Tag: hiking

Slow and steady, what’s that?

Nearly 9 years ago I was hired for my dream job. It involved itinerary planning for UK and European travel. As I had been creating itineraries for myself for over 7 years prior to this I had the skills needed to get a good head start. The job gave me the opportunity to expand on this and introduced me to places I’d not yet been to. At times I felt I could walk around cities like Rome and Paris blind and still know what was around me. It was methodical. Fast paced. Very detailed and specific work. Since leaving the job behind and coming to terms with living with anxiety, I’ve come to accept my need for itineraries when travelling. It means there are no hidden surprises and I can relax along the way. I won’t get lost because I’ve mapped out the route. I’ll have the postcode for the hidden car parks. Hotels are booked in advance so I can keep an eye on the budget. Food stops and supplies are planned so I don’t get stuck with a manky sandwich and a half rotten apple (this happened to Mr W, not me!). 

In the last couple of years Framework Travel has highlighted these skills to other people. I’ve created a huge number of New York itineraries for clients as well as trips to Berlin, Paris, Barcelona and London. In a strange way, by creating an itinerary I’m travelling in my mind’s eye. I’m walking the cobbled streets of Rome and watching the sun set over the Seine in Paris. It’s actually amazing to hear back how much my planning can help other people. 

Everything I’ve ever planned has been fast paced. 18 hour days in New York. A 72 hour itinerary in Paris squeezed into 1 day. 6 days in Italy to see 3 cities. Every single detail is researched and cut and pasted together with minute details slotted in. 

And then there’s Scotland. 

When I used to plan a weeks trip in London for 30 American students it would roughly be 6-7 pages long. This would include transfers, hotel details and addresses for places like the Tower of London and The British Museum. With our NC500 trip, the itinerary for 16 days is currently at 30 pages. THIRTY. The transfers are: car. But there are 14 hotels all with different check in details. And addresses for places to visit are more grid reference based than actual postcodes. It is so strange. And exciting! 

There will be places we visit on this big tour that have no ‘specific location’. It’s more a stream, or in some cases, a trickle of information found in the depths of the internet. Park at ‘such n such’  layby, 200 metres from ‘this’ pub, walk west for 1 mile, veer left at the fork in the path… and it goes on. We may not be able to rely on our phones due to phone reception and the weather is going to change from one minute to the next. And for the first time in my life, I can’t plan everything. There will be moments technology will fail us. There will be times the weather will test us, this is no beach holiday (although, ha, there are a few we will visit, dressed in jumpers and hiking boots). The food will be dried and revived by hot water from our car kettle. And there will be one, maybe two, occasions where my face will be scrubbed up for a nice meal on an actual plate. This is not going to be a vacation to relax. This is going to be a journey to explore, find and return back to basics. Well, as basic as it can get with an itinerary. 

So far it has taken 5 months of planning, researching and slotting this trip together and the more it builds the more my excitement grows and my anxiety weakens. For the first time I don’t know what to expect and that’s the exciting part. This isn’t the Colosseum in Rome, where you can stand and nod that all knowing yes, it matches the image you’ve transferred from the internet, magazines and tv shows to your travel bank in your brain. Scotland is rural. It changes every day. Different sunlights, seasons and vegetation. But it’s something bigger than what you see. That’s why since our first hiking trip in 2020, my travel mind has changed so vastly. It’s the effect hiking has on you. The setting out to new pastures, the long slogs up hills, the speedy trails down the other side and the beautiful end point. Even if it’s not beautiful, you have reached your destination and made yourself proud! No car, no taxi, just you and your feet. 

One of the more enlightening aspects of this planning stage is how much slower it is. As I mentioned, there aren’t websites based on some of the walks and it’s just the ‘word of mouth’ I can track down online. I’ve stumbled upon some snags here and there where my fast-paced style does not suit the lifestyle of the Scottish businesses. When trying to reach someone about some axe-throwing, it took two emails and a phone call. Spread out over 3 weeks. In London, you’d have an answer within an hour. It’s not that Scotland doesn’t want the business or tourists, but they seem to take it all at a slower pace. I may have realised to avoid stumbling, I just needed to slow down. Take it steady.

This trip is so much more than the end destination, hell it needs to be with over 500 miles to cover, it’s about the journey. Yes, there will be an itinerary. We still need hotel information and addresses, but when it comes to activities and the driving, it’s more about looking around than ahead. I’m starting to wonder whether my anxieties will be left at home. And whether my mind can finally have its deep breath. Slow and steady. 

Are we the virus?

“Take only memories, leave only footprints.” – Chief Seattle

It will always be apparent to the travellers of this world, that a photo can only tell you so much about a place. You see idyllic beaches in the Caribbean, pure white sand and crystal clear waters. It may shock you when you visit that the odd plastic bottle or crisp packet ruins your expectation. In many places, there are staff that go to the beaches at ungodly hours and rake up the debris from the surfs kiss upon the shore. We see all too often the capabilities of people on this planet. 

During lockdown in England, there were unprecedented numbers of visitors to beaches and parks. Not having to be at work and the fantastic sunshine that shone during the months of May and June in 2020, saw the restrictions of meeting outside well and truly met. The carnage left behind was devastating. Tonnes of litter left behind like never before. It was like the earth had had its breather while we were locked away in doors and this was our chance to do double the damage. 

There have been several news items in recent years about how overrun tourists spots have been in the UK since 2020. When lifting restrictions meant we could exercise outside for an hour daily, Snowden was overrun despite many people living more than an hour away. It was a clear example of give and inch and take a mile. 

Even now, in 2022, there are articles about the UK experiencing its highest level of domestic tourism for decades. We are two people who never really travelled the UK, before covid, I will put my hands up to that. If it weren’t for all the confusion about what country needs what test and form wise, I’m sure we would have planned a trip abroad. There is also the highly stressful experience of having to cancel and rebook a trip in 2020. (See my ‘Reclaming a sunset’ blog.) I’m grateful in a way to how much our travel perspective has changed. We always used to lean towards city breaks, with the vast cacophony of noises, people and culture, we thought we were getting all that place had to give. It wasn’t until we took a trip to Edinburgh and Northumberland in late 2021 that our vision was altered. We spent two days wandering to waterfalls and hiking the hills and we found rewards like we hadn’t before. The peace of it all, the personal pride of achieving new feats of exertion and the slower pace that we needed to heal.

Being in Northumberland felt like we were the first to discover new areas, the forests were empty and the hills were silent. None of this overrun business. And yet there was a time that all had to change. As I said, our tastes have changed, and I’m not saying we’d never been to the countryside, but given the choice we’d choose a day in London over hiking. Now it’s more, let’s get into the city at 5am, see it at its emptiest and leave by noon. Venice taught us that a city is at its most beautiful without its crowds. We’d done it before in London, purely from a photography point of view, but there is something in being the only one wandering the Thames at sunrise. 

This past weekend we went to a local forest to see the blooming bluebells. Despite their annual appearance this was my first time seeing their exuberance in such an enormous way. Walking amongst them felt like being in a dreamscape. The colours, the life and the sheer volume of nature’s power screamed out in the silence of the forest. I noticed that several paths had been trodden through the bluebells, their stamped on stems laying squashed underfoot, it was a big shame. When we returned to the car parks, I noticed a lot of signs asking people to keep to the pathways to avoid ruining the plants. It made me sad. 

Returning to Northumberland this year is a big deal for us, we just don’t do it. How can you see the world if you return to the same place twice? We have a select few places we’ll return to out of comfort and it seems Northumberland is one of those for the time being. It is one of those places that when you find one of its hidden secrets, it whispers to you another one. 

On the coast, and our first taste of Northumberland, stands Bamburgh Castle. Surprisingly, in early August it was unexpectedly quiet. We parked without problem, and walked the beach without disturbing towels or sandcastles. It’s been said this week that Bamburgh is 2022’s most visited UK town. We’re trendsetters don’t-cha-know! 

With its absolutely enormous beach and stunning castle backdrop it comes as no surprise. 

However, locals have found the sudden infamy problematic. Vehicles parked up on grass verges due to car parks hitting their capacity, litter and disruption not far behind. It’s certainly a turn of events, but not one that can cause shock. It’s saddening for sure. But shocking? No. I’m sure there are people that profit from such large numbers of tourists, it isn’t all bad, it never is, since when did news articles give both sides of the story. 

It would be wise to remember the world continued turning, the oceans continued crashing to the clean shores and the bluebells thrived during lockdown. We are the virus the world does not need, these beautiful places are a gift and should be treated as such. If we wish to arrive in paradise we need to do our bit. Pick up our litter. Stick to the path. Take only memories. And if you should leave footprints, be respectful of what’s underfoot. Paradise takes a lifetime to build and only moments to disappear. 

Well, wasn’t that a cheerful post, come back next time for something lighter! 

A hop, skip and a fracture.

It’s 10:40pm.

Outside, the only light on the street is from the moon reflecting its light off the clouds. The occasional car drives past. After six years of living here I’ve gotten used to them gliding across the tarmac. The birds are tweeting in the trees and I can’t get used to it. Yes that’s right, 10:42pm, and the birds aren’t asleep. And do you know why?

Because they are home! 

They have nests to maintain. Mouths to feed. Worms to forage. Water to source. Sunlight to chase. 

When they migrate you can imagine a more peaceful night. Food on tap. No responsibilities. Just away. No cares. 

And here I am doing just that. I’m home. It’s bedtime. Mr W is infuriatingly fast to fall asleep and I’m sitting up reading. Reading a book that has no real value, but gives me enough escapism to deaden my mind to sleep. Except it doesn’t work, I’m thinking about washing and work, food shopping and chores, gardening and social calendars. Cats. Birthdays. Trips. 

Trips. Trips. Trips. 

Where I find a plethora of other lists of things to do. 

Hiking. Wild swimming. Exploring. Seeking. Finding. Napping. Snacking. Living. 

I’ll put my hand up for the first time, hey let’s put both up, and shout… ahem…

I was wrong! I was so wrong in fact I’m going to make triple-y sure I was wrong. 

So, as bad as it sounds, my total number of trips in the UK for 32 years amounted to family trips to the Norfolk Broads and a long weekend in both Cornwall and Somerset. Ta-da! Ignore day trips to London, it’s 34 miles away, just doesn’t count in my book. 

Lockdown forced us to rethink flying, and other than our rebooked trip to Italy in Sept 2020, we stayed in the UK. We managed a long weekend in Edinburgh and Northumberland and then… we… returned to Northumberland for 3 days just one month later. 

Now these dots… you see… right there are put there for dramatic effect. For you see ladies and gentiles, I do not return to a place unless it has captured a piece of my whole actual being. 

There are few places that have done so, not being funny, once I’ve decided I’m going somewhere I GO ALL OUT, I’m seeing everything it has to offer, who knows if I’ll be able to go back? Why would I want to take the risk? So when Mr W and I decided to return to Northumberland one month after our first visit I was shaken. (And we’re going back in June 2022. Oops) 

You know what this amazing place did? It shocked me. First it’s in the UK, yep, and there’s me never bothering with home travel because, well I need a plane to call it a holiday. Unless I’m going up in the air, I’m still home, I’m in England, I don’t wanna be where I was born and bred! I wanna be right over there! Across the water, over mountain passes, tray table up, no peanuts. 

Second, I don’t hike, I don’t scramble, I don’t wander. But you will have caught me scramble down a rocky waterfall on my arse, dirty, soaked through and smiling. Laughing. Happy.

Not a shop in sight. No selfie stick welding tourists. Not even a car park destination. Just a field and a slight path trodden into a boggy hill. 

And I tell you this, I’ve never felt more awake to the possibilities. 

Northumberland has wonders even the locals don’t know about. Take Crammel Linn for example. A colossal cascade of water over a dark deep pool of water. The noise is enormous and an assault of the ears. But let’s not start there. Let’s start with finding this place. There are no signs, our B&B lady had never heard of it and its starting point is on MOD (ministry of defence, I’m sure you knew that but I didn’t up until 3 years ago, eep) land. Great start!

We find ourselves driving through winding lanes and across a beautiful bridge and then onto seemingly nowhere. I find the sign for MOD land and know it’s somewhere close. The only hint that we are in the right place is an old wooden sign pointing down a sloping field. We don our hiking boots, I would live in these bad boys if they didn’t scream MUUUUUD, and we take the first steps into the boggy wetland that is the path. There’s the odd plank of wood submerged in the watery, mossy ground, and I pray we aren’t in the wrong place. It is windy, no, that’s the wrong word, an invisible wrestler is pushing me back to the car and for good measure he has a misting spray levelled at my face. It is blindingly ferocious weather and yet we trudge on. We will see this waterfall. We will endeavour. And then, my arse falls out. We’ve reached what can only be described as the rockiest steep drop off I’ve ever seen. It’s an open field, the fence is at the bottom of the slope ahead and it’s wet. The rocks jutting out are threatening to gouge my legs apart and the fence has barbed wire. Mr W goes first and he leads me down. After several hundred ‘I can’t do’ moments we reach the fence. It takes me another 10 minutes to climb over the stile, which, I shit you not shook like a defecating dog and being on a slope was vastly different heights on either side. I’m 5ft5 and yet standing on that stile looking down I was an uncomfortable 7ft5! Did I mention there was barbed wire running along the top too? Honestly you couldn’t make this up. So, off the stile, onto a single foot track running beside the fence and a steep slope leading into an abyss of bramble and bushes. Lovely. But what is that I hear? Through the wind, I hear a cataclysmic sound of falling water. Before we can see the waterfall it’s just a hop, skip and a fracture down an even dodgier zig zag of a slope mounted with loose soil, large slippery rocks and nothing to hold onto. My god, what a journey! 

And then there it was. One of nature’s gifts to the world. A crash of water against water. A huge monolith of stone at the mercy of the rushing river. Once my legs retained their blood flow, we sat down and raided the trusty backpack for supplies. I couldn’t tell you what we ate, but it was likely crisps, water and some kind of sugar sent from heaven to keep my body from crumpling. 

As we sat there, the weather changed and the glorious Northumberland sun shone for us. A robin danced in the shadows and I was swept away by the solitude of the moment. 

I wasn’t thinking of washing or work, food shopping or chores, gardening or social calendars. I wasn’t thinking of much, my mind for the first time since before the pandemic had found peace. It turns out to drown out the noise of your daily life, you just need to find a louder noise. The wind, the rain and the waterfall. My daily life never really stood a chance. We sat until our bodies warmed slightly in the sun and then said our goodbyes. It was a special moment; our first UK waterfall! 

I listen now to the birds in the trees, and realise we aren’t so different. When it’s time to switch our minds off, we just need a new environment, a crazy adventure and somewhere else to call home. Even if it’s just for an hour in the lap of a waterfall. 

Photo taken by me at Crammel Linn, Northumberland. 

Please find other photos on Instragam @frameworktravel