On The North Coast of Scotland

I can't quite believe it, I really can't. We’ve walked from the South Coast of England to the North Coast of Scotland. We're both still alive, still talking, still able to function and, most importantly, still walking. With only 60 miles left to John O'Groats, I’m beginning to wonder what changes I might have to make in order to readjust to normal living.


The obvious change will be no longer spending 12 hours a day outside, exposed to the elements and walking nearly a marathon every day, and I genuinely think that I’m going to miss both. There’s a real joy in feeling like you’ve achieved something every single day, and more so in knowing that it’s part of a much bigger achievement. It might be quite a difficult habit to break, too, as will taking an extraordinary interest in weather reports, and pretending to know what certain clouds and colours in the sky mean. I certainly would anticipate quite a bad reaction from anyone who discovered I'd dug a hole in their living room carpet, used it as a loo, and then popped a plant pot over the top of it, and if I were to turn up to restaurant smelling like I do today, I think I might find myself alone pretty quickly.

Someone yesterday asked if were lovers of the ‘great outdoors’, which made me examine my experience of it over the last 9 weeks. Part of me thinks that we haven’t experienced it a great deal, as ludicrous as that sounds, tramping along with our heads down, mp3 players turned up, and trying desperately to keep putting one foot in front of the other in order to meet our targets. Compared to Ray Mears, 2 months walking with a fridge strapped to my back and a windproof jacket from a charity shop doesn’t really constitute to an ‘outdoors experience’ - we’ve not once had to drink sap from a tree for sustenance, or catch and skin a wild boar. Of course, we have experienced nature in most of it’s extremes, but only as far as England and Scotland’s worst - and in July and August at that. Perhaps I’m being to harsh on myself - it’s been far from easy, and I wouldn’t want anyone to underestimate how sore and exhausted we both are.



The last rest day we had was back in Fort William, between the West Highland Way and the Great Glen Way. Liam did what any normal person would do on a rest day: he rested. Margaret Rose was kind enough to put us up there, and from her front room Ben Nevis was visible. To me, that seemed like a challenge, and so off I went up Britain’s tallest mountain. Retrospectively, it perhaps wasn’t my brightest idea yet, but the views made it absolutely worthwhile.

Our friend James did our final day along the GGW, to Inverness, and witnessed some of the new and exciting games I’d invented to keep Liam busy. The first, called ‘how many’, involves me asking Liam mathematically impossible questions, and falling about laughing at the faces he pulls, trying to work them out. A sample question might be:

“Liam…. Liam. LIAM!”
“what.”
“How many cows do you think there are in that field, as a fraction of a percentage compared to other fields?”
“…………..$*?!……..”

Another excellent game was born when I found a box of Weetabix on the ‘free shelf’ at a Youth Hostel in Invershin. The rules to this are simple: eat a dry Weetabix as quickly as possible whilst walking. I set the bar at 1min 11sec, but was eventually beaten by one second - I think the beard has given Liam special powers (although how gutted would you be to discover that you’re beard’s special powers amounted to being able to eat dry food quickly??)

See you all in a week or so!

Alex x

Camping, Midges, and Beautiful Settings

And so we trudge on. And on, and on, and on. We have now completed the West Highland Way, and (if we might say so ourselves!) in an excellent time of only 4 days. The most advantageous aspect of walking well-trudged paths is that, aside from it being signposted and fenced off from murderous cattle, we’ve been able to walk with other people. Seven and a half weeks is a long time to spend with one person, so it’s quite a change of pace for us to be able to interact with other human beings, and a relief to know that we’re still capable of doing so.

The first people we encountered were - from a distance - terrifying. Aged roughly between 10 and 15, armed with footballs and tracksuits - with no training ground in sight - we were expecting to be relieved of our phones, wallets, and dignities. However, the conversation went as follows:

“Hey mister!! You bin campin'?!”
“Yeah, on and off, all the way from Cornwall”
“Is that nae in England?!”
“Yes, it is! On the South coast”
“I’m not being nasty or anything, but I’m surprised you’re not Dead”.
“……….ok!”

We also walked large chunks of the WHW with an Art teacher named John who was a joy and whom we hope to see at our finishing party, and a mad-man called Andy, from Yorkshire. Andy had simply bought some camping gear, and set off for six weeks of mountain climbing and wild-camping in the Highlands, drinking water from streams, and eating very little. We were truly in awe.

I should also mention that, despite all the warnings and stories I’d be told, NOTHING could have prepared me mentally for the midges on the West Coast of Scotland. We first experienced them in Rowardennan, on the banks of the Loch Lomond, and they easily surpass the nightmarish stories that surround them. We’d walked over 22 miles that day, and had finally found a spot to set up camp. We put down our bags, surveyed our surroundings through bleary eyes, and then they came. They descended from the skies like a bloodthirsty cloud (NOT melodramatic, thank you), and set about demolishing us at a rate of knots. Whilst Liam popped on his easy-to-hand head-net, I scrabbled around in my bag like a lunatic trying to dig to Australia through the centre of my pack, turning the midge-filled air a very deep colour of blue, whilst seeing nothing but red, and beginning to wonder how on earth highlanders possibly put up with this for hundreds of years. Perhaps they were harder men than us……perhaps.

On the plus side, the scenery has been beyond words. The mountains and valleys make truly majestic surroundings for the final, and toughest, section of this mammoth effort, and if you stare hard enough at the peaks disappearing behind cloud it’s almost enough to stop the pain. Almost.

I am sadly unable to miss any of you now, since I have forgotten everything from my previous life!

Looking forward to meeting you all,

Alex x

The End Is In Sight (just over there, beyond those mountains, yeah?)

So perhaps it's a little premature to be hallucinating light at the end of the tunnel, induced no doubt by mother-nature's very best work today, but there really does seem to be a renewed sense of energy in knowing that we are ploughing towards the finish line, and that a large chunk of wandering is behind us. I will concede that we do indeed have an entire country to cross, and that it is booby-trapped with all sorts of nonsense, including mountains, loch's, storms and (as I've managed to keep a straight face for Liam), giant bears. Don't anybody let on - there's a lot of fun to be had here...

Many, many things have happened since I last spoke to you all. It goes without saying that we have met yet more fantastically generous people - some of whom only ask for their guitar to be tuned in return for dinners and beds, and others who are simply happy to receive our smelly underwear (to be washed, obviously - nothing odd or untoward. Although, if that's your thing, the proceeds would of course go to charity...weirdo).

So from halfway we have progressed into Scotland, and were understandably excited about crossing Hadrian's Wall. Well, I don't want to spoil it for you, but it's a total non-event. I won't be surprised to open the door in the morning only to be sliced in half by an angry Centurion, or perhaps a slightly mentally-dispossessed member of the national trust - and I did see it when it was lit up on the TV, which was far more exciting. Can’t they keep the torches up all the time?

My Mum and Sister (aww) were kind enough to drive up and visit us in Hawick (pronounced as if you’ve just swallowed a toy soldier and are trying to choke it out), and walked the remaining few miles of the Newcastleton to Hawick road (a 22 miler). The scenery is noticeably changing now, along with the weather: both appear to becoming far more dramatic.

Finally, it wouldn't be a blog entry without mention of our four-legged foe. Our fear took an unexpected turn when we were calmly told by a hotel owner that a local bull had decided to take a hiatus from being in a field, and had eloped into the surrounding woods with a cow. Our alert level was raised from amber to red when, upon a passing mention of it to a kindly farmer on our travels, she confessed that it was hers. "Oh good!", I thought. "Perhaps it's nearby. That'll be terrifying."

Please keep the messages coming, it’s great to hear from you. Also, we’re planning (slowly) a party for the second, or possibly third, weekend in September. Raise hands those who’d come!

Alex x