I’m standing at the edge of the earth. Land’s End. Behind me, to the right, a series of rough, scalloped sea cliffs, bays in granite and swaths of amber-hued sand. Receding to the left, outcroppings of wave-bashed basalt. Ahead, a meniscus of blue pulls sky into whitecaps, the slightest hint of a distant archipelago, or mirage. I’ve trekked a hundred miles of coastline, lilting west, to here. And a grin I’m only now aware of clings stubbornly to my face, a prideful smile of accomplishment. Breaking surf and a call of gulls add a maritime score, the juxtaposed essence of isolation, and connection.
I’m viking again. A sense of liberation. Freeing. If these travel exploits are new to you, I’ve gone viking, voyaging, for a number of years in the wake of history’s greatest explorers: uncovering secrets and hidden treasure, meeting remarkable people and making new friends, hoping to gain insight into the meaning of it all. For this iteration I’ll travel once more through time, past and present, in my latest and perhaps greatest saga, pursuing the Holy Grail.
The Holy Grail. Monty Python aside, the words, for most, invoke marvel and wonder. Matters of religion, quests and immortality. Kingdoms, knights and chivalry. Akin to Viking Sagas, exploring the unknown, to sail and trek distant lands through swirls of sea and mountain mist. A search, in its way, for the very essence of life.
Legend has it the historically elusive Jomsvikings – faithful to the old gods, battle-hardened mercenaries following strict codes of honour – were forerunners of medieval knights like those of King Arthur’s Round Table. These mysterious Norse warrior-pilgrims appear throughout history, from Scandinavia to the Baltic and across Europe, recorded in Germany, Denmark and Iceland. It may be their reputed devotion to a cause that makes them intriguing. Admirable. Christian-influenced versions of these knights also emerge across medieval Europe: German tales of Parzival, Percival in France, and English stories of Galahad, survivors refusing to abandon long and isolating crusades.
Meanwhile, I find myself clicking and flipping through maps, envisioning new travel plans. Fresh excursions. No doubt a seed was sown on previous Gone Viking travels as I stood on a windblown cliff in southwestern England, Wales to the north, at the birthplace of Arthur, a rugged expanse of coast, moor and history. But tired, for the moment, of planning the next Grand Tour, I’ve decided to escape into the embrace of old movies.
Netflix determined I was due to rewatch the Indiana Jones films (the good ones, that is). And who am I to argue with their sophisticated algorithms? So I’ve settled in with salty snacks to relive Spielberg’s cinematography, Williams’s score and Harrison Ford’s adventurous archaeology prof for a bit of fabricated action and entertainment. And before long I’m there, alongside Indy (as I like to call him, as he and I have been friends for 40 years), helping him on his odyssey. A quest, it turns out, he’s undertaken with his dad (Sean Connery), to search
for the Holy Grail.
Imagine a well-weathered map, last century, filling our field of vision, the white-noise roar of airplane props and a thick red line advancing, making its way along our route as we venture out, embracing the unknown, vagaries of the road our travel companion, the world’s mysteries our destination. Unless, of course, we locate the most elusive mystery of all. The Holy Grail.
“I can get it!” Indy calls from my screen. “I can almost reach it, Dad!” What must be the grail beckons, just beyond his outstretched fingers, the earth rending beneath his feet.
“Indiana,” his father says in a calm, and calming tone. “Indiana. Let it go.”
Only, I can’t. Or rather, don’t want to. Unlike Indy, my level-headed dad isn’t here to talk me down (with a gruff Bond-ish brogue), or to talk sense into me. So I’m left to my own devices, for the time being at least. And as you may know, when left on my own for a period of time, I tend to wander off. Which is what I’m doing now. Setting out on a proper adventure, one I’m certain will be a good story. Like our previous viking undertakings, a true story, with a great many side trips, recollections and mental meanderings. A bit of fantasy, some speculation and, yes, occasional gaps, which I liken to stylized finish on roughly mortared walls. Attractive and somehow conclusive in its incompleteness. In the overall foundation there’s a timelessness that makes the whole, I believe, structurally sound. And, in its way, rather beautiful.
Bill Arnott is the bestselling author of A Season on Vancouver Island, theGone Viking travelogues, andA Perfect Day for a Walk: The History, Cultures, and Communities of Vancouver, on Foot(Arsenal Pulp Press, Fall 2024). Recipient of a Fellowship at London’s Royal Geographical Society for his expeditions, Bill’s a frequent presenter and contributor to magazines, universities, podcasts, TV and radio. When not trekking with a small pack and journal, Bill can be found on Canada’s west coast, where he lives near the sea on Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh land.
- Bill Arnotthttps://miramichireader.ca/author/billya/
- Bill Arnotthttps://miramichireader.ca/author/billya/
- Bill Arnotthttps://miramichireader.ca/author/billya/
- Bill Arnotthttps://miramichireader.ca/author/billya/
- Bill Arnotthttps://miramichireader.ca/author/billya/
- Bill Arnotthttps://miramichireader.ca/author/billya/
- Publisher : RMB | Rocky Mountain Books (Oct. 3 2023)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 304 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1771606460
- ISBN-13 : 978-1771606462
