I used to enjoy walking but in recent years I’ve gone off it. So I make a point of going on as many Region walking weekends as I can. The last time was South Wales nearly two years ago. They often clash with other plans.
But this time I was available. This was a Level Two weekend and I’ve talked to death about the levels on previous Region walking weekends. It means tough but not really majorly potentially dangerous, in short. South West level two weekends happen on Dartmoor and although we’ve done Princetown on leisure weekends, this was a training weekend so we were at the outdoors centre at the foot of Haytor.
Some of these ladies are serious hikers. Some are in their late sixties and have held Mountain Leader qualifications for longer than I’ve been alive. Some of the leisure group were specifically after a level two logbook walk and I realised, as I do every time, that if I want a gentle walk I have to come here on my own. Level two means minimum 10km or five hours outside.
Friday night was spent planning Saturday’s walk. By method of measuring the map with a piece of string (and later, a phone charging wire) we made ours out to be about 13.5km. OS maps are wonderful but measuring your precise distance is difficult.
On Saturday morning we packed our lunches in our beeswax wrappers and made flasks of tea and then my group piled into cars and drove up the road to Widecombe. One youngster, one leader in want of a logbook walk, two nearly-elderly Mountain Leaders and me, who has not done a proper walk since the Laugavegur Trail last year.
Our walk took us straight up the side of a very steep hill and onto the ridge. We followed the Two Moors Way north along Hameldown and stopped for a late coffee stop/early lunch at Grimspound, the remains of a Bronze Age settlement, where you can make out twenty-four roundhouses inside a huge stone circular wall. It’s not a very sheltered spot for lunch in sideways rain and I got very cold. But climbing up the next hill to Hookney Tor which is all of right-there away from it is warming.
We did a big circle up above Grimspound and began heading back via the valley to the west of Hameldown. Somewhere along here we were only about 80% sure we could get from one right of way to the next. It turned out to be through a farm that’s so welcoming to walkers that it has a Refill-stickered tap on the outside farmhouse wall.
My feet began to hurt. I was wearing my good waterproof mountain boots, the ones I’d worn for six days in Iceland with no problem. But I’d put lovely squishy gel insoles in them for comfort and I think there wasn’t enough space in the boots for my feet too. I soon had big squishy blisters on the smaller toes of both feet. I also had something monstrous on the back of my heels but my weight wasn’t pressing on them so that was fine.
We were a little over halfway when I realised. By the time we were crossing Hameldown’s big hulking ridge to descend into Widecombe, my attempts to walk on parts of my feet other than my toes meant I did something hideous to my knees. Walking downhill with blisters on your toes is one thing. But with a knee that feels like it’s got a knife inserted in it on every other step?
Our group leader had a lovely Velcro knee brace which she strapped to me and I used her poles and I hobbled down that hill so slowly. I tried not to be the useless hiker. Don’t complain. Don’t be annoying with the pain. So I sang assorted determinedly-cheerful songs that consisted entirely of the word “ow!” and tried to remain in positive spirits until I got back to the car.
When I got home, I plugged in my GPS tracker. That walk was 19.3km. Nearly twelve miles. No wonder my feet were destroyed.
Our leader was supposed to be doing her assessment weekend but it had been cancelled due to lack of numbers. The Mountain Leader with us said had she been assessing her, she’d have passed with flying colours. It’s not about the walking or the navigation. It’s the group skills and safety and my poor feet had given her a beautiful opportunity to demonstrate both of those.
Any idea of joining the trainees on their night navigation exercise was gone but by the time they went out, the rain was truly terrible. Us leisure walkers were very pleased to stay in and do more route planning. I made an effort to keep my feet off the floor and if the blisters didn’t heal overnight, my knee felt a lot better in the morning.
We did an easy day on Sunday. We needed to leave fairly early so we stayed around Haytor and drew a figure-of-eight route where I could drop out and return to the centre pretty much every twenty minutes.
We did quite a lot of navigation practice. So much that we got behind on our timings. We splashed through bogs and my comfier boots, which are the non-waterproof ones, got drenched. I found a way of walking that didn’t hurt my blisters too much but also didn’t spike my knee and we reached an ice cream van just as the sun came out.
All the same, when we got down to the visitor centre on the way to the second loop, I opted to stay behind, eat my lunch, get packed and be ready to leave early. I’d done ok but I reckoned that was about all my legs could take. And because we were behind time anyway, the survivors cut the second loop short so all I really missed was a walk up to Haytor Quarry and back.
I went to a comedy show in Winchester on the way home. Bit of a stressful drive against the clock from Haytor. And no one sat anywhere near me. I needed a bath and some new feet. It’s now four weeks later and I still have big purple marks on my heels where the blood blisters (never had them before! Aren’t they fun?) haven’t faded yet.