Hiking

The UK is full of beautiful walks, but none of them are quite as terrifying as this one. It’s a narrow path hewn into the side of a cliff, and it’s known as Giddy Edge.

If you fancy yourself as something of a thrill-seeker, then one of the most heart-stopping adventures can be discovered right here in the UK. It’s not bungee jumping or skydiving – this is a simple stroll with a spine-chilling twist.

Towering above the town of Matlock Bath lies a slender pathway carved into the cliff face.

It’s called Giddy Edge, but you’d be wise not to feel dizzy whilst traversing it, as it’s an extremely, extremely long way down.

One man tackled this frightening route and documented the entire experience on TikTok, reports the Express.

Phil, renowned for his travel content, shared his journey along Giddy Edge on TikTok and described it as “absolutely terrifying”.

“The camera does not do justice to either the narrowness of the path or the height of the drop”, he explained in his video, via voiceover.

Phil revealed he had to add voiceover to his footage because it would have taken him far too long to censor all the profanities he was uttering as he navigated the cliff’s edge.

“It’s bringing me no joy at all; in fact, it’s bringing me genuine terror. I don’t like it.”

The route sits directly on the brink of a 300-foot vertical plunge down to the town beneath, and the most perilous section features a metal handrail fixed into the cliff so you can grip onto it as you inch your way across the most terrifying part of the trek.

After you’ve conquered this stomach-churning elevated point, the remainder of the trail remains just as lofty.

There’s no barrier separating you from the precipice, but there are several benches where you can perch and recover your composure. Giddy Path also operates a one-way system to prevent gridlock on the perilously narrow route.

However, if you’d rather not crawl along Britain’s most spine-chilling pathway, alternative routes exist – though they’re equally lofty.

Despite the path being absolutely terrifying, the panoramic views across Matlock Bath are genuinely stunning – just ensure you’re careful if you fancy a peek.

The route should be steered clear of during any wet or blustery conditions to prevent serious harm or fatality.

Phil remarked: “For me, it’s not about how lethal Giddy Edge is, and it is lethal. Do not go and mess around up there.

“It’s about how accessible it is – yes, there are lethal paths in Wales and the Lake District, but you have to put some work in, you have to walk a few miles to risk your mortality for them.”

Among my many memories of hiking around Southern California, I have a few that haunt me.

The time I got briefly lost around Mt. Waterman, where I’d been several times. When I ran out of water hiking Strawberry Peak on an unseasonably hot day. When I was dressed appropriately for a long day hike until I fell into the river and was uncomfortably cold for the rest of the day. When I thought I was on trail only to realize I was kind of stuck on a steep, unstable hillside.

Each time, I was underprepared. Each bad experience was preventable. That’s the lesson of today’s Wild.

I spoke to Dr. Rob Scanlon, author of the newly published “Surviving the Trail” (Falcon Guides), a guide book that lays out how we can prevent the most common hiking emergencies by slowing down and planning long before we hit the trail.

Scanlon said he sees his work as less of a “hiker safety” book and more of a “hiker empowerment” book.

“I’m hoping people will recognize that this is intrinsically a dangerous place to be,” said Scanlon, who is board certified in internal medicine, pulmonology, critical care and sleep medicine. “Being a little bit anticipatory, and certainly concentrating on the simple things you can control, will really lead to an almost near guarantee that you will not end up the subject of a news headline.”

I never want to write about any of you, dear Wilders, unless it’s to amplify the great work you’re doing in the outdoors. I do, however, want to help us all learn — through a thoughtful, not sensationalist, approach — how we can make the kinds of memories we enjoy reflecting on.

The subtitle to Scanlon’s book is “Five Essential Skills to Prepare Every Hiker for Adventure’s Most Common Perils.” Let’s dive into what those are.

On a hot day, it’s important to stay hydrated, including on hikes that lack shade, like this one in Griffith Park.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

1. Dehydration 🥵

Long before 7-Eleven, Buc-ee’s and (as an Okie, I must mention) QuikTrip, humans had to actually plan for hydration. Today, if you’re out and about and you’re thirsty, there are generally “20 places you could stop within a rock-throwing distance where you could grab something to drink,” Scanlon said. “We’re more acting in real-time in our off-trail lives, not anticipatory like it used to be.”

This mindset can lead to a lack of planning around hydration. And it shows in the data, as Scanlon notes in his book. “Thousands of hikers” require rescue every year because of issues around dehydration, he wrote.

In his book, Scanlon outlines not only how to determine whether you’re dehydrated on the trail but also, arguably more important, how to plan out your fluid needs. The key factors for determining how much water you should pack are: how fast you’ll be hiking, the terrain you’re traversing, the temperatures you’ll encounter and how humid it’ll be.

Scanlon outlines this in a handy chart, which I used to determine I’m generally bringing enough water: about 32 ounces an hour, given I’m going about 2.5 mph, gaining between 1,200- and 2,000-feet elevation and hiking in moderate temperatures.

“I try to stress strategy. Stopping at the local gas station on the way to the trailhead and grabbing a 12- or 16-ounce bottle of [water] is not a strategy,” said Scanlon, who lives in Georgia. “The strategy begins before the hike.”

Wild writer Jaclyn Cosgrove and dog Bonnie enjoy a frolic in the snow near Buckhorn Campground last winter.

(Mish Bruton)

2. Perilous weather ☀️❄️

As we head into colder temperatures here in Southern California — we just got snow in our mountains! — it is crucial to layer appropriately, including with the right materials.

Any hiker has experienced the phenomenon of bundling up at the car and then needing to shed at least one layer at the start of the hike. Scanlon said as we move and generate heat, we need to either shed or open layers, aiming to maintain feeling a little on the cool side.

My favorite cool-weather layering approach is a merino wool base layer with a puffer vest on top. Sometimes I add gloves, but it really depends on the wind temperature. I often wear either fleece-lined hiking pants, especially if I will be around snow, or thick leggings. And I almost always have on these socks, which all my friends are tired of hearing about. In my pack, I carry extra socks and another base layer that I often change into at my destination. I also like to have my rain jacket (with pit vents!) in case it’s windy at the summit.

All of this is informed by one basic thing I do before hiking: I extensively check the weather, which is not always a straight-forward process.

“Most only look at the weather forecast before traveling, but it often changes as hike time approaches and may not apply to whether the hike will actually take place,” Scanlon wrote. “Forecasts often pertain to the conditions in the nearest city center or local airport and not necessarily those in the hiking areas and surrounding mountains.”

Scanlon outlines great resources to be better prepared for mountain conditions, including this website.

Mish, a friend of The Wild, crosses a stream via logs on the Trail Canyon Falls hike.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

3. Crossing rivers and creeks

Drowning is the most common cause of death in national parks, including misunderstanding how to safely swim in or cross a river. Even the experts struggle with that, which emphasizes just how challenging — and dangerous — it can really be.

Scanlon told me about a five-day backpacking trip he took to the majestic Banff National Park. There was a man-made bridge over every creek crossing, except for one. The trail directed Scanlon and his friends to cross a wide, swift, deep river, and despite scouting other options, they found there was no good spot to cross elsewhere.

At first, Scanlon felt safe, knowing how to cross a river, including facing upstream

Scenes from James Murren’s story, “How to plan a bikepacking trip across Catalina.”

(James Murren / For The Times)

, leaning into the oncoming water flow and shuffling slowly, moving through stable sidesteps.

But as he entered the outside curve, which he knew would be the fastest and deepest part, he was in water almost to his hips, “which is the no-go zone.”

“But I was almost there, and I got pretty close to getting toppled over, but I leaned into the oncoming water extra hard to counterbalance it and somehow got through,” he said. “Even when you do it right, you can still have issues, but I think the majority of times it’s not knowing the technique, not knowing where it’s best to cross and maybe the hubris factor.”

4. Falling from high places

People are increasingly getting too bold in high places, especially in the name of selfies and social media posts, Scanlon said.

The way to get ahead of this problem on your own journey is to decide yourself and within your group that you will not let the glory ahead of you influence your behavior.

I did similar on a recent trip to Taft Point, where multiple travelers have fallen to their deaths. I’d seen the gorgeous images of hikers sitting or posing on a rock that juts out dramatically over Yosemite Valley, and I’d told myself, “Maybe not.” Instead, my dear friend Patrick captured my image safely from a lookout point (which, per optical illusion, looks like I’m much closer to the edge than I am).

It can be hard to fight against this FOMO, but going beyond safety rails or going off-trail for better views or trying to impress our friends can all lead to deadly outcomes.

“There are certainly people who’ve fallen from unstable ground beneath them, and that you can’t necessarily prepare for,” Scanlon said. “But the majority of [accidents] are bad behaviors, like poorly executed selfies and [people] doing things they really shouldn’t. We should not be doing our first handstand ever on an 800-foot cliff.”

A trail sign at Vasquez Rocks Natural Area reminds guests of one of the most important tenants of hiking: Stay on the trail.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

5. Getting lost

This is arguably both the most important chapter (Skill 5: Land Navigation) of Scanlon’s book and the most important thing you can understand outside of hydrating appropriately.

Because, as Scanlon pointed out to me, understanding the factors around how we get lost “is extraordinarily important to nail down because getting lost is the gateway to the other perils.”

So, how do we not get lost?

In an estimated 40% of cases, a hiker got lost because they wondered off-trail, Scanlon wrote. This could be because they accidentally followed a spur or game trail, thinking it was the true trail. Another 17% of cases involve bad weather striking, and hikers moving off-trail to seek shelter.

Scanlon goes into extensive detail — just over 100 pages — about how to navigate in the wilderness, including how to use the different types of compasses, understanding the different parts of the compass and more.

One of his suggestions is easy enough to follow: “Before venturing out on any day hike or backpacking trip, study the map ahead of time and identify the nearest safety point,” whether that be a nearby road, railway, local airport or nearby town. Whatever you choose, it should hold the highest potential for seeing other people who can help and have the fewest visible obstacles on the map to arrive there.

“Navigating to this safety point will be our fallback plan when we have become lost and all else fails to get us back to the trail or trailhead,” Scanlon wrote.

I hope you can take this knowledge and apply it to your next hike. I know I will (and probably also pack Scanlon’s book in my backpack), along with carrying this mindset with me on the trail:

“The No. 1 goal is everyone gets home in one piece, and the secondary goal to get to the summit” or wherever you’re headed, Scanlon told me. “As long as you start out with the predetermined goal that everybody gets home, I think everything you prepare for and every on-trail decision you make should be serving that goal.”

The views from the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook include Culver City and the surrounding L.A. area.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

3 things to do

1. Roast marshmallows in the Baldwin Hills
The Nature Nexus Institute and California State Parks will host a campfire stroll from 1 to 3 p.m. Saturday at Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook. Families can participate in hands-on activities, listen at storytime and roast marshmallows for s’mores by the campfire. Register using the park’s Google form.

2. Heal the land in Elysian Park
Volunteers are needed in two shifts Friday at Elysian Park to help maintain native plant life. From 8 to 10 a.m., volunteers will work at the burn plot, an experimental restoration garden. Later in the day, volunteers will prune and water plants from 3:30 to 5:30 p.m. Learn more about the morning event at testplot.info and the afternoon event here.

3. Document flora and fauna in Pacoima
L.A. city’s junior urban ecologist Ryan Kinzel will host a community science-focused hike from 8 to 10 a.m. Saturday at Hansen Dam (10965 Dronfield Ave., Pacoima). Kinzel will lead guests in participating in the L.A. Nature Quest by using app iNaturalist to document plant and animal life as the group hikes. Learn more at the parks department’s Instagram page.

The must-read

Scenes from James Murren’s story, “How to plan a bikepacking trip across Catalina.”

(James Murren / For The Times)

There are so many ways to experience Catalina Island, including bikepacking. Times contributor James Murren took a two-day trip from East End to Little Harbor Campground and back to Avalon, covering 40-plus miles and about 5,000 feet of elevation. In his guide on how to bikepack the island, Murren writes about not only the beauty but also the surprising solitude he found there. “I had not seen another person for quite a while as I biked deeper into the hinterlands of the island, connecting to East End Light Road,” Murren wrote. “Along the ‘backside’ of the southern end of Catalina, it felt even more remote. East End afforded stunning views of the ocean and San Clemente Island to the south.” What a remarkable opportunity — and it’s only a ferry ride away!

Happy adventuring,

P.S.

Birders off the coast of Sonoma and Marin counties got quite the surprise last week when they spotted the critically endangered waved albatross, the largest bird in the Galapagos! It’s believed to be the first sighting of the bird north of Costa Rica, and it remains unclear what brought it more than 3,000 miles north of its homeland. Those lucky enough to see it included a seabird tour. “The excitement level on the boat when the bird was first identified was intense, with much screaming and shrieking, followed by beatific smiles from a dream come true,” passenger Glen Tepke told a Press Democrat reporter. Ah, the mystery and surprise that each new adventure brings!

For more insider tips on Southern California’s beaches, trails and parks, check out past editions of The Wild. And to view this newsletter in your browser, click here.

Three days into my walk along the Rhins of Galloway coast path and I was on love-hate terms with this new long-distance trail. Unruly and at times cruel, it forced me to hurdle fences, wade through bracken up to my midriff and teased me with disappearing paths and wayward waymarks.

But then, after I’d yelled profanities into the wind (there were no other hikers around to hear me), this raffishly handsome route would come over all sweetness and light. Look, it would simper: a dazzling and deserted white-sand bay! A ravishing spray of orchids! A crinkle of rocky foreshore be-flumped with seals! Once, moments after I’d cursed my way through a patch of Scottish jungle, a hare leapt from the sward just as a ruddy fox barred my way, a deer herd pronked down the cliffside and a buzzard mewed overhead; I felt like a sweaty Snow White summoning all the creatures at once, only by swearing rather than singing.

“We toyed with whether to call it a ‘path’ or a ‘trail’,” said Bryan Scott, Dumfries and Galloway council’s countryside development officer and route creator. After my solo jaunt on the path/trail’s north and western stages, we were hiking a gentler south-east section together.

Is there an official difference, I asked? “Well, no, but people think ‘path’ means there’s going to be some kind of a yellow brick road.”

I can confirm there is no such thing around the Rhins of Galloway, the striking hammerhead peninsula at the edge of the edge of south-west Scotland. But there is an admirable almost-realised vision and a lot of potential.

Southern Scotland sees a fraction of the tourists that head to the country’s lionised north: in 2024, there were 1.8m overnight visits to the Highlands and just 520,000 to Dumfries and Galloway – and I’d wager most of those don’t make it out to the Rhins. “No doubt about it,” one taxi driver told me, “this is the land that time forgot.” It was clear the area could do with a boost; creating an 83-mile, six-stage coast path around the Rhins is part of the plan.

“One of the aims was to give people a reason to stay longer,” Scott told me as we advanced along the high clifftops to the Mull of Galloway, Scotland’s southernmost point, where a Stevenson lighthouse stands sentry over the waves. The path is designed to improve access to this untamed, overlooked stretch of coast, which, as well as more lighthouses, features ancient promontory forts, RSPB reserves, ruined castles, spectacular beaches and exotic gardens (the Gulf Stream makes this one of Scotland’s warmest spots). The problem is, Dumfries and Galloway has more than 1,100 miles of core paths that need looking after, with a team of only five to do it.

I’ve been following the progress of the Rhins coast path for a while, drawn to the idea of circumnavigating what is essentially an island that no one seems to visit. This year – its “soft launch”, I was told – seemed the right time.

I started on Stranraer harbour, under the smart arch of corten steel marking the circular path’s beginning and end, using a GPX file of the route on my OS Maps app. From there I walked north, along the exposed shores of Loch Ryan, picking between oystercatchers and whimbrels, the alien blobs of barrel jellyfish, shaggy piles of bladderwrack and a crunchy scatter of shells. Somewhere under the loch’s blue lay Scotland’s last native oyster beds; during the second world war they were joined by surrendered U-boats, stowed here before being scuttled at sea. This area was strategically vital at that time, with parts of the D-day Mulberry harbour tested here, while flying boats, used to protect Allied shipping, were based on the headland known as the Wig.

The going from Stranraer around the north of the Rhins was generally good. Highlights of the 13½ miles included military history, intriguing strandline, flower-flecked tussock and the remains of iron age settlements with views to Ailsa Craig and the isle of Arran beyond. Still, I was excited to finally see day’s end in the distance: lonely Corsewall lighthouse. Erected in 1815, the tower still protects ships in these frothy waters, but the old keepers’ quarters are now a hotel.

John and Helen Harris welcomed me in. As well as running the place – “quite the challenge, in a good way, 99% of the time …” – they’re also among the volunteers helping to look after the coast path, cutting back overgrowth and reporting problems. They’re starting to get a few more walkers staying, they told me, and have compiled a folder of local rambles for guests not tramping the whole trail.

I could see the attraction of basing myself here for nice day walks: I’ve stayed in few more atmospheric spots, and the five-course dinner concocted by Helen’s son Richard in the teeny kitchen was ridiculously good. Before leaving the next morning, we had a quick chat about what lay ahead. Helen reckoned I’d already done the coast path’s toughest stage; John’s expression told me I had not.

John was right. The following two days – Corsewall to the pretty harbour village of Portpatrick, then Portpatrick to Port Logan’s wide, sandy sweep, around 15 miles each – were mettle-testing stuff. But also a proper adventure. I walked amid the sheep-grazed ruins of a wartime radar station to reach moaning seals. I accidentally annoyed a peregrine falcon, which spent a good 10 minutes shrieking above my head. I bounded across hills, high above the serrated rocky shore; at one point, I mistakenly dropped down to the sea, then followed in the hoof-prints of a flock of feral goats to get back up again.

I also picnicked on beaches I couldn’t believe I had all to myself – shingly Salt Pans Bay, where salt was harvested from the 1640s, and awesome Ardwell Bay, a curve of turquoise-lapped gold. In the late 19th century a former clown called William Purves lived in one of the caves here. I could see why.

On the first of these two tough days, for the final miles from Killantringan lighthouse to Portpatrick, the coast path falls in step with a section of the Southern Upland Way, which ultimately makes for Cockburnspath, on the east coast. This is one of Scotland’s official Great Trails, and the difference was stark: regular waymarks; an obvious track; I even met a volunteer hacking back the overgrowth. But, then, this trail was launched 40 years ago – evidence of what can be achieved.

Some of this will probably have been achieved by the time you read this. At the end of my trip, at the Mull of Galloway’s Gallie Craig cafe, Irish Sea swirling outside, Scott took on all my feedback. He’s since rewalked the trail, and a slew of new work is afoot to negotiate fences, increase signage, build a bridge and trim unruly plants. Improvement works should be completed by spring 2026. Yes, the Rhins of Galloway coast path is a little raw, but stick with it: I have high hopes it’ll mature very well.

The trip was supported by the South of Scotland Destination Alliance. Corsewall Lighthouse Hotel has doubles from £175 B&B; five-course dinner £49.50pp excluding drinks. For trail info, see dgtrails.org

Even in picturesque California, few landscapes are as stunning – or as fragile – as Big Sur. The constant storms and seismic activity that forged its dramatic cliffs and canyons also make its infrastructure a nightmare to maintain.

The primary road through the region, world-famous Highway 1, which clings to cliffs high above the Pacific Ocean in postcard worthy fashion, is almost constantly closed by landslides, isolating communities and stranding weary travelers.

Local hiking trails don’t fare much better.

The Pfeiffer Falls Trail intersects with the Valley View Trail, a lovely loop that provides gorgeous views of the state park clear out to the Pacific.

(Lisa Winner / Save the Redwoods League)

So, as if they had just taken a deep breath and crossed their fingers, California State Parks officials announced this week that one of the region’s most beloved hikes, the Pfeiffer Falls Trail, will finally reopen after a towering redwood collapsed in a 2023 storm taking out its signature pedestrian bridge.

The trail, a .75 mile stroll that cuts through Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park and ends with a stunning view of a 60-foot waterfall, is one of the prime draws for a park that attracts roughly 750,000 people each year.

For such a short walk, the trail has a long history.

In 2008, the 162,818-acre Basin Complex Fire devastated much of the route and surrounding forest. It took $2 million and nearly 13 years to complete a renovation project — removing aged and damaged concrete, rerouting the trail and constructing the bridge — to finally reopen the hike in June 2021.

About 18-months later, that storm arrived and a towering redwood crashed the party.

The Pfeiffer Falls Bridge in 2023 after a giant redwood fell on part of the structure, closing the trail.

(California State Parks)

The tree splintered a 15-foot section of the bridge. Crews salvaged much of the original structure but replaced the damaged section with fiber-reinforced polymer in the hope of making the span stronger and more resilient to its unforgiving environment.

“It’s unfortunate that the trail had to close so soon after our original renovations,” said Matthew Gomez, senior parks program manager for Save the Redwoods League, a non-profit that helped with the repairs. “But our close partnership with California State Parks allowed us to rebuild the bridge better than ever.”

It is a truly spectacular hike. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Sept. 17 (UPI) — A man suffered serious injuries after being attacked by a bear Tuesday while hiking by himself in Yellowstone National Park.

The attack occurred while the man was hiking Turbid Lake Trail, which is located east of Yellowstone Lake, according to a press statement. Park officials have since closed the trail and are investigating the attack on the unidentified 29-year-old man.

The man deployed bear spray but still suffered “significant but non-life-threatening injuries to his chest and left arm,” the statement said. Park medics responded to the incident and walked out with the hiker, who was transported to Lake Medical Clinic and later flown to a hospital.

The hiker thought the bear was a black bear, but park officials suspect it was a grizzly bear considering its size and behavior, according to the statement. Bear management staff plan to attempt DNA analysis to confirm the species.

“Because this incident was a defensive reaction by the bear during a surprise encounter, the park will not be taking any management action against the bear,” the statement said.

The park occasionally sees visitors injured by wildlife. A Florida man was gored by a bison in May after getting too close to the animal.

Elsewhere, a hiker in Japan was found dead over the summer from a brown bear attack while hiking in the country’s rugged Hokkaido region. In Canada’s western province of British Columbia, a man was severely injured during a grizzly bear attack.

However, bear attacks remain vanishingly rare. A 2019 article published in Nature found there are about 40 brown bear attacks per year globally, about a dozen of which occur in North America. Yellowstone is home to more dangerous grizzly bears. But a 2022 paper found that the per capita risk of being killed by a grizzly bear while visiting the park was one out of every 26.2 million park visitors.

Yellowstone National Park saw its busiest May on record with more than 566,000 recreational visits that month.

Despite so many people flocking to the park’s roughly 3,500 square miles, the attack on Tuesday is the first time a bear has injured someone in Yellowstone in years, according to the press release. The last time a bear injured someone was in 2021 when a solo hiker was attacked by a grizzly bear.

‘This is probably the wildest place in the whole of the Vallée des Belleville,” says Roland, our guide, sweeping one arm across a bank of saw-toothed peaks as though conducting a great, brawny orchestra. My husband, two sons and I are midway through a four-day stretch of the Grand Tour de Tarentaise hiking trail in the French Alps, and we’ve stopped near the top of Varlossière, a roadless side valley among a great arc of mountains that runs to the west of the ski resorts of Val Thorens, Les Menuires and Saint-Martin-de-Belleville. Hiking up here from Gittamelon, a rustic, summer-only mountain refuge in the neighbouring Vallée des Encombres, we’ve paused to exhale breath, and to inhale the primeval views.

High peaks loom either side of us, their shocking green flanks underscored by an elegantly designed bothy and its shepherd-dwelling twin, and we can hear the rush of water far below. It’s midmorning but the moon is low and large in a cloudless sky, adding to the otherworldly scene. Climbing higher, an eagle flies past almost at eye level, no more than six metres away. Though we meet three other hikers on the other side of the Col du Bonnet du Prêtre, the 2,461-metre (8,074ft) pass that leads from Varlossière to the Nant Brun valley – and detect from sheep bells that at least two shepherds must be somewhere among the great folds of these hills – it feels as though the landscape is ours alone.

That may not be the case for long. Soaring temperatures across Europe this summer have fuelled a rush to the mountains, social media funnelling many visitors to the same honeypots and creating infrastructure pressure points; in Italy some farmers in the Dolomites have resorted to installing turnstiles and charging tourists €5 to pass, incensed at having their meadows trampled.

Navigating these challenges is no easy task for Europe’s mountain resorts, which are increasingly encouraging summer tourism as the climate crisis signals a limited lifespan for ski tourism. One of the biggest issues is that many of these new summer visitors are first-timers, unfamiliar with the mores of mountain adventuring: treading gently on the environment, respecting local countryside codes, wearing suitable kit, knowing how to read a map rather than an app (we had no wifi or phone signal for two days of our hike), and packing enough food and water. In France, call-outs to mountain rescue services by inexperienced hikers have risen so sharply that workers now trawl social media looking for potential disaster hotspots in advance.

In an attempt to tackle these issues, the Vallée des Belleville tourist office has introduced a range of summer initiatives to support new hikers, from kids’ mountain skills activity days to free wildlife talks and events. Lower-level footpaths and bike trails for children, pushchair-users and visitors with reduced mobility makes it safer for those groups to access the mountains, and easier for local communities to manage the larger numbers that tend to make use of them. And while challenging marked trails through more remote corners of the mountains are fairly easy to follow, visitors are encouraged to hire a guide (something we are glad of at Col du Bonnet du Prêtre, when Roland tracks down the shepherd owner of an aggressive dog and persuades him to move away from the trail).

It is at our accommodation each night, in mountain refuges, that we really see support for new hikers in action, though. Several have been designed specifically with families and first-timers in mind, including Refuge Plan Lombardie, where we end our 12-mile (19km) hike from Gittamelon.

We are not first-timers, but staying here is a good opportunity to remind ourselves of the rules of refuge culture, and for the boys to hang out with other children. Though we hike in, it’s possible to park about 20 minutes’ away and walk from there, something several guests with preschoolers have done, grateful for the treasure hunt-style sculpture trail the refuge has installed along the route to entice younger visitors uphill.

Though we have seen less than a handful of hikers during the day, we find Refuge Plan Lombardie as packed as a marmot’s burrow. Approaching it in the soft glow of the afternoon, earlier arrivals have already nabbed the terrace’s deckchairs with a view. Instead, we collect beers and lemonades and find a free bench to enjoy them before swapping our boots for the refuge’s borrowed Crocs, and finding our allocated bunk beds.

Refuges like this are more than just places to sleep. Full of city folk temporarily escaping to higher ground, they’re the human equivalent of a centuries-old rhythm of transhumance, where families bring sheep and cows up to the high pastures for the summer months. At dinner, we share a table with a mother from Chambéry who has brought her four-year-old son for his first visit to a refuge. “My friend gave me a list of the most family-friendly ones and I’ve decided to start a new tradition of visiting one every year with my son. I want him to love them as much as I do,” she told us between bites of a Savoyard blueberry version of Eton mess.

The previous evening, in cosy Gittamelon refuge, we’d shared similar tales, and a dorm, with three generations of a Belgian family who were following the same trail as us but in the opposite direction. And the evening before that, we’d followed suit with other families, playing cards at Refuge du Lac du Lou, a modern, child-friendly refuge just 90 minutes’ hike above the resort of Les Menuires.

Between Lac du Lou and Gittamelon we’d hiked with Estelle Roy-Berthaud from Les Menuires tourist office, following the trail through harebells, cotton grass, neon-coloured lichens and, much to the boys’ delight, thickets of wild blueberries. Stopping for lunch with Mont Blanc spearing the horizon in the distance, I ask her how the valley is managing increasing summer numbers.

“Summer tourism is a relatively new concept here, so we are not seeing the overtourism issues experienced by more well-known summer destinations in the Alps,” she says. “We’re also protected by not having too many places to stay. In winter, we have around 27,000 beds, but in summer this reduces to just 8,000, so this naturally restricts the number of people in the valley.”

Further along the trail, at Plan Lombardie, I wake in the night and slip out of one of those beds. Outside, the sky is luminous with stars, while the peaks and folds of the land are now entirely black beyond the winking of a distant light – a shepherd’s stove, perhaps, or the torch of a camper. The Belleville valley still feels wonderfully wild tonight.

Transport from London to Chambéry was provided by Flixbus; return fares from £89pp. Half-board accommodation at Refuge du Lac du Lou from €39 children/€69 adults, Refuge Gittamelon €46pp, and at Refuge Plan Lombardie from €32 children and €52 adults. Hiking guides from €25 for a half-day (guides-belleville.com). More information at lesmenuires.com

The Mam Tor circular in the Hope Valley has been named one of the UK’s best walks that can be easily reached by public transport, and it’s less than an hour from Manchester

A stunning walk in the Peak District, boasting breathtaking views, has been hailed as one of the UK’s best accessible by train — and it’s just a stone’s throw from Manchester.

The Mam Tor circular in Hope Valley clinched second place in a ranking of the country’s top walks reachable via public transport, according to research by outdoor specialists at Blacks. In fact, this Peak District trek was only pipped to the post by the Seven Sisters and Seaford trail in East Sussex.

To compile the list, researchers scrutinised Google search data, All Trails reviews and the proximity of each walk to the nearest railway station.

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With an impressive All Trails rating of 4.8 and a UK search volume of 1,127,000 from July 2024 to June 2025, Mam Tor scored a commendable 9.17 out of 10, narrowly missing out on the top spot to the Seven Sisters’ score of 9.38, reports the Manchester Evening News.

The circular walk kicks off in the beautiful village of Hope, which is a mere 48-minute train ride from Manchester Piccadilly train station. Taking roughly one and a half hours to complete, this moderate route leads you to one of England’s most iconic hills, Mam Tor, offering spectacular views across the Hope Valley.

After their hike, walkers can unwind with a well-deserved visit to one of historic Hope’s numerous picturesque pubs and cafes, including the dog-friendly Cheshire Cheese Inn or the Old Hall Hotel. Other notable nearby villages include Castleton and Edale.

One of the top ten walks easily accessible by train from Manchester is the Kent Estuary and Arnside Knott Circular in Cumbria. Starting in Arnside, just an hour and 20 minutes away from Manchester Piccadilly by train, this walk offers stunning views of Morecambe Bay and the Lakeland fells.

UK’s best walks that you can reach by train, as recommended and ranked by Blacks:

1. Seven Sisters and Seaford, East Sussex
2. Mam Tor Circular, Hope, Derbyshire
3. Box Hill Circular, Box Hill & Westhumble, Surrey
4. Arthurs Seat, Edinburgh Waverley, Edinburgh
5. Whernside and Ribblehead Circular, Ribblehead, North Yorkshire
6. Kent Estuary and Arnside Knott Circular, Arnside, Cumbria
7. Dover White Cliffs Walk, Dover Priory, Kent
8. East Strand, Portrush, County Antrim
9. Cleveland Way: Scarborough to Filey, Scarborough, North Yorkshire
10. Ilkley Moor and Cow & Calf Rocks, Ilkley, West Yorkshire

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The baguette was fresh from the boulangerie that morning, a perfect fusion of airy lightness and crackled crust. The cheese – a nutty, golden gruyère – we’d bought from Pierre: we hadn’t expected to hike past a human, let alone a fromagerie, in the teeny hillside hamlet of Rouet, and it had taken a while to rouse the cheesemaker from within his thick farmhouse walls. But thankfully we’d persevered. Because now we were resting in a valley of pine and pasture with the finest sandwich we’d ever eaten. Just two ingredients. Three, if you counted the mountain air.

As lunches go, it was deliciously simple. But then, so was this trip, plainly called “Hiking in the French Alps” on the website. The name had struck me as so unimaginative I was perversely intrigued; now it seemed that Macs Adventure – organisers of this self-guided walk in the Queyras region – were just being admirably to the point.

Yes, Queyras. I hadn’t heard of it either. Bordered to the north and east by Italy, barricaded by a phalanx of 3,000-metre peaks, this regional natural park might be the least-discovered – and the Frenchest – corner of the Alps. Queyras only really entered the national consciousness in 1957, after disastrous floods made it briefly headline news. Tourism filtered in. But it remains little known to outsiders, and centuries of undisturbed agriculture and isolation mean its rural character has been preserved.

Even now Queyras takes some effort to reach. Either you take the narrow, hair-pinning road through the gorges of the Guil River from Guillestre. Or you drive over the 2,361-metre Col d’Izoard (from Briançon) or the 2,744-metre Col Agnel (from Italy), both of which periodically test the thighs of Tour de France riders, and both of which close over winter, all but cutting Queyras off from the rest of the world.

Making the most of Macs Adventure’s collaboration with the no-fly specialists Byway, my husband and I travelled as close as we could by train. We overnighted in Paris, whizzed down to south-east France, then chugged more slowly towards Montdauphin-Guillestre, where a Vauban hilltop fort surveils a strategic meeting of valleys. Finally, we boarded the end-of-day school bus, joining children inured to the spectacular views to squeeze up the valley to Ceillac, gateway to the natural park.

The plan from here was to spend six days hiking a circular route that promised big, satisfying climbs but no technical terrain (and no shared dorms or privation). Covering up to 12 miles each day – and walking for an average of six hours – we’d use parts of the GR58 (the grande randonnée that circuits Queyras) as well as other trails to roam between traditional villages. We’d eat cheese, gaze over lakes and mountains, and generally revel in a region that, reputedly, has 300 days of sunshine a year and as many species of flowers as it does people (about 2,500 of both).

On day one this meant walking from Ceillac to Saint-Véran, over the Col des Estronques (2,651 metres). It was a fine start, under blue September skies – we’d come at the end of the hiking season (the trip runs June to mid-September), when crocuses still fleck the meadows and houseleeks hang on higher up, but the bilberry bushes are beginning to blaze in fall-fiery colours and there’s a sense of change in the air.

We joined a light stream of other walkers, progressing up the valley via lonely farmsteads and meadows bouncing with crickets. Noisy choughs and a boisterous breeze welcomed us to the pass itself; 100 vertical metres more took us to the lookout of Tête de Jacquette, where we felt like monarchs of this mountain realm. These may not have been the very biggest Alps – few peaks sported any snow – but they rippled every which way, great waves of limestone, dolomite, gabbro and schist.

From the col we dropped down through arolla pine and larch to Saint-Véran. At 2,042 metres, it claims to be the highest village in Europe. It’s also a snapshot of Alpine life before the modern world seeped in. The oldest house, built in traditional Saint-Véran style, dates to 1641 and is now the Soum Museum; the ground floor, with its half-metre-thick stone walls, is where animals and families would sleep together for warmth. The upper floors, built from tree trunks, were used to keep hay, barley and rye; the grains were made into coarse loaves that would last all winter, baked in the communal oven.

That enormous village oven is still fired up a few times a year, for festivals. But I was pleased to be fed at Hotel le Grand Tétras (“Capercaillie”) instead. Here, we feasted on gratin d’oreilles d’âne (literally “donkey’s ears”, actually a delicious spinach lasagne) and stayed in a simple room with a five-star view to the opposite peaks.

After this, our days settled into a familiar pattern. We’d set off after breakfast to buy picnic supplies. We’d hike up through butterfly-wafted green. We’d cross a pass, go by a lake or reach a panoramic ridge. Then we’d descend through forest or towards an icy river. By evening we’d be ensconced in a pretty village, drinking reasonably priced wine, with a multicourse meal or an indulgent fondue. The air was always fresh, the trails always joyful, the crowds largely thin.

“It’s busy here mid-July to mid-September,” said Christophe Delhaise Ramond, the owner of a gîte in Abriès where we stayed one night, as he poured us mélèze (larch) liqueurs while we pored over maps. Then he reconsidered: “But there are only around 2,000 tourist beds in the park, so it’s never that bad.”

It’s thanks to Christophe that we made a slight detour the following day. As planned, we climbed up to 2,583-metre Lac Grand Laus, a lake so brilliantly blue-green it seemed a bit of the Mediterranean had got lost in the mountains. It was spectacular, but as crowded as we’d seen anywhere in Queyras. So, on Christophe’s suggestion, we continued to climb, steeply, up to the Col du Petit Malrif, where tenacious flowers popped through the rocks and the views were immense, reaching to snow-licked peaks.

From here, we looped back, via two smaller, but no less Mediterranean, tarns, where there were no other people. At the second we flopped down in the cotton grass and chewed baguettes stuffed with bleu de queyras. We stayed there long after the baguettes were gone, listening to the water burbling in the wind. Finally, we headed on, descending via a rocky cleft. Soon we emerged on a track so swirled by puffs of silken thistledown it was as if we were hiking in Fairyland. But no, we were still just hiking in the French Alps – albeit a particularly magical bit.

The trip was provided by Macs Adventure and Byway,; the seven-night self-guided Hiking in the French Alps trip costs from £1,150pp half-board. Transport was provided by Byway, which can book return trains from London to Montdauphin-Guillestre, plus a night in Paris in each direction, from £734pp

July 27 (UPI) — “All available resources are being used” to find the suspect in the deaths of a couple hiking on a trail at a northwest Arkansas state park, Col. Mike Hagar of the Arkansas State Police said Sunday.

Clinton David Brink, 43, and his wife, Cristenb Amanda Brinks, 41, were killed at Devil’s Den State Park near Fayetteville in Washington County on Saturday afternoon, state police said. The couple, who recently moved to Prairie Grove from another state, were hiking with their daughters, 7 and 9, who were not injured.

They are safe and in the custody of relatives, police said.

“I want to thank the public and our media partners for their support as we pursue the man responsible for this heinous crime,” Hagar said in a statement. “We are using all available resources to apprehend this suspect and bring him to justice.”

Assisting are local, state and federal law enforcement.

The 2,500-acre park is in a remote and rural area, including rugged terrain with thick vegetation and no cellphone service. The park includes several trails and 20 miles for horseback riding.

The park is in Lee Creek Valley of the Boston Mountains, which are part of the Ozarks. It was selected as a state park in the 1930s, and developed by the Civilian Conservation Corps, a work relief program established during the Great Depression.

Devil’s Den also includes caves, an 8-acre man-made lake for fishing and boating, as well as a swimming pool. Campsites and cabins are also available.

Police were dispatched at 2:40 p.m. local time Saturday.

Investigators have not released the circumstances of the situation but have launched a double homicide investigation.

They are asking for the public’ help in identifying the suspect.

“Investigators are asking those who visited the park on Saturday to check cellphone photos and videos or GoPro camera footage for images of the suspect,” according to the police statement.

Also, people nearby are asked to check their home security camera footage.

The state police believe he is a White man with a medium build who was carrying a backpack.

Police said he was driving toward a park exit in a black, four-door sedan, possibly a Mazda.

The vehicle may have been going on State Highway 170 to State Highway 220 near the park.

There is increased law enforcement in all of the state parks.

“We are praying for the family and friends of the victims, and know that law enforcement will not rest until the perpetrator is brought to justice,” Arkansas Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders posted on X.

A number of people who have visited the bone caves have been greeted by deer, with the area being labelled one of the ‘most mysterious and magical’ in the UK

The UK boasts an array of breathtaking walks, but the Scottish Highlands are particularly noteworthy. Here, you can traverse mountain paths, skirt around lochs, and explore caves or the remnants of ancient castles.

One path leads to the ominously named ‘bone caves. Situated in Assynt, close to Inchnadamph, the bone caves have been dubbed one of the “most mysterious and magical places” in the UK.

The discovery of lynx, reindeer, and polar bear bones within these caves is a testament to their past inhabitants, despite these species no longer roaming the region.

Comprising four natural limestone caves set into the high limestone cliff face of Creag nan Uamh (Crag of the Caves), they stretch about five metres deep and are just tall enough for an average person to stand upright.

These caves were once part of a larger system that has since been worn away by erosion as the valley deepened, leaving only a few intact today, reports the Express.

First documented in 1889 by Geologists Peach and Horne, the caves’ true treasures weren’t unearthed until 1928 when J. E. Cree conducted excavations.

Cree’s exploration yielded a bear tooth, human skeletons, antlers, among other artefacts. Many of these discoveries from the caves are now exhibited at the Royal Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh.

To access the caves, walkhighlands.co.uk provides a route that begins at a car park on the A837 between Elphin and Inchnadamph.

Several visitors have shared their experiences on TripAdvisor. One review reads: “Amazing walk, amazing scenery and a real sense of atmosphere when you arrive at the bone caves. Fairly easy most of the way, a few rocky areas.”

Another wrote: “This is a great walk, only takes about 1hour each way. Should have a stick and good shoes for walking but otherwise very simple walk. Certainly recommend this if in the area, really pretty walk and great views from the caves.”

While a third visitor commented: “These are a set of natural pre-Ice Age caves set high in a limestone cliff, where a large number of animal bones were discovered during excavation (hence the name).

“It’s a beautiful trail through a deep, secluded valley with a steep climb up to the caves followed by a sharp vertigo-inducing descent right along the edge of the cliff back to the valley. We were greeted by a deer at the end of our walk!”

Chris and Sam, known as ‘The Travel Duo’, stumbled across the idyllic sandy beach off Scotland’s west coast

Don’t let a tight budget put you off dreaming of the Maldives. A couple has accidentally stumbled upon what’s been coined the ‘Maldives of Scotland’ during a hiking holiday.

This hidden gem offers an enchanting beach with white sands and crystal-clear waters that seem almost too good to be true. Dubbed ‘The Travel Duo’, Chris and Sam took to YouTube to share their unexpected find in 2023.

“I was just on the beach, we were just about to leave,” Sam said, according to the Express. “I sent the drone up to get some drone shots of this beach and I saw another incredible stunning spot on the other side of this mountain.

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“…So, I’m taking Chris and Fletcher on a little bit of an adventure to see if we can get there because it looks insane.” Their trek through mud and hills soon paid off with the revelation of pristine white sands.

“Doesn’t it look like the Maldives?” she said, before later adding: “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Honestly, it’s insane, and that water is way too good to not go in for a swim.”

Chris and Sam’s dreamy beach lies hidden on the Isle of Harris, nestled off the west coast of Scotland in the Outer Hebrides. While they’ve kept its precise location under wraps, Harris is laden with scenic spots for those in search of a comparable adventure.

Take Luskentyre Sands, which Time Out ranked among the nation’s finest beaches last year. The heavenly spot is celebrated not just for its sweeping stretch of pristine white sand but also for being the backdrop of BBC’s Castaway series.

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Despite its fame, you’ll have no trouble finding a spot for your towel either, thanks to its remote position keeping it fairly untouched by crowds. The combined population of Harris, Lewis and their smaller surrounding islands is just over 21,000.

Wildlife fans should also note Hushinish beach, another treasure situated at the end of a 12-mile stretch of road on Harris’ western coast. This gem is a favourite among dolphins and seals, according to Visit Scotland, while offering stunning views of the Atlantic Ocean.

Meanwhile, according to Travel Republic, Maldivian holidays cost around £1,700 per person each week, so these spots are a great alternative for Brits looking for a budget trip. Commenters seem to agree too, voicing their disbelief at Chris and Sam’s video.

One wrote: “Got to keep some secrets, Lewis and Harris [are] on my list for this summer when I can get a trip off from work at sea, my beagles need to be free on these beaches, great vid.” Another added: “Wow. Such a great video and what a place!!”

What do you think? Let us know in the comment section below

One travel expert’s advice may just make your summer

Craving a slice of Hawaii without breaking the bank? One travel enthusiast may just have an ideal budget-friendly recommendation for you.

Last month, ‘Jamie Travel’ took to TikTok to share his admiration for what’s commonly dubbed the ‘Hawaii of Europe’. Boasting picturesque black sand beaches, mountain trails and vibrant cultural spots, this hidden gem has something for everyone. And Jamie said he managed to get return flights for £67 with Ryanair, too.

“I always wondered why Madeira was called the ‘Hawaii of Europe’ and soon found out why,” Jamie told his 29,000 followers. “I visited for four days earlier this year, and it definitely exceeded my expectations. If you love adventure, hiking or just spending time in nature, but also want the option to chill by a pool, I highly encourage you to visit.

“We secured flights for just £67, made our way into one of the most dangerous airport landings in Europe before checking into our hotel in the city of Funchal.”

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Madeira is a small Portuguese archipelago situated roughly 1,000 km from the European mainland and 500 km from North Africa. It consists of four scenic islands, and its capital city, Funchal, was the birthplace of legendary footballer Cristiano Ronaldo.

Although Jamie insists there are ‘101 things to do’ in Madeira, he drew special attention to its various hiking routes, which are also known as ‘PR trails’. These run alongside waterfalls and pass through tunnels while providing ‘breathtaking mountain views’.

He continued: “It’s impossible to show you everything that we got up to in one short video, but I will show you the best of what we did there. We started day one by taking a Bolt Taxi up to the PR1 trail for what turned out to be an absolutely incredible sunrise.

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“We followed the trail to many of the viewpoints along the way and also walked the famous ‘Stairway to Heaven’. We then took a cable car up to Monte Palace, which is one of the most unique places in Madeira before opting for a quicker way down using the famous wicker toboggan ride.”

In the days following, Jamie and his companions spent some time exploring the island’s black sand beaches and natural pools. They also ventured through the eerily enchanting Fanal Forest, considered part of the Laurisilva Forest.

You’d be forgiven for thinking this UNESCO Heritage site was pulled straight from a set of The Hobbit. It conserves the largest surviving area of primary laurel forest – a vegetation type now confined to the Azores, Madeira and the Canary Islands.

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“We also hiked the PR9 trail, which is a 14km out-and-back trail that passes through waterfalls and tunnels,” Jamie said. “And you end up at this huge waterfall, the Caldeirão Verde.

“It is definitely a trip that went far too quick, so I hope to revisit in the near future. I hope this is your sign to book that trip to Madeira, as it’s not somewhere you want to miss.”

July 4 (UPI) — Rescuers in Alaska recovered the body of a 62-year-old woman who went on a hike in the mountains near Juneau after leaving the Norwegian Bliss cruise ship.

Marites Buenafe, a medical doctor from Kentucky, was a passenger on the Norwegian Bliss, which was a seven-day round-trip from Seattle. Her body was found on Thursday, the Alaska Department of Public Safety State Troopers announced.

Around 7:30 a.m. Tuesday, she texted family members that she was going up going up Mount Roberts Tramway in Juneau and would hike from Gold Ridge to Gastineau Peak, the troopers reported.

Security footage showed Buenafe at the top of the tramway.

The 4-mile hike is challenging and usually takes three hours, hiking website AllTrails states.

The ship was scheduled to depart around 1:30 p.m. At around 3:15, Buenafe was reported missing.

Juneau Mountain Rescue searched on the ground and used thermal drones to scan the area, the Alaska Department of Public Safety said.

Also, an Alaska Wildlife Troopers helicopter and a U.S. Coast Guard helicopter conducted aerial searches, the department said.

The search continued Wednesday with more than a dozen professional volunteers, as well as Juneau police officers, Alaska state troopers and Juneau Mountain Rescue.

Also utilized were drones and K-9s. Helicopter use was limited because of windy conditions.

The search resumed Thursday. At 11:56 a.m., Alaska Army National Guard helicopter crew located Buenafe’s body some approximately 1,700 feet below the ridge line of Gold Ridge, the Alaska Department of Public Safety said.

Crews then recovered her body, which was taken to the state medical examiner’s office for autopsy.

Buenafe was listed on the University of Kentucky Healthcare system’s website as a doctor.

DPS spokesperson Austin McDaniel told KYES-TV it is important to inform somebody of hiking plans.

“If you don’t return on time, they can alert first responders, alert search and rescue teams, the troopers, so we can immediately begin formulating a plan and activating resources to help get you out of the field,” McDaniel said.

I tested myself if I could go a day without using my phone by participating on an 18-mile hike with nothing but a bottle of water – and what I discovered about myself was unexpectedly rewarding

I’m not the only one who says that I live attached to my phone and that everything I own and treasure is there. Realising that my screen time is higher than the average person’s, I wanted to prove to myself that I could go a day without it. So, when I saw the opportunity to go on a hike in the middle of nowhere with zero phone service, I couldn’t say no to it.

I wouldn’t consider myself a very sporty person, nor do I think I would have ever been interested in completing a hike by choice. With no expectations or preparations, except for a nice kit provided by Columbia Sportswear, I went for it – and let me tell you, it was so worth it.

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Hiking is nature’s therapy

Throughout the year, Columbia Hike Society hosts multiple “Hike Fests” across the world. The whole point is to walk for miles and miles until you reach your destination, where a reward awaits you.

In our case, it was an emerging duo group called Lavender Music and Bombay Bicycle Club, an English indie rock band – and of course, a beautiful beach that looked like the ones in the Almafi Coast.

We walked through fields, along coastal paths and over sand dunes to an isolated area of Anglesey, located in north-western Wales. There was something so therapeutic about listening to the wind, the birds, the waves of the sea, and even the sound of the sole of the shoe touching the rocky ground.

Hiking is an underrated activity that is both engaging and relaxing. I appreciated the silence and being fully present in nature for three hours without using my phone and without listening to music. It’s also a social media trend called ‘rawdogging’, which is a slang term is used when undertaking an activity without any assistance, preparation or comfort.

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Living in the moment

Thankfully, my friend joined the trip, which made it much more bearable, with a few laughs in between. We kept stopping to take pictures, but the insane views can’t be as appreciated through the lens as much as they are through your own eyes. Being born and raised in Barcelona, and also being used to the busy London environment, I didn’t think that the UK had the potential to be so beautiful!

Once we arrived at the beach, we sat down to eat our lunch and enjoyed performances from Lavender and Bombay Bicycle Club as the clear blue skies and sunlight graced us. That’s when I realised that I was going to wake up the next morning with a stiff body and that I was so unfit and should probably start going to the gym – but that’s another story.

What started at 10am, ended at 13:46pm, to be exact. During those long hours of non-stop walking, it gave me plenty of time to think about a lot of things, and I learnt to enjoy my own company without wanting to check my phone notifications.

I’ve also learnt to live in the moment, something we sometimes forget to do because we spend most of our time focused on what’s happening on social media and don’t look at what’s right in front of us.

But the one thing that I appreciated the most about this hiking trip was the realisation of how little we actually invest into ourselves and our well-being, and although it was my first time hiking, it will definitely not be the last one.