Intro Two

The Journey to the Top of Scotland

It is the last day of April 2009. I’m sat in a train heading to a small town called Thurso at the very top of mainland Scotland. Tomorrow the idea of this walk steps out of my head and into a world of wind and rain and of a little sun I hope, of country lanes and mountain tracks, of going hungry and of not knowing where I would sleep each night. A walk that I have been told by many would not be possible without having money in my pocket. Apparently, the days when people cared are long gone.

The train rumbles on, I try to focus my thoughts on the walk ahead instead I watch young lambs run from the noise of the train, a mother cleaning the hands of a toddler, clouds moving across the top of hills, a man a few seats down fighting with a newspaper. Much of the day was like this, no matter how hard I tried, whether I was standing on a station platform or gazing out of a train window I found it near impossible to focus my thoughts on the walk.

I guess in truth there was little left to think about. I still didn’t have a set route in mind other than a few fixed points. It was only last night that I had packed my bag, a change of clothes, a semi waterproof top, a pair of trainers (to give my feet a rest from walking boots), a sleeping bag and mat, a compass and a handful of maps, a toothbrush and not much else.

My thinking was the more planning I did for this walk there would be less space for faith to play a role. I had this romantic idea of a character from the Old Testament being called in the middle of the night by God to drop everything climb out of the bedroom window and to follow His direction without looking back… hmm didn’t really work like that, there are no trains in the middle of the night, as for climbing out of the bedroom window not a good idea, I live in a block of flats and the not looking back it’s hard not to when you have two little girls in pyjamas waving goodbye to their daddy.

The train arrives at Thurso mid-afternoon I have a few hours before I need to jump on a bus, the youth hostel I stay at tonight and start the walk from, is about forty miles west from here in a small village that sits on the coast called Tongue. I spend a little time in Thurso, I buy a water bottle, a small torch, a little food for tonight’s supper. The last hour I spent sitting in a café I knew from my days driving a Woolworth’s truck.

It was while on the bus ten miles out of Thurso on a narrow country road, an over cast sky and the smell of moorlands mixed with sea air and bus fumes that a little bit of doubt crept in, maybe such a walk without having money in my back pocket was a nonsense, maybe people didn’t care as much as I would like to think they did and maybe just maybe I was kidding myself I was not twenty something I was in my mid-forties, this was not going to be a walk in the park.

As the bus pulled up at Tongue an understanding came to me. Any doubt I had needed to stay on the bus, I remember one time reading the words of a sermon…that went something like ‘the first step of any journey is where success or failure is often decided’.

I walk into the youth hostel with a much better mindset than I had had on the bus. Sitting in the common room with not much more than bread and cheese in front of me, a pint of milk to one side plus a mug of tea and with thought of tomorrow in my head… tomorrow will be the 1^st of May, tomorrow I start walking to a small church on the south coast of England via Ireland and Wales with no money in my pocket… I then realise this is not strictly true. The train ticket, the water bottle, torch, bread, cheese the café, bus ticket and the paying for the night in the youth hostel were all paid for using my wallet. Although I had no intention of using my wallet on the walk, it felt wrong to have it with me. It felt like a ‘Get out of Jail Free card’. The first bit of difficultly I would not need to turn to faith but instead take out my wallet.

My thoughts of how best to solve the wallet problem came to a halt when six cyclist came crashing into the kitchen part of the common room laughing and shouting across at each other and then more crashing and banging of pots and pans as they prepared what would turn out to be their last supper before their final day of cycling. They had spent the last couple of weeks cycling up from Lands’ End (the southernmost part of mainland Britain). Tomorrow they would finish their journey about 70 miles east of here in John o' Groats (the northernmost part of mainland Britain). It was good talking to these guys I had not only inherited something of their adventurous spirit but also all their no longer needed chocolate bars and sweets. I thank them for their generosity make another mug a tea and climb the stairs to bed wondering what tomorrow will bring.