writing | Super Heavy
Back in 2016 I attempted a long distance walk, Lands End to John O'Groats. A walk that helped fix me mentally but also broke me physically. This is an account of the end of that adventure.
I woke after midnight feeling nauseous. Managing to get out of the tent in time I proceeded to puke up and then have the shits. When I was finished I cleaned myself up with wet wipes and swilled my mouth out with water.
Looking out over the fields I could see the lights of homes, twinkling on the dark grey horizon. The smell of vomit and excrement lingered in the air. Getting back in the tent, I crawled to the bottom of my sleeping bag to find a warm safe place.
This is the reality of going on an adventure. At some point you’ll get ill and want to crawl into a hole, longing for a warm bed and home comforts.
Back in 2016, I attempted to walk from Lands End to John O’Groats on my own and unaided. Carrying everything I needed on my back, all I had to do was get from point A to point B, sort out a place to spend the night, eat and sleep.
That day had been unnecessarily hard. Reaching West Linton early I’d decided to eat into the next day’s miles and get past the Pentland Hills before camping.
Following old drovers roads and picking my way up and down tracks I got over the hills and looked down onto Livingston in the distance. Struggling to find a wild camp spot near clean water I kept walking until I arrived in West Calder as light was starting to fade.
Getting desperate I bought a bottle of water and some food from a shop before finding a corner in a field hidden from view by the old stone wall. I cooked and ate, despite having no appetite, before rolling into my bag for sleep.
I guess the signs had been there. Not stopping to adjust layers, too hot and sweating, then wet and cold. Not eating right. Tired, my body was trying to warn me, so it was no surprise I got ill.
I’d managed a few more hours of sleep but eventually woke up feeling achy with a dry mouth and the lingering taste of last night's vomit. I had no appetite so drank some green tea and what water I had left while packing away.
Passing a shop on my way through the village I stopped and asked if I could fill up my water if I bought a few bits. After handing the bottles over I got a banana, a piece of fruit cake and some Lucozade. Sitting down on a bench nearby it was all I could do to force the food in and keep it down. After a short while, I got going.
The walking was easy and uneventful, mostly along canals and rivers to Linlithgow. Finding a bed and breakfast that had vacancies I decided to stay, welcoming a hot shower and bed for the night.
The next day I woke up feeling better but could only manage toast and cereal. More easy walking got me to Kirkintilloch. This was a scheduled stop but it was early so again I pushed on.
Eventually reaching the outskirts of Drymen, where I had some accommodation booked for the next day, I called ahead and found they could accommodate me. I pressed on looking forward to another night in a warm bed.
Arriving on the doorstep, the owner took one look and ushered me into the kitchen. Sitting down, she asked if I wanted some tea and food, clearly not taking no for an answer.
It was a big traditional kitchen with a dresser against one wall and cupboards along another. A long bench had assorted jars and bottles lined up and there was an old belfast sink with dishes piled up. The table was already set for breakfast with jams and other sweet delights in the middle.
Frances was the sweet old lady who owned the place. Her husband had died a few years ago and she continued to run it as a way to meet people.
She was chatty and easy to talk to. I told her about my walk and how I hadn't felt very well the last few days. She said she could see that when she opened the door.
I felt at home and an instant comfort around Frances. She had a son my age and said I could stay in his old room as the room I would be staying in the following evening was booked for the night.
After brewing up she fed me thick slices of toast with lashings of salty butter and then homemade chocolate cake washed down with milky tea.
After, I had a shower and went out for some fresh air.
Later, I woke up a few times in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat despite the thin cotton sheets barely covering me.
The next day I still felt like shit so decided to stay put. I was a day ahead of schedule so it made no difference.
Drinking tea with Frances in the morning, she told me about Anthony Twort. A retired doctor from Godalming who’d walked Lands End to John O’Groats a few times since his first walk in 1974. He was 82 on his last trip and always stopped here as he passed through.
She had some photos of him from over the years. A short stocky man, his rucksack looked bigger than him. He got older as I flicked through the photos but the smile and flash in his eye stayed the same.
The rest of the day drifted away from me. I sat by the window in the pub and watched life go by. I was starting to feel better. I decided I’d move on tomorrow.
I woke up and enjoyed breakfast with Frances. I hugged her before I left and agreed to send her a letter when I was finished.
It was 27 miles up and around Loch Lomond and it looked beautiful in the early morning sun. The water was a deep blue and it gently lapped against the shore, as the sun reflected brightly off the surface.
As the morning progressed the weather declined. At Inversnaid I stopped to have a snack and the rain started. It got heavy and made the walking trickier along the banks of the loch. The polished rock along the well-worn path became greasier.
Arriving at camp I stuck up my tent and, in between the bouts of rain, I darted to the shelter. It was rammed with people doing the same thing. I could hear French, German, English and Scottish. All hiding out from the rain, hanging up wet clothes and cooking hot food.
The next morning my objective was to get to Glencoe and camp for the night. The day started wet, cleared for a bit but then got worse. Much worse. When the wind arrived I was already soaked through. I got cold and started to make mistakes.
The nagging questions that had bothered me for weeks started to surface again. Why was I doing this? The stress and depression had lifted and my life was better so why did I need to keep going? I just wanted to get back to the familiar, be around people and get started on the plans I had for the future. I started to think about quitting.
I reached the Bridge of Orchy. I knew something wasn’t right and I needed to get off the trail. I changed from the wet clothes and got on a train to Fort William. The weather there was even worse. The only set of dry clothes, which I had on, were now wet and I had to walk around knocking on doors to find a room.
Eventually, I found a place out of town and settled in for the night, warm under the duvet with rain battering at the window.
After a few days in Fort William kicking my heels, I’d regained a sense of purpose and set off again. The plan was to follow a trail to Cape Wrath then cut east across the coast line to end up at John O’Groats. My Scottish adventure was beginning again.
After an hour the same nagging doubts came flooding back. My body ached and the pack was too heavy. Mentally I’d hit a wall. Fuck.
I walked for another 3 hours in the pouring rain trying to get through the wall. “Just keep going to Laggan” I told myself “and take it from there”. I stopped by a road and sat down to have a cigarette. For 30 minutes I sat in the rain, willing myself to get up and go, but I was done. It was the weirdest feeling I’d ever known. My body refused to do what my head was telling it.
I started to cry out of frustration then out of nowhere a woman and her two kids walked passed. She stopped and asked if I was OK. Assuring her I was fine, they left me to walk back.
Going back to Fort William was the hardest thing I’d ever done but knowing I was finished was a big release. It was over.
Getting to Scotland was supposed to be the start of the real adventure but the early enthusiasm had disappeared and the whole adventure was becoming a grind.
I was suffering from physical and mental fatigue. I’d ignored all the signs as I pushed myself on. Taking a few days off wouldn't have fixed it.
I’d been racing to get from point A to point B on some map without really truly soaking myself in the experience. It was all too scheduled and I wanted to finish the walk as quickly as possible and get on with my life.
That feeling of knowing how easy it would be to stop had festered for a while and before I could address the fatigue it was too late.
A few years later, while reading the journal I kept on the walk, I looked up Anthony Twort. It seemed remarkable to me that a person would complete this long-distance walk 4 or 5 times in their lifetime.
Google didn't have much on him. There were a few articles from local papers and then his obituary. He died in December 2016 aged 93, six months after I’d quit. Someone had left a message on his tribute page. They said they'd passed him in 2005 while cycling from Lands End to John O’Groats. Anthony was coming the other way carrying a heavy bag. He would have been 82.
I try to imagine why he might repeat this walk. Sometimes we cling to what we know and seek out the familiar. Sometimes we want to relive past events but in new ways. Maybe in repeating the walk over the years he wanted to experience his past while seeing what had changed in the landscape and in himself.
I’ve been asked if I would ever finish the walk. Always no. I was on a journey and found what I was looking for. There is no need to relive it, only look forward.