June 29: The Sheep and Me

For a few days I was homesick, missing the wilderness and mountains of Oregon.  I did realize this was stupid, because I am not in Oregon, but experiencing a new country, which is much different, but beautiful in its own right.  No, there are no great expanses of forest, and now snowcapped peaks or alpine lakes, but there are rolling hills and ancient oak trees, and fields of yellow, red, and green grasses and wildflowers.

There are animals too.  I’ve seen my first kites, (the bird, not the toy), which I had to learn about when I was an Oregon Zoo volunteer, but had never actually seen.  I have also developed a phobia of cows, which never used to spook me, but now have me turning ashen whenever I enter a field with the massive creatures.  Buzzards are a constant sight, hovering over fields searching for prey, or being chased away by dive-bombing crows.  I also saw a dead badger, does that count?

And then there are sheep.

Thousands of sheep.  Noisy, awkward and clumsy, comical in their ungainliness, easily terrified fields and fields of sheep.

They have kept me very entertained.

For one thing, when you spend so much time walking through fields of sheep, you begin to recognize their language, like spending time in a foreign country.

There are the loud, repetitive cries of hundreds of sheep when they are all together, crying out to make sure they are all quite well and alive, “SHEEP!  I’m a SHEEEEP!  Are you a SHEEP?! Me TOO!!!  Let’s be sheep TOGETHER!!!”   This goes on for quite a while.  Sometimes it is provoked by a stranger in the field (me).

Then there are the lambs, who being the most skittish of all, panic when they realize that somehow they are not right by their mother’s side.  “MAAAAAMMMM!!!! MAAAAAAMMM!!!  OH MY GOD, MAAAAAAAM WHERE ARE YOUUUUU?!!”

“I’m over here!”

“MAAAAAMMMMM !!  What are you doing over THERE!!!?”  And off they go galloping to their mother as fast as they can, usually slamming their face into her udder with a surprising amount of violence, wagging their tails until they fall off.   Unless the lamb has become trapped on the other side of the fence, in which case the cries carry on for far longer.

And then there’s what I like to call the Contented Sheep Warble, which less like a statement, is more a disgruntled throat clearing.  “MU-A-A-A-AR, What you looking at?”  “BU-A-A-A-AH, kids shut up and stop bleating, already!”

And my favorite of all, is the Old Man Hey.  Walking through a field of bleating sheep, they all fade into background noise, like a track on a relaxation CD.  All of a sudden, as if the sheep is standing right behind you, a humanlike shout stands out from the rest, “HEEEY!”  And it sounds so much like an old man shouting at you that it makes you stop and look around.  But no, it’s not a man, just a sheep, with spooky ventriloquist abilities to carry its voice across a field.

Sheep are also funny.  You may not think so, but you would if you spent enough time with them.

They are so skittish, the overkill of their panic always makes me laugh.  There I am, slowly trudging up a hill with my 35 pound pack on, by no means a fast-moving predator, when I come across some sheep lazing directly across the path.  Only until I am but 3 feet from them they recognize some human is upon them and all stand up and flee with alarm.  “No need to move for me, guys,” I apologize, but they never catch the friendliness in my voice.  If it’s a lamb I come across, an intense look of fear enters its eyes and runs off panting, “MAAAAAM!!!??”

I trudged up a hill once, directly behind an old sheep pondering about the path, and as it recognized me displayed the most extreme case of sheep panic I have seen yet, and tried to run off in all directions at once, zig-zagging back and forth with a look of terror, like a basketball player trying to fake out his opponent, before trotting off to the side some 10 feet and calming the frick down.

You see?  Sheep are funny.  Or maybe I should stop talking to livestock, and find some human interaction. 

June 27: That Hiking Sweet Spot

The lack of wifi has helped me get into the backpacker’s routine, a series of activities which if repeated long enough transport you into a blissful alternative reality.  Your thoughts run the gauntlet from your deepseated emotional problems, to the shape of your next haircut, or to what you’ll name your first child.  But in the end there’s nothing you can do about any of it, so in the meantime you’re gifted a calm, joyful serenity fueled by hiking endorphines and scenery, and uninterrupted by the variable, but routine way of life.

So now I feel things are both possible and impossible.  Impossible because things will have to be revised, in terms of mileage and also geography, but I think we already established that.  Things are also more possible now because I’m in a hiker’s state of mind.  I can easily see myself walking nearly every day.  I’m now so thoroughly enjoying this (though, as easily as a sunny day in Wales turns to rain, that may change).

But this is going… well.  Rather well.  I’ve accepted slightly smaller ambitions, which are still pretty ambitious if you ask me.  But I’m happy.

Because here I am in a little blip in the map of Wales, where time has already slowed down in the first place, spending my time talking to sheep, petting horses’ noses, hopping over stiles, and trudging up steep pastures and past ancient oaks.  Over ridges of commonly grazed hills where ponies run free and lambs bleat for their mothers.  Then I descend that hill to the next tiny town, stop at the pub if I fancy, and if not, move on.  And I find this quite enjoyable.

At night I find a campground, cook up some dinner while sitting in the grass.  Watch the sun set.  Read some War and Peace.  Then sleep.  Hike, eat, hike, eat, read, sleep.  Talk to farm animals, greet random people.  Walk, eat, sleep.

Life is good.

***

As for those “slightly smaller ambitions”:  James, I’m taking your advice, and I will not indeed try to walk all of July, but take at least 3, ok 4, days off before I go to France.  (A week is a little long).  In fact, I might go to France early, as it is a large country, and get down to work walking the Camino.

Until the next internet connection,

Happy Hiking!

June 20: Llangollen

Here in Llangollen.  No, you are not pronouncing it correctly.

The Offa’s Dyke Trail has been really beautiful, and varied, and DIFFICULT.  Yesterday was a bit of a trial, but beautiful and difficult is MUCH better than boring and easy.

I’m taking a half-rest day here in charming Llangollen, watching Welsh television and contemplating the rain.  The thing about walking all day long is that you have a lot of time to think about what you want to write about, but when you finally have the time to write, all you want to do is sleep.  One day I’ll get this all down…

But the important thing is that I’m more relaxed now than I was even a few days ago.  What I have to remember is that what I really believe in is travel and experience, and not the quantity of miles but… the quality, as trite as it sounds.

So, long story short, Wales has been beautiful, but in such a way that I never think my camera can capture it, so I haven’t been too many taking photos.

There will be a time, soon I hope, where I can tell more about beautiful Wales,  but it’s late, and this is not that time!

Happy Hiking

M

June 18: Welcome to Wales

Here I am in Prestatyn, Wales, and I am happy to report I did not camp in a park last night.  No, I’m a law-abiding citizen today and found an actual (if overpriced) campground.  In the same vein of feeling like a normal person again, I even took myself out for a little Man of Steel at the 2-screen movie theater in town.

After a slow morning I’m about to start the Offa’s Dyke Path, and I think I’m going to stay away from 20+ mile days for a little while.  I’ll shoot for something more in the 16 mile range…

In the meantime, consider checking out the Trailblazer Foundation’s facebook page, and then consider donating a couple of dollars (or euros, or pounds) at my firstgiving page.  We’ve been stuck at $775 for a while now, and every little donation is a big boost of energy for me!

 

June 16: On the Meaning of Challenges

Technically Scotland has a “right to wander” policy, which means walkers have a right of way, and can cut through fields as long as they’re not disturbing livestock or crops.  Stick to the code, as it goes.  I’m not sue on the exact details but I think the same more or less applies to camping as well.  Sounds like a great place to hike, right?

I don’t think those forward thinking folks who designed the policy had in mind the right to camp in the middle of a towns small beachside park.  That is what I did last night.

I crawled into Ardrossan around midnight, since I started from Skelmorlie at 3:30 that afternoon after a leisurely morning in Glasgow with Siobhan and Shannon.  I still wanted to complete a big section, and 22 miles later I was at my wits end trying to find an appropriate place to camp.  I also needed water.  (I have yet to see a water fountain in Scotland.)

There just wasn’t good camping that day, and not in the coming miles either, not from what I could tell.  It was midnight and I was so tired I almost just snuggled into my sleeping bag right there in the grass.  Literally.  I was just about to lay down when I looked at the clouds and decided that maybe a tent would be a good idea.

This was not a good place to camp.  From the looks of it we were in upscale , beachside neighborhood, with beautiful stone three-story homes overlooking a trim green strip of park, and a tidy stretch of beach.  Streetlights lit up most of the park, but I found a little patch of darkness beside a decorative patch of bushes.  I waited for the last dog walker leave the grounds.  Then I set up my tent, hurriedly and unstaked.  I felt like a kid camping in her backyard for the first time, with Mom and Dad checking out the window to makes sure I could handle the big bad outdoors.

This may have seemed like a bold move, for a bold traveller, and it may have been actually quite fun if a friend like Rachel had been with me, but honestly, when I’m alone I’m anxious and timid.  I’m not that confident world-traveller that thrives at bending the rules.  I would never be able to bribe someone, for instance.  I’m just too bound by rules.  And in the case when I’m not quite so sure what the rules are, I’m a nervous wreck.  (This all changes when I’m with a friend, by the way.  In that case, it’s a team sport!)

Although I constantly worried that I’d be woken by a disgruntled neighbor, nobody disturbed me, though it was nearly impossible for me to drift off into sleep.  As long as it was dark, I felt more secure.

The thing about Scotland this time of year though, is that darkness doesn’t last very long.  The sun rises at 4.  Or maybe earlier, but that is the time I’ve been waking up for the past week, my body confused at all the light streaming into  my tent.  So now the sun has fully risen, revealing me in my makeshift campground for all the neighborhood.

I felt ok sleeping on until about 5:30, when I roused myself and hurriedly packed up.  (And big thanks to those midges who made that so much easier by biting my face).

Now, there are two ways to torture me.  Deny me sleep, or make it really hot.  In either circumstance my brain short circuits and all my traveling wisdom is fried, and suddenly I will pay out my nose to sleep on a matress in a dark corner somewhere.

So, I was really tired.  But this is not the point where quitting crossed my mind (but w’ere getting there, don’t you worry).  No, I got up and walked on.  I got a little lost, but I walked on still.  I made outmeal in a park and got attacked by more midges, but yet I kept going!

The point when quitting crossed my mind was about when I was walking down an ordinary, paved country road.

“This is BORIIIIIIIIING!!!” My brain suddenly shouted at me.  “How DULL is this trail?!!!”  And I realized suddenly, as if I hadn’t noticed, that yes, this might have been the least inspired I’ve ever been while walking down a perfectly fine country road.

In 3o miles I had not seen anything worth walking 30 miles for.  There were no places to camp, no grand vistas, no amazing culture, and hardly any people.  I was bored and lonely.

So I sat down and panicked, because I wasn’t quite sure how to quit something so clearly stated in my plans.

I started thinking about challenges, and what this one means to me.

Challenges

Who is this for, exactly?  What am I doing this for?  Sometime pretty long ago I got it in my head that I wanted to do a long walk across new territory, because it’s a way to learn, to grow, and to push myself.  So ultimately I’m doing this for me.

But I’ve also pledged my completion of something so others will feel compelled to donate to something I believe in (water filters for Cambodian children.  Cambodia, now that’s a hot place).

Or do people donate towards my intention of completing a challenge?  Is anyone even reading along, waiting until I fail, so that they can ask for their donation back?  Pretty sure sane people don’t do that.

Or yet, do people care very little about what I’m actually doing, and are simply happy to donate to a good cause, which I brought to their attention?  (I like this option the best).

Or more likely still, most donors so far are my friends and family who donated because they love me, and maybe I inspire them a little bit.  And they could care less if I follow my plan mile for mile.

So what does it mean to me if I alter my plans?  Do I lose something by losing a little bit of mileage?  What am I after here exactly?

I believe that forcing yourself to be uncomfortable for a while– whether it be tired, lonely, or lost– is a good thing.  And we don’t often get to overcome these uncomfortable phases because they are so easy to remedy:  I’m hungry= go to store.  I am lonely= grab a beer with friend, and blab their ear off about my same old same old problems.

This is why wilderness hiking brings us so much more easily into that place of discomfort, which then tips us into a new plane of self-understanding.  Because we can’t immediately remedy our problems, we work through them and come out gaining something from the pain.

But here, on this one trail, I don’t have the great rewards of splendid mountain scenery or secluded forests to keep me going, to complement the solitude.  This trail failed to spark my finely tuned spirit of adventure.  There was nothing but boredom awaiting me, it seemed.

Quitting

So would I lose something by quitting this trail, just abandoning it all together?  If I quit this one, will I be more tempted to quit the others?  Will I not reach that place of discomfort, from which I hope to learn something from?

I wandered around in Kilwinning– great name right? I see a new catchphrase:  I’m KILWINNING it!— for about two hours trying to decide how I really felt.

The thing is that I’m reluctant to quit things, however unimportant they may seem to everyone else.  This is because I’ve quit a few important things– volleyball, Peace Corps, after school jobs– that I’ve never seemed to get over.  I’m at an age where I want to be a completer, not a quitter.  I want to succeed at something, and I’m coming up empty.

Also I feel SO GUILTY for the measly 6 miles that I skipped on the West Highland Way, I can’t really phathom what it’s like to just say “Eh, no worries, I’m just not gonna do that 60 miles.”  Guilt!  I hate you!

So.  This is where my brain was.  Success or let-down.  Quitter or non-quitter.  Loneliness, boredome, homesickness.  And the thought of, “Should I really be thinking this much into it at all?  Isn’t this adventure just what I make it?  Why do I have such a profound sense of guilt over not sticking to what I wrote down in a blog seven months ago?  My feet hurt after all!  I’m still walking 20 miles a day!  I’m not exactly living in luxury here.

I was so, so tired.  And feeling more and more down.  I started thinking, Oh, I’ll just get a bus to another town along the trail, and I’ll try to find a place to camp there.  Then I started thinking, well here’s a bus stop to Glasgow, I’ll just go back there, and see it!  I never actually saw Glasgow, I just sat on Siobhan’s couch drinking tea and watching Grey’s Anatomy anyway.  I’ll go back there and get a fresh start!

Then my mind went down a slippery slope of “quittation.”  And I thought, Hell! I’ll just go to the airport and fly back to Oregon!  Lovely, green summer in Oregon.  The place where my heart has always resided.  I’ll see my family, my friends, climb mountains, and drink micro-brews!

See, even for me, someone who views traveling as the oxygen I breath, who leaps into the world full of confidence and seemingly endless energy to roam– It’s hard for me too.  To not know where I’m going.  To not have a routine full of friendly faces.  I get anxious and scared too.  Lonely and depressed.  I get homesick, more than you would think.  But I love this traveling thing, and so I stick it out.  And I have a mantra, which I repeat over and over again to myself, which is:  It always gets better.  It always gets better.  It always gets better.  

And So.  

So, I’m not going home, of course.  I’m quitting, but not really.  I’m revising.  I’m leaving the Ayrshire Coastal Path behind and going to Glasgow, and tomorrow I’ll head off to Wales, to start another trail, which I hope will be much better than the one I’m abandoning.  The beauty and frustration of travel is:  I won’t know until I get there.

I’ll try again, and it will still be an adventure that’s “worth it,” no matter how many times I revise.  It’s mine after all. So I suppose I make the rules.  I want to accomplish something big, to raise money, to complete what I set out to do.  But you’ll just have to deal with the fact that… the circumstances may change.

Happy Hiking.

Love to you all,

Marisa

June 14: 96 miles down (minus 6)

I cheated.  6 miles worth of cheating.  Is that so bad?

Getting into shape takes some time.  I wasn’t in terrible shape before I started, but not exactly 20-mile-a-day-with-backpack-on kind of shape.  Not yet.  I’m getting there.  

But I wanted to meet Siobhan in Glasgow so I could go to her house and have a real shower, sleep in a real bed, and have a real dinner with real social interactions around the TV.  So, I cheated.  Just a little!

My feet wouldn’t last another 20 mile day, so I cut off 6 by hopping over from Balmaha to Drymen.  It was still a 14 mile day, and the spectacular scenery of the mountains and Loch Lomond had already been finished with, so I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything.

I’ve woke up at 11 this morning, have had 5 cups of tea, and watched a bad rom-com on the couch.  And now I’m refreshed and ready to head off to Skelmorlie tomorrow and tackle another trail, the Ayrshire Coastal Path.  

The only problem is that I tell people I’m doing a certain set of miles, and I feel holden to that promise.  

So, do you forgive me?  Pleeeease?

Happy Hiking!   

June 12: Loch Lomond and Inversnaid Nature Preserve

At the end of Loch Lomond, and my feet are hurting, hurting hard.  I have a strong desire to throw my entire backpack into the Loch, and run free like a crazy woman along the forest path, slapping at midges and wearing only one change of clothes until they have holes.  (The latter part not far from the truth).  

Yesterday I picked my way over the roots and rocks and boulders of Inversnaid Nature Preserve, through an on and off drizzle and clouds of midges that swarmed every exposed piece of skin if I stood still for five seconds.  

It was one of those days where I wouldn’t have chosen to hike, if I had a choice and a warm bed.  I suppose I do have a choice, but I also have a schedule.  A challenge is a challenge for a reason, I guess, and dealing with pain and discomfort sometimes lead to more fullfillment in the end.

But it was one of those days.  And around 11:30 I realized I had only walked 3 miles, and that was so ridiculous that I actually laughed out loud.  The walk was up and down through forest, up steep hills, and convulted around roads and railway stations.  I’d seen prettier places.  It wasn’t bad, but didn’t compare to the mountains I was coming from, especially now as the clouds were hanging low overhead.  Maybe that’s why most people should go south to north, because after the northern section everything else comes off a bit lackluster.  

So I was walking along in a mood matching the weather, but when I got to Loch Lomond two things happened:  first, my pace slowed way down, because suddenly I was picking my way over slippery, knotted, mossy, rocky trail.  Second, the trail became much, much more interesting.  My feet still hurt, but I was entranced enough to continue walking.  

 While the scenery in the north is big and full of views, the forest became a micro-bounty of wonderful things.  Blue and white flowers spread across the forest floor.  Ferns uncurled themselves towards the misty sky.  Waterfalls and streams spurt from every rock wall.  If fairies existed, they would live here.  

This unexpected beauty gave me a little more energy, enough to find a good camping spot, set up my tent in the worsening drizzle, and say goodnight at 9:00.  

 

June 11: Fort William to Tyndrum

The West Highland way runs 96 miles from Milgnavie, near Glasgow, to Fort William, next to Britain’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis.  Most people do this hike from south to north, but since I’m doing a whole North-South trend here, I started from Fort William.  I knew most people went from the south, but I didn’t know I’d be the ONLY one going from north to south.

Good news: I’m not walking with the masses, which have been enjoying the lovely weather we’ve been having up here in the highlands.  Bad news:  It’s a little lonely.  Some kind souls have stopped along the trail to have some nice chats, including a 90-something year old woman who was telling me how jealous she was of all these thru-hikers, and how she did a nearly 200 mile coast-to-coast hike in her 80-somethings (but you know, now she’s feeling a little old).

The weather is turning to rain, so I’ll leave you with some photos!  Happy hiking! 

At Immigration

“How long will you be here?”

“52 days.”

“And what will you be doing for 52 days?”

“Walking.”

“Walking?”

“Yeah.  Walking, hiking.”

“For all 52 days?”

“More or less…”

…

“Well I’ll let you walk for 52 days, if that’s what you want to do.”

I’m in!  Walking begins today after the famous train journey through the Highlands to Fort William.  Wish me luck!  And take a look at my firstgiving page 😉

June 5: Just a pic

I love how I’m much busier as a traveller than I was working this year.  Not much time to write, but I HAVE to post a photo from yesterday’s hike through the Garganta de Cares route in the Picos de Europa.  It was increible.  

Until I have time to write for realz, like me on Facebook!