It’s taken me ages to write this. I don’t know why. The title says 2023. That’s when I started the blog. Gosh, I left it for 3 years, half written. Anyway, it’s done.

A while back I just needed to go. To take a walk. For myself probably. For little Freddy, certainly.

It turned out to be 330 miles in one go. Around Cornwall where I live. On the edge of the cliffs and coastline.

For sure the mind leans to nice easy going idyllic hikes with a fair few pub stops and the odd pasty. Not so. It was however hugely rewarding, often scary, very energy and knee zapping, and deeply soulful.

Starting at Hartland Quay. Just me, Niky, and a packed camper van. The deal was I walk. Niky drives and studies for a masters degree.

What a walk it was! Majestic perspective-giving views with 1000 ft sharp climbs and drops. Sometimes 5 or 6 per stretch. Paths that were 15 ft wide or 12 inches wide, often very high up. Mixed days of 33 deg C heat, high winds and pouring sideways rain.

There were sun basking snakes, dancing dolphins, angry wasps, sleeping seals and flora and fauna that wouldn’t go amiss in the Caribbean.

I had a leg that stopped working for a bit. Enjoyed hanging out with hippies listening to Test Match Special, miles from anywhere. Sampled perfect empty surf. And noticed considerable homelessness alongside unbelievable affluence.

I treaded respectfully through ancient Celtic burial sites and took a quiet moment at remote memorials of brave flight crews that didn’t make it over the cliffs on return from WW2 missions.

Also, so many Shipwrecks! Each with a story that had a common theme of nature being bigger than them.

There was both kindness and some entitlement. Happy farmers. Grumpy farmers. Happy Cows. Grumpy Cows. Happy tourists. Lost tourists Clothed sunbathers. Unclothed sunbathers. There were painters. There were Poets. And like me there were Pilgrims.

Also, many blisters.

I chatted with a few nomadic veterans still processing trauma and heard some incredible harbourside stories of lost at sea and ocean rescue bravery.

And then there were the caravan parks housing holiday makers, but also housing teachers and health workers and multitudes of seasonal workers. Many wishing they could afford a home or some thankful they are not home.

A shimmering sea scape always to my right. To my left endless farmland, ancient faith settings and varied versions of grand designs.

The Celtic saints called the edge of coast ‘thin places’ where life-giving saltiness replaces worldly staleness.

It took 28 days, with 24 days walking averaging 14 miles a day with 46 climbs of 1000ft and equal descents.

Maybe I wanted to learn something about myself and what I really value, and also understand a bit more about the people and places where I work and play (Cornwall & Devon).

The stuff I do involves social and system change through sport and physical activity in rural and coastal environments for better life outcomes. At the root of this, like most things are always people and places. Guess I didn’t want to be in those conversations and spaces without getting an understanding of the reality.

And of course you can’t do that in one walk. But it helps.

And there’s my nephew Freddy who also lives in Cornwall. Freddy is 8 and has Downs Syndrome. I learn more from Freddy than anyone. So I figured I’d raise some money for Downs Syndrome UK by putting much of the walk on social media.

Which I did, £5000.

One reflection was that I laughed a lot. Like when I stumbled on sunbathing farmers very merry on Cornish cider not far from Land’s End. Or overhearing a paraglider swooping above cliffs at Downderry just above my head on the mobile phone trying to explain to his wife where he was.

A random man at Dodman point. No clothes other than walking boots, green y-fronts and baseball cap 900ft up – starting a conversation with me about politics.

His first line was “Boris Johnson really is an odd chap – don’t you think?”.

Mmmm …oddness is interesting.

Walking-Chatting with a Celtic priest through the Perranporth dunes who raised his wooden staff to halt an approaching adder like Moses. I took a photo of the adder…some would say I got too close (see below).

Then there was more than one occasion where Niky thought it was funny to navigate her way to a remote part of the path and hide in bushes and jump out shouting “cooooeeee!”, not realising a 500 feet drop inches to my right.

I nicknamed her ‘Cato’ after that. If you know the work of Peter Sellers and Inspector Clouseau you’ll know what I mean.

You couldn’t write it… though I just did.

There was also incredible kindness. Like when a campsite fell through and had no where to stay and someone heard about the expedition, which I had named ‘Walk for Fred’.

We were given not just a space in a field but also a lovely caravan for a week from which I navigated the Lizard peninsula. Thankyou Specky Wood, Coverack.

Or being stopped mid-walk miles from anywhere and handed £10 for the fund and told ‘thankyou’.

And the welcome party from the The Blue Bar Pub, Porthtowan as I headed down the cliff having yomped the Tin miners route from Perranporth like a horse-less Poldark.

Or having a pint with my cousin Rob who met me at Blue Peter inn, Polperro. I like pubs that begin with B.

Or my physiotherapist sister Cathryn, Freddy’s mum, who gave me a set of Nordic walking poles after taking one look at my knee after 170 miles…. “we’ll start with poles, if no good we’ll move to injections”

“poles are fine” I replied

I’d love to say more about the unique experiences from all the 24 days and could plaster this blog with so much more. Maybe for the pub one day. I’ve put a few photos below.

I did actually have a few pages even chapters written on my learnings but I’m going to make them simple.

1. Inside to Outside
2. Listen to what you can’t see
3. Walk it Out – this bit is about moving more as means to being community.

LEARNING #1 Inside to Outside

There were so many moments leading up to the trek and more-so during the adventure that I felt in a complete state of flow. There is nowhere else I wanted to be. And nothing else I’d prefer to be doing.

Even at the toughest points like the severe 15 miles walking to Bude. Or being dwarfed by the imposing scary High cliffs on route to Boscastle, or bouldering the granite outcrops on route to Lamorna Cove near Lands End with a dodgy knee.

Oh and the isolation in the rain at Nare’s head on route to Portloe. Complete flow. Or as it is known in the world of Psychology “Intrinsic Regulation”.

For most of us our greatest points of flow, motivation and self determination are best driven by what is intrinsic, what is on the inside. The coming together of our own beliefs, values, sense of calling and purposefulness into a form of ‘learning action’ outside of us.

It was the inside that got me outside. I was intrinsically motivated to do and see something different. Something I can learn from.

I wanted to meet people where they live and hear and feel their stories, or hear from those visiting like one lady who was a teacher in the Bronx, New York, and her own experiences of inequality in stateside education.

And I wanted to make a difference for Freddy by supporting Downs Syndrome UK. It was deep thing that touched values I’d held for a long time.

Before you do anything ask yourself why? does it connect with your deepest values? find a support system of people who share your purpose (Adam Grant calls this Scaffolding) and take a step..

So many of life’s challenges are driven by ‘extrinsic motivations’ things we ought to, should do, and be responsive to. All those social drivers influencing our sense of self.

When we take time to grasp what is truly important to us, and begin to work out who we really are can we begin to open ourselves to a sense of higher opportunity and greater hope.

I chose a long walk driven by the inside to find out more of what’s inside…

LEARNING #2 Listen to what you can’t see

I wish my hearing senses were in tune in the every day as much as they are when you’re on a cliff edge, on a path that is barely 18 inches wide with just ocean miles down.

Appreciate this isn’t an every day circumstance but I noticed that I quickly took time each morning and afternoon to assess my context and be in tune with what was going on around. I think this is called ‘reading the room’ in some worlds, but it feels more than that.

I began to listen to the wind and understand its direction. A change in direction meant a weather pattern change. I could see trees or marram grass and work out changes in wind direction. Even slight temperature adjustments on my face were noticeable.

I started to tune in to surf sounds and began to understand differences between an emerging deep groundswell or a short localized fetch. I knew if tides were in or out by listening from above on the cliffs without seeing.

Even the sounds of animal life started registering. Laughably I began learning the difference between the ‘moo’ of Highland Cattle, Friesans or even Belted Galloways. I could pick up on the sound of costal birds, Oystercatchers or Egrets linking the walk to lower ground, or common seals and diving gannets when in more exposed areas.

Finally I listened to people I met. Sat and drank some tea on a granite cliff top or in a deep coastal forest. One young man was a builder. He said he was on holiday but couldn’t afford a holiday. His boss had told him he has to go on leave as that’s the law. He didnt know what to do so he decided to camp on top of the cliff and watch the surf from the path.

I even wondered if he had a home.

He said he had ADHD and found it hard to communicate with others, he had a speech impairment, was shy, and didn’t do very well school. I asked him about things that made him feel alive. He told me stories of building projects that he’d loved being involved with and his reputation for having ideas to improve designs and troubleshooting building issues.

I think we became friends. He asked about Fred. I told him about Fred who loves singing, and music, and scoring goals, and how he brings joy. He asked about Downs Syndome. And we talked about difference.

We left each other after an hour or so. A week later I had a message on my Just Giving site ‘Walk for Fred’. He’d found me and donated £20 and thanked me for listening.

Wish we listened more. It’s where true richness is found. Some years ago I had the privilege of working with Dame Mary Marsh, who would always talk about assessing context quickly whilst building empathy, it starts with listening.

I pledged I’d be a better listener, it’s work in progress.

LEARNING #3 Walk it Out

The power of a walk is fascinating. It stands to reason why ‘walking’ is a core theme in some of our best literature from poems by Wordsworth, Frost and Longfellow. Or Shakespeare’s use of walking as a metaphor in Macbeth or the continuous walking scenes in Much Ado about Nothing. Walking and adventuring being at the heart of Tolkeins books. Or Mandela’s autobiography ‘Long Walk to Freedom’.

And one that always resonates personally is the biblical depiction of Christ walking with disciples on the road to Emmaus after his resurrection. I think during the walk I reconnected with my faith in a simple way and said goodbye to religiousness.

Where there is walking, there is life, connection, healing, discovery. This isn’t just conceptual it’s spiritual, emotional, social and physiological. There’s a lot of ‘als’ there. It was an ‘al’ walk.

It was never a surprise when the New Economics Foundation undertook one of the largest evidence reviews for wellness and came out with the 5 ways to well being. Learning, Kindness (Give), Walking (physical activity), Connection, Taking Notice.

It dawned on me that a purposeful walk could include all 5. And I needed a walk. Covid did me in. I needed to ‘walk’ something out.

So in true and typical fashion for a curious sort, I experimented with the notion that all 5 ways to well being could be found in one walk. And whilst my walk is just a n = 1 sample size. I found the notion to be wholeheartedly true.

Over the years I’ve worked with people with varying levels of mobility and will never take for granted the ability to walk. It’s a life changing and life sustaining privilege. Even small slow steps at home, in the garden can make a difference. My biggest suggestion, find someone to walk with or share some of the journey with.

As Dr Vivek Murthy says in his book Togetherness “connection is everything” to ourselves, to each other, to nature.

My walk continues, physically and metaphorically. I had actually started some months earlier on weekends by walking from Minehead in Somerset to Cornwall, and I’ve since walked all of South Devon to Bridport in West Dorset via Golden Cap (highest point on south coast of England).

Maybe ask yourself what it would look like to put one foot in front of another physically or even metaphorically for your next chapter. That thing you’ve always wanted to do. Just one step.

Photos below.

Gratitude: I’m eternally thankful to Niky Dix, who walked occasionally with me, and even thought it was funny to jump out from behind a bush whilst I’m 500ft up and shout coooeee! But more so on the logistics of her expert driving of a large camper van, cooking food, arranging camp sites, and all whilst studying for a Coaching Psychology Masters Degree. I was a good guinea pig for her. Niky will always say studying for Masters degree whilst sitting on a deck chair in a Cornish field as the sun shines is never a bad thing. She recently received the Masters degree with a distinction.

Thankful to Active Devon for giving me a month to do this.

Thankful for a simple faith that makes me think about pilgrimages

Thanks to you for reading if you got this far.

I’m off… for a walk