Day 6 - 28.2 km. Old gates and binoculars

Mr Darcy and I are not ‘life goals’ kinds of people, but it was lovely to complete the walk from the East to the West of England along the Hadrian’s Wall route. Nine years ago, we crossed England from West to East while doing the Coast to Coast walk (that was a wider section down south and 320km over 15 - I blogged then too and should look back to compare feet stories!).

Today was a varied and surprisingly jaunty day of walking. Carlisle, our starting point, is a beautiful town, as is the surrounding Cumbrian countryside which is flanked by the River Eden. The walking from the fields to the sea was mostly on level ground, but it was a solid seven hours of walking, an hour of rest in total, so another long day on our feet. My feet are dodgy but they earn a rest tomorrow (and possibly for the next year).

There’s little of the wall to see from Carlisle to the end point of the wall - Bowness-on-Solway, a small village (with a very long history!) near the coast. And this is the thing. The Roman’s built and manned Hadrian’s Wall from AD122 until they left in AD410, but there was so much history to follow. Scottish kings, English kings, the Normans and Saxons, invasion, retreat, invasion, retreat, truces and kings all over the place. Pictured here is a church in Solway which was built from stone from Hadrian’s wall (the old castle to the right is a fine example of that) and there are so many examples of the use of the Hadrian’s wall in other constructions. And why wouldn’t there be? England was invaded by the Romans and the wall was built to keep those to the north of the wall out. No one either side of the wall had reason to keep it as it was. Quite the opposite, as the English wanted more territory over the wall, and the Scots (and their predecessors) wanted more territory too.

Highlights of the walk? Mr Darcy, obviously. He’s walked at my pace during the day, and I’ve solidly supported him as he’s slept off the burden at night. Sometimes he pretends to be more sore than he actually is, which is really quite sweet of him. We’ve seen some wonderful sights and laughed a lot in the past six days, just as we have for the past forty-five years. Other highlights have been the places we’ve stayed. It’s always a little random on these walks - we choose where we want to stay before the accomodation is selected because we want to be on the route and we’re on foot - but last night we stayed in the Old Rectory of a church built from the wall, and a couple of nights ago we were in Lanercost in a house in the (literal) shadows of an 11th Century Abbey.

As I mentioned in my last blog post, we got very wet yesterday. Thank goodness our host at the guest house was kind enough to put on the strip heaters so we could dry our clothes and boots! Not all hosts are as accomodating - the host the night before gave us 45 minutes of heating time. Mind you, we used her hairdryer to the point of exhaustion - ours and the dryer’s. And we also took the hosts hot chocolate sachets because we were cranky (we’ll drink them in the Cotswalds). While emptying our sopping wet backpacks, I found Mr Darcy’s store of secret stash. Why was it secret? Because I always tell him he carries too much (including one million litres of water as if we were hiking across the Sahara Desert and he was a camel) but he refuses to let even one millilitre go. Secret stash as follows:

Binoculars that, over the past ten years of numerous hikes, we have not used once.

A device like a Swiss Army knife that is VERY heavy. Granted, we have used it twice. The first time was in Scotland, when it was used to cut a hole in the back of my boot to relieve pressure on my heel. The second time, it was used to cut tape to bind my foot after my boot broke in half. We used it again yesterday to sort out my bandaids. Hmmm. Maybe that device should stay.

Insect repellant we have not used at all. Though we are afraid of midges - flying insects that congregate in their thousands and suck your soul from your body (possibly an exaggeration, but they are tiny and extraordinarily annoying and they bite). When we hiked in Scotland three years ago, this repellant was an absolute essential in the evenings. On reflection, maybe the repellant should stay too.

Water. Yes, we need back up, but there is TOO MUCH.

Another reflection. Fathers and teenaged sons. We’ve seen a number of this combination and found the fathers ridiculously chirpy to make up for the truculence and clear reluctance to spend 6 - 8 days hiking with their fathers. We’ve been there/ done that with teenaged sons, and so admire the fathers for their perseverance because there are bound to be so many times when the bond is strengthened one way or the other. We sat with one of these pairings at breakfast this morning and the dad (possibly lightheaded like we are from extreme exertion) fumbled over his juice and spilt it on the table. He laughed at himself, his son laughed with him as they mopped up, and it was a lovely shared moment of comaraderie to witness.

Encouraging words from the trail:

‘You can do it, Granny!’ Our grandchildren are not with us, but these are words they sometimes use (when they don’t want to get out of the pram and walk, for example, and I am pushing them up a steep hill. Or when there is a particularly tricky section of Lego to build. Or when I come to a cash only bread shop and they want finger buns and I am burrowing for coins in my handbag. Or, worst of all, when a toy needs new batteries and I have to unscrew the back of it with a fingernail. ‘This is team work, isn’t it Granny?’ is an alternative encouraging phrase. Mr Darcy (out of range so I can’t swing from his backpack and make him fall over) uses these to make me energetically cranky.

‘I could carry you.’ This is an offer Mr Darcy makes. It takes our minds off the pain of the last few kilometres as we think of how this could possibly be achieved. Generally we decide he could maybe, at a push, do five metres with me on his back (while carrying both backpacks on my back) before stumbling and putting us both into a ditch. I also work out ways I could help him if he collapsed. I think rolling him down a road would work, but he worries about gravel rash.

Fake flower arrangements in Bed & Breakfast establishments. I wish I’d taken a photo of more of them. Maybe there’s a thought that with all the lovely gardens in England, every B & B needs them in every room. I wish I could tell hosts that they are not the same as fresh flowers. And as, understandably, it’s a hassle to pick the flowers for every room, they should simply direct all guest to look out of the window to the glorious gardens outside. We’ve met some lovely hosts along the way and also other hikers. Everyone is footsore which gives us common ground, and there are many stories to share. We all go to bed very early!

One final thought: New things can be great, but old is pretty wonderful. As proof, the image above is of a modern kissing gate, and an older one (though many are much older!). Gates are reflective of aging in many ways. The catches get creaky, the timber is aged and has scars, but that’s okay. Same with walking. Pace, style and distance doesn’t matter. When you walk, feet on the ground, breathing fresh air, you reflect on times gone by and anticipate future adventures.

Day 5 - 25.5km. Rain, ruins and sore toes

We were very happy to arrive at our accomodation at 4pm today - a hiking earl.y mark as we’ve been doing longer stretches in the past four days. The distance was quite long enough though, particularly as it rained for the first six hours. Granted, it didn’t rain in the seventh hour, but by then our boots were sodden and so were we. We’ve reflected on the rain quite a lot today, and have narrowed down the issues.

Firstly, it’s slippery on rocks and in the mud. This slows us down.

Secondly, there is nowhere to sit in the rain. Yes, there’ll be shelter under a tree, but putting down a jacket to sit on will mean it becomes soaked through, which isn’t very good. And hiking through the fields in the path of a wall built over 1900 years ago means there aren’t sheltered spots or coffee shops to stop at on the way. On the four occasions we’ve found a pub on the trail, we’ve stopped twice for a cider (we would have stopped the other two times for a pint too, but the pubs are closed early in the mornings)

Thirdly, I should not have put my extra layer around my waist (see menopause in Day 4 post) thinking it would be handy when the temperature dropped because when the temperature dropped, my layer was sodden. Not only impractical, but heavy.

Fourthly, it’s summer in England so why are we forming condensation when we speak?

Fifthly, the sheep and cattle and everyone else look miserable when it’s raining.

On the bright side, the rain today made us terribly grateful that we’d had magnificent clear skies on the previous two days, when we saw the best of Hadrian’s wall. Particularly as we walked up and down so many steps which is so much more difficult to do on slippery surfaces. On this topic …

Boots: After having ‘issues’ with the second toe of my right foot on day one, and my left foot on day two, my toes and I had come to a compromise. I’d wrap them up in anti-blister things to cushion them (even though the real problem isn’t blisters as such, it’s that the toe nails are separating from the toes, the blister things lessen the pressure). In eternal gratitude, my toes agreed not to be too sore (until they grew numb) which would enable me to continue to walk. This compromise has worked very well on days three and four, but today Mr Big Toe On The Left butted in. This could have been related to damp boots, but I felt twinges and, balanced on one leg and using Mr Darcy as a door jam come crutch, I took off my boot and took out my orthotic (this changes the position of my foot). This worked for only about 100m by which time it was clear I needed more ammunition - apply an anti-blister thing (or six) and wrap my toe in tape. By now, the rain was well and truly a downpour and it would be another mile or so until we had shelter enough to do the job properly because I needed a dry surface.

But then I had an idea! Thanks to lovely Heather Reyburn, an author friend who had told me that she could no longer wear toe socks for hiking (I have given up on them too - had to filch Mr Darcy’s woollen socks without toes) but wrapped her toes in sheep wool. We’d actually seen clumps of wool in hiking shops in Sydney, but as it cost a fortune for a handful of stuff I could find in the paddock any day of the week, I had dismissed it until Heather suggested it. Very happily, I’d seen a particularly clean clump of wool (unusual - it’s generally got sheep dung or burs or mud attached) the previous day and entreated Mr Darcy to put it in his pocket so I could clean it when I was home (‘Take that, expensive hiking shop!’ thought I). Anyway, Mr Darcy got it out of his pocket and I shoved it in my boot as a short term measure and it stopped the pain all day! I didn’t dare take my boot off until we were at our guest lodge to look at it (don’t tamper with what is working) but when I finally removed my sock I saw there was a blister. So this toe has been taped up like the others, but I will never leave on a hike without a clump of sheep’s wool again, and will investigate starting by wrapping my toes in wool as a preventative measure. Hugs to Heather.

Food: We stay in B&B’s or guesthouses or very small hotels, so breakfast is included. What to eat for seven days to give one strength? I have NO IDEA why, but I tend to ask for baked beans (which I never eat at home) and bacon. And a hash brown if available. Also copious cups of tea and fruit if it is there. It stops the need for lunch (though we have many snacks and Mr Darcy carries my thermos of tea). Mr Darcy tends to have a ‘traditional English breakfast’ as pictured, but will revert to muesli, a banana and Greek yoghurt for the 357 days of the year that he isn’t hiking extraordinary distances, so I am hoping this is a balanced life diet overall.

Back to the wall. We saw a lot less of it today. In fact, we saw none of it, though did walk on top of the foundations (now covered by grass) and also saw parts of the wall that had been deliberately covered up to protect it. In Cumbria, unlike Northumberland, the stone isn’t as strong (sorry for inaccurate quality of stone but Mr Collins currently unavailable (asleep) and the wall deteriorated quite quickly (also it was nicked by landholders to build walls for the paddocks and houses and barns, which also led to its disappearance from the landscape). We also saw Vellums which are like a gully - if the northern celts climbed the ditch and the wall and got to the other side, they could be ambushed by the Romans in a second and third line of ditches.

As we saw less wall today, we spent more time looking at churches (one pictured is a wonderful 11th century Abbey and later a 12 and 13th century church - we stayed (just across the graveyard) at the old Abbey last night. The other pictures (wheat in the foreground) are of our entry to Carlisle, a gorgeous town only 25km from the east coast of England - and the place our journey ends!

Day 4 - 28.9km. Milecastles and menopause ...

We had another long day of walking today - in beautiful countryside in Northumberland and then in Cambria. Rolling green hills, moor landscapes, and more rolling hills. And, of course, the wall. In the first day of our hike from Wallsend to Heddon on the Wall, we spent a long time examining the modest forts and short lengths of wall we came across, but in the past three days we’ve been spoilt with not only substantial stretches of wall, but the remnants of many forts and milecastles.

Milecastles were built every mile - this was a Roman mile - around 1.4 of today’s miles (a mile is 1.6km for those of us doing the conversion!) and were used to house groups of ten or so soldiers on a semi-permanent basis. Forts were built when needed as a reinforcement to supervise the border, and were built in addition to the Milecastles at regular stages from the west to east of England. The wall has stone foundations of around 6 metres right across the country. Originally the wall was around 4.5metres tall and built on the broad foundations, but as stone binding materials (from what I can work out) improved the foundations stayed the same but the wall became narrower. Above the wall itself, there was another 1.5 metres of structure - the walkway and the turrets.

I am not at all a historian, and if I was writing about this history for a novel I would check every fact I came across, but for the purposes of this recount I am relying on what I read before we came, and much more dangerously, what I read late at night when I’m a little weary. I also rely on signboards along the way, and sometimes they are contradictory!

It’s fascinating that although the wall was started in around AD122 and finished six years later, it had many renovations. And this is understandable as it was manned by the Romans until they left England in AD410 - that’s quite some occupation. Sometimes stretches of wall, particularly the early wall to the west which wasn’t built of stone, but timber, was replaced with stone. Some structures were rebuilt on the remains of previous structures, leading to fascinating insights for archaeologists as the early materials and possessions were often covered by mud and this preserved tools, cookware, jewellery - and even scrolls.

There are many fine museums documenting all these things - and showing off what has been found. In 2025 the archeologists are still hard at work looking at what has been found and excavating new digs. I wondered at the ‘no metal detectors’ signs at a couple of places, but then worked out there are a lot of people who search for remnants and should leave them be until they can be catalogued appropriately.

We were blessed with fine weather (sometimes too warm …) for the first three days. This morning was overcast, then there was drizzle, and for the last two hours of our hike it was raining buckets. Which brings me to my next observation …

Perimenopause. Menopause. Post menopause. We don’t come across many other travellers on the trail, but most are travelling west to east (we are travelling east to west) so we meet when we are going downhill (while they are going uphill) or when we are going uphill (while they are going downhill). Whatever the direction, I am seeing a trend. In the rain, men invariably wear their jackets done up, hoods securely fitted, sometimes also while wearing waterproof pants (as pictured).

Young women dress in a similar fashion. But many women like me wear only a shirt with maybe a jacket tied around their waist, or flung over their shoulders. Why? Because we are HOT. Much too hot to risk cutting off access to any cool breezes or showers of rain or possibly hailstones (we haven’t been hailed on … yet) that come our way. Hormonally challenged women are sturdy, dogged, hormonally challenged and hot hot hot.

Another final thought before I sleep. Breasts. I only carry a day pack as do many others, as our suitcases (clean and dry clothes, toiletries, a laptop and other luxuries) are transported separately to our overnight accomodation. But even with a day pack, there are two horizontal shoulder straps, and two vertical straps (one at collarbone height, and one at above waist height), that confine your breasts into a rectangular block. On the bright side: cleavage. On the dark side: when hot (see above) sweat ‘glistens’ above the breasts - and not in an attractive Jane Austen way.

Day 3 - 26.5km. A glorious wall and marriage

Hiking with Mr Darcy after 40 years of marriage, and five years of law school courtship before that, is a fascinating social experiment. Also known as survival. There is no way it could happen without respect, support, tolerance, compassion and a great deal of laughter (a challenge to my pelvic floor at the best of times).

Speaking of which, weeing on the trail is not only a physical but a personal challenge. There aren’t any toilets which is a wonderful thing as the landscape is magnificent, but Mr Darcy insists that only drinking thermos lids of tea all day is not good for my hydration (more on hydration later). Men have it easy of course: stand behind a tree and shoot. Women have to remove various items and squat. Facing a tree, always a chance of someone straying off the path (assuming there is a path) and thinking the sun is sinking early. Facing away from a tree, there’s the chance of making eye contact with an intruder and tumbling backwards in fright. Mr Darcy has been schooled in what to do, stand ten respectful metres away and defend my right to privacy (fight, offer lollies, talk about different types of mortars used by the Romans, anything really) if anyone comes along, but it’s still a very stressful experience.

Back to travelling compatibility. Compromise is essential. Mr Darcy has proven himself to be something of an expert and a fascinated (if not always fascinating) commentator on Roman drainage and sewerage. He also spots rocks that ‘clearly come from the wall, a fort, a milestone or a turret’ which are to me just … rocks. It’s interesting, but can be tiring when we have to walk extra distances to follow the line of stones (which represents the sewerage system in AD122). Then again, Mr Darcy was the general counsel of engineering companies for many years, so I think that might have gone to his head. I’m sorry I have none of Mr Darcy’s photos in this regard, but much as he walks with the determination, strength, perseverance and reliability of a robot, he falls asleep at night so can’t send them to me. I might do another blog post on ‘things that don’t interest me much but might interest others’ at the end of our trip and include these photos.

Of interest to me are plants, birds, animals and the landscape (not just geologic and volcanic and other formations: see stones and Mr Darcy above). But … I couldn’t do this walk without Mr Darcy as he carries his weight in water and warm jackets ‘just in case’. He also walks to the bar to buy cider at the end of the day when I cannot walk one more step. I cheer him on, of course, and tell him a lot of useful information about the Romans.

As to our walk today, much as other people’s holiday snaps can be a trail, the photos say it all (actually only 5% of it). The weather was perfect and at every turn there was the stretch of the wall, or the promise of it, or the scattered stones to show where it was: Northumberland is just marvellous. The image above of a path with greenery either side is a spot where we actually walked on the wall. There are a lot of opportunities for this, but I don’t feel comfortable doing it unless there are no other options on the trail. As to the foundations of the wall (over the past 1600 years, many farmers and others have helped themselves to the stones above ground) sheep and cattle wander over the wall all the time!

The Roman soldiers and legions and the workers for whom they were responsible (more on historical facts tomorrow) either dug 6 metre deep trenches/ ditches to one side of the wall (like a steeply walled moat), or they built the wall alongside natural ridges in the landscape. So anyone wanting to move to Roman occupied land had to make their way through the trenches and then climb the wall. The Day 3 hike was up high on the ridges so the views were particularly glorious. On the dark side, when the breeze was strong, we kept well clear of the edges because it would be frighteningly easy to tumble to one’s death at any moment.

Once Brewed, the town and pub that marked the end of today’s hike, is on the trail of the Hadrian’s wall walk, but our accommodation for the night is at Haltwhistle, a lovely little town that dates back to pre-Roman occupation. Our room is actually three rooms (two bedrooms, a large living room and dining table for eight) at the top of three flights of stairs in a tiny and ancient hotel. Whenever we are randomly given a lovely room like this, I remember how often we crammed ourselves into tiny spaces with six children because it was too expensive to do anything else. This morning, waking up and looking at the towering ceilings and fireplaces was wonderful.

Rain is scheduled for our walk to Lanercros today, so Mr Darcy’s rain gear might come in handy. I will also take an umbrella because it is such a hassle putting rain gear on if the rain is stop and go. The rain might also limit the incendiary warmth I feel in my feet while walking up hills (or walking on the level or walking down the hills, come to think of it). My feet no worse yesterday though, which was a blessing. And my new favourite woollen socks are airing on the rack in the bathroom.

Finally, I am in too much of a hurry to read this missive over (Mr Darcy has morphed into Mr Collins and is telling me to ‘Make haste! Make haste!’) so apologies for a non edited post today!

Day 2 - 26.2km. Countryside, hiking, ailments

Todays hike was only 26 km, but following on from yesterday’s 36km hike, it was a long if fulfilling day walking from Haddon on the Wall to Chesters Roman Fort

The hike:

We saw beautiful Northumberland countryside (with more to come in the next few days of hiking). This section of the walk is sometimes criticised because it closely follows a road, but as a great deal of that road is built over the foundations of Hadrian’s wall, there wasn’t much choice. In any case, most of the time we climbed over styles and through quirky gates (including kissing gates which are hard to explain but are a very useful type of gate). We also saw a lovely bird viewing area, not that we saw many birds.

The path is comprehensively marked (an acorn marks the spot) and England’s ‘right to roam’ over private property, combined with the national trail status of Hadrian’s Wall, mean that it’s permissible to walk though fields of farm animals and crops to walk from the east to west of England.

Side note: Most people walk from west to east on this trail, partly because of the tailwind that blows in this direction. We’ve seen the sense of this in the past two days as we’ve been walking into a headwind. Luckily the weather has been excellent (arguably too warm) but in the rain the headwind would prove more difficult.

Memorable moments from the day.

We’d only been walking for half an hour when a passing motorist stopped his car and wound down thewindow.

Woman passenger: You look like people who know where they are going!

Man driver: Do you know where we can see Hadrian’s Wall?

Me: Go back a few miles to Heddon on the Wall where you’ll find a handsome foundation and stretch of wall.

Woman: We’ve been there! We couldn’t find it!

Me: Walk through a narrow gate just past the garage and bus stop. I promise it’s there.

The thing is, some areas are better signposted than others, and some remnants (in a sea of stone walls) are difficult to find. We have an App and a map, but it’s easy enough to miss a turn off – particularly after a full day of walking. We are getting good at spotting the ditches that ran in front of the wall. When I am less weary I will explain in more detail (possibly making your weary too), but the wall was initially designed to be three metres wide in the foundations, and six metres tall. But there was also a six metre ditch in front of the wall to make it even more difficult to get through to ‘the Roman side’ of the wall. Trouble was, since the wall was built (it was started in AD122) and the Roman’s left a few hundred years later, the stones have been used to make farmhouses and walls and many other things.

Physical condition of walkers:

I’m reasonably certain that the second toe of each of my feet will lose their toenails as, with every step for a few hours today, it felt like my toenail was being lifting from my toe by a Machiavellian being, and my toes are now swollen all around the nail. I’ve been afflicted with this condition in other hikes and have put many preventative then remedial plasters and everything else on my toes. Orthotics come in and go out, as do many swear words. Tomorrow I’ll bring runners on the hike. But likely nothing much can be done. I don’t get blisters except under my toenails - the movement of my foot on the path seems to be too much for my second toes. On the bright side, when hiking in Scotland three years ago I had a big toe problem and that was worse!  Anyway, it only hurts when I walk …

Tonight, after my glorious shower (we are staying in a lovely B&B (pictured below) that dates back to the 1500s, I prepared Mr Darcy’s bath by running the cold water first and submerging my feet in the icy depths. Tomorrow Mr Darcy will carry not only ten thousand gallons of water (he is like a camel, I swear) and my thermos of tea, but also my spare footwear so I can swap shoes. I carry our food for the day, a much easier task as we eat it as we go. I also carry a chap stick and band aids.

How is Mr Darcy? Annoyingly perky when walking, but half-dead as soon as we stop. Sleeps like a bear in hibernation. Bright again the next morning. As I said, annoying.

Hike highlights:

A lovely stretch of wall in a paddock, a fort, and cattle climbing up a bitumen hill (Why? Because cows are curious creatures). Will find a picture of this tomorrow). Lots of sheep and the occasional horse (which I must photograph), but mostly the wonderful Northumberland countryside. Also a highlight, we didn’t potentially lose a phone.

Day 1 - 36km. A hike a drama and a wall ...

We stayed in an excellent hotel last night (feather pillows, baked beans and bacon for breakfast) and set off on our 25.5 km walk to Heddon on the Wall, and a further 3.5 km hike to our accomodation for the night. Or so we thought ….

This first photo was taken a couple of hours into our walk. To be honest, while Newcastle’s industrial area, the starting point for our walk across England along the route of Hadrian’s Wall, was interesting and the tidal river Tyne was our constant companion, we were happy to leave this bustling city behind and set off for the country, birdsong, and glimpses of the wall. Alas! We’d hiked a considerable distance along the Tyne when I asked Mr Darcy (for the rest of this post known as Mr Collins for reasons which shall soon become obvious) whether I could have his phone (mine was kept securely in my bag) to take a photo. Mr Collins tapped his front pockets. His back pockets. His shirt pockets. His trouser pockets. He searched his bag. And my bag. His phone was not there!

I have strengths as a travelling companion, but keeping records of bank accounts and flights and numerous other things are not amongst them. They are Mr Collin's’s strengths, so losing his phone was, particularly as we were far from home, SERIOUS. Supportively calm (in the circumstances) I endorsed his plan to go back to the place where, after taking a photo, we had sat briefly on a bench to have a sip from our water bottles. Mr Collins left me his backpack so I could search (again!) and I also searched my backpack. Meanwhile (interestingly as I had earlier that morning said, after Mr Collins had commented on the unusual arm motions of a man who ran past us, that I hadn’t seen him run in quite a number of years) Mr Collins took off at speed to retrace our steps.

After searching the backpacks, I lugged them on my back and followed along behind. I also asked various Newcastle locals (particularly those with prams as those with prams are typically thoughtful and observant people) what they would do if they lost a phone and where was the local police station. Most told me that if anyone of criminal intent found the phone, they’d send it offshore for parts (not a positive response) or if not of criminal intent, they would hand it in ‘somewhere’ where it would be lost in a black hole of bureaucracy. Knowing that if we didn’t find the phone short term, we’d have to shut down bank accounts and so on, I anxiously walked in the direction from which we had come.

And I walked and walked. Because it turned out Mr Collins and I had walked two kilometres from where we’d sat on the bench. Quite the distance. In addition to accosting innocent passersby with queries about the phone, I took my phone out of my back back. I searched ‘find my phone’ to find that even though two of my sons and Mr Collins could find MY phone, I could not find his. But then I received a call! As it was Mr Collins’s number, I answered cautiously. Was it a criminal? No! It was Mr Collins. After looking under every park bench (because he’d forgotten where we had sat), he’d found the phone!

Crisis averted except … We’d walked an extra four kilometres! Meaning our total for the day would be 32 kilometres, not 28. But we were happy to have the phone!

Having passed Newcastle and the outskirts, we moved into the lovely countryside of Northumberland. Our accomodation didn’t have a pub close by, so we bought bread, cheese and ham and that’s what we had for dinner (also wine to celebrate finding the phone and not expiring during the hike).

Ailments: My feet are my weak point on long hikes (a problem as they are attached to my legs). Currently I have ten hot poker toes attached to my feet, but I hope they will feel much better tomorrow. Nothing too grim, though I fear the second toe from each foot might lose a toe nail. Mr Collins is relatively well, but is groaning regularly in his sleep and mentioned ‘chafing’ on more than one occasion. We’re staying in a farm house in a lovely room with two large windows overlooking the fields close by. On the way here, we walked though fields and country paths framed by native flowers and handsome hedges. Plenty of animals too, particularly the gorgeous romance hearted dairy cattle.

And the wall! We saw snippets of wall and fort in the first few hours of our journey, but later this afternoon we saw an inspiring stretch of stones. I’ll give more details soon, but the AD 152ish original wall was planned to be 6 metres high and 3 metres wide, with a 6 metre deep ditch (with spikes) on one side of it. Every thousand steps (around a mile) there were forts and lookouts. Be gone, Scotts! We saw a magnificent portion of such a wall this afternoon, and I couldn’t believe how we were the only ones there, and could walk up and down its length - being so close the almost 2.000 year old stone wall was magical.

More tomorrow but I am exhausted from our adventures. On that, I’ve just remembered that while most Novocastrians were lovely (see phone drama, above), one man called me an f***ing idiot because he almost rode into me with his bike. I yelled back that he should have whistled (I said it a few times) and it was only when Mr Darcy looked discombobulated and yelled ‘use your bell’ that I appreciated I had committed a cycling faux pas.

Final photos are of our lovely stretch of wall, appropriately situated at Heddon On the Wall (a postcard picture village), and a celebratory cider at the end of our 32km journey.

Day 8: Castlegregory to Camp (11 km)

In Summary …

Eleven kilometres? A walk in the park! Only … it was very wet. And squally and windy. On the bright side, the rain was often swept sideways, so if one could find a particularly thick hedge or wall to shelter behind, it appeared to be barely raining at all. The only trouble with sheltering was that we made no progress and if we didn’t get to the end of the walk we didn’t get a lift back to our very comfortable accomodation! We walked along beaches and country lanes before braving a section of busy road with no pathway (so we spent quite some time when cars came along walking backwards - because of our backpacks - into bushes). We also yelled at Messrs Darcy and Bingley - ‘Don’t end your lives as witches hats’ as they had a tendency to gravitate to the outside of the party in a worryingly protective manner.

In addition to seabirds, we saw hoof prints on our beach walk but possibly due to the inclement weather which would put the wind up the most placid horse’s tail, we didn’t see horses (merely evidence they’d been there) on the beach. But we did see Connemara ponies on the side of the road, and Mr Darcy is now quite good at picking out their salient points.

Now we’re back to the safety of our final night’s accommodation, there is time for reflection on our wonderful walk. A few thoughts (I must remember to read them prior to our next hike …)

Boots

Day Three taught us (this was confirmed on Day Eight) that eight pairs of expensive boots sourced after much discussion with tall young men and women in hiking shops do not sixteen dry feet make. Not even eight dry feet. Absolutely no dry feet! We did all the right things (I even wore gaiters over my boots on the final day!) but after a few hours of rain, puddles, damp and muddy tracks, and the occasional shallow stream, the water made its way in. Squish squalsh squish. On yet another bright side (we were always looking for one) staying in B & Bs and small hotels meant we could dry the boots overnight. Regularly changed newspaper (which acts as a wick when you stuff it in the boot) works wonders, but so does a hairdryer used expeditiously. We also had back up boots - a lesson we learnt after our Scottish hike. Wet boots must be a particular problem for campers (not to mention wet socks).

Poles

To pole or not to pole? Some of our party were attached to their poles like icing on a cupcake, some of us used one pole (remember the old Jonnhny Walker whiskey man in a top hat, waving his cane with style and vigour?), others used no poles. Mr Darcy got his poles out in the two pm ‘general malaise’ period, used it for an hour to perk himself up, then put it away again.

Grumpiness (also known as general malaise and flagging and I think I might die)

Denied by everyone after a hard days hike. Ha!

Stopping (and not stopping)

We would very much liked to have stopped for morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea. Not necessarily to eat because one is surprisingly not hungry when walking (Colonel Fitzwilliam once declared that he was too exhausted to chew anything more substantial than a banana), but to top up our fluids and freshen our spirits. When it’s raining and soggy, or the midges (admittedly only a problem on day one) or wind or rain or even sunshine are out in force, and you’re in a field or on a beach, it can be difficult to find a sheltered place to stop for a while.

Go-to Snacks

Banana. Milk Arrowroot biscuits. Lemon sherbets. Jelly Babies. Cranberries. Nut and sultana mix. Apricots. Apple drops. We all had our favourites. My particular favourite was cinnamon biscuits taken from the previous night’s B & B. And tea. We (actually Mr Darcy) carried two thermoses (is the plural thermi?) at all times. Even standing in the rain, I find tea invigorating.

Weather

Yes, there was weather, but that’s part of the adventure. At home we wear coats and have umbrellas and sit under awnings and stay outside and try not to get wet. But it actually doesn’t shrink you. And frizzy hair is okay. As is no make up and sweat and cow poo on your boots. Walking along a beach with the rain on your face and with the surf crashing alongside you can be wonderful and uplifting and exciting. You’re a part of nature and what more could you want?

Peeing

Easier for men than for women while hiking. Particularly when the woman’s under and overgarments are wet and stick to the skin and one not only has to squat in a field or by the side of the road (while avoiding nettles and brambles and cow dung and farmers in tractors) but adjust one’s petticoats while attempting to spring to one’s feet.

Incontinence

Sometimes things are so hard or funny that you just have to laugh. Sometimes you’re called on to jump over a ditch. Or run through a raging stream or tide. My advice would be, don’t hang on too long before you pee - you are much better to do it prior to one of the events stipulated above. Guaranteed, for the next hour at least, you’ll be saying to any of your travelling companions who will listen, ‘I should have done that ages ago.’

A Helping Hand

Often this takes the shape of a pole extended over a tricky set of stepping stones (grab that pole, people!) or an offer to take something heavy out of your pack in the case of flagging (see Grumpiness above) or limping (see Boots above) or a ghost white face or a startlingly red one. On a fine day when there’s a clear direction (though there are often more than one way to end up in the same place) it’s fine to separate into groups of two or three, but when the hike is hard, or if mist is likely, or rain or low cloud, we all stick together and help each other out. Sometimes perking someone up involves a joke or two, but please use these judiciously (see Incontinence above).

The Good

We hiked at least 180km in 8 days and saw a magnificent region of Ireland.

The Bad

All good things must come to an end.

Finally …

💚🧡💚 Thank you to the friendly, hospitable and helpful Irish people we met along the way. Some of you must have thought us slightly demented for forging on in all types of weather, but you were uniformly supportive and pointed us in the right direction when we were lost (on the hike or on the way to the pub). To my readers, thank you so much for coming along on the hike!

Day 7: Cloghain to Castlegregory (28km)

We had lovely walk along country lanes today, and then walked a long way along the beach. A very long way! 11km on one stretch of a surf beach, then we hiked along the grassy shoreline before stepping onto the sand again. There was surf on one side, a sheltered bay on the other, and plenty to admire (including a murmuration of swallows. The photo below doesn’t capture the rush of wings or remarkable synchronicity - I wish I could work out how to share a video to my website!

The walk today was long but flat. At the end of the hike, we enjoyed sitting in an excellent pub and emptying our water bottles before drinking a celebratory lager (and eating a well deserved cylinder of Pringles). My back was stiff, my feet were sore, but the kilometres were something to celebrate as we’d seen a lot of variation in the coastline in a relatively short period of time.

The Good

The landscape and birdlife were spectacular. When I looked up what the swallows had been up to in forming a swarm (I think mumeration or flocking are the correct terms) everything fell into place (and Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds slipped further back into my subconscious). Birds might behave like this to escape predators, which I think was the case here as there were a number of big black birds in the vicinity (no ornithologists were present on the track so ‘big black birds’ is all I have). If all the swallows are diving and swooping very quickly, it’s more difficult for a predator to capture its prey. This was an event can came out of nowhere, and we were very grateful to see it!

The Bad

So … my achilles heel has always been my feet (thankfully, my ‘horse knee’ problems of the Scottish Highlands 2022 walk didn’t trouble me at all - possibly because I stayed away from Roman Roads and walked relatively sedately for the first few kilometres at the beginning of the day). Anyway, back to my feet. If it’s not toenails coming off, it’s toes swelling like tiny Michelin men (Michelin is a French tyre company, and their ‘mascot’ is a rotund figure made up of tyres). I’ll save my sensitive readers from images of my toes, but do share an image of my toes in my toe socks.

Being risk averse (and pain averse!) I try a lot of different things, but it seems the mere tap of my toes on the ground (7 hours a day, up and down hills and over all different surfaces) causes problems. Special bandaids. Soft linings. Two pairs of socks. Well worn boots (but not old boots). Praying to icons at the sides of the roads. Yada yada. I won’t shock you with my toes, but here they are this morning wearing only their toe socks! What is under the socks? By the end of each day, I imagine five lacerated stumps at the end of each foot, but I am always surprised it’s only swelling and blisters under toenails which (sometimes annoyingly) don’t look too bad. And besides thudding a little at night, they don’t trouble me too much until the end of the next day’s walk.

The Adventure

Much as the beach walking was fabulous, another adventure this year has been finding a pub for a cup of tea. The summer beach season only seems to go from May - September (at most) on the Dingle Way.

When we do find a pub on our walks, even if it is closed, it’s appropriate that WB Yeats comes to mind …

“Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye;

That's all we know for truth

Before we grow old and die.

I lift the glass to my mouth

I look at you, and I sigh”

A relatively short walk tomorrow - back to our earlier destination of Camp to complete our tour of the Dingle Way!

Day 6: Ballydavid to Cloghane (27km)

A summary …

Day 6 of our Dingle Peninsula walk was spectacular of scenery, if a trifle tiring.  We had a wonderful walk along the coast before veering into the countryside towards Mount Doom (also known as Brandon Mountain). The route to the base of the mountain was a meander through fields and along country roads. On the way we saw a pub. As only 4km ago (note I now think in terms of kilometres, not traditional concepts of the passage of time) we’d had a nice breakfast, we weren’t particularly hungry, but we hoped to secure a coffee and cake before our ascent of the mountain. This was unfortunately not to be, which might be a good opportunity to record a regular conversation about coffee shops and pubs on our walk …

Why is it closed?

There are a number of possible answers.

It’s before 9 o’clock in the morning.

It’s midday.

It’s after five o’clock in the afternoon.

It’s Monday (or Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday or Saturday).

It’s Sunday.

On this particular day, a coffee and cake was not to be, so we proceeded on our way. There are a number of mountains on the approach to Mount Brandon, all with common features (tall) and as they are grouped together and our trail was of the zigzag variety, it was difficult to work out which particular mountain we were headed for. But finally, there it was, cloud capped and green and rock strewn. I won’t bore you with a step by step description of hiking kilometres into the sky, but I did reflect (as I walked) about different approaches to steep hill climbing.

Make haste! Make haste!

Yes, Mr Collins, I appreciate Rosings awaits, but please can we slow down.

Are we there yet?

If we were there, Lydia, I’d have a cider in my hand.

That’s not funny anymore.

This is actually one of my favourites because it applies to everyone, from to the sweet of disposition Jane, to the more naturally optimistic Lydia. What was funny a few hours ago (a boot in a stream, falling in the gorse, getting sunscreen in your mouth by mistake) is, after 20 km or so, not at all funny anymore. No joking or laughing, we’re climbing.

One step at a time

Wise if also glaringly obvious advice (so stop saying it every bloody minute) from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

It looked shorter on the map

This is clearly not said by Colonel Fitzwilliam who knows how to read a map, but likely one of the rest of us who gave the advice (or nodded encouragingly when someone else gave the advice) that one way might be better than the other. Note: things can also look less steep on a map, or less swamp like.

The Good and Bad

We wouldn’t have wanted to miss a thing, but 27km is a long way to walk, particularly when there is a steep ascent. We were lucky enough to have perfect walking weather though - cloudy and fine. We also had the benefit of literally walking into the cloud at the top, which was cooling (if visibility limiting).

The Interesting

Bogs

Chunks of bog are taken from the landscape to be made into peat for heating purposes. This isn’t allowed to happen everywhere, but it’s an interesting cultural phenomenon. I must find out more about it.

Dogs

Does ‘I’m just off to walk the dog’ mean something different in Ireland than it does at home? We saw a four-wheel drive motoring along with four border collies running merrily along behind it. Then we saw a tractor (children in the back) with different farm dogs running alongside.

Fogs

What I really mean is clouds and mists. A mist came up from the valley. A cloud descended from the heavens (at one point, they met in the middle. The clouds and mists appeared to have the same composition of damp. Something else to look up.

Sobs

Hiking is painful. Even with excellent boots and other equipment, by the end of the day, your feet ache. And even if things are going well, it’s not unusual to have a blister where one has never appeared before (for example, in reponse to Lizzie’s wet boots on Day 3). And it’s hard to avoid this - after all, Lizzie just had to get to Jane and Netherfield!

There are also muscle pains, often in the shoulders (carrying a backpack for hours at a time) and legs (putting one foot in front of the other - see above). There is also ‘desperate for a pee’ pain. There is also ‘prickle in the palm of your hand pain after pushing yourself upright after peeing’ pain (which is, unfortunately, very fresh in my mind after a recent misadventure).

Finally

Another long walk tomorrow as we get closer to our destination. We’ll be spending a lot of time at the beach but won’t be swimming or lying on deckchairs as tomorrow’s hike includes a walk along an 11km stretch of the peninsula’s longest beach! More to come!

Day 5: Dunquin to Ballydavid (18.5km)

In summary …

We had another stellar walk with magnificent views today - mostly along the Dingle Peninsula headland, with regular forays onto the beach. The first stretch of beach walking was magnificent, as were the aspects from the other expanses of sand, but the wind! Goodness! If it had been at our backs we would have sailed along like Daleks on steroids. But as the wind blew continually into our faces (or at best pushed us sideways) every step was equivalent to two (at least).

Tonight we are staying in Ballydavid, a picturesque town facing the coast. We’ve had an excellent shower in our excellent room, and our host has provided us with coffee, tea, rhubarb crumble and sticky date pudding with caramel sauce, so after a long day of walking we are almost ready to venture (gingerly with aching limbs and sore feet) into town for another pub meal.

The Good

Fabulous scenery at every turn. Also, the friendly Irish men and women. In the same way a group of people in Australia are often referred to as ‘guys,’ it seem groups of people in Irish pubs can be called ‘lads,’ which I quite like. A collective noun for people (not genders).

The Bad

The wind presented challenges, but it must be said that the skies were blue, the clouds were high and the weather (when we were out of the wind) was mild. And perhaps we were lucky, as our accomodation host said ‘pffft pfft pfft’ when we mentioned the wind, and she claimed it was barely a flutter. The wind has died down tonight, so we’re hoping it will continue to die for tomorrow’s long walk.

Adventure

Missing persons

We misplaced two of our party when they took the high road and we took the low road, but we met up again when, showered and fresh, they greeted us at our accomodation. And that’s a tricky thing about modern hiking. There is an App that shows you the route. But also a guide book. And finally signs at the sides of the road. And as it’s not uncommon for a party of eight to walk separately (not always as a result of a marital dispute), not to mention tight bends, high hedgerows and a pee at the side of the road, it is possible to be separated. Many of us rely on wifi so if we’re in the field (sometimes literally) and the cows won’t communicate our direction and location, there’s no one else to do it.

Missing top hat

When Mr Darcy’s cap flew off in the gale, Jane bravely chased it down, anchoring it to the ground with one of her poles until it could be safely retrieved. Jane also very sensibly (to ward off the double threat of sunburn and windburn) wore not only the hood of her jacket today, but anchored her hat on the top of it, securing it firmly with a double knotted string. Lydia on the other hand, who wore sunglasses but no hat, now has the complexion of a strawberry tart

Finally …

Tomorrow is a very long hike, almost to the top of this mountain. On the way home from the pub, the peak was hidden by clouds which might tell you something …

Day 4: Dingle to Dunquin (25km)

According to our numerous guide books, today’s walk was meant to be 21km. While we noted the ‘strenuous’ rating, we thought ‘strenuous’ would be in terms of the muddy terrain, the long winding inclines and declines, the crossings of streams, the beach walk and staying upright in a brisk wind on a rocky headland, but one ‘strenuous’ factor we didn’t take into account was that we expected to walk 21km not 25km. This distance was confirmed by not one, not two, but three of our party with GPS watches. Not that we’re complaining (too much) because every kilometre was worth the effort, but those last few kilometres were on the taxing side (particularly as not one, not two, but three of our party continued to compare (every few steps) their GPS watch totals.

Today’s ups and downs and things that we found interesting might be shorter than usual because Mr Darcy, with an extraordinarly long suffering harrumph, has switched off the light, but I’ll give it a go.

The Good:

Basic meals are delicious when you are desperate for a break. How fresh! (two days old). How appetising! (a lump of cheese and a cracker). How filling! (two liquorice all-sorts, a jelly-baby and a brazil nut). There is also gratitude when the weather isn’t as abysmal as it was on day three. “If it were any warmer (Kitty pulls her hood over her head before shoving her hands in her pockets and stamping her feet)," I’d be unattractively flushed when I climbed the next mountain.” “If it weren’t so cold (Mr Wickham drops to the ground and performs a series of push-ups) I wouldn’t be so buff.” “Pass the smelling salts, the sun is out and my complexion will be ruined” (Mrs Bennet).

The Bad:

I once asked a tradesman to remove wood panelling in a hallway, which I thought made it look cramped and dark. He stared at me in horror because he loved the wood panelling. But when I insisted it be taken away he said: ‘One man’s meat is another man’s poison.’ This was annoying at the time on various bases, but the phrase stayed with me. Why is it relevant here?

Being a woman relatively short of leg, I have mountain goat tendencies. Send me up a semi-vertical slope, intersected by giant granite boulders, occasional bogs and clumps of fern, and I am in my element. But send the even tempered Mr Bingley up there (let alone Mr Collins), and he will complain about the slippery mud, the unevenness of the surface, the unpredictability of the path and the length of the journey.

In other words, today’s walk was more suited to some than to others. But one thing we agreed on was that the views coming into Great Blasket Island were wonderful, and could only be truely appreciated from our vantage point, just below the clouds.

The Adventure:

Ruins

There are no pubs (or shops or anything much else except for exceptional views) in Dunquin. But there are pretty painted cottages, and the occasional B&B. There are also structures (pictured) that go back to approximately 500 BC which is quite remarkable. Also remarkable is their accessibility - not that we disturbed any stones, but sheep happily grazed amongst the ruins.

A lament

We came across a sheep lying prostate on the track. The poor animal had lost an eye (big black crows - say no more) which became additionally unsettling because Mary was certain the sheep was still breathing. When finally convinced this was simply the movement of the sheep’s wool in the wind, Mary was keen to perform a burial but alas we had no resources. A recitation of the Irish blessing and we were on our way again.

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.

Accomodation

Tonight’s accomodation is very pleasant, but our shower is a pre-fabricated rectangular prism roughly the size of a modest upright coffin with (once you are inside said coffin) an inward opening shower screen. Leave the screen open to adjust the heat or cold before you get in? Uh uh. After walking 25km (including a bonus 4km), it’s an effort to bend one’s knee let alone perform the double half pike flip required to adjust the temperature until you’re well and truly under the gushing stream.

Dinner

Fortunately, there is a solitary pub which we were very grateful for. But when each piece of fish in the fish and chip offering is the exact same size, one wonders if renowned Irishman John West was involved in the preparation of said fish. Happily though, the lager was chilled, as was the chardy, and there was a very friendly crowd at the public house.

Black pudding, white pudding, mushy peas and apples

Black pudding has blood in it (nothing more need be said). White pudding doesn’t have blood in it. Mushy peas are like an Australian avocado dip (with a very similar consistency). On the bright side, apples are sometimes left at the side of the road and passersby are told to help themselves - the apples are crisp and delicious!

Finally, another coastal walk on Day 5. After a good night’s sleep, we’ll be on the road again.

Day 3: Annascaul to Dingle (23km)

On the Road Again

After an excellent sleep (more on that later) we started our journey bright of eye and bushy of tail, walking along country lanes and through farm fields reminiscent of our 2016 hike from the west to the east coast of England. The clouds were grey but high as we started our journey - by midday the rain had set in. A mist. A drizzle. A sprinkle.

Until it wasn’t.

We’re all familiar with the expression, ‘the rain fell gently like pinpricks on my skin’ (or words to that effect) - the rain on Day 3 was nothing like this. Initially, the rain came from behind, and the push of the breeze at our backs wasn’t at all unwelcome (much as the moisture accompanying the breeze dripped down our legs to puddle in our boots). Later, we were walking face first into the rain (if I wasn’t being so particular about where my feet should go - cow dung, bog, stream, rock, mud - I would have put my sunglasses on). Pinpricks? No! Darts? Yes!

The Highs

The scenery was beautiful. Green green fields, grey stone walls, mountainous hills dressed in red, peach and purple hues. We walked across grassy fields, climbing over numerous styles (some at peculiar angles) as we traversed Sugarloaf Mountain and other hills and dales, to finally walk down a long straight road to the pretty town of Dingle. There are many of seabirds here, and a bay and busy harbour to explore tomorrow.

You don’t give me flowers anymore … Mr Darcy did give me flowers, pointing them out as, wet and weary, I trudged past them in a muddy field. Given I’d recently snapped his head off for smiling at the beauty all around us, this was no doubt a peace-keeping gesture worthy of a UN acknowledgment. And it also made me think - how lovely that I’ve been presented with these flowers, yet others can continue to enjoy them too.

We found shelter from the rain at lunch time in a disused petrol station which we were extremely thankful for. What do we eat for lunch? After a Full Irish Breakfast (or some variation on that) we’re not too hungry, so generally cheese, biscuits, dried fruit and (as Mr Darcy - affectionately known by hiking companions as ‘the camel’ - carries multitude stores of water including a thermos or two) I also enjoy a cup of tea.

Mid journey, we came across Minard Castle which overlooks the ocean and a backdrop of mountains - quite spectacular. The now ruined castle was built in the 15th Century but destroyed by Cromwell’s forces in 1650. It’s situated on a beach of rocky pebbles and (before Cromwell …) would have been extremely happily situated.

The Lows

Well, it rained. Mr Collins quite annoyingly declared that he was thoroughly enjoying the change of scene the rain presented. ‘Bracing!’ ‘A challenge!’ ‘Look at that wet sheep!’ Mr Bingley and Mary heroically went in search of two of our missing party (surprisingly not Wickham and Lydia but our fleet-of-foot duo, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Kitty) after a group of Canadian hikers told Bingley and Mary that our companions had taken a wrong turn. All ended well, but we were disappointed with the Canadians. On the bright side, we’ve spent quite a lot of time pondering whether this bum steer was accidental or deliberate …

The In-betweens

My boots are sodden, but everyone else’s boots are sodden too, and misery does like company. How to dry said boots? Stuffing them with newspaper and paper towel was like mopping up a lake with a cotton ball, so today, our day in Dingle Town, we have taken to waving boots and other items of clothing out of the window and making judicious use of the hairdryer.

Dinner and accomodation

One positive aspect of walking all day is that you get to find a dinner venue at 6pm and can take advantage of the ‘early bird’ specials. We went to a very posh pub and had a delicious meal. Our B & B is very nice too - cosy yet comfortable (and it has a window ledge for the drying of boots)

Thoughts on Sleep

Darcy and I generally wake up at least once a night and ponder the worries of:

• the world

• our family

• our careers

• whether we’ve remembered to put the dishwasher on.

Hiking all day puts such worries to the back of our minds. Our bodies are weary and it’s nice to feel the weight of our limbs without having to require them to actually do anything (like walk). Even if we do need to get up to go to the loo, there’s no complaint about prostates or giving birth to six children, our nighttime thoughts are of the schooners of cider and pints of lager that were happily consumed over dinner.

Tomorrow we walk to Dunquin!

Day 2: Camp to Annascaul (via Inch): 20km

Today’s walk

We had perfect Irish weather (which is a most un-Irish phenomenon according to many of the Irish men and women we chatted to today). A balmy 20 degrees, a cool breeze and high fluffy clouds made for a very happy day hiking through fields, traversing country roads and crossing the occasional bog. Lots of sheep, handsome horses and beautiful scenery (no green filters in these images - all true to colour). The scenery is in the photographs, but a brilliant day in the sunshine does not necessarily make for an entertaining or enlightening blog post, so I’ll fill you in on other matters too.

Last night’s dinner

Who knew that seafood chowder seems to be the staple Irish dish on a pub menu? Sausages and mash are another favourite (though not one of mine). Last night I ate excellent local fish and chips. Two in our party ordered side dishes. Mary’s side salad was of the coleslaw variety and served in an eggcup sized bowl. Mr Collins’s chips (we know how he likes a potato!) were served in a bowl the size of his head.

After a tipple or two, our party worked out we have fifteen children between us, to which Mr Wickham exclaimed, ‘And we’re not done yet!’ Lydia looked horrified at the implications until Mr Wickham (with a wink) clarified that he was referring to grandchildren.

Things we learnt along the way …

A friendly elderly woman, clearly a local, pointed out two mountains and told us that the small one was actually higher than the big one but was set further back and that’s why it looked smaller. We followed these ‘breasts’ for some distance, before turning away from the sea and heading inland again. Annascaul is a very pretty town set in a valley. Stone cottages, a couple of pubs, green verges, stone walls and a river.

The South Pole Inn

Annascaul is the birthplace of Tom Crean, a sailor renowned for Antarctic polar expeditions including Englishman Robert Falcon Scott’s ill-fated voyage and race to the pole against Roald Amundsen (if you’re read In at the Deep End, you’ll know all about this) and Ernest Shackleton and his crew’s remarkable survival after a capsizing in Antarctica. Crean retired from the navy and ran a pub, the South Pole Inn, in Annascaul until his untimely death. There is some wonderful memorabilia in the pub, including a replica of a boat used in Shackleton’s voyage.

Ailments

For a round up of today’s ailments, we went around the cedar/ cider table in the pub this afternoon, which raised a few issues of concern. Sore feet. Stiff shoulders. Balls (slightly concerning on various levels, until Kitty explained she was talking about the balls of her feet). Also, ‘No feet’ (later explained as numbness below the knee - also slightly concerning). Mr Darcy reported ‘general malaise’ at one point, but getting his poles out appeared to invigorate him.

An adventure:

Four of our party, slightly slower up the ascents, had the potential to be gored by a bull or suffer a terrible fall. We were walking in the clouds (up high) and needed to go ‘off track’ because we wanted to stop at Inch (for movie buffs, the seaside town of Inch was the magnificent setting for Ryan’s Daughter), when we saw an open gate leading to the road and the ocean. Yes, there was a sign on the gate ‘NO TRESPASSING BEWARE OF THE BULL’ but the gate was invitingly open and we saw a large vehicle, and a farmer, in the paddock, so thought it would be safe to follow the cow pats to the road. When the farmer avoided eye contact after our friendly wave, we thought this might simply be a matter of avoiding the glare of the sun. But when he lumbered into his four-wheel drive, motored up the hill to the point where we’d entered and firmly closed the gate, we became moderately concerned. However, we were already half way to the road (and the gate behind us was now closed) so we kept walking. Only to be faced with an electric fence and a VERY HIGH gate at the roadside. There were footholds on one side of the gate which we could climb, but none on the other. Nevertheless, Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley (longer of leg than Lizzie and Jane) ably climbed the gate and jumped to the far side before assisting their companions over the railings. It was a true testament to Mr Bingley’s strength of character, some might even say heroism, that he didn’t complain too much when the muck on Jane’s boots smeared his hands with excrement.

Totally irrelevancy

A weed is simply a plant that’s in the wrong place … I often think that about field flowers, and we saw some excellent examples of them today - the dandelions were like splashes of sunshine amongst the mauves and reds and purples and pinks. There are hedges of fuscia’s growing wild at the sides of the laneways. Also honeysuckle, lupins and the ubiquitous blackberry bushes.

Tomorrow we walk to the town of Dingle, so watch this space!

Day 1: Tralee to Camp in County Kerry (22.1 km)

Four lawyers, an engineer, a sonogropher and two doctors go for a walk in Ireland …

Today was the first day of our nine day hike around the Dingle Peninsula on the South West coast of Ireland. We’re not an organised group, just a group of friends (for now …) so we do the navigating ourselves, though the trails so far have been relatively well marked. Tralee is a very handsome town, and our biggest navigational challenge was finding the round-a-bout out of town, but once that was done, we were on our way.

There are eight of us on the hike, but today we were joined by my daughter. Such youth! Energy! Photography and map reading skills! We will miss her when she leaves her ‘carer for a day’ role and decamps back to lawyering in London.

Five highlights/ observations/ lowlights:

1. The scenery! Green, green and green. Emerald is an apt description for the fields, though the pinkish gorse in the hills is a beautiful contrast to the grey of the rocks and the brown of the bogs. After walking up and down gentle hills for much of the day, we’ve arrived at the ocean and, like Frodo’s quest to Mount Doom (not our ultimate destination we hope), we are well and truly on our way.

2. It rained, but not too much. Some like to wear waterproof coats, but I prefer a brolly. We ate honeysuckle flowers and blackberries from the side of the road (with sandwiches and water). There was nowhere to stop to eat on the way, so it was lucky we had provisions. The crimson hydrangeas in Ireland are just beautiful! And of course I found ponies.

3. Misadventures of the day were happily few. Lydia fell on her bum (very gracefully) while traversing a stream, and Kitty sank to her ankles in a bog. Mr Collins’s achilles is a little tender, Mary’s second toenail is at serious risk of separation from her toe, Mr Bingley has spots on his legs. Also a nettle sting and a dodgy ankle. But all in all, it was a successful day.

4. We thought we’d left tiny midge critters behind on our 2022 Scotland hike, but unfortunately they crossed the border to Ireland to find (feed on) us again. The Aerogard came out of our backpacks very quickly and we averted disaster, but the best way to avoid midges is to keep on walking ...

5. Our accomodation. We are staying in an expansive Bed and Breakfast establishment and our host is a very friendly Irishman. Besides threats of sending Mr Wickham up the road with a cattle prodder at his back should he complain about the incline on the first part of tomorrow’s hike, and telling Lizzie it was about time she got some meat on her bones when she declined to order a Full Irish Breakfast, all seems to be well.

Tomorrow we head to Annascual, which is a moderate hike (assuming we don’t get lost) of 18km. In the meantime, we’re off to the pub across the road for a lager, a chardy and a meal. Then dinner. And bed!

Sunshine Through the Rain

Sunshine Through the Rain

Sunshine Through the Rain will be released on 29 November, and is available for pre-order now. I loved writing country vet Prim Cartwright and large animal specialist anaesthetist Blake Sinclair’s story, and can’t wait for it to be in the hands (and ears!) of readers. Sunshine Through the Rain will be available in print (in Australia and New Zealand), eBook and audio formats.

Blurb:

Country vet Primrose Cartwright knows more about heartache than most but in the close-knit community of Ballimore, she's found a place to call home. Prim has her work and the love of her sisters, and she doesn't need anything else - certainly not Blake Sinclair.

The new vet in town, Scotsman Blake has a love-them-and-leave-them reputation. He is curiously protective of Prim, but his privileged upbringing and jet-set life are nothing like her own. Prim has tried - and failed - at the dating game. Even if there's a burning attraction between them, the last man she could ever trust is Blake.

Blake finds Prim fiercely independent, vulnerable, and unlike any other woman he has ever known. But Prim won't tell him her secrets unless he tells her his own, and Blake's pain is buried deep.

Will Prim's determination to unravel the mystery that threatens her career bring Prim and Blake together or tear them apart? As the storm clouds gather, can Prim and Blake confront their painful pasts and create a future together? Will they find the sunshine through the rain?

A new edition of In at the Deep End!

💙💙 In at the Deep End was my debut novel. And just like a first born child, there are all sorts of wonderful memories associated with that special first - joy yes, but also uncertainty about what comes next (will I ever be able to write another book?) and fear of the unknown (will readers like the book?). Which is possibly why this re-release (and sparkling new cover) is particularly exciting. Seven years on, I not only have the same great publisher in HQ/ HarperCollins, I also have a wonderful and supportive reading and writing community around me. Some readers have loved this book already - but this new release gives new readers an opportunity to find In at the Deep End in bookshops and on line. And if they enjoy this story, they might discover my next one and the one after that …

I loved the old cover of In at the Deep End. It was unusual, quirky and represented the characters well (I’ll always think of ‘Trouble’ ‘Control freak’ and ‘Hopeless Romantic’ when I think of Harriet, Per and golden retriever Dougal. But, while this book is in keeping with my rural fiction novels like On the Right Track and Up on Horseshoe Hill (and later books) and Harriet has a traumatic past, there is a lot of lightness too, particularly in the interactions between Harriet and Per, and their arguments about the early 20th Century explorers Scott and Amundsen - the British and Norwegian explorers who battled to arrive at the South Pole first. This lightness is reflected in the new illustrated cover, and the romantic comedy positioning. I hope you love this new cover as much as I do!

If you haven’t had the chance to read In at the Deep End (or even if you have 💕) the new edition will be in Dymocks bookshops and elsewhere on 7 June 2023. 💙💙 I’ve also reproduced the full cover (back and front) below. I do love the dog on the spine!

ARRA Book Signing Event

What a fabulous day!

Around fifty romance writers recently took part in a book signing event, hosted by the Australian Romance Readers Association in Sydney, and I was delighted to be a part of it. I not only met many readers (who brought along books for me to sign) but I also met the very delightful Julia Quinn, the phenomenally successful (for very good reason) historical romance writer (who also wrote the books behind the Bridgerton series). I’ve been a fan of Julia’s for the past twenty years (I brought a number of her books along on the day, and she very kindly signed them for me).

At the end of the day, I was beyond excited when Julia purchased a copy of In at the Deep End and asked me to sign it.

What a very special day!

Shelter From the Storm launch

A new book release is always exciting, and I was delighted when my latest hit the shelves. January 4 isn’t an ideal time for events too close to the release, but I was fortunate to be able to travel to beautiful South Australia in August, where I visited quite a few libraries and a few book shops as well. Thank you South Australia for your very warm welcome. And thank you to the talented writer and podcaster, and gorgeous person, Michelle Barraclough for being the host of my book launch at Berkelouw books at Brookvale. A full house and lots of fun talking about Shelter From the Storm, my writing process, and many other bookish things.

Shelter From the Storm has received lovely reviews, and many people have told me they have enjoyed learning more about frogs (Hugo from Shelter From the Storm is an environmental biologist specialising in biodiversity and herpetology (that’s frogs!). I enjoyed researching frogs A LOT while writing this book, and while many parts didn’t make it into the story (possibly because my editors like readers to keep wanting to turn the pages … ) I think there’s enough in the book to portray the importance of frogs to biodiversity and a healthy environment. Also, frogs are (mostly) very attractive critters. If you’d like to know what frogs you hear croaking in your back garden, or if you’re on holiday and curious, have you thought about registering for Frog ID? You download a free app, record the frog, send it off, and the wonderful scientists and field assistants (often known simply as ‘froggers’ will get back to you and tell you what frogs you are listening to. This project also assists the Frog ID project in mapping frog populations, vitally important research for the preservation of many species of frog. Here is the link to the highly recommened Frog ID!

Last but never least, thank you lovely readers for welcoming Shelter From the Storm onto your physical and virtual bookshelves!

Glasgow Hospital, and The Duck House

Setting the scene:

I’ve recorded various hiking adventures (and misadventures) in the past couple of weeks, but now our hike is over, I was intending to end my blog posts (because reading about someone else’s holiday has its limitations). But my friends, family and readers have been so generous in their support, that I thought they deserved to have the icing (or more accurately casting) on the cake. So I’ll round off our hike with a post about…. .

What happened next:

Remember the sore shin I referred to on my Day 7 post? Our walk was over! We went out to dinner! I was walking very slowly, but surely after a good night’s sleep all would be well?’

Only, it wasn’t. When we hopped on a bus to Glasgow after our final day, my shin was still very painful. Our little hotel was lovely and I didn’t want to leave it, but I had to. We’d already established a piggy back from Mr Darcy wasn’t the solution to my problems, so it was time to get my lower leg (which was now red and puffy) examined. Since I could no longer walk very well, we caught an expensive taxi to the hospital (it was only 5km away - I was so annoyed that we couldn’t walk!) There was a four hour wait, but the nurses and doctors were great. And the prognosis, while not ideal, at least gave me certainty. I have a stress fracture in my tibia.

Walking on my leg (in the absence of trojan soldiers to lift me Cleopatra-like, or a helicopter airlift, or a horse) on the last 20km of our hike was patently overdoing things a little. On the bright side, I now have a moon boot, and I can blame my hobbling on that!

The Duck House:

We are now staying in The Duck House in Kent, England. The Duck House is a tiny cottage with beautiful gardens, built on the grounds of a much larger house (conveniently located in the middle of nowhere). The willow tree that gracefully dips its fronds into of the ponds reminds me of the willows I read about in childhood. And the interior of the cottage is charming (a very appropriate English word!). But the very best thing about being here is that our daughter Michaela, who has been working in London for a year (so far), is with us. We’ve already been out and about, exploring so much of what I love about England. The country towns, the gardens, the old buildings. But, besides friends and other family (including the four legged members), I’m starting to miss a lot of things from home. Items at the top of that list? The sounds of the waves on the shore, my very own bed, and the scent of eucalyptus. But…

Back to work:

It won’t all be bush tracks when I get home (not only because I can’t walk very well). I’m up to the next round of edits for Shelter from the Storm, which I can’t wait to get stuck into (hard work, but it always makes the book the best that it can be). I’m also excited about attending the Romance Writers of Australia conference in Fremantle mid-August, together with an Australian Romance Readers Association signing event. In early September, my good friend Pamela Cook and I are going to the snow (moon boots and ski boots are interchangeable, aren’t they?). Later in the month, I have a family wedding! And from 23 - 25 September, I’ll be attending the Northern Beaches Reader’s Festival, which all Sydney (for very good reason!) is talking about. There is so much to look forward to after our wonderful Scottish adventure. And so much to plan before we go on our next walk.

In the meantime, thank you for reading this blog. Letters are currently out of style, but recording our daily events has reminded me that letters and other correspondence play such an important part in our lives. It has been wonderful to reflect on not only the walk, but the scenery and events I loved (and endured) along the way, and it’s been equally wonderful to read your comments here and on my socials 💕

Boot style number three….

Day 7: Kinlochleven to Fort William 25km

Our day started with a long climb back into the heart of the highlands. The weather was fine, the breeze was brisk, the clouds were high in the sky. But then…

Another boot issue:

Mr Darcy: Why are you limping?

Me: These new boots are good for my sore toes, but the left boot hurts the back of my heel, and the band aid I put on last night isn’t helping. I wish I could hack off the top of the boot.

Mr Darcy: After today, I’m throwing your boots out.

Me: But I’ve hardly worn them.

Mr Darcy: I have a knife. I’ll cut the bloody top off.

See photo below. It was an excellent excision, and problem solved. But then…

My horse leg and more…

As you’ll all know, I’ve had a slight problem with my right leg (my ‘horse leg,’ because my horse fell on it) but it had always been manageable, and at the start of each day we hit the road in relatively good form. At the end of Day 6, the bottom of the shin of my horse leg was tender, but I put it down to the boots and loosened the laces. However, a few hours into Day 7, when we were well and truly in the highlands and the only way to (ultimately) rest was to keep on walking to our destination, my shin began to hurt A LOT. And as it was my horse leg, that had implications for my horse leg issue too. While we had generally been able to cover 4 km an hour, we were lucky to be making 3km an hour (I know this because, when Mr Darcy wasn’t looking sympathetically at me, he was looking at his Garmin and wincing). To sum things up, we left our excellent B & B at 8.15am this morning and, with only three brief breaks, we arrived at the next B & B after 6pm… . Not an easy day, but some nice things happened (and they were strangely linked).

Firstly, we were walking along a ridge with a mountain one side of us, a mountain on the other and a river down in the valley below, when we heard the unmistakable roar (now I know what it was, it was ‘an unmistakeable roar’) of a jet engine. There was no time to take out the camera (and I don’t think we even wanted to because it would have spoiled the moment) but a sleek black jet flew through the valley, seemingly only metres from the water. And then another one. And another and another. Four jets! It was amazing and VERY Tom Cruise in Top Gun! I even forgot the pain in my shin! I have tried to find an image of said jet, though this one is a different colour. Do jets come in different colours?

Secondly, other hikers obviously noticed my limp, because as we were overtaken on the track (there were more people hiking on this stretch, which is popular for day trips), hiker looked back very sympathetically at me (and Mr Darcy for being burdened with me). But then, one woman stopped, held out her hand and offered to pray for me. Wasn’t that kind? She wore a fetching headscarf and looked extremely pious and concerned, so of course I said yes. There was a little confusion (her English wasn’t great, and my Romanian is totally non-existent) because I had to put down my pole (that was propping me up) to take her hand while she said a few words. We waved her off (I didn’t like to attempt to walk and risk seeing her disappointed face that her praying hadn’t worked), but as she disappeared over the rise, holding bravely to Mr Darcy’s arm (which I alternated with the pole) we took off again. And then….

The third miracle! Tom arrived in person! To be honest, he wasn’t actually Tom Cruise, but his name was certainly Tom, and he was an American paramedic. Was the woman who prayed for me in fact a Scientologist? It didn’t matter, because Tom had backpack full of stuff. We weren’t sure what the problem was, but he provided a knee brace and a stretch bandage, with the following advice (in so many words):

Give this a go, and I hope the next 12km are easier than the 13km you’ve already done, but I can’t see how they will be.

Tom’s medical supplies (we tracked him down and returned them that night) didn’t really help, but it was thoughtful of him to offer them, and for other hikers to express condolences (many with understandable ‘I’m glad I’m not you’ expressions).

To pass the time, Mr Darcy and I spent a few kilometres thinking about how we would help each other if one of us collapsed. I’ve always joked that if Mr Darcy twisted an ankle or couldn’t walk for some reason, I would simply roll him down the hills. He’s never liked the idea of this, insisting he’d be more injured by the rolling than the initial injury. And he’s also been concerned that with my woeful sense of direction, if I left him in search of help, I’d get lost and have no chance of finding it. Also, while someone would eventually find him on the track, they wouldn’t be able to find me. But I digress. That was my plan for him. but it was me who couldn’t walk very well. This is our exchange about me:

Mr Darcy: If I could carry you I would, but you’re a bit heavy.

Me: You carry both our cases (around 20kg each) and a 5kg back pack down the stairs to the baggage transport people every morning, and I’m not that much heavier than all those things.

Mr Darcy: My back pack is strapped to my back, and our cases have handles. These items aren’t ‘flailing around’ or ‘out of balance’ like you would be.

Me: What about a piggy back?

Mr Darcy: My back pack would have to be on my front, and as we’re on uneven rocky paths, I might overbalance and fall. Anyway, even if I were able to to carry you and everything else, I don’t think I could walk much more than 50 metres.

Me: That’s something.

Mr Darcy: We have 11,500 metres to go. And if I collapsed, who would look after you?

Me: Point taken.

This was not a terribly heroic state of affairs, admittedly, but Mr Darcy was already carrying a loaded day pack to relieve me of carrying anything myself, and it was also a matter of strength and agility. He’s 82 kg and fit (most especially on a bicycle) and I’m 51kg. The path was rough. The day was long. The hills were high. The valleys were deep. It was NOT going to work. So we went through other options…

Mr Darcy: If I see anyone strong enough to carry you, I’ll pay them whatever they ask to do it.

Me: Thank you, darling.

Not seeing anyone with appropriate potential, we fantasised. What if an army troop went past, and the sergeant offered the services of his strapping soldiers (I could be hoist between them like Cleopatra on a chariot!) Sadly, this army troupe didn’t eventuate, and I kept hobbling all the way to Fort William. Which is why the final 1.5km (which was NOT in the guide book) was particularly unhelpful. Our B & B was also up a hill, and the room was on the first floor (also unhelpful, but Darcy, true to his word, carried our 20kg bags, and the back pack, up the stairs with nary a complaint).

To conclude, a nice cup of coffee and shortbreads later (plus a long shower), and I was able to hobble the short distance into town for dinner and an obligatory celebratory glass of wine (or two). 'It’s not about the destination, but the journey.’ I said happily as we walked back to our room. That might have been the wine talking, as it was quite a shitty day, but on the whole we enjoyed ourselves, and we did finish the walk of 170km in 7 days.

The good:

Undisputedly, more magnificent scenery! And much as the jets were out of place, we enjoyed them too. Particularly as my dad, who was in the airforce in the 1950s, told me just before we left home that he hadn’t walked in the highlands, but had flown over them many times while based in Scotland!

The even more good:

In an earlier post, I wrote about a young couple we’d seen on our hike. They talked, held hands, and picnicked together. No head phones or ear pods, laptops or phones. They wore sensible clothes and had sweat-soaked hair. And we’ve seen many young couples (and older couples and families) since then. Long distance walks - even day trips of six or seven hours - means that you spend a lot of time together chatting and laughing (and, granted, complaining) but you do it together, and it’s such a great opportunity to get to know each others’ strengths and weaknesses.

The bad:

I’m sure peri-menopausal, menopausal and post menopausal woman feel the heat more than any man. Sure, I start the day in as many layers as the next man, but within thirty minutes (or within 5 minutes if it’s a steep climb), I’m shedding layers like a cicada in the early months of summer. I don’t mind my feet and legs being hot, but anything above the breast line I find extremely uncomfortable (like a permanent hot flush).

Also, peeing is difficult for women, particularly on a barren moor with midges about (see earlier post).

The ‘I didn’t know that:’

Nothing tastes better than a cup of tea and a McVities chocolate wheaten biscuit when hiking.

Tomorrow, a final round up! 💙