Walking with the Dead

A Journey from Land’s End to John O’Groats - and Back to Myself

One year ago, I placed my hand on the white signpost at John O’Groats and marked the completion of a 70 day walk through driving rain, glorious sunshine, gales, calm and all the rest.

As a young man, I spent as much of my time as possible in the outdoors; hiking, climbing, sailing, exploring.  It is where I felt I belonged.  It is where I felt I was myself.  My sole ambition was to run a campsite and outdoor activities centre, where I could spend my time teaching people how to climb or abseil or ghyll scramble or how to survive in nature.  I wanted everyone to have the opportunity to feel the freedom and calm I felt.

But falling in love changed the course of my life and somehow, I also ended up falling for the trick the modern world plays on most of us; the belief that we must structure our lives around a job.  So, I pursued a career in teaching, which gave me the time to climb at weekends, in the evening and throughout the long holidays.  It didn’t take long before I fell deeply in love with being a teacher – I simply adored the job and every day felt wonderful.  Life was a close to perfect as it could be and I will never regret the time I spent teaching. And yet, in the background, a quiet voice remained, whispering of the version of me I’d once intended to be.

One of the problems of having a great childhood and perfect adult life is a naivety towards the world and the motives of others.  I had never encountered evil and my default position was a resolute belief that people are good.  I am a very happy and relaxed kind of guy, and I think this comes from surrounding myself with good people.

As my life unfolded, I found myself climbing the career ladder and eventually leaving teaching for the world of business.  I immersed myself in my job and was delighted to do so – I was so terribly proud of what we were achieving.  At home, life remained perfect and I still found time to hike and climb and be in touch with the earth.

And then, one day, I realised I hadn’t climbed in years and could no longer hear my own voice.  I had given my life entirely to work at the expense of almost everything and I no longer recognised myself in the mirror.  And when I looked around me, the people I loved spending my time with had gone.  In their place, were others who did not care about my life or my welfare.  And, for the first time, I had allowed evil people and darkness to enter.  For the first time in my life, I was truly unhappy.

So, I went for a walk.

I uncoupled myself from work and from people who are not good.

I had no idea why I wanted to walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats and no idea what it would achieve.  But I did know that it was what I had to do.

Setting off on a windy morning in March 2024, with a heavy backpack and a vague idea of the way to go, I was numb from the years of not being myself but a flickering flame of hope somewhere deep inside me told me I would awaken again.

From the outset, the walk was a joy.  The scenery, the people, the challenge, the isolation, the pain.  I loved it all.  My body complained loudly for the first two weeks, but step by step the physical health I had as a younger man started to return and my body turned from protesting to relishing.

But, despite a great deal of enjoyment whilst walking, I still could not hear my voice.  So, I walked on and on and on.

For weeks, rain soaked the land, the rhythmic pop of raindrops on my hood lulling me into a kind of meditative disconnection from the life I had left behind.

And I walked on and on and on.  Waiting.  Sure.  Knowing something would happen, but not knowing what it would be.

And then it happened.

After seven weeks of solitary thoughts, I heard a voice.  Not my voice.

My father’s.

And everything cleared.  The numbness dissolved and I could speak again.  I could speak to my father who died so very long ago now.  We walked and talked together, and I found myself able to converse with the dead.  At first it was only my father, but in the days and weeks that followed, others came.  My extraordinary grandparents, my beautiful friend, my dearest teacher, and those who most shaped me but have since left.

In conversation with my father, who I had missed so very much, it became clear I had betrayed the young man I once was by falling into the trap of careerism and distraction.  He brought him back and reinstalled my software.  Everything that had once mattered came flooding back.

And everything became obvious again.  And all the passions inside of me came to the fore again.  And I awoke again.

One year on, I am still awake.  I had walked the length of Britain, and, more importantly, I had walked back to myself.

I can’t be sure what happened and I don’t particularly mind what the reality is.  I am happy that I was able to converse with some of the most important people in my life who had been inaccessible for a while.  Perhaps I was dreaming or hallucinating – perhaps I was simply dehydrated and exhausted.  When I arrived home following the walk, the ability to converse with the dead ceased, but I am so thankful to have had that time.

In many, many ways walking LEJOG was the most wonderful experience of my life and I will always feel lucky that I have been able to press the reset button at this age.

My life is clear again. Open only to good people. Free of shadows. And I can hear myself once more.

If you would like to read more about my walk, please see my other site, which includes daily blogs and videos documenting the journey: https://markwalks.com/