Shanks’s pony is still the best way to explore our planet’s natural beauty. Kevin Rushby looks at what makes a great hike, and the ‘walking revolution’ of recent decades MORE ON WALKS: EUROPE | UK | EPIC | BEST KIT I hate walking. I won’t do it. I am not going any further. Unorthodox as it may seem, as an introduction to a celebration of great walks, I need to put those words down and look at them. They are certainly the words every parent fears. The words I inflicted, as a nine-year-old on my dad on Snowdon, were later echoed by my own children. They are uttered, or just thought, at the crucial moment in many a great walk, usually when a corner is turned and the true dimensions of the landscape open up and show a narrow stony path, winding onwards for long miles, always upwards, to a goal that is impossibly distant and probably wreathed in ominous black clouds. The view up Langdale towards Lakeland’s Scafell massif often conforms to this pattern. Children do us a service in voicing such feelings; we adults often ignore them, or soldier onwards, never appreciating that this is all part of the drama. You see I do believe that great walks are like great dramas. Act One is the optimistic practicalities: the picnic packing, the maps and checklists, the jokes and the laughter. You set off with fresh faces and jollity. But then, just as the effort starts to bite, comes that moment. I suppose the ancient Greeks had a word for it. Suddenly there is the threat of tragedy in the air, or at least the disappointment of turning back. But something keeps you going: it could be the promise of lunch, or a shaft of sunlight that warms your back. And, by the simple formula of putting one foot in front of the other, those long upward miles fall behind. Then the summit is in sight, the views become magnificent and soggy cheese sandwiches taste amazing. Triumph is felt. Continue reading...
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