Twenty odd years ago, I was young and fit and a bit skint. I couldn’t afford a proper holiday and one day me and an ex-army friend decided to do the coast to coast walk. This is about 200 miles long and we planned to do it in ten days, carrying everything on our backs.
So I went into training, running 5 miles a day, press ups, sit ups etc. I also got my kit together and got my pack down to about thirty pounds, which I felt was way too heavy. I was fit, but not super-fit, and I knew from experience how much strain a mountain on top of a twenty miler could put on you.
I started to pare down my kit, only take three pairs of socks, three undies, one spare top, no hat, ditch the gobbling rods, only take a spoon etc. Take all the wrappers off the tins, cut the soap in half, one pan, cut the handle off the toothbrush etc etc.
I got my pack down to 24 pounds , my mate was carrying 32, which, considering he is a short @rse, meant he was carrying a LOT more than I was, but, he was a lot fitter. The only luxury I allowed myself was a pair of trainers, to supplement my army boots. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made in my life.
I said goodbye to my daughter(11), left her with my mum then headed off for St Bees head in Cumbria. We set off through the lakes making about 15 miles on the first day, plus a hill, pitched the tent and I wandered into town. Got chatting to a couple of local girls and arranged to meet them in the pub a couple of hours later. Back at the tent I told my mate about the girlies and he insisted on going straight back to town to see them. When we came into sight I saw their faces fall, they exchanged looks, and I just knew they were not going to turn up that night. I forgot to mention that my mate was the face double for Quasimodo in the remake of Notre Dame.
On the second day I started to suffer badly from blisters and lack of water. It was very hot and my water bottle was running dry with alarming speed, luckily , Phil didn’t need as much so I bummed quite a bit from him. We met four Geordies, two super fit guys carrying at least fifty pounds each, and two dolly birds carrying dainty little day packs. They caught up with us, had a brief chat then roared ahead. They were carrying their own, plus all the girlies kit. Fellas will do almost anything for a sh@g , I thought.
Over the next few days my feet got worse and worse. It got to the point that when I took my socks off at the end of the day, they were soaked in blood and pus, ten minutes in the sun and you could bend them like a piece of lino. I walked for two days on the sides of my feet, because the soles were raw. Then I decided to throw years of training and folklore out of the window. ‘you must wear boots when you go hill walking’ – it had been drummed into me. I never thought to question it before. So the boots came off and the trainers went on, two days later my feet had healed and I was like a blooming greyhound. Since then I have always walked in pumps, I carry my boots and put them on for boggy ground and scree, trust me folks, it works.
The problem with the water was not so easy to solve. I was walking through a woods one day, my lips were cracked and my tongue was swelling, this guy comes around the corner carrying a gallon container, half full, sloshing and it looked like heaven. I wondered if I had time to do him and hide the body, decided not and walked on by. It never occurred to me to ask him politely for a drink, thirst is a horrible thing and can drive you barmy, it consumes every thought and , well its very difficult to describe.
I heard a stream tinkling up ahead. Now when you drink running water in the great outdoors, you are supposed to go 100 feet upstream to check for dead animals. But I just dived in head first, head under taking deep slurps of water. When I came up for air , I noticed a terrible smell. There was a dead sheep right next to me and I had ribs and bits of wool stuck all over me. Yuk.
To be continued..
So I went into training, running 5 miles a day, press ups, sit ups etc. I also got my kit together and got my pack down to about thirty pounds, which I felt was way too heavy. I was fit, but not super-fit, and I knew from experience how much strain a mountain on top of a twenty miler could put on you.
I started to pare down my kit, only take three pairs of socks, three undies, one spare top, no hat, ditch the gobbling rods, only take a spoon etc. Take all the wrappers off the tins, cut the soap in half, one pan, cut the handle off the toothbrush etc etc.
I got my pack down to 24 pounds , my mate was carrying 32, which, considering he is a short @rse, meant he was carrying a LOT more than I was, but, he was a lot fitter. The only luxury I allowed myself was a pair of trainers, to supplement my army boots. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made in my life.
I said goodbye to my daughter(11), left her with my mum then headed off for St Bees head in Cumbria. We set off through the lakes making about 15 miles on the first day, plus a hill, pitched the tent and I wandered into town. Got chatting to a couple of local girls and arranged to meet them in the pub a couple of hours later. Back at the tent I told my mate about the girlies and he insisted on going straight back to town to see them. When we came into sight I saw their faces fall, they exchanged looks, and I just knew they were not going to turn up that night. I forgot to mention that my mate was the face double for Quasimodo in the remake of Notre Dame.
On the second day I started to suffer badly from blisters and lack of water. It was very hot and my water bottle was running dry with alarming speed, luckily , Phil didn’t need as much so I bummed quite a bit from him. We met four Geordies, two super fit guys carrying at least fifty pounds each, and two dolly birds carrying dainty little day packs. They caught up with us, had a brief chat then roared ahead. They were carrying their own, plus all the girlies kit. Fellas will do almost anything for a sh@g , I thought.
Over the next few days my feet got worse and worse. It got to the point that when I took my socks off at the end of the day, they were soaked in blood and pus, ten minutes in the sun and you could bend them like a piece of lino. I walked for two days on the sides of my feet, because the soles were raw. Then I decided to throw years of training and folklore out of the window. ‘you must wear boots when you go hill walking’ – it had been drummed into me. I never thought to question it before. So the boots came off and the trainers went on, two days later my feet had healed and I was like a blooming greyhound. Since then I have always walked in pumps, I carry my boots and put them on for boggy ground and scree, trust me folks, it works.
The problem with the water was not so easy to solve. I was walking through a woods one day, my lips were cracked and my tongue was swelling, this guy comes around the corner carrying a gallon container, half full, sloshing and it looked like heaven. I wondered if I had time to do him and hide the body, decided not and walked on by. It never occurred to me to ask him politely for a drink, thirst is a horrible thing and can drive you barmy, it consumes every thought and , well its very difficult to describe.
I heard a stream tinkling up ahead. Now when you drink running water in the great outdoors, you are supposed to go 100 feet upstream to check for dead animals. But I just dived in head first, head under taking deep slurps of water. When I came up for air , I noticed a terrible smell. There was a dead sheep right next to me and I had ribs and bits of wool stuck all over me. Yuk.
To be continued..
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