Hiking Obsession

Andrew Beard

Description

What makes a sensible, mature, slippers-by-the-fire sort of chap turn suddenly into a hiking junkie? Why would anyone want to switch from doing moderate, two-mile pub walks to trekking an arduous 289 miles along the South West Coast Path? The Hiking Obsession takes you on an alarming journey, from your comfort zone to the trials and tribulations of long-distance walking, from the seed of a flawed idea to the execution of a meticulous but seriously flawed plan. See what happens when it all goes pear-shaped for Tony, from leaky boots to lost hankies, from a broken cross-trainer to sleeping rough in a church. Will he overcome his obsession or slip seamlessly into life as a hobo?

Sujets

• Walking

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 01 novembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785389931
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

THE HIKING OBSESSION
Preparing For and Tackling Land’s End to John o’Groats When You’re Old Enough To Know Better
Andrew Beard





First published in 2018 by
AG Books
www.agbooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2018 Andrew Beard
The right of Andrew Beard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The views and opinions expressed herein belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect those of AG Books or Andrews UK Limited.



Introduction
My name is Andrew and I’m an obsessive walker. And, while a twelve-step recovery programme may help with alcoholism or substance abuse, steps are precisely what I need to reduce if I’m to conquer this obsession. Besides, if a single step can lead to a journey of a thousand miles, just think where twelve might lead!
Don’t get me wrong, I know walking’s good for you, both for your physical and mental wellbeing. I know that more than half of people in England say they walk at least once a month for leisure, but also that almost half don’t get enough physical exercise, so there’s a good chance you could and should be walking more, not less. But beware! Walking can, if it hasn’t already, enter your bloodstream and remain there, impelling your legs forward like those of Wallace in ‘The Wrong Trousers’. The Fitbit that’s leading you by the hand to get your daily dose of 10,000 steps is just as likely to lead you astray, into the dark realm of compulsive walking. It creeps up on you surreptitiously: one year you’re a fairly normal family man doing occasional weekend walks with wife and children, the next, you’re completing a solo 268 mile trail from the Derbyshire Peak District to the Scottish border. Not only that but, as your monster hike comes to an end, you’re already dreaming up plans for doing a 630 mile coastal walk. How does that happen? What turns a level-headed, sensible, slippers-by-the-fire type of guy into an obsessive, rambling junkie in the space of just ten months? Before long, even the South West Coast Path (SWCP) simply isn’t enough of a challenge and has to be supplanted by a mammoth 1,260 mile version of Land’s End to John o’ Groats (LEJOG). A friend goes so far as to ask, rather cheekily, at what point you’ll be forced to emigrate to a bigger country, having run out of space in this one!
The thing is, it’s not just the physical act of putting one foot in front of another that gets you - it’s all the other things associated with long distance walks too: planning the expedition, plotting the route, getting fit, reading reviews, booking accommodation, choosing places to eat, seeking advice from other walkers and, perhaps most of all shopping for kit. So much effort goes into preparation that it can become all-consuming, taking up every spare moment of your life. ‘The Obsessive Hiker’ is an account of one man’s descent down the slippery scree of addiction, from the casual, weekend use of trainers and hiking sandals in sunny summer weather, way down into the murky depths of serial, multi-day backpacking in three-season, full-grain leather boots on sloppy paths in mist and drizzle. May it serve you as a salutary lesson that a single step can, ultimately, lead you anywhere at all, until your entire life is eaten up by walking, planning walks, buying kit for walks and dreaming about walks. In my case, it has led me to treat half of the SWCP, rather disrespectfully, as a mere training ground for the greater goal of LEJOG. Perhaps unsuprisingly, the SWCP bit back and left me hobbling, reminding me that, despite being at the softer, southern end of Britain, it should not be taken lightly. Here, then, is the story of how, in a short space of time it’s possible to step up from tame 21/2 mile circular pub walks to trekking 289 miles from Land’s End to Lyme Regis. Be aware that, in reading of my travelling travails, instead of taking heed of my warnings about the seeds of addiction, there’s a risk that you may inadvertently be drawn into them, like a contrary child latching on to an inappropriate role model, or like a rival imbued with the spirit of competition, keen to show that you can do better. I wouldn’t blame you for being attracted by the photos of coastal views from the path, most of which, admittedly, couldn’t have been taken ten metres from your car door, but that doesn’t mean you have to walk for 18 consecutive days, like me, to enjoy the scenery. A better role model would be one of the many good folk, almost certainly sounder of mind and evidently in control of their habit, who get to see all those picturesque places along the SWCP by walking it in smaller doses at weekends, spread over a number of years. I met many of these happy souls along the way and I have to say that, in general, they seemed a more relaxed and less intense breed than those attempting to do the whole shebang from Minehead to Poole Harbour in a single stint. Trust me, you don’t have to suffer! Chill your bones and let my suffering suffice unto your needs, viewing it all dispassionately at arm’s length from your armchair, a soothing beverage within arm’s reach. For your own sake, leave me to work my way through this overpowering addiction, view it from a safe distance as a salutary lesson in how not to take hiking a step too far.



Where Did It All Go Wrong?
When the realisation suddenly trickles into your mind that you may have a compulsion, an addiction, something within you more powerful than your will to control it, you instinctively go into denial. You tell yourself that you can stop any time you want to, of course you can, only you don’t want to right now. This is NOT a full-blown addiction and you have NOT lost control of yourself! Perhaps, on the quiet, just for reassurance, you try a little test by cutting down - down to ten cigarettes a day, down to two drinks a night or two coffees per day, just to show that you could stop if you had to - only to find that the numbers start creeping back up again. Maybe you’ve gone cold turkey and ended up with the screaming abdabs, finally having to acknowledge that you do indeed have a problem, that this thing really is bigger than you. Well, with me it’s no longer cigarettes, it’s not yet the booze, nor is it coke or smack or anti-depressants; the problem I have is with walking, hiking, backpacking, call it what you will - and I’m hooked. It has indeed seeped into my bloodstream, my psyche, and it will not shift.
Chances are, once you’ve acknowledged your dependence, you’ll try to overcome it and, as part of that process, you’ll want to understand it, to unpick it. If you’re like me, at some point you’ll find yourself confronting these questions: How did I get into this thing in the first place? When and why did it become a problem?
Well, the first of these is easy. It would have been one fine day in the summer of 1970. I’d be sweet sixteen, lying innocently in bed on a Sunday morning with an adolescent’s relish for turning over and grabbing a little more or, better still, a lot more snooze-time. My intentions were being annoyingly thwarted by the sound of a large engine, probably that of a bus, not driving past on the road outside but, instead, stopping right there and continuing to thrum loudly. To compound the irritation, the driver then sounded the horn not once but four blessed times. I was just investigating whether I could cover both ears with a single pillow or whether it’d take two, when there came a thunderous hammering on the door. It was Kev, a so-called schoolfriend, urging me to get dressed and get on the coach - I’d apparently said that I’d go along with him on a sixth form hike. You know what it’s like at that age - you say things, you forget things, it’s all a bit of a blur, really, especially on Sunday mornings.
Kev and I were the only fifth-formers (i.e. year 11s in today’s parlance) who played rugby for the school first team, so were treated as honorary sixth formers, particularly when it came to coughing up five shillings each to help pay for the coach. Sixth form hikes were something of an institution, organised entirely by pupils, with no official school involvement whatsoever. In those days there was nothing to stop a bunch of 16 to18 year-olds from hiring a coach and driver from the local bus company, setting off for the Derbyshire Peak District and getting drunk/lost/pregnant to their hearts’ content. A notice would go up on the wall of the sixth form common room inviting pupils to add their names if interested in the next projected hike, whether from Miller’s Dale, Monsal Dale or Hartington. The cost per person would be just enough to cover the hire of a 29-seater coach, or a 47-seater if it was a popular walk. Less than two years later, it naturally fell to Kev and I to organise the hikes, since we’d been regular participants before reaching the exalted ranks of the upper sixth. Too impatient to wait for clement weather or benign conditions underfoot, our first effort was a winter hike. We were to walk a modest eight-mile circular from Parwich, for which we’d hand-drawn a dozen maps for participants to use for navigation, this being pre-PC, pre-Windows and even pre-widespread photocopier days. Few of us had any proper hiking gear, but