Its ability to kindle conversation, unlock difficult subjects, foster unexpected encounters, and make us feel shoulder to shoulder solidarity with our fellow humans is one of walking’s greatest gifts.
As a 1000 miler you’ll have scope for a lot of conversation this year. We hope some of them are as meaningful, memorable or enjoyable as these ones...
‘Don’t talk to strangers? I’m glad I did!’
‘In May 1988 I was solo-walking the West Highland Way. I’d reached Drymen after the first day and my next stop was to be the YHA at Rowardennan, on the banks of Loch Lomond. I hadn’t met a soul so far. It had rained the previous few days and some of the track through a forest was a bit muddy. After a while I noticed some fresh, small footprints in the mud and began to muse who they might belong to. Maybe a female, maybe 5ft 2in tall and so on. The prints came and went, and I felt comfort in knowing somewhere ahead I might meet their owner and we could possibly walk a bit of the Way together. But once I hit a road the prints were gone.
‘After lunch at Balmaha, the track turned off the road and into some woods. After a few metres it turned left, and there, sitting on a small moss-covered boulder was the owner of the small footprints – and she was 5ft 2in tall. “Hello,” I said, “Are you walking the West Highland Way?” “Yes,” she replied. “Great,” I thought. She was very lovely. “Would you like a cup of tea and a muesli bar?” I asked. “Oh, yes please,” she said.
‘To cut a long story short, she was from New Zealand, we finished the walk together, she came to live with me in Norfolk for nine months. Then the day I was going to quit my job, I got made redundant – so I sold up everything, moved to NZ, bought a small farm, we married, put in a vineyard and olives, made and sold wine and olive oil, and raised two amazing sons. All because of a conversation one day on the banks of Loch Lomond, on May 4th 1988. So you can see what can happen when you talk to strangers!’ – Duncan Smith
A new path
‘After four failed IVF attempts we discussed adoption while walking around Derwent Water. Once home we put in an application, then adopted two children in January 2014. Now 10 years on they come out walking – with some moaning! The walk was the time we needed to talk, discuss, ponder and cry. We still mention that walk today.’ – Kevin Nurse
A grand plan hatched on the hoof
‘Dad loved walking and one day coming down Thorpe Cloud told me he’d love to visit every county top in the UK. Various ones we’d already walked before, but he was dreaming up a plan to visit the rest. Little did we know that this would be his last time in the Peak District. The following year he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. But last year, my sister Nicola and I, along with our children, walked the first two county tops in his memory, Betsom’s Hill in Kent, and Western Heights, Greater London. We’re hoping to eventually walk all the county tops for him.’ – Laura Susan
The memory miners
‘When I turned 50 my son and I did a 50km challenge and each kilometre I told him a memory from the matching year. A lovely way to pass the time, and a few surprises for him from my teenage years perhaps!’ – Janine Kelly
Comfort of strangers
‘In 2015 I walked the Cotswold Way and as I went through a wood, saw a woman standing by a tree, clearly hoping not to be noticed. I asked if she was OK. She said, yes, then, “No, I’m crying.” She told me she’d come because she and her partner used to walk there, and he’d recently died. She didn’t know how she could cope. We stood and talked about loss and grief, and how you try to manage. Two complete strangers in a wood, no one for miles, talking about the most intimate feelings. When we parted, we exchanged first names, an acknowledgment of the significance of the meeting. Then she came away from the tree she had been standing by, and we hugged, and parted.’ Elizabeth Bower
Wisdom of the ages
‘My favourite was bumping into a couple approaching their 80s at the top of Mam Tor who informed us that life is much more fun when you put your arms out and run down the hill pretending to be an aeroplane. I want to be them when I grow up!’ – Clare Purdy
A hug of a walk
‘When my nan died I was with her but my dad had stayed back for the lambing. I had to tell him over the phone – 31-year-old me still felt too young for this. Next day he came and we walked out to the coast, stopping at ancient churches our relatives were buried and married in. It was a hug of a walk and conversation that put right the wrongs of the day before. At home in the past of our family, remembering a very special lady.’ – Emma Louise Lavender
The human landscape
‘Walking up Mount Zas on Naxos, we met an elderly man who had a shepherd’s cottage at the base. I tried my Greek, and he told me he’d lived there all his life and climbed the mountain with his father. He said when he was little the steps of Mount Zas had seemed very big. Then he grew tall and strong the steps seemed small. Now he was older, the steps seemed quite big again. He invited us in for a drink and some fruits from his garden. We talked a little bit more and enjoyed the companionship. He invited us to dinner at his home to meet his wife. I didn’t want to overstay our welcome and I knew the Greek would fail me. But I always remember that lovely man at the base of Mount Zas.’ – Angela Hague
In-tents times
We were walking the West Highland Way and struck up a conversation with a lad in his twenties. We thought he was walking alone, but he informed us the two ladies some distance ahead of us were his girlfriend and his mother. He'd fallen out with girlfriend and his mother had sided with her! Had a great chat for several hours about gardening (he was a landscape gardener) and the time flew by. When we parted I said I hoped he made up with his girlfriend, and he said "It's going to be interesting if I don't, we're all sharing one tent!" – Sally Jones
Adventures in English
‘When on a weekend mountain marathon, a good friend and I spent the whole weekend discussing the virtues of the most versatile word in the English language – a noun, verb, adjective, adverb which can, with the most minor inflections, express good things, bad things, disbelief, realisation, ecstacy or profound pain and sorrow. We spent the weekend talking sh**.’ – Jay Duncan
