500 Mile Walk Story
Hattie Medvei, who worked in Creel with Father Verplancken for some time,
took on another challenge. She recently completed a 500 mile walk to raise money
for the Tarahumara Children's
Hospital Fund and the Macmillan Cancer
Relief Fund in England. Here's the details from Hattie:
Hattie's Durham to John 'o Groats Challenge
August 7th to Sept. 9th, 2005
I
was warned by many people along the way that John o’Groats would be rather a
let-down, that there is nothing there other than the famous signpost by which to
have a photo taken and perhaps, if the weather is feeling generous, a view of
the Orkney Islands. So, I set out to walk the final few miles from Canisbay to
JoG rather nonchalantly. I could see from the distance that it is true, JoG
really is just a scattering of houses and two hotels, but as I walked into the
village I was greeted by a signpost telling me there would be ‘A Warm Welcome at
the End of the Road’. The sun was shining and at the end of the road I walked up
to get to the signpost, I could see right across the
Pentland Firth
to the patchwork of Orkney Islands – that was a warm enough welcome for me!
I
decided to walk up to Duncansby Head straight away (most north-easterly point in
mainland Britain). It was a quick march as I had little time, but well worth it
for the view of the Duncansby Stacks and the screaming seabirds all along the
cliffs. I was content with the beautiful weather and the excitement of being on
the northern coast of Scotland, and so didn’t feel I needed anything else to
mark the end of the walk. However, the realisation of what I had achieved when
the photographer at the signpost put up the message “Durham 462 miles” was a
very pleasant surprise. The satisfaction increased on my journey home as I
retraced my steps in various forms of public transport, and has brightened up
the weeks since I got back as I have had hours of pleasure reliving it all by
looking at the many photos, and speaking to and even meeting up again with some
of the many great people I made friends with on my journey.
What follows are just a few
reflections on that journey, one that I couldn’t have completed without knowing
that so many people were supporting me all the way: my family, my friends
(though some couldn’t understand quite why I wanted to do it..), and
people with whom I walked, talked, cooked, shared food, got rained on, compared
blisters and back-ache, swapped walking tips and accommodation advice, and
reflected on the joys of a nomadic life…
In the weeks leading up to
the start of the walk my time was taken up making sure I was properly equipped
for it. I spent hours on the internet discovering EBay and all its camping and
walking bargains, wrote and re-wrote many lists, and occasionally looked at
maps, though I didn’t spend too much time worrying about my route, where I’d
stay, or my fitness. I thought that would all sort itself out en route… I was
desperate to get on the road and have five weeks in which to think about nothing
of any consequence, and be in the open air all day long.
My first week was
undoubtedly the hardest. I had been told to take it slowly and to have a rest
day on the fifth day, but had failed to give myself enough time to do that. I
hadn’t taken into account how much a 14kg (30lb) rucksack slows you down, and
certainly hadn’t realised that getting up at 6.30am, walking for 9 or 10 hours
with 2 or 3 brief breaks, then getting into the tent when it got dark, would
make me feel like I was a walking machine and not a human being. Although I
didn’t get blisters until the sixth day, after 20 miles on tarmac road, I
realised by day 4 that I had been too optimistic about my capabilities. I felt
that physically I could manage 15-20 miles a day but mentally it was crazy. I
wanted to have time to chat to people en route, to take the walk just a little
slower in order to appreciate the countryside, and to know that I had a few days
leeway in case I needed a rest. I was panicking about the fact that if I was to
complete the walk by the 9th Sept, I would have to walk an average of
16 or 17 miles a day and have only 1 day spare. Therefore, after much
consultation with my parents, I decided to walk to Peebles, just south of
Edinburgh, then get on multiple forms of public transport to Drymen, just North
of Glasgow. This meant I cut out 70 miles, which I was very disappointed about,
but was the only feasible solution to a problem caused by my tendency to cram
too much into too little time.
The week I spent on the
West Highland Way, which goes North from outside Glasgow to Fort William, was
the scenic highlight of the journey. I had been nervous about the challenging
terrain, but it was predominantly low-level walking, with the bonus of
breathtaking mountain scenery all around. I think my photos do the scenery
justice far better than I could, without talking to you personally about it. I
hope you enjoy them.
From
the West Highland Way I went eastwards on the Great Glen Way almost all the way
to Inverness on the East coast. After the dramatic scenery of the previous week
I was a bit disappointed by the monotony of the Forestry Commission plantations
on the banks of Loch Ness, especially since they blocked views of the loch
itself and therefore prevented any Nessie-spotting! However, I was joined for
three days of this section by my Mum, so I didn’t mind. Not even the rain and
midges bothered us (well, not much…) as we chatted away happily (or rather, I
talked and she listened, as per usual – it’s a mother’s lot!).
Loch Lomond
Dunrobin Castle
I
then had five days working my way up the East of Scotland, getting increasingly
nervous about the final week of walking since my guide book warned that there
would be over two days walking on the infamous A9, the only main road leading up
to Thurso and Wick in the Highlands. Most of my thoughts that week were on how I
was going to avoid two miserable days walking on a road driven along by rather
crazy drivers (apparently) and lorries, with not even a verge.
The
fact that it would be along the cliffs with some chances for looking at the sea
was no compensation in my mind. Thankfully I was well looked after on my walk,
as I had already realised by that stage. I was joined the day before I was due
to hit the horrible part of the route by David Burry, who I had met several
weeks earlier in Jedburgh. He knows that part of Scotland well and was sure we
could walk along the coastline, despite the fact that all guidebooks were
adamant that it was impassable and that the only option was the A9.
We studied the maps hard
then set out. Despite the fact that we had to take our boots off and wade
through a river at one point, we arrived safely in Helmsdale having walked less
than a mile on the A9, and having had a fantastic day of walking, including
coming across basking seals.
I then cut up North through
the Flow Country, the largest expanse of blanket bog in Europe! I loved it; it
was wild, desolate, midgy and incredibly beautiful. There are so few people
living there, and only one minor road that runs through it northwards for 40
miles, that a farmer stopped me to ask if I was ok because his wife had seen me
the day before and had told him to look out for me because she was concerned
about me. I would love to live somewhere like that.
My abiding memory from
those two days, though, is the stagecoach. When I left Helmsdale for my longest
day of walking (25 miles) David, who left later in his car to follow along
behind me carrying my bag (the only day I walked without it – what a luxury!),
told me that a stagecoach pulled by four horses was preparing to come up the
same road I was taking. I expected only to see it go past briefly, so was
thrilled to be invited to join the support party who were waiting ten miles down
the road to change the horses round (they were doing 25 miles that day too which
is too far for one set of horses to do alone, so they had two changeover
points). They plied me with coffee and cake – yum – then made me sit beside the
driver once the stagecoach had pulled in, to have my photo taken with him. In
payment I had to give him a kiss on the cheek.. I was offered a lift but sadly
had to decline as that would have been against the rules of the walk. They
looked out for me all day and gave me a salute on the hunting horn as I arrived
at Forsinard, our stop for the night.
The
last few days to Canisbay, where I spent two nights before the last leg of the
journey to JoG, were spent walking along the northern coastline. The day before
JoG I visited the castle of Mey, which used to be the Queen Mother’s and is now
open to the public along with its lovely, unassuming garden. In the afternoon I
walked to Dunnet Head, the northernmost point in mainland Britain. Had I been
more on the ball and realised the poetic similarity between the names
Durham
and Dunnet I may have decided to make my challenge a walk from Durham to
Dunnet Head. Next time…
Anyway,
it was another lovely walk through the peat bogs, which took me to the tip.
There were no tourist shops, only a sign and a few people. I disturbed a couple
who were eating their lunch in their car to ask them to take a photo of me. As
we walked over to the sign I asked where they came from, and was taken aback
when they replied “County Durham”!! They were amazed to hear I had just walked
from there, marvelling at how long it had taken them in the car and struggling
to believe I had walked there (“that must have taken a long time”, the
husband said). Once again, it was an encounter with strangers which enhanced
that day. I came back to Canisbay that night in high spirits, despite the fact
that I knew my adventure was coming to an end.
Continue to part 2:
People and Faces
