Proof that ‘f inding yourself ’ is no game. It’s a deadly gamble
IHAVE become mildly obsessed by the horrible fate of Emma Kelty – the 43-yearold former headmistress murdered by river pirates on the Amazon – for reasons that will soon become clear. I can’t decide: is she a great British heroine cut off in her prime, who wanted to add ‘longest solo kayaking journey ever undertaken by a woman’ to her impressive list of lifetime achievements?
Or was she a selfish nutter on a suicide mission, addicted to the adrenaline and attention generated by a life dedicated to one thing: adventure?
No challenge had ever defeated this daredevil ex- soldier, who relaxed by kickboxing, abseiling, running up mountains, turning round schools, skiing to the South Pole, or hiking across America.
But the reason I can’t stop thinking about her is this. She was single. Her parents had died. She had no dependants, no job. And what was really on her bucket list when she went into the jungle was this: a desire to find her ‘breaking point’.
I didn’t realise this was such a thing, but then I suppose it has been a while. We’re all expected to bungee-jump, hurl ourselves out of planes, run marathons, climb Kilimanjaro, sometimes for charity, always for Instagram.
A few months ago, I was invited to participate in a reality show called The I sl and With Bear Grylls. It should actually be called The Island Without Bear Grylls as he’s not actually there, but anyway, it’s currently on Channel 4. ‘You’ll be marooned on a remote desert island for four weeks in only the clothes you stand up in, there’s no water or shelter, no contact with the outside world, and you only eat what you can catch,’ the producers wheedled to me, as if I would be tempted.
‘You will be pushed to the very, very edge,’ they went on. ‘You’ll find out, do YOU you have what it takes to survive?’
I watched an episode, even though I’d already made up my mind. The haggard, shrivelled participants were crying, starving, covered in bites – and they’d been on the island for only three days.
‘We’re all going to die here,’ one sobbed. ‘It’s like being in a war zone without a gun,’ another said. ‘It’s Lord Of The Flies.’ When one held up a limb with the skin melting off and said, ‘My skin is basically rotting’, I switched off.
I can’t join this Outward-Bound, Tough- Mudder movement that says you have to push your body beyond the limit to ‘discover yourself’ and prove you’re alive.
MY breaking point comes if I have to take a replacement bus service. Or when I get cold milk in my americano instead of hot. The late Emma Kelty was clearly made of sterner stuff. But still. Everyone told her she was doomed, even though she already knew. ‘ It’s stupid, it’s too dangerous, i t’s too risky and I will die,’ she admitted.
On the trip, she blogged: ‘ The world is huge and so much more to explore. I wish that others would join me on this way of life.’
No thanks. Especially not after what happened to Emma: attacked by a gang with machetes, tortured, and thrown into the river.
There is a fine line between brave and foolhardy.
I’m afraid she crossed it on this epic and tragic journey in search of herself.