My Channel Swim attempt, undertaken for Acorns Children's Hospice in August 2014, took 14 months to train for.  The swim itself, covering almost 22 miles, took over 11 hours.

The book, detailing not only the training and the swim, but also our experiences with Harry, took almost three years to write.  It was not a cathartic process.  If anything, it was more painful and harrowing than the swim and all of the training.

Peter Murray, professional voice-over artist, has now helped me produce a non-abridged audio version of the book.  It is available now on Amazon/Audible, here.

OK, maybe the heading is a little dramatic, but as the last post was "Hiking in the Snow", and I didn't just want to do a part 2, I thought this would suit.

I actually woke up to find a picture of our house, WHALE End, on Twitter.  Our neighbour had taken the photo from their house, explaining to a friend why they would not be over later for lunch.  The snow actually continued from that point on for most of the day, so the depth just kept increasing.

It goes without saying that it's a lot harder to walk in the snow.  I can do my 10 mile route in just over two hours (admittedly by jogging some of it).  Today, it took me over three hours.  Much of this involved 'high-stepping' through deep snow, feet sliding, and generally struggling to get a decent grip.

But it was beautiful and quiet out in the countryside!  The blanket of snow muffled the sound, and sometimes, silence was the only thing that could be heard.   I saw no deer today, though of course there were plenty of tracks to be seen.  I saw the buzzard again, in the same rough position as when it had been trying to scare the pigeons out a couple of day previously.  The bird gave a solitary cry to break the silence, and then flew away as soon as I tried to get a photo.  That buzzard does not like to be filmed!

It was only on the last few miles that I even saw any pheasants.  With the exception of one, even these animals flew away silently, instead of the garbled, warbling chatter they normally give.  It was as though even the animals had agreed that today should be a silent one, in respect of the snow.

This route takes me through a tunnel and under the railway line at one point, and then across the lines as I head back later.  Consequently, I usually hear the trains sounding their warning horn to clear pedestrians off the line.  Today, all was silent.  When I came to the line, with the tracks only partially visible above the snow, it was apparent why this was.

All in all, it was a beautiful walk.  It was a tough one though.  My 10kg backpack seemed to be gaining weight as I walked, so stopping for a pint at the end, it was a relief to take the load off my back. Beer was duly administered, consumed, and enjoyed.

Having been ill, I've not been out hiking for almost four weeks.  It's quite depressing, having been charting my increasing progress week by week, to suddenly see it flat-line.

Today I was determined to get out again.  As I began to put my boots on, I noticed that it had gone very dark outside.  It's the sort of grey that causes the Brits to say, 'Looks like it might snow!'  Invariably, in the south, this just means rain.  Today, however, as I went to step out of the door, it really did snow.

It's a good job I'd not left the house any earlier, because I probably would have done so in just my thermal top and a T shirt over it.  As it was, I went and got my Gortex jacket, and as snowflakes half the size of my hand began to gently float down out of the sky, the ground was very quickly covered in a cm or two of snow.

It's exactly 2km from my house to the first countryside field I enter.  During that walk, I'd seen one idiot boy racer high-revving his car and deliberately spinning his wheels, and a businessman flying round the roundabout at breakneck speed, 100% happy and certain that his expensive Land Rover could not possibly slide due merely to snow and ice - because, after all, that's only what cheap cars do!

The countryside was peaceful and free from idiots (with the exception of one, trudging across the fields with a 10kg backpack on).  the snow was not thick enough to totally cover the grass, so it was still possible to see where the ruts were, and thus avoid twisting my ankle(s).

Within minutes, I'd seen a deer bounding out of the nearby hedge and skipping across the field.  By the time I'd got my phone out, switched it on and typed in my password, the deer was too far away.  I was just about to put my phone away when, further ahead, another sprang out.  The shot isn't great, but it was the best I could do.

The winter sun began to come out as I walked on.  As I skirted a woods, I could hear a buzzard calling.  I looked up and could clearly see it at the top of a nearby tree, calling repeatedly.  Huddled just two branches below, cowering together, were two pigeons.  The buzzard was trying to scare them out of the safety of the tree.  I took my phone out again, wanting to video the buzzard, but just as I did so, the pigeons made a dash for it.  The buzzard quickly followed them, heading away from me, and in moments I'd lost them from sight.  I could only guess at the fate of the pigeons.

The snow quickly melted from the fields under the weak winter sun, as the ground was not cold enough to sustain it.  I alternated between removing my hat, and having to pull it tightly over my ears when I turned into the biting wind.  I took a photo of me in a snow-less field, and less than ten minutes later, the snow began again.  This time, it was not a gentle fluttering of big, fluffy flakes.  It was a blizzard, with violent, hard blasts of snow that stung the skin.  The fields were quickly covered over once more, as was I.  All I could do was put my  head down and trudge on.  Luckily, I've done this route so many times now, I don't need a map, and I wasn't about to get lost.

This first real winter hike was dramatically different to the hot summer ones I'd enjoyed in previous months, but no less refreshing and exhilarating.  My legs ache, having been so under-used for weeks, but that too is a good ache.  Nepal looms in March, however, and I need to get ready for those hills!

A few weeks ago I caught the bus to Pershore and trekked back.  It seemed logical that I should be able to do the same trip in reverse, so that’s exactly what I tried out.

The route itself is pleasant enough.  Across the road from The Oak Apple is a hidden footpath that leads down towards St Peters.  You parallel the railway line until you come to the A440, where the footpath then cuts directly across this busy road.  However, whereas there was a clear path and a set of steps just a matter of days ago, this time I discovered that the diggers had moved in to continue the expansion of the road. Getting up the freshly dug hillside and locating the path again was a bit of challenge.

From there, the route takes you along the road to Norton, and at The Retreat you can again join footpaths – albeit seldom used ones.  After crossing a field, you then have to cross not one, but two railway lines at a junction, and following this there is a 1km cross-field hike.  For the latter, it’s best to take a compass bearing, or you have to circumnavigate the fence line in order to get out of the field.

A short hike brings you to Stoulton church, and from here you essentially parallel the B4084 South East towards Pershore.  The only tricky part is where one farmer has utilized the entire field to grow corn, with the adjacent path reduced to nothing more than thick, vicious and impenetrable brambles.  The only way to get through is to crouch along between two of the rows of corn.

My new boots were still not broken in, and they were continuing to bruise my lower legs.  I’d brought my Crocs with me to change into at the completion of my hike, but in the end I needed to change my footwear early.  There were only some easy fields left to cross anyway.

My real problems started when I tried to get the bus home.  Knowing which way Worcester lay, I was confused to see that the bus stop to my home town lay on the Evesham side of the road, and that the bus to Evesham has to be caught on the Worcester side.  Worst still, the buses were not arriving at the advertised time.  I had a beer in The Pickled Plum, and asked where I should catch the bus from.  The barman suggested walking the 2km to the train station.  ‘You’ll just get old waiting for the bus,’ he said.

I decided to walk up the road towards Worcester, reasoning that the next stop must surely only be for buses going to the city.  I calculated correctly, but discovered that there was only one bus per hour – and the next one was not for another 50 minutes.

So, deciding I would be able to get to the next stop or two within that time, on I walked.  Had I know that there was not another bus stop for miles, I would probably have thought about getting the train after all.  The bus passed me long before I got to the stop after Pershore.

When I reached The Plough in Drakes Broughton, I decided on having another pint.  I’d been walking for several hours, and was still unsure how I’d actually get home.  It was fully conceivable by now that I’d have to walk all the way back – wearing Crocs and carrying around 13kg.

But, as I soon discovered, there is another bus stop just down from The Plough.  Here I learned that I had around 17 minutes until the next X50 bus.  That was ample time for me to get to Stoulton, where my friend Ali catches the bus from, so on I trekked.

I arrived in Stoulton with five minutes to spare, and happily waited for the bus…

Which did not come.

Having had more than enough for one day, I called in on Ali.  He quickly explained that the X50 does not stop at Stoulton.  Had I waited near The Plough, I’d be on my way by now.

Happily for me, with 18km already under my belt, and needing to get home to help with the kids, Ali offered to give me a lift back.
​
Who would have thought that catching a bus could be so difficult?

Having had to recycle my old, faithful pair of walking boots, this latest hike saw me breaking my new ones in.  I was probably (definitely) too ambitious with the distance I'd planned for, but that aside, events also taught me another lesson.

Once I have decided upon my route, I've been photocopying A4 sized sheets of the relevant section of my OS map, and only taking those copies with me.  On this particular hike, I missed a mid-field turn off, which resulted in me heading West for further than planned.... and ultimately I 'came off' my map. 

Now I could have re-traced my steps - that's always the golden rule.  But I calculated that if I could head south for a kilometer or so, I'd find myself back onto my second photocopied sheet.  In the end, I stumbled across a very inviting country pub.  By this point, the bottom of my legs, above the ankles where the boot-tops reach, were aching.  The stiff new boots had actually bruised my legs, and rather than soldier on and cause myself misery on my subsequent walks, I went for a pint and got Esta to come and get me.  Besides, we had a family event planned too, and me walking on would also have caused some timing problems.

So, having walked 14km in new boots, and having also learned that I need the whole OS map in my backpack as a backup to my disposable copies, I capitulated to circumstance and enjoyed a beer in the early October sunshine. 

During some of the treks I've been on recently, it's been amazing to see so much wildlife on display within walking distance of my own house.

On one hike alone, I startled two deer; almost trod on a hare who waited until the last moment before making a break for it; surprised a host of pheasants; and saw buzzards soaring gracefully, crying out in an attempt to scare some prey out from cover.

What isn't so much fun is realising that I have to trudge across an entire field of freshly ploughed earth.  The picture on the left is of a field that went on for over a kilometer.  It was hard work on the legs, and contributed to my walking boots disintegrating.  With sadness, I was forced to recycle them, having walked miles and miles in the them, and to buy a new pair.

Similar to last week, this was a hike from the South of Worcester, heading North.  I was to the West of the M5 this week though.

Again, it was a case of taking a bearing across some fields and trudging across the freshly-ploughed mud.  The most frustrating thing with this sort of necessity is when you arrive at precisely the correct point, only to find out that it is so disused and overgrown that it is completely un-navigable.  The style I came upon would not have taken my weight (especially with the additional 10kg on my back) - and that was presuming I wanted to try and battle my way through the thick brambles!

On the plus side, I did have the pleasure of seeing a deer jump out of a hedge in front of me at one point.  It scampered and hopped across the field as I watched it, jealous that its hooves did not seem to get as clogged with mud as my boots do!