Favourite great hikes

Preliminary Notes

Strong stuff!

I present here a simple, no-frills listing for enthusiasts. These are big, hard walks, in many cases much harder than their length on the map might suggest. So it would be wise not to commit yourself to any of these without proper research and preparation. The weather conditions on a few of my Dartmoor and Scottish mountain walks have made them potentially life-threatening and required a steady nerve and clear thinking for me get out without becoming an accident or even fatality statistic. You've been warned! …But the rewards that you can reap from going ahead are — shall we say? — out of this world…

Add to the adventure — hitch-hike!

The majority of these routes are notionally linear walks, which are much more satisfying than the circular walks that most people feel tied to in order to return to their cars. For the most part I get round the latter constraint by hitch-hiking out to the walk start and hitch-hiking back to base afterwards — often a very long and demanding day. This is relatively easy for me because I almost always go solo for my major walks, and I have no partner or family at home to go worrying about me if I have a lengthy delay for the return hitch-hike. One constraint that the hitch-hiking does place upon my routes is the choice of starting and finishing points, for only certain places are really workable for hitch-hiking.

Long, long days…

For my South-West England hikes I'd typically set out at about 6.40 to 7.0 in the morning after a filling breakfast, and can return home anything from 6.30 to 10.30 p.m. and just occasionally later. My record epic return was from Tintagel in 2007, when I didn't get back to my Exeter flat till 6.58 a.m. — something I'd be very happy never to have happen again!

In the most recent years I've actually been setting out an hour earlier, to increase my chances of having time for a full-length hike despite any vagaries of the outward hitch-hike.

Making the right signs — important!

For all hitch-hikes I use strong, well-made signs with the notional destination in thick black lettering on white paper on a piece of hardboard, with another sign the other way up on the other side, the lot sealed in with self-adhesive transparent film. These boards are of a shape and size which fits very conveniently inside the back of my rucksack (protected also by an old plastic carrier bag) so that they don't get bent or otherwise damaged while not in use. See here for notes on hitch-hiking between Exeter and far Cornwall. For all final destinations that are not reasonably well-known names to the majority of people, I start off showing a sign for a main location on the route that is reasonably well-known.

Thus for most places in far Cornwall I'd start off showing 'PENZANCE', and then change my sign accordingly further along, where I reckon enough people would know the place I'm aiming for. And for anywhere on the North Cornwall coastline from Polzeath to Crackington Haven I'd be showing 'BODMIN', but in that case I'd actually drop off just after Launceston, at Kennard's House junction, with my sign then showing my final destination.

In fact for many years now I've kept pack weight to a minimum by carrying only one board, which says EXETER one side and CITY CENTRE the other (the other way up). I'd need those on almost all outings. Then all the other signs are made in the same manner but without a board included in the self-adhesive film covering, so they're light and floppy. I then use a pair of spring-loaded paper clips at the top to hold the floppy sign in place over the EXETER sign — holding the board in such a way that my right hand lies over the near-side bottom corner of the floppy sign, so preventing it from flapping around except in really seriously windy conditions (when I normally wouldn't be going on such an outing anyway). It's thus my left hand that extends and ever-so-hopefully gives the thumb sign.

Ensure high visibility

Amazingly, and rather to my embarrassment in retrospect, it wasn't till 2010 that I started using a proper lightweight high-visibility bright yellow top garment on hitch-hikes — at least, when it wasn't too warm for me to wear one. And when it was too warm to wear it, I'd arrange it just under the rucksack lid in such a manner that it was poking out a bit either side and so helping make me more conspicuous that way.

More recently still I purchased through Amazon some quite broad elastic high visibility / reflective strips with Velcro at either end, which I was able to attach to certain points on my pack for each hitch-hike. Particularly helpful when actually walking along a road, as the pack would hide much of my high-visibility top from motorists approaching from behind.

It really does horrify me, looking back to before I was using proper high-viz gear, to realize the danger I was sometimes in, walking along roads in the dark. But quite apart from the safety aspect, since I started using high-viz gear even in broad daylight I've periodically had motorists tell me that they wouldn't have noticed me in time to stop for me, except for my 'high-viz', as they'd been driving too much on auto-pilot up to that point.

Indeed, on the odd occasion a motorist admits that they wouldn't have stopped for me except that at first they assumed I was some sort of traffic policeman seeking to pull them over — and then, on realizing I wasn't a policeman, had decided they might as well stop for me anyway.

So, high-viz definitely means not just increased safety but increased chances of getting picked up — all the more so as it also signifies, along with the well-made signs, that I'm a really purposeful and 'professional' hitch-hiker and thus am very likely to be a reliable and safe person to pick up.

However, except on the odd occasion where there is specific need for high visibility once out in the wilds, I put away all high-viz stuff (including the elastic strips on the pack) for the hike, for it looks aggressive and inharmonious there when not specifically needed — spoiling the landscape for others as well as putting unnecessary wear on the high-viz gear.

Generally speaking, the only cause for me to go high-viz out in the wilds is when I'm doing natural soundscape recordings, and need to be on guard to shush approaching people on a nearby track — or, of course, during all-night sound recording sessions, when the high-viz can serve various purposes, including enabling me easily to return to my rucksack when I've been on my frequent walkabouts during the night, while recordings are running or I'm just waiting for dawn chorus time.

And then an end to my major hikes?
— Not bloody likely! (at least, yet!)

Nothing is permanent. Having upped the length of my hikes in August and September 2006 to my maximum again after a lessening in 2004, on a 21-mile hike from Mousehole to Cape Cornwall on 23rd September I got hit by an arthritic development in my right knee.

I assumed throughout the winter of 2006/7 that I'd not be doing long hikes again, and my doctor certainly thought so. I consoled myself by reminding myself that I'd had a good 'run for my money' considering the weakness I knew I'd always got in my knees and ankles, and undoubtedly without the Alexander Technique I'd have finished my hiking nearly 14 years sooner.

However, all wasn't lost. During the winter of 2006/7 I was restricted initially to a distinctly uncomfortable and rather fraught-feeling weekly 4-mile stroll on level ground from central Exeter down the river and canal to Double Locks and retrace, but then started extending to the Swing Bridge and retrace (making it a total of 5 miles). Then in early March 2007 I 'broke through' and walked the 8 miles down to Starcross without too serious objections from the gammy knee.

Since then my manageable mileage very slowly increased — this improvement accelerating after I took on a set of very powerful daily practices and measures for self-healing and rejuvenation in mid-May 2007, and has since been greatly reinforced by my further development of and expansion from those methods. The positive effect of these on my life (even in their rudimentary stage back then) has been dramatic.

On 24th July 2007 I walked the hard-going 14 miles on the Cornish coast path from St Keverne to Lizard Point. Then on 30th July I walked the very strenuous 18 miles on Cornish coast path from Polzeath to Tintagel, and on 4th August the also very strenuous 16 miles from Sidmouth to Lyme Regis. On 11th August — just two days before I officially became a pensioner (i.e., age 65) — I broke the 20-mile threshold in style, walking the 21 miles and over 1100 metres of ascent from Exmouth to Beer. In fact on that occasion there were about two miles of extra road walking in the outward hitch-hike, so my total for the day was about 23 miles.

So, clearly I was well back in business with the hiking outings. The tendency for slight nagging pains in that knee very gradually decreased (with little ups and downs) till it was hardly noticed at all, at least by 2008, and in any case my 'reading' since later in 2007 was that what pains I was still getting then were not arthritis at all but caused by another, much less serious weakness of that knee, which itself was very gradually improving.

… And, then in my 70s I was still doing it, including Tintagel to Polzeath and Exmouth to Beer, and still almost always being the overtaker rather than overtaken, at least as concerns other walkers. However, come my late 70s, and an accumulation of various health issues — mostly not age in itself, and starting with a weird virus-like set of symptoms in early 2018 — have caused a progressive slowing down and reduction of hiking endurance. Thus, at age 81 in 2023/4, I'm truly knackered by a 9-mile walk with a total of 600+ metres (with fairly heavy pack) and some long steep and uneven gradients (treacherous for weak ankles, and mine are indeed weak). I may be doing exceptionally well compared with a stereotypical 81-year-old, but that's not doing so well for me!

But then, my current understanding is that about the middle of 2024 I should move on from this planet and its dystopian human civilization for reincarnation a long time hence in some far-off 'clean' human-type planetary civilization, where I shall apparently have tasks to carry out as follow-up to my primary task of this lifetime, inconsiderately leaving behind a lump of carrion here for others to clear up and dispose of. — See My 'lights-out' time approaches….

The Hikes

Dartmoor — Devon, South-West England

Dartmoor: North section — 1

Tongue End (services) exit from the A30, near Okehampton – Belstone – Watchet Hill – Cullever Steps – Row Tor – (picking a line up the boulder field) – West Mill Tor – (direct approach via unofficial track) – Yes Tor – High Willhays (Southern England's highest point at 621 metres) – Fordsland Ledge – Kitty Tor – Green Tor – Bleak House – Chat Tor – Hare Tor (lunch stop) – (crossing Tavy Cleave at its steepest if conditions dry enough for stream crossing there – slippery rock to beware of) – Fur Tor – Cut Hill – Winney's Down (Statt's House) – Sittaford Tor – Fernworthy Forest (entering near Teignhead Farm – following the motor road near Fernworthy Reservoir and then a sharp right turn-off on a motor track, eventually to come out on the flank of White Ridge – top of White Ridge – Hartland Tor – Postbridge.

>>> c. 21 miles, with much very fatiguing and often boggy terrain.
If wet and slippery rocks make the Tavy Cleave crossing impractical, the most secure place I've found for the crossing of the River Tavy – good even when the streams are fairly high – is at the upstream end of a bouldery area just downstream from Sandy Ford, which latter is the junction of the Amicombe Brook with the Tavy. Rather than battle on upstream amongst the boulders to get there, I go back up onto the higher ground and thus bypass a bend in the Tavy.

Please note that the very steep descent route I've been using into Tavy Cleave is now getting overgrown by bracken and so is becoming rather impractical. Not only does the bracken make it difficult to see where to put your feet on terrain that's tricky enough anyway, but the ticks on the bracken (with the risk of catching Lyme disease) make it really a no-go for bare-legged monkeys like me.

Dartmoor: North section — 2

Tongue End (services) exit from the A30 – Belstone – Cosdon Hill – Hangingstone Hill – Taw Head – Black Hill – Cut Hill – Fur Tor (lunch stop) – Lynch Tor – Lich Way (followed not too slavishly in an easterly direction) – Lydford Tor – nearest of the Beardown Tors – Devonport Leat (follow this) – Beardown plantation – Beardown Farm – Two Bridges.

>>> c. 17 miles; similar terrain.

 

A REAL ghost by the Lich Way — with not a whiff of superstition in sight!

If you've read at all widely on my sites you'd have at least some idea that my whole everyday mindset is a rational and practical one rather than being belief- or orthodoxy-based, and that includes keeping clear of superstition. I recognise any observations / experiences as 'paranormal' phenomena only when doing so explains previously unexplained observations, and such explanations lead us to a proper, helpful understanding, which can lead to real solutions of issues that need resolving.

So, in about 1982, late in one of my long Dartmoor walks that followed the above route from Lynch Tor, when I was walking just some ten metres south of the Lich Way below Conies Down, and somewhere close to the head of the little stream known as Conies Down Water, and started hearing clearly in my mindspace what seemed to be a men's choir singing something rather haunting (in the figurative sense), I was nothing more than mildly surprised, and at once launched off into mental improvisations and elaborations on that strange 'song', with no thought of anything paranormal at all.

Here's a clip from the beginning of the choral section in the middle movement of my Symphony 4 (Highland Wilderness) (1995), into which I incorporated that men's choir with its compelling 'song'. The men's choir in that clip is singing just what came into my mind on that occasion in 1982.

However, even then in 1982 there was a nagging little question at the back of my mind, but it wasn't till 2021 that I finally scrutinized that little episode with due focus and rigour, and suddenly realized the significance of my proximity to the Lich Way when I'd heard that men's choir…

To see what I made of that, please go to the final list item in my orthodoxy-busting essay Musical Influences on Philip Goddard's Music & Literary Works.

Dartmoor: South section

Princetown – South Hessary Tor – Nun's Cross Farm (ruin) – upper Plym valley, traversing along the SE side – Hen Tor – trig point on highest part of the unnamed hill there – Shell Top (lunch stop) – Stinger's Hill – Redlake spoil tip – Huntingdon Warren – Ryder's Hill –Combestone Tor – Dartmeet – Laughter Tor – Bellever Tor – Postbridge.

>>> c. 21 miles; similar terrain, though with mostly gentler gradients and less peat hags. Does that make it easier than the previous two routes? Well, actually for me it's even more fatiguing, because of the very tussocky nature of much of the terrain.

South-West Coast Path (South-West Way)
– Devon and Cornwall, South-West England

South Devon coast: North-East from Exmouth

Exmouth – Budleigh Salterton – Sidmouth – Beer, diverting in three main places to enhance the walk:

(a) including the top of High Peak, which used to make a marvellous early lunch stop, where I was usually sheltered when just sitting on the very top, even if a gale is blowing straight in off the sea. Unfortunately more recently it became very much overgrown with bracken, so I didn't normally bother to go up there, and, much more recently still, the mostly conifer plantation covering its summit area has been clear-felled, but without clearing the mass of bracken and bramble on top. There is now a clearer path to the top, but all you have is a viewpoint with nowhere decent to sit down or for more than a very few people even to be standing around.

(b) including the ancient hill fort earthworks above Branscombe village, known as the Branscombe Humps; this part is progressively becoming less negotiable as parts of the minor tracks there get overgrown with brambles and blackthorn scrub.

(c) from Branscombe Mouth, going straight up and following the top of Hooken Cliff and following the cliff edge closely for the views rather than following the track across the middle of a field. However, since my taking up the recording of natural soundscapes I've often preferred to follow the official coast path, through the Hooken undercliff and landslip area, for that has afforded many superior or indeed superlative recording opportunities.

>>> c. 21 miles from by Exmouth railway station, and very roughly 1,140 metres of ascent, but quite a lot of easy and fairly level walking between the steepish valley crossings, and the walk can be divided naturally into two or three shorter ones.

North Cornwall coast: From Bude: going South >> South-West

Bude – Boscastle (extending to Tintagel if I got an unusually early start and my feet / ankles weren't complaining too much)

>>> c. 16 miles to Boscastle or close to 21 miles to Tintagel, with ascent totalling c. 2,000 metres for the latter option. Wild and rugged coastline with many quite spectacular stretches. A notoriously arduous walk, even the shorter option being distinctly harder than the 21-mile Exmouth to Beer route listed above.

North Cornwall >> Devon coast: From Bude: going North

Bude – Hartland Quay, extending to Hartland Point lookout if time allows.

>>> c. 14 miles to Hartland Quay and another 3 miles to Hartland Point, by which time I've accumulated some 1,400 metres of ascent. Another similarly notoriously arduous walk, but again the spectacular cliff scenery makes it all tremendously worthwhile.

North Cornwall coast: To Tintagel from the South-West:

Polzeath – Port Quin – Port Isaac – Trebarwith Strand – Tintagel

>>> A very strenuous 17 miles with a similar amount of ascent to that of the previous two routes. The route can be divided into shorter sections, Port Isaac being the most obvious break point, but Port Quin and Trebarwith Strand also add to the options. The cliff scenery is consistently rugged and dramatic, and a particular feature of this stretch is the many, many abrupt small, narrow sea inlets bounded by sheer cliffs, often undercut into caves. Indeed, the coast path often passes over such undercut places, so in time in such places it will collapse into the sea.

To avoid disappointment, please be aware that Tintagel Island and the so-called King Arthur's Castle ruins are privately owned, and a significant charge is made for entry there – though this doesn't affect the coast path, which passes the island by. But in any case – sour grapes aside – the 'castle' there almost certainly never saw King Arthur, because to the best of my understanding he and all the legend surrounding him is myth, even though the story would no doubt be based on various fragments of historical situations / events, not necessarily on this planet or even universe! 

Join me on the Land's End peninsula…

Land's End peninsula, Cornwall: South >> West coast

(Penzance –) Mousehole – Land's End – Sennen Cove (– Cape Cornwall)

>>> c. 14 miles from Mousehole to Sennen Cove, which may feel more like 20 because of the exceptionally hard-going nature of the track; this does ease, though, progressively after St Loy's cove, so that by the time you are at Gwennap Head you have mostly easy walking the rest of the way.Spectacular rugged granite cliff scenery which I now keep revisiting. There are many opportunities for exhilarating and secure scrambling and indeed full-blown rock climbing on the various granite crags, tors and buttresses.

The most wonderful option is to continue the walk to Cape Cornwall, making it 19 miles on the map from Mousehole (21.1 miles and 1396m of ascent according to the South-West Coast Path Association). But be warned, that even most strong walkers would feel they'd had enough for one day by the time they reached Sennen Cove. Take up the Alexander Technique to make your walking easier if you want to attempt such very hard options. With the help of that I've still been doing these crazy things in my 60s.

Land's End peninsula, Cornwall: North >> West coast

St Ives – Pendeen Watch – Cape Cornwall

>>> c. 16 miles, which again may feel like more than 20 for the same reason as for the above walk. Spectacular rugged granite cliff scenery that I nowadays keep revisiting. Many secure adventurous options for deviating slightly from the official coast path to scramble on some of the rock formations and get real gasp views. From by the Levant mine ruins round to Botallack Head the official coast path is relatively uninteresting apart from old tin mine ruins, and is worth deviating from to take a more adventurous route along the extremely rugged clifftop, with quite some feel of exposure and the odd small scramble. You can find out more about the multitude of mine ruins here.

Scottish Highlands

— Single days out from my one-time regular base at Fort William

Ben Nevis (the UK's highest mountain at 1,344 metres)

Glen Nevis (end-of-road car park) – Steall – Coire Giubhsachan – the col between Carn Mor Dearg and Aonach Mor – Carn Mor Dearg (lunch stop) – the celebrated Arête – Ben Nevis summit (usually meeting the hordes there!) – descent on the so-called tourist track to Glen Nevis (near the Youth Hostel).

>>> Small distance on the map, but a major and quite serious walk with some of the views taking on what you could call a Wagnerian scale. This is THE finest ascent route of the Ben for walkers, but isn't for attempting if there's likely to be black ice on the arête or the general wind is blowing a gale (it's usually much stronger on the arête) — unless of course you're a bird lover and wish to become carrion to feed the ravens.

The arête, incidentally, isn't as formidably sharp and exposed as it looks from the summit of Carn Mor Dearg (especially in pictures), and, in fair, non-icy conditions it's just a matter of walking and the odd bits of very easy clambering on outcrops and boulders, often with little bits of track bypassing particular outcrops on the crest. In terms of the Arête's exposure, although a good head for heights is advisable, it isn't in the same league as Glencoe's Aonach Eagach for scrambling difficulty and exposure.

For a poem-story of mine that in fact describes this route, see The Man With Knobbly Knees.

Mamores: the 'Ring of Steall'

Glen Nevis (end-of-road car park) – Steall – (across cable bridge) – (some ascent, then rounding the north-east spur of Sgurr a' Mhaim) – Sgurr a' Mhaim's east ridge (looks formidable but is easy if taken gently) – Sgurr a' Mhaim summit – Devil's Ridge – Sgor an Iubhair – Am Bodach – Stob Coire a' Chairn – An Garbhanach – An Gearanach –Steall – Glen Nevis car park

>>> Again a small distance on the map, but a demanding walk with a lot of ascent, and the odd little bits of scrambling and exposure. The Mamores ridges are mostly more or less narrow, giving many dramatic profiles. The main scramble and indeed exposure comes on the brief but spectacular traverse of the top of An Garbhanach. The ascent route onto Sgurr a' Mhaim that I give is my favourite for that mountain, and is far superior to the more direct and popular north-west ridge.

Mamores: Binnein Mor, plus, plus!

Kinlochleven (Kinlochmore) – (using stalkers' tracks) – Coire an Lochain (can be omitted) – Sgurr Eilde Beag – Binnein Mor (south top) – Binnein Mor, main summit (lunch stop) – (return to south top) – Na Gruagaichean – Stob Coire a' Chairn – Am Bodach – Sgor an Iubhair – Devil's Ridge – Sgurr a' Mhaim (descending on north-west spur) – Glen Nevis (by Lower Falls)

>>> A monster walk full of wonderful things. Binnein Mor, at 1,128 metres, is the highest of the Mamores summits. The total amount of ascent on this route approaches 2,000 metres, though if snow isn't an obstacle, a small track enables you to bypass Am Bodach on your right (the north side). A shorter alternative is, at Stob Coire a' Chairn to follow the course of the previous route, over An Garbhanach / An Gearanach. Very strong winds, generally a safety problem on the high cols, can force one to miss out Binnein Mor's main summit.

Glencoe mountains: Bidean nam Bian

Glen Coe (A82 near Allt-na-Reigh) – Lost Valley – turning left up the steep slope on the left just past the landslip, carefully picking a way up to a minor col on Beinn Fhada – Stob Coire Sgreamhach (lunch stop) – Bidean nam Bian summit – Stob Coire nan Lochan – Bidean nam Bian summit– Stob Coire nam Beith – An t-Sron – (descending on spur to your right of the Chasm) – Coire nam Beith track – A82 near Loch Achtriochtan

>>> Watch out — a serious warning for novices! This is an immensely spectacular but much more serious and potentially dangerous walk than most other mountain walks I've done. Bidean nam Bian is complex and craggy with various convex slopes and a plethora of precipitous buttresses, gullies and minor chasms, with many apparent descent routes that can get you into trouble. It is important to research routes on this mountain well, and, because you could be in the cloud at high levels, you need to be very sure of your descent route.

A good head for heights is essential. Unless you already know the descent route suggested above, it's best not to attempt that in the cloud, but to retrace from (or not go as far as) An t-Sron and descend instead very carefully into the very steep top of Coire nam Beith (the gradient soon eases and becomes more manageable), and the lie of the land there would guide you relatively safely down. Also be aware that in snowy conditions this mountain, and indeed presumably this corrie is prone to avalanches, depending on conditions.

Western Highlands: North Morar

Mallaig – Glasnacardoch (track starting by hotel) – Sgurr Eireagoraidh* (a marvellous lunch-stop spot, incorrectly marked as Carn a' Ghobhair on some maps) – Sgurr an Eilean Ghiubhais – Cruach Stole – Bealach nan Sac – stepping stones across Lochan Stole – Bracorina – main road near Morar.

>>> The walk looks short on the map but the rough and rugged terrain makes it seem much more. Sgurr Eireagoraidh* may be only some 548 metres in altitude (and thus getting few visitors), but it's craggy, and with a wonderful atmosphere, 'personality' and out-of-this-world summit panorama. The islands, and in particular, Skye, Rhum and Eigg, are prominent in the seaward view – the stuff of haunting memories!

* A pronunciation point. A local told me that Eireagoraidh is pronounced approximately Erégoré, where the é is pronounced as in French and the most stressed syllable is the second and the most unstressed the third — the latter having the typical 'non-specific' vowel sound that characterizes unstressed syllables in English.

I rarely managed to get an early hitch-hike out in this direction, so usually had to take the train for the outward journey, though would hitch-hike for the return.

WARNING: On one May evening when I was with a friend, a return hitch-hike from Glenfinnan on the Mallaig road (A830) actually failed, with the through traffic seemingly having dried up altogether, and we eventually had to call for a taxi to come from Fort William (thanks to a public telephone box there). Therefore, when I do the return hitch-hike on this road I make a point of being near a railway station and knowing the time of the last train to Fort William, just in case…

I would always choose a day with a lot of blue sky for this walk, for the fairyland that it explores presents water as sea, large lochs and nearer-at-hand lochans and pools appearing round almost every turning, every knoll. More than on any of my other walks, I'd always come away from this one in a state of 'heavenly bliss' — as though I had become the blue of sky / sea / lochs, and indeed the warm and glowing Sun.

Central Highlands: A Rannoch Moor gem

Corrour station (early train from Fort William) – Carn Dearg – Sgor Ghaibhre (lunch stop) – Beinn Pharlagan – Rannoch station (for evening train return)

>>> Although remote, this route gives exceptionally easy high level walking and isn't all that long, so that with the very early and late trains involved I could really savour the unique and magical atmosphere and personality of this special place without worrying that I might miss the evening train. Probably the walk could be done as a route march to catch an earlier return train – a great idea if you like route marches!

Central Highlands: Alone across Rannoch Moor to Ben Alder

(Backdrop of the final movement of my Highland Wilderness (4th) Symphony)

Corrour station (early train from Fort William) – by Loch Ossian (walking like a bat out of hell!) – Corrour Shooting Lodge – Uisge Labhair (cross it close to Bealach Cumhann) – Ben Alder summit (midday lunch stop) – Bealach Breabag – Sron Coire na h-Iolaire (for the views!) – Bealach Breabag – Benalder Cottage – by (a little back from) Loch Ericht – bridge over Cam Chriochan – flank of Beinn Pharlagan – Lochan Sron Smeur – Rannoch station (for evening train return)

>>> Warning! This is a very remote 25-mile walk, covering a lot of fatiguing rough peaty terrain a bit like Dartmoor, with little in the way of escape route. Unlike me, most people are 'sensible' and do this as a two-day, more leisurely walk, camping overnight. The high level part of the walk is actually easy in good conditions, apart from a little care required for the steep descent to Bealach Breabag, but conditions can be ruthlessly windy and cold on the extensive Ben Alder plateau, and it's very easy to get disoriented there in cloud, so it's still a 'serious' mountain to go on.

Central Highlands: The mountains north-west of Ben Alder

Corrour station (early train from Fort William) – by Loch Ossian (walking like a bat out of hell!) – Corrour Shooting Lodge – Uisge Labhair – Creagan an Amair – Mullach Coire nan Nead (unnamed 921m top on OS 1:50,000 map) – Beinn Eibhinn – Aonach Beag – Geal Charn (unnamed 1,132m top on OS 1:50,000 map) – (descent on north or north-east ridge)– Beinn a' Clachair - (descent on spur to pick up the track towards Lochan na h-Earba) – Lochan na h-Earba – (motor track) – A86 by Luiblea

>>> 20 miles and some 1,570 metres of ascent, in very remote terrain. Once you've come out at the main road at the end, it's a further 6 miles along that road to Tulloch station if you want to catch a train then. This road normally has light traffic and can be difficult for hitch-hiking, but since the road improvement some years ago the traffic seems to have picked up a little, and I always managed to hitch-hike back to Fort William in reasonable (sometimes very good) time after this walk. For safety, though, I start walking along the road towards Tulloch, signalling as I go, just in case…

For descent from Geal Charn I especially recommend the very steep and rather craggy north-east spur if conditions are good, for it commands a particularly wonderful view, with steep drops to a lochan on either side. Likewise, for the ascent of Beinn a' Chlachair I recommend the easy scramble nearing the top of the spur you get onto, rather than rounding it into the upper corrie and then taking an easy slope (plod, plod…).

Southern Highlands: Bridge of Orchy mountains

A82 between Bridge of Orchy and Tyndrum – Auch Gleann – Beinn Dorain (via its S. spur) – Beinn an Dothaidh (lunch stop) – Beinn Achaladair – Beinn a' Chreachain – (via its north-east ridge) – Lochan a' Chreachain – by Water of Tulla – Achallader farmhouse – A82 by Loch Tulla.

>>> c. 16 miles and some 1,827 metres of ascent — which is nominally more than the previous route, but is actually much less fatiguing because of the relatively easy high-level terrain. The views of this walk are dominated by the extremely beautiful and graceful glacier-carved shapes of these mountains. Again there are wonderful views out over Rannoch Moor.

Hitch-hiking good and bad spots
between Exeter and far Cornwall

This is just my own experience, so I make no guarantees as to anyone else's fortunes when they're using the same hitch-hiking routes and pick-up points as I've been doing. Because of the possibilities for long delays, I get up very early and aim to set out from my flat something in the region of 7.0 a.m. or even a bit earlier if I can manage it (indeed, in 2016 I started usually setting out before 6.0, even in winter). One thing I've learnt is, never to assume that because I got a lift quickly on one occasion at a particular spot, it's therefore necessarily a generally good place for the purpose.

Exeter to Land's End peninsula (on the A30)

Branch Routes to…

Land's End peninsula to Exeter

Start of the return hitch-hike — finishing points of walks

Traffic is generally light, so prompt lifts cannot be counted on. The roads are unlit, so I reckon on avoiding having to hitch-hike on them after dark.

Porthcurno
I walk up to the main road and then a little east (to the right) before placing myself, but sometimes get picked up on the way.

Land's End
If there is a reasonable number of cars in the car park I may wait just beyond the exit onto the start of the A30 — except that as I show my sign to any cars coming out as I'm walking out, I quite often get picked up before I get beyond the private road. However, if I'm a bit late in arriving at Land's End or just want to get a move on anyway, and my legs can manage it, it's worthwhile to walk the 1½ miles on to the spot that I use when returning from Sennen Cove.

Sennen Cove
I walk up the hill, showing my sign as I go, then walking some way left on the A30 to immediately before the turning (Sunny Corner Lane) for Carn Towan Cottages, where there is a bus stop lay-by just beyond; I stand just before the turning so vehicles have time to stop in the bus stop lay-by. Note that it tends to be windy at this spot.

Cape Cornwall
Sometimes, if there's a reasonable number of cars in the car park I wait by the exit. However, normally I walk up to St Just (signalling to any vehicles overtaking me) and a bit beyond on the Penzance road, placing myself just beyond the turning for Land's End. A bit narrow and not very good for vehicles to stop, but the spot I nowadays choose, on the slight bend beyond, feels relatively inviting for people to stop. I think the longest I've waited there was about 40 minutes, whereas in St Just centre I had the odd longer waits, all the irrelevant local traffic there being a complicating factor.

Pendeen Watch
I walk up the minor road to the Portheras crossroads and place myself on the corner of the road straight ahead (for Penzance). Half the times when I've finished at Pendeen Watch I've been picked up on the walk to the crossroads. If the latter happens, on the odd occasion they may be going to Hayle or further via St Ives, and in that case I accept the lift going that way.

Zennor
Generally I sort out my stuff in the village, close to the pub, and I make a point of having my HAYLE / EXETER sign leaning on my pack, facing any vehicles coming from the pub direction while I'm doing that sorting-out. That quite often lands me with a lift before I even have a chance to walk on to the main road. But if I don't get a lift then I walk on, showing my sign, and turn left up the St Ives road, to (only) just the top of the hill, where I place myself. I generally get a lift very soon. Note that it tends to be windy here.

Caution! On a Saturday night in 2014 I had a midsummer all-night sound recording session by Gurnard's Head (the headland, not the pub) near Zennor, and early on the Sunday morning found that almost no traffic was passing through on the St Just to St Ives road. I walked on to Zennor, and waited some 2½ hours with extremely little traffic passing, and I was repeatedly nearly falling over because I was so sleepy by then. I wouldn't have a night session again on a Saturday night anywhere that would require me to start my return hitch-hike on that road.

Branch Routes from…

The hitch-hiker's nightmare…

Forewarned is forearmed, as they say — at least to some extent. Just as there can occasionally be troublesome hitch-hikers who cause problems for the motorists who pick them up, there can be thoughtless or indeed malevolent motorists who cause problems for the hitch-hikers who they pick up. I have to say that overall I've been extremely fortunate and haven't (yet) had anyone in a car seek to rob me (though in 2002 I refused one lift in Penzance, where it looked to me as though that would have happened if I'd accepted that lift), nor to assault nor sexually molest me, though inevitably there have been the odd ones who were driving more or less dangerously in one or more ways and so gave me cause for concern.

There have also been the occasional obnoxious individuals who sought to impose their particular religious beliefs (usually Christian) upon me. However, more serious in practical terms can be the misguided good intentions of particular motorists, who are sure they know the best place to drop the poor unsuspecting hitch-hiker. Almost always they don't, even if they say they themselves have hitch-hiked a lot and 'know for sure', and even if they're well intentioned police officers seeking to get one out of some awkward spot.

All too often such people have dropped me at pretty hopeless places for getting picked up — which can be particularly serious when returning home in the evening. Among such hopeless places, Eggesford (on the old Barnstaple to Exeter road) and on the east side of the Tamar Bridge near Plymouth (just beyond the toll booths) stand out in my memory as having been particularly disastrous.

A related issue is the mental laziness of motorists using in-car sat navs. I find increasingly that a motorist who picks me up actually doesn't know where (s)he's going, apart from the name and maybe postcode of their destination. That means I can find myself getting unexpectedly dropped at an unsuitable spot because the effing motorist is simply relying on the sat nav, which has instructed him to take a different turning or route to what one would reasonably expect.

But also, it can happen that a motorist simply chooses to 'dump' you…

On the evening of Saturday 27th June 2009 I ran into a new (to me) and potentially very serious problem. I was hitch-hiking back to Exeter from Porthcothan on the north Cornwall coast, and got quite soon to a suitable spot to get picked up about a mile outside Padstow. I waited 35 minutes there, then got a lift to the roundabout on the A39 by Wadebridge, still really in quite good time — just a bit after 6.0 p.m.

I waited there 1½ hours (the longest I'd so far waited there, as I'd generally found it to be quite a good spot), and the lift I got there was only to Davidstow Cross (the A395 turning on the A39), where I waited a further quarter-hour. By this time the sun was getting low and I was bracing myself to refuse any offer to drop me at Launceston, where previously I'd had great trouble getting home in the evening. This time I was regarding Hallworthy on the A395 as being my last sensible dropping-off point before Exeter (if dropped at Hallworthy I'd then refuse offers of lifts that were not going as far as Exeter).

Anyway, when the lift came at Davidstow Cross I breathed a sigh of relief, because the couple in the car (in their 60's, I think) said they'd be passing Exeter, so they could drop me off at the appropriate junction there. The husband (the driver) also told me that they'd never picked up anyone before, but they thought I looked safe. It thus appeared that all the day's hitch-hiking difficulties were over, and we continued towards and then on the A30, passing Launceston.

We had a little conversation, but I kept to pretty basic and 'normal' topics about myself, and was careful not to say a great deal about myself and my experiences, because I could sense that, although they'd seemed superficially quite welcoming, these were very 'ordinary' people with a very shallow level of awareness, and were not at all the sort of people who I'd really choose for company, nor who would understand anything significant about my lifestyle, outlook and life experiences. As we continued beyond Launceston the conversation petered out and we were silent for some minutes.

Then, without a word, the driver pulled in at a lay-by on this fast stretch of trunk route dual carriageway (though not all that busy at this particular time), got out of the car, came round to the door beside me and opened it. This is as far as we're taking you. Would you please get out of the car now, he said, with no explanation. I was so surprised and taken aback that I didn't think to challenge him on his lunatic behaviour till he'd already driven off. I simply meekly got out of the car, lamely saying to him that this was putting me in a very difficult position and making things very awkward for me. In actual fact this was downright dangerous, and indeed that thoughtless man could potentially have indirectly caused my death by dropping me there at that time, if I had indeed been stuck there all night.

It was dusk (the time then being 9.20 p.m.), and it was miles from anywhere with 'civilization' or indeed lights. Also, this lay-by was one of those that have a narrow reservation separating them from the main carriageway, so that even in broad daylight they're difficult for fast-travelling vehicles to slow down quickly in response to a hitch-hiker in time to be able to enter the lay-by, and in the dark they're pretty well useless, because motorists generally see the hitch-hiker at the last moment if at all, and then it's always apparently already too late to brake sufficiently to enter the lay-by safely.

I was soon getting a bit cold, and put on all my layers of extra clothing while I could still see what I was doing — bracing myself for standing there all night in complete darkness apart from the occasional dazzling headlight glare of vehicles racing past. At least I'd done what I could for visibility, for I was wearing a light blue windshirt on top of my fleece jacket, and I'd put on a scanty cyclist's reflective bib (not what I'd nowadays recognise as genuine 'hi-viz') on top of that, and of course I had my clear white EXETER sign with bold and clear computer-printed black lettering.

All the traffic was rushing past, though very occasionally I'd see a passing car just start braking and then change mind and carry on — though actually anyone who'd really thought about it would have realized that they could continue braking quite safely, and simply pull in at the far end of the lay-by. Anyway, after 1½ hours (by which time it was getting on for fully dark) one determined and thoughtful motorist did just that, pulling in at the far end and then reversing into the lay-by. She (yes, a youngish woman, on her own!) was going past Exeter, and she actually diverted into the city centre to drop me close to where I live, so I got back before 11.30 p.m. Was I relieved!

So, all ended well for me, but the irresponsible behaviour of the one motorist had put me in potential real danger, for there had been nowhere to where I could simply and safely walk in order to get out of that little 'spot', and the traffic comes racing past routinely at 70 to 80 miles per hour, with some doing anything up to 120mph (quite illegally), and I have no doubt that on that occasion in that location I really did stand a very good chance of being stuck there all night, and having to remain standing there shivering in order to be as sure as possible of remaining alive.

Post mortem…

Afterwards I used inner inquiry using a particular mode of Helpfulness Testing, to find out something of what had been going of for that idiotic motorist, and I got clear pointers to the problem not being anything specific that I'd said, nor the sweaty pong from my rucksack (which needed washing), but simply his feeling uncomfortable about the general sense of openness of outlook of mine, and my 'freedom vibes', which clashed with his very closed outlook — coupled with a certain deeply ingrained (soul programmed) pattern of his, of lack of personal responsibility and an inability to consider wider consequences of his actions.

In fact, my 'reading' (via Helpfulness Testing) is suggestive that when he'd decided to pick me up he was consciously thinking right then that it would be okay to pick me up because if at any point he felt he didn't like me, he could simply ditch me on the spot. And, what's more, if it hadn't been for a plain consideration of keeping within the Law and also respecting the safety of himself and his wife, he wouldn't even have waited for a lay-by at which to dump me.

These were the sort of superficially 'respectable' people who would happily flush an unwanted pet down the lavatory (if it would fit, of course!) or dump refuse or any unwanted items in the countryside. I don't want it [/him], so I'm getting rid of it [/him]! — To these people I wasn't seen as a human being to whom they had taken on a certain responsibility; I was just an eventually unwanted item that had looked at first marginally interesting, but then had proved too interesting in the wrong way for them — despite my having been careful not to say any of the specific sort of things that one might have expected to put them off me — so I was for dumping just like the rubbish that they might dump at a lay-by or indeed just throw out of the car window.

Having slept on this experience, I'm clearer now that if a similar thing happened to me in the future I'd endeavour to find out who the particular people were, at least noting down their vehicle registration number if possible, and then would name and shame them publicly on this site.

My understanding is that there is a huge number of such irresponsible motorists out there, but the saving grace is that almost always that lack of responsibility of theirs actually causes them not to give people lifts in the first place.

Just why the particular motorist chose to pick me up in the first place, I guess I'll never know. On the face of it I could strongly suspect a bit of direct garbage (mistakenly equated with 'dark force', 'forces of darkness', 'forces of evil') interference and control, for there was one time in 2006 when a motorist ditched me on a hitch-hike (albeit that being done sort-of responsibly, at a major junction) and indeed said exactly the words This is as far as we're taking you, without any explanation or apology. But on that occasion there really were very weird and indeed sinister goings-on from the garbage towards me, and apparently the particular driver was being manipulated to drop me at the particular place in order that I be manoeuvred into doing an unscheduled and very long walk on Dartmoor.

In contrast, since then I'd got clear of nearly all my garbage interference, and this time weird and disruptive things were simply not happening for me any more, and hadn't been so really since the first part of 2007.

Also, my understanding, based on extensive Helpfulness Testing, is that the couple who ditched me on that occasion in 2006 had a fair amount of awareness and had been 'open' enough to hear the garbage manifesting to them as a voice giving them instructions (hence their looking as though they had seen a ghost when they dropped me), whereas this time we're talking of a couple with much soul programming and very shallow awareness, and my understanding is that such people cannot be directly interfered or communicated with by the garbage — all their garbage interference comes indirectly (and not in real time) from their soul programming.

Nonetheless, I'm still a bit puzzled and suspicious about the use of those exactly same words on both occasions: This is as far as we're taking you, without a single peep of explanation, excuse or apology. Peculiar…

Further observations

Making your hiking still more of a self-actualization / healing process

Hiking is in itself an important self-actualization / self-healing practice, but you can make it much more so still by doing part of your walking in Self-Power Walking mode. Self-Power Walking is a special walking meditation or yogic practice that has many powerful healing and self-actualization effects, including the progressive dissolution of emotional stresses and traumas, and of all manner of ties and attachments that are weakening you and holding you back in your life.

I give a full description of and guide to Self-Power Walking in Some potent self-actualization / healing practices.

Use of light walking sticks and trekking poles

It has become fashionable for people to use a pair of trekking poles when hiking, so I want to clarify about the costs and benefits of the different options. The ratings I give for the different options are made on the basis of relatively ordinary people who are not actively attending to their own self-actualization process.

For those (currently rare) people who are doing so, the best option is NOT to use even one stick or pole at all for most walks, but to have a single stick always on the pack in case of some specific need and to ensure that one has the stick available for particularly rough terrain, such as high Dartmoor off the main tracks, certain stretches of the Cornish coast path on the Land's End peninsula and the east side of the Lizard peninsula, and the rougher true mountain terrain.

The reason for this is that you'e then cultivating effective proprioception in the feet, ankles and legs, helping yourself to have natural balance and poise, so minimizing any tendency to stumble, and thus minimizing any perceived need for a stick in the first place. This is also greatly helped by wearing light, flexible footwear — indeed shoes rather than boots wherever possible. It's also greatly helped by the use of really effective self-healing / self-actualization methods.

• No stick or pole at all

  • Pro — If you walk in the optimum manner, which most people don't but you would learn if you took up the Alexander Technique, with your hands unoccupied you would have optimum efficiency in your walking, with no interference to your body's light and loose co-ordination caused by holding onto anything. For optimum walking, both arms and hands need to be hanging loosely and swinging freely. Mechanical energy is conserved through that loose arm swinging.

  • Con — On uneven ground you would have no protection if you stumble or twist an ankle, and walking down steep gradients is very stressful on the knees and in some cases is prone to instability, requiring great care, especially when descending on steep and loose ground.

  • Verdict: ****** (******)
    (the latter rating for when shoes and a really effective self-actualization strategy are being used)

• Pair of trekking poles (each with ski-pole type of handle)

  • Pro — Maximum protection against imbalance and for the knees during steep descents. Looks fashionable and also looks as though you're putting a lot of work into your walking, which tends to impress one's peers and make one feel superior to others without such poles and who are not making such a conspicuous appearance of effort in their walking.

  • Con — Walking with these poles looks as though you're putting a lot of work into your walking because you are! Although they can take stress off the knees as compared with normal (i.e., bad) walking technique without the poles, they commit you to having both your arms working instead of loosely hanging and swinging, so there is none of the energy conservation and body coordination brought about by the loose swinging of the arms.

    Also, if you're using your arms and hands like that, you cannot walk in the better way that you would learn from using the Alexander Technique, because optimum poise, balance and looseness is a whole-body issue and if you are trying to walk in the optimum, most efficient way but with your hands and arms tensed up in held positions, it cannot work properly. That looser mode of walking (and indeed the AT altogether) holistically promotes health, both physical and non-physical, so you're losing out a lot by not taking that route and instead 'bludgeoning' your way through with a pair of poles.

    Further, walking like that interferes with your natural system of stability and balance, so you become more dependent on the sticks. Indeed, many walkers I see — clearly automaton 'sheep' — go around walking with their confounded poles even on roads and tarmac paths, clearly full of their own self-image as supposedly 'professional'-style walkers, while I just look on at those yacking saddo zombies with incredulity!

  • Verdict: ******

• Single walking stick (with a walking-stick type of handle, with a cross piece)
  In my view this is a workable compromise and is my own choice when a stick is needed.

  • You have a 'third leg' available to support you in moments of imbalance, albeit not with the same degree of support that a pair of poles can give.

  • Although holding even one walking stick does interfere a bit in good walking technique, that interference isn't very much if the stick length is set so that with the point on the ground the wrist is reasonably straight (pointing obliquely downwards) while holding the cross-piece of the handle (and it's this that should be held rather than trying to treat it like a ski- or trekking pole), and that arm is kept as loose and relaxed as possible, only lightly holding the stick handle cross piece except for some specific purpose or incident.

  • I find it helpful to periodically change the stick from hand to hand, so that both arms alternately have time for hanging and swinging freely.

  • Using the optimum walking method that you learn in the Alexander Technique takes much stress off your knees (except on steep descents), so if you walk well like this you don't have all the knee stress in the first place to warrant use of a pair of poles.

  • The stick is very useful for testing ground just ahead where I'm walking on boggy or potentially marshy ground.

  • Verdict: ******

• Single walking stick for particularly rough stretches and sustained steep descents; otherwise no stick or pole.

  • You get the best of both worlds, being able to greatly speed your progress on difficult terrain, while enabling the maintenance of a natural, free and balanced walking style for as much of the time as possible. For me in South-West England my stick is reserved for certain coast path stretches on the Land's End peninsula and east side of the Lizard peninsula, the Seaton landslip (Devon), and also Dartmoor when I'm off main tracks and on seriously tussocky, hummocky, peat-haggy or boggy terrain. Elsewhere I still carry my stick on my pack in case of need (perhaps if I did twist an ankle, for example) but actually don't use it.

    Well, that's how it was, but now that my ankles and sense of balance have got rather weaker as I approach my 80s, I do have to use the stick more, particularly on stony tracks, to help protect against injurious falls.
  • Verdict: ******

• Ditto, with use of Alexander Technique and my self-actualization methodology as outlined in Healing and Self-Realization — The Safest and Quickest Way.

  • Now, that's really living!!

  • Verdict: ************

Caution!

There's one particular serious hazard about using such walking sticks or trekking poles. I well know how convenient they are, 'telescoping' into a short length for putting on one's pack when not in use. However, in my experience there has been a particular section of each stick that I've used which would gradually work loose during each walk using it and so required periodic re-tightening. I've got into the way of periodically checking and re-tightening without waiting for the stick to unexpectedly shorten when I put weight on it. It's thus clear that there's a risk that sooner or later a stick will give way when you put weight on it in a critical situation.

Yes, you can avoid that happening by ensuring that all sections are fully tightened before you do anything 'critical' with the stick or pole — but if you're using it more or less continuously on a long walk, are you really always going to remember to periodically re-tighten, and particularly, to re-tighten all sections when you're about to use the stick in any 'critical' way that would result in an accident for you if the stick suddenly gave way?

Also, if you're depending on your stick or poles in a particular rugged location in difficult conditions, and somehow you lose it / them while you're out there (maybe they got dropped or blown over a cliff) — what then? One mountain walker told me how, high up on the rugged Scottish mountain An Teallach, he'd felt obliged to urgently throw away his pair of trekking poles because a thundery shower was coming over and his poles had started 'singing' because of electrical 'corona' discharge — undoubtedly a dangerous situation.

I've tried one of these walking sticks with locking sections instead of the good old-fashioned screw tightening. On the face of it, that appears to be an ideal solution, but I found otherwise and actually reverted to a stick with screw-tightening sections. The locking arrangement adds significant weight to the stick, and I found that the sections came loose anyway over one or two long hikes. Then, when that happened, I couldn't just quickly screw-tighten the particular section join, but had to stop, take off my pack, get at my purse to get a coin out of it, and use the coin to tighten up the relevant small bolt.

Maybe depending on such sticks or poles for one's regular walking or hiking isn't so clever after all…

Some myths and false gods

Munro-bagging

Some visitors will probably have been searching on this page for mention of the name 'Munro', so here it is. I get a more satisfying range of hill and mountain walks through NOT restricting myself to hills designated as 'Munros'. To me, whether or not a mountain is over the arbitrary value of 3,000 feet in height and thus listed as a 'Munro' isn't in itself of any interest. My own consideration when choosing walking routes has always been, Will this make a satisfying and inspiring walk? The height of mountains most certainly does come into this, but it isn't the only consideration.

There are the odd so-called Munros well within my Highlands 'home territory', which I've never been on, because I couldn't make particularly satisfactory walks out of them, as compared with so many other available routes. By the same token, some of my regularly repeated 'gem' walks were on mountains that are not classed as Munros and therefore are shunned by the hordes of 'sheep', who much prefer a relatively dull walk in order to 'do' another Munro and tick it off on their list. Actually I write this not to attack those people who operate in that way (they have every right to their particular choice, even though it's plain stupid, as long as it doesn't significantly impact upon others), but rather to encourage other people to adopt what in my experience appears to be a more aware and rewarding approach to walking in the wilds.

"If you go onto the mountains or similar rough terrain you need to wear stout boots that give ankle support"

I had lived this MYTH throughout my hiking, up to my starting to break that belief as a result of actual experience in 1999 onwards. It had seemed perfectly reasonable and 'watertight', the notion that on very uneven terrain you need some sort of firmness around your ankles to stop them turning over when they shouldn't be doing so. And I had increasingly weak and unstable ankles, so such 'support' was evidently doubly or trebly necessary.

Or was it?

— In reality I frequently turned an ankle, and even sometimes got a strain or mild sprain, despite* my wearing boots, and as my ankles got more unstable this happened more, and I occasionally got more significant (though still not severe) sprains, and then had the additional problem of ankle pain developing during walks, caused by scar tissue or other long-term after-effects of the healing of the sprains. And this was in spite of* my starting to use a light walking stick, which no doubt did help reduce the number of ankle-turn accidents and especially any resultant falls.

I had an experience in 1990 on the Grey Corries ridge (near Ben Nevis), which made quite an impression on me. On that occasion my solitude was very much sullied by a major mountain marathon running event, and here and there on the ridge I was being passed by hordes of very fast-moving fit individuals, who were ALL wearing special purpose very light and flimsy-looking shoes. I was perplexed at this. These people must be absolutely crazy, I told myself, because this ridge was mostly of a very unpleasant and potentially injurious light grey to whitish quartzite, which fractured to give sharp edges, and the scree and outcrops of this rock, which the runners were having to negotiate, were all angular and sharp-edged.

What gave me real pause for thought about those mountain runners was that those who I spoke with were completely unconcerned about the sharp rock and the apparent great danger of serious injury in those flimsy little shoes — and indeed, nowhere along that ridge did I see even one person nursing an injury — even a common or garden scratch, abrasion or bruise! What had they got that I hadn't?

So opinionated I was on the issue of mountain footwear, that none of this got me suspecting that wearing boots itself was problematical for me, but I did occasionally read in the excellent The Great Outdoors (TGO) magazine articles by individuals who claimed that boots actually prevented our natural ankle stability mechanism from working properly, and that actually relatively light and flexible shoes were much preferable for mountain and similar terrain, where not contra-indicated because of snow / ice conditions. That made sort-of sense to me, but with all the stability problems I'd been having (leading me to suspect that I'd soon have to stop all walks on significantly uneven ground), I shuddered in fear at the thought of me wearing shoes out on the mountains at all.

However, I had another ankle problem slowly and inexorably increasing, which was greatly disenchanting me with boots — sensitivity of the soft tissue over my malleoli ('ankle bones') to the pressure and movement of the ankle cuffs of boots, which was increasingly causing me to have to curtail walks, and was eventually almost always causing me to be in significant pain by the end of my walks.

This was getting to be a real threat for my Scottish Highlands trips, because when I got such malleoli aggravation it generally needed at least a week to settle down, because going out walking in the boots again sooner tended to get an almost immediate flare-up of the aggro. So, what was I going to do about my Scottish Highlands trips, when for a bit over two weeks I wanted to be walking on mountains more or less every day when the weather was reasonably clement?

In response to this situation I started taking with me a pair of stout hiking shoes for using on relatively easy low-level walking and, at a pinch, on the odd hill or mountain with relatively gentle terrain (the latter such as the round of Beinn Dorain to Beinn a' Chreachain). Initially this didn't inspire a great deal of confidence because my first pair of such shoes actually didn't hold the backs of my ankles snugly and actually accentuated my ankle instability.

However, things changed on my May 1999 Scottish Highlands trip, when I took with me a pair of the very stout (and heavy) Scarpa Lunana shoes. To my amazement, my seemingly crazy choice to use them for an ascent of Glen Coe's Bidean nam Bian — one of the British mainland's roughest and steepest mountains, which previously had always been a real ankle twister and boot grazer for me — worked out a treat, and for the first time I experienced the greater freedom and accuracy of placement of my feet on all the rocks and lumps.

True, I was extremely nervous and thus extra-cautious that time about where I was putting my feet, but the fact was that the shoes allowed me to have a degree of awareness of foot positioning in a way that just wasn't possible in boots. And although the shoes did get a little abrasion of stitching in one place, overall they got a lot less abrasion than my boots had had on my various previous Bidean nam Bian excursions, because it was so much easier to place my feet so that the shoes weren't repeatedly scraping against bits of rock.

On my Scottish Highlands trip in May the following year — my last such trip so far — I used those shoes again, on the much famed Liathach, which was again one of the mountains on which I'd least expected to 'survive' in shoes. But again the shoes simply made for greater precision in foot placement, so I wasn't going twisting or indeed grazing ankles.

In 2004 I finally decided that enough was enough of finishing every booted walk in pain, and so I chose from then on to limit my walking to what I could do in hiking shoes. This largely ruled out Dartmoor, apart from during the odd very long summer dry spell — not because of unevenness of the terrain but simply to avoid walking with soggy feet. Basically, from then on I was walking mostly on coast path. But some of my favourite coast path stretches were pretty well as uneven and rocky as many a Scottish Highland mountain route — particularly on the Land's End peninsula and the east side of the Lizard peninsula. Again I found that shoes actually gave me more freedom and precision.

I now have much better ankle stability and almost never turn an ankle on any walk, never mind how rough the terrain. I've no doubt that my move to the use of shoes on uneven ground helped rebuild my ankle stability mechanism (relating to strength and control of muscles in the lower leg), though the underlying cause of this very positive change was most likely a particular aspect of ongoing 'healing' (what people commonly though misguidedly call 'spiritual' healing) that I'd been using on myself from late 1998 onwards with increasing effectiveness.

So, nowadays I recommend to everyone to use hiking shoes rather than boots, wherever it's workable to do so. By the latter I mean that I'm not seriously suggesting that shoes would necessarily be sensible for major Alpine or Himalayan-style mountaineering, or even British mountain-going in full winter conditions, for then of course you have issues like keeping snow out of the footwear, protecting from cold, and having sufficient stiffness for the particular climbing methods and equipment used. I doubt, for one thing, whether you'd find many models of shoe to which crampons could be usefully fitted — though I've read in TGO magazine that advances have been made in this direction, with the introduction of new, more flexible types of crampon.

Mobile phones — the 'safety' myth

Whatever their good points, these are an absolute pestilence in the countryside and wilderness. People are rapidly forgetting the very meaning and point of the wilderness experience and harmony with nature. Quite apart from whether or not it's okay for people to go having conversations with colleagues in the office while on, say Bidean nam Bian summit and 'bringing down' everyone around them in the process, there's a widespread misapprehension of the supposed safety benefits of carrying one of those phones. Yes, of course it's true that if you have an accident out in the wilds it's easier to call for help if you can just use your mobile. But does carrying one therefore actually make you safer?

Sorry, no, it doesn't! — Here's why. When you take a mobile out with you, you feel safer. True. And that's the catch. You feel safer, and therefore in difficult or precarious situations your decisions will tend to be just that little bit less cautious and well thought out. When I go walking, I have a commitment to myself to take full responsibility for myself. That ensures that I take maximum care to see that I don't have an accident or get seriously lost in the first place.

"Don't you think it a bit unwise to go walking alone on the mountains?"

Ha-ha, I've had that one fired at me on and off over the years, often with an admonishing finger waved at me. But it's the ill-thought-out words of ignorant people — 'armchair critics' and all that. If you actually pay attention to the sorts of people who get reported as being rescued from the mountains and moors you'd discover something significant — most of the people who get into trouble are not solo walkers but in pairs or, more particularly, in groups. Of course there do exist plenty of people with no mountain sense, who would therefore be a menace to themselves if they went out on the mountains alone, but in fact most people who choose to do so are not in that category.

In fact, in an important sense going alone is actually safer than going accompanied. And it's for exactly the same reason as to why it's actually safer in many ways to go hiking without a mobile phone. On your own, you know that your life is in your hands and nobody else's. Therefore you make the best possible decisions from moment to moment, based on what your body is telling you and what you know you can manage. Rather than having somebody with you who might be able to get help, it's actually safer to make better decisions and thus not have that accident in the first place.

Feeling safe isn't cool!

Our supposedly civilized cultures have a profusion of materialistic fixations that are born in ignorance and fear, and which divert people from the underlying purpose of their lives. Comfort, safety and predictability are all made into gods and primary aims in life. But actually you can't escape danger, and ultimately neither can you escape discomfort, except by facing it and where appropriate resolving its underlying causes — though the vast majority of people do their damnedest to anaesthetize themselves and avoid facing it.

Of course the sort of outings that I've outlined on this page are dangerous. So, dear friends, also dangerous in their different ways are getting out of bed, crossing a busy road, doing your regular shopping, driving, sitting for hours in front of a television… Nowhere in everyday life is there total safety. You have to decide all the time what levels and types of risk are acceptable to you in each situation. When you become aware that your current situation is tricky, you can recognise the fact and take appropriately more care, such as when driving in a confusion of heavy traffic. Similarly, on the odd rare occasions I've got into what was for me a rather scary scrape high up on particular mountains. Does that mean that I was actually in great danger?

Well, actually both yes and no. By recognising the precariousness of my situation and responding with due thought and care, I was able to extricate myself without mishap. The implication is that because I was able to respond appropriately to the particular hazards, those particular walks had overall not endangered me materially more than any of the others.

"Going out hiking in those places is unfair on the people in the rescue services, and is a drain on the Taxpayer. Hikers and mountaineers should be made to pay for the rescue services."

That old chestnut is another bit of ill-thought-out, ignorant hot air. The situation is that the British mountain and Dartmoor Rescue groups are voluntary groups of enthusiasts, who wish to support the whole activity of walking and climbing in wild places, and they greatly enjoy their work, though naturally the groups do need some voluntary donations to cover their overheads.

They are certainly not so pleased when walkers come to grief because they weren't properly prepared or equipped, and they are no doubt greatly frustrated when they get frivolous call-outs from certain ignorant walkers who routinely expect their mobile phones to bale them out of any little difficulty or inconvenience they encounter while out in the wilds. Also, in general, helicopter call-outs, while expensive, are simply part of the training of the crew involved, so actually for the most part the occasional helicopter rescues of hikers or mountaineers are at no significant extra cost at all to that curiously inscrutable entity known as The Taxpayer.

"Motorists aren't as willing to pick up hitch-hikers as they used to be."

So many people, including particularly motorists who have picked me up on my hitch-hikes, have repeated the above statement to me. But where have they got that information from? Have they conducted a survey? Are they repeating what somebody's said on television or radio? It's pretty clear to me that they actually have no knowledge at all of the actual situation; it's just another bit of so-called 'received wisdom'.

Some motorists who've given me rides have made a comment that was probably much nearer the mark — that they don't see hitch-hikers regularly as they used to. That might indeed be the case, and in that event there would inevitably be less pick-ups, but that doesn't necessarily mean that motorists are necessarily really less willing to pick up those hitch-hikers who are out there.

For the record, I've been regularly hitch-hiking to and from my hikes from 1981 onwards, and if anything my fortunes have slightly improved over the years. That, however, should not be taken as an indication of the general situation, for I cannot be counted as an average hitch-hiker. I use very well made and clear destination signs, I stand very upright (especially since I took up the Alexander Technique), and don't look scruffy and dishevelled in the way that many hitch-hikers do, and I've progressively become more confident and skilful in the hitch-hiking. I'm also much older than most hitch-hikers.

Also, the 'vibes' that I give out as an enlightened no-soul person tend to draw to me motorists who are relatively open and aware themselves, while many others would no doubt be repelled by those particular characteristics. Yet another factor in my favour is my having in more recent years (since 2010) been wearing a high-visibility top (except in over-warm daytime), together with fitting high-visibility strips to my rucksack.

"You do of course tell someone where you're going, or leave a route card with somebody…?"

'Ere we go again! That confounded safety issue. No, I don't do any such thing, at least for my local walks. Note these points:

• I live on my own and have no partner nor family living with or near me.
• I don't know when I might return, especially with all the hitch-hiking delays. This would lead to people unnecessarily worrying about me and even calling out the appropriate rescue service. Quite apart from not wanting unnecessary emergency service call-outs, it would be a considerable imposition on the neighbour or whoever I left the route details with.
• If I felt safer because supposedly somebody's going to get me rescued if I ran into difficulties, then, as explained in notes above, I'd actually be less safe and more likely to get into difficulties. I'm actually safest in the situation of knowing that I have total responsibility for my safety.
• If I did leave with somebody the details of where I intended to go, then I'd be committed to doing that particular walk or simply returning home. That would deny me the opportunity of changing plans to take advantage of a particular lift that I was offered on the outward hitch-hike. It would also render me less safe on some occasions, because for greatest safety I need the freedom to change my route in whole or part according to the conditions of the terrain, the weather and my own body.

When I stayed with friends in Fort William in the Scottish Highlands, what I did was tell them in broad terms what I expected to do, including mentioning likely alternatives. With one exception I never left precise route details, just indicating which mountain group I was aiming for and where I'd most likely (but not certainly) come out to the road.

Those particular friends were very good in that they didn't worry about me even when I got back pretty late, for they had a great trust in my self-preservation ability and mountain sense. I think there was only one occasion when they said they had just started wondering whether to do anything — though their first action would have been to drive to where I was expected to come out on the road, to see if I was simply stranded by a failed hitch-hike.

The one walk for which I did leave an actual route card was the Ben Alder route, because that was so long and remote, with so little in terms of escape route, and I was a little nervous at my boldness in doing that — especially in view of certain weaknesses in my knees and ankles.

…and finally…

Why such a restricted selection of photos for these walks?

I have to admit to having made a sad blunder some years ago. I did have a huge collection of high quality colour transparency photos taken on my hikes. I ceased photography in 1990, so in any case I had no coverage for the Kintail area, which I didn't start visiting till after then. In the late 1990s I decided to find new homes for my slide collection, as it was hogging space in my small flat and the only use I was finding for the slides was for very infrequent slide talks that I gave to local organisations, which earned me too little money even to cover my overheads.

It wasn't till about 1999 that I finally woke up to the fact that I could really do with some such photos for my website, but it was then too late. I had indeed given away all my Scottish Highlands scenery slides to somebody whose name and location I didn't even know and so cannot trace to ask to borrow selected slides for scanning.

Although I did get a small digital camera in 2000 to enable me to get some photos for this site, I haven't had funds to go back to the Highlands and get photos again from my 'old faithful' routes.

I did, however manage to salvage a very small selection of the lost Highlands photos, by scanning cheap prints that I'd had done from some of the slides in 1979–81, and it's these I've used here. That accounts for the rather poor quality of most of them. Indeed, most of the prints don't come out well enough as scanned images for me to use at all.