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! 💙

Day 6: Kingshouse to Kinlochleven 14km

The weather was far better today (though yesterday’s squalls, sideways rain, mists, winds and flooded paths - as well as the 31km hike - made for a memorable day) . We enjoyed the views from the isolated and historic Kingshouse Hotel (which has been beautifully modernised) and we also used the drying room for my boots and our bags. Mr Darcy made the most of the bath , and I was happy to take a shower with good water pressure.

Today’s hike was 14km, much of it weaving through mountainous passes and hills (to the left, right, straight ahead and behind us!) on cobbled mountain paths. There was also a significant elevation, known as the Devil’s Staircase, which offered spectacular views. To quote Robbie Burns’s Yon Wild Mossy Mountains:

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores,
To me hae the charms o'yon wild, mossy moors;
For there, by a lanely, sequestered stream,
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

If Mr Darcy was a fan of Robbie Burns, I’m sure he would have recited this poem (I quoted a lot of Burns when I wrote Up on Horseshoe Hill, as Finn Blackwood was Scottish!.) But back to Mr Darcy’s song…

We were at the end of our hike and I was hobbling down a particularly steep (and prolonged) stretch of path, when Mr Darcy quoted an ode that his mother used to sing - The Happy Wanderer:

I love to go a-wandering,
Along the mountain track,
And as I go, I love to sing,
My knapsack on my back.

Chorus:
Val-deri,Val-dera,
Val-deri,
Val-dera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Val-deri,Val-dera.
My knapsack on my back.

I love to wander by the stream
That dances in the sun,
So joyously it calls to me,
"Come! Join my happy song!"

Much as I’m sure this is an excellent song (there was a lot of enthusiasm in a yodelling sense with the Val-derai Val-dera), I’m not sure I needed so much joy at the end of the hike. But… Mr Darcy has all my gear in his backpack (including items I might need ‘just in case’ like clean socks and chocolate), so I tolerated his song. Most importantly I loved his unintentional prompt - two young and enthusiastic singing hikers from Romania who passed us on the track.

And this brings me to my next point. Fellow hikers have been uniformly friendly and helpful. There aren’t so many of us that complete the whole 160km hike in a limited amount of time, so we tend to come across each other occasionally. We started our relationships with a cheery wave and, much as many of us aren’t now as sprightly on our feet as we were at the beginning of the trek, we continue to smile and ask each other how things are going. Mr Darcy and I are on the high end of the age demographic, but the lovely thing about challenging climbs is that there is an equalising factor irrespective of age (and my readers over 50 will appreciate the importance of this!) Darcy and I can offer a blister band aid, or midge cream, or an apricot or biscuit (because we are always prepared!) to a young hiker. And they are likely to offer a sympathetic ear, weather advice or a tip on the next town (and where to go for a coffee or beer). We met a group of Italian cyclists in a large drain (literally) and they very enthusiastically offered us a shot of coffee. Many hikers spend their nights in tents, while we are ensconced in B & B’s and small hotels, but we all meet up in the local pub every night and exchange a word or two on the day’s adventures. I really love this aspect of the hike!

And tonight’s accomodation at the Alt Na Leven? Excellent! Mr Darcy thinks it’s more Mr Collins’s taste than his own, but I think it charming. So many towels and such interesting wallpaper. The rooms we stay in vary every night. Sometimes the memories are excellent, sometimes less so. The brioche bun? Choosing between midges and a small room with no ventilation? The grumpy host who insisted I had to have the ‘full Scottish breakfast’ (including the black pudding, haggis, mushrooms and buttered toast, even though I wanted plain toast, bacon and an egg? But on the whole, the hosts are generous, the showers are hot and the beds are comfortable. Tonight’s accomodation is pictured!

The good:

Beautiful scenery (yet again) and it stopped raining. Also, a delicious meal at the local hotel.

The bad:

Mr Darcy’s leaking boots have gone to boot heaven (which is actually kind of nice, because they have joined my boots on the deceased boots boot rack). Both sets of boots had been brilliant for two earlier long distance walks, but they self-destructed a few days into this walk. Personally, I blame Covid.

The I didn’t know that:

Tonight when we walked into Kinlochleven’s pub, the bartender said there were no tables left in the cosy bar area overlooking the street, but (he added apologetically), would we mind very much sitting upstairs? We expected a soulless little space, but the views were spectacular. And that’s what we’ve found so often. Beauty is everywhere - including where you least expect to find it 💕

Day 5: Tyndrum to Kingshouse 31km

Setting the scene:

Our long hike over the moors!

Last night (using my faithful Omega analogue as opposed to Mr Darcy’s fancy-pants Garmin GPS system) I calculated that, at our average walking pace of 4km an hour, we’d need 8 walking hours to get to our destination, and another hour or more for stops along the way. Yikes! Following a 6.30am breakfast (a Goldilocks-style father bear bowl of porridge), we were on the road this morning at 7.15 am and walked two hours to a very pretty hotel at Bridge of Orchy, where (partly to get out of the driving rain) very large cups of coffee were consumed (it being a little too early for whiskey). I was spot on with my calculations, and we arrived at our hotel in time to have a cup of tea and two shortbread biscuits, before relaxing (Mr Darcy watched the Tour de France, possibly in relief that his work was done for the day).

What is best? My old watch or the GPS fancy one? I am reliably informed that Mr Darcy completed 42,450 steps today. He assumes I did more as I am shorter and I was limping. My leg is still dodgy (mostly when going downhill, often when uphill, and sometimes on the flat ) and many of the paths on the West Highland Way are old drover and military roads, some going back to Roman times. They are solid but extremely bumpy like cobbled roads (without the smooth edges) making them hard, rugged and uneven underfoot. Nevertheless, the final 16km of our walk, notwithstanding the rain and tricky terrain, was breathtaking for the magnificent scenery - hills, rivers, streams and misty moors.

Another two hour walk was supposed to end with an early lunch in Inveronan, but the hotel was closed, so we opened the faithful back pack and consumed tea (a thermos is heavy, but worth the weight), cheese, apricots (thank you for your foresight Uncle Sandy) and McVities chocolate wheaten biscuits. By now, we were 16km down!

The good:

Without a doubt, the scenery, and the sheep and birds and the amazing amount of water flowing down from the hills that created puddles the sizes of dams, gushing waterfalls and galloping rivers.

The bad:

Thank you for all your thoughtful enquiries regarding my boots. The latest news is - I did have a spare pair of boots, but 20km into our hike today (in very wet conditions - we were basically walking through shallow streams for kilometres) they started to leak. Weirdly enough, so did Mr Darcy’s boots, so we were squishing and squelching up and down the hills like a couple of sponges at a pool party. I’m not sure that this was terribly good for my big toe (the toenail was already destined to fall off) but on the bright side, my leg was sorer than my toe, so I hardly felt a thing! My toe is all taped up now, and I hope it won’t trouble me too much tomorrow. Mind you, it just goes to show that even though we were quite well prepared with two dedicated sets of worn-in hiking boots, things can go wrong.

The ‘I didn’t know that’:

Many sheep have black spotted legs. And many of the sweet little birds on the moor are very friendly. And, no surprises here, dogs love to hike too, and the UK is very welcoming to well behaved dogs. We were on the lookout for deer, but didn’t spot any. Worryingly, Mr Darcy had venison pie for dinner, which I am determined not to overthink.

Finally, we are staying at the BEST accomodation tonight - the King’s House Hotel. It is the only hotel for miles around, and very happily situated. It also has a dedicated drying room, so our boots will be toasty warm tomorrow morning, and hopefully stay that way as the forecast is brighter. Even though it’s 9.30pm, it’s still night outside, and I have a lovely view of hills from my window. Mr Darcy, exhausted from carrying a double pack (in the hope of saving my leg) is fast asleep, and I’m drying our clothes on the excellent drying rack in the bathroom.

Another update tomorrow - on our penultimate hike!

Day 4: Inverarnan to Tyndrum 21km

Setting the scene:

After a 21km walk today, we have arrived at a lovely B & B known as Clifton Cottage. Our room is small in size but our charming host, Carmen, has crammed everything one could possibly want into it (including four chests of drawers, three side tables, a wardrobe, a fridge, soft drinks, six chocolate bars, two wagon wheels and a coffee machine). Unfortunately there isn’t quite enough room for our cases (which are delivered to our room by a luggage company, so we only have to carry day packs).

The walking was easier today than yesterday (or maybe that was simply because my leg was, while slightly unreliable, more operational - thank you, Voltarin). We walked along ex military paths (some dating back to Roman times), through forests, farms and pine plantations.

The good:

Pine plantations are a common sight in the Scottish countryside, but in the past twenty years or so, there has been a push to plant many more native trees (that aren’t going to be harvested!), particularly on routes such as the Highland Way. Birches, oaks, elms and many other species are now a much more common part of the landscape than they were, which is so crucial for diversity in not only tree life, but wildlife generally. Mr Darcy took quite a few photos of big black slugs today (I am not sure why) but they are certainly thriving!

The bad:

Just like midge denial, many guide books seem to minimise the distances walked each day. Today, for example, was supposed to be on an 18km walk, but it was definitely 21km. Sometimes the difference is attributable to elements like travelling to our accomodation, or a slight detour, but more often than not, the distances are simply longer than flagged (and this is often made clear by local signposts).

Not that we actually need local sign posts, or guide books, according to Mr Darcy. He has a Garman that records distance (accurate due to a satellite I am assured), together with his heart rate, average travelled per hour, and elevations and destinations and (likely) hallucinations. Me and my watch are less accurate, but not by much: as we walk approximately 4km an hour, for an eight hour day, with lunch and a tea break taken out, we will walk twenty-eight km. I think this works quite well, but it doesn’t show my heart rate…

The I didn’t expect that:

So… My dear boots are seven years old, and have taken me on many day and weekend trips in our Australian national parks, but also from the west to the east coast of England (320km) and around Mt Blanc (240km). But today…

The sole of one of my boots came away! And then, within an hour, the sole of my other boot came away! Is the glue only made for a limited number of kilometres which, clearly, both boots have completed?

Blake Sinclair’s grandfather’s house

I am constantly daydreaming and… today I saw Blake Sinclair (the character from my 2024 novel) grandfather’s house. The book is set in Australia, but the house and the important role Blake’s grandfather played in his life is crucial - so I am delighted that now I have a visual representation of the cottage. The location and situation and lighting and everything else was perfect! And here it is!

Day 3: Rowardennan to Inverarnan 24km

Today was a day of walking the (remaining) 20 kilometres of the 39km length of Loch Lomond, and another four kilometres beyond it. There was wonderful scenery, and birdsong, and we saw feral goats with rather magnificent horns. I apologise for the ‘squatting’ photo, and the dead wood and lichen photo, but Mr Darcy insisted I include them as they have ‘artistic merit'.’

Now to jump straight into the good, the bad and the I didn’t know that.

First, the bad:

My horse leg is sore!

I was bravely hobbling downhill when Mr Darcy asked: ‘Is it your horse leg again?’ My horse leg has nothing to do with fetlocks and pasterns, but everything to do with my horse (a thoroughbred called Cascade) who fell on my leg when I was fourteen. We were cantering around an abandoned race track in the mud when he slipped over (onto his side) and landed on my leg. It was one of those moments one doesn’t forget. Me, lying in the ground and thinking, ‘Cascade is on my leg and I wish he’d get off.’ Luckily for both of us, he finally stood on his four legs, and then looked down curiously at me while I struggled to one of mine. I hopped to a fence and managed to get back into the saddle (no mobile phones in those days – and I had to ride 5km home before dark!).

 But I digress. No bones broken, but my leg swelled up to twice its normal size, and ever since, I’ve had a numb and sensitive patch on the outside of my right knee. Which might (to any medical professionals reading) have NOTHING whatsoever to do with my ‘horse leg’ but when it cramps and is sore, I always think ‘that’s the one Cascade fell on.’ Hence Mr Darcy (long being appraised of the occasional shortcomings of said leg) said today: ‘Is it your horse leg again?’

My leg stiffened up within an hour of our walk. It actually worked reasonably well on the flat, but as 85% of our 24km walk today involved scrambling downhill and uphill, it was a difficult day. Mr Darcy was good about it – holding out his arm at relevant points (as one would expect when assisting a woman from a carriage in the late 18th Century) to assist me, and hauling me aside when other walkers (few and far between as a walk on the shoreline over boulders and hundreds of year old tree roots wasn’t a walk for the faint hearted) wanted to pass.

We did bring poles and I used one of them to assist me (as I prefer one pole to two). Mr Darcy, encouraging me to take the second pole, held it aloft like a cross between Gene Kelly’s cane and Harry Potter’s wand (on that, if I could have apparited to our night’s accommodation, I would have).

And now for the good.

Lovely scenery. Beautiful people. A very nice room tonight, which was happily adjacent to a pub. Also, we’ve seen a lovely young couple a number of times and like to make up stories about them (not in a creepy way), and quote Andrew Lang’s The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lamond (which is actually as song about Jacobites and sad in a Waltzing Matilda way, but that’s another story…

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.

The ‘I didn’t know that?’

In Scotland there are thistles (easily avoided), nettles (avoid or else) and midges. The latter are ghastly creatures (see picture - midge posing with bottle cap while faking own death and plotting blood curdling annihilation). Midges are small but terrifying insects (like miniature mosquitos) that rise from the ground in formation and surround the vulnerable). Many Scotsmen deny they are a problem (so long as one walks at faster than 5kmh in dry conditions (ha!), smothers oneself in disgusting smelling insect repellent and wears a ‘midge shield’ (basically a mosquito net you wrap around your face until you are blinded).

We have heard, ‘watch out for midges’ so many times. And when we ask follow up questions, everyone has a different answer. June is worst. You should be fine by July. August is the month to avoid. Do alternative activities when they are about - like go-karting, indoor pursuits, whiskey consumption.

These little beasties are endemic in the highlands and simply LOVE to suck blood (particularly in damp and warm conditions). We haven’t been troubled by them in the past few days, but today they were out in force. Not a problem when moving along (and we have repellent) but if it is necessary to stop (because you only have one working leg, for example, and you are hobbling on a 24km trek with no rest points, shops or shelters) they are, like Scotsmen of a bygone era baring swords and shields, a little problematic.

A modicum of rain and a gushing stream…

But back to my knee… I have Voltarin (which spell corrects to Voltaire) and Nurofen on board. And much to Mr Darcy’s horror, we have twin beds. So I am hopeful that my horse leg will be feeling much better for our 18km hike tomorrow and thereafter.

On an environmental note, many of the forests we’re walking through were once cleared for stock, or pine plantations, but are being ‘re-wilded’ which is a wonderful initiative fully supported by Scotland’s insects, birds and other wildlife.

Day 2: Dryman to Rowardennan 26km

Setting the scene:

It was a difficult hike today, but the scenery around Loch Lomond (we will walk all 37km of its length by midday tomorrow) was stunning. After our 26km walk from Dryman (Mr Darcy has the impressive elevation statistics if required), I would very much like to plunge my feet into the 197m depth of the loch to cool them off.

We’re staying at Rowardennan Hotel tonight, and our room has a lovely view of the loch. I seemed to annoy the kitchen for requesting a replacement for the brioche bun on my hamburger. Seriously? Who likes a sweet yellow bun on a burger? Thankfully, the kitchen found me something from tomorrow’s breakfast to replace the bun, and I will be eternally grateful for that. My large glass of wine, if you were wondering, was excellent. As was Mr Darcy’s ice cream (I refrained from desert, so ate his).

Our contemporaries… and climbing Conic Hill for views of Lake Lomond:

We’re getting to know a few of our fellow independent hikers. One Norwegian couple have THE most adorable 15 month old son (only strong Norwegian people could possibly backpack with a toddler up the craggy mountain paths). The little boy is already waving with great animation whenever he sees us (naturally, we wave with equal abandon back). While we are raising the age demographic of the other hikers quite considerably, they are all very nice about it. And much as our feet were sore tonight, we noted that many others were adopting a similar change in walking styles. Sore feet. Calves. Thighs. Like a cowboy who has spent a hard day on a horse (or has fallen off a bull and been thoroughly trampled). But hopefully a good night’s sleep will have us all striding out (if not dancing a jig) tomorrow.

The good:

Spectacular views of Loch Lomond and Ben Lomond (the steep climb was totally worthwhile). The weather was excellent!

The ‘I didn’t know that.’

The Scottish Government has initiated a program where, in all state administered public toilets such as those in tourist centres, libraries and other facilities, sanitary items are provided for free to anyone who requires them. Private enterprise are catching on too, taking similar steps to provide these essential items. What a worthwhile initiative!

The bad:

It’s difficult to walk around the shoreline of Scotland’s largest loch, but climbing up and up and up to pass through the forest again and again and again before returning to the shoreline is difficult too. On the bright side, the forest walks were magical, as was the birdsong.

Research:

Penultimately, here is a picture of a highland sheep and his mother. The ewe was drinking from a stream and refused to look up, but junior was more accomodating. Highland sheep are hardy and independent - they have to be due to the inaccessibility of many areas for many months of the year. Cue Scottish vet Blake Sinclair in the book I’m writing now…

The loch has barely any public or private buildings around it, but camping is encouraged, and there is more sand around the loch than appears on most Scottish beaches. The water is great for kayaking but we saw very few swimmers today.

A final thought…

Todays walk was rated ‘moderate’ by (clearly) an Olympic marathon runner, a world champion hurdler, and Superman . Given they have rated tomorrow’s walk ‘moderate to strenuous.’ I’d better get to sleep!

Day 1: Milngavie to Dryman: 22km

Setting the Scene:

After a warm and restless evening (our room stayed at a rather too balmy 30 degrees, confirming that Scottish hotels are built with the aim of keeping heat in, not letting it out), we walked 22 km today. The temperature was a balmy 23 degrees and, much as I have become pathologically afraid of being bitten my midges (pretty much the equivalent of funnel web spiders - except they don’t kill you), we only saw them at a distance. Mr Darcy and I enjoyed spectacular highland views, contended cows and black and white sheep, and our boots experienced quite a lot of country lane walking.

An environmental initiative:

The flower photo is evidence that a local innovation, On the Verge, where community groups plant native flowers to encourage food sources for bees, is working well. And what a wonderful idea! 🌸🌸🌸 Not only that, the colourful flowers at the sides of the roads as we walked into our evening’s destination, Dryman, were a welcome diversion from the afternoon uphill climb.

Walking in tandem:

Mr Darcy’s legs stiffened in the final few kilometres (the words ‘my body is shutting down’ were groaned more than once), and he took to complaining about the route, and how he thought walking around a grassy rise would have been much more efficient in a physical and psychological sense than walking over the top of it), but we are reasonably healthy, and anticipating dinner and a well earned rest this evening.

Our accomodation is the Ashbank B & B, which is not only picturesque with a lovely host, Robbie, but very well appointed (providing a hot shower, tea and shortbread!) and right in the centre of a lovely little town. Dinner will be at the Clachan. which claims to be ‘the oldest public house in Scotland’ or, if Mr Darcy can’t walk that far, in the closest pub we hobble into.

The good, the bad, and the I didn’t expect that…

Good: Every walker that overtook us (or that we, occasionally, overtook), not only said hello, but was very happy to exchange a ‘where are you from?’ and ‘where are you headed tonight?’ There is no competition on these walks, and we all want the other walkers to simply enjoy their day and feel a sense of achievement at the end of it.

Bad: When it comes to having a pee, men (in my experience) simply face a tree, a thistle, a bump in the road, and point and shoot. Women have to pull down their hiking trousers or leggings, squat (as difficult as Olympic wresters make it look) and maintain a crouch for a not insignificant period of time. When Darcy and I hiked across England, and around Mt Blanc, we’d trek miles with barely seeing a soul. And even when we did, there were hills and boulders and stately trees to hide behind. On day one of our walk in Scotland, we were on picturesque (but not at all private) paths, country lanes, and hillside trails with very little privacy. By the end of the day, the pelvic floor exercises were more taxing than the walking!

Different: Black pudding for breakfast? I think not.