Solo Thru-Hiking in North Yorkshire.

Planning My First Adventure on the Herriot Way

“Thru-hiking”, if you’ll forgive me, dear Brits, is a glorious phrase borrowed from our American cousins and gratefully snaffled by me because it perfectly describes the idea of hiking from one place to another with your life on your back.

The romantic in me also thinks it sounds infinitely more alluring and wild than “long-distance walking” which, despite doing exactly what it says on the tin, doesn’t quite stir my sense of whimsy.

Thru-hiking can mean many things. My daughter and a friend recently carried their full kit: tent, stove, cooking equipment, the whole travelling tortoise setup. My husband and I usually take a slightly less rugged approach, carrying everything except tent and cooking gear because we stay in guest houses and bunkhouses instead (see: Hadrian’s Wall and the Northumberland Coast Path).

Of course, there is also the increasingly popular “sherpa” option, where a company transports your luggage from stop to stop while you walk with just a daypack.

We haven’t yet succumbed to this particular luxury, but if it means we are still tackling national trails and coastal paths well into our dotage, then frankly I’m all for it. After all, the mantra is simply: one foot in front of another.

This summer, however, I am planning my first solo thru-hike.

I’ve chosen the Herriot Way, partly because it’s only four days and partly because it’s circular, which makes the logistics blissfully simple. The car can be left exactly where it started… and, more importantly, will still be there at the end. It’s also a beautiful part of the UK, littered with waterfalls, beautiful scenery and pubs, so accomodation is fairly abundant!

One thing I have learned from previous long-distance walks is that I must pack minimally. This time there is no husband with whom to share the communal items: sunscreen, first aid kit, shower gel and the like. Every gram will be mine alone to lug up Yorkshire hills. I suspect there will be a highly strategic military-style operation involving decanting mysterious substances into improbably tiny bottles. My pack is a 60l, and normally if I take it backpacking it comes in at around 15kg for two weeks, so I’m planning on less than half of that!

The good news is that, hiking solo, I need to worry far less about outfit changes. Nobody will care if I wear the same slightly questionable walking trousers two days running. Admittedly, I have had a couple of offers from friends to join me for sections of the route, so I shall at least brush my hair occasionally.

This time, however, I am also trying to keep the budget waaaaay down.

Apart from one well-earned hotel stay at the end, I’ll be using the UK’s brilliant YHA network and bunkhouses along the route. Honestly, it feels slightly mad that you can still get a private room, admittedly with a shared bathroom and absolutely no frills whatsoever, for somewhere between £40 and £80 a night.

But after walking 17 kilometres up and down swales and dales, “basic” rapidly becomes entirely acceptable. At that point, all one really wants is a hot shower, a reasonably comfortable mattress, and perhaps access to tea.

Camping would, of course, be even cheaper, but I am no longer 21 years old and my ancient bones now insist upon some degree of comfort after 6–8 hours of hiking. More importantly, I actually need to sleep, which means I have decisively ruled out dormitories and their assorted midnight rustlers, snorers and headtorch enthusiasts.

I could blame this entirely on age, although it is equally possible that I am simply becoming a miserable git.

However, I am hoping that my incredible experience of hostelling in Equador, and the camaraderie that it ensnared, may repeat itself and I may in fact meet some interesting people to chat to (outside my highly protected sleep time!)

Interestingly, telling people, particularly female friends, that you plan to hike alone is often met with either horror or awe.

And I do understand why.

Women are raised to be vigilant. We are taught, both subtly and explicitly, to assess risk constantly and to look over our shoulders. So people’s concern on my behalf comes from a place of love.

But honestly? I fear the streets of London far more than the wilds of North Yorkshire.

For everyone’s peace of mind, though, I do have phone tracking apps set up and a decent power bank packed to keep me connected. The trail itself is well marked, and I have an exceptionally detailed map which helpfully informs me not only where I may miss a signpost or encounter boggy ground, but also where to find good cafés, arguably the most essential information of all. And, more importantly, as much as us Brits are inclined to be quite reserved in our demeanours, specifically in relation to strangers, I know that should there really be a problem, the kindness of strangers en route will inevitably be uplifting and refreshing.

And if all goes well, by the end of four days I shall have proved to myself that solo adventure is not nearly as daunting as it first appears, merely a matter of putting one foot in front of another right?