Introduction One
(scroll down to find latest chapter)
The Story of a Truck Driver Walking
This is a story of a journey, a walk that took place between two doors.
It is 2008, Christmas is just a handful of days away; I am sat behind the wheel of an articulated lorry as part of a convoy heading south out of Scotland. In the cab the Today program on BBC Radio 4 was again talking about the on-going recession, the conversation turned to the disappearance of Woolworths from the high street and the many jobs that would be lost as a result, mine and the rest of the guys in this fleet of red Lorries were among that number. The Woolworths’ trucks were leaving Scotland for the very last time; we were taking them down to the main Woolworths’ depot in Rochdale

The convoy arrived in Rochdale close to midday, trailers were parked up and the trucks added to an already long row of redundant trucks. I switched the engine off and sort out the paperwork. I sit in the cab a little longer than necessary, this truck and I had done a lot of miles together (tomorrow I’m out of a job; the minibus waiting to take the drivers back up to Scotland can wait). Taking one last look around the cab checking for any personal stuff that I had forgotten to take out the day before; the cab was empty all but for a photo of my two girls, I unclipped it from the sun visor, placed it in my top pocket, climbed out of the cab and closed the door.
It is said ‘when one door closes another door opens’, there is little said about the distance between these two doors or what it is that lies between them.
Christmas came and went; the little ones were back at school.
The years of driving trucks had taken me the full length of mainland Britain; from the south coast of England, into Wales and to the very top of Scotland. I had been too or driven through most of the towns and cities in-between, and yet I had never come across this place called Redundancy before. Redundancy is a strange place, it is both bleak and at the same time full of new opportunities waiting to be taken.
The sensible choice would be to find another driving job. It was work that I knew well plus the bills still needed to be paid and for a while this is what I did. I was driving fresh salmon from Scotland down to Heathrow; the salmon went straight on to a plane and was flown to the breakfast tables of Saudi Arabia. I was also taking fish to Grimsby; this was pretty much my granddads hometown; he had worked in the fishing industry at a time when Grimsby had one of the biggest fishing fleets in the world. I’m not sure what he would have made of fish coming into Grimsby by truck and not trawler…
Although I was back behind the wheel of a truck it no longer felt I was going anywhere. It didn’t feel right driving out of redundancy on the same road I had driven in on. I decided to take another route out of this place. I would if I could get into college for a few years.
It would be a little over four months before I stepped through the doors of Oatridge College and into a classroom, to study ‘Countryside Management’, the landscapes, fauna and flora of these islands has for a long time intrigued me. I didn’t really know if taking three years out, to study the countryside around me would change my line of work. This college thing in truth was more about confronting the world of academia; it had been over twenty five years since I had left school, I remember, certainly in the last two to three years of school struggling and falling behind in pretty much every subject, as a result I left school without taking any exam, maybe it was time to put that right. College I knew would be a huge challenge, but as I said the beginning of that adventure was four months away and that gave me the time to take on a much more sensible challenge an idea that had been in my head for quite a while and that was to walk the length of Britain from the top of Scotland to the south coast of England via Ireland and Wales.
Redundancy had given me the chance to take a step back. I think maybe I should not have been, but I was tired of what was making the headlines on the radio, newspapers and the TV. Tired of squabbling Politian’s, of what seemed like never ending conflicts in the Middle East and the on-going obsession with celebrities. It was a good time to take a walk.
I wanted this adventure to be more than about the highest mountain, the longest river, the quickest time, the shortest route, the……whatever else. I wanted to take time out and revisit the questions we all ask ourselves at some point or other. What is it that really matters in life? I believe the overwhelming majority of people are in essence good and long for a better world, if that is true, how is it we live in a world where horrible things happen? We all have a built in desire to better ourselves and yet we still do things we know we shouldn’t and don’t do the things we know we should. I have a faith, but to tell someone with no faith that a God of love exist makes no sense at all when they are looking at the world around them.
I figured this adventure would need a little bit of planning especially if I wanted to entwine the physical aspect of this walk with faith. The kettle seemed a good place to start, ten minutes later I was sat at the table with a map of Britain laid out in front of me and a mug of tea in hand.

Where to start, I had an idea of a route but not much more, what I did know is for me to get to Ireland I would need to catch a ferry from a place called Troon (a small town on the south west coast of Scotland) and the ferry from Ireland back in to mainland Britain (Wales) would leave from Dublin.
To work out how long this walk would take, I used my thumbs. My thumb print from one side to the other when pressed against the map covered a distance of about twenty miles. The next step was to walk thumb over thumb along an idea of a route. Forty thumbs later I was in the middle of the English Channel. To walk a thumb print a day would be a good pace. Not only this, forty days (and forty nights) would tie up well with the idea of faith.
The real idea of how best to bring faith into this adventure came to me half way through my second mug of tea. I would do this walk without taking any money, nor would I accept any donation of money during the walk. This in a very real way took the walk out of my hands and placed it into the hands of the people of these islands. The success of this adventure no longer depended on whether I was physically capable, but in my belief in the generosity and heart of people I had never met.
To add a twist to the faith aspect of this adventure I would finish the walk in the church I was baptised in, on the south coast of England. A church I had not been in again since that day, with my dad being in the military the family never stayed in one place long.
This is the story of that journey, a walk that took place between two doors, the climbing out the cab of a truck and the stepping into a classroom.
Introduction Two
The Journey to the Top of Scotland
It is the last day of April 2009. I’m sat in a train heading to a small town called Thurso at the very top of mainland Scotland. Tomorrow the idea of this walk steps out of my head and into a world of wind and rain and of a little sun I hope, of country lanes and mountain tracks, of going hungry and of not knowing where I would sleep each night. A walk that I have been told by many would not be possible without having money in my pocket. Apparently the days when people cared are long gone.

The train rumbles on, I try to focus my thoughts on the walk ahead instead I watch young lambs run from the noise of the train, a mother cleaning the hands of a toddler, clouds moving across the top of hills, a man a few seats down fighting with a newspaper. Much of the day was like this, no matter how hard I tried, whether or not I was standing on a station platform or gazing out of a train window I found it near impossible to focus my thoughts on the walk.
I guess in truth there was little left to think about. I still didn’t have a set route in mind other than a few fixed points. It was only last night that I had packed my bag, a change of clothes, a semi waterproof top, a pair of trainers (to give my feet a rest from walking boots), a sleeping bag and mat, a compass and a handful of maps, a toothbrush and not much else.
My thinking was the more planning I did for this walk there would be less space for faith to play a role. I had this romantic idea of a character from the Old Testament being called in the middle of the night by God to drop everything climb out of the bedroom window and to follow His direction without looking back… hmm didn’t really work like that, there are no trains in the middle of the night, as for climbing out of the bedroom window not a good idea, I live in a block of flats and the not looking back it’s hard not to when you have two little girls in pyjamas waving goodbye to their daddy.
The train arrives at Thurso mid-afternoon I have a few hours before I need to jump on a bus, the youth hostel I stay at tonight and start the walk from, is about forty miles west from here in a small village that sits on the coast called Tongue. I spend a little time in Thurso, I buy a water bottle, a small torch, some bread, cheese and a pint of milk for tonight’s supper. The last hour I spent sitting in a cafe I knew from my days driving a Woolworth’s truck.
It was while on the bus ten miles out of Thurso on a narrow country road, an over cast sky and the smell of moorlands mixed with sea air and bus fumes that a little bit of doubt crept in, maybe such a walk without having money in my back pocket was a nonsense, maybe people didn’t care as much as I would like to think they did and maybe just maybe I was kidding myself I was not twenty something I was in my mid-forties, this was not going to be a walk in the park.
As the bus pulled up at Tongue an understanding came to me. Any doubt I had needed to stay on the bus, I had once read that the first step of any journey is where success or failure will be decided.

I walk into the youth hostel with a much better mind set than I had had on the bus. Sitting in the common room with my bread and cheese a pint of milk a mug of tea and lost in thought… tomorrow will be the 1st of May, tomorrow I start walking to a small church on the south coast of England via Ireland and Wales with no money in my pocket… I then realise this is not strictly true. The train ticket, the water bottle, torch, bread, cheese the café, bus ticket and the paying for the night in the youth hostel were all paid for using my wallet. Although I had no intention of using my wallet on the walk, it felt wrong to have it with me. It felt like a ‘Get out of Jail Free card’. The first bit of difficultly I would not need to turn to faith but instead take out my wallet.
My thoughts of how best to solve the wallet problem came to a halt when six cyclist came crashing into the kitchen part of the common room laughing and shouting across at each other and then more crashing and banging of pots and pans as they prepared what would turn out to be their last supper before their final day of cycling. They had spent a couple of weeks cycling up from Lands’ End (the southernmost part of mainland Britain). Tomorrow they would finish their journey about 70 miles east of here in John o Groats (the northernmost part of mainland Britain). It was good talking to these guys I had not only inherited something of their adventurous spirit but also all there no longer needed chocolate bars and sweets. I thank them for their generosity make another mug a tea and climb the stairs to bed wondering what tomorrow will bring.
Day One (1st May 2009) Scotland
…and on the first day I woke to the sound of tyres on gravel. It is four o’clock in the morning I roll out of bed and look out of the window a car has just pulled up, a car that I recognise nobody gets out. Ten minutes later I’m dressed and in the car park tapping on the driver’s window ‘’good morning Arthur’’ he winds down the window ‘’I’ll go put the kettle on’’, alongside in the passenger seat Irina opens her eyes and murmurs a ‘’yes please’’. These were two very good friends that had decided to drive up overnight from a small town near Glasgow to wish me well at the start of this adventure.

Not only had they brought there good wishes but also everything you need to put together a full British breakfast. By 6:30am for want of a better word I was stuffed … well maybe enough space for one more slice of toast and another mug of tea.
Time was moving on and my walking boots were waiting, my head was already out on the road. I think Arthur knew this, he tells me ‘’I don’t know what your plans are for today but we have a full day ahead of us and need to be making a move’’.
Outside of the hostel with boots on and bag on my back I am ready for the first step of this walk. Before shaking the hands of both Arthur and Irina, I hand them my wallet and ask if they could give it to my wife Ulrike, the ‘get out of jail free card’ problem is solved. I also asked them to ruffle the hair of my two girls and to let them know they are both with me.

What was that I talked about early… something about the first step of any journey… Today is Friday it is 7:30 in the morning the 1st of May 2009 the weather is overcast but dry and the temperature is a little cool but seems to be heading in the right direction. Irina hands me a can of ‘Irn Bru’ for those outside of these islands ‘Irn Bru’ is a soft drink produced in Scotland and apparently made from iron girders. With a full breakfast in my belly and an’ Irn Bru’ pushed in to my bag I take the first step.
Winding my way up and out of Tongue I pick up the narrow road heading south towards Altnaharra. It is not long before I am confronted with the wide open spaces of the Highlands. In front of me and slightly to the right is Ben Loyal and a little further away to the west is Scotland’s most northern Munro, Ben Hope. Much of what is in front of me is wet heath land, a landscape that is dominated by heather, moorland grasses and peat bogs. I stop for a moment and with my arms outstretched I slowly turn around full circle. I am overwhelmed with a sense of belonging… this is my home; the lyrics of the song ‘This is my Island in the Sun’ comes to mind (maybe the word ‘sun’ is not the best description for an island that sits off the north west coast of mainland Europe). …‘Where my people have toiled since time begun’. It is hard to imagine that the panorama facing me was once ancient woodland where our early ancestors the ‘hunter-gather’ were beginning to settle and turn their hands to farming, clearing the woodland little by little making space for cultivation and livestock. I cannot help but wonder what their lives were like, did they not also in between just surviving have hopes and desires, fall in love, shed tears of joy and heartache and dream of better days ahead.
It is with these thoughts among others still inside my head and a little over four hours into the walk with both Ben Loyal and loch Loyal now behind me that a car pulls up in front of me. Arthur and Irina climb out; they are heading back home and thought that maybe I would like to share some lunch with them. Yes please. Irina goes back to the car and comes back with a cool box full of sandwiches, crisps, biscuits and more Irn Bru. I am glad to sit for a while. They are hoping to be home by nine this evening, home being near Glasgow. I will also pass through Glasgow on my way to the ferry at Troon, for me to reach Glasgow I’m guessing it will take me close to two weeks. The sun has been trying to break through the cloud all-day with very little success. There is a slight chill in the air; it is time to get moving again. Arthur and Irina give me half a dozen sandwiches to take with me. It is good to be walking knowing I have food on my back, not only do I now have some sandwiches but also the chocolate and sweets the cyclists gave me the night before plus the can of Irn Bru Irina had given me this morning.
It takes close to another two hours to reach the small hamlet of Altnaharra, one of the first building when approaching from the north is the small parish church, standing on the right away from the road on a raised piece of land. I walk up the pathway to the church; there are trees both to the left and behind the church, rough grassland to the right and behind me the west end of Loch Naver.

In 1854 17 men were sat around a table in the local Pub and had decided Altnaharra needed a place of worship, a year later this church was built… I step through the door with the Celtic cross high above and into the main body of the church. I sit down on a bench close to the front. It is here that I offer this walk up to God. I sit for an hour or maybe more my thoughts drifting into prayers and prayers drifting again back into thoughts. One thought that crosses my mind was whether or not to stay the night; it would be a good place to stay, a roof over my head would keep me dry and the stained glass image of St David with spear in hand would I figured keep me safe, but I decide the day still has a little bit of walking left in it. I bid farewell to St David and close the door of the church behind me.
Not much more than an hour out of Altnaharra I decide to call it a day. I step off the road and walk a hundred yards in to the heath, find some flat ground close to a small stream, lay out the sleeping mat on top of some low growing heather and push my sleeping bag into the bivvy bag (the idea of the bivvy bag is to keep the rain from getting in while allowing the condensation out… that’s the idea…only the bivvy bag is twenty plus years old…). I dig out a few sandwiches a chocolate bar and the can of Irn Bru and say Thank you to Irina, Arthur and the cyclist for feeding me this night.

The light is beginning to fade, the temperature is slowly dropping I climb into my sleeping bag. With my arms behind my head I watch the clouds slowly taking over the spaces of open sky. I wonder at how much or little this landscape has changed over the past thousands of years. It is incredibly quiet; there is the tiniest sound of ripples from the nearby stream like a whisper from the past… What is it that binds us together, our early ancestors, David from the stained glass window the seventeen guys sat in a Pub with a beer in hand and you and I? It is this; we all regardless of who we are or where we are from; have a desire to achieve real peace, love and happiness…the hope of all ages is for a better world, a hope that has been passed down from one generation to the next… and then to the next and the next, like a baton in a relay race being passed from one runner to the next runner. I sit up in my sleeping bag and offer the last of my Irn Bru up to these guys (not sure what Neolithic man would make of Irn Bru… maybe Iron age man would appreciate it better). I close the day in a short prayer and sink back into the heather.
Day Two (2nd May 2009) Scotland
I wake up it is still dark I reach for my bag take out the phone and look at the time, it is just a few minutes past three. Sleeping on a bed of heather maybe sounds romantic, but I will not grumble again about a simple mattress inside the cab of a truck ever again. There are still a few stars visible between the clouds, I lay awake looking up at the night sky It is hard to imagine there are a hundred thousand million stars in our galaxy, and one hundred billion galaxies in the observable universe. It is incredibly hard to get my head around those kinds of numbers. If one day in the far away future we find a way to travel at just one per cent of the speed of light it would still take us close to five hundred years to reach the nearest star to our own star ‘the Sun’… a sun that is still behind the horizon. Maybe one day somebody will write down the story of that journey between the two stars… I wonder if they will have a can of Irn Bru pushed into their space bag. I turn around pull the bivvy bag back over my head; right now I don’t need big numbers with a whole lot of zero’s in my head… I just need a few more Zz.
A few hours go by before I again wake up under the vastness of all the stars and galaxies above, only I don’t get to see them, the sky is both grey and wet. I stay in the sleeping bag waiting for the drizzle to take a break and when it does I take mine, the sleeping bag seems to be dry it looks like the bivvy bag has done its job, that’s a good start to the day. By 8:00 o’clock I am packed with a sandwich in hand and some sweets in my pocket and back to walking on the single track road heading towards Lairg. The top of Ben Klibreck to my left is still very much in cloud, but in front of me shafts of sun light are beginning to break through. The drizzle that has now stopped has left this heathland with its peatbogs, grasses and heather looking and smelling like brand-new; to complete the scene all I needed now was a blackbird to sing like the first bird…but instead I got the throaty squawk of a startled grouse… I guess there is more than one way for a morning to be broken.

Close to three hours into this morning’s walk I come across probably one of the most isolated pubs in these islands the Crask Inn. I push the door open not knowing if they are yet open for business, the place seems empty, I’m about to turn around and head out when all of a sudden a head pops up from behind the bar. ‘’Hiya how can I help’’ and after the smallest of pauses ‘’oops sorry did I make you jump’’ ‘’no not at all’’ I say, both knowing that she had. ‘’not sure if you can help’’ and then I go on about what it is I’m trying to do and how I want to do this walk without a penny in my pocket and… and do you think maybe I could have a mug of tea and sit down for five minutes. She smiles ‘’sorry we don’t do mugs I’ll make you a pot of tea instead … I’m sure I can also find some shortbread, go and sit yourself down’’.
It is while leaning back in a chair hands pushed deep into my pockets and legs stretched out under the table in this remote pub in the north of Scotland, that I suddenly realize for me to reach that church on the south coast of England, I will need to meet many more people like the lady from behind the bar, who has just given me a second pot of tea. This walk is no longer an idea, it is real and for this walk to be successful, my believe that people in essence are good also needs to be proven to be real. I finish the last of the tea and pick up the one remaining piece of shortbread; I express my gratitude for the tea and biscuits and in return I am given another smile and a ‘good luck’. Stepping out of the pub I feel good, how true it is that man shall not live on shortbread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God. It is in the genuine smile of a stranger that I many times experience, maybe not hear but sense the quiet still voice of God. Outside the sky has become a little brighter and I wonder if the people I have not yet met on this journey will also surprise me with their generosity, smiles and maybe also on occasions make me jump.

A few hundred yards out of the Pub I walk across a stone bridge that takes me over the small river Tirry, like me it is also heading south. I scramble down to its edge and fill my water bottle then tip it over my head; the water is freezing if I was not fully awake I am now. I fill the bottle again and push it into my bag. I still have a good four hours of walking in front of me before I reach Lairg. The landscape is changing a little; the heathland seems to be expanding pushing the hills and mountains further apart. The walking is pretty easy going; the single track road gently rising and falling.
My thoughts drift back again to those that toiled before us and the idea of a relay race. We living today hold that baton and in our hands are the hopes of a thousand previous generations. That is one lot of responsibility. On good days I imagine that our generation will be the one that crosses the finishing line, bringing to an end a history of conflict, broken life’s and shattered dreams. On rubbish days I am scared that not only will we drop the baton but lose it altogether, condemning future generations to never ending heartbreak. To lift the mood I decided to try and walk the rest of the way to Lairg in the footsteps of all the good people from the past that had left the world in better shape than they had found it.
The landscape is again changing, the more south and closer to Lairg, there is more evidence of land management taking place, there are more conifer plantations on the slopes to my left and on my right between the road I am walking on and the now much wider river Tirry the fields have become smaller, flatter and are now enclosed with dry stone walls rather than wire fencing.
I arrive in Lairg a little after three…I think the only footsteps I walked in were those of stray sheep and maybe one or two roe deer, so much for high ideas.

In Lairg I find a church and in doing so make contact with a Rev. Goskirk, again I explain the idea of the walk and again surprised by the generosity of people, the reverend takes me to a Bed and Breakfast and pays for me to stay. At six o’clock I am picked up and taken back to his home for a huge meal with his family and afterwards we sit in front of the family fire place with map books open talking of past adventures. At a little after nine o’clock I am back at the Bed and Breakfast. I unpack a little, my sleeping bag is not quite as dry as I thought it was, I hang it over the radiator, plug my phone in, grab a shower, make a tea and climb in to bed. The idea was to read a little but by ten I am asleep and thanks to the reverent Goskirk I have a roof between me and a grey heavy sky.
Day Three (3rd May 2009)Scotland
A really good sleep last night, I wake up just before five. There is no rush to get out of bed; breakfast is not and till seven thirty. I look up at the window it is dotted with rain drops, I watch for a moment longer to see if any new rain drops appear … they don’t. I find myself saying thank you again to the Rev. Goskirk for giving me a roof over my head last night. I decide to make a cup of tea; I cannot quite reach the kettle without getting out bed… life is not always easy. I climb out of bed only to find my legs are not working properly, wasn’t expecting that. I take a hot shower while the kettle is on, hoping this will get the legs working again. By the time I’ve drank my tea and repacked my bag I am no longer hobbling around the room, the legs are pretty much back to normal. The day again starts with a full breakfast, the second in three days… hmm… I’m not sure if it would look good if at the end of these forty days (…in the wilderness…) I am heavier than what I was when I started.
Walking boots are back on by eight fifteen. I step outside to an incredibly calm morning, not a whisper in the air. I head out of Lairg alongside Little Loch Shin. The loch is as clear as a mirror I see in its reflection a similar sky to that of yesterday blue with white and grey clouds, they don’t look as if they are holding any rain, a dry day ahead. The walking is easy going. The bigger hills seem to get pushed ever further to the west. The landscape is still dominated by open heathland; the conifer plantations grow bigger and the fields look in far better shape the grass is less course, I not only see sheep but also for the first time on this walk I come across some cattle, they look up as I pass by little interested in where I have come from or where it is am heading.

close to one o’clock I walk into Bonar Bridge and over the impressive steel and stone bridge that takes you over the Kyle of Sutherland in to the small town of Ardgay, it is here I am given a tea and iced bun from a corner shop ‘Thankyou’. It is a pleasant day, a gentle breeze has picked up from this morning but still plenty warm enough to sit outside. I find a bench, I am glad to sit down the muscles in my legs are feeling the walk today. The bench I sit on is wrapped around a boulder of white quartz. I read the plaque alongside, it is called the Market Stone in days gone by it was moved from one village to the next to let people know where the next market would be held… the equivalent of an early text message I guess… just took a little longer to send.

I put the tea on the bench and take out the map from the side pocket of my trousers. Wondering at where it is I will finish the day. There are no villages to aim for maybe if I get lucky I will stumble across a farm, I think probably my bed tonight will be in a field. I sit for a while longer looking at the map.
It’s hard to imagine a world without maps, when driving a truck I use maps that show me the height of low bridges and where the major truck stops are and when walking in the mountains I use maps that will show me the lay of the land by using contour lines. I have even seen maps that highlight power lines and high buildings I guess these are used by people that fly small planes. I am sure there are many more specialized maps.
What about maps that help guide us through life, likewise there are many different kinds, a better name for many of these maps would be the name of the different scriptures of the world. I find it a nonsense when people argue about which book is better.

Do people argue about contour lines, power lines and the height of low bridges? If you were to lay these different physical maps on top of each other Glasgow would still be where Glasgow should be, the rivers and mountains would also still be where they should be. Likewise the fundamental of all these different scriptures are the same… to love and not hate …to live for the sake of the other…to be the best we can be.
…ah but what would I know I’m no theologian I’m just a truck driver more than this I’m a truck driver without a truck walking.
I finish my tea and cake push myself up from the bench and soon find out that I’m not even a truck driver walking I’m a truck driver hobbling, my legs don’t want to play anymore. I walk out of town hoping no body is watching, it take a good mile before the legs start to loosen up. I walk / hobble for another two hours and then call it a day. I step off the road and scramble up the bank into the woods and walk a little distance so as to be out of sight of the road. I find a small clearing roll out my sleeping mat and push my sleeping bag into the bivvy bag. I dig out the last of Irina’s sandwiches, it is squashed out of shape and not quite as fresh as it was a few days back, I rummage through my bag to see if there are any chocolates or sweets left from the cyclists… all gone, no desert tonight. Breaking the sandwich in two… hmm…not really sure you can call it a sandwich any more…a lump of bread with maybe cheese or maybe not cheese mixed up with it, I will save half for tomorrows breakfast… that will be something to look forward to.
I am not grumbling… sleeping in the woods, sore legs and an empty belly, this is what I signed up for when I decided to undertake this walk without having money in my pocket. At least it’s not raining and with that thought still in my head a rain drop finds its way through the tree canopy and hits me square between the eyes… at least it’s not snowing…
The rain was just a fleeting shower lasted no more than ten minutes. I climb in to my sleeping bag, glad to take the weight of my legs, laying down looking up at the trunks of the trees above takes me back to a childhood memory …laying on my back looking up at a tree I had just fallen out off. I always figured I was the kid that could climb the trees that other kids could not climb…what was closer to the truth is that I was the kid that fell out of the trees that other kids could not climb.
Again I find myself lying awake, arms behind my head looking up at the night sky, the stars hidden not behind the clouds but by the branches of trees. Maybe it is true that the cows care little about the direction the likes of you and I are walking in, but hey that’s ok… because I know like most people, be it through a faith or even just by instinct that life does have a direction and a purpose. There are many maps / scriptures and guide books out there that are there to help us on that journey.
I think our job is to help others on the way be it building bridges of steel and stone, holding out a hand or just by passing on a genuine smile. If on the way we should get a little lost never forget we also have a built in compass… our conscience.
Day Four (4th May 2009)Scotland
I wake up to the sound of bird song; it is four thirty in the morning, you would think they could keep the noise down a little…some of us are trying to sleep… hey I’m only joking what better way to wake up, on a woodland floor, the sky slowly turning orange and with the sound track of the dawn chorus. We are told that birds sing because they are protecting their territory or that they are looking for a mate… I like to think they sing just because they can.

I lay awake watching the night slowly disappearing and thinking about the day ahead. The goal today is to reach Dingwall…that’s if I don’t run out of fuel. The last thing a truck driver will do at the end of each day is to fill the tank up with diesel ready for the following day…I start this day with the needle in the red. I decide to eat the rest of the sandwich I broke in half last night; another few hour it will be to stale to eat, I wash it down with a mouth full of water… hmm lovely. By seven I’m dressed, packed up and teeth brushed. I scramble back down the bank to the road, the long grass and low branches are wet from the morning’s dew, running my hands through them I give my face a wash.
Behind me I can see the blue waters of the Dornoch Firth and in front of me a steady climb over low lying hills (hills that in another three to four months will be purple with heather). This is now the fourth day in to the walk, I have maybe about sixty miles behind me and seven to eight hundred in front of me before I step into the church on the south coast that I was baptized in… this puts me into a reflective mood… how do we find true happiness within ourselves and in doing so feel as free as the birds in the skies that were singing this morning (…while I was trying to sleep). Each and every one of us has both a mind and a body, for true happiness to be achieved the genuine desires of both of these aspects of who we are needs to be fulfilled.
Just in the handful of days that I have been walking I can testify to what the needs of the physical body are (especially when the day is done). The physical body is happy when it has shelter, when it is both warm and dry, when it has a good standard of health and when it has food in its belly, which is my why the body is grumbling a little, the legs are still feeling the walk and the belly is close to being empty.
What of the internal aspect of who we are… what is it that makes the mind or for want of a better word our spirit happy, these things are different to the desires of the body. The inner most part of who we are desires such things as love, truth and beauty. The embrace of a loved one, the laughter of a friend, the smile of a stranger, an understanding of the world around us and who we are and where it is we come from, a beautiful sun set, the nature that is all around us or a piece of music that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. These are the kind of things that bring happiness to the inner most part of who we are.
There is nothing wrong in wanting to have a nice house a good car, to eat well, go on holidays and enjoy the things the material world can offer, but if we neglect the internal aspect of who we are, we will never find true happiness.
A rumble from my stomach while walking over a stone bridge brings me out of my thoughts and back to the walk. I take out the map to see what river it is I’m crossing, a small square chewy sweet falls out of a fold in the map…wow… the paper is stuck to the sweet; it takes a while to separate the sweet from the paper. I bite it in half (one sweet becomes two), I decide to keep half for later; an idea comes to me if I keep breaking the sweet in half I will end up with a bag of sweets… hmm.. No that’s not going work is it… The river I have just crossed is called the Stathrory. The landscape around me has a sense of managed wilderness, rounded hills of heather moorland, conifer plantations, closer to the road on the lower slopes there are fields of I’m guessing barley and of course still plenty of sheep knocking around.
Another three hours pass by. The road seems in no rush to reach its destination, slowly winding its way through the landscape doing its best to avoid going over the top of low lying hills or dropping down too much into the gentle valleys, to help the road maintain its level there are a handful of stone bridges that carry the road over a number of small rivers and gorges.

It is a beautiful landscape of rolling hills, woodlands, fields of both arable and grass for livestock… but with my second sweet gone, what I need now is a garage, a village or a small town… a place to refuel…In front of me I can see the waters of the Cromarty Firth and the small town of Alness, just up the road from Alness is Skiach Service, a popular place for truck drivers. I have stopped here over night as a truck driver a number of times in the past. I remember the food and the noise of the place being both good and welcome after a long day behind the wheel, Skiach was also a place to grab a shower before climbing back into the truck and on to the bunk for a good night sleep. This is the place that I would head for now.
It is a little before three when I push the door open and step into Skiach services. I look for who I think maybe in charge and again explain myself, he looks me up and down, I think my appearance fits with the story I have just told him. He calls to one of the girls behind the food counter ‘’get this guy a bowl of soup, a bread roll and a pot of tea with a full jug of milk’’…‘’Thank you’’.
Soup has never tasted so good. Across the room I see a truck driver sat in a corner reading a book, and out of the blue I am taken back to another truck driver and truck stop I knew from twenty five years passed… the truck stop was down south near a place called Rugby, it was sat alongside the A5 (a road that goes back to the times of the Romans… maybe once upon a time this truck stop was a chariot stop)… the truck driver was everything people who are not truck drivers think of when imagining what a truck driver is like. He was big and loud, every second word was a swear word, the jokes he told the girls behind the food counter were both crude and out of order.
I remember sitting in this truck stop on the A5 eating a late dinner. I looked up and saw this loud truck driver sitting quietly in a corner by himself reading a novel. I had never seen him reading a book before and then something even more unexpected happen; he pushed up his glasses and with finger and thumb wiped away tears… I don’t know why this image stayed with me for so many years… the waitress that had served me earlier with the soup and bread roll brings me back out of my thoughts ‘’you look a million miles away’’ she says as she drops another bread roll on to my plate. ‘’the driver behind you left his bread roll I thought you might appreciate it. My boss told me about you walking without money… you must be a little crazy’’. ‘’a little maybe… thank you for the roll.’’ ‘’that’s ok’’ she says as she walks off to clear another table, she turns around ‘’crazy but amazing’’. She makes me smile. I finish the last of the milk and say thank you to the shift manager and head out.

Dingwall is still a good two or three hours away. The plan is to see if I can find a place to stay the night, if not I will walk a few miles out of town and find quiet corner in a field. The walk is so much easier with some food inside me; it is pleasant walk along quiet country roads and woodland tracks. I arrive in Dingwall at about five thirty, I walk in to the grounds of the first church I come across it is an Episcopal church. The door is unlocked I step inside and sit for a moment. I find out that the minister of the church lives across the road from the church. Ten minutes later I am walking up the small walk way to his front door… feeling a little awkward… not sure how best to explain myself. I knock on the door, a young lady answers. I ask about whether the minister is in ‘’my mum and dad are out for the day, walking on the hills. I’m not sure when they’ll be back. Can I help.’’ ‘’No its ok… thank you anyway.’’ I turn around. A car pulls up a man and a woman climb out with walking gear and boots still on. While taking the bags out of the back of the car, he is asking how he can be of help. I explain myself; they turn me around and back up the path to the house. Sat in the kitchen with a coffee in hand the different stories of the day are shared. The Reverend declares we have all earned a meal out tonight. I am shown a room, told to grab a shower, his wife tells me to bring all my dirty close down and she would have them washed and dried for tomorrow.

An hour and half later the four of us are sat in a restaurant with a hot meal in front of us and sharing more stories. Back at their home I find myself sat in an armchair with a hot chocolate and a cat curled up on my lap. I am introduced to the rest of the family, two other cats, a hamster and a eleven stone dog (I think it’s a bear but didn’t like to say, not after they had shown such kindness).
This morning I woke up on a woodland floor hungry. Tonight I lay in a bed with crisp white sheets and a full belly… today I felt I was given a glimpse of a better world. I saw it behind the tears of truck driver from twenty years ago, in the kindness of a waitress who dropped an extra bread roll on to my plate and the immense generosity of the Rev Ian Pallett’s family … the desires of love, truth and beauty will not give up this world without a fight.
Day Five (5th May 2009) Scotland)
It is early morning; I’ve been told breakfast will be ready at seven. It is not yet six I don’t want to go down to early, I stay in bed watching the sun push its way through the curtains and move lazily across the room. The plan today is to be on the shores of Loch Ness before the day is done…I am quietly hoping the sun once it has reached the bedroom door will follow me down the stairs, hang around the kitchen for twenty minutes… step out the front door with me and then stay one step ahead all the way to the small town of Drumnadrochit.

On the kitchen chair there’s a small bundle of clothes ; washed, dried and ironed…as well as some sandwiches… sometimes ‘thank you ‘ is a stupid word it does not express nearly as much as it should. After a really good breakfast and walking boots back on I am stepping out the front door, saying ‘thank you’ a number of times… in the hope of making the word sound a little less stupid, doesn’t really work it still sounds totally inadequate.
A little over an hour and I walk past the Conon Bridge Hotel, this is where I was taken for dinner last night, and again I say a quiet thank you. The sun has done as I had hoped; its rays fall on to an agricultural landscape, a patchwork of irregular shaped fields. The bigger hills are in the distance. The walking like yesterday is steady going, gentle hills on quiet and twisting country roads.
Yesterday I spoke of love, truth and beauty not throwing in the towel, putting forward the idea of a fight, a battle between what is good and what is not. A world in conflict… I sometimes wonder what it’s all for… can we really make a difference to the world around us, I believe in that better world I caught a glimpse of yesterday…but I also know it will not happen if good people do nothing…
…hmm I don’t want to give the impression that when walking all I think about are the big questions… about life, the universe and what’s it all for… much of the time is spent kicking stones and twigs along woodland tracks, thinking of this and that and nothing at all… annoyed that I don’t know the names of more of the trees and plants around me (the hope is when in a few months I step through the open door of Oatridge College to study ‘Countryside Management’ …and three years later when walking back out that same door I will have a much better understanding of this land that I am walking through). If I’m not kicking stones I’m running my fingers through the ferns and grasses on the verges alongside side country lanes, looking up at odd shaped clouds and day dreaming. In the clouds I see the image of an upside down penguin slowly changing into a broken umbrella and at the same time I feel a tingling sensation in my hand, I look down only to find that I’m no longer running my fingers through ferns but instead running them through a bunch of stinging nettles… oh boy!

Two hours pass by, the walking is easy going, gentle hills and fields… the roads are quiet. The legs ache a little but feel good, the hand is still tingling from the nettles. The sun I think is getting tired it seems to be hanging back a little. I walk into Beauly and take a handful of steps past the Priory Hotel… hmm I wonder… I take a few steps back and step into the hotel… five minutes later I’m sat in the tea room with a pot of tea, tea cup and saucer and a slice of chocolate cake. I sit close to an hour, watching people come and go. A mum with two young children both with a book, the little girl running her finger along the words on the page and speaking them out quietly to herself, the boy sitting on the floor pushing his book along the carpet making the noise of a car.
I finish the last of the tea at the bottom of the tea cup… the cake long gone, I say thank you to the waiter and the guy behind reception. I step outside to a different weather system… crumbs I was only sat for no more than an hour… the sun has gone; the only shapes I see in the clouds are a scattering of grey and broken roof slates. I turn to the south, check my collar is up, push my hands into my pockets and start walking, it’s not long before Beauly is behind me and I’m back on the open road.
It seems a little unfair for children to have to grow up in to a world of conflict and division more so when it was not of their making. If you were to bring together toddlers from all the different corners of the world (…not sure how many corners a global world has…), and put them together into a giant bouncy castle they would happily play together. The difference in the colour of skin, eyes and hair or the different languages they spoke and the clothes that they wore, would not for a moment stop them from laughing and playing together. It is only when we grow older we begin to discriminate against those who are different to us.
To create a better world we need to figure out what is at the root of conflict and what it is that divides us… a huge question… but one we cannot walk away from. It is horrible when a child sitting on the floor be them playing with dolls or sliding a book along the carpet looks up at horrific images on the TV news and asks the question … Why? …For children the images make no sense at all, and yet we grownups sometimes explain them away without a second thought… what nonsense. The futures of these little ones are tied up in that baton I spoke of a few days back, we need to hold on to it tighter and find a way to run harder.
The slate grey sky that I had been keeping an eye on catches up with me bringing with it the tears of heaven… sorry that’s a little over dramatic… I’ll stick to calling it rain; I dig out my water proof (…which is only water residence, keeping within the spirit of the walk I had decided not to take the best of gear with me, although maybe better boots would have been a good idea… I have a nagging feeling they are going to give me a hard time further down the road). Before the rain establishes itself I sit on a wooden stile alongside a stone wall and the yellow flowers of gorse and eat one of the sandwiches given to me this morning.
The hours pass by; the rain feels like it’s here to stay for the afternoon.my thoughts drift back again to the conflict we see around us. It is only in the human world we see conflict and division in the natural world there is a harmony. A fox will take out a rabbit or a pheasant not out of hate but out of necessity, it may look cruel through human eyes but it is nature’s way of keeping a balance in the created world. I walk with my hood up; my jacket is giving up its residence to the rain. The words of a song called ‘Faith Healer’ come to mind …’if your body is feeling bad, it’s the only one you have, you want to take away the pain go out walking in the rain’… and I am left wondering as I walk down into Drumadrochit how did hate get into such a beautiful world.
To my surprise once in Drumadrochit the grey skies gives way to blue skies… the sun looks down at me as if to say ‘which way did you go’ …all the while pretending not to notice that I’m wet. I wanted to say ‘shut up’ but not sure if that’s a good thing to say to the sun so I keep quiet. My job now is to try finding some dinner and a place to stay the night; I have no luck with the churches that I find, cannot find any contact numbers. I stumble across a fish and chip shop… smells good…I walk in and walk out with a bag of chips plus a name of a youth hostel and directions in how to get there. On the way to the hostel I find a bench and sit down to finish my chips. It would be good to find a bed tonight.

I sit on the bench allowing the sun and the gentle breeze to slowly start drying me, reflecting on the days walk and thoughts. It feels like we see conflict everywhere we look; nation up against nation, even within a single nation we see both conflict and division. The stones and twigs I was kicking along a woodland path that I spoke of earlier remind me of conflict in the playground rhyme ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me’. Walking the city streets at night it is not long before we come across young men fighting or the divide between those that have and those who have next to nothing sleeping rough. ..We all know of a family that has broken a part (I am not making any judgments… sadly these things happen). Conflict seems to divide all levels of society, from nations right down to the family and it doesn’t stop there… this guy sat on a bench eating a bag of chips does not have to look to deeply into himself before that very same conflict makes itself known… how many times do we desire to do good and still do the wrong thing… the bottom line is this; this mixed up, muddled up world is a reflection of the individual … that is you, me and every other person out there…
…and on that happy thought It is time I made a move, I need to try and find this hostel the chip shop told me about and hope to get a bed for the night. I push myself up from the bench… I feel heavy, not sure if the reason for this is my legs starting to stiffen up from the days walk or just a heavy heart.
Ten minutes later I step into the ‘Backpackers Hostel’. I again explain myself and again given a bed and again I am astonished at the generosity of people. The lady shows me where the kettle and toaster is, and then opens a cupboard and tells me this is the food other people have left and I am to help myself… ‘Thank you’…yeah the word still sounds totally inadequate. I grab a shower, change into dry clothes and hang the wet clothes up in the drying room. Fifteen minutes later I’m sinking into an old sofa with a mug of tea and some toast… there are not many better ways to finish a day. The lady who has allowed me to stay the night walks over with a coffee in hand, sits herself down in an armchair that looks just as worn out as the sofa I’m sat on and we talk for a while about this and that and nothing at all… after a full day on my own it was good to have someone to talk with.
Maybe people are mixed up, muddled up and full of contradictions but we are also incredible with so much potential… a better world is there for the taking… and it starts from here… by that I don’t mean from this old sofa…but from within ourselves … the better we become the better the world becomes.
Day Six (6th May 2009) Scotland)
The day starts very much how yesterday finished, an old sofa, a mug of tea, some toast and the thoughts of a muddled up humanity. I sit for a little longer than maybe I should watching others getting ready for the day ahead…boots being laced up, jumpers getting pulled over heads, hill bags lifted on to backs, people giving farewell hugs and hardy handshakes to those met for the first time in this hostel that sits close to the shores of Loch Ness… that is what folks do…there is a bond between people… we don’t always understand it… but there is a recognition somewhere deep inside, that is telling us we are all on this journey together.
One of the guys from the room I was sleeping in last night gives the chair I’m sitting on a kick ‘you need to be making a move; you’re not going to get to the south of England sat on that old sofa’. ‘Yeah you’re right’. Somebody else walks passed and picks up my empty mug ‘I’ll take that to the kitchen I’m washing up’. ‘I can…’ before I finish my sentence the mug is gone. ‘Thank you’. I think I’m being told its time to move. Fifteen minutes later my boots are on and bag thrown over my shoulder, I look for the girl behind the reception who had allowed me to stay in this hostel last night… she’s not there… I tell the old armchair in the lounge to pass on a ‘Thank you’… and then step out the front door and greet the new day. I walk out of this little town that sits on the river Enrick just upstream from the Loch. Drumnadrochit was once a gathering place for the selling of cattle and sheep… now it’s the place people come looking for monsters or more pacifically the Loch Ness monster…‘Nessie’.

less than an hour of walking I pass by Urquhart Castle and then pick up the road that runs alongside the northern shore of the loch. I have blue skies above me; a steep woodland bank to the right of me and a monster to the left of me… two out of three are not bad odds. In truth the real battle is not with the monster in the loch (although I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that), it is with our very own monsters within that concerns me more. As I have said I believe in essence people are good but at the same time we cannot be blind or ignore the darker side within us. To become people of truly good character takes time, effort and discipline. There is a bunch of words written down over a hundred plus years ago by an American outlaw called Frank Jackson reflecting on the wrong that he had done:- ‘’Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny’’… I think there is a truth in those words.

The walk today is pretty straight forward; a twenty mile thumb print on the map will take me to the small town of Fort Augustus at the southern end of Loch Ness. The road is not busy but busier than any road I’ve walked on so far on this adventure. I know there is a long distance path that runs the length of the loch and beyond called ‘The Great Glen Way, only not sure if it is on the other side of the loch or on this side up above the steep bank beyond the trees. I keep an eye out for any signpost but don’t see any. The wind starts to pick up bringing with it heavy grey skies (not long before its goodbye blue skies). A couple of hours (maybe more) in to the walk just as the first rain drops begin to fall I come across the Lochside Hostel. I step inside with the hope of grabbing a cup of tea. The caretaker of the hostel is a German guy called Hardy… and again I am fed… it seems again and again people will go out of their way to help out a stranger… it is as if this giving is a part of who we are… a part of our DNA… something we have inherited from our creator… is not the heart of God to give and then to give again forget that He has given only to give again.
I sit at the table the feast that Hardy had organised, laid out in front me; a pot of tea, cornflakes, crisps and some chocolate. Hardy sits opposite showing me how better to use my smart phone (I am of that generation where smart phones are generally smarter than their owners …hmm… or maybe it’s just me). The reason for carrying the phone is to write each day the shortest of blogs to let people know where it is I am each night and to say thank you those that help me on my way.

Close to an hour later I am still sat at the same table with a second mug of tea in hand; watching raindrops on the window slowly gathering together each time getting a little fatter and then without warning they make a dash to the bottom of the window ledge. Feeling a little fatter I also decide it is time to be heading south. I retie my boots, pull on my raincoat say again thanks to Hardy for feeding me, helping with the phone and giving directions on how to pick up the ‘Great Glen Way’ and with that done I step into the rain.
Four to five hundred yards down the road I’m thinking I must have gone passed the small pathway that leads up to the ‘Great Glen Way’ that Hardy had spoken of, but I do find a gap in the trees and scrabble up the banking, ten minutes later maybe a little longer I’m standing on a wide path that could only be the Great Glen Way, I turn left and head south. It is a good pathway much of it is above the tree line with good views of the surrounding hills and the loch below and with the added bonus of no traffic or monsters to worry about.
I am walking across open hills in the rain without the proper gear slowly getting wet; legs ache, I have no idea if I will get the chance to eat at the end of this day or where I will sleep tonight and yet for reasons I don’t really understand… I feel good…I think for the first time while on this walk, I am not wondering any more whether or not it is possible for me to reach the south of England without having money in my pocket… I kind of know both in my head and heart that it will happen… in truth I could stop this walk now and feel that the walk had been successful, but if I were to do that I would miss out meeting the many more incredible people that I have not yet met on this adventure…and on top of this I had told God in the parish church at Altnaharra on the first day of this walk that I would meet Him in the church on the south coast that I was baptised in.

The rain pretty much stays with me all afternoon stopping occasionally but never for very long. When reaching Invermoriston the path drops back down to the road so as to cross the river Moriston, walking over one bridge I stop and look across at a much older bridge. For a moment I see more than the span of the old stone bridge reaching across a stretch of water…it seems to also reach across the ages, I can almost see…not quite…but almost… our ancestors stripped to the waist lifting heavy stone, grunting as they push them into place. They build with the future in mind in order to make life easier / better for their children and their children’s children. We should also be building bridges; bridges that bring together the generations of young and old, bridges that reach out to different communities, bridges that connect us to different cultures and the different faith groups… if we were to build such bridges, would we not also, at the same time be building a better future for the generations to come. I look across again back at the old bridge and try to catch the eye of one of the labourers… that’s not an easy thing to do when the guys exists only in my imagination… hands in pockets I follow the path back up to higher ground, I still have a few hours of walking and till I reach Fort Augustus, I look behind me in the hope of catching a glimpse of the sun… the sun would also appear to exist only in the world of imagination.

It is late afternoon when I walk into the small town of Fort Augustus. The rain has stopped, the sun stays hidden behind a blanket of white and grey skies. It would be good to have a roof over my head and to get out of these wet clothes. I walk up to the first church I come across. The minister’s home is next to the church, I knock on the door (this is the harder’s part of each day…I don’t like putting people on the spot) the door is opened by a Rev. Adrian and again I explain myself… We walk down to the church and step into the entrance porch, the Rev. Adrian switches the overhead heaters on and pushes the two benches on either side of the porch together for a bed, then unlocks the main door to the church ‘’feel free to use the church for prayer’’. ‘’Thankyou’’… next he opens the small church hall behind the church so I have access to a loo and sink. ‘’I’ll let you get settled, I’ll be back down in an hour with some dinner’’. ‘’Thankyou’’… I sit down on the bench, steam slowly rising from wet clothes, trying to take in what just happened… less than five minutes ago I had very little and now I have a roof and four walls, heaters, a bed, a loo, a sink with hot running water plus soap, a hot meal on its way and my very own church … minutes go by before I push myself up from the bench…and whisper a quiet thank you.
A little over an hour later I am in dry clothes, with a hot meal inside of me, wet clothes spread along the many coat hooks, sleeping bag and mat laid out on the benches and with heaters turned down a little I step in to the main body of the church. I walk with a distinctive hobble down the aisle and sit on a bench close to the front, reflecting on the day just walked. Frank the American outlaw comes to mind. I’m thinking it’s not easy to be the best of what we are. To be good at anything takes time and investment, it does not just happen. My dad comes to mind he was a much better runner than I ever was…Why? Because that’s what he did… as a child I remember my dad either being in uniform or his running gear. The vast majority of us can run but how many of us will find ourselves standing on a podium with a medal around our necks. This is true in any walk of life, to be at the top of our game takes hard work and the passage of time… there is no short cut. This principle is no less true when it comes to building our character…and as Frank put it…our destiny.
I sit quietly…glad to have the church to myself… there is no better place to be when reflecting on what it is to be good. Goodness I think starts as a seed planted by God in the invisible realm of heart (or as our outlaw would say in our thoughts), that is God’s responsibility. Our responsibility is to take care and nurture that precious seed that carries the DNA of God within it. The fruit of that seed is expressed in this physical world in the form of good actions… living for the sake of the other. For that seed to grow to its full potential we also need to stay on top of the weeding. The weeds being our bad and self-centred habits, the smallest of weeds should not be tolerated, as anybody who has worked on a farm or has a garden will know the tiniest of weeds if left alone will take over.
I’m not sure how long I sat on that bench; the light coming through the windows was beginning to fade, the temperature had dropped a good few degrees. I say a short prayer to close the day…push myself up from the bench… hobble back up the aisle, open the door to the porch… the room is as warm as a toaster. I turn the heaters down to minimum; get undressed … which is not easy when legs do not want to cooperate. I climb into the sleeping bag… pick up my map to make a plan for tomorrow, only I can’t figure out where it is I am and then I realise the map is upside down…the plan for tomorrow can wait, I think it’s time for bed…
Day Seven (7th May 2009) Scotland)
I slept well last night… I wake up to check the time; I was thinking it was maybe somewhere near midnight …crumbs twenty past four; I still have a little more time in the sleeping bag before I need to think about waking up properly. Before nodding off again I decide to turn the heaters up a little so as to make the room cosy for when I do get up. The control switch to the heaters is on the opposite wall, still in my sleeping bag I swing my legs around and sit up on the bench, I figure it will take two bunny hops to reach the switch… a moment later I’m picking myself up of the floor… what a stupid place to leave a rucksack.
Two hours later I am up, bag is packed and at the flick of a switch the gentle orange glow of the heaters is replaced by the starker…eye squinting light of a single bulb up on the ceiling. I put the benches back to where they should be. Before giving back the church to the reverend and starting the days walk I take the map out (making sure it’s the right way up) I try to figure out where it is I will head for before the day is done. A thumb print will put me in the middle of nowhere…nowhere is fine but when it’s been raining like it has been nowhere is no fun. A thumb print and a half will get me to Fort William… that’s a long day… I look at the idea of walking half a thumb print… studying the map that would put me in striking distance to another Youth Hostel. Maybe it’s a good idea to give my legs an easier day before they demand one…I am pondering on what best to do when there is a knock on the door and the reverend Adrian walks in with a mug of tea ‘breakfast in half an hour, that ok’. ‘Wow I didn’t expect that… thank you so much’. The reverend also informs me it will be a breakfast for two; a hitch hiker late last night had found the door to the church hall unlocked and had rolled his sleeping bag out in the hallway, glad I guess like me to find a place of shelter for the night. I invite him around to my place…the porch… it’s a little warmer than the hall. We eat breakfast and talk a little, his name is Tom. He had taken a handful of days off and had decided to hitch hike to the west coast of Scotland to take a little time out and recharge his batteries. After breakfast I take the tray of dishes up to the reverend Adrian’s house and again say thank you. I wonder at how many times the reverend had given shelter and fed people like Tom and I… something I had said yesterday comes to mind… to give and then to give again forget that we had given only to give again…maybe that simple idea is a starting point for a road map to a better world… a world where we put the other first… a world where our first thoughts are to give and not to take… a world that reflects the heart of God.

By the side of the road under an over cast sky Tom and I shake hands and wish each other well. Tom sticks out his thumb and I start to walk. I realize my head had not yet decided on how far I would walk today. I need not worry… once the legs had wind of the idea of a short day the decision had already been made. The perceived wisdom is that the body should follow the directions of the mind, and that is true but once in a while that is turned upside down…regardless of how far the head wants to walk any given day, if the legs dig their heals in and decide enough is enough there is little the head can do about that. A shorter day it is… I will head for the Youth Hostel close to Laggan in the hope of being given a bite to eat…a bed maybe… hmm I feel as if I’m pushing my luck a little. I am about to step of the main road and again pick up the Great Glen Way when I hear a beep of a horn I look behind me… I see Tom in the passenger seat of an old van, window down and arm outstretched, I wave back, glad that he got his lift.
It is good to be back on the Great Glen Way, although the main road is not really very far away… if I half close my eyes ignore the distant sounds of cars and focus on the sound of the breeze rustlings through the trees, the birdsong and the bubbling noise of an unseen stream… I could be a million miles away from anywhere. I open my eyes a little more just as the sun breaks through an overcast sky; the rays made visible in the haze created by the woodland, dance on the higher branches of the canopy and then fall to the ground just ahead of me. It is when we are standing in places like this; be it a woodland glade, on top of a mountain, a remote coastline or in amongst the wild flowers of a meadow that we many times feel close to God, even those that proclaim to have no faith feel a sense of peace in such places. Why is that? It is because within the creation there is no contradiction, no lies or hate… just harmony, truth and beauty… I understand this with my eyes only half opened… I wonder at how much more we could understand if we knew better on how to open our eyes fully… I wonder… instead I close my eyes and say a thank you for the created world around me.
Sorry I’m a dreamer (…I’d like to think I’m not the only one). My head maybe up in the clouds but my feet and legs let me know that I am still on solid ground… and that there is still a fair way to walk. Although the walking is easy going, the legs are beginning to feel it. I think it was a good decision to have a shorter day. The path takes me through woodlands and open spaces, overhead the skies are mostly grey. The rain is holding back for how much longer I don’t know. The track seems to be heading back down to the road; I don’t really have much choice but to follow it. Fifteen minutes later I step back on to the main road the sun again breaks through the clouds and a little over a hundred yards in front of me I see a café the Thistle Stop … hmm…I Imagine a pot of tea… its easy if you try…Aha-ah…

The Thistle Stop is run by a couple called Patrick and Julie… and again I share something of what it is I’m doing … and again I am shown a table and given a pot of tea plus a couple of scones, butter and jam. Julie comes across and sits down at the table, wanting to know a little more about my story and the walk. Me I am just the story teller, without Julie and the many other people that have helped to take care of me on this journey there would not be a story to tell.
When walking alone it is nice when somebody gives you a tea and a cake… the cherry on top of that cake (scone), is when they sit down with you and share it… I was glad of the company. Half an hour goes by; it is time to make a move. I am hoping to get to Laggan before the rain starts…and it will. I say thank you to both Julie and Patrick and step out the door and back on to the road turn to my left and start to walk.

It is not long again before I pick up the Great Glen Way, the path leads me away from the road and to the southern side of Loch Oich. The narrow loch sits between Loch Ness to the north and Loch Lochy to the south; the three lochs are connected by the Caledonian Canal which was built in the early 1800 by the Scottish engineer Thomas Telford. The three lochs and canals link the east coast with the west coast, an impressive piece of engineering considering the three lochs are at different heights to each other. I am reminded that we have the potential inside of us to engineer, build, create a better world…people are clever… we just need to figure out a way to stop being stupid.

I am back on a woodland track, both the loch to the right of me and the sky above are as grey as grey can be… and I am still dry… the sun against all the odds keeps pushing its way through the clouds. I see a rainbow…a double rainbow, I hear myself say ‘’Hello Mr Rainbow’’… oh boy… seven days in and I’m talking to rainbows….
Walking along the path I come across a discarded coke can… why do people think its ok to junk the place… this world we live in is both precious and incredibly beautiful…and at the same time fragile… it sometimes feels like we are not happy unless we are throwing rubbish in to the environment or trying to break the place by throwing bombs at each other. I have no idea why but I am reminded of our spaceman traveling between two stars with a can of Irn Bru pushed in to his bag. Imagine if on his way he stopped on a faraway planet and stumbled across a single blade of grass, it would make head line news all-around the world… that is the value we put on life…how much more precious is the life of a child caught up in the crossfire of a battlefield. Sorry I’m not sure how I got from a crumpled up coke can to a battlefield… I just know we could be so much better… I pick up the can and stick it into a side pocket of my bag… our spaceman had better do the same when he has finished with his can of Irn Bru. It starts to rain; I look again for the rainbow, it’s not there anymore. I dig out my coat, put up my hood, push my hands into my pockets and pick up the pace a little… the hostel is no more than an hour away.
It is mid-afternoon when I reach the hostel at Laggan. The rain knowing that it had made me properly wet decides to stop. I step in to the hostel… more than a bed I am hoping the guy sat behind the reception will allow me to use the drying room, I would be happy to sleep in the bike shed I’ve just walked passed…the guy looks up at me.. I say hello. I am given keys to a bed room… ten minutes later I’m in a hot shower… ten minutes after that I’m in dry clothes hanging wet clothes up in the drying room … another ten minutes and I’m in the dining room with a mug of tea in hand… a couple from Stafford are asking if I would want to share dinner with them. I tell them I have nothing to bring to the table. ‘’Yes we know…Clement the guy behind reception told us something about your adventure’’. It was good to spend time sat around a table talking; I was once stationed at RAF Stafford, to hear stories about the place was both good and strange at the same time.
After dinner I go upstairs kick of my trainers and lay on the bed for a while, my head full of memories and faces from my time spent in Stafford… it would be good to be able to put your arms around a memory.
The rain starts up again… how good it is to be dry and in a warm room listening to the rain tapping at the window… sometimes we forget about being grateful for the smallest of things.
It’s getting a little late but still too early to go to bed. I decide to go out and take a walk (yeah I know…how daft does that sound). I pass Clement in the hall and I again say thank you, he brushes the thank you to one side. I step outside and walk past the bike shed…glad I’m not sleeping in that place. I walk up the hill a little, if this was a novel I would talk about an incredible sun set or a night with a billion stars… but it’s not, the sky is as grey as it has been all-day only a little darker. I don’t sit down the ground is to wet, instead I lean up against a tree reflecting on the day…
I wonder at how the contradiction within us came about, we have the desire to do the right thing; we are moved by the kindness of people and by the beauty of creation and yet many times we do the wrong thing, we rage at the senseless killing of innocent people, there is no beauty in a battlefield or watching a child die through the lack of a vaccine. If both good and evil are the two sides of how we were put together then we would not have a conflict within side of us… we would find joy in both what was good and in what was evil… but we know that not to be true. Our conscience is for ever fighting against what we know to be wrong. Our true and original nature is one of goodness that desires love, truth and beauty. Something went wrong… there are a number of stories out there to try and explain what it is that went wrong… Pandora’s Box, the fall of Adam and Eve and plenty of other stories to… the bottom line is that humanity was broken we had lost something…
…and with those thoughts still inside my head it begins to rain again I push myself up of the tree and head back down to the hostel… I know that love is stronger than hate… what has been lost can be found and what is broken fixed.

