later I found out that my mother had been reading an Elizabeth George novel which describes the treacherous nature of coastal paths and the memorials to walkers who have fallen to their deaths, but she was kind enough not to mention this to me during the walk.
That evening we ate local fish which had, no doubt, consumed their fair share of plastic particles which will, no doubt, affect my hormonal balance and the sex organs of my unborn children. At least a fall from the treacherous cliffs has not ruled out the existence of those children altogether. Who would have thought a simple frolic in the countryside would be so fraught with peril?