Free Spirits
Jo Woolf celebrates the life and writings of five incredible female explorers.
IN an era when exploration was largely reserved for men, what inspired a handful of women to turn their backs on respectable domestic life, and set out for the far horizon? Having spent the last five years looking at the stories of female explorers in the archives of the Royal Scottish Geographical Society, I would say that one of the main attractions was freedom. The exhilaration of independence, coupled with the excitement of adventure and discovery.
At a time when women risked lifelong disgrace if they did anything remotely eccentric, these ladies did not just step out of line, but smashed all the moulds.
What also strikes me is that they were, almost without exception, talented and prolific writers.
Luckily for us, as they journeyed through some of the most inhospitable regions of the globe, they found time to describe their experiences in letters and journals, many of which were later published as books.
Through their writing, we get a sense of how they dealt with setbacks and fear, and the inspirations that kept them going.
“Whenever I look up from my writing, I ask, Was there ever such green? Was there ever such sunshine? Was there ever such an atmosphere? Was there ever such an adventure? And Nature – for I have no other companion, and wish for none – answers, ‘No’.” (“The Hawaiian Archipelago”, 1875)
The daughter of a Yorkshire vicar, Isabella Bird’s wanderlust overcame her lifelong physical frailty and eventually propelled her to fame as a writer and early travel photographer.
For Isabella, the life of an explorer happened almost by accident.
In 1873, while staying with friends in Australia, she impulsively boarded a ship bound for Hawaii and thereby discovered the joy of solo travel.
Never mind the cockroaches on her pillow, or the seasickness: for the first time in her life she could please herself about what she did and where she went.
In Hawaii, once she had found herself a horse, Isabella set about doing some sightseeing.
In order to ascend the 14,000-foot peak of Mauna Loa, she roped in the British Consul. He was an obliging young man, who promised to bring ponies and guides.
Unfortunately, he remembered the horses but forgot to bring the tea, a disastrous oversight which Isabella scolded him about on the summit, as they shivered in flea-infested blankets, and gazed at the fiery inferno.
She was so weak on the return journey that she had to be carried to her bed, but she revived quickly and was unapologetic.
Her Hawaiian odyssey was just the first instalment in a long life of adventure.
“Travellers,” she wrote, “are privileged to do the most improper things with perfect propriety; that is one charm of travelling.”
more than adequate for her needs.
When they raised concern about an unmarried woman travelling alone, she assured them that, in an official list of essential travel items for tropical climates, there was no mention of husbands.
The two things Mary didn’t need to pack, because she carried them everywhere, were clarity of mind and an irrepressible sense of humour.
In the rainforests of Cameroon, these qualities saw her through situations that would challenge even the likes of Stanley and Livingstone.
Mary, it is fair to say, was asking a lot of herself. She intended to paddle up the hippo-infested rivers to study freshwater fish, and she wanted to investigate the spiritual beliefs of cannibalistic tribes.
Clad in voluminous skirts, Mary waded through mangrove swamps, emerging with what she called an “astrakhan collar of leeches”.
She climbed Mount Cameroon and learned how to paddle an Ogowé canoe – she found that the oar came in very handy for walloping inquisitive crocodiles over the nose.
Despite her friends’ prophecies, she lived to tell the tale. Her book, “Travels In West Africa”, is honest, witty and delightfully timeless.