1350 miles over 101 days with around 112,000 feet ascent I had dreaded writing this, as I didn’t want it to end. This would represent the end of a way of life which I’d grown accustomed to, like a second skin, and a return to the old. Only it hasn’t turned out that way. Instead, I have a deep sense of fulfilment and calm. And looking forward to returning home to my precious family and valued friends. It’s a phase of endings and beginnings. No abrupt stop and start but a gentler moving on. And one of the most important things is that of my mourning for Mum. My love for my mother is as keen as ever, but the mourning has evolved into something more fortifying. I will always carry something of my mother within me - whether it is the idiosyncrasies I remember of her, sticking out her tongue when scrambling over a particular bit of ground and hearing Dad tick her off, or the loving chastisement of Dad when he was up to mischief … all things I pick up on myself with Martin now. To my knowledg...
Being the last day, it felt important to wear my old beastly friend of the trek - the large rucksack. I was actually surprised how comfortable - and comforting it was! Maria and I set off with Martin at 9:30, letting some heavy rain go through first. We would have to watch ourselves on the cliffs as the forecast was for 45 miles per hour gusts from the west. Within minutes we could see Keiss castle before us but for Maria, I think seeing seals bobbing up in the water was more interesting, not least because Georgie was desperate to see them too. Martin turned back and we told him to let Georgie know. The path was overgrown with wet vegetation, and it wasn’t long before Maria reported that the inside of her boots were starting to get wet. It wouldn’t take too long before mine followed (by 10:20!): with rotting stitching it was the reason I had originally decided to swop over to my new boots all those days ago down in St Ives, Cornwall. Oystercatchers were clearly alarmed by our proximity...