Preparing to ‘wing it’… quite literally.
Since we’re doing this ‘2016 thing’ on social media, here’s something I wrote a decade ago in London about the best ‘job’ I’ve ever had; one which shapes who I am today.
I always wanted a job that would allow me to see the world. So when I landed a gig as an expedition journalist on Flight of the Swans — travelling through 11 countries, from Arctic Russia to the UK — I felt like I’d hit the career jackpot.
My first job as a journalist was in the Australian outback, in one of the country’s most isolated bureaus. Fast forward a few years, and I never would have dreamed I’d be preparing to tell stories from somewhere even more remote than Broken Hill.
But it didn’t come easy.
A bootcamp-style recruitment weekend in the mountainous Welsh countryside gave this new Londoner her first taste of what she might be signing up for.
A selection team, led by a top expedition trainer and former British Army soldier, put 12 hopefuls through our paces — camping in freezing conditions, pulling fake casualties from burning cars, and trekking six miles using only a paper map and Silva compass, in the middle of the night. Not your average job interview.
Only half the group was selected — a photographer, three cameramen, a mechanic and me. The perfect recipe for an expedition media production ground crew. The dream team.
Our mission will be to uncover the story of the Bewick’s swan — a species in decline — as they migrate through Northern Europe to Gloucestershire for the winter. We’ll be following Sacha Dench, a British-Australian champion free diver turned conservationist, who will be flying alongside the swans. Yes, flying with them — strapped to a paramotor, a paraglider with a motor.
She’ll travel more than 4,000 miles, starting from their breeding grounds on the tundra, where temperatures can drop to minus 20 degrees Celsius. We’ll be documenting her — and the swans’ — every move.
With just a few months to go, the reality of this expedition is starting to hit me. I’m about to embark on the trip of a lifetime — one that pushes you physically and mentally, where your biggest fear, at times, is being attacked by a bear. Or so I’m told.
That possibility was reinforced in the Cotswolds this month during a First Aid in Remote Locations course — or, as we journos call it, Hostile Environment Training — specifically tailored to our expedition.
For three very long days, a specialised medical training team from Essex put us — media crew and pilots — through our paces, with simulated emergencies we may face along the journey. Did someone say blood?
With barely any time to unpack our bags after becoming tourniquet buffs in the bush, it was off again — this time to master the art of weather forecasting.
A Meteorology for Aviators course at the swanky Met Office college in Devon had us absorbing maps, satellite imagery, endless lines and a list of Latin terminology. I now know that nimbostratus could mean rain. Which means: not good for flying. Pass.
To think, just three months ago we were strangers with a shared appetite for adventure. Now, we’re friends preparing to drive across the Baltic states — and learning how to save each other’s lives.
Despite having spent only a few weeks together (and never yet as a full team), we’ve already formed a close bond — the kind that equips you with the armoury needed to overcome any challenge.
Personally, I’m still pinching myself. I didn’t even own a sleeping bag when I was selected. I still don’t. How did this TV reporter from Australia end up with this gig again?
My high heels have been replaced by adventure boots, designer jackets by fleeces and thermals. I’m using my backpack more than mascara or shampoo.
I can’t wait for home to be a cabin in Russia, an airfield in Germany, or the back seat of a four-wheel drive.
Sometimes, you need to step out of your comfort zone, take a risk — and leave the M25.