Over the years I have spent many a day solo walking the hills. During the early climbs my aim was to get as high as possible as quickly as possible, then savour the ridges and vast space of the mountain tops. To do that I needed to get into a walking rhythm and I was very mindful of where I was placing my feet, a stumble in those days was grounds for divorce. So I would think about the structure of my body, how it was in balance, despite carrying a heavy backpack, and judged the nature of each piece of earth. I learnt how to gauge and traverse steep slopes on different stones, grass, scree, boulders by paying close attention to my legs and particularly to my feet. My boots became an extension of my body. My first pair of walking boots were Scarpa Monte Rosas and they were wonderful, double skin leather that moulded to the shape of my feet.

Once my mind was feeling connected to the terrain I moved almost effortlessly. Being able to spring from rock to rock and push hard uphill became natural and I would enter a flow state where every part of my body was functioning to a high degree of precision. Sometimes whilst immersed in this flow state I would stop and be quite stunned how far and high I had travelled. Enthusiastically I would look forward to further progression, eager to see beyond the summit.

Nowadays I have to be slow, ankle joints wrecked with osteoarthritis. Thankfully I can still walk carefully, perhaps even more carefully because I can’t afford to fall. This means spending more time looking down than up as I progress, and guess what. It’s bloody marvellous! I see so much more of the land I am covering, and stop over and over just to look at some colourful rocks, or tiny flowers, grass seeds and animal tracks. Truth be told I take just as much delight in every step now as I did in my heyday each time I ticked off another summit.

Walking is my joy and I hope that anyone who becomes unable to walk far can find some connection in these blogs.