Treasuring lockdown’s little adventures

Whether you’ve been foraging or bin-hoking, let’s unite over refound joys, says Anna Hart

In the past, when I travelled to farflung destinations alone, I used sites like meetup.com or Facebook hobby groups to connect me to locals with a shared interest. Most online groups – runners, cyclists, lindy-hop dancing – are wonderfully welcoming to international travellers, and my travels have been dramatically upgraded this way. On one trip, I flew solo into Detroit on Friday night, and the next morning I was running along the banks of the river with 11 members of a social runners’ group. I joined their regular postrun brunch, and left with a few phone numbers and a notebook full of advice for the best bars in Corktown. I’ve similarly swing-danced my way into Auckland, kick-boxed myself into Chiang Mai and wine-tasted into new friendships in Tuscany.

But now, much closer to home, we’re seeing a proliferation of hobby groups emerging, as small gatherings try to make the most of our new liberties. After all, we’ve had plenty of time to rekindle pursuits and passions that have lain dormant since childhood. Myself and my workout buddy Amber discovered we have a shared love of fossil-hunting. “Reculver is one of the best places in the British Isles to find prehistoric shark teeth,” Amber whispered one blustery morning, as we forced each other to do squats in the park. The thought of a shark-teeth-hunting excursion a 30-minute drive away was just what my travel-starved soul needed. An adventure! A hunt! An expedition!

Two Mondays ago, as soon as it was legal, four of us set off for Reculver, on an eagerly anticipated day trip. Amazingly, we found prehistoric shark teeth. But more amazingly, we found other fossil hunters. Lots of fossil hunters of all ages, would-be paleontologists and have-a-go geologists, poking through the muck. I found this interesting, because friends in London tell me about a visible resurgence in mudlarking – essentially, trawling through the muck on the banks of the Thames. Over the last decade, enthusiasts with metal detectors have returned to the shores of Britain’s muckiest rivers (the London Mudlark Foreshore Meet Up Group on Facebook has grown to 1,784 members). In a similar vein, back in February, the Netflix film The Dig, about the 1938 discoveries at Sutton Hoo, reignited interest in amateur archaeology.

In addition to being an amateur geologist and fossil-hunter, I’m also an amateur social anthropologist, so I wonder if our hunter-gatherer instincts have sharpened during this time of crisis? After all, Primark is closed.

Foraging is perhaps the poshest form

of scavenging, something that Instagram self-professed “foodies” show off relentlessly and chefs brag about. Unsurprisingly, foraging has been an eagerly embraced lockdown activity, a way to make another walk in the country park a bit less boring, a feeling that we’ve done something tangible with our day.

At the other end of the scavenging spectrum is what I like to call “bin-hoking”, best delivered in a Belfast accent. Back in Northern Ireland, calling someone a “bin-hoker” is still a top-notch insult, insinuating that they get their goods from skips. This form of scavenging has similarly seen a lockdownresurgence, and in recent months much of my friendship circle have triumphantly reclaimed discarded items of furniture and vintage clothing from skips and the street.

I’ve enjoyed observing the rise of treasure-hunting hobby groups in recent weeks, especially now we can all set out in larger groups of six. I find it heartening to note that when our parameters closed in, we found ways of diving deeper into our immediate surroundings. We found new ways to engage with the same old environment, and by doing so, we also satisfied urges that were normally met in other ways. Restaurants might be closed, but we still found ways of turning our everyday walk into a culinary adventure, seeking out wild garlic to throw into our pasta. Museums remain closed, but we’ve found ways of seeking out history in nearby fields, beaches and river banks. Furniture shops might still be closed, but we nevertheless managed to find some discarded mid-century furniture for an ill-fated upcycling project. When all these much-missed places open up, I hope we still never stop searching for weird and wonderful things to do.

i A new generation of mudlarkers hope the Thames will give up its treasures