I can’t believe I’m almost at the end of my trek. Very mixed emotions this morning as I pack everything away. I’m proud of myself for this accomplishment, and both glad and sad for it to be nearly over. Have I wanted to quit at any point — no. Have I had negative thoughts wishing it was over — also no. Would I repeat this and do it all again — hell yes. It has been amazing. You realise a lot about yourself on a thru‑hike. You push yourself when you didn’t think you could anym

It wasn’t as cold a night as I’d anticipated, thankfully. I was awoken quite abruptly by a very strange noise, which I discovered was the calling of the many red‑legged partridges bred on the property. It almost sounds like someone trying to start a small engine. What a cute and funny little bird. Well — third time I missed a full Yorkshire breakfast. Cereals, granola, fruit, yoghurt, and a full English, all served in a traditional Yorkshire sitting room with the farmer’s wif

A day that started with chickens, moorland, questionable calorie choices, and the long shimmering line where the North Sea first hints at the end of the journey. A bacon and egg sandwich for breakfast — with a chicken for company — and I was off for 33 km to Clay Bank Top and Beak Hills Farm. I said goodbye to Connor, Charlotte, Ethan, and Laura. She was staying behind at the campsite to wait for Margo, Reindert, and the Aussie lads, who would be arriving that evening. I walk

Thank goodness for a shorter day — it was 33 degrees by mid‑afternoon. I felt quite rough for the first hour or so. My sausage roll breakfast was nowhere near enough. Laura had decided to walk this leg and had gone ahead of me. She’s not my pace, and usually walks slower than me, but I couldn’t catch her. I was feeling very sorry for myself: nauseous, light‑headed, and stupid for letting myself get into such a calorie deficit. In what felt like an eternity, I arrived at Bolto

I learned from a runner I encountered high up on the trail that there’s a challenge called The Wainwrights or The Wainwright Round. The goal is to tackle all 214 peaks across the Lake District. There’s no fixed route — you can link them however you like, as long as you start and finish at Moot Hall, Keswick. Alternatively, you can do them as an ultramarathon if you’re feeling particularly unhinged. So far I’ve done 7: Helm Crag Gibson Knott Calf Crag Seat Saddle - the acciden

I’m going to start today with a glossary of terms — I should have done this days ago. Beck — small stream or brook, from the Norse bekkr Crackpot — a deep hole or chasm that is the haunt of crows Dale — a valley Fell — high mountain, hill, or moorland ridge (Norse fjall) Force — waterfall (e.g., East Gill Force) Foss — also waterfall (e.g., Falling Foss) Gill/Ghyll — narrow steep‑sided ravine with a stream Hush/Gully — artificial channel used by miners to expose minerals Ke

For the next six nights my accommodations were all booked, so I decided to have Packhorse Baggage Transfer pick up my bag starting today. I’d brought a small day pack for this very purpose, and now I filled it with only the essentials. It immediately felt almost as heavy as Mini‑me, so I went through the whole procedure again to lighten it significantly. It felt strange saying goodbye to Mini‑me. Had I filled out the form correctly? Would they actually pick up my bag? With a

The wind kept me awake more than the group of lads who’d pitched six tents not far from my wild camp. Margo and Reindert had already left — I learned they get up around five to set off early, as they walk slowly and like to take a nap around ten. I left around 7am, a little more civilised, and thankfully before the rain. Today was the much‑anticipated Kidsty Pike, the highest point on the Coast to Coast. Very exciting… in theory. In reality, I couldn’t see a single thing. Mis

Grasmere to Angle Tarn. The problem with solo hiking is that there’s no one to tell you not to choose the alternative high route. I was up at 6:30am — rewarded immediately with the sight of a beautiful fox — and off by 7am. I left Grasmere armed with enough food to feed a small expedition: two packs of cheese and Branston Pickle sandwiches, two bags of crisps, four Snickers, and eight granola bars. Very tricky to pack without squashing the life out of everything. The weather

Headed straight back to the Borrowdale Youth Hostel for a splendid fry‑up to start the day. If you’ve ever seen Run Fat Boy Run, you’ll know the line: “A Full English… and a Side English.” Honestly, what is wrong with that? After yesterday’s efforts, I felt fully justified. Today was my catch‑up day. As I’d started walking the afternoon I arrived in St Bees, I was now a day ahead of my original schedule. If I kept going to Patterdale as planned, all my accommodation bookings

Day 2: Ennerdale, Ankle Snap, Black Sail and Borrowdale. Slept… blah. It had rained a lot in the night, but thankfully everything was fairly dry by the time I was ready to pack up. I didn’t realise it at 6 a.m., but today would be a tough one: climbing and clambering around Ennerdale Lake, then something-or-other-Crags, Black Sail Hut, and Honister Mines. I met a friend almost straight away - a little robin. I think I had stopped for a pee. I carry dog poo bags for this very

In this series of posts, I’m going to take you on a journey across three counties in the North of England: the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales, and the North York Moors. Over roughly twelve days — with a couple of half‑days thrown in, for reasons that will become clear — I’ll be walking Wainwright’s Coast to Coast route from St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay. It’s a mix of rugged mountains, rolling dales, wild moorland, and the occasional pint. Pretty much labelling all the town

Like all good reads, it starts, "In The Beginning......" As with most daft thoughts, the idea that I would hike across England happened quite accidentally. One lonely evening whilst flicking through the telly in Wales on a cold damp evening in March 2026, I came across the lovely Julia Bradbury clad in matching waterproofs, tramping along some footpath heading to somewhere ending in “thwaite” and quoting magical thoughts from AW himself. Immediately, I was transported back to