Darren Hill

It is Friday the thirteenth and I am here in Las Vegas, Sin City!

It has been an interesting couple of days. There was a time in my life when I wanted to live here. My first career was in Casinos. Started off working as a croupier, dealt many of the games, was a craps dealer, ended up in management. What I didn’t know about casinos at that time was not worth knowing. Now, is a different story, the essence of a casino is still the same, but it has changed so much. With the automation of a lot of the games, the heart and soul are now lacking.

I walked a lot while here. I love to take in the sights and sounds. Vegas is a sensory overload, for all senses. All of it is cleverly designed to make you stay longer than you intended, to draw you in and almost hypnotise you. I love watching people as they interact with the slots, table games, dealers, hustlers on the street, taxi drivers, security, the list goes on.

I walked all the way north along the strip past the Strat, to Downtown. I wanted to see Freemont; it has been decades since I was up there. The walk from the Strat to Downtown was an interesting one. This is no mans land, not a lot there, a few shops, new IHOP, a Denny’s, quite a few dispensaries and a lot of homeless people. I walked past three separate women, all of which were screaming and shouting at security guards who, for whatever reason, would not allow them into the various dispensary. Nearly 95% of the homeless I saw were on some kind of drug. Either just lying on the ground, slumped against a wall or staggering along, trying to focus on going forward. I felt sad, uneasy, shocked and yet again not, helpless. What could I do. Nothing? Can I do nothing? I just kept walking.

I walked past the Supreme Court of Nevada and could hear some chanting, shouting, noise. I looked a block ahead and I could see a group of people standing on a street corner with signs and flags, Palestinian flags. I looked across the street and opposite them was another group of people, they were also shouting, screaming, also waving flags, Israeli flags and The Stars and Stripes. I noticed on the edge were US Marshalls, fully armed and down the middle of the road where Nevada State Police. I walked up to the area. I asked a US Marshall if it was okay, and he said it was safe and everything was under control.

I was on the Palestinian side of the street, I stood and watched. Each side had a man on a megaphone, and they were hurling, what can only be termed as abuse at each other. As I stood and watched a lady approached me and said, “I am going to the other side, they are God’s people, you should also come.” I told her that I would walk across with her, but I wasn’t going there for that reason. I asked her, if you do believe in a God then aren’t we all God’s children? She muttered something about those people over there don’t deserve that title.

I was fortunate enough to be able to walk from one side to the other and not be afraid someone could possibly attack me. I let the lady go into the middle of the demonstration.

‘the story pilgrim’ is not aligned to any political or religious belief. We trust in nature and leave nature to teach us how we should be living this life and interacting with others. I reflected how, not more than a few miles away, there were thousands of people just having fun, and yet these people demonstrating are having a completely different day.

This pilgrimage through life is fascinating. We are all doing it so different. Don’t be afraid of that. Be strong, be safe and challenge yourself, every day.

As I am contemplating all that is happening with ‘the story pilgrim’, myself, and life in general, my mind is a barrel of thoughts, emotions, wants, desires, ambitions, worries, fears and—heck, a ton a things. It is a little like that last sentence; my contemplating, my opportunities, my worries…endless.

Do I know what I am to do? No. Kinda. Erm, no.

Does that matter? No.

Do I worry? Yes.

Is that good? No, yes, maybe?

The podcast has not come out of nowhere, but the energy that I have for it now most certainly has. I have time. Do I? I am not sure I have, but I always feel I must be productive, so I fill my time with stuff. Sometimes that stuff ends up being productive, a lot of the time it does not.

Today I decided to go for a walk. Closer to home. I checked the OS Map app and found an easy 8.7-mile circle walk, just a 20 minute drive from my house.

I went and was not disappointed. Why have I not done this before?

It was a lovely walk starting and ending in Upper lodges. I took in some of the South Downs Way. I must walk that, the South Downs Way, need to research it. It is a chalk ridge running parallel to the coast, quite steep on the side in some places and undulating down to the coast. 

I saw sheep, horses, dogs, cows, pheasants, grouse, and I think a weasel! Came across a cool little café up on the way, The Pink Pit Stop. Didn’t have a coffee, but have made a note to stop by soon.

One field I walked through made me feel lucky to be alive. It was vast, and yet it hugged me. Held me close with its openness, invited me to look further away and yet study close all it had to offer. It was full of wildflowers, grass and the occasional small bush. The path was clear through it and yet it made me feel like I was the first person to ever experience it. And yes, I was, I was the first and only person to experience that field at that exact moment. No one will ever have the privilege that I had at that moment. Isn’t that great? Is it? Or is that just my ego talking?

What is that?

After I was treated to a wonderful full English Breakfast, prepared by Jenny, my Pilipino host, I headed out back onto The Saints Way.

A gentle climb out of Lanviet, The Saints Way continued to head south towards Fowey.

A couple of miles outside of Lanivet I caught up to Jake, a 28-year-old local who was out for his daily walk. Today he had decided he wanted to scale Helman Tor, the third highest peak in Cornwall, according to Jake. He asked me if I wanted to join him and of course I agreed.

It took us around an hour to reach the top. It is not a great height, but you certainly got a great view from the top, a set of granite stones were waiting for us. The way these stones are set almost makes you think that someone put them there.

Jake was delightful. A reformed drug addict, he now fills his days with keeping himself fit, both his mind and body. He loves to hike; he loves nature and loves looking after himself so he can in turn look after those around him. He had a lot to say, and I was more than happy to listen. We parted ways at the top of Helman Tor, but something tells me this won’t be the last time I am in his presence.

The walk to Fowey was undulating, slow ups and long painstaking downs. It was a tease of a walk, one of those that makes you think the finish is just around the corner. You get around the corner and no, the finish is not there, it is just around the next corner. Is it?

If you think Padstow is a delightful seaside harbour, then Fowey is going to tell you otherwise. Wow, what a quaint little town, nestled on the banks of the estuary of the river Fowey. Oh, while I am talking about Fowey, how do you pronounce it? Listen to Episode Four of the podcast and find out. Do I get it right? Of course, I don’t.

I made it to Saint Fimbarrus Church, the official end of The Saints Way, in good time. It was a peaceful welcome, to be able to go and sit in the Church where the pilgrims of old would have done. The past two days I have reflected a lot on why they would have taken that journey and why I am doing this right now.

I took the bus back to my car in Bodmin and drove home.

I felt tired, overwhelmed, but happy. Happy to be back out on the road again. I am not going to leave it another two years before I do my next walk.

Can you believe it has been over two years since I walked St Cuthbert’s Way?

Well, I certainly can’t! Where does all the time go? How did I allow that to happen? Life! It just happens and things get in the way. Maybe you don’t have that problem – if you don’t, could you please tell me your secret?

I made a very conscious decision to get back out on the road. Time and money are always a restrictor in my life, which is why it has taken me this long to get back out there. I needed a walk that would be short but challenging.

After much searching and research, I decided upon The Saints Way, from Padstow to Fowey in Cornwall. An area of the country I have not been to.

I now live in Brighton so getting to Padstow was going to be a challenge in its own right. I decided to drive to Bodmin and leave my car there, then take a bus to Padstow to start the walk. This meant leaving home at 4:30am, drive the 200 miles in order to arrive to catch the first Sunday bus from Bodmin to Padstow. The drive was uneventful, as was the bus journey.

Padstow is gorgeous, a little seaside harbour town on the north coast of Cornwall. It’s mid Cornwall and it is much hillier than I expected. I found my way to Saint Petroc’s Church, a medieval church that is officially the start of The Saints Way.

The Saints Way is a route that the Irish and Welsh Saints would take on their pilgrimages to Canterbury, Santiago, Rome, Jerusalem and beyond. Rather than take the boat around the dangerous waters around Lands End, they would get off in Padstow and walk the 30 miles to Fowey, where they could then get on the boat to cross the English Channel to France.

These days The Saints Way is not a popular route, as I walked today there was many a stretch where I was pushing aside grass, bushes, trees to make my way through.

Coming out of Padstow you get a beautiful view of the estuary of the river Camel and the many tributaries that add to it. I met a few people walking the opposite way but no one going the way I was heading.

The landscape is rich with cultivated fields and sections of woodland. Breaking up the scenery are wind turbines, all working hard to keep civilisation accustomed to its first world privilege.

The sun was beating down all day, a nicer reminder that even in September we still need to reach for the sun cream. Not an indicator of global warming at all!

My goal for the day was Lanivet, small town exactly halfway along The Saints Way. I took my time getting there. My accommodation for the evening was St Benets Abbey, now a B&B but at one time was a hospital for the many pilgrims that passed through that area. It was a welcome break for me. As it was the first time I had walked such a distance in one day, once I arrived I headed to my room, had a most welcomed shower, and settled in for the night.

Day Five

Today I have mixed feelings; excited to get to Holy Island and reach the destination, sad because it is drawing to an end.

The White Swan Inn was a lovely place to stay, very friendly staff and tasty food, both dinner and breakfast.

I started off back in Fenwick and began my final days’ walk towards Lindisfarne. 

It was very misty this morning and I could only see a couple of hundred yards around me. A much gentler walk today, dry but boots still getting wet from all the dew on the grass.

Could not see much at all.

Had to cross the A1 and then the main high speed railroad. There is a system set up where you have to call the signal man to make sure it is safe to cross. I picked up the telephone, the signal answered.

Me: “Hello, I’m at Fenham Hill railroad crossing.”

Signalman: “Please wait there, it is not safe to cross, call me back in a few minutes.”

I took a seat on the style and waited. All I could hear were sheep, birds and the occasional rustle of the trees and hedgerow as they moved in the wind. I waited, only about 30 seconds and then I could hear the sound of an approaching train. As the train came around the corner the driver could see me and gave a sound of the horn. It whisked past me at full speed. I watched it disappear around the corner. I picked the telephone up again.

Me: “Hello, it’s me again at Fenham Hill.”

Signalman: “Arh great, how many in your party?”

Me: “One.”

Signalman: “And how long will it take you to cross?”

Me: “Erm, less than a minute.”

Signalman: “That’s one crossing at Fenham Hill, you have a minute from now, go.”

I slammed the telephone back on its hook and officially made my way across the railroad tracks. It was quite a fun experience, little things eh?

It was still so misty and I could just make out the beach, by this time I could certainly smell the sea.

I reached the causeway at around 9:45am and cars were already streaming across. The marker posts for you to walk are set south of the road, a straighter route. I walked along the road for a little bit as there were a lot of deep channels still within the first few hundred yards. Once I could see the channels had dissipated I made my way towards the posts.

Now tradition says you should so this bit in bare feet. With hindsight, I should have, as I was about to get very muddy! I was worried about exposing my blisters to the mud but then again I am sure the salt water would have done them good. We live and learn.

The mist was still very heavy and my range of sight went from about 10 poles in front and behind to 4. The poles are very evenly spaced, around 25 to 30 yards between. There are also two rescue towers out there. In case you get stuck you can climb up into one, providing you can make it. From the look of the poles and the water mark it seems as though the average depth, when the tide is in, is about 4 feet. So, no I would not want to get stuck in that.

I passed one gentleman, Steven, who was walking St Cuthbert’s but in sections. This was his final day. He lives in the area so he can walk a section and then drive home. He is a huge Roman History buff and was telling me all about the amazing history they have left in this area and countries.

With the mist surrounding me and hiding the view of Holy Island I felt privileged to be there. It was as if I was being given a gift and not allowed to see it until the very last moment. I had to earn it and show that I was worthy of receiving this special moment.

I was not disappointed. I made it to Holy Island and I felt such a sense of peace. I walked into the Market Square, which has no market, not even a curb side stall, and soaked in the atmosphere. The Priory is right there and the stillness is entrancing. You can see why the Monks settled here. You can feel what Cuthbert felt. The Castle is a little further east and stands defiantly proud, mist trying to swallow it up but failing.

This week has been amazing. I have not felt so close and connected to nature in this way for a long time. That stood out for me. I have met some amazing people, made some wonderful new friends. I have connected to an area of the world that I did not know before, in a way that will be everlasting. I am so lucky.

Please, I urge you to do the same. Get out there and connect. Nature has a lot of the answers we seek, take a walk in it, respect it and listen.

A few more reflections from the walk.

Day Three

Kirk Yetholm is famous for being the northern end of The Pennine Way; finish it, and there is a free half a pint waiting for you at the bar! I left there at 9 am, so none for me.

I left the road and up into the hills; only a short portion is the same as The Pennine Way, and then St Cuthbert’s Way heads east. I met a gentleman, Greg, who is also walking the Way, we decided to walk together. He is a retired businessman and soldier. He was very humble, I thanked him for his service, and he brushed it off. As I spoke to him, I found out that Major General Greg, now retired, was the most senior reservist in the British Armed Forces; he is now honorary Deputy Colonel of The Rifles. Where else can this happen? I am on a walk, a pilgrimage, and I meet and befriend someone who has had such an influential and prolific career. We talked all day, and the walk to Wooler was terrific.

It was boggy up on top, and at one point, Greg and I sat for a rest, watching a Curlew fly around us, making its unique call. We also saw two red grouse and three goldfinches, a deer, numerous rabbits and many more birds. You can see why Cuthbert loved to be in this area and so close to nature.

Wooler is a lovely town, with four Churches in a tiny community. This is rural living at its best. Greg was staying with the Vicar of the local Church of England Church; he related how difficult it had been for her as a newcomer arriving into a big rural parish with the many challenges facing farming.

I took a walk into the Church, and learned that Reverend Suzanne has started an Arts programme. I will get in touch with her and find out if we can do a storytelling evening there in the future. Perfect venue and setting for it.

Day Four

Met Greg at the Church at 9 am, and off we set.

Just as the farmers said it would be, the sun is out, and it stayed out all day. Glorious weather all day.

It much gentler day today, It still had its ups and downs but nothing major.

We reached St Cuthbert’s Cave; sadly, it is roped off as someone made a fire in it, got out of control and damaged the cave. It is so peaceful here, in a bit of gorge, sheltered from the wind. You can see why Cuthbert wanted to stay there; he lived as a hermit here for a few years and used to tend sheep as a boy. It is sandstone, and there are natural lines cut into the stone. I touched the stone, wishing it to tell me all the stories it has inside.

As you leave the cave, you walk up a ridge, and on the path, a beautiful yellowhammer hopped around and showed us the Way. At the top of the ridge, you can see Lindisfarne for the first time from the Way. The sea looked so calm, the castle standing proud.

We walked into Fenwick; Greg took a taxi back to Wooler, where he is staying this evening. My hotel, The White Swan Inn, was on the Way, so he dropped me off.

We said goodbye, but I hope it won’t be for long. I loved spending time with Greg and hearing all about his experiences and stories.

A reminder that the people we surround ourselves with are the most important.