Epilogue

It’s been almost a week now since the end and I’ve been gathering my thoughts together to write some sort of conclusion – partly for myself but also partly to answer the questions people are already asking.

Did I find what I was looking for? Kinda. I did get to a point of calm and contentness: it took a while of shedding distractions and finding the right balance in my walking ’style’, and even after all that it came in fits and starts.

However what I found was less of a ‘thing’ and more of a ‘process’. This means that unfortunately i can’t bring the feeling back to London wholesale. Because the walk was far more about the journey and not the destination, an experience not a goal, I reached John O Groats not with a feeling of euphoria but sadness because it meant it was all over. I won’t be going back with a constant beautific Buddha-like smile but I will be returning having gained a set of aims and techniques that enable me to achieve that feeling. Now I have to go about doing these things in the ‘real world’, which is going to be much harder than walking 1,200 miles.

I also found that you can’t walk away and sweat out regret and guilt. Walking 1,200 miles definitely changes your present, potentially your future, but doesn’t change anything about the past. Secretly (and naively) I’d hoped this might be the case. The sense of peace is more a respite from these more negative feelings rather than something which erases them.

Now many aspects of returning fill me with sadness and anxiety. This sounds incredibly spoilt and ignorant to people who have spent the last 12 weeks working, but I’m scared that I’ll forget all these ideas and within months everything will be back to how it was before, except with the addition of a savage bite taken out of my savings. The main benefits of the walk – the freedom, simplicity and calm – were so intangible that I can already feel the memory of them slipping away.

However, I did have an amazing time, and it has refreshed and rejuvenated me; these were the original objectives and they have been met in spades. Thus the next big challenge really lies back at home. It lies in tinkering with the bits of my life that undoutably need improving, (for example learning how to drive before before I turn 31 next February is a priority) and it lies in making sure I don’t lose the feeling and forget the lessons of my time away.

Beyond that, I’d definitely love to do more ‘lightweight’ backpacking-whether for a weekend or a month. I’ve definitely got the bug – after 12 weeks l feel like i’m just starting to get it right. I’ve even said that I’d do the return journey – JOGLE – when I’m sixty because there would be such an elegant symetry to it (and because it would be great fun). However, If i do get that chance i might choose another of the big’uns. Suggestions would be welcomed!

On re-reading my epilogue the conclusions do sound a bit obvious. I can live with that-i gained something hard to put into words (despite my best efforts on the blog along the way!), something intangible that you have to actually do first-hand to fully understand, and even then struggle to understand what it was. Which is why it was definitely worth doing and will stay with me hopefully forever.

Right, having answered the questions I needed to deal with first I’m going to move onto the questions everybody else is way more interested-what were my favourite landscapes/areas, and what were the worse bits. I’ll get this written up by the end of the week as I go back to work next Monday (!!!!) and will need all my energy for that.

PS thanks for all the emails and texts of encouragement and congratulations over the last week, they were lovely!

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LEJOG66: Watten to Duncansby Head (John O Groats)

My mum dropped me back at Watten quite early in the morning so that she could get back in time for her cooled breakfast. The weather was cloudy and cool and was predicted to rain later, making for a very different experience to the day before despite the landscape actually being very similar. I now felt like I was walking in northern Scotland, not a semi-imagined Australia.

I spent most of the morning on a single straight road surrounded on each side by scrubby fields. The clouds like the land streched out for miles but seemed to be hanging very low in the sky, giving me the feeling that there wasnt much space between the ground and the white ceiling above. I was like a speck caught between two massive horizontal planes, one green on white. The road rose and fell several times, so i was constantly walking towards a spot on the horizon that when I reached it revealed another stretch of road and fields.

I knew it was the final stretch when I could see a mast on the crest of the hill ahead. Over that hill would be the sea, and I would be turning right along the coast road for the final few miles to john o groats. I was a little bit emotional, I could feel something well up inside me and push through a couple of times to my throat and eyes. I didn’t really know what it was I was feeling emotional about, I didn’t really know what I felt about the fact that my three month journey was soon to be at an end. But instead of trying to analyse myself too much I decided to just enjoy the remanded of the walk and the feeling of lightness and calm that came with it (when things are going right that is!).

It seemed to take forever to get to and pass the mast, but eventually I did. And there was the sea in front of me. Oddly once I knew I was on the final stretch the knotty bag of emotional within me dissipated. I walked along the coast road, marvelling at how different to Cornwall and lands end this felt. Mostly the land ran into the sea, and out to sea were the shapes of Stroma and the Orkneys. It was a bit greener, a bit less dramatic but definitely with more of a feeling of isolation.

My mum joined me just before John O Groats to walk that last few miles, and Jenna drove on ahead to meet me at the finish line. We had decided to finish at Duncansby Head because it was the most north easterly point and everything I’d heard about JOG sounded quite underwhelming. A twisty road led out and up onto a headland where we could see Jenna waiting next to the lighthouse. Looking back over my shoulder I could see the north coast stetched out to my left, and as I got closer to Jenna i could start to see the far more rocky east coast appear to my right. There was a bottle of fizz and a finish line flapping violently in the wind waiting for me to step through. And that, technically, was that, and hugs all round for good measure.

We then spent a while exploring duncansby head, which has a fantastic view of a set of cliffs and stacks as pointy as witches hats, and finishing the champagne. Over the top of the headlands you could see the sea spread out for miles. It felt like the right place for the walk to finish, and I’d advise anybody else getting there to check it out. We then retreated to the bar were we had a drink with Ed who had finished earlier than me due to not being hindered by the earlier dilly daillying of a support team. Afterwards we proceeded to a couple more pubs for dinner and more drinks, before returning back to the B&B slightly worse for wear.

On tuesday, the next day, I did actually visit john o groats properly to sign my name in the book. I found the entries of Gary (promising to do it again next year), David (saying he enjoyed every moment of it-even Staffordshire?), Ed (asking for new feet), and the feral boys (who had left a message teasing me about the fact they got there first). I didn’t get the official photo partly because I think it’s a bit of a shabby con but also partly because without all my kit on it seems a bit pointless. We popped into the little museum which is quite cool in an old school way – lots of old photos of life on the area and the kind of old bits and bobs (singer sewing machines, ceramic hot water bottles etc) that I’d love to fill my house up with to bursting point.

In the afternoon we walked to Dunnet Head (the most northerly point on mainland britain) to see the Puffins of which there were tons, flying about around the cliffs in the strong winds like the result of an unholy union between a bat and a parrot. Seeing the plump little things flying is an amazing and ridiculous sight that can’t help but raise a chuckle and warm the cockles of your heart.

However, all this was but a pleasant tactic to delay the inevitable departure on Wedesday morning. As I said goodbye to my mum and climbed into jenna’s car I suddenly felt really sad, the gnawing ache of melancholy I used to get as a child on Sunday evening after a particularly enjoyable weekend. It was over, something intangible and yet very real was slowly slipping away, a feeling of simple purpose, pleasure, freedom and space. The envitabilty and drudgery of the real world was breaking through to the periphery of my mind. The knot of emotion rose up into my throat again as I gave my mum a last hug goodbye, squeezing on my vocal cords and making my words come out all wibbily wobbily.

However, it’s still a while before I do return to the so called ‘real world’ as the 18 hours of driving back to London is being punctuated by a couple of days in the Cairngorns and an evening in Lancashire. I’ll still be blogging for a bit, not about what I’m currently doing but with some kind of conclusion/epilogue (although this morning was sad I don’t want to leave the entire blog on such a sad note!) and the answers to some questions everyone asks me, so if you’re still interested keep popping back for a while. I haven’t finished just yet! Sent from my iPhone

Onwards to the Most Northerly Point

Moi? Drunk Already? Celebrating with Mum

I Did It

Victorious at Duncansby Head

LEJOG65: Lybster to Watten

Only two days left, including today. I knew it was an important point in the journey because my mum had come up to join me and now I was going to be walking with the two people who had supported and helped me all along the way. Luckily the weather was predicted to be glorious which I felt they deserved in the circumstance. It’s been hard enough for them already, it would be even worse if try had to walk alongside me in the pissing rain and howling wind.

We packed up Base Camp early so once my mum got to our campsite we could set off. However, once there We had an early disaster. The campsite we hoped to stay at that night, and had got my mum to book at B&B close by to especially, was fully booked for the next couple days. All the other campsites were either too close to John O Groats, making the last couple of days seem pointless, or too far away from the B&B, making things logistically tricky. Mum had a brain wave and called her B&B to find that they had a field we could use, which wasn’t ideal as we wouldn’t have a full range of facilities but better than staying in Brora.

 When we got back to Lybster the weather was so lovely we decided to stop for a coffee. We found a lovely little heritage centre down by the old harbour run by a fiesty Yorkshire woman who’d moved up three years ago with her Scottish husband. Her and Jenna discussed the merits of the different markets in the Skipton area while she prepared our drinks. I tried hard not to roll my eyes and smirk.

We set off at 11 and were soon on the minor country road heading inland that was to be our path for the day. It was about 12 miles of practically straight Tarmac with rough fields an scrubby moorland on either side, punctuated by houses every 500 meters or so. In the sun and heat it almost felt like we were crossing Australia, such was the sense of almost desert-like conditions with agriculture hanging on by its finger tips to the inhospitable landscape.

Around lunch time it started to get a little more fertile-looking with plantations appearing on either side. We stopped by a renovated set of iron age burial mounds that you could actually crawl into (claustrophobia not withstanding) to get to a central chamber inside. The information sign by the road said that when these people had been here the climate was more hospitable and the land more fertile than today. It seemed odd to think of the north of Scotland being like the south of England, and that climate an lansdcape can change naturaly so (relatively) rapidly.

We resumed our course after the day’s third application of sunscreen. I could already feel the tell tale burning sensation on some of my exposed flesh and didn’t want my final day tomorrow being ruined by a sore neck. We were also constantly applying insect repellent as we were being bother by flies brought out of hiding in the plantations by the tastinest of our flesh.

As we continued into the afternoon the team were wilting in the heat. I felt fine if not a little greasy from all the creams and sprays I’d been covering myself in all day. The landscape got a bit greener at Watten, and we settled down in the pub to watch the final set of the Wimbledon mens final. As you may already know, this mean that we were there for over an hour and a half as Roddick and Federer eeked every last drop of energy out of their tired bodies before eventually Federer broke through to become ‘the greatest tennis player ever’.

Although I think we’d all been rooting for Federer, the sight of Roddick’s emotionally exhausted face made everyone feel quite sympathetic for him. However, we did a bit of our own record breaking, making our way through four packs of scampy fries and three packs of pork scratching. After a day sweating and walking our bodies were obviously craving salt and fat and wouldn’t stop eating until they’d been topped right back up again.

By the time we left, picked up the cars and got to the B&B it was quite late, however one lat surprise was in store for us. The B&B was situated west of John o Groats just by Dunnet Head which is the most northerly part of the UK (john o groats is the most north-easterly point). The field we had been worrying about at the beginning of the day was practically on a cliff edge overlooking the sea with an amazing view which included Dunnet Head, huge grass topped stacks, seals lounging on the beach and the Orkneys in the back ground. The sun was setting, the sky was blue and the sea was silver. It was amazing, and we watched it change and the sky become a burnt pink while we made and ate our cheese and chorizo omlettes. However, as the sun retreated so to did the insects advance, and soon we had to make our way inside of our different modes of accomodation feeling like we really had made it to the end of the world. Sent from my iPhone

LEJOG64: Badbea to Lybster

When I got dropped back off at Badbea everything was covered in mist and the road seemed to disappear about 50 metres in front. This meant super concentrating to ensure a car didn’t suddenly burst out of the mist and mow me down. This concentrating malarky may sound really obvious but is there’s anything guaranteed to make you switch off it’s walking along a featureless road.

The scenary (what I could see of it) stayed pretty constant during the morning. At one point the road started sloaping downhill, and it was only after I was past by three cyclists pushing their bikes uphill did I realise just how steep it was going to get. And then I realised that if what goes down must come up, and that there would be an equally excruciating uphill. Lo and behold, as I reached the bottom the mist cleared and suddenly I could see a steeply zig-zagging road ahead at Berriedale. Normally this would have phased me, however after almost twelve weeks of walking (and sans heavy pack) I though I could ace it.

And you know what? I did. It was easy, my by now overdeveloped little legs took me up it as quickly and smoothly as if I’d been walking by a canal. It made me wonder how I was going to maintain this new found strength, or whether it would all fall away after a couple of months at home.

From there on in the landscape subtly changed. Gone were the big hills and plantations to be replaced by flatter rough fenced pastures and a series of farm steads on either side of the road. Of course due to the continuing mist I could only see a field or so in either direction. Bizarrely it looked exactly like I’d imagined this part of the country to look like, like farms hanging onto the edge of the world.

In the afternoon I came across something quite affecting. It was a monument to the men in the surrounding three villages who had died in the first world war. What I was struck by was how long the list was and how sparsely populated the villages i had just past by were. You got the sense that these places must have been decimated as the result of a war dicatated by people living hundreds if not thousands of miles away. Even all the way out here, Europe’s most north westerly country, were people dying due to the shifting geo-political tectonic plates.

In the last hour or so of my journey the mist started to lift and the sunshine came out. By the time I got to Lybster it was beer garden weather, and we sat in the baking heat of the afternoon sipping ice cold drinks. Jenna had been all around and told me that certain areas were misty while others had been blessed with this sun all day. I spent the rest of the evening stretched out overlooking the cliffs at Lybster and feeling very, very relaxed. The sea streched out for miles, the sky was a deep blue spotted with white clouds, the grass underneath was fresh and spongy, and seals and birds played in the water below. I knew that soon all this would end and the ‘real world’ would return, but I didn’t dwell on the fact but instead savoured the moment for all it was worth. Ultimately peace and tranquility comes from within yourself, you have to make that choice rather than sucumb to the chaos and confusion that surrounds you. However, sitting looking at an amazing view in gorgeous weather with no work to worry you for at least two weeks doesn’t half help the process!

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LEJOG63: Brora to Badbea

The new campsite was great-a big field surrouded by hills and a suitable distance from road and rail. It did lack a few amenities, but then it’s better to be basic and in a good location than vice versa.

I left early to start road walking. The A9 at this point is still quite a main road with tons of cars and articulated lorries flying past. My tactic was to walk along the tarmac (because it’s faster than the verge) towards the oncoming traffic (because its meant to be safer) and hop up onto the verge when a car came past. I’d hoped that maye I could switch off and listen to some music but actually I had to be constantly focused on the oncoming traffic.

Pretty soon I was overtaken by what I think is potentially the most challenging LEJOG attempt I’ve witnessed-a couple and their child cycling up, with the child riding tandem on the same bike as dad. Just to make it a little harder they were camping – I knew because we’d seen them at our campsite. Not only was this impressive but it also gave me ideas about how I might be able to continue the light- travelling spirit for a long time to come.

After another half hour I bumped into another on-foot LEJOGer, again somebody we’d seen at our campsite the night before. His name is Ed and he’s the only LEJOGer I’ve met so far who’s younger than me (early twenties), but his journey has been a bit different. For one thing he decided to do the walk less than two weeks before he set off, which is impressive but meant he couldn’t research or pre-book any accomodation. Hearing his tales of having to walk two days worth of route in one go when accomodation couldn’t be found reassured me that my two months of mayhem had been worthwhile. Also he had been far more alone on his trip than me, only meeting up with his dad twice and then just to hand over the next bunch of maps. Apparently when it got really tough he’d rung up his brother, got him to describe what he was doing that day, and then imagined/hallucinated that he was actually doing the same thing. As a result he was really looking forward to getting to John o ‘Groats and then getting home, far more so than me. It made me feel a more confidet that the effort and money that I and oter people had put into the trip has had a beneficial effect.

The weather got sunnier and the views continued to be beautiful-green hills to our right and a strip of gently undulating fields to our left that ended on small cliffs before giving way to a twinkling sea. We got to Helmsdale a lovely little harbour town at mid day which was Ed’s destination, but I then went on for another couple of hours to take a chunk out of tomorrow. The road from here was new, cutting out the previously squiggly (and difficult) uphill route with a gentler and more graceful long curving gradiant that looked like something out of a car advert. I was now much higher above the sea and my route headed slightly inland so that I became surrounded by planatations until I came to my stop for the day, a car park adjoining the site of a pre-clearances village. Here I waited for my ride.

We stopped off in Helmsdale and found a bar with a big tv to watch the Wimbledon semi with Murray vs Roddick. It was very much a man’s bar- apparently there wasn’t even a ladies toilet, Jenna had to use the staff toilet. However when the locals did arrive for the match they were quite different to those in Tain, very friendly and very vocal in their assessment of Murray’s performance (“Sort ya serve out ya nugget!” being one of the more repeat-able comments). One guy even started to get a bit obsessed with the idea that my mum was coming up to meet me and was pestering for an introduction. I said I’d put in a good word for him. We left after seeing Murray demonstrating why he didn’t deserve to be in the final, got some fish and chips (apparently recommended by clarissa dickson) and headed back to our campsite where the sun was gently setting over the hills, and turning the clouds into pink strips running across the sky. Sent from my iPhone

LEJOG62: Tain to Brora

On this day I was going to feel like I had a full time support team as Jenna was following me in the car and planning to meet up along the way. Luxury!

The day started by crossing the Dornoch Firth on the A9 road bridge. The firth looked amazing in the sunshine, a huge expanse of blue water with golden sandy banks that disappeared in a haze out to sea on my right. The road itself wasn’t actually dangerous because there was a sizeable hard shoulder, but it felt a bit scary whenever a large truck (of which there were many) roared past creating a wind which felt like it was going to pick you up and throw you over the (very substantial) railings. I even had to take my hat off about half way through to stop it becoming a casualty.

On safe ground I past a group of people sunning themselves outsde their house and had a quick chat. They talked about the other LEJOGers who had been this way and how long they had taken to get this far. I realised that from now on I was treading an incredibly well worn path and that residents must be quite used to seeing the sweaty and tired likes of me trudging past their doors. They still seemed impressed though. They also told me that the big group of bites on my feet were from horse flies not midges, and that these winged menaces were the biggest downside to living in this area. I was obviously going to have to be more vigilant in future.

At Dornoch I bumped into Jenna (fancy that!) and we had a quick coffee. It was a lovely little place and Jenna decided she wanted to live there. I agreed that it was pretty without being too twee or touristy but felt it was a bit too far from a Muji or Uniqlo for me to be comfortable settling down.

 I moved on up the coast until I got to Loch Fleet which wasnt really a lake but a big very sandy bay about 5km across with a small entrance to the sea, making it look more like a river with massive sandy banks. There were big skies and big dark green and brown hills at one end making it all look very dramatic, especially in the sun. It looked a great and well frequented spot for wild camping. Jenna was waiting and we had a barbeque with vegetable and haloumi kebabs-lovely!

 At this point the route joined up with the A9 and circled around the loch. However, one could cut a lot of this out by crossing the loch at it’s narrowest point near the coast. In fact, there was a point where only 20 metres or so seperated either side. I’d like to say that I put all my kit in a big waterproof bag and then swum these 20 metres. However, im a very weak swimmer so this would have been very dangerous. Failing that I’d like to say that a kindly local resident lent me his boat so I could row across. However such a person was not around. So instead what happened was that I closed my eyes, and about 30 minutes later both me, Jenna and the car suddenly miraculously appeared at the end of the road on the other side of the loch. While this might technically be classed as cheating I don’t feel it’s against te spirit of LEJOG which is about walking the best route up the country, not about walking on A roads. I have walked up the country-I just had help for 20 metres or so. My conscience is clean!

Jenna then joined me for a bit of coastal walking between Golspie and Brora. The coast is amazing here, little streches of golden sands and blue sea spread out forever. Along the way we spied seals, birds and even a huge fairytale castle called Dunrobin. Unfortunately the good weather couldn’t last and a massive thunderstorm broke. We huddled by an old wall to wait for it to subside but it kept getting worse and us wetter. After a while somebody came our of the house opposite and told us we could shelter in the stone shed on the other side of the wall. However as soon as we got in there was a woosh and a load of dark dirty water full of leaves started pouring in from where we’d just come in. Yelping we grabbed our bags and jumped out of the other door into the garden which had been on the otherside of the wall we’d been sheltering next and ran for cover underneath a large laurel bush. It was here that Jenna noticed that we were infact now in an ornamental garden which was directly overlooked by the now massive shape of the fairytale castle in whose grounds we had accidentally found ourselves in. It was quite spooky, especially as we were now locked in after the door we’d jumped out of had been shut behind us to stop more water getting in. I would have explored a bit more but the rain was pretty relentless. Eventually it subsided and we were let out. Neither of us had the guts at the time to ask the guy who let us in whether he owned the magical castle itself, so that will just have to remain a mystery.

We continued up the coast as the stormy afternoon turned into a calm sunny evening. The sea became as flat as a pancake and as silver as mercury with black rocks and seal snouts poking through like dirt on the surface of a mirror. Our clothes dried off gradually and eventually we reached Brora harbour, tired and hungry from a long day. Sent from my iPhone