It was 9am and I was, much like the white rabbit, running late. I was caught up having a WWE style wrestling showdown with some waist high tussock. It’d just about pinned me to the ground, and I was on the third count when… I heard a whistle. I broke free from the tussle and looked upwards at the scree slope ahead of me.

There, silhouetted against a bright blue sky and every so slightly obscured by whisps of encroaching cloud, were the outline of two human beans. “Hi Kevin!!!” I shouted at the top of My lungs. “…I’ll, err, be there in a minute…” Which seemed like an obvious continuation, but something I should mention, just to be polite.

The Scree slope where Kevin and Sid appeared

In fact, I lied – It was a good four minutes before I’d scrambled my way to the top. Between gasps for air and an effort to relocate my lost lungs, I reached out a hand. “Hi (gasp) I’m (gasp) Anna.”

I’d never met Kevin before. But he was a friend of a friend (of a friend) and had emailed last week to offer me a ride around a rather big scary river. We’d arranged to meet at Crooked Spur hut, just at the edge of the Two Thumbs range. Unfortunately in my 3 day journey to the hut I’d been slowed up by a) thick fog b) chatting c) more chatting, and so I was a day overdue in my arrival. With no way of communicating with one another I decided to leave as early as possible the following morning to make the rendezvous point. I wasn’t too worried. Kev seemed like just the most laid back bloke in the Southern Hemisphere, and I figured he’d know I’d appear sooner or later.

Introductions made, along with a loose plan of action for the day I bounded down to the Crooked Spur hut, with Kev and Sid following close behind. There we had ourselves a spot of luncheon. I was running a bit low on food and all I had left were a few crackers and some wine gums, so I gleefully munched on the apples, apricots, scroggin and oysters from a can (?!???!) that the lads had brought with them.

Chasing  the backcountry dudes down the valley toward the Rangitata.

As it turns out, both of them were rather accomplished outdoorsmen. Syd casually regaled the time he’d had climbed Denali / Mt McKinley and it became quickly apparent that he was somewhat of a backcountry dude. Kevin was simlarly dude esc, although admitted he wasn’t quite in Syd’s keague when it came to alpine climbing. “What’s the most memorable climb you’ve done?” I asked Sid. Turns out it was a night he’d spent stranded on the Mount Cook Grand Traverse – an icy ridgeline that connects the low, middle and high peaks of the mountain. Sid told me that one of the group had broken a crampon and so the going was slower than they’d expected. They’d had to spend a night of the ridge and continue the traverse at first light. “Yeah I guess it was pretty hard to sleep, with a sheer drop to either side, but I slept a bit. At least I brought my sleeping bag with me, just in case. The others had nothing.” CRIKEY.

TWO RIVERS (AND A RANT)

There are two big rivers in the South Island. Well, there are more than that, but there were only two I needed

Between the big rivers – Comyns old sheep muster hut

to be really concerned with. Rather unhelpfully, they both begin with the same letter. And so when referring to either the Rangitata (big river) or the Rakaia (even bigger river) I often get them mixed up. I’ll assert that I wasn’t alone in this, and many other trail users also did the same. Sometimes I even go for a hybrid river name: the Rakigitata (sounds like an Indian side dish) or the Rangania (sounds like an STI). The fact is there are so many places, obstacles, logistical things to be dealing with that my brain can only really function a week or two ahead. Which is why when Southbounders (SOBOs) begin helpfully telling me about places in the North island – I see their lips moving, but all I hear is lift music.

Anyway, I digress. These rivers. They are big and braided and knarley. And when I say braided I mean that they sprawl into a multitude of channels, of different depths and speeds, so really what you’re crossing are 7 rivers. The Rangitata, for example, if you do decide to cross it will take you around 1.5 hours to get to the other side. And sometimes you might get half way and realise that you can’t continue on, leaving no choice but to turn back.

The Rakaia is a different beast entirely, and the trail notes say under no circumstances should you attempt to cross the it. So when I hear tales of Te Araroa trampers who’ve crossed it, I’m quite sure what to think (I’ll pause briefly here and hold up my rant card). I understand the trampers frustration – they’re tired, they want to push on and it can take a full extra day, sometimes two, to hitch rides around the river. Passing traffic on the roads is slim to none. But my thinking is – what’s two days as a price to pay for your life? I’d say it’s a fair trade.

Looking down towards the big beasts Rakaia

Of course everyone is responsible for themselves at the end of the day, and if they feel that they’re equipped with the skills to cross the Raikia – then OK. What’s definitely not okay (and what really got my running pants in a twist) is when those headed South write in the hut books where they’ve crossed, and encourage others to do the same. 150 people are travelling along the Te Araroa this year, including some as young as 19 on their first big trip. I worry that unless something is done to help trampers get safe and easy passage around the Rakaia, there’ll be a sad tale to tell in years to come. I have a friend who’s friend was swept away on the river. So yes, going around it may be a pain in the arse. Or perhaps it’s just an additional mini-adventure? I’ll view it as the latter.

It didn’t take me too much thought to decide that crossing either of these rivers wasn’t something I needed to ‘do’. So I enjoyed a nice 80km run round the Rakaia to the nearest bridge (with a bonus sleep in a bush on the way) and for the Rangitata – I let Kev give me a ride out on one side. And after a break in Christchurch I got a ride back to the trail on the other side. Magic.

A rather happy me on the way down to the Rakaia.

CHRISTCHURCH

Four years on and the wounds of a city ravaged by multiple earthquakes are still open for all to see. I wasn’t sure how I’d find Christchurch, but I consider my trip there to be a true blessing. To get a first hand look at the lives of individuals being rebuilt from the rubble is possibly one of the most humbling experiences I’ve had.

When the September 2010 quake hit it was 4am. From those I spoke to, most reported that they didn’t even make it out of bed. They’d just turned to their loved one, held them tight and waited for the end. To hear someone describe that scene put a significant lump in my throat. I cannot begin to imagine what that feels like, even considering it made me want to call all of my loved ones then and there.

The more devastating February 2011 quake created the biggest peak ground acceleration recorded anywhere in history – a vertical movement with a force of up to 2.2 times gravity. It was this acceleration and the close vicinity to the city that led to 185 people loosing their lives, over 100,000 homes damaged and 10,000 completely destroyed.

A Christchurch tribute: agapanthus in traffic cones line the streets each year

Everyone in Christchurch has a story to tell, because everyone was somewhere when the quakes happened. One woman was two minutes away from arriving in a shop, where everyone inside was killed. Another man wasn’t sat in his chair by the window as usual that day, a window that broke into large jagged shards and spread across the living room. I heard the tale of another young lady who’d run miles across town, as far and as fast as she could to escape the central business district.

But from great tradgey, hope springs eternal. And the tales from Christchurch are no different. Art, music, funky pop-up malls are all around. I visited the ‘cardboard cathedral’, made in part quite literally out of cardboard (albeit reinforced in many places) – erected as a temporary replacement for the city’s original gothic stone building.

Each year on the anniversary of the quake, residents place a traffic cone outside in the street, with an agapanthus in the top. These cones aren’t just a memorial to those who lost their lives, they’re a nod to the future too. A reminder that amongst them live a community of people with the strength and spirit to prosper, when all the physical elements of their world have fallen into disrepair.

Well, it’s time to slip my trainers on again and go and play with some mountains. Next week I’ll tell you all about backcountry huts (aka the shacks) and that day I went ahead and cried my eyes out.

Until then, please except a gigantic high-five and have yourselves a splendid week.

Much running-love,

McNuff xx

Setting off from the North side of the Rangitata river

It’s nearing the end of a very long day. The trail has twisted and turned for almost 20 miles now, plunging through bush, down to creek beds and dragging me back up to open tussocky tops. I stop to catch my breath, throw off the pack and flop, lifeless, at the side of the trail. I pull out the GPS, a rare treat and something I only sanction every hour or two. There it is, a small black square less than 1km from my current flop point. Princhester Hut. I haven’t even clapped eyes on it, and yet and I’m already deeply in love.

Princhester is one of 900 backcountry huts throughout New Zealand. Owned and operated by the department of conservation (DOC), they range from teeny weeny 1 or 2 person bivvys to the biggest (or so I’ve heard) 80 bunk hut in the Coromandel. I’m dedicating a whole wodge of words to these huts because they have been by far the greatest surprise
addition to the journey so far.

Martin’s Hut – my very first hut experience. Rustic.

HUTS = HISTORY

 

I had no idea how integral to the trip the hut system in the South Island would be. I was vaguely aware of it, thinking I’d use them as a back up if need be, but that I’d spend most of my time in the tent. As it turns out, these huts go way beyond just a place to rest your head. They are a response to the demands of the immediate physical environment, a shelter from the storm, and a somewhere you are most likely to meet another living soul – something that can be rare in the vast expanse of backcountry down South. 

 

Top Wairoa Hut, the Richmond Ranges

Best of all, these huts are a nod to the days of old. They are woven from the very fabric of New Zealand’s history. No hut is without purpose, whether it’s 6 or 60 years old, it was built for a reason. Some were constructed to house forestry workers as far back at the 1930’s, when deer culling was a full time job, supported by the government. Men would live for months at a time in bright orange huts, painted that way so that they were visible in the thick mountain fog. Others, in the Canterbury high country for example, were put in place to assist with the annual sheep muster – a yearly round up of the livestock. And the remainder have been put in more recently for recreational use – either by hunters or local tramping clubs. To understand the reason for a hut’s existence, is to better understand the area you’re travelling through. And I love that. 

 

If you take the time to read the messages, the hut walls tell a story of their own. Okay some are the scrawls of horny school kids (apparently Martin woz ere) but others carry a little more depth in their meaning. Should you ever visit Double Hut, just beyond the Rangitata river, you’ll see an inscription that reads: “E.hilary, training run. 1952.” Yeap, that’s Sir Edmund Hilary, the first man to climb Everest. He rested his head in the very same four walls, as I. Magic. 

 

A Frame Hut, Rakaia river valley

THE TOP HUT-DAWGS

 

What I love the most is that every hut is so wonderfully different. Each has their own personality and charm. Here’s my top 5 so far: 

 

1. Rose Hut: Middle of the Motatapu mountains. Set on a grassy plain looking down the valley. Huge veranda and an icy stream close by. 
2. A Frame Hut, Rakia River valley: It’s just so cute I want to eat it. And buy one of my very own. 
3. Hurunui Hut: Nestled just inside the bush-line in Lake Sumner Forest Park. This one delivers a stellar sunrise. There are mice, but they’re relatively well behaved and will entertain you with their circus tricks pre-dinner.
4. Martins Hut, Longwood forests: This one took my hut cherry, and so will always have a special place in my heart. It epitomises ‘original features’ i.e everything is original. There are holes in the walls and the door blows open in the night. Creepy.
5. Mt Rintoul Hut: It’s a long slog to make it to this one, up at 1,206m. On a clear day you can see the Tasman bay and the bustle of Nelson way in the distance. Beyond the hut, the only way is up and along the Mt Rintoul ridgeline.

Rose Hut, Motatapu Mountains

Glory aside, huts are communal spaces and there are unwritten rules which must be followed within them. A few points to note on hut etiquette are:

 

• Farting is generally outlawed. If one does escape you should claim it proudly as your own (hunters do this very well) or contain it within your sleeping bag. 
• Snoring happens – bring earplugs and deal with it. 
• Mice and rats will eat your food – bag it up and hang it from the ceiling. 
• Getting up at 5am and rustling bags is inhumane. It’s still dark outside. Why in God’s name are you making your porridge in the dark? Go back to bed and wake up with the sun.
• Hut bedtime is 9pm. This is non negotiable. 
• When using the hut loo for a no.2 – take aim and get a clean shot, or pee it down. No one wants to see the dehydrated peas you ate last night clinging to the side of the long drop. 

At the end of a long day, there’s just something magical about rounding the bend to see the sun glinting off of a tin roof in the distance. Turning the handle / flipping the latch / pulling the dodgey piece of of string and not knowing who or what you might find on the other side is all part of the fun.

Camp Stream Hut, built in 1898

HOLD UP

Like a good girl, all organised and what not, I’d posted a parcel of food ahead to the village at Arthur’s Pass National Park. I scampered the 5km off route up the hill to collect the box, and spent a night at the youth hostel there. And boy am I glad I did, for that night the heavens of the West Coast of New Zealand opened. And they poured.

I’m not fussed about running in the rain, in fact, I quite enjoy a gentle mid-jog shower. But unfortunately the next section of the trail involved a) fording a river to get to the start of it and b) running down a river after that. So for two days I hung out at the YHA –  making new friends, instigating an international marshmallow roast-up on the living room fire (delegates from the USA, Ireland, Israel, Germany and … Norfolk were in attendance) and waiting for the river levels to drop.

THAT DAY

Days on the trail aren’t always about the physical terrain. Often I find they’re a result of all

The beautifully board walked route up to Goat Pass

the many variables involved in a human powered journey: general mood, tiredness, weather, what you ate for breakfast… One guy had told me that the Mingha – Deception track was his favourite section of the entire TA trail. Couple that with the knowledge that they use it for the annual Speight’s Coast to Coast race, and I thought I was on to a winner.

The fact that there was no one up at Goat Pass Hut creeped me out. This was a trail I’d been warned to avoid at the weekends. SOBOs had talked of ‘crowds’ travelling up the pass, but when I arrived in the evening the clouds were creeping in and there wasn’t a soul around. So I’ll admit I started the next day down the Deception river in a bit of a funny mood.

“Both the Mingha and the Deception river can be dangerous. Do not attempt this trip when bad weather is forecast or the rivers are high. Descent of the deception river will require up to 30 compulsory river crossings.” 

AND SO, I CRIED

The  start of a slippery trail down the Deception River

Before each crossing I would take a deep breath, clip my safety tracker in a waterproof bag to my sports bra (in case I fell as lost my pack), give myself a bit of self talk and off I went. Some crossings were only calf deep. But as the river widened further down the valley, other’s came up to my chest (although in the deeper water the flow is often calmer and more manageable). Sometimes I’d make it half way across the river, put my leg out into the stream and feel a force on it that was just too strong. So I’d backtrack, and spend 20 minutes travelling upstream again to find a better place. The going was painfully slow, I grew tired of being frightened and got full-on frustrated. And when I get frustrated, I cry. So I cried. And filmed it so you all could see (aren’t I lovely?).

Post cry things were a little more rosy, but I wasn’t concentrating when I stepped off a rock and some undergrowth gave way. I went over on my right ankle and it gave a nice loud crack. I hit the deck and swore repeatedly. There I sat for 5 minutes letting the pain waft around, reluctant to get up and find out exactly how bad the damage was.

The Deception river a little further down.

I put the damage at about a 7.0 on the ankle-scale, but the final few hours of the day were a sorry state of affairs. Anyone who’s ever rolled an ankle knows that your body takes it as some kind of permission to repeatedly let it give way. “Oh this is what we do now, weeeee, what fun!” my ankle would sing as it rolled three, four, five… over ten more times. Each time my yelp was reduced to a less audible whimper.

THE FLOOD TRACK

At the bottom of the valley I then spent 2 hours hobbling and scrambling along  a ‘flood track’. These tracks are designed to avoid the riverbeds, and to keep you safe. Mostly they’re a pain in the heiney as they sidle a steep river bank and take you up and down with

An angry right ankle

no apparent rhyme or reason. This one was an extra special case. The rain and wind had caused a truckload of trees to come down, which left me crawling on hands and knees under trunks, over branches and sliding down muddy slopes. It was only later that I learned practically no one else doing the trail took this route. In the hold up at Arthur’s pass I’d missed the always crucial cross-chat with South-bounders and the instructions to just go out and take the road.

At 5pm I made an area flat enough to set up camp for the night. I crawled into the tent, inspected my rapidly ballooning ankle, ate cold porridge for dinner (because it’s all I had the energy to do), and had a long hard think. Was I an idiot to head on for four days into the bush with a busted ankle?

I can’t describe how arse tinglingly rubb-ash it was to sit there that night alone. I’m not bad at making decisions, but generally I like to talk them through. I wanted to call my Mum. I wanted someone I knew to give me a virtual or literal hug and to tell me it was all going to be okay. But I had no way of seeking counsel. In contrast to making me even more upset this actually brought a deep sense of calm. This was it, this was me, on my tod sorting my sh*t out. I’d come on this trip in search of my limits after all, and today I’d been right to the edge of them. I pulled on my leggings of wonderment and drifted off to sleep – telling myself that tomorrow I would wake stronger

than I’d been today.

Until il next week campers, adieu.

McNuff xx

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The Leggings of wonderment – scientifically proven to cure bad ankles

In the days leading up to heading over Waiau pass, I consulted the map. Uh oh – a dotted line. Dashed lines are good, dotted lines – not so much. They mean ‘a route’ rather than a trail. As in, you can go this way, many do, but be prepared to place your heart firmly in your mouth to negotiate it.

“Waiau Pass is a route for experienced trampers and mountain leaders only”. Dear mother above.

The night before taking on the pass, I stayed at the site of Caroline bivvy. The department of conservation do a pretty got job of maintaining huts, but some get rather neglected. Caroline’s reputation had preceded her. Cesspit, hell hole, mouse factory – were among the words used to describe it by Southbounders. “That thing needs burning down” one tramper had gone so far as to say. Another had reported that it was “an actual sh*t hole” and that someone (a human) had taken a dump right outside it. How splendid. Suffice it to say that I wasn’t expecting a Hilton, but that was okay, because it just so happens that I carry around my very own pop up palace for just such occasions.

OH MICKEY (YOU’RE SO FINE)

After inspecting Caroline’s crumbling innards and writing in her tattered log book, I pitched up in the trees nearby. In my haste (and in laziness), I camped a little closer than I should have done. And so, as night fell, the performance of Cirque de Rodent began. Miniature mickey mice suspended themselves from the ceiling, twirling from scarlet ribbons, as others flew between trapeze’s. One tamed a sandfly in the corner and another shot itself from a cannon. Okay, they didn’t quite do that, but I could hear them outside and woke to one doing laps of the tent. “How did you get in you little bugger?” No answer (rude if you ask me). I assumed it’d gotten in when I went for a wee and so duly evicted it before bedding down. An hour later and I woke to another crawling across my face. Across my actual face. Dear goodness. As my Mum always reminds me “You do know that mice pee as they run along, don’t you?” And so ensued a sleepless night, wondering if that taste on my lips was the Supernoodle spice sachet, or something a little more sinister.

Caroline Bivvy and the venue for Cirque Du Rodent

WAIAU PASS

Sleep or no sleep I was up and at em’ early doors the next day. I followed the trail up the Waiau riverbed and onto verdurous slopes, past tumbling waterfalls cascading into azure pools. The valley was filled with a low hanging cloud, and as I climbed the first hundred metres, I entered into a band of fine mist. Not an ideal day to be going up to a ridgeline at 1,700m, but I employed my favourite fear tactic (pretending it wasn’t happening) and ploughed on. The track steepened. And steepened. And steepened, until I was clambering up fissures, like Spider-(wo)Man. Hand over fist, pushing off one leg and reaching for another rock to haul myself upwards onto the next resting place. I paused to catch my breath. Was that? Yes, that was snow. It was snowing. Oh my. Well, the only way was

The icy icing on the cake at the top of Waiau Pass

onward, so onward I went until finally the vertical direction gave way to something a little more horizontal. Once on the ridgeline two snow poles appeared, instead of the usual one. ‘This is it!’ I thought. ‘This is the top!’ Alas, the snow poles giveth, and they taketh away – it was a false top. The real top was five minutes further on, marked by a suitably sized, icicle encrusted cairn. Was it me, or did it just start snowing harder? And has that wind picked up? I was half expecting Storm from the X-Men to appear, levitating in front of me, her eyes an opaque white as she concentrated her efforts on encasing me in an ever growing blizzard.

I scampered quickly down the other side, and within 100m the wind had stopped. And with every step the temperature rose, just a fraction. Ten minutes further on and would you Adam n’ Eve it, I was out of the cloud. Not only that, but into some bright sunshine too. Sunshine that glinted across the surface of Lake Constance, way down below. This side of the mountain was a whole different ball game, and I liked it very much. With each onward pace I relaxed further still and began to and enjoy a far less dramatic jog to Blue lake hut.

That night I caught up with Whio Warriors Finny and Fi again, who I hadn’t seen since the last town. We discussed Waiau pass, which they’d come over the day before. “It’s your classic type-5 fun” said Fiona. “Not much fun, and just bloody dangerous.”

The ‘other’ side – a sunny descent to Lake Constance

At the shores of Lake Constance

TRAVERS SADDLE

Nelson lakes doesn’t offer any rest for the wicked and after a night down next to the riverbed, I was back up at 1,700m the next day. Only this time it was an entirely different story. Two hours of ascending through thick bush (no scrambling required) had led me to Traver’s saddle. And oh my word, what a saddle. The skies were blue, the air was clear, and I could see a thousand miles from up there, or so it felt. Gargantuan granite peaks merged into grassy slopes, which tumbled away down the valley. Snow clung to the darkest corners of the rockfaces, but this time, and thankfully, it was no where near me. I must have spent 90 minutes covering the 300m along the top and down the other side. I just kept stopping to sit, eyes ablaze with the wonder of it all. And to feel the breeze on my face. And to eat cheese. And then to eat some more cheese. I truly didn’t want to come down. I was Julie Andrews: The hills were alive and it was glorious.

Double thumbs up for the postcard perfect Travers Saddle

THE RICHMOND RANGES

For Northbound TA travellers, the section through Mt Richmond Forest park is a thing of legend. Southbounders report it as the the most beautiful section of the entire trail, but the views aren’t without sacrifice. As one couple described it: “You go up, you go down, then you go up again. There is nothing else.” At this stage in the proceedings I’ll admit that I approached the Richmond’s as something to ‘just get through’. The mountains of the South Island hung like a lead weight around my neck, and my body was a little weary. Plus, I knew that beyond the Richmond’s lay the Queen Charlotte track – 70kms of undulating stunning trail, rumoured to be well graded and delectably run-able.

I was, as always, enjoying the sporadic company of Finny & Fi. And so over a boozy dinner in the small town of St Arnaud (I say boozy, I had a whole two glasses of wine) I decided to plan the week through the mountains so that I’d end up in the same hut as them each night. Thank goodness I did. In the 6 days through the ranges, I only encountered 2 other people. There is no denying that without their companionship, I would have gone, well, mental.

Finny and Fi at Mount Rintoul hut

The days began to settle into a rhythm. Each morning Finny and Fi would leave the hut before me. I’d stay behind, do my stretching exercises, faff a bit (a lot), spend too long reading one of the many back copies of Nat Geo left there, and then catch them up mid morning. We’d have a brief chat, share the genius creative ideas we’d had so far that day (of which there were plenty), question why it was so gosh darn hard, and then I’d bound on to whichever hut was next. There I’d take a nice long break, wait for them to arrive, and we’d lunch. As they were digesting, I’d skip off again to the hut for that night. I’d have time to take a nekked dunk in the nearby river, and curl up for an for a pre-dinner sleep before they came through the door, and we could begin digesting the days efforts.

The Whio Warriors on top of the world, looking down on creation

I wondered whether I was annoying the heck out of them by hanging on like a 3rd wheel, but my antics seemed to help break up their days too. Plus, I’m going to back myself that I offer unparalleled levels of entertainment. And on me being at the hut before them each night – “It’s lovely” said Fiona. “It’s like coming home to your mum after school.” Said despite the fact that I never once had tea on the table and didn’t help them with their map reading homework.

THE RED HILLS

The Richmond range begins in the Redhills, which are strangely enough, rather red. A rare section of mineral belt, these were unlike anything else I’d encountered on the trail so far. The pathway through them dived into creek beds, clambered over boulders, sidled steep banks and disappeared across scree slopes over Martian looking landscapes. As we consulted the map one morning, we were delighted to see that the trail passed ‘Gordon’s knob.’ “There goes Gordon again…” I said. “Getting his knob out.” Fiona looked sideways at me. “Oh Gordon.” She sighed. “You really can’t take him anywhere.” Quite.

RINTOUL AND THE RIDGES

This was it, this was hump day. The hardest day of the trail, and over halfway through the section. We got up in the dark at Mount Rintoul Hut, something ordinarily outlawed. There’s no point in tramping in the dark after all. But this was a special day, and an early start was crucial. The twinkle of Nelson was visable from the hut window, a good sign which indicated that the clouds had cleared overnight.

Off I went, up the steep initial climb, where the view was even more spectacular than from the hut below. “I’m at the top of the world, lookin’ down on creation...” I hummed as I puffed and panted to the top.

The Richmond Ranges – worth the effort

I’m not entirely sure how to describe the next three hours, other than to say that it was was hands-down the best section of the entire South Island so far. The trail scuttled along precarious ridgelines, and where the ridges became a little too jagged for even Te Araroa’s taste, it dropped down to scree slopes and climbed back up. Mountain peaks poked through a blanket of clouds, as the sun teamed up with the bluest of skies to frame ghostly outlines of the ranges I’d already run.

Scenes of inefferable natural beauty mingled with moments of panic, exhaustion, fear and elation. This I thought, was surely life at its fullest, and the world at its most beautiful. Two realisations that made me want to break into a Bill and Ted style air guitar every thirty minutes. This, I thought, was real living.

*Does an air guitar*

*Exits stage left*

Catch you soon kiddywinks :)

McNuff xx

Keep a skip in my step: Help me use this run to send some youngsters on life changing adventures by donating here

I’m in big trouble. I mean, like serious, knee-deep doggy doo doo. My problem? People.

I arrived in Wellington 10 days behind original schedule. No biggy, I thought, and reasoned that I’d make up time in the North Island. The terrain here is more suited to a runner after all. There are large sections along roads, and more frequent places to resupply, meaning a lighter pack and bigger daily mileage.

But all too often, Mr Reason and Mrs Reality decide to go their separate ways. Two
weeks in and it’s blindingly obvious that I was a fool was to think progress here would be faster. I am wading through treacle, stop starting more than I ever have because, well, there are people everywhere. And goodness knows I like people.

I collect them in fact. Their lives, their stories, where they grew up, how old their Grandma is, whether they’re a cat or a dog kind of person, what gets them out of bed in the morning and what they want to be when they grow up. I shrink them into mini caricature versions of themselves and store them in my mind and in the soles of my shoes for days when I need a smile, or to transport myself from the trail. I’m going to go as far as to say that I’m a people junkie. Try to make me go to rehab, and I’ll say no, no, no…

My biggest challenge to date: People (The O’Brien family in this case)

GIVING IT SOME WELLY

Whenever I’m asked whether I’ve been to New Zealand before, the answer sticks in my throat. Because the honest answer is yes. As a 19 year old I lived in Sydney for some time, and while I was there I did the typical European thing of thinking I should ‘pop across’ to New Zealand. Which is as ridiculous as saying I’ll ‘pop’ to North Africa from the UK.

Alas, my memory of a week spent in the country’s capital city is hazy to say the least. I have absolutely no idea what I did. I wasn’t even drunk. I didn’t have any money to be drunk. All I remember is that I took myself on a walk, read all 3 Lord of The Rings books (in a single week?!), had my debit card declined when I tried to withdraw money for a Snickers bar, and ate cabbage and potatoes for tea every night.

COFFEE O’CLOCK

I took a punt that these weren’t the only memories I should take away from a city as vibrant and eclectic as Wellington, so this time I arrived with eyes wide open. On a mission to mix a week of down time with a visit to

Rent-a-folks, Paul and Lindsey

as many coffee shops as humanely possible. I ticked off the local establishments one by one: Flight hangar, Te Kouka, Brew Bar, Cuckoo… I was a woman possessed. In between caffeine inhalation I went on variety of family excursions with Paul and Lindsey, my rented parents for the week. I visited the inner-city wildlife sanctuary of Zealandia, ate what was voted New Zealand’s best pie, took a windy drive over to the Wairarapa valley (my rent-a-folks let me sit in the front, on account of the fact that I get car sick and am prone to vomit). And if that wasn’t enough, to put a glistening cherry atop the cultural cake, I also went to see Shaun the Sheep at the cinema.

And yet, for all the things I did with a week in Welly, what I loved most of all were the hidden parts of the city. Notably the network of footpaths between the suburbs and the centre. Like a modern version of Naxos, who’s crumbling stone clad walkways take on a life of their own when the sun slides from view, Wellington’s myriad of steps, slopes and back alleys are all part of the city’s charm. By the end of the week, I’d managed to memorise the route ‘home’, plus a few variants, and was feeling exceedingly proud of myself. The fact that I got lost in the Botanical gardens on the morning of my departure is really neither here nor there.

THE WELLY WARRIORS

When the time came to leave, I made my way nervously to the Wellington cenotaph, in front of the city’s parliament building. To my delight there were 15 perfect strangers gathered, ready to join me for a run out of town. This was Saturday morning, prime time to get some training in before washing the car, running the kids to soccer practice, going to the supermarket, and all those other things that consume a worker’s weekend. I was truly touched that these guys had given up a slice of their free time to come and say hello. As the ‘Welly Warriors’ escorted me out into the hills at the back of the city, we shelled runners at intervals, each one of them packed off with a sweaty hug of gratitude and an oversized high-five. When, after 10 kilometres of company, the time came to trot Northwards on my own – I was absolutely buzzing.

The Wellinton Warriors, joining me for a run out of town

PERRY

It was a scorcher of a day. I’d shuffled my way along a not-so-pleasant highway from Palmertson North to Feilding, my mind now focussed firmly on the bottle of ice cold Fanta that lay in wait, just a kilometre down the road. It was then I spotted another runner, stopped at the side of the railway track, just up ahead. He was

A chance meeting with a legend

looking at me. I was looking back at him. And I thought that seeing as we were both looking, we should probably converse some. A few minutes into the exchange, it became apparent this was no ordinary dude. This dude was Perry Newburn.

Perry holds the Masters World record for the fastest run across America, which he completed in 51 and a half days, averaging 94 kilometres per day. He also ran 5,000km around the coast of New Zealand, and then from Auckland to Christchurch, to raise funds for the victims of the earthquakes. He then took on the challenge of running for 72 hours straight around his local motor racing circuit – just to see how far he could go. Suffering from his hallucinations and exhausted, he crossed the finish line having  covered 500 km. That’s another World record, by the way.

But it wasn’t just Perry’s accomplishments that made me smile, as he joined me for a run out of town the following day, What buoyed me the most was that two perfect strangers, from two different generations, living on the opposite sides of the planet could find so much in common. And what I loved even more was that Perry insisted he wasn’t anything special. He genuinely believes he’s just a normal guy who likes to run. And in a way, he is. It just so happens that he has the mental capacity to keep going far, far longer than most.

Perry: Just a normal, world record breaking kinda guy, who likes to run.

THE KIDS ARE ALRIGHT

More towns in the North island means more schools. And I’ve been in my element this week – visiting a greater number in the past two weeks than I did in the entire South Island. Sharing tales with kids is still a hugely important part of the journey. They’re the ones in charge when we all kick the bucket, after all. Anything I can do to encourage them to explore, understand this planet, and appreciate one another, well, it’s got to be worth a crack.

I always begin a school talk with an attempt to explain why I do, what I do. And the best way I’ve found to show that is with this diagram up there. It’s painstakingly obvious, beautifully simple and a point often forgotten in everyday life (by myself included). My favourite thing to do is to then ask the kids to explain the diagram to me in their own words, no matter how young they are.

In one primary school, I’d finished talking about the cycle through the 50 states, and went on:

“And what do you think happened to me after I’d been back in London for a while?”

A blonde haired boy raised his hand tentatively into the air. “Yes, you there, young man in the Spiderman top – go for it.”

He screwed up his face, angled his head down toward his lap, and looked up at me:
“Your magic bubble got all squashed up, n’…. an’… and it went back inside your com-fa-table zone?”

Precisely. He nailed it. If an 8 year old can understand the difference between cruising through life, and truly living – then there’s hope for us all.

And I’ll leave you there. This week’s challenge is to make sure your magic bubble gets an airing. Or to appear in public wearing a Spiderman top. Your call.

Until next week adventure team,

Auf Wiedersehen,
McNuff xx

If this blog has tickled you even slightly Pink, please help me send some disadvantaged youngsters on adventures of their very own here

If Carlsberg made rivers, they would make the Whanganui. It really is everything a river should be: Wet, winding, steep-banked, gorge-framed, tree-lined, tumbling and with a flow that can change from gentle stream to raging torrent on the flip of a dime. But I know, you know (that we know) rivers are about so much more than physicality. A World class river needs to offer the full package. It needs personality too. And let it be known – the Whanganui’s got swagger.

The Carlsberg of Rivers: The Whanganui

If I were following the Te Araroa trail to the letter, I should have kayaked the Whanganui. Indeed the stretch from Mangapurua Landing to Whanganui itself is one of New Zealand’s 9 ‘great walks’ (no that doesn’t make sense to me either). It’s a good job that I’m not a stickler for the rules then, and instead of a 5 day kayak I opted to run the 90km along the river road. A road so steeped in history that it made me gasp and giggle with glee. Here’s a few firm favourites:

JERUSALEM AND THE POET

The Poet James K. Baxter (and a few of his lady friends in the background)

Probably the most famous of settlements along the Whanganui is the small town of Jerusalem. Previously a fishing village, it became the site of a Roman catholic mission in 1854. It was here that Sister Suzanne Aubert later founded ‘The Order of Compassion’, which offered sanctuary to abandoned Pākehā (fair skinned/ non-Māori) children from Wellington.

In the century that followed, Jerusalem attracted it’s fair share of celebs. Most notably the poet James K. Baxter, who established a commune at the town in 1969. With the aim of understanding life from ‘the Māori side of the fence’ Baxter pioneered a community based on values of voluntary poverty, Catholicism and Māori spirituality. He described his ‘rules’ for community living in the 1971 Jerusalem Daybook:

Feed the hungry;
Give drink to the thirsty;
Give clothes to those who lack them;
Give hospitality to strangers;
Look after the sick;
Bail people out of jail, visit them in jail, and look after them when they come out of jail;
Go to neighbours’ funerals;
Tell other ignorant people what you in your ignorance think you know;
Help the doubtful to clarify their minds and make their own decisions;
Console the sad;
Reprove sinners, but gently, brother, gently;
Forgive what seems to be harm done to yourself;
Put up with difficult people;
Pray for whatever has life, including the spirits of the dead.

Upon speaking to those who live along the river today I discovered some more exotic tales about Baxter’s commune. Legend has it that each year, dozens of women would make the pilgrimage up the river road, just to ‘be’ with the poet. The Postman on duty during Baxter’s residency reported getting quite a shock when delivering mail – as several bare breasted beauties would emerge from the grounds to greet him. Then there’s the story about a driver who was unable to continue on up the road, because Baxter was in the middle of it, making sweet Whanganui love to one of his lady friends. I can only assume that the poet was trying to teach the driver to ‘put up with the difficult people‘ or ‘give clothes to those who lack them’ .

The Church at Jerusalem, on the bend of the Whanganui River

Jerusalem’s glory days have long since passed, and it’s now a hidden gem – home to a modest Māori community and frequented by small groups of tourists. It’s an undoubtedly special place, and I could see why an artistic soul like Baxter’s would have felt so at home here. On an autumn day, the sight of the evening sun wrapped around the spire of the hilltop church is breathtaking. The grounds are still beautifully maintained by two sisters of ‘The Order’, and the sizeable St Joseph’s convent remains immaculate – offering a bed to those who might be in need as they pass through.

OHU AND THE HIPPIES

Back in the 1970’s, with flower power drawing to a close, the New Zealand government launched a scheme that allowed land to be leased to groups who wanted to set up co-operative communities, called Ohu. Of these co-operatives, the one that lasted the longest was the Ahu Ahu Ohu, on the Whanganui river.

The main community building at the Ahu Ahu Ohu

Access to Ahu Ahu was deliberately complex. It could only be reached by canoeing across the river to a track entrance, then hiking for 90 minutes deep into the bush. Over the years, six couples made Ahu Ahu their home. They built a dairy, cold stores, bee keeping facilities, generated their own power, and used the location’s unique and sheltered microclimate to grow vegetables and nurture orchards. As time passed, the couples had families of their own. One child born at the Ohu was named… (wait for it) Misty Moon Beam.

Sadly Misty no longer lives at Ahu Ahu, and has instead made Whanganui town her home. The community survived until 2000, when after several efforts to keep its history alive, the land was reclaimed by the government. Today many of the buildings have been removed for safety reasons, but if you know where to look, you can still take a boat across the river from Te Tuhi landing and a hike up the old track to the secluded spot.

TONGARIRO

I was sad to leave the shores of the Whanganui river, but I’d literally run to the end of the line, by land at least. From the old tourist town of Pipiriki, I turned Eastwards and made for Ohakune – a laid back town with a traditional alpine vibe. From there I spent a day running uphill on what I later learnt to be the longest paved road ascent in New Zealand. At long last I entered into Tongariro National Park.

Tongariro National Park is, and I apologise for the lack of variety in vocabulary, frickin’ awesome. It arrives on the horizon, completely unannounced. There I am scampering along in lush, gently rolling green hills, and Boom! Ruddy great snow capped mountains in the middle of a volcanic martian landscape, all up in my face. From some 100km away you can see the peaks of Tongariro, Ruapehu and Ngaruhoe – all of which differ in size and style (yes mountains have style).

Once I’d clapped eyes on the most visible – Ruapehu – I couldn’t stop staring. It is majestic. If mountains were Lord of The Rings characters Ruapehu would be Gandalf. Something about its presence on the horizon makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. It puts the beauty of the planet and life itself into perspective.

The longest paved road ascent in NZ: Ohakune Mountain Road

Mount Ruapehu, the Gandalf of Tongariro.

CROSSING DAY

The beautifully graded pathway of Tongariro, snaking down the valley.

I’ll admit that I was nervous about the Tongariro Crossing. It was to be the last high point of the trip. The final place where I needed to seriously consider the weather, and be prepared to wait out anything less than a clear and fine day. Each year dozens of tourists are rescued from the crossing. Just last week a young German lad slipped and narrowly avoided a fatal fall. Granted, many rescues are due to the fact that the individual is a particularly special breed of muppet, and has decided to take on what is a serious alpine pass in a t-shirt, board shorts and flip flops. But others are well prepared hikers, who find themselves genuinely caught out. There’s no denying that Tongariro deserves a due amount of respect. That said, in comparison to the precarious places I’ve found myself scrambling, sliding and crawling along in the South island – Tongariro was a pussycat. And because I found it to be mostly pussycat like, I had a whale of a time trotting along its wide and beautifully graded pathway. There were even steps should the trail get too steep. Steps I tell you.

I opted for an early start and was on the trail just before dawn. After padding past a few keen tourists, I reached the top plateau at 8.30am. To my surprise, I was entirely alone. Clouds danced in the valley to the North, and the sky glowed in a mix of peach and scarlet hues – a remnant of what had been a near perfect sunrise. It was a humbling place. I stayed up there for for 15 minutes, enjoying the solitude and reflecting on the times over the past few months that I’d thought about making it to this point. I realised that this had to be one of the greatest gifts an adventure, or indeed any form of travel has to offer. To transform what were once letters on a map, contour lines, areas of shaded grey into a place that grabs you so tightly by the emotional nutsack that you can barely breathe. Once merely a name that I’d scribbled in my notepad, Tongariro had now become a full blown memory, and one that I’d cherish at that.

ONWARDS

And that’s it for today kiddywinks! I’m being chased by old man Winter as I make my way North and into the final 800km of the trip. In some ways thats not far to go at all, and yet I have a feeling some of the hardest yards could lie ahead.

Until next time,

Big Love,

McNuff xx

If reading this post has put the ding in your dong and brightened up your week, you can help me brighten up the lives of some kids by sending them on adventures. Spondoolies gratefully received for the little guys here

Daybreak at the top of the Tongariro crossing

The Emerald and Blue lakes of Tongariro National Park

Mount Dooooooom!!! (Also known as Ngaruhoe)

Jees Louise, I am tired. And it occurred to me that in my barefoot running, sunset snapping, unicorn pant wearing daily shares – that might not necessarily come across. So I thought I owed you all a little shot glass full of honesty.

The reality of entering the final month of a 6 month journey is…messy. My mind is a tangled web of thoughts, feelings and emotions – enough to give my hormonal 15 year old self run for her money. The only difference being that I can’t trudge up the stairs in my Airwalks, play Skunk Anasie at full volume and cry into my pillow.

MIND AND BOD

My bod is weary, and the wheels on this one-woman wagon are starting to fall off. My hips ache, my knees are ‘crunchy’ and I’m pretty sure that the vertebrae in my upper spine have given up on any form of salvation, opting instead to fuse themselves together in self defence. The tiny muscles that surround my shins are a tad upset too. I spend the first hour of each run wincing as I wait for them to pipe down. Then there’s the hot-spot on my left ankle, which I daren’t prod anymore. For each time I do, just to remind myself it hurts, guess what? It bloody hurts.

But I also believe this; pain is starting to rear its ugly head because I know I’m near the end. My body will keep going. It’s a running robot set to cruise control. I can run 30kms with a 14kg pack without a second thought, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t ‘normal’. That the first time I put 7 x 1kg bags of sugar in my pack and ran 5km, I nearly passed out.

THE REAL BATTLE

The real battle comes from the fact that I’m ready to be done. I’m ready to go home. I miss my family and my friends. I miss walking over Waterloo bridge at night, the curve of the Thames from Richmond hill, whizzing through Westminster on my bicycle – dodging angry cab drivers and absent minded tourists. I miss BBC Breakfast.

But I also know that I will miss this beautiful country and its wonderful people. I will miss the freedom and

Beloved BBC Breakfast

simplicity of the trail, and the life that it allows me to lead. A life I will dream of next month, when I’m staring at my tattered trainers wondering where the be-jaysus to go from here.

As of two weeks ago, these two opposing trains of thought officially began to drive me nuts. Why on Earth would I wish away the final miles, only to savour them in hindsight? So I turned to the greatest tools in any mental armoury for a little assistance.

DENIAL

I’m often asked – “How do you run for hours every day?” To which I reply: “I tell myself lies.”

I just pretend that I only have to run for another hour. That is to say I tell my body that this is where ‘we’ll’ stop. The ridiculous truth being that I know full well that I’ve got another 6 hours after that. But ssssssh. Don’t tell….um…me? For some reason denial works like a charm.

So I tried treating this last month as if it were the start of the trip. “Woo! Let’s go McNuff. Hup! Hup! Hup! Nouveaux Zealandia here I come!” It held up for a day or two, then fell flat on its face. One level of denial too far for even my brain to cope with, it seems.

DISTRACTION

Denial having failed me, I tried to buddy up to my other friend, distraction. This comes in the form of stunning landscapes, kind hosts, fundraising, school talks or even a Skype with a girlfriend back home – where we spend an hour chatting about anything and everything except my run.

Alas I found that someone had stolen my bountiful distraction bucket and replaced it with a limp sieve. The things that buoy me, inspire me, spur me on – they now slip through the saggy perforated bottom faster than I can grasp on and use them to their fullest. And that makes me sad.

THE CHALLENGE

And then it hit me, like a thunder bolt (and lightning, very very frightening. Gallileo). The fact that I don’t know how the heck to deal with this fascinating mental battle – that is the challenge. Not the one I’d expected to face when I began, but a challenge nonetheless.

The question is no longer “Will my body give out?” Or  “Can I run that far?” Things could still go tits up on the physical side in these final weeks, after all. Instead It’s how do I make it to that lighthouse at Cape Reigna with eyes wide open – having enjoyed, relished and treasured every last drop of the journey?

And as far as can see, this is just about that best practice for ‘real life’ that I can get. I refuse to spend the final month waiting for the end to come, because it feels suspiciously like those working weeks where you live only for the weekend. And balls to those weeks, I say.

So buckle up adventure homies. I’m driving this tattered mass of weary limbs to the finish line, and we’ll darn well be stopping to smell the roses along the way.

More ramblings about those roses later in the week,

Big love,

Tired McNuff xx

Help me use this run to send some kids on a life changing adventure course here

Home.

Better late than never for a final blog post, I’d say. Although it feels like I’ve been back in the UK for a lifetime, it’s only actually been 7 weeks. How quickly life slips back into ‘normality’ (whatever that means).

I often liken finishing an adventure to a break up. And so, now that the Te Araroa and I have said our last awkward goodbyes, handed back one another’s CD’s collection and taken up residence on opposite sides of the globe – I feel like perhaps we, I, New Zealand need some kind of closure. 

ON NEW ZEALAND

What can I possibly say to express how dear I now hold this country and its people to my heart?

This is a country where the use of the words ‘crap’, ‘bloody’ and ‘jerk’ on prime time TV is entirely acceptable. They are a nation who couple extreme national pride with a desire to not take themselves too seriously. Their work-life balance is admirable. They make time to escape to the hills after work and at the weekends. They have ‘snow days’ when the powder is too irresistible to be at school or work. They are fixers. They are survivors. Even their politicians seem approachable. They are passionate about pies, and frittata’s with relish on the side. And best, most bestest of all, they make you take a seat while they make you a real cup of coffee. Possibly with a silver fern etched in the top.

Takahae – highly impractical but very cute.

In 6 months here I learnt more about ecosystems, the fragility of an island environment and the doomed plight of (incredibly cute but highly impractical) flightless birds, than I would in any classroom. I learnt the names of trees, and got to discover first hand that not all plants are nice plants (I refer here to ‘B*stard Grass’, and the ‘Horrid Spaniard’). I fell in love with birdsong, choosing to run mostly without music so that I could listen to the cacophony in the canopy above. And I fell especially in love with Fan Tails. 

ON FALSE BOTTOMS AND IMAGINARY CEILINGS

Our conscious world is constructed of false bottoms and imaginary ceilings. Our limit for the bottom is governed by fear, fear of what will happen as we stumble into the unknown. And our ceilings are defined by what we believe ourselves to be capable of. As it turns out, both boundaries are entirely imagined.

THE BOTTOM

I’m sure you’ll all remember ‘Rivergate’ – the day when everything got that little bit too much. When I sprained my ankle and wound up a ball of tears and swear words. That day I hit my lowest point in the trip, and crawling into the tent I believed I was at rock bottom.  And yet, once down there, suddenly it didn’t seem quite so bad. I was exhausted, lonely, injured and frightened – everything I feared from the outset – but I was okay with that. I hadn’t found my limit. I’d been to see it, I’d greeted it and hung out with it for a while, only to watch it vanish into thin air. That wasn’t my limit at all, just a fringe I’d happened upon. The bottom fell away and I was stronger the following day. 

An angry right ankle

THE CEILING

The same applies with our ceilings. How often do we work tirelessly for something only to reach it and find it’s nothing at all like we expected? 

For 6 months I dreamt only of the finish line. Of what that would feel like. Heck, I’d well up even imagining the day I could finally stop running. But when I got there I found that I wasn’t overwhelmed with a sense of elation, or of achievement, but instead a deep sense of contentment. And I discovered that contentment is better than any form of ecstasy. Because contentment says ‘I am enough’. It says ‘rest a while’ and ‘well done’. It says I can look in the mirror and be proud of how I have spent the last few months of my life. Elation excites, contentment nourishes. It is the rarest feeing of all, and one to be cherished. 

On the day I finished at the Cape, I didn’t get buck wild and go partying. I didn’t drink a drop in fact (I’d have passed out for a start). Instead, I returned to a hostel where I knew no one. I walked out and got a curry (heavy on the peshwari naan), sat on a tattered sofa in the hostel and watched ‘The Terminal’ on DVD. When the German backpacker next to me asked what I was doing in New Zealand. I spooned some more Pilau rice into my pie hole and said: “Oh, you know, just travelling around.”

The finish line – never quite what you expect

ON VULNERABILITY

In honesty, it took me a while to share the tough times with you all. In fact, it wasn’t until a friend had a go at me and told me to stop bullsh*tting myself, that I decided it was time to hold my hands up and surrender. That doesn’t come easily. I generally believe that I can fix everything on my own and so to say to an audience, of strangers and worse an audience comprised of peers that I was struggling – that’s hard. But there’s a big difference between saying: “I’m hurting” and “I want to give up.” I realised I could say the former without fear that everyone would think the latter. 

ON THE PHYSICAL AFTERMATH

After a few visits to the chiropractor, the good news is that I’ve done no irreparable damage to the bod. I have a ‘jammed up left foot’ (Hashtag: Jammin’), some scar tissue on my right ankle, and a curve in my lower spine which will take 6 months or so to work itself out. But all in all, dear old Mr Chiro seems rather impressed. And I have to say I’m absolutely stoked about that – I intend to keep using this here body for a very long time.

SO, WHAT NEXT?

Ah the question, that question. Have I thought about my next journey? Of course I have. I’m an adventurer after all – I’ve got problems. But for the next few months at least, I’m writing a book. I’m 35,000 words down and finding sitting still a challenge, as usual. If you’d like to know when it makes it to the published stage – you can pop your name on a list here and I’ll email you. Magic. 

LASTLY, BEFORE I GO…

I want to leave you with something I wrote at the halfway mark. Because I wasn’t quite ready to share then, but I am now. 

Confessions of an adventurer: The Halfway Mark

“There have been days when I’ve cried within 2km, and then again at 3km, and 4km – for no apparent reason other than I couldn’t not. I have sobbed. I have whimpered. 

I have been lonely. I have clung to the coattails of strangers – wrapped their unfamiliar voices around me like a blanket, and finally felt at ease. I’ve read, and re-read old messages in my phone, just to feel a connection with the world beyond my tent. I’ve collected the footprints in the sands beneath me and imagined their makers alongside me.

I have spoken to my stuffed toy. To the cows, to the sheep and to the birds. 

I have sung at the top of my lungs and stopped to dance like nobody was watching (because they weren’t).  

I have thrown up my breakfast on the side of the trail, wiped my mouth and trundled on. 

I have wondered what I’m doing, why I’m doing it and whether it really matters at all. 

I have beat myself up a thousand times in my head for being weak and I have congratulated myself for being strong. 

Because when the cobwebs cling to the dusty pages of this tale, the hardships will fall away. All I will know is that I have placed myself in a state most fragile, so that I might see the world at its most beautiful, and its people at their most kind. All I will know is that I have played an irreplaceable part in a great adventure, and that I have truly lived.”

I hope it comes across is that this run was one of the most incredible decisions I ever made. Until next time adventure army – Thank you again for all the support. What a ride. 

McNuff out xx

Swamp running in the longwoods

In late December, tragedy struck my life. Whilst cycling back from a romantic break in Bourton-on-the-water (yes I said Bourton-on-the-water), Storm Frank got all up in my business. He wrapped his watery claws around my iPhone, thereby signing its death warrant.

After some mild wailing, rocking back and forth and a failed experiment with an ice cream tub and a bag of rice, I paid Carphone Warehouse a visit and bought a crap £10 phone. I had to hold back the tears when a four year old picked it up, placed their innocent paws on its screen and asked: “Annnnerrrrr. Why isn’t it moving?” I proceeded to explain, through sobs, that the Samsung E1200 it wasn’t a touch screen device. 

The E1200. My saviour, but not a touch screen.

With communication now reduced to a form of predictive text-code I just couldn’t crack, everything seemed a little less, well, necessary. And so I went the whole hog and took an entire week off of email, social media and anything else related to the internet. The verdict? It was glorious. Without pauses to evaluate the worthiness of my life against those of others and an inability to plough through the ever growing electronic ’to do list’ – I instead took time to reflect. To, for the first time in a very long time, look back. And by Jove it was a revelation.

One Helluva Year

2015 was, without a doubt, one of the most formative of my life. I ran the length of a country, fell in madly in love with one of those adventurous types and wrote a book (well, a draft at least). I’d say that’s a pretty stellar 12 months by anyone’s standards. But are my daily thoughts brimming with back-slaps, satisfaction and self-hurrahs? Are they bollocks. They are instead filled with an incessant need to keep moving forwards, to the next project, the next idea, the next conquest. And I’m going to wager I’m not the only one. 

Sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of progress. When everything already achieved becomes overshadowed by all of those things we still want to do. All too often, when an aim becomes a reality, and then a normality, it ceases to hold the value it once did. Like a crazed magpie our gaze shifts immediately to the next shiny thing on the horizon, and off we go. It is bonkers. 

But here’s the good news: Once you acknowledge that it’s bonkers, that there will always be the next paycheck, the next trip, the next accolade, that nothing will ever be ‘enough’- then what becomes of real value is everything you already have. The daily experiences that demand no progress and simply ask that you are there to enjoy them. 

Day 1 of the NZ run. 12th January 2015 – already, a very long time ago.

My Inner Hippy

I’ve always had a bit of hippy in me. And in my 30’s, the peace hugging, dreadlocked, nose pierced, spinach eater – she’s rising to the surface. This isn’t an announcement that I’m retiring to live deep in the New Zealand bush, to skin possums and grow my own. Perhaps one day, but for now there’s work to be done. I can’t deny the drive I have to explore what I’m capable of, and to use my days to pump as much goodness out into the atmosphere as I can. 

But I am now looking at life through a different lens. I’ve realised that impatience and longing are a sure fire way to live in a state of permanent dissatisfaction. So Instead, I’m finding contentment in what many might deem to be meaningless things – in long mornings drinking coffee, dinners with family, phone calls to friends in far flung places. In making pancakes on Sundays. Do you know how much I freakin’ love making pancakes?! A LOT. And when it comes to the ‘work’ side of things, to building a new life as a bona fide adventurer, speaker and mischief maker – well, I’m greeting it that with patience too. Embracing the grind. The hustle. The back and forth. The two steps forwards, one step back.

And through all of my musings, here’s what I’ve learnt:

• The most dangerous statement you can make is: “It’ll all be better when [ insert that decision you’re waiting on / a promotion / the call up from Simon Cowell / winning the lottery ]”. Better is now. 
• Drive and ambition are wonderful. So long as they are not at the expense of appreciating everything already in your life. 
• Celebrate, celebrate, celebrate. High-five your neighbour, high-five a stranger, high-five yourself. But for when something comes off that you worked your nuts off for – take a moment to reflect and rejoice. 
• Baby steps are steps all the same. Have you ever heard anyone tell a baby that their steps are worthless? Didn’t think so. Celebrate those steps too. 
•  There is no job description for life. You will not wake up one day and find what you are supposed to be doing with yours written in the job section of the Guardian. It is about acknowledging and exploring curiosities – creeping ever closer to one or many passions, a day at a time.  
• Sleep is the most important thing on your to do list. DO IT.  (unless you have young children, in which case – I applaud you. And I will sleep for you).
• You don’t have to make ‘progress’ every day. Sometimes it’s nice to just dick about and glean enjoyment from 24 hours of your life. 

Your Grass

The grass is never greener on the other side of the fence, I honestly believe that. So instead of looking over that fence, I’ll be spending a little more time nurturing my own. And I have a feeling that it’ll grow greener than I ever imagined. And then I’ll be inviting the neighbours around to check out how green my grass is. And they’ll be all, like ‘I can’t make it today – I’m too busy watering my own’, and I’ll be all, like “Right on man. Plant some spinach while you’re at it.” Have I taken this too far? Thought so. You get the point. 

So if you’re reading this and nodding along like Churchill Dog on crack – try something out: Go to the top of a hill, take a bath, or take the Labradoodle for a long walk. And do the best thing you’ve done so far in 2016 – stop and look back. 

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

Gandalf the Grey wasn’t messing when he laid down those words to our man Frodo at the shire. Sometimes there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. And I’m here to officially declare that’s half the fun. Or I hope to goodness it is.

Phase I – Europe calling

Travel and adventure can be a tricky business. Planning leads to procrastination, procrastination to wavers in confidence, to delayed plans and life contorting itself into a sticky spiders web of reasons why we shouldn’t just pack up and go. Before you know it, it’s ten years down the line and you’re still saying ‘I’ve always wanted to… [insert fabulous location]’. I too am guilty of such a heinous crime. The victim? Europe.

While In Kiwi-land (also know as New Zealand), the Kiwis would wax lyrical about Europe. About its cobbled squares, historic churches, pristine lakes and vast mountains. (Please note here that Kiwis don’t just visit Europe they ‘DO’ it, mostly on the ‘Big OE’). In one fail swoop friends from the Southern Hemisphere seem to have glided though every country that’s ever taken the stage at a Eurovision Song contest.

In stark contrast, I find myself stuck firmly on nil-point. Beyond summers spent in every possible French Eurocamp site and the odd city break, I haven’t ‘seen’ the continent at all. And while I’ve always maintained that this was because I was ‘saving it for when I was old and could’t get very far’ – that now seems a little silly.

Phase II – Overwhelmed by choice

Europe is gigantic. And as I began to plan a month long adventure to scratch a nasty case of the adventure itch – I found myself overwhelmed by the sheer number of options. Should I sashay with Serbia? Tango with Turkey? Rumba with Romania? Or perhaps just Moonwalk my way through Moldova.  And then I thought: sod this. How about I start it right here. From the place where all adventures begin – my humble abode. 

Phase IV (I never liked III) – The plan

So. Here’s the plan. On February the 15th 2016, just under one month from now, I will, armed with not much more than a bivvy bag, a backpack and a devil-may-care attitude, scramble out of the gate in my London back garden. I will then begin to walk to a ferry port on the South coast. Which port I head to will be decided by you. At said port (to be decided by you) I will then get on a ferry. The ferry that I board will be, wait for it, decided by you. And the direction I start walking in when I get off of that ferry on the other side will be… (can you guess yet?) decided by you.

Yes folks – this is an unplanned, unstructured, social media driven, flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants adventure. Because beyond my back gate is the world, and it’s a damn shame not to explore it at every opportunity. Me-oh-my how I’m excited and scared all at once. When the finish line gong goes on March the 13th – wherever in the world I find myself, whatever I’m doing – I’ll catch a flight home from there. Simples.

What are the rules?

Why is everyone so obsessed with rules?! But okay – let’s set some. I’m not a millionaire. I’m not even a tenner-en-aire (this is totally a thing) so here’s some rules to keep me within budget:

• Big flights are out, ferries are in. 
• The journey will be 90% human powered – mostly walking. One finds that one can really get into the nooks and crannies of a place when one goes walkabout.
• There will be a tad of hitching. I like the idea of sticking out my thumb and going wherever the next truck is going. 
• If I manage to end up somewhere there is a camel – I’m riding that thing as far as I can.

Where could I end up?

By my reckoning, with walking and a bit of hitching thrown in, I could end up in Greece, Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, Italy, Scandinavia…. I could even make it as far as Istanbul or even Morocco. Then again, this trip is less about distance and more about exploration, so I could also end up wandering around in France, Spain or Germany for a month. Oh the possibilities – gosh it’s exciting, isn’t it?!

Some FAQs

1. What are you playing at, Anna – shouldn’t you get a real job?: What is a real job anyway? This is my job. Well. I’m making my passion my job. And my passion is to go adventuring and share my adventuring with all of you along the way. No one’s paying me much for this job yet, but one day, they will. Even if it’s in kindness and chocolate, that much I know. 
2. This isn’t really ‘stepping out of your comfort zone, Anna’: Dear goodness, have you seen me plan? I am a planner, not so much that I worry about what might go wrong, I plan so that I can get get excited about what will be AMAZING!!! So this is entirely out of my comfort zone. I have no idea which parts will amazing, and which will not. It’s really très uncomfortable. 
3. What are you trying to achieve?: To live each day as it comes. To do something a little ridiculous simply because I want to see what happens when I do. 
4. Aren’t you scared that you’ll get attacked / mugged: Not in the slightest. Stop watching the news. The world is full of kind people, dotted with the odd one who’ve lost their way. 
5. Are you going alone? No one is doing the full shebang with me, but I have a few adventurous females lined up to join me for the start, and another couple who might drop in midway through. If anyone would like to join in for the first few days walk from London to a ferry port – man, woman, baby or granny – you are more than welcome. Drop me a line.
6. It’s February: Aren’t you going to be cold? Probably. Best pack the Long Johns. And hope you lot don’t send me to Scandinavia.

Calling teachers and schools

My trips are always, always (always) trying to do more to get the next generation out there and exploring. So if you’re a school teacher in charge of a bunch of adventurous kidlets, I’d love you to get in touch. Especially if they’re of a responsible Facebook age and can get fully involved. I’m looking for 5 schools to follow the journey, to help make some of the decisions along the way and to have a few Skype calls with me before and after. If this is something you think your bunch might enjoy – drop me a hello: anna@annamcnuff.com

Well that’s it for now. I’m sure I’ll scribble more nearer the off. T-minus 27 days until departure. This could be one of the best or worst idea’s I’ve had yet. There’s only one way to find out….

Big love,

McNuff out xxx

The small hand is on the backpack, the big hand is on the sleeping bag, and by my reckoning that makes it a quarter to Adventure O’ Clock. Now that the groundwork’s been laid, it’s time to get on down to the nitty gritty. If you’ve no idea what in the name of Shackleton this post is about, you can start at the very beginning (a very good place to
start) by reading the original post here.

HOW IT WORKS (a recap)

Not that you’ll have forgotten, but I know that there’s a lot going on in your life. And although the (non)plan for this journey (sort of) makes sense in my head, I’d be a fool to assume that the same were true for everyone. So. Just so we’re clear… Every day or two I’ll post three options on Facebook and Twitter. They won’t always be about direction, I’m sure I’ll find a million and one decisions to share along the way, but here’s an example using direction:

Facebook

Voting via the Facebook page will be decided according to the number of comments. An example post would be:

“I’ve just arrived in Calais! Lardy dah. Which way now team? This vote closes at 8.30am on February 20th.”

• Left – along the coast towards Dunkirk
• Right – Into the national Park and towards Bologne-Sur-Mer 
• Straight on – to St Omer

Then you’ll all go bananas and tell me where to go (I hope).

Twitter

Voting on Twitter will happen via a poll – there’ll be three short options to choose from.

The option that receives the most number of votes / comments / poll choices across both Facebook and Twitter is the winner. Simples.

FINGERS ON BUZZERS

Saturday Feb 13th: I’ll post the first option on Social Media.

Tuesday Feb 16th: Voting closes at 8am. Twitter votes and Facebook comments are counted by our independent adjudicator (I don’t really have one of those, but I like the sounds of it) and I begin walking at 9am.

March 13th: Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing – I must make my way home in order to make it onto the stage at Night of Adventure on March 15th.

TRACKING

The lovely gang at Zero Six Zero have only gone and made me a bespoke map again. I’m smiling in it and EVERYTHING. I’ve now added a ‘Where’s Anna?’ tab to the main navigation bar on my website.

You can also always locate me using this link: http://z6z.co/beyond_my_back_gate

SCHOOLS

I’m pretty stoked to have 5 schools on board, with the kids following the adventure and firing me questions as we go. The schools are spread out across the world, which makes it doubly-triply-exciting. Who knew Geography could be so fun?! Every now and then the kids will get to make a decision instead of the general public, I’ll let you know when that’s happening.

If you’re a teacher yourself and want to get your pint sized adventurers involved, you can download the briefing pack for the adventure here:Beyond My Back Gate. Info for schools.

Follow along as much or as little as you like and email any questions they have to anna@annamcnuff.com.

DIY (Do it yourself)

This adventure is much about you lot as it is me. Without you, my precious and loyal adventure army, I’m just a chick with a backpack wandering around on the continent, sleeping in ditches. Although that alone would make my mother proud, I thought it’d be nice to share a few suggestions on how you could replicate the non-planned, flying by the seat of your pants approach over a few hours, a day or a weekend. 

• Consequences: Remember the game consequences? Where you wrote down an event / meeting place / cryptic word on a piece of paper and passed it on to the person next to you? That works for adventures too. Write down 10 very vague instructions on a piece of paper which can be interpreted in most environments. Set out for a day of adventuring and every 30 minutes, open up a new instruction. Ideas for instructions include:
  • Head to the nearest town beginning with ‘M’
  • Call your Mum and ask her whether you should go straight on or turn left
  • Stop, find a cafe and have some nosh

• The big flipper: Go out for a 2 hour walk and flip a coin at every junction to decide left or right. This was tried and tested last month. It resulted in the pair of us walking in a big circle, but ending up with our faces in a slice of banoffee pie at the end. Winning.

• Best finger first: This is an often used firm favourite of mine.
  • Get a map out of your local area. Or get one up on a computer screen.
  • Clean your right index finger thoroughly.
  • Find a suitable Eye-mask (see below) to cover your eyes.
  • Take a deep breath and put your finger on the the map. Remove said eye-mask.
  • GO THERE!

AND LASTLY 

All that remains to be said is that honestly, I’m rather nervous. There is a large part of me that would quite like to curl up in a ball and pretend I hadn’t gone and told everyone that I was going to do this. Because quite frankly my normal life is simply lovely. It’s a life that I cling to like a snuggly blanket because I wake up each morning with a fair idea of how the day will pan out. I know where my favourite coffee shop is. How long it takes to get to Victoria on the tube. I know where I’ll sleep at night and that I won’t have to be forced to use awkward sign language and smiles to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t speak my language. But that’s precisely the point.  That back gate of mine might as well be the edge of my comfort zone. And I know that I’m going to learn a whole lot more by walking out of it, than I am by sitting here and wondering ‘what if.’

So, Until next time homies. Here we go (again)….!

McNuff out xx

Has it really only been 2 weeks days since these shenanigans began?! Aye me it feels like a lifetime. In the 14 days that have passed since clambering over my back fence-gate at Brixton, I have learnt, loved and lost. Mostly I have lost a pair of gloves and the skin on the souls of my feet, but I have lost all the same. Sympathy please.

WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING?!

In the heat of the moment, many of life’s decisions seem as if they are the most important thing in the world. And then you look back and wonder what all the fuss was about. Welcome to the first two days.  

Pre fence scaling, my mind had been largely consumed with thoughts of starting the trip. Then, all of a sudden, I didn’t have to think about that anymore (because I had started). And that left a whole lot of space for my thoughts to run wild. Given that my brain is a living breathing fun fair on an average day, with added freedom it became a full-blown Six Flags Magic Mountain. Everything just felt… odd. 

I’ve never experienced starting a journey from my own front door until now. Usually, I hop on a plane and cannonball right on in to the adventure-action. And I’ve discovered that’s a far easier way to begin. Getting on a plane to the start point is like ripping off a plaster at high speed. Whereas starting from your front door is a slow peel, one of those removals that catches every hair and raw flap of skin along the way. Walking away from your own home is mentally painful, and it’s no secret that I spent the first day thinking: “What the heck am I doing?!”

Packing up camp with the gang in a wood in Essex

IF YOU DON’T LIKE SOMETHING – CHANGE IT. 

And then there was the walking. Now, where in the name of Mary and Moses did I get that idea from? Walking from Brixton to Harwich had all the ingredients for success. I had lots of friends with me, we were sleeping wild in woods, spending far too long in the Surrey Quays Decathlon and eating pub dinners. But what became quickly apparent was that without a set destination, ‘type II fun’ just isn’t cricket. Uncertainty and suffering are a fine thing when you have an overall goal to work towards, a fixed destination per se. But when your goal is simply to enjoy each day, then enjoy each day you must. And as it turns out, walking down dual carriageways in Essex is about as much fun as stuffing chilli into your eyeballs. So I changed my mind. I picked up the Bat-Phone and called for Boudica-back-up. 

Did I feel silly about swapping to a bike? Yes. Embarrassed? A little. Was I worried this meant that I was ‘giving up’? Yes. Was it the best decision I could have made? Abso-friggin-loutely. We all make choices, after all. Every single day we tumble out of bed, pull on our lucky pants and make a choice about how we spend the time between then and our heads hitting the pillow again. Sometimes I forget that life has to be about exercising those choices. And when your gut tells you it just ain’t gravy baby, regardless of what others might think, you’ve got to change it. 

47 miles of tarmac walking = very unhappy feet

THE NETHERLANDS

Once I was moving faster than a snail, the journey to the land of the Nether was quite literally plain sailing. I don’t even think the Stenna Line from Harwich to ‘The Hook’ should be considered travelling. I got on, called Jamie, drank a beer and went to sleep. In the morning I was woken by a rendition of “Don’t worry, be happy”, which trickled softly from the speakers and into in every cabin at bang on 6.30am. I rolled onto Dutchie soil fresh as a daisy and ready to be wowed. And wowed I was – mainly by the quality and abundance of bike paths. I began to thoroughly embrace carefree riding, separated entirely from the motorised four wheeled beasts, where the only danger I faced was missing the signposted turn off for my particular bike route. Nightmare. 

The average house in The Netherlands

Over the few days crossing The Netherlands my love for it and the people who live there went from strength to strength. I got to hang out with some friends I haven’t seen in donkeys years (thanks for sending me to Utrecht), I visited a talented artist and we had fun taking pictures and eating Bitterballen (who knew creamed deep fried meat could taste so good?!). You sent me to Apeldoorn, which is just about the most beautiful forest-surrounded village I have ever had the pleasure to pedal through (again, thank you), and I had my first Longboarding lesson in Nijmegen. Suffice it to say, I heart the Netherlands and I’ll be back again soon, of that I have no doubt. Possibly on a longboard. Just. Sayin’.

After my first Longboarding lesson with Jesse in Nijmegan

GETTING COMFORTABLE WITH BEING UNCOMFORTABLE

Unlike cycling the 50 states or running New Zealand – this particular challenge is 100% mental.  I like to plan. I like to chat, and I like to ‘connect’. So what happens when I can’t do the former, and the latter two are reduced to smiles and sign language?

Two weeks in and you’ll be delighted to know that both elements are still proving a challenge. The non-planned aspect is intense, but with you lot at the wheel it’s turning out to be a whole heap of bonkers fun. Alas, conquering the language side is proving more difficult. It turns out that I actually get more nervous than I remember when trying to speak other languages. I’ll confess I was slightly aware of this, because my French is flawless when I’m drunk or talking to small children (not at the same time), but sober and to adults – I get all embazzed and clam up. 

I stood outside a pancake house in Holland for 5 minutes last week, psyching myself up to go in. And yes they speak English, but I’d quite like to be able to speak Dutch. In the same vein I spent 20 minutes this morning desperately wanting a cheese and ham sandwich and another cup of coffee in a German Bakery, but the woman behind the counter had struggled to understand my German for the first cup, and so I concocted the idea that the second attempt would be so awkward that it would result in me wanting to climb in the oversized oven behind her. 

The dutch pancake I finally claimed in pancake house glory.

But this is precisely what I’ve come in search of. The point of this journey is to explore the *edges*. Because the edges of ourselves are the most important parts. We know the middle bits well. The middle bits are where we’re comfortable. But the squiffy edges, that’s what I’m interested in. Understanding those is the key to true Arnie style mind-strength. And I’d quite like me some of that. I have realised that I would honestly rather run up a mountain naked, carrying a 35kg backpack, or give a talk to a room full of 3,000 people than I would order a cheese and ham sandwich in German. Now what on Earth is all that about? I’m not sure, but it’s really very annoying and so I intend to keep trying until it ceases to feel uncomfortable. Watch this space. 

And on that note, I best go off to practice my German. And I’ve got some votes to count up, don’t you know…. more from the land of beer and Bavaria next week. 

Ta ra for now,

McNuff xx

One of the many castles on the hills above the Rhine

Calling all budding adventurers, we’re here to make your dreams come true! Well, sort of. It’s a well known fact that the largest barrier to hop-skipping off on adventures is often (but not always) spondoolies. Wonga, moola, booty, dollar – whatever you want to call it, its ability to evaporate into thin air just as adventure calls knows no bounds. 

Last year, Explorer extraordinaire and man-with-a-plan Tim Moss of The Next Challenge came up with a way to bring the existing adventure community together in a bid to help people get their adventure plans off the ground. This year, I’m stoked to be one of the adventurers who’s thrown into the pot to create The Next Challenge Grant. 

You can read all about the grant below – which offers awards of between £100 and £1000 for original, independent microadventures and expeditions

Better still, you can also support it by donating £3 yourself. The application process is short, you don’t need any experience – just an original idea and a willingness to do something physically exerting. 

EXAMPLES OF WINNING ENTRIES

To get your creative juices flowing, here’s a few examples of last year’s winners – who were a mix of all ages, from all countries around the globe:

• Richard Fairbrother: Set out to walk a remote part of the Great Wall of China. 
• Michael Bartley: Scaled Alp D’huez on a fixed gear bike
• George and Jaxson: Crossed the remote Australian Stradbroke Island on foot
• Ben Smith & Judith Pope – Pakrafted the Caledonian Canal
• Robinson Ellin – Cycled to Holland and back in 48 hours
• Abbie Barnes – Spent a year walking all the UK National Trails
• Sebastian Schweizer – Swam the Gulf of Orosei
• Carmen Braun and Alex Tamo – Spent 100 Nights’ Camping in Canada
• Elise Downing – Running the Coast of Great Britain

2015 winner, Abbie Barnes – Spent a year walking all the UK trails

THE GRANT

If you have an idea for an adventure then you can apply now for up to £1,000 from The Next Challenge Grant. Deadline June 10th – www.thenextchallenge.org/grant

BACKGROUND TO THE GRANT

The grant was started last year by Tim Moss who decided to give away all of the advertising revenue he’d made from his website, The Next Challenge.

He then invited 100 members of the public to match his £200 offer with £2 donations of their own. They did.

Following that, seven other ‘adventurers’ spontaneously offered to chip in some of their own money too. In the end, we had over £1,600.

1,300 people applied for grants. 50 of them made the shortlist and 10 won awards. The winners ranged from a 14 year old Australian walking across a desert island with his dad as support, to a Canadian student spending 100 nights sleeping outside. And from a young woman attempting to walk the length of every National Trail in Britain to another trying to run 5,000 miles around its coast.

This year we have ten adventurers backing the grant with special pots of money for cycling trips, environmentally conscious expeditions and adventure film making. 50 members of the public have contributed so far too bringing the total to almost £2,000.

2015 Winner Robinson Ellin: Cycled to the Anne Frank house in Holland and back in 48 hours to inspire his students

APPLYING FOR THE GRANT

You do not need any experience to apply and there are no restrictions on who is eligible. You just have to be doing something original that involves a bit of physical exertion and that you are organising yourself (i.e. not paying someone else). Original ideas and interesting stories are more important than breaking records. 

Applications are through a very short online form. The deadline for applications is Friday June 10th. Apply online now at: http://www.thenextchallenge.org/grant

DONATING TO THE GRANT

50 people have each donated £3 to the grant so far. If you’d like to contribute too then you can do so directly on PayPal: http://bit.ly/2016grant (you don’t need an account, just click ‘Continue’ above the Visa icon) or you can read a little more about it here first:http://thenextchallenge.org/donate-3-adventure/

LINKS

• Apply now at: http://www.thenextchallenge.org/grant
• Donate £3 through PayPal: http://bit.ly/2016grant
• You can read  more about the background to grant here: http://thenextchallenge.org/giving-away-advertising-revenue/
• Meet the winners of the 2015 Next Challenge Grant here: http://thenextchallenge.org/meet-2015-grant-winners/

Get on it. And good luck!

McNuff out  xx

2015 grant winner Richard Fairbrother: Walked a seldom visited section of the Great Wall of China

It was the Autumn of 2015 and I was zooming down the side of St James’ park, on my usual commute-route home. All of a sudden there appeared a commotion up ahead. Cars stopped, guards materialised, and two young American girls began running along the pavement screaming at the top of their lungs: “Aaaaaaahhh maaaaayyyy Gaaaaaaad!!!! It’s her! It’s really herrrr!”. Intrigued by their excitement, I pulled alongside them at the entrance to Green Park, expecting perhaps to see Taylor ‘Tay-Tay’ Swift, Rhi Rhi, or even Beyoncé.

And then there she was. Like a china doll, beautifully dressed, perfectly poised, encased in a glass-topped limo, and waving. Of course she was waving. It was then that I realised I had never actually seen the Queen in the flesh before. To me, she was like the Golden Gate Bridge. Something I’d seen so many times on the tele-box, that I’d become blasé about. And, just like the first time I saw the Golden Gate Bridge furreal on my 50 state cycle, upon clapping eyes on Queenie – my heart skipped a beat. Only, with the Queen it was different, the wonder at seeing her in the flesh was coupled with a real sense of national pride. One I never knew I had until that moment. 

I’d never considered myself a Royalist after all – I remember, aged 11, announcing to my Mum, that should I ever meet the Queen, I wouldn’t curtsy. “And why is that, Anna?” asked my bewildered Mumma. “Because respect should be earned. And I don’t think the Queen would have earned my respect just by being, you know, the Queen.” Yes I was an irritatingly opinionated 11 year old. Now aged 31, clearly things had changed. Had I not been on a bike at the moment she passed, I would have curtseyed, laid down in the road, offered her an organ perhaps. 

AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION

Now officially the Royal’s number one fan, you can imagine my delight when an invitation to St James’ Palace landed on my front doorstep earlier this year. “The private secretary to the Earl of Wessex is desired by His Royal Highness to invite Ms Anna McNuff to attend the presentation of awards to young people who have achieved a Gold Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, at St James’ Palace, on Tuesday February 2nd, 2016.”

Every year, hundreds of budding young explorers get invited to the Palace to receive their Gold Awards from the Duke of Ed himself, or one of his nominated fellow royals. It is the culmination of years of hard work for those in attendance. They have volunteered their time for others, demonstrated expedition skills, worked as a team and above all, have pushed their limits far beyond what they thought themselves capable of.

I was to be one of the presenters for the day, handing out certificates alongside BBC’s Natasha Kaplinsky, and Ex-Olympic Swimmers Cassie Patten and Angela Wilson. No biggy. (It was a biggy).

Better than a sighting of Tay-Tay, Rhi-Rhi or B. The Queen Bee herself.

SCRUBBING UP

Having made a trip to River Island to purchase a figure hugging, yet suitably knee-length classy dress, I felt rather well prepared and all full of smug. Alas, on the morning of the big day I awoke in a sweat. Realising that although (uncharacteristically) I had gotten all organised with the dress side of things, I had nothing to put over the dress, no bag, and no shoes. And I mean, no shoes – I only own muddy trainers and one pair of big brown ‘adventure boots’. As for the bag… I’m not sure an Osprey 33L Tempest would quite fit the bill. Thinking on my feet, I proceeded to break the World record for an accessory smash n’ grab at Brixton High Street. I ran there, entered two shops and returned with shoes, a handbag and cardigan – all with change from £25, in under 34 minutes and only breaking a mild sweat. Challenge Anneka eat your heart out.

Almost ready to rock, upon slipping on the the dress I also realised that it gave me huge pant lines. One could not visit the palace with One’s pant lines on show, so there was nothing for it. I was going to the palace sans pants. Would I be the first to cross the threshold commando, I wondered?

Very organised. Dress, shoes and cardigan. Handbag out of shot…

THE MAIN EVENT

Upon arrival at the palace me and my guest  for the day, Jamie, were ushered past the queues of youngsters and into the grounds. Following a tour and the showing of lots of shiny things and big muskets and pistols, we were taken into our room. The throne room. Yes, yes, I had lucked in. Of all the rooms in all the kingdom, I was getting to give a speech in a room which housed the highest throne in the British Realm. The actual throne that Queen Elizabeth had sat on during her coronation in on June 2nd, 1953. And no, sadly, despite my request, I was not allowed to sit on it.

A few seconds later we were hushed to a silence and told that Prince Edward would be entering the room in the next two minutes. My palms got sweaty and my heart beat fast. I watched as the large opulent door at the North end of the room swung open and HRH glided through. Gosh he looked dapper. He moved among the groups of kids for a few minutes, stopping to chat and ask them about their experiences as they giggled and offered polite replies. Prince Edward then moved towards me, as the man at his side uttered:

“It’s my pleasure to introduce you to Anna McNuff – an ex-Great Britain rower turned adventurer.”

St James’ Palace Throne room – so very Red and Gold.

Obviously this being my second royal encounter (since the Queen), I was all like: “Pssssh, whatevs. Wassup Eddie boy?” Or not.  I was uncharacteristically nervous as brief chit chat ensured, and I can affirm that His Royal Highness has a manner to calm even the greatest of nerves. Gentle, inquisitive and genuinely interested – “I think what you do is absolutely fabulous.” he said as I blushed, before asking whether I had done the DofE programme myself. To which I rambled on about having started it, learnt how to make a beer battered Mars bar, but found that the meetings always clashed with rowing training so I’d had to give it up before even making a Bronze level. There was a pause, as an awkward silence descended over the room. “Am I to be punished?” I asked. It seems my nerves had disappeared and I was back in full cheeky force. “No, no.” Smiled the Prince. “You’ll not be punished.” Phew.

Oh this? Just me hanging out with Prince Edward. Not nervous at all…

NEW BEGINNINGS

Prince Edward having exited, I had the pleasure of making a six minute speech to the group of 70 youngsters and their parents. I regaled adventure tales from New Zealand, and at the appropriate moment, whipped out my pants of perspective from the recently purchased handbag, to a rapturous applause. I am sure that throne has witnessed many fights in its honour over the years, but perhaps this was the first (and last) time it will see one between a Unicorn and a Robot, under a rainbow.

As I walked away from the palace, all smiles and energy – I mulled over the lines of my favourite T.S Eliot poem. And considered how appropriate it was for the youngsters who had just reached the end of one great achievement, but were in reality at the start of a lifetime of many more to come:

“In my beginning is my end…  

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.”

A DIAMOND YEAR

This year the Duke of Edinburgh is in its 60th year. Celebrating their Diamond Anniversary, they are calling for everyone to ‘give it their all’ in 2016. For themselves, their families, their communities and others.

You can take on a challenge for the DofE, raise or contribute £60 to continue to fund the amazing work they do. Read more about them and their challenges here, or follow Visit Wales ‘year of adventure’ ambassador Tori James, as she takes on 60 days of adventure around beautiful Cymru. 

Until next time adventure homies,

Adventure Queen McNuff, over and out xx

I emerged from the myriad of tunnels that form Old Street underground station and picked up a message from my good chum Laura K. She was in the coffee shop next door to the location for today’s shoot. I still had plenty of time to spare, so I tracked her down and we got to natterin’. We gassed, chitty-chatted, chinwagged, talked the hind legs of many donkeys, before suddenly realising that the 30 minutes to spare had now reduced to just 2 minutes before we were due in the studio. Panic. We dashed outside, desperate to find the venue, which was apparently ‘just next door’.

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: FIND THE STUDIO

Alas, it seemed that finding the entrance to the studio was like finding the Ministry of Magic. Somewhere, in the gaps between these tall, ancient buildings and old industrial works was an entrance. But where, oh where in the world, was anyone’s guess. Just as I was beginning to wonder if perhaps we should retreat to the phone box across the street and go in underground Harry-Potter style, I spotted a glimmer of hope. Two ‘model’ types were hanging out on the steps of what we thought could potentially, possibly, definitely-maybe be the entrance.

The final result!

THE LIONESSES

We approached, cautiously. Each of them was holding a takeaway coffee cup, their never-ending legs interlocked like spiders webs across the steps. These two young pups couldn’t have been more than 16, but what they lacked in years they more than made up for in attitude. I moved slightly forward and then swiftly back – as if I were a lion tamer, and these two lionesses. Something about their body language told me they hadn’t eaten in a while, and I could be next: “Hi, um hi,…. hi there.” I began, before tentatively enquiring if they knew how we might be able to get in. Blondie number one slid her glasses to the end of her nose and looked us up and down. “I don’t know. This is the first time here for us too.” She swished her hair and continued to stare at me. I felt inclined to swish mine too, if only to ingratiate myself and to perhaps glean just a morsel of important information. Unfortunately I don’t really have hair that swishes, so my head movement must have come across as if it were some kind of odd convulsion. She frowned. Excellent. It was now clear that the lionesses did not hold the key to getting inside, and so we headed off up the road in the opposite direction instead.

At last we located the studio. Past a gated alleyway, through a courtyard and beyond a door we had walked by a number of times already that morning, naturally. We adventure queens immediately put our lady-guns to good use, helping out an assistant who was hauling suitcases up several flights of stairs to our room. It turned out that these suitcases contained all of the clothes and shoes we’d be rolling around in that day.

After Sophie Radcliffe and Bonita Norris had arrived on set (I’ve always wanted to describe how someone arrived ‘on set’…) the fearless adventurers awesome foursome was complete. And, after I had filled my face with an assortment of foodstuffs from the rather large freebie food table, it was time to get the party started.

Sophie and Laura get the glam treatment in hair and make-up

NO, IT’S NOT A PERM

Lovely Director of Photgraphy, Caz, the woman in charge of the whole shebang had brought along with some ideas for poses and talked us through how the day was going to play out. “Anna do you want to go in for hair and make-up first?” she asked. I giggled. This was going to be a novelty. I own approximately three make-up items. I make a point of never wearing make-up when I give school talks -the kids need to see real girls doing real stuff after all. In fact, I only ever wear make up for special occasions. Birthday’s, Bah Mitzvah’s you know, that kind of fandango. As for my hair. Well. I have that cut about once every three years. For the time in between I use kitchen scissors to shape my fro. I wet it, pull it back in a ponytail, fasten with an elastic band, snip and leave a neat little pile of curls on the kitchen floor. Cost effective and good for the compost on the garden. Magic.

Desmond the Hairdresser took one look at my hair and said…. “Oooo! I think we’ll just leave that as is.” I nearly spat my coffee out. But that suited me just fine. Then he asked: “What do you do to it?” To which I replied. “I get out of bed.” After affirming to Des that my curls were indeed natural (and not a perm) he did a little bit of ‘spritzing’ as only hairdressers can do, and we were done. Like a true artist Desmond clearly knew when to leave the beast well alone. For the rest of the day he called me ‘Shirley Temple’ and reiterated just how much he loved my hair. What a doll.

Demond adjusting my hair and calling me Shirley Temple

The real Shirley Temple

CAMERA, ACTION!

Action woman Sophie went first, and when it comes to this kind of thing – Soph knows what she’s doing. She’d brought in her bike and so we all watched from the sidelines as she posed elegantly around it, working that thing to within an inch of it’s life. Natural hazards like chain-ring grease on leggings and hair wrapped around the handlebars were avoided with grace and expertise. And if you’ve ever wondered how people achieve that hair off-of-face wind tunnel look in a photo? It’s because Desmond is sat on the floor to their right with a hairdryer blowing it at them.

Sophs doing her thing, Desmond on the hair dryer

I was up next and after a brief chat with Caz and photographer Tom we got underway. “We need you to look like you’re running without actually running.” Said Caz. “No problem”, says I. “Let’s try some jumping” says she. And we were off. Now, a few years back I might have gotten a little self conscious at this point. Whatever my loud mouth exterior seems to exude, I am not always especially confident when it comes to picture taking. I am by no means photogenic. That isn’t self criticism, that’s a reality. But something’s happened over the past few years, since finding a bit more of a life direction, that I just care a hell of a lot less. In fact, I now don’t really care at all.

And so I began to enjoy the moment – leaping, frolicking, twirling bounding and bouncing around on that white background – so much so that within a minute I’d almost given myself a heart attack. I was jumping so hard that I kept moving the backing sheet under foot and (much to Tom the photographer’s amusement) almost kamikaze face-planting after every leap. Round one complete, we stopped to review the photographs. There was a silence from the gang. I must have done something wrong, I knew it. “Anna….” said Caz after a few awkward moments. “Could you just consider, doing it less… well… well?”

Apparently there is such a thing as over-doing the leaping

THINK LIKE EDDIE THE EAGLE

Now, when someone tells me get up there and jump – I freaking get up there and jump. But in the midst of having a whale of a time, leaping around all over the show, I had forgotten that perhaps it might be nice for the photos to actually show parts of my face, as opposed to a squashed up mess of excitement. And that I should, perhaps, consider that this wasn’t a one woman jumping competition. If this was America’s Next Top Model, Tara would have had my guts for garters. The shoot continued apace, and I gradually warmed to Caz’s instructions: “Tight, not tense Anna, strong not rigid….” At one point I needed to jump and remember to ‘push up, out and down’. For  anyone who’s been to see Eddie the Eagle at the cinema this month, you’ll know we both faced a similar challenge.

After me it was Laura’s, and then Bonita’s turn. Bonita took to the set like a pro – swinging from her climbing ropes, upside down, entwined, elegant and smiling all at once. Individual shoots complete, and the afternoon drawing to a close, we all piled on the set together. And like naughty school children we had to be told off several times for talking when we should have been listening. The fact that we were all friends without a doubt made everything just that little bit easier. Especially when Soph accidentally touched my boob. What’s a little boob-touch on a photoshoot between friends, after all?

Finally nailing the controlled jump-running.

JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE

This was no ordinary day for me, and I’m not going to pretend that it was. I’m also not going to pretend that it wasn’t ruddy great fun, exciting, interesting and wholly enjoyable to spend 8 hours hanging out with my mates and getting to be the centre of attention. I’m just stoked that we four got the chance to share our stories . To show that behind seemingly ‘fearless adventurers’ are four very ordinary girls. One who cycles, one who climbs mountains, one who kayaks and one who cuts her hair with kitchen scissors. Thank you to Women’s Health for giving us the space and good grace to tell our tales, to journalist Victoria Joy for taking the time to listen as I ranted on about chasing dreams and self-belief, and to Tom Watkins for making me laugh at the top of every leap.

May this be the first of many national magazine features for UK female adventurers.

Women’s Health, June edition, hit the shelves on May 12th.

My three femme fatal partners in crime for the day were:

• Sophie Radcliffe: www.challengesophie.com 
• Bonita Norris: www.bonita-norris.com
• Laura Kennington: www.lauraexplorer.com

Until next time,

McNuff out xx

Girls on film: Me, Bonita, Sophie and Laura.

I’m staring at a picture of a girl on her first bicycle tour. Her wayward hair is kept only slightly in check by a helmet perched awkwardly on her head. Her arms, now sun-kissed after a few months on the road lead down to legs muscles, now slightly tighter than they once were. As she moves to pose for the photo, her jersey shifts to reveal a small white area on her upper arms that the sun has yet to reach.

She is brimming with enthusiasm. She has dreams that seem too big for her head. She has no clue what’s she’s doing and a bundle of fears to face up to on a daily basis. She isn’t quite sure where to start, but start she has. And by goodness she’s happy that she did. 

FROM ROOKIE TO REALITY

The UK adventure community is a wonderfully supportive place. I’ll never forget the first email I sent to Dave Cornthwaite announcing that I wanted to head off on a 50 state cycle, but I had no idea where to start. I was scared of wild camping (which I had never done) and terrified I would buy all the wrong things. His reply was swift, funny and reassuring. As was Alastair Humphrey’s the first time I reached out to him.

As time has gone by and my own adventures have unfolded, I have had the pleasure to witness a number of others begin their journeys. And, just as Dave and Al did with me, I too have now found myself offering what advice I can (although the greatest piece of advice I can offer is to realise that no one really knows what they’re doing. Once you work that one out, everything becomes rather straightforward. ..)

Susie Pike: Cycled 5,000km solo across Australia

SURROUNDED BY ADVENTURE QUEENS

Over Christmas in 2015, it struck me. I now knew dozens of these ‘rookie’ adventurers. And the ones that I knew the most intimately, the ones who I have watched as they have painfully pushed aside their fears and gone in pursuit of the things that make them truly happy – they are all female. The most fascinating thing of all? Although their adventures were taking place in different locations around the globe, via different modes of transports and spanning different lengths of time – they all had to take the same leap of faith. To look in the mirror and say: “Yes I freakin’ can.”

The strangest truth is that as each one of them would leave for, or return from their adventure – they would thank me for the inspiration. Little did they know that I was inspired by their stories too.

We are all one and the same, after all. There will always be times in our lives when we are frightened, lonely and filled with self doubt. It is no easier for one person to take the leap than another, and in reality the process we all go through is the same. Whether we are running 5km or running the length of a country. The set of emotions rock up to the fear-party take the same ugly form.

And so I thought it was high time I shared their stories alongside my own on the site.

Adventure Queen Elise Downing: Running 5,000 miles around the coast of the UK

WHAT DO I HOPE WILL HAPPEN?

That Adventure Queens will take over the world, naturally. Or perhaps I am just hoping that in one of their stories you will see a little piece of yourself. Something specific about their journey that resonates with your own. A fear you have in common – of wild camping, of isolation, of solo travel, of… exercise?

And that then, perhaps, you will feel reassured that when it comes down to the bare bones of it – we are all the same. And you will at last take that leap. And do that thing (you know the thing I’m talking about) which you have been dreaming about for years.

WHAT SETS AN ADVENTURE QUEEN APART?

Adventure Queens are the real deal. They are curious travellers and explorers, but best of all they are willing to share their deepest darkest thoughts. What sets them apart is their willingness to be open and honest about all aspects of their journeys. Especially the ridiculous and irrational parts. And because I am lucky enough to call them friends, they have been kind enough to share these thoughts with a wider audience.

Adventure Queen Emma Frampton: Spent 1 month cycling through Cuba

WHAT ABOUT THE ADVENTURE KINGS?

I hear you. I’m a tomboy after all. I grew up in a house full of boys and spent most of my childhood doing whatever the boys did. I didn’t begin this project with the aim of it to be solely aimed at females. I just seemed to have found myself surrounded by rookie adventurers with boobies. And I can only assume that’s because I have a set of them myself. Perhaps there’s something in there about the laws of attraction, or that these girls have felt more comfortable in asking for advice from a fellow She-rah.

Whatever the reason, it also has to be said that there are different obstacles to be overcome, according to your gender. I can’t comment on the male side, but whether it’s down to genetics, history or society, as a generalisation (and as one of them myself) I know that women just struggle that little bit more when it comes to the confidence side of things.

In the months and years to come I hope to add a male counterpart section to the site too. If you’re a budding Adventure King and need a nudge in the right direction or to share what’s stopping you from taking the leap, I’d love to hear from you.

MEET THE ADVENTURE QUEENS

It’s officially go time. It’s been months of work to gather their stories and I am so freakin’ excited to get to share them with you. I’ll be adding more as time  goes by, but you can read about the Adventure Queens so far, or listen to their 20 minutes interviews via the links below. Get stuck in!

• Elise Downing: Cake eater running 5,000 miles around the UK Coast
• Susie Pike: Decided life was too short and cycled 5,000km across Australia
• Laura Maisey: Former couch potato who has decided to run home from Rome.
• Emma Frampton: Embarked on solo trips to hike Slovenia and cycle Cuba

Here goes an experiment. Because it strikes me that all-too-often we only get to hear about adventure plans when they are unveiled / announced / launched / released, and above all… final. The reasons for that are valid – you don’t want to look like a prize banana after all – shooting your mouth off and then not doing what you said you would. But it always seems a shame that the journey to the start line of an adventure should appear so effortless.

And so this time, I’d like to roll a little differently. To share with you the jagged and jumbled mess of musings that unfold before things are set in stone. Because, like anything else in life it ain’t plain sailing. Plans are made, dashed, changed, turned upside down, and dashed again before finally, hopefully settling at something that definitely (possibly) maybe floats the adventure boat. Here’s the story so far…

IT TAKES TWO OF US (BUT WE CAN MAKE IT IF WE TRY)

When thinking about the next big trip, I knew I didn’t fancy another adventure alone, not yet anyway. The levels of isolation in New Zealand tipped me just the wrong side of lone wolf and I have learned enough about my own company, and indeed my own mind, to last me a good few years yet. Plus, I’m intrigued to see what life is like on the road with another chick at my side. How does that dynamic work? What happens when we p*ss each other off? When she wants to go on, and I want to stop? When I’m having a tantrum and have to consider her feelings too, what happens then?

Learning how to live and manage a relationship in such close confines with another person can only be good for the soul. I won’t always get my own way, I’ll have to compromise and above all to recognise that not everyone sees the world the way that I do. There’s an air of buddhism about a joint journey, and it’s something I’m keen to explore.

So when, after months of contemplation (possibly about a week), I came up with the idea to travel the length of South America on a Giant Scooter (yes I said a Giant scooter), I knew there was only one girl who I should call. A girl that would drop everything and say yes in a heartbeat: Faye Shepherd.

Some of you might remember Faye, who I first met during the New Zealand run. Faye was sat at home watching my run unfold when she came over a little bit inspired. She then negotiated some time off work, hopped on a flight to NZ and cycled the length of it. Boom. I love a girl who takes action, and so it’s no surprise that we have been friends ever since.

BONKERS – POSSIBLE: A SLIDING SCALE

When settling on an adventure, I always see it (in my minds eye) as a sliding scale. At one end, is the word ‘BONKERS’ in big capital letters. Caps are important, because, well, bonkers is a proud word. The world needs more bonkers – just ask Dizziee ‘double e’ Rascal. On the other end is the word: Possible. Possible is small and less assuming than bonkers, but equally important in the proceedings.

Following the Eureka! scooter plan moment, I decided to seek out some expert advice. Experts are important, because bonkers is one thing, but his friend Stupid? Well that’s entirely another. No one likes Stupid. Stupid doesn’t get an invite to the adventure party.

Naturally, my expert friends, cycle tourist extraordinaries the ‘Pikes on bikes’, told me that I was bonkers. No change there then. But they also patiently listened as I explained how I hoped that doing a journey by giant scooter would serve to inspire the minds of some little kiddywinks. Kiddywinks who use their own scooters every day to get to school. And the Pikes (although not on their bikes at this particular meeting) managed to keep a straight face, even when most of my answers to their logistical questions were: ‘”I don’t know yet.”

1. How far can you go in a day? I don’t know yet
2. How do you plan to carry enough water across the Atacama desert? I don’t know yet.
3. Can you Scoot uphill? Yes of course! Oh no, wait, actually – I don’t know yet.
4. How will you carry all your gear? I don’t know… yet.
5. What is my favourite colour? Okay that wasn’t one of their questions, but had it been I would have taken a Monty Python esc guess.

We agreed there were some ‘seasonal challenges’ and that perhaps doing the entire length of South America in 6 months was out of the question, but the basics of the idea was still a go-er at least. So before getting all excited and allowing myself to become fully immersed in daily Duolingo Spanish lessons, I accepted that I needed to answer some of those other hideously sensible questions. So I called up the gang at Kick Scoot UK and arranged a tester trip on the giant beasts.

TESTING TIMES

With scooters in tow Faye and I hauled our asses to Wales, where we’d booked in for 2 nights at he Dolgoch Wilderness hostel. Why? Because according to the Pikes on bikes, the forestry roads around the Dolgoch hostel were about as close to roads in South America as we were going to get. Who knew? I can see the Visit Wales slogan now “Sod South America, come to Dolgoch instead.”

For 2 days we gunned it around the tracks of the Tywi Forest. And by Jove it was fun. The sun was shining (as it always seems to be when I visit wales), the birds were singing and the scooters are just about the most fun you can have on two wheels whizzing down hill. The centre of gravity is just that bit lower than a bike, so it feels more like skiing than cycling downhill. We scooted for hours, to the pub, and even rescued two sheep from trapped brambles and fences, at which point we dubbed ourselves ‘Scooter-heroes’. We didn’t even freak out when we bounced over a cattlegrid and Faye’s back wheel casually fell off. 

By the end of the two days, our calves, bums and quads ached gloriously. We were sun-kissed , smiling, exhilarated. There was only problem. Kick Scooters do not go uphill. We thought perhaps we’d get away with a small incline at least, but even that reduced us to walking. Of course that wouldn’t be a problem if South America were flat, but those Andes, I hear they’re rather ‘hilly’ at points. And so travelling on a machine that doesn’t go upwards has the potential to be a deal-breaker.

THE FUN GRAPH

The bonkers-possible sliding scale now familiar in your minds, I’d like to introduce you to the fun-graph. See below. You’ll note that there is a strong correlation between ‘bloody hard’ and ‘bloody good fun’, unfortunately there is also an optimum point, where it tips over the curve and becomes more hard than it is fun. This is where scooting uphill had left us. The flats and downhills were just about too much fun to be legal, but the ups…

We were completely gutted. But as I chimed to Faye on the second day – “This is, like, such a massive first world problem. We can’t take our giant scooters on the route through South America that we wanted to. What are we to do with our lives now?” The world may end. And then again, it may  not. We will simply return to the drawing board, put some polyfilla in our dented pride and unpick the important elements of the plan from those which are flexible. Which, If I’m honest is all of it.

Most importantly of all, I wanted to share this with you because this plan was a curiosity. And curiosities are to be chased until the sliding scale gets too far from the possible, and you stray too far from bloody good fun. Then you simply have a Diet Coke break, pick another curiosity and chase that one instead. Because one of them will come up trumps. That’s just basic maths.

So what now, you ask? And to that I reply… I don’t know yet.

Until next time,

McNuff out xx

A gigantic thank you to our friends at Kickscoot UK for loaning us some scooters for the test – if you’re looking for a new hobby / fun way to travel – these guys are your best bet.

And also thank you to the Pikes on Bikes – for indulging our bonkers and telling us where to find a little piece of South America in the UK.

For a full gallery of images from the testing-times, head here

It’s that time of year again. The days are long, the nights are warm, those of you with hay fever look like something from the Zombie apocalypse and (if a city dweller) your face is forced frequently into the armpit of a sweaty, topless man on the tube. Yes folks – it’s summer! And that means there are even less excuses to be cooped up inside. Especially when there’s whole host of places to unleash your inner adventure-beast over the summer, and beyond. 

Here’s a run-down of some of the UK’s best outdoor and adventure festivals for your diary. You’re welcome. You can hug me later.

1. YESTIVAL: The Say Yes More Festival

• When: 21st – 23rd October
• Where: In a field near London – secret venue to be announced in August
• Cost: £120 – £165 depending on how early you book
• Organised by: Dave Cornthwaite and the Say Yes More team.

What to expect: Quite possibly the most positive festival on the planet. Perfect for those looking for a new direction in life. Expect inspiring talks, health and safety briefings from a man in a silver thong, group hugs, early morning workouts, late night dancing and relaxed workshops. Family friendly and rammed to the rafters with happy joy-joy vibes, I guarantee you’ll leave this weekend feeling like you can take on the world.

More info and tickets

2. ADVENTURE TRAVEL FILM FESTIVAL

• When: Fri 14th – Sun 16th August 2016
• Where: Mill Hill, North London
• Cost: £89 (without meals) or £128 (with meals) +  special workshops booked as extra
• Organised by: Motorcycling legends Austin Vince and Lois Pryce

What to expect: Madness, creativity and an incredible line up of unique films – old and new. Curators Austin and Lois set the bar very high for film selection so you’re in for a real treat. In between the screen gazing and schedule juggling as you try to make every talk on the programme, you’ll find workshops, panels and talks from some of the UK’s top adventurers. This is a very relaxed festival attended by a hubble-bubble-hotch-potch of friendly adventurous people from all walks of life.

More Info and tickets 

3. ESCAPE TO THE WOODS

• When: Fri 2nd – Sunday 4th September 2016
• Where: Clayton Organic Farm, East Sussex TN20 6RE
• Cost: Earlybird tickets now on sale at £110 (camping) or £190 (glamping)
• Organised by: Escape the City

What to expect: This one is for the go-getters, the connectors and the entrepreneurs. People in search of a new direction in life and a breath of fresh air. Head to the woods for inspiring talks, creative workshops, woodland games, workouts, casual chats around the firepit, open mics, soulful music and dancing under the stars. Food is also a highlight here, and you’ll be able to fill your belly with real ales, ciders, cocktails, juices, quality coffee or take your pick from the pop-up organic food stalls.

More info and tickets 

Cycle tourist Tommy gets waved off on his ride to China at the Yestival 2015.

4. BASECAMP FESTIVAL

• When: Fri 2nd – Sun 4th September 2016
• Where: Sabine Hay, Peak District
• Cost: £126.50 – £142 depending on on how early you buy
• Organised by: Explorers Connect

What to expect: Now entering it’s 3rd year, this small festival is going from strength to strength. During the day you can fill your boots with off-site activities like mountain biking, kayaking or climbing, and if you choose to stay on-site there’s climbing, slack-lining and plenty of workshops to choose from. When the sun goes down, the main speakers take to the stage and lead everyone neatly into nights filled with food, live music and firepit chitter chatter. A lovely relaxed, non pretentious vibe.

More info and tickets

5. WILD NIGHT OUT

• When: 16th July 2016
• Where: Anywhere and everywhere
• Cost: £20 donation to Youth Adventure Trust
• Organised by: Explorers Connect

What to expect: This isn’t a festival exactly, well if everyone got together in one place it would be. Headed up by Belinda Kirk of Explorer’s Connect, this is a chance to have a ‘wild night out’ however you wish to do it. It’s aiming to be the UK’s first national day of adventure, encouraging everyone to take to the wilds on mini adventures, sleep under the stars, and pay it forward by donating £20 to the Youth Adventure Trust.

More info 

Expect the best of old and new at the Adventure Travel Film Festival

6. WOMEN’S ADVENTURE EXPO

• When: 8th October 2016
• Where: The @Bristol Science Centre, Bristol
• Cost: TBC – tickets go on sale July 1st
• Organised by: Sisters Rebecca Hughes and Tania John

What to expect: A newbie on the festival circuit but one that hit the ground running last year, and is back by popular demand. You don’t even need to have boobies to go, willies are welcome too. You’ll find a host of main stage speakers (yours truly included), a panel in the evening and workshops throughout the day. The organisers do a good job of getting a mix of daring chica’s from all corners of adventure – cold journeys, hot journeys, short, long, expensive and cheap. Be sure to stick around in the evening for a craft beer or two on Bristol’s harbourside.

More Info and tickets

7. SOUTH WEST OUTDOORS FESTIVAL

• When: Fri 23rd – Sun 25th September 2016
• Where: Heddon Valley, on Exmoor National Park
• Cost: Free to attend, free talks some activities cost extra when there
• Organised by: The National Trust

What to expect: A new outdoor festival with hiking, biking, trail running, open water swimming, camping, star gazing and wild food foraging. According to the National Trust you ‘can build your own adventure weekend, or chill out in the West Country’s wonderful wilderness.’ I’ll be speaking at the festival on the Saturday, so if you wind up here come and say hello.

More info and tickets

8. ALPKIT BIG SHAKEOUT

• When: Fri 23rd – Sun 25th September
• Where: Bakewell, Derbyshire, DE45 1NY
• Cost: £60 (indivdual ticket) £150 (Family ticket) + optional extras
• Organised by: Alpkit.com

What to expect: A very family friendly festival with plenty of opportunity to get you out and about over the weekend. Jam packed with onsite activities, live music, lectures and adventure films. Activities include mountain biking, paddle making, fell running, biathlon and slack lining. Set over a nice big area, there are hay bales dotted around, home baked cakes on sale and evening talks in big ole cosy yurts. There’s even a storytelling workshop with a man named ‘Creepy Toad’. Amazing.

More info and tickets

 9. ADVENTURE SOUTH WEST

• When: Sat October 28th – Sun 29th
• Where: Royal Cornwall Showground, PL27 7JE
• Cost: Entry is free, a small cost for extra activities
• Organised by: I’ll level with you… I’m not sure. Nice adventure people, I hope.

What to expect: This is my wild card entry on the list – it’s another new festival, so I’m not entirely sure what you should expect. It seems to be a sort of adventure sports vibe. You can move between four zones: Altitude, Watersports, Trail and ‘learning live’ – trying out activities in each one. There’s not too much in the way of information on the website just yet, but it’s one for the radar if you’re a South West dweller.

More info  

Last years panel at the Women’s Adventure Expo

I have to say that deciding where to go for the next big adventure caused me a wee bit of strife. When the idea to travel through South America on a giant kick-scooter fell through, it became a toss up between the two elements of the journey. What was more important – travelling by scooter, or exploring the Andes? After a conflab with friend Faye and a celebrity death match style rumble between Scooters (in the Blue corner) and The Andes (in the Red corner), the Andes won by a clear K.O in the first round. Largely because there are Llamas in the Andes. And I’ve never met a Llama before. 

One of the many Llamas I hope to meet along the way. 

And really, with scooters out the window and me having recently discovered that walking is rubbish, the only way to see the Andes has to be by bike. Straight away the little voice in my head piped up: “But Anna, you’ve done the cycling thing. Don’t you think that’s a bit… easy? Have you gone soft?!” It was an inner monologue that played like a broken record for weeks on end, until I realised something….

I hope that this doesn’t come across as arrogant when I say that honestly, after the New Zealand run I feel that I have nothing left to prove. To myself or to others. I pushed myself so close to the edge on that run, that I know if I wanted to, and if I was willing to, I could put my body through anything. One day I’ll gather the strength to do that again, but for now, and when you have nothing left to prove, then life becomes about choice. A choice on how to spend those precious days before the Grim Reaper comes a-callin’.

THE HEAD, HEART AND GUT TRIANGLE

In a bid to encourage the vicious inner monologue to pipe down, I whipped out the greatest decision making tool I have: The head, heart and gut triangle.

The king of all decision making tools – the head, heart and gut triangle.

Most of us will be driven by one or two of these elements, and frequently ignore the third. Me? I’m a head and heart kind of girl. And often when my gut tells me things – like the fact that my ex-boyfriend was actually a bit of a knob at times  – I would ignore it. I’d override it with head-driven ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. I can fix this’, and heart-driven ‘But I love him.’ When my gut was screaming at me to stand up for myself and walk away.

So what did this tool make of my adventure dilemma? Here’s what the three triangle amigos had to say:

Heart: “OhMyGoshOhMyGosh. Yes Anna! Let’s go cycling! Wheeeee, I LOVE cycling. You know that cycling is the closest you’ll ever get to flying. Oh pleeeaaassseee can we go cycling, Anna? Pleeeaaaase?”

Head: “Are you sure that’s enough of a challenge, Anna? I mean, you know you can ride a bike. And lots of people go cycling in South America… don’t you think you should do something more… original?”

Guts: “I know you would do this trip if no one else was watching. It’ll be hard, you’ll be challenged, and you will absolutely love it. Go get em’ tiger.”

The result? Jog on head thoughts. We’re going cycling bitches!

THE PLAN

So here’s the plan. On October 10th, my good friend Faye and I will board a plane to La Paz, Bolivia. From there we will head slightly north into Peru – to the highest settlement in the world at La Riconada. From there we will begin a journey south along the Andes mountains to the ‘end of the world’ – Ushuaia. Instead of taking of taking the shortest, flattest, most direct route (because apparently this is what sensible people would do?), we’ll be on a mission to take on as many peaks and passes of the Andes as we can, by bike. Given that most of the climbs are between 3,500 and 4,500 metres above sea level, we’ve got it pegged at around 60 peaks/passes and 89,000m of ascent so far. That’s a whole lot of lung burning. Around about 10 times the height of Everest to be precise, which sounds nuts, but hey – we’ve got 6 months….

Paso de Condor, Bolivia (4,730m high). Image courtesy of http://www.pikesonbikes.com – two friends who are a huge source of inspiration for this trip.

We were going to call the journey ‘Gettin’ high in South America’, but that seemed childish and crude. So instead we’ve called it ‘Gettin’ high in South America.” SMILEY FACE. The good news is that both Faye and I love going up hills, and we both hate coming down them. Interesting, eh? And so, my chumlings, this adventure shall be like life. With highs and lows and not much else (except the Atacama desert) in between.

Hopefully at the end of the 6 months we’ll make it to Ushuaia, but then again we may not. We’re easy (like a Sunday morning) either way.

 A NEW APPROACH 

I’ve always done ‘A to B’ type adventures. That is, the challenge has been to make it from one set point or another, usually in a timeframe dictated by visas, and with a feint hope of arriving at the designated ‘finish line’ in one piece. But if the last few years have taught me anything it is that there is nothing waiting at that finish line you do not already have. The only difference between the me at the start of the New Zealand run, and the me standing alone at that lighthouse at the end, was that the girl at the end knew she could do it. The one at the start sincerely hoped she could but wasn’t sure. I was still the same person.

As Polar explorer and adventurer Ben Saunders puts it so perfectly in his TED talk: “Happiness is not a finish line, and if we can’t feel content amid the mess and the striving, we might never feel it.”

So I hope that the more unplanned, flexible nature of this journey allows Faye and I to embrace the every day. To immerse ourselves in the true nature of adventure and to fully explore what the Andes have to offer. 

The reality is, it’s a very stupid idea. I have no doubt that we’ll be halfway up remote mountain pass number 30, feeling slightly altitude sick, running low on water and surviving on dry crackers, and I will think: ‘What the hell am I doing? Why am I cycling up yet another sodding mountain pass?’ But what’s the alternative… to race to the end at Ushuaia? To be ‘done’? And then what?

A highly detailed route plan from La Paz, Bolivia to Ushuaia, Argentina.

WITH T-MINUS 9 WEEKS TO GO…

…And the added complication of being apart from the boy I love beyond measure for that amount of time, yes I’m nervous. I’m wondering what in the world I’ve gotten myself into (again), and I’m feeling like I’ll never quite be ready… again. But the world just keeps on turning. The future will come whether I’m ready for it or not. So all I can do is saddle up (on the bike I haven’t yet bought) pack the equipment (I haven’t yet sorted), get on that plane (I haven’t yet booked) and embrace the crap out of what will no doubt be another journey of a lifetime.

So strap in for an armchair adventure kids, because I cannot wait to take you all with me.

Until next time,

Big love,

McNuff xxx

Switch backs a-go-go on one of the mountain passes on the hit list between Argentina and Chile.

The two words ‘wild camping’ can strike fear into the heart of even the most willing adventurer. Where do I go? What do I take? Is it even legal?? To help answer these questions, women’s outdoor brand Lily Wild recently organised a wild camping Q&A evening, sponsored by Moju. On a panel made up of me and fellow wild camp keen beans Laura Kennington and Helen Proudfoot, Lily Wild founder Adelaide Goodeve guided the audience through a series of burning questions pitched in by the general public, and later gave them the opportunity to ask some of their own. Although the event was aimed at and attended mostly by women, all of the questions are applicable to both genders.

Below is a full account of the chitter chatter on the night. you can read the whole shebang through from start to finish (recommended), or just click on which question(s) interest you in the list below. You’ll then be whisked down the page as if atop a magic wild camping carpet, to the relevant section.

In their own words…“Lily Wild is a women’s outdoor brand on a mission to help women live more stylish, active and adventurous lives through high performance gear. An no, it’s not pink or purple.”

GETTING STARTED AND PERSONAL STORIES

• How did you start wild camping?
• What advice and tips can you give to use first timers to help us have a safe, fun and successful wild camping adventure?
• Do you have any advice specially for people who want to camp solo for the first time?
• What exactly is wild camping?
• Whats your feeling on the differences between bivvying and camping?
• What’s been your best wild camping experience?
• Have you got any more big adventures planned?

FINDING AND SETTING UP A CAMP SPOT

• What are the top three things to look for in a camping spot, under pressure and in the dark?
• Do you have any thoughts on the legalities of wild camping?
• What are the lessons you’ve learnt from wild camping, and is there anything you wouldn’t do again?
• How do you choose where to go? How do you even start to plan an adventure??
• Do you wait until nightfall to set up, or do you just do it whenever?

PRACTICAL CONSDERATIONS

• Do you have any good tips on keeping warm?
• On longer adventures, how do you about planning for food or water, and how much to take?
• If you had to pick one piece of kit to spend your money on, what would it be?
• What do you do about insects??
• What are the most extreme weather conditions you’ve ever camped out in?
• What navigation tools do you use to not get… lost?!
• What home comforts do you take with you?
• What do you do to get clean water??

READ THE FULL PANEL INTERVIEW (25 minute read)

Adelaide: So over there is Anna, she’s an adventurer, speaker and mischief maker, and last year she ran the length of New Zealand. 

In the middle we have Laura. Laura is an adventure athlete and a firm believer in living life to the full. In following your passion and redefining your limits. Recently she swam, cycled and kayaked around the channel islands in an extreme version of a triathlon.

And here we have Helen. Helen has gone from her first tentative campouts to now bivvying solo across the country, pedalling on her bike, camping whatever the weather. This October Helen will be cycling and bivvying across the world as she cycles to New Zealand.

 Adelaide: First question… How did you start wild camping?

*silence as the panel girls look at one another*

Anna: Ooooh who wants to go first? Do you know what this feels like? (turns to the audience) Who used to watch Take That interviews? I always used to watch their interviews and wonder how on earth they worked out who went first in the group. This feels like that… shall I start? Okay, I’ll be Mark…. (laughter)

I first started wild camping when I had no choice. I went on this trip to cycle through every state of America, but I left having never camped on my own before. And I was absolutely petrified, because everyone said to me ‘you’re going to get shot in the desert, you’re going to get raped… and in Yellowstone National park they’d even spray painted on the road ‘Grizzlies eat people.’ (laughter) Which I thought was really helpful… so I started by accident because I had to. But I do remember what it was like the first few times. My friend had even offered to practise with me in the UK. She said: ‘do you want to go to Dartmoor, and we can camp 200 metres apart, alone, to practice?’ I was too scared to even do that. So in the end I just got on a plane to the US and started.

Laura: Quite similar to Anna actually… While I had camped quite a lot in the UK with friends, the first time I actually did it by myself was in Russia, when I decided to kayak the Volga river. And as wild camping goes that was quite a tough start… because when you don’t speak the language sometimes excited Russians can sound like aggressive Russians! (laughter) I remember my first night, everyone had left, including the girl that’d dropped me off. And there was this angry Russian outside my tent. Well… he wasn’t angry, he was actually really nice and just trying to offer me some firewood…. (laughter)

Helen: I started wild camping with a group called the YesTribe. My first time camping on my own was when I decided to go cycling in December. So it was just me and my bivvy bag, on the edge of a field somewhere in Somerset…. I managed to get some sleep! (laughter) (Back to the questions)

Girls night out in Oxfordshire

Adelaide: All very cool! So one question that came in was: “As a woman who’s never been wild camping before, but loves the outdoors and new adventures, what advice and tips can you give to us first timers? To help us have a safe, fun and successful wild camping adventure?”

Laura: I would say that like anything the more you do it, the more comfortable you get with it. So if you’re wondering about where to start… I started by doing it with friends over here (in the UK) and then I jumped in at the deep end. Helen obviously started doing it locally too, which is great. And it does help if you do it somewhere you can speak the language! So I would just say start. Just start. Start where you are. Camp with your friends, camp in your garden even, just do something that allows your confidence to build.

Helen: Yeaah, I’d always just say use your common sense. If you go out somewhere and feel uncomfortable where you are, go somewhere else. At the end of the day, I’ve wild camped a lot in Britain, and unless you get run down by a hoard of cows you’re pretty much not going to get disturbed. So just avoid cows and you’ll be fine (laughter).

Anna: I think it’s like any fear, the fear of the fear is ten times worse than the reality. and when you get there and you do it… the first time is a bit weird, I mean your imagination does go nuts and that’s why it’s quite nice to do it with someone else, so you’re busy chatting away, about Love Island or something, then before you know it you’ve nodded off to sleep. I don’t know about anyone else, but I get quite nervous if I feel like someone’s nearby, and so at first I’d struggle to sleep because of all of these ‘what if’s’ running through my brain. And it did actually happen on a wild camp in Essex. Someone found us, and disturbed us. And the treacherous situation, the thing I’d been fearing all that time went like this: There were these two guys, one had a torch and spotted us.

Man 1: “Wassat over there?”

Man 2: “People sleeping.”

Man 1: “Oh.”

And they walked off (laughter). That was it, the pinnacle and ultimate moment of my fears. They don’t care! No one cares! And like Laura says, just start where you can. Camp in your garden, that’s great, because when you wake up there’s mince pies and cups of tea on tap. I’ve camped in my garden loads of times. (back to the questions)

 Adelaide:Do you have any advice specifically for people who want to camp solo for the first time?

Laura: I think there’s always going to be that first time you have to do it by yourself. And regardless of when it is, your brain will imagine the worst at first anyway, so you might as well get on with it. Take the initial leap wherever you feel comfortable. I mean, when I was in Russia, that first week, there was always a mass murderer outside my tent, and the reality was the noise was always a mouse..

Anna: It could have been Danger Mouse though Laura? (laughter)

Laura: That it could. That would have been worse than a murderer. (laughter)

Anna:… Or you could put some music on? If you can’t sleep… A bit of Eva Cassidy always chills me out if my brain starts to go a bit nuts. So on one of my wild camps I just put some music in and drift off to sleep.(back to the questions)

Wild camping on the shores of Lake Tekapo, New Zealand

 Audience member: Sorry… when you talk about wild camping… can you actually just say what wild camping is?! Is it in a bivvy, or tent?

 Laura: Oh sorry! Yes just anywhere that’s not a paid or official campsite. That’s wild camping.

Anna: Yep in a tent, or bivvy. I think we’ve all done it in both.

Helen: I usually bivvy just because it’s quicker and easier.

Anna: And it’s fine if you don’t like bivvying. I’ve got a friend who refuses to bivvy. She turns up with her tent, duvet and pillows on the back of her bike to a wild camp spot. Because that’s the way she rolls and she just prefers a tent. I actually like the bivvy bag because I feel safer, and I can see everything, and I like that feeling of a cool breeze across your nose. I also like that when you open your eyes it’s not your own sweat dripping off the tent roof onto you, but instead a sky full of stars. (back to the questions)

Anna Asks the audience: What’s your feeling on the differences between bivvying and camping?

Audience member: When I’m wild camping I prefer bivvying. I like to be hidden and I still don’t like being found. And I find it quite reassuring. Because the bivvy is so discreet. You’re just lying in the woods and no one will see you. But if I’m in a campground, then I definitely use a tent for the space.

Audience member: I think that the first few times you wild camp, you feel really big – like everyone can see you! Like the whole world is watching! Then after you do it a couple of times, you realise that you’re indistinguishable from anything else in the field. I remember the first time I did it was in a fied full of sheep, and they just didn’t shut up! (laughter). You do realise that you’re actually quite small. People aren’t going out there looking for you, and if they are then they’ve probably got bigger problems than you do!! (laughter). I think if you just keep perspective on what is really going on out there, and you change your mindset then it becomes much easier.

Anna: Yeah I agree. For me it’s always that difference between between what is the perceived risk and what is the actual risk. And so much of what we don’t do is based on perceived risk, or other people’s fears.

Audience member: I’ve also used a hammock tent (audience ‘ooooohhhs’!). Which is really discreet because it’s tree coloured. I had an experience where there was no option but to use it. I put it up right next to the trail, between trees and the fence and I felt really weird. There were all these dog walkers passing by and I could see them right there, but it taught me that no one is looking even 2ft into the woods to see you. (back to the questions)

Morning view of Berkshire Poppy fields after a wild night camping in nearby woods.

Adelaide: What’s been your best wild camping experience?

Laura: I’ll go for Ireland. It was my first foray into wild camping after I’d just come back from an expedition that didn’t go so well in Russia. And so all the fears that were there first time I was out were rampant again. And I was sat there thinking ‘I need to get over this fear’. And I was petrified, being totally irrational, more than I ever was before. And a guy came over to my tent. And I thought ‘I knew it! I knew this was a bad idea!’ and actually he was just offering me some burgers! They were in a camper van up the road, and had seen my lone tent, and come to say hello. So I spent the night chatting with them and hanging out with the whole family. It was special, because it was overcoming the fear again.

Anna: My Favourite experience was we did this little ‘experience’ where I decided to spend 6 consecutive Wednesday nights sleeping out on hilltops in each of the counties surrounding London. It started with just four of us, four weirdos sleeping in bushes to be precise, and it grew to over 150 people. We kept going for 25 consecutive weeks around London. It was mental!

We culminated it right at the end with a campout in London itself. 40 of us met at a out in the West End, and because we couldn’t sleep 40 of us in one place, I mean it’s not like a Guide camp or anything, we split up into little groups of 4 or 5. We had ‘Team Campstead Heath’, Team Ali Pally, Primrose hill and Richmond Park…. and everyone was on social media sharing what was going on. Team Campstead heath had a whole mobile wine shop up there! And Team Ally Pally (which I was in), well were just getting really annoyed because there was some 16 olds shagging in the bushes and throwing up nearby! (laughter) We were all like: “It’s Wednesday night! We’re trying to go to sleep. Easy on the vomiting kids! Don’t you have school in the morning?!” (laughter)

So that for me was just an amazing experience, because we were wild camping in places that you would never think to camp. It was all really exciting and made even better by the fact that we should share in others experiences too via social media. The next morning was ace, everyone shared their pictures of the sunrise in their location… it was just brilliant.

Helen: Mine was on Wimbledon common. We were doing a Project Awesome session at 6.30am on Monday morning, and it was the day after the Wimbledon Sunday finals… So five of us decided to camp out the night before the session. We found this tree with the most elaborate branch system, it created a little woodland cave. So we just snuggled under there for the night and it was lovely. (back to the questions)

Audience member: Have you got any more big adventures planned?

Anna: I’m going to the Andes for 6 months from October, and I am crapping my pants!! I really am. I hear there’s not much water in the desert. So that’ll be loads of wild camping, and I’ve got a friend with me this time. But I’m still nervous! Don’t get me wrong it’s not so much about the camping specifically, but you always get those adventure nerves, you think “What am I doing?! Why don’t I just stay at home and drink tea and eat biscuits… like normal people?!”. But I’m really excited. And Helen, I know you’ve got a massive trip planned…

Helen: In October I’m setting off to cycle to New Zealand! So there’s going to be a fair bit of wild camping in that! (back to the questions)

Adelaide: What are the top three things to look for in a camping spot, under pressure and in the dark?

Laura: As secluded as possible, away from a main road, anywhere you could be spotted easily. And not at the bottom of a hill, in case it starts raining and you wake up covered in slush.

Helen: It’s good to get an OS map of the area, because they show you where the footpaths are and you can see where there’s a country park, or lots of fields or woods – although sometimes woods are fenced off. I like, if I can, to try and find the top of a hill. With a  view out east and then you can catch the sunrise.

Anna: Yeah I think it’s just the basics… somewhere sheltered, in case it’s really windy, somewhere flat, because otherwise you end up at th bottom of your sleeping bag… and then if you’re getting really serious and on a long trip, I always look for somewhere near a water source. It’s nice not to have to trek too far to get your water… so long as you’re not then peeing in your water source of course. (laughter)  (back to the questions)

Adelaide: Do you have any thoughts on the legalities of wild camping?

*silence and a few awkward giggles*

Laura: I mean, yes, it’s illegal. It’s totally illegal, but my thoughts on this are be respectful, clear up after yourself, if you don’t leave any damage and you’re respectful of your environment, and you don’t take the piss and make a big fire and have naked parties around it or whatever, then there’s no harm really done. When you leave no trace.

Anna: Yep, I agree. I don’t ever feel guilty really. And if it does get really desperate then you can always knock on a door and ask for permission. Although then you normally end up indoors, watching the Italian job, eating beef stew… (laughter) which sort of defeats the purpose of wild camping! But I just think you’re out there enjoying the natural environment, if someones got a problem with it, then fair enough, if it’s their land, but really we’re not causing any harm.

There is one thing I’d be careful about with National Trust land and that’s that they do fine trespassers on their land. The likelihood is slim, but I try to avoid National Trust land where possible, just in case.

Helen: I was once camping in this park, and I woke up in the morning and someone said that the place was going to get quite busy soon so it might be better to move on, but they didn’t have a problem with us being there, they were just looking out for us I guess. I’ve been woken up by loads of dog walkers, but they either just completely ignore us or they say hello and have a chat about what you’re doing.

Laura: Yeah I find the same. If anyone has come across me the morning, they’re mostly just curious.

Anna: I do try to go completely hidden if I can though. I sometimes just like a lie in too, so it can be 9am before I wake up! So I like to know not to be distend.

Helen: Yeah and obviously it is legal to wild camp in some places, like Dartmoor or Scotland. I even asked the National Park authorities in the Lake District, and they said as long as you’re in wild areas and not leaving a trace, then they’re fine with it.

Sunrise over Essex on a wild camp

Adeleide: What are the lessons you’ve learnt from wild camping, and is there anything you wouldn’t do again?

Laura: I probably wouldn’t camp on a beach again, I mean, it sounds really romantic and wonderful, but sand just gets absolutely everywhere! There’s no shade, so I just woke up in my tent, stuck to the sides with mosquitos buzzing around me.

Anna: I camped once near stingy nettles, and I didn’t know they were there because I pitched up in the dark, so when I went for a wee at 3am I squatted down and got stung everywhere! Other than that, in New Zealand there’s this type of tree that’s a really tall California Pine. They’re really bendy. It was a really windy night, and I thought I’d camp in the forest because there were loads of soft pine needles on the floor, which is camper’s heaven, like a spongey bed. I woke up in the morning and I was just taking a video and messing around and then I heard this massive craaaaack! the tree next to me split in half and went ‘Booooof!’ as it hit the floor right next to my tent! I thought ‘oh man! This was a silly idea!’ So I think I’d be more careful about camping under certain trees in the wind.

Helen: I probably spend too much time camping next to footpaths. Because sometimes you have to go quite a long way to find a spot, and I’m tired. So yeah… I’l probably try and stay a bit away from them in future. (back to the questions)

Audience member: How do you choose where to go? How do you even start to plan an adventure??

Anna: I love a reason to go somewhere. Like sleeping out in the counties out around London. If you google things like ‘most romantic spot in…’ or ‘best views in…’ then that brings up some good stuff. Or there’s there’s this website called slope hunter. It’s for people who launch planes off slopes! (laughter). I know! But I’m so grateful to these people because they’ve written about where the best slopes are around the UK. And they’ve included how to get there, which is important because more than 3 miles from a train station if you’re on foot just gets a bit of a schleck. And then when I’m deciding where I actually camp, I just do it by feel.

Laura: Yeah I would say that mine is about looking for opportunities. Like if I’m going to a wedding… I haven’t been out for a while, I get a bit chlostrphobic. There were a group of us that hadn’t seen one another for a year, so we just out a date in the diary and found a place that was equidistant from our homes.

Helen: Yeah…  I have a habit of spending too much time looking at maps. So I’ve done a few cycling adventures based on place names. I’ve cycled from Ham in Dorset to Sandwich in Kent (laughter). I went via cheese lane, and I went via Rye to get some bread… (more laughter). And I ate a ham sandwich at both ends. I’ve also cycle from Somerset to cumbria, via four places named Wellington, and one named Boot. (laughter).

Anna: Were you wearing Wellington’s the whole way?!

Helen: I was for the last section. And I had the map drawn on my boot so I could explain it to people I met. And another one, I cycled from ‘sauce to sauce’. So I cycled from The Lea and Perrin’s factory in Worcestershire to the houses of parliament, for HP sauce.

Anna: I also do it if I need to stay somewhere, but it’s going to be getting in late and getting up early. If there’s anywhere Green and I can save myself the cost of a hotel room for the night, I’ll do it.

Laura: Yeah that’s probably the one I do most too!  (back to the questions)

Paddy, who forgot his sleeping mat and made a bed from ferns instead

Audience member: Do you wait until nightfall to set up, or do you just do it whenever?

Laura: I normally what until it’s dark to go to the spot, but if I know the area’s really quiet I’ll just sit in the spot for a bit, and set up when it gets a bit dark.

Anna: There was this one night in New Zealand, where I found a spot in the woods, but I was determined to wait until it got darker. So I sat watching the road from the woods for 10 minutes, I watched it like a hawk! Then I realised no one was watching me… and I really wanted some noodles, so I thought ‘stuff it’ and set up then! I think it depends how well people can see me.

Helen: Unless it’s a full moon. When its a full moon you lie there thinking: ‘why can’t someone just turn the flood lights off?’ It’s crazy!  (back to the questions)

Audience member: I have a practical question about keeping warm. Do you have any good tips on keeping warm?

Anna: I really love my Merino longsleeve. Then if it’s really cold, it’s normally my back that gets cold first so I wear a down jacket, one with sleeves or a body warmer without. That and a hat! That makes such a difference.

Laura: Also fleece trousers. I discovered them when I was sailing, you can get them really cheap from Decathlon. They just feel like getting into pyjamas. And a cheap down jacket. And yeah, Merino is amazing too. Also a silk liner for your sleeping bag. All these little things make quite a big difference.

Helen: I just have a massive sleeping bag! It’s heavy to carry but it works.

Adelaide: I’ve just bought an all season NeoAir extra therm. Because I thought I’d splurge on my sleeping mat. I’ve had the most rubbish sleeping mat for so long, and then it broke, and I thought “YES!”

Anna: Did break with a pair of scissors in your hand? (laughter)

Adelaide: Don’t tell everyone! And it rolls up to the size of a water bottle. And when you lie on it it feels like a lilo. Some pole don’t like it, but I used it when I was in the Himalayas and I’m always normally so cold. And this is just air… but I could actually feel the heat coming through me. It’s something to do with the way the way the air moves around it.

Audience member: Yeah I heard it’s always a good idea to to double down when you can. So a down jacket inside a sleeping bag… that really works. And I normally get super cold around my torso, and on my knees. So I always put down around my knees too! And if I have a gap at the bottom of the sleeping bag, I fill it with clothes.

Anna: Oooh and sailing leggings are also really good. I discovered them in New Zealand. They’re made from Polypropylene and they’re warm even when wet. And they dry really quickly. You can get them from sailing stores. They’re about £20… not the most attractive thing, they have this weird crotch seam and I wondered whether I in fact needed a penis to buy them? (laughter) but they’re awesome.  (back to the questions)

Sundown over Buckinghamshire

Audience member: If you had to pick one piece of kit to spend your money on, what would it be?

Laura: I think you can get away with a cheaper bivvy bag, you might get a bit of condensation on the cheaper ones, but that’s okay. You do notice the difference on a cheap sleeping mat though… I’ve got the NeoAir thermarest, and it makes all the difference. And a sleeping bag too, that makes a massive difference, and worth it not to be frozen solid and to enjoy it.

Anna: I’d always go for a good hat. That keeps in so much warmth and is like being tucked in for the night. It’s the one thing I couldn’t go without.

Helen: Yeah I’d say a really good sleeping bag.  (back to the questions)

Audience member: On longer adventures, how do you about planning for food or water, and how much to take?

Laura: I use Google maps. Especially if it’s a route that doesn’t follow a trail. You can find out an awful lot by looking at what towns are nearby. And I always carry a bit extra, like if I’m kayaking. You never know when you’re going to get held up. If there’s bad weather, so I’m always thinking about how many miles I’m going to covering a day.

Anna: The more adventures I do, the less I plan. I think there’s a balance to be struck between being naive and planning. You’re not going to use 90% of what you plan anyway. And if you’re too naive you can end up in a sticky situation, so if it’s a long trip, I always just plan a week ahead. I can’t cope with more than that!

Laura: Yeah I’d agree. Do just about enough to know you’re safe, but don’t stress.

Anna: And I always have 1.5 litres of water spare if it’s long trip, just in case.  (back to the questions)

Richard from Moju: What do you do about insects? The mozzies? They go after me like nobody’s business!

Laura: I have a buff. For those that don’t they’re a fabric scarf. There’s one with insect repellant in it, and especially because I do a lot of journeys by rivers, I find it quite helpful.

Hugo: Are you worried about using Deet then?

Laura: Well lots of my trips are a few months long, and I don’t really want to be dousing myself with Deet all that time. I know there’s natural alternatives too, like mint. But the fabrics that have it woven in are useful.

Helen: You can get bivvy bags with netting over the top too. I just grin and bear it really.

Laura: Earplugs are good as well too, so you don’t hear the flys and wasps all night.  (back to the questions)

Audience member: What are the most extreme weather conditions you’ve ever camped out in?

Anna: I don’t think I’ve ever been too extreme… mine was minus 7 degrees, but it was only on the South Downs Way. And I was fine, but my poor friend… I kept having to wake her up and check on her, because I thought she was seriously going to get hypothermia. I could hear her shivering all night. The worst thing was that when I got out in the morning and my cycling shoes were frozen solid, as was the Toffee Crisp we’d brought for breakfast. Nightmare. (laughter)

Laura: I don’t think mine was much worse than that temperature either.

Helen: I think mine was probably just waking up in a puddle! My bivvy bag is totally waterproof so I just woke up, realised it had been raining all night, but thought ‘Oh, I’m fine!’

Anna: Yeah that’s another thing. I think people get out off by bivvying in the rain, but so long as your bag is waterproof, you just pull it over your head and go back to sleep.

Helen: Yeah I just sleep on my side and poke my face out a little bit. So I get a wet nose… a bit like a dog (laughter)  (back to the questions)

Camping mat surfing, 6.30am Eynsford, Kent.

Audience member: I have a practical question. I get lost all the time and I run out of data and battery on my phone. What do you use to… not be lost?!

Laura: I use this big grey thing here. *Lifts up a battery pack* It’s a battery bank that I got from maplin. I’ve got solar chargers and stuff but this is great. It’ll last me about a week. It’s not super light, but it does the trick.

Anna: Yeah I’ve got a little one called a pebble explorer. That was £40 and is really small, so I just always have it in my bag.  And I always put my phone on airplane mode, and use my GPS to save battery.

Helen: I just always go to a pub in the evening and charge up!

Anna: There’s also an app called View Ranger. You download it on your iPhone and it gives you free standard maps, but then you can also download OS maps over the top. It costs fiver for 300 tiles worth. If I’m ever anywhere new and looking for trails or somewhere to go wild camping – that app really helps to find cool spots. Where the forest areas are, and all the footpaths and bridleways. And it’s so cheap – you only download the tiles you need. My tiles are still going strong after 1/2 a year!!  (back to the questions)

Audience member: What home comforts do you take with you?

Anna: I love my Thermarest pillow! Unfortunately it’s the first thing that gets thrown out if I’m short on space. But it’s lovely. There’s a massive difference between putting your head on a crunchy backpack, and on a nice soft pillow. That’s my luxury. And chocolate.

Helen: A waterproof bag to keep all my clothes in!

Laura: Something to make a nice cup of tea in the morning!  (back to the questions)

Audience member: What do you do to get clean water??

Laura: I’ve got a Water-to-go bottle. I’ve drunk river Thames water from that and had no problems.

Anna: I never treated any water in New Zealand, because most of it is fresh and glacial. But I do always carry iodine tablets, just in case. (back to the questions)

And that’s a wrap. Thanks for reading, I hope this has helped you

Keep up to date on Lily Wild’s activities here, or join her Facebook group here.

For other great sources of Wild camping info, check out Alastair Humphreys or Phoebe Smith’s websites.

“But what if I can’t get any socks in South America?! I mean, I know I can get rubbish socks, but what about the socks that last a long time, and make your feet feel like they are encased in marshmallows? Can I get those kinds of socks in South America? What if they don’t even wear socks in South America?!”

Welcome the irrational pre-departure week in my mind. Sock-gate kept me awake at least one night this week. You’ll all be thrilled to know that I have in the end settled for three ordinary pairs, and one for the ‘evenings’ – which indecently make my feet feel like they are surrounded by marshmallows. And I know they have socks in South America, I’m not that stupid. But my brain will do what it will do, and this week it can mostly be found AWOL.

Sock-gate was of course, just one of many pressing issues I have faced over the last month. There was tyre-gate (have I chosen the right width tyres?!), brake-gate (should I have chosen disc brakes after all?), short-gate (to lycra or not to lycra, that is a question), and let us not forget gear-gate (8speed, 9 speed, 10speed…more?!). Yes folks, I have more first world problems on my John Lewis china plate than you can shake a middle class grammar school educated stick at.

THIRD TIME’S A CHARM

This Andes madness marks my third big adventure (by ‘big I mean one that takes me away from home for more than 6 months). And this time around, for some reason, I thought everything would be easier. Now what in the world would give me that idea?! It has in fact been more difficult. Being loved up n’all, leaving Jamie – that adds a new dynamic to the departure.

‘Do I really want to do this anymore?’ I recently pondered while cycling up the hill at home Gloucester, having enjoyed an extremely ordinary Nando’s and a night at the cinema with Jamie. ‘Maybe I’m actually ready to stay in the UK, do some of that nesting stuff and pop out some sprogs?…’

But the closer this adventure gets, the more I remember why I do this. The more I remember that, at this point in my life, I still can’t not do this. That the very thought of a big adventure makes my toes tingle and my stomach turn in summersaults. I remember that out there, on a lone mountain pass, covered in dust from the road, arms slightly tanned and grinning through a dirt entrusted face – I feel more alive, more often that I ever will at home. I remember that I will learn more and I will see more.

Welcome to La Paz!

THE PLAN (A RECAP)

The masterplan hasn’t changed. And in fact I’m feeling reet excited that I have done the least planning EVA for this trip. It’s quite a record. Let us recap on that minimal plan however – It’s incredibly complex. Hold on to your hats…  are you ready?

1. Crash land in La Paz, and hope like heck that my body likes being 4,000 metres above sea level
2. Chill for a week, indulge in some Spanglish lessons
3. Make it out of La Paz on bike without being squished by traffic
4. Head for a pedal up to Lake Titicaca. Because, well, it’s there. And it has the word ‘tit’ in it.
5. Pedal South through Bolivia, Chile and Argentina via as many Andes peaks and passes as possible (around 60)
6. Revel in the glory of Patagonia as we pass
7. Skid into Ushuaia after 6 months and relax.
8. Drink a beer. Or two.

THE BIKE

The bike is beyond beautiful, and his name is Bernard. Largely because Bernard is a fantastic name. I mean, Bernard sounds like a ‘get sh*t done’ kinda guy – don’t you think? But also because my late Grandad was called Bernard. And he was a massive cycling fan. I have no doubt he’d have loved to pedal up up and away through the Andes mountains, so I’ll be taking him with me on this trip, in spirit at least. Bernard has been lovingly crafted by local man, from a local bike company called Oxford Bike Works. Richard (the local man) who built Bernard the bike, actually has quite a backstory of his own to share. So I interviewed him about it. More on that soon.

What about beautiful Boudica I hear you cry?! Is she on the scrap heap? Absolutely not. The spritely pink steed that’s taken me through every state of the USA and across Europe is safely tucked up at home. She didn’t quite have the right set-up for what will be a mostly off-road tour to remote areas, and so will be watching from the sidelines (or the bike box in the loft) on this one.

HOW TO FOLLOW ALONG

Wifi and other various forms of connectivity might be tricky in parts, but I will be sharing the whole darn way as much as I can.

The live tracker provided by ZeroSixZero will be rolling as usual, via a ‘Where’s Anna’ tab on the main website. Or using this direct link: http://z6z.co/AndesAdventure

Facebook, Twitter and Instagram will be the main outlets – so like me on up (buttercup) on whichever of those mediums tickles your fancy pants. And then there’s this blog where I’ll do a round-up once a month or so of the best bits.

I’m scared and excited, and currently sat in cafe in La Paz gasping for Oxygen. A few days of Spanish lessons begin tomorrow… wish me (and my adventure-partner Faye) luck!

McNuff out xxx