Category: Mother Nature

  • Why Dartmoor Is Britain’s Most Unforgiving Lowland Moor (and How to Respect It)

    Why Dartmoor Is Britain’s Most Unforgiving Lowland Moor (and How to Respect It)

    Dartmoor doesn’t look threatening on a map. No Munros, no exposed ridgelines, no glaciated cwms dropping away beneath your feet. The highest point, High Willhays, is 621 metres above sea level. By Scottish standards, that’s barely a hill. But I’ve spoken to walkers who’ve come unstuck on Dartmoor in ways they never have on Snowdon or in the Cairngorms, and every time, the reason is the same: they underestimated it precisely because it looked manageable.

    The moor has a particular kind of hostility. It doesn’t announce itself with drama. It just quietly and methodically dismantles your confidence until you’re standing in ankle-deep peat water staring at a featureless grey horizon with no idea which lump of tussock grass is north. Walking Dartmoor safely is its own discipline, and it deserves to be treated as such.

    Misty featureless moorland on Dartmoor, highlighting the navigation challenges of walking Dartmoor safely UK
    Photo by Clément Proust on Pexels

    The navigation problem: no landmarks, no obvious routes

    Most walkers rely on landmarks without knowing they’re doing it. You pick a ridge, a tree line, a distinctive summit. On Dartmoor, you get granite tors, and while they’re brilliant once you know them by sight, to a newcomer one rounded cluster of weathered rock looks a great deal like the next. The plateau between Princetown and the northern moor is genuinely featureless in a way that makes map-and-compass skills non-negotiable.

    I’d argue this is where Dartmoor exposes walkers who’ve got comfortable with GPS tracks and digital mapping. Both are useful, and I’m not one of those purists who refuses to carry a phone. But on a day when the mist drops to 200 metres and your battery runs down, the ability to take a bearing from a 1:25,000 OS map and walk it accurately is the thing that gets you back to the car park. The moor is crossed by numerous ancient trackways, some of which vanish entirely in the summer grass. Following what looks like a path can lead you sideways for half a mile before you realise you’ve been shadowing a sheep track.

    If you want to build those skills before heading out, spend some time walking on ground where you can afford to make mistakes and then correct them. The principle of triangulating your position between two or three known points isn’t complicated, but it needs practice before the mist comes down.

    The bogs: they’re not dramatic, and that’s the danger

    Dartmoor holds water the way a sponge does. The underlying granite is impermeable, rainfall is high (Princetown averages over 2,000mm per year), and the blanket bog that covers much of the northern moor has been accumulating for thousands of years. The classic hazard is the featherbed bog: a wide, apparently flat area of bog moss, Sphagnum, that looks like firm ground from a distance and bounces underfoot before suddenly giving way.

    I’ve sunk to my knee on Dartmoor on a dry day in June. The surface had been baked to a crust by a fortnight of warm weather and looked completely solid. The bog underneath had not dried out at all. Gaiters are essentially mandatory rather than optional kit here, and the right footwear matters more than on a well-drained mountain path.

    The deeper hazard areas on the northern moor around Cranmere Pool and Fur Tor are well documented, but the boggy ground isn’t confined to those obvious spots. Anywhere the ground flattens out and the grass goes very green and lush should make you slow down and probe with a pole before committing your weight. If you’re interested in how blanket bog ecosystems actually work and why they’re so ecologically important, our piece on walking UK peat bogs and why hikers have learned to love them covers the science in some depth.

    Weather that moves faster than you’d expect

    The Met Office lists Dartmoor as one of the wettest upland areas in England. More importantly, the weather can change with a speed that’s genuinely disorienting. I’ve started a walk in clear sunshine out of Okehampton and been in zero-visibility fog forty minutes later having covered only a couple of kilometres. The moor sits at the intersection of Atlantic weather systems and can be enveloped in cloud while the surrounding lowlands remain sunny.

    Cold is also more of a factor than the altitude suggests. The open plateau has no shelter and wind chill on an exposed granite hillside at 550 metres in January is serious business. Hypothermia risk on Dartmoor is real, particularly for walkers who’ve dressed for a low-level walk and been caught by a rapid weather deterioration. Always check the Met Office mountain forecast for Dartmoor before you head out, not just the standard local forecast, which often misses what’s happening at plateau level.

    The layering principles that apply in the Scottish Highlands apply here too. A waterproof and an insulating mid-layer belong in your pack even when the forecast looks reasonable.

    The right-to-roam situation: more complex than you’d think

    Dartmoor had, until recently, been the only place in England and Wales where walkers had an explicit right to wild camp on open access land. That right was legally challenged in 2023 and eventually restored, but the episode made clear how contested access to the moor remains and how easily long-established freedoms can be disrupted. As of 2026, wild camping is again permitted on the open moorland managed by the Dartmoor National Park Authority, but there are exclusion zones around certain areas and camping near roads, buildings, and enclosures is not permitted.

    The broader right-of-way picture on Dartmoor is also more layered than on, say, an open Scottish hillside. Much of the military training land in the northern moor is closed during live-firing exercises. The Ministry of Defence publishes firing times and the red flags are flown when access is restricted, but walkers need to check the official firing programme on gov.uk before heading into those zones. Getting this wrong isn’t just a legal issue; it’s a safety one.

    For anyone who wants a thorough grounding in how rights of way work more generally across England and Wales, our guide to how UK mountain rescue teams work is worth reading alongside the access question, since Dartmoor’s Mountain Rescue teams deal with a disproportionate number of callouts given the moor’s modest elevation.

    How to actually prepare for Dartmoor

    Start with OS Explorer maps OL28 (Dartmoor) at 1:25,000 scale. Know how to use them with a compass. Carry a fully charged battery pack for your phone, and download the area offline in whatever mapping app you use. Tell someone your route and expected return time; it’s old advice, but the moor’s patchy mobile coverage means this matters.

    On gear: waterproof trousers, not just a jacket. Full gaiters, not ankle gaiters. Trekking poles for bog testing and balance. A spare dry layer in a waterproof stuff sack. A whistle. A headtorch even for a day walk, because the mist can reduce visibility enough that the torch becomes useful even in daylight.

    Routes for first-timers should stick to areas with reliable navigational reference points. The loop around Hound Tor and Haytor is popular and well-marked. The walk from Two Bridges to Wistman’s Wood is short, atmospheric, and the ancient oak wood gives you something to navigate towards. Save the northern plateau for when you’ve learnt how the moor feels underfoot and can read a bearing with confidence.

    Dartmoor earns its reputation not through height but through character. Give it the same respect you’d give any mountain environment, take the navigation seriously, and check the weather and the firing programme before you leave. Do those things and the moor rewards you with something genuinely rare in England: a landscape that still feels wild. Neglect them and it will remind you, in its quiet and methodical way, that lowland doesn’t mean safe.

    Frequently Asked Questions

    Is Dartmoor dangerous to walk on?

    Dartmoor carries real risks despite its modest elevation. Rapid weather changes, extensive boggy terrain, and featureless navigation conditions have caught out many experienced walkers. Proper map-and-compass skills, appropriate clothing, and checking the military firing programme before heading into northern areas are essential.

    Can you wild camp on Dartmoor?

    Yes, wild camping is permitted on open moorland within the Dartmoor National Park, following the restoration of access rights in 2023. Campers must stay away from roads, buildings, enclosed farmland, and certain designated exclusion zones. Always check the Dartmoor National Park Authority’s current guidance before heading out.

    What maps do I need for walking Dartmoor?

    OS Explorer OL28 (Dartmoor) at 1:25,000 scale covers the whole moor and is the standard choice. A physical copy is strongly recommended alongside any digital mapping, since the moor’s patchy mobile signal makes relying solely on a phone risky.

  • The Body Under the Rucksack: Common Injuries Hikers Get in the UK and How to Prevent Them

    The Body Under the Rucksack: Common Injuries Hikers Get in the UK and How to Prevent Them

    There’s a moment most walkers know well. You’re two-thirds of the way down a long descent, the valley is opening up beautifully below you, and then a knee starts complaining. Not a shout, just a quiet, insistent ache that tells you something has gone wrong. By the time you reach the car park, it’s a limp. Trip over. I’ve been there more than once, and I’ve watched friends wave me off from a summit because a blister had turned the inside of their boot into a small torture chamber. These things cut trips short with a predictability that’s almost impressive.

    Common hiking injuries UK walkers face are rarely dramatic. No sudden falls off ridges, no lightning strikes. Most of the time, it’s the slow grind of poor preparation meeting tough ground. What follows is a practical look at the injuries that actually end walks in this country, and what you can do about them before they have the chance.

    Hiker descending a steep rocky trail, illustrating common hiking injuries UK prevention on descents
    Photo by Siarhei Nester on Pexels

    Knee pain on descents: the one that catches everyone

    Knee pain on downhill sections is probably the single most common reason walkers don’t finish a route in the UK. The technical term is patellofemoral pain, though most people just call it “hiker’s knee” and leave it at that. What’s happening is that your kneecap is under enormous compression every time your foot hits ground below you, and if the muscles around your knee are underprepared or fatigued, that stress lands in the wrong place.

    UK terrain makes this worse. The Lake District, the Cairngorms, Snowdonia, these aren’t rolling countryside. Descents can be steep, loose, and extended. In wet conditions (which is most of the time), every step requires a small stabilisation effort that accumulates into significant muscular load over several hours. The Cairngorms in spring, for instance, can have you negotiating icy, compacted névé on a descent that would be hard enough in dry summer conditions.

    Prevention starts months before the walk, not on the morning. Building quad and glute strength through simple exercises like step-downs and single-leg squats makes a measurable difference. Trekking poles are not just for older walkers, they transfer roughly 15-20% of downhill loading away from the knees on each stride, which over a 1,000-metre descent adds up to a significant reduction. And if you know your knees are a weak point, shortening your stride on descents helps enormously. Tiny steps, slow pace, poles engaged. It feels inefficient; your knees will thank you.

    Blisters: small, ruinous, almost entirely preventable

    I have lost count of the number of people I’ve seen hobbling across the Yorkshire Dales with trainers on day two because their boots caused blisters on day one. The boot break-in story is as old as hillwalking itself, and it’s one I’ve told myself too, usually while applying a compeed pad to a heel that looks like a poorly poached egg.

    Blisters form from friction and heat. The foot moves slightly inside the boot with every step; the skin catches; a shear layer forms and fills with fluid. On a long day on, say, the Pennine Way’s boggier northern sections, damp conditions accelerate this because wet skin is softer and tears more easily. The fix is layering: a thin moisture-wicking liner sock under a good merino or wool hiking sock. This creates a friction surface between socks rather than between sock and skin. Decent fit matters too, boots should hold your heel firmly so it doesn’t lift.

    If you feel a hot spot forming, stop immediately. Put a blister plaster or moleskin on it before the skin breaks. Once the blister is open, your day gets significantly more complicated and your infection risk goes up. The NHS guidance on blisters is worth reading if you’ve been unlucky enough to rupture one on a remote route.

    Twisted ankles on rocky ground

    Rocky, technical ground is where ankle sprains happen. The mechanism is simple, your foot lands awkwardly on a stone, the ankle rolls outward, the lateral ligaments are overstretched. In a mild sprain, you walk it off. In a moderate one, you limp back to the nearest road and call for help. On a remote ridge, either scenario is unpleasant.

    UK mountain terrain is uneven in ways that catch walkers off guard. Gritstone edges, shattered quartzite ridges, Welsh slate paths, the variety of underfoot conditions here is genuinely challenging. Rocky scrambles in particular demand full attention to foot placement, and tiredness is the main risk factor: most ankle sprains happen in the second half of a day when concentration drops and legs are heavy. This is also why how UK mountain rescue teams respond to callouts matters, a twisted ankle in the wrong place becomes a serious incident quickly. You can read more about how those rescues unfold in our piece on how UK mountain rescue teams actually work.

    Mid-cut or high-cut boots offer real ankle support on this kind of terrain. Proprioception exercises, balancing on one leg, walking on uneven surfaces, improve the ankle’s reactive stability over time. And knowing when to use your hands on a rough descent rather than trying to walk upright is a skill worth developing early.

    Hip flexor strain and the silent miles

    Hip flexors rarely get the attention knees and blisters do, but they’re responsible for a quiet misery that sets in around mile ten on a long, flat or gently rolling day. The hip flexor muscles lift your leg forward with every stride. Over many kilometres, especially if you’re carrying a heavy pack or pushing pace, they fatigue and tighten. On multi-day trips, they can become genuinely painful.

    This is particularly relevant to hikers doing long sections of trails like the South Downs Way or the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, where the terrain doesn’t look demanding but the cumulative mileage is relentless. I’d seen this before I understood it, a fit, experienced friend who struggled to walk normally on day three of a coast-to-coast trip because he’d ignored tightening hip flexors on days one and two.

    Stretching hip flexors before and after walks is unglamorous but effective. The low lunge stretch held for 30-45 seconds on each side does the job. Managing pack weight matters too; every extra kilogram increases the forward lean that tightens the flexors. And taking short rest breaks where you actively stretch rather than just sitting still makes a real difference over a multi-day route.

    Seasonal factors that change the injury picture

    UK conditions shift the risk profile by season in ways that aren’t always obvious. Winter and early spring bring frozen or semi-frozen ground that can feel deceptively solid until it gives way. Icy peat hags on high moorland, thin ice over puddles on path edges, compacted snow on north-facing descents, these all increase fall risk significantly. Microspikes are one of the most underused pieces of kit in British hillwalking, and I’d strongly recommend them for anyone venturing onto the high tops between November and April.

    Summer brings its own problems. Dry, baked earth becomes hard and unforgiving, amplifying impact on knees and heels. Long days encourage walkers to push further than their bodies are ready for. Autumn is, in my experience, the season where twisted ankles peak, wet leaves on stone paths are genuinely slippery, and the light is going earlier than most people expect.

    Understanding the ground underfoot changes how you walk, and that’s the core of injury prevention. Anyone heading onto boggy ground should know how to read the terrain, I’d point you to our detailed look at walking UK peat bogs, which covers exactly this kind of ground assessment. And if you’re heading onto a multi-day route where fatigue compounds every risk mentioned here, our guide to bivvying in England and Wales has useful advice on managing rest and recovery in the field.

    What to carry in case something goes wrong anyway

    Prevention is the point of this piece, but honesty demands acknowledging that injuries happen to prepared people too. A basic first aid kit for UK hillwalking should include blister plasters, a compression bandage for ankle support, ibuprofen gel and tablets, and a foil emergency blanket. A trekking pole doubles as a splint in an emergency. Your map and compass are not optional, if an injury slows you to a crawl, you need to know exactly where you are and what the shortest route to safety looks like.

    Listen to your body early. The hot spot before the blister, the ache before the knee gives up, the tightness before the hip flexor locks. These signals are reliable. The walk will be there next weekend. The injury that follows ignoring them might keep you off the hill for months.

  • Hadrian’s Wall Path in April: What the Mud, Midges and Milecastles Actually Look Like

    Hadrian’s Wall Path in April: What the Mud, Midges and Milecastles Actually Look Like

    I walked Hadrian’s Wall Path in the first week of April, and nobody warned me about the mud. Not the light, boot-dirtying kind you get on a damp lowland footpath. The proper, shin-deep, squelching-with-each-step mud that grabs your gaiters and refuses to let go. The central section of the wall, roughly between Housesteads and Steel Rigg, runs across what is essentially a long, thin bog when winter hasn’t quite finished with it. If you’re planning to walk this iconic National Trail in early spring, that’s the single most important thing to know before you lace up.

    Hadrian's Wall Path in April, stretching across the Whin Sill crags in early spring morning light
    Photo by Inthemomentprints on Pexels

    That said, April is genuinely one of the better months to do it. The crowds that pack the central section in July and August are almost entirely absent. You can stand at Sycamore Gap without a queue of people waiting for their Instagram shot. The light is extraordinary in the early mornings, long and low across the vallum and the crags. And the wall itself, freed from summer haze, looks sharper and more impressive than photographs ever suggest. I’d take a muddy April over a sunny August any day.

    Getting there: transport from Newcastle and Carlisle

    The trail runs 84 miles from Wallsend in the east to Bowness-on-Solway in the west, and most people walk it west to east or east to west over seven to nine days. Newcastle and Carlisle are the obvious bookends, and both are served by direct rail from most major UK cities.

    The AD122 bus service is the trail’s lifeline. It runs between Hexham and Haltwhistle via the key central sites from late spring, but in early April the timetable is reduced. Check current times on the Hadrian’s Wall Country website before you go, because I’ve seen walkers strand themselves at Housesteads expecting a bus that only runs from May. The train line between Newcastle and Carlisle (the Tyne Valley line) is genuinely useful and stops at Haltwhistle, Bardon Mill and Hexham, which lets you do day sections or bail out if the weather turns foul. Always have that option in your back pocket in April.

    What underfoot conditions actually look like in early spring

    The eastern and western thirds of the trail are mostly well-drained. The eastern section from Wallsend through Gateshead feels more like urban and suburban walking than anything else, and the western section from Carlisle to Bowness is flat, low-lying farmland. Both dry out reasonably fast after rain.

    The central section is a different matter. The Whin Sill crags that carry the wall between Housesteads Fort and Cawfields are dramatic precisely because the ground is unforgiving. Thin soils over rock mean water sits on the surface. In April, after a wet winter, expect waterlogged grass, boggy depressions between rocky outcrops, and stretches where the flagged path is submerged under an inch of standing water. Waterproof boots are not optional. I’d argue knee-high gaiters are worth the hassle for the three or four days you’ll spend through this section. Anyone who has walked UK peat bog terrain will recognise the feeling immediately, though the Wall path is less extreme than, say, the Pennines.

    The path surface has improved significantly over the past decade thanks to ongoing work by the National Trail team. Flagged sections and boardwalks cover the worst ground, but gaps remain. Tread carefully on any uneven stone sections when they’re wet. Slippery doesn’t begin to describe limestone flags after overnight frost.

    Muddy boots and gaiters on Hadrian's Wall Path in April, showing typical early spring underfoot conditions
    Photo by Louis-Charles Blais on Pexels

    The milecastles and forts: what first-timers actually find surprising

    Most people arrive expecting a wall. A continuous, chest-high Roman barrier stretching dramatically across the landscape. What they get is more complicated and, honestly, more interesting. In many places the wall is just a grassy bank. In others it’s a few courses of stone. The fully-standing sections are shorter than most visitors anticipate, and they’re concentrated between Housesteads and Walltown.

    What surprises people most, in my experience, is the milecastles. These small gateways, spaced roughly a Roman mile apart along the entire length, are scattered across farmland and often have no path to them beyond a short diversion. Finding Milecastle 37 above Housesteads on a quiet April morning, with no one else around, is one of those quietly brilliant moments that the summer crowds simply don’t allow. The Romans didn’t build this thing in a hurry, and walking it slowly, stopping at each numbered milecastle, is the way to understand the scale of the project.

    English Heritage manages the main sites, including Housesteads, Chesters and Vindolanda (the latter is just off the trail but absolutely worth half a day). Entry to the sites is paid, though National Trust members get into Housesteads free. English Heritage’s Housesteads page has current opening times, which in early April are often reduced compared to summer, so check ahead.

    Midges: are they actually a problem in April?

    Less than you’d expect. The midge situation on Hadrian’s Wall gets worse from late May onwards and peaks in July and August, particularly in the early mornings and evenings near still water. In April, temperatures are still low enough that midge activity is minimal. I had a few around Greenhead on an unusually warm afternoon, but nothing requiring repellent.

    What April does bring is wind. The Wall sits on an exposed ridge and funnels cold northerlies with impressive efficiency. A day that feels mild in Hexham can feel genuinely bitter up on the crags. Pack a windproof layer you can pull on quickly, and don’t underestimate how tired sustained wind makes you over a full day’s walking. This is one of those routes where the exposed overnight camping reality catches people off guard if they haven’t planned their kit properly.

    Practical tips for walking it in April

    Book accommodation early, even in April. The number of bunkhouses and B&Bs along the central section is genuinely limited, and the good ones fill up faster than you’d think. Twice Brewed Inn near Steel Rigg is popular for good reason; if you want to stay there on a Saturday night you need to book months ahead.

    Carry more water than you think you need. The muddy ground makes the trail look wet, but drinking sources on the crags are sparse. Most pubs and farms along the trail are helpful, but don’t assume.

    Navigation is straightforward on the National Trail, which is well waymarked throughout. But in low visibility or heavy rain, the central section can disorient you faster than expected. The trail passes close to working farm tracks and occasional forestry roads that look very similar to the main path. A 1:25,000 OS map of the relevant sections is worth carrying even if you plan to use a GPS device.

    Finally, a practical note on planning: if you’re sorting gear, maps, and logistics for a longer trail walk, it’s worth noting that even dedicated outdoor content producers now have to manage the commercial side of things, whether that’s print costs, hosting, or distribution. A few of the trail guides I’ve read are supported by display advertising, which platforms like Banner Ads help facilitate. It doesn’t affect the content, but it’s worth knowing how the information ecosystem around these trails works.

    Is April worth it compared to other seasons?

    Yes. The mud is real. The wind is real. But so is the emptiness, and emptiness on a trail like this is rare and valuable. The central section, which can feel like a procession in high summer, belongs almost entirely to you in April. The archaeology reads differently too; without crowds and interpretation boards competing for your attention, the landscape starts to do the explaining. You look north from the crags and understand, immediately, why the Romans chose this ridge. You feel the logic of it in your legs and your eyes.

    I’d walk it again in April without hesitation. Just with better gaiters. And the Tyne Valley train timetable saved to my phone.

  • The Brecon Beacons Rebranded as Bannau Brycheiniog: What’s Changed for Walkers and What Hasn’t

    The Brecon Beacons Rebranded as Bannau Brycheiniog: What’s Changed for Walkers and What Hasn’t

    If you’ve typed “Brecon Beacons” into a map app recently and noticed something feels different, you’re not imagining it. In 2023, the national park authority formally adopted Bannau Brycheiniog as the primary name for the park, moving the Welsh name to the front after decades of the English version doing all the heavy lifting. As someone who’s been tramping these hills for years, I want to cut through what that actually means for anyone planning a walk, because there’s a lot of noise and very little practical information out there.

    Walker on the ridge in Bannau Brycheiniog, a key route in any Bannau Brycheiniog walking guide UK
    Photo by Jason Reid on Pexels

    What the renaming actually means in practice

    The short version: the landscape hasn’t shifted a centimetre. Pen y Fan is still Pen y Fan. The Beacons Reservoir is still there. The hill paths are just as boggy in November as they ever were. What changed is branding and emphasis, and the reasoning behind it is worth understanding rather than dismissing.

    The national park authority said the move was part of a broader effort to celebrate Welsh identity and language. Bannau Brycheiniog translates roughly as “peaks of Brycheiniog”, Brycheiniog being the old Welsh kingdom that covered the area. The Brecon Beacons National Park Authority updated its official communications, website, and new signage to lead with the Welsh name, though the English name hasn’t been wiped from existence. On OS maps, on road signs put up before the change, and in plenty of existing guidebooks, “Brecon Beacons” still appears. You’ll see both names used interchangeably for years yet, possibly decades.

    For practical navigation purposes, your existing OS Explorer maps (OL12 and OL13 cover the main ranges) remain completely accurate. The grid references, contour lines, and path markings are unchanged. If you’re booking accommodation, searching for car parks, or looking up visitor centres, searching either name will get you where you need to go. The visitor centre at Libanus, near Brecon, is still open and still signed as it was.

    What the park actually looks like on foot

    Bannau Brycheiniog covers around 520 square miles of southern Wales, and it isn’t one uniform landscape. That’s something even experienced walkers get wrong before their first visit. The park splits fairly naturally into four distinct areas, each with a different character.

    The central Beacons range is what most people picture: the dramatic north-facing escarpment rising to Pen y Fan at 886 metres, its flat-topped ridgeline visible from miles away. The classic horseshoe route taking in Corn Du, Pen y Fan, and Cribyn is rightly popular, but popular means eroded paths and crowds on sunny weekends. I’d argue the approach from the Neuadd reservoir car park on the south side gives you the same summit with a fraction of the foot traffic and a much better sense of the scale of the ridge.

    The Black Mountains in the east are quieter, more rolling, and frankly underappreciated. The Offa’s Dyke Path clips the eastern edge of the park here, and the ridge above Llanthony Priory is one of my favourite half-day walks in the whole country. No scrambling, no technical difficulty, just a long green ridge with enormous views down into Herefordshire.

    Fforest Fawr, the western section of the park, is where the waterfalls are. The Waterfall Country around Pontneddfechan has a concentration of falls including Sgwd yr Eira, where a path runs behind the curtain of water, that genuinely surprises people who haven’t been before. It’s accessible and spectacular, though the paths can get very muddy indeed. Bring gaiters.

    The Black Mountain (singular, not to be confused with the Black Mountains) sits in the far west and is the wilder, lonelier end of the park. The approach to Fan Brycheiniog across the boggy moorland of Glasfynydd Forest is the kind of walk where you want solid navigation skills. The terrain here shares more than a passing resemblance to the peat bogs that catch walkers off guard across many upland areas of the UK: deep, soft ground that looks firm until it isn’t.

    Walking here by season: what to expect

    Spring (March to May) is probably my favourite time. The hills are green, the waterfalls are at their fullest after winter rain, and the ridge paths haven’t yet been churned up by summer boots. You’ll need waterproofs; this is Wales, and weather can change fast above 600 metres. Snow can still sit on the higher ground well into March in a cold year.

    Summer brings the crowds to Pen y Fan, particularly from June through August. If you’re set on the summit, go early or go on a weekday. The car park at Pont ar Daf fills by 9am on a clear Saturday. That said, summer evenings on the long ridges of the Black Mountains are genuinely special, and the lower gorge walks through the waterfalls are cool and shaded when everywhere else is baking.

    Autumn strips the bracken to russet and gold, and the moorland takes on that particular quality of light that only comes in October. The park is noticeably quieter from September onwards, and I’d pick a clear mid-October day on the Beacons ridge over any summer weekend without hesitation.

    Winter walking here demands respect and proper kit. The plateau above Pen y Fan can hold snow and ice for weeks, and wind chill on the exposed ridges is brutal. Navigation becomes genuinely challenging in low visibility. I’d recommend having solid experience with map and compass before tackling the high ground in December or January; this is the kind of terrain where mountain rescue teams earn their reputation.

    Which walks suit which ability levels

    There’s a genuine range here, which is one of the park’s strengths.

    Complete beginners are well served by the canal towpath walks around the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal, a flat 35-mile stretch between Brecon and Pontypool that runs through beautiful scenery with no navigation demands whatsoever. The Taff Trail, running from Cardiff into the heart of the park, is partly off-road and suitable for families.

    Moderate walkers with some hill experience will find the Brecon Beacons Horseshoe, the ridge walks in the Black Mountains, and the waterfall trails around Ystradfellte all achievable and rewarding. These routes typically involve between 300 and 600 metres of ascent.

    Stronger hikers looking for longer days can link the four summits of the main Beacons range in a single outing, or tackle the Beacons Way, a 95-mile long-distance path crossing the park from Abergavenny to Llangadog. How far you can realistically cover in a day depends heavily on fitness and conditions, but the Beacons Way sections between Brecon and the Black Mountain are some of the most rewarding multi-day walking in Wales.

    Getting there and getting around

    The park has no railway station inside its boundaries. Abergavenny is the most useful rail access point for the Black Mountains, while Merthyr Tydfil gives you a starting point for the central Beacons. Bus services into the park are limited, particularly to the higher car parks, so most walkers arrive by car. The park authority does run seasonal bus services to Storey Arms and Pont ar Daf in summer months; it’s worth checking the national park website before you go if you want to avoid the car park situation at peak times.

    Whatever name appears on the sign as you cross into the park, the walking is excellent. Bannau Brycheiniog doesn’t need a rebrand to be one of the finest upland landscapes in England and Wales. It already was.

    Frequently Asked Questions

    Why did the Brecon Beacons change its name to Bannau Brycheiniog?

    The national park authority adopted Bannau Brycheiniog as the primary name in 2023 to celebrate and promote the Welsh language and the area’s Welsh cultural identity. Bannau Brycheiniog is the original Welsh name for the park, meaning roughly ‘peaks of Brycheiniog’, referring to the ancient Welsh kingdom that once covered the region.

    Do I need new maps now the park has been renamed?

    No. Your existing OS Explorer maps (OL12 and OL13) remain accurate. The renaming is a branding and language change, not a geographical one, so all paths, contour lines, and grid references are unchanged. New editions of OS maps will gradually update to lead with the Welsh name, but older editions are still perfectly usable for navigation.

    What is the easiest walk in Bannau Brycheiniog for beginners?

    The Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal towpath is the most accessible option: flat, well-surfaced, and 35 miles long between Brecon and Pontypool with easy access points along the route. For something with a bit more scenery, the lower waterfall trails around Pontneddfechan are short, well-signed, and suitable for most fitness levels.

    Is Pen y Fan safe to climb in winter?

    Pen y Fan can be climbed in winter, but it requires proper preparation. The summit plateau can hold ice and compacted snow for extended periods, making trekking poles and microspikes advisable. Wind chill above 800 metres can be severe, and visibility can drop to a few metres in cloud. If you’re not confident with map and compass navigation in those conditions, wait for a clear day or go with someone experienced.

    How long does the Pen y Fan horseshoe walk take?

    The classic horseshoe taking in Corn Du, Pen y Fan, and Cribyn from the Pont ar Daf car park is around 10 to 12 kilometres with roughly 600 metres of ascent, and typically takes between 3.5 and 5 hours depending on pace and conditions. Allow extra time in winter, or if you’re stopping frequently on the ridge.

  • Peat Bogs and Why Experienced Hikers Have Learned to Love Them

    Peat Bogs and Why Experienced Hikers Have Learned to Love Them

    There is a particular type of hiker who grimaces at the words “blanket bog”. They’ve been there: boot sucked down into peat so dark it looks like crude oil, trousers soaked to the knee, the horizon offering nothing but brown sponge in every direction. I used to be that hiker. Then I started paying attention. Properly paying attention. And walking UK peat bogs started to feel less like a punishment for choosing the wrong route and more like a genuine privilege. Britain holds some of the oldest, most ecologically important land on the planet, and most walkers stride across it cursing their socks.

    Vast British blanket bog in mist, a key landscape for walking UK peat bogs hiking guide
    Photo by Raul Ling on Pexels

    What actually is a blanket bog?

    A blanket bog is a type of peatland that forms in high-rainfall, cool climates where dead plant matter accumulates faster than it decomposes. The UK is one of the best places on Earth for this. We hold around 13% of the world’s blanket bog, concentrated in Scotland, northern England, Wales, and Ireland. The peat itself is partially decomposed sphagnum moss, sedge, and heather, compressed over thousands of years. Some UK peat deposits are six metres deep and more than 10,000 years old. You are, quite literally, walking on a living archive.

    The ecological value is staggering. According to DEFRA’s peatland guidance, UK peatlands store around three billion tonnes of carbon, more than all the forests in Britain and France combined. A healthy bog also regulates water flow, filters runoff, and supports a cast of specialist species: sundew, bog asphodel, golden plover, dunlin, short-eared owls. These are not barren wastelands. They are dense with life once you know where to look.

    Where to find the best peat bogs for walking in the UK

    The Flow Country in Caithness and Sutherland is the one that stops you in your tracks. It covers around 4,000 square kilometres and was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2024, the first peatland in the world to receive that status. I’d rate it as genuinely unmissable for anyone serious about wild landscapes. The sense of scale out there is otherworldly, all sky and dark water and absolute quiet.

    Closer to most English walkers, the Pennines offer extensive bog walking. Cross Fell, the highest point in the Pennines at 893 metres, sits amid genuine blanket peat. The moors around Kinder Scout in the Peak District are textbook upland bog, though years of erosion have left the notorious “groughs” (deep peat channels) that make navigation genuinely challenging. The Cairngorms plateau holds substantial peat above the treeline, and if you’ve walked up there in early autumn you’ll know the peculiar, faintly medicinal smell of wet sphagnum in the air. Parts of Dartmoor in Devon carry deep peat too, particularly around the northern moor.

    Wales has its share. The Berwyn Mountains in northeast Wales hold some of the most intact upland bog in Wales, and the Elenydd (Cambrian Mountains) upland is rich in wet heath and blanket peat. These are quieter than Snowdonia, which makes them worth the detour.

    How to walk on peat bogs without causing damage

    This is where I think a lot of walkers go wrong, and I include my younger self in that. Peat erosion is a serious problem. Once the surface vegetation is broken, peat dries out, erodes, and releases stored carbon. A single footpath worn into deep peat can take decades to recover.

    Walk on existing paths where they exist. Many restored bogs now have timber boardwalks or stone pitching through the most fragile sections. Use them, even if a direct line across open ground looks faster. Off those paths, aim for tussocky grass and heather rather than bare peat or wet sphagnum pools. Sphagnum hummocks are spongy and alive; compressing them repeatedly does real harm. Spread out if you’re walking in a group rather than following each other’s footprints into a new line.

    Peat hagging (the exposed banks of eroded peat) should be avoided as walking surfaces. They crumble, they’re slippery when wet, and breaking down the edges accelerates erosion further. Step around them, not along the tops. It’s the same principle as leaving no trace, just applied to ground rather than litter. If you’re thinking about how to be genuinely responsible on difficult upland terrain, bog walking demands the same awareness you’d give to any sensitive environment.

    Kit matters too. Waterproof boots are obvious, but gaiters are underrated for bog walking. They keep peat off your trousers, protect your boot-top seams from repeated submersion, and give you more confidence to step into soft ground without hesitating. I wear mid-height gaiters for most upland bog and switch to full-length ones in the Flow Country. Trekking poles help enormously for balance on tussocky ground, and they can test the depth of pools before you commit your weight.

    Restored bogs: why they’re worth seeking out

    Around 80% of UK peatland is in a degraded state, damaged by drainage, burning, overgrazing, and historic peat cutting. But restoration is happening at serious scale. The RSPB, the Wildlife Trusts, and organisations like Rewilding Britain are blocking drainage ditches, re-wetting former grouse moors, and reintroducing sphagnum. The results, within a few years, can be dramatic.

    Forsinard Flows RSPB reserve in Sutherland is worth a specific visit. There is a boardwalk trail out across the restored bog that gives you a proper sense of what a healthy peatland feels like underfoot: soft, yielding, very much alive. Hen Harriers nest there. The views are astonishing in their blankness, which sounds like faint praise but absolutely is not. On Dartmoor, the Mire Restoration Project has re-wetted several valley mires and the difference compared to adjacent drained land is visible to the naked eye.

    Seeking out restored bogs adds a different dimension to a walking trip. You are not just passing through; you are witnessing recovery. That is worth something. The same curiosity that sends people to bag trig points or explore remote bothies can push you towards these quieter, stranger, historically significant places.

    The atmosphere that keeps bringing me back

    There is a quality of silence on a big bog that you do not get anywhere else. No trees to catch the wind. No valleys to create echo. Sound travels oddly, and the absence of human noise is total in a way that even high ridge lines do not quite achieve. Golden plovers call from nowhere visible. A short-eared owl quartering low over the heather looks like something prehistoric.

    I find upland bog walking genuinely meditative in a way I cannot fully explain to people who haven’t experienced it. The terrain demands constant micro-attention, where to place your foot, what colour the ground ahead is, whether that patch of bright green sphagnum is an inch deep or thigh-deep. That level of focus clears your head in ways a straightforward ridge walk sometimes doesn’t. It’s a different mode of being outside.

    If you have been dismissing blanket bog as something to endure between the interesting bits, I’d encourage you to try giving it a walk planned around it rather than through it. Go to the Flow Country if you can manage it. Walk the Kinder Scout plateau in mist. Spend a morning at Forsinard. If you’re planning bigger upland routes, the same kind of careful preparation that goes into avoiding classic mistakes on multi-day challenges will serve you well on open peatland too.

    The bogs were here before us. The peat under your boots might be eight thousand years old. Give it the respect that deserves, and it will give you back one of the stranger, quieter, more compelling days you can spend on foot in Britain.

    Frequently Asked Questions

    Is it safe to walk across a peat bog?

    Generally yes, if you take care. The main risks are getting stuck in deep peat pools (bright green sphagnum patches can be deceptively deep) and losing your footing on wet, tussocky ground. Test uncertain ground with a trekking pole before committing your full weight, and stick to existing paths where they exist. Gaiters and waterproof boots are essential.

    Where are the best peat bogs to visit in the UK?

    The Flow Country in Caithness and Sutherland is the most impressive, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Other notable areas include Kinder Scout in the Peak District, Cross Fell in the Pennines, the Berwyn Mountains in Wales, and Dartmoor’s northern moor. The RSPB’s Forsinard Flows reserve in Sutherland has an excellent boardwalk trail for accessible bog walking.

    Why do peat bogs matter for climate change?

    UK peatlands store around three billion tonnes of carbon, far more than all British and French forests combined. When bogs are drained or degraded, that carbon is released as CO2. Healthy, wet peat continues to lock carbon away; restored bogs can begin sequestering carbon again within a few years of re-wetting.

    What gear do I need for bog walking?

    Waterproof boots are non-negotiable. Gaiters (mid-height at minimum, full-length in the Flow Country or deep peat areas) protect your boots and trousers from repeated immersion. Trekking poles help enormously with balance on uneven tussocks and are useful for testing soft ground. A map and compass are especially important in featureless bog terrain where GPS can struggle in low cloud.

  • Sea Cliff Walking on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path: A Realistic Guide for Non-Coastal Hikers

    Sea Cliff Walking on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path: A Realistic Guide for Non-Coastal Hikers

    Mountain walkers tend to assume the coast will be easier. The logic makes sense on paper: no altitude to gain, no thin air, no sudden whiteouts. I made exactly that assumption the first time I walked a stretch of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, somewhere between St Davids Head and Whitesands Bay, and within two hours I was humbled. The ground near the edge behaved nothing like mountain terrain. The gradient profile made no sense compared to a moorland day. And the sea, rather than being a scenic backdrop, was a constant variable I had no real framework for managing. This is a Pembrokeshire Coast Path walking guide aimed at people who, like me, come from a background of hills and moorland, and need to rethink a few assumptions before they get started.

    Rugged cliff top footpath on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path walking guide route with sea far below
    Photo by Dominik Gryzbon on Pexels

    Why the Pembrokeshire Coast Path catches out experienced hikers

    The path runs 186 miles around the Pembrokeshire coastline, taking in the full western peninsula of Wales from Amroth in the south to St Dogmaels in the north. At first glance, the numbers look manageable. But the Ramblers Association has long noted that the path involves around 35,000 feet of total ascent across its full length. That is more climbing than you would do on a standard Snowdon circuit repeated multiple times. The reason is the relentless up-and-down nature of coastal walking: every headland means descent into a cove and a climb back out on the far side. There is no contouring a slope the way you might on a broad ridge. The path goes down to the water and back up, again and again, all day.

    For hill walkers used to sustained climbs followed by long ridge traverses, this is genuinely tiring in a different way. The muscle groups taking the strain shift constantly. I found my quads aching in places they rarely complain on a mountain day. If you are planning a multi-day section and thinking about how far you can realistically hike in a day, cut your usual estimate by at least a quarter when tackling the Pembrokeshire cliffs. The Naismith’s Rule distance will lie to you here.

    Edge conditions: what mountain experience does not prepare you for

    On a mountain, the edge of safe ground is usually obvious. Rock changes character, grass thins, exposure becomes apparent. On a sea cliff, the edge can be deceptive. Coastal erosion in Pembrokeshire is active and ongoing. The Pembrokeshire Coast National Park Authority reroutes sections of the path every year as cliff faces collapse. What looks like a solid grass turf platform near the cliff top can be undercut below, hollowed out by wave action or rain. I’ve seen patches that look absolutely walkable from a metre back and are missing completely underneath.

    The practical rule is straightforward but worth stating plainly: stay on the path. This sounds obvious, but mountain walkers are accustomed to navigating freely across open terrain, cutting corners, stepping off-piste to get a better view. That instinct becomes dangerous on coastal cliffs. Straying towards the edge to peer at a cove below is the kind of habit that gets people into serious trouble. The path itself is almost always routed a safe distance back. Trust it. The National Park’s path management teams know exactly where the ground is unstable.

    Wind is another factor that feels different by the sea. On a mountain, wind hits you from the direction of the weather system, and experienced walkers learn to read it. On coastal headlands in Pembrokeshire, particularly around St Ann’s Head or the exposed sections north of Strumble Head, gusts can be funnelled and deflected by cliff geometry in ways that are genuinely hard to predict. I have been hit by a lateral gust near a cliff edge that I simply did not expect from the direction of the prevailing wind. It was not dangerous in that instance, but it was a reminder that the standard mountain-walker toolkit for wind assessment needs recalibrating.

    Tidal timing on coastal paths: a skill most inland walkers lack

    This is the one that genuinely takes people by surprise. On moorland or mountain, the terrain is static. On a coastal path, certain sections, particularly beach crossings and cove traverses, only exist for a few hours either side of low tide. Get the timing wrong and you are either cut off, forced to retrace several miles, or making a dangerous decision at the water’s edge.

    The most notable tidal crossing on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path is Aber Mawr and the sections around Barafundle Bay, but there are others less well signposted. Before walking any section that drops to beach level, check the tide tables for that specific location. The BBC Weather coast and sea tool gives local tide predictions, or use the Met Office app. Low water in Pembrokeshire does not mean the same thing as low water in the Severn Estuary, which has one of the largest tidal ranges in the world. The tidal range in west Pembrokeshire is more moderate, typically three to five metres, but still enough to completely transform what the path looks like at your feet.

    A general rule: plan beach crossings for within two hours either side of low water. Build this into your daily schedule rather than treating it as a nice-to-have. If you are doing a multi-night wild camp or bivvy along the route, tidal timing also affects where you can pitch on or near a beach legally and safely. Never camp at the base of a cliff or in a cove without checking the high-water line first.

    Navigation on the coast: simpler, but with specific traps

    The Pembrokeshire Coast Path is waymarked with the acorn symbol throughout, and compared to navigating remote Scottish plateau or finding a ridge line in mist, the route-finding is straightforward. But waymarking does not mean navigation is irrelevant. Headlands in mist, and Pembrokeshire gets a lot of coastal haar in spring and early summer, can disorient you quickly. The sound of the sea helps, but it can echo around cliff faces in confusing ways.

    Carry an OS Explorer map. OL35 and OL36 between them cover most of the path, and the detail they offer on cliff profiles, beach access points, and tidal inlets is genuinely useful. A compass and the basic skills covered in any solid map-reading background will serve you well enough for most of the route, but do not rely on a phone signal for navigation in the more remote northern sections. Coverage between Fishguard and Cardigan is patchy at best.

    Kit adjustments for coastal conditions

    Your mountain kit is largely fine. Waterproofs, layering, sturdy boots: all correct. A few specific points worth making for Pembrokeshire specifically.

    Boot grip matters in a different way here. On mountain rock, you are managing friction on vertical faces. On coastal paths, you are managing slippery wet grass on steep descents into coves, sometimes with a significant drop to one side. Worn boot soles are genuinely more dangerous on coastal grass than on mountain rock. Check the tread before you go.

    Sun exposure catches many hikers out. On a mountain you tend to be moving through variable shade and the altitude keeps temperatures moderate. On a south-facing coastal path in Pembrokeshire in May or June, you can be walking into full sun for hours with the sea reflecting additional UV upwards. Factor 30 minimum and a cap are not optional kit. The reflected glare alone is something that mountain walkers rarely account for.

    Finally: salt. After a few days on the coast path, metal buckles corrode, zips stiffen, and boot leather takes a hammering from salt spray and wet grass. Rinse boots at the end of each day if you can and check your pack buckles. It sounds like a small thing, but losing a pack strap buckle on day three of a five-day section is not a problem you want.

    Which sections to tackle first if you’re new to coastal walking

    If this style of walking is new to you, the south Pembrokeshire sections around the Castlemartin Peninsula and between Tenby and Manorbier are a good starting point. The terrain is exposed and the cliffs are real, but the gradients are slightly more forgiving and the path is very well maintained. The northern sections between Fishguard and St Dogmaels are some of the most remote and physically demanding walking in Wales, full stop. Save those for once you’ve got coastal legs under you.

    The stretch around St Davids Head and out to Ramsey Sound is as good as coastal walking gets in Britain, in my view. But it is also where the edge conditions and wind exposure are at their most serious. Walk it in settled weather, watch the forecast with the same seriousness you would before heading into the mountains, and give it the respect it deserves. The Pembrokeshire Coast Path walking guide will tell you it is a moderate route. Experienced mountain walkers know that moderate is a word that covers a great deal of ground.

    Frequently Asked Questions

    How hard is the Pembrokeshire Coast Path compared to a mountain walk?

    The full 186-mile path involves around 35,000 feet of total ascent due to constant up-and-down between headlands and coves. Many experienced hill walkers find the relentless short climbs more tiring than a sustained mountain ascent, so plan your daily mileage conservatively.

    Do I need to worry about tides on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path?

    Yes, several sections involve beach crossings or cove traverses that are only safe within a couple of hours of low tide. Check local tide tables before walking any section that drops to beach or rock level, and build tidal timing into your daily schedule.

    Is the Pembrokeshire Coast Path safe near the cliff edges?

    The path is managed and rerouted regularly by the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park Authority as coastal erosion is active. Stay strictly on the marked path and resist the urge to approach cliff edges for a better view, as the turf near the top can be undercut and unstable.

  • How UK Mountain Rescue Teams Actually Work, and What Walkers Can Do to Help Them

    How UK Mountain Rescue Teams Actually Work, and What Walkers Can Do to Help Them

    There is a moment on any serious hill day when the weather turns faster than you expected, someone in your group twists an ankle on a boulder field, and the path back looks nothing like the map suggested. Most of the time, people get themselves out. But every year, thousands of walkers across England, Scotland and Wales do not. That is when UK mountain rescue teams step in, and almost nobody who dials 999 from a ridgeline has any real idea what happens next, or who is actually coming to find them.

    UK mountain rescue team volunteers carrying equipment across a rocky hillside
    Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels

    Who actually makes up a mountain rescue team?

    The short answer is: your neighbours. UK mountain rescue teams are staffed almost entirely by unpaid volunteers. According to Mountain Rescue England and Wales, there are around 5,000 volunteers across more than 50 teams in England and Wales alone, with Scotland and Northern Ireland covered by their own equivalents. These people, shepherds, teachers, paramedics, joiners, retired professionals, train regularly, fund their own equipment, and drop whatever they are doing the moment their pagers fire. Some teams respond to 300 call-outs a year. The busiest, like Wasdale in the Lake District or Lochaber in the Highlands, can be out on the hill several times in a single weekend.

    I have spoken to volunteers from a couple of teams over the years, and the thing that always strikes me is how little fuss they make about it. One bloke I met at a bothy near Braemar had been on his local team for fourteen years. He had missed two Christmases, countless birthdays, and one wedding anniversary. He shrugged and said the hills get into you. That is the spirit these teams run on.

    What triggers a call-out?

    The trigger is almost always a 999 call routed through the police. You ring 999, ask for police, and say you need mountain rescue. The control room then alerts the relevant team, who mobilise within minutes. What gets them out ranges from the genuinely life-threatening, cardiac arrests, severe falls, avalanche burial, to situations that, with a bit more preparation, need never have happened at all.

    In 2023, analysis from several UK teams showed that a significant proportion of call-outs involved walkers who were lost, exhausted, or caught out by darkness, problems that better planning would have prevented. Ankle injuries remain the single most common reason for a rescue. That is worth sitting with for a moment. Most call-outs are not cliff falls or blizzards. They are twisted ankles on paths that people underestimated, often late in the afternoon when energy is low and light is fading.

    Mountain rescue team members carrying a stretcher across rough terrain during a UK mountain rescue call-out
    Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels

    Common misconceptions about mountain rescue

    The biggest one I hear is that calling mountain rescue costs money. It does not. The service is free at the point of need in the UK, and teams receive no government funding for their running costs. They rely entirely on donations and fundraising. Some people are so worried about wasting the team’s time that they wait too long to call, which is a far more serious mistake than calling early. If there is any genuine doubt about your safety or ability to get off the hill under your own steam before dark, call early. The team would far rather turn back from a straightforward job than retrieve a casualty who deteriorated over three hours of hesitation.

    Another misconception is that helicopters do most of the work. In reality, helicopter availability depends on the military or coastguard’s schedule, the weather, and daylight. Teams are ground-based by default and walk to casualties across some extremely difficult terrain, often in the dark, carrying stretchers and medical kit. The walk-in alone can take hours. If you are planning a serious mountain day, say, something along the lines of the routes covered in our guide to walking the Cairngorms before the snow fully clears, understanding this changes how you think about risk.

    Practical steps walkers can take to reduce unnecessary rescues

    None of this is about avoiding mountains. It is about going out smarter. A few habits make a genuine difference.

    Leave a route plan with someone. Tell a trusted person your planned route, your expected return time, and what to do if you have not made contact by a set hour. This is free, takes two minutes, and gives rescuers an enormous head start if something does go wrong.

    Know how to give your location. A grid reference from an OS map or a what3words address dramatically reduces the time it takes to find you. Practice reading grid references before you need them under stress. Our piece on what trig points are and how they help with navigation is a decent starting point if map-reading is not yet second nature.

    Start early and set a turnaround time. More than half of rescues happen in the final few hours of daylight. Set a hard turnaround time before you leave the car park and stick to it, regardless of how close the summit feels.

    Carry the basics, always. A head torch, waterproofs, a group shelter, a first aid kit, food and water. These are not optional extras for “serious” trips. They are what keeps a minor situation from becoming a major one.

    Know your limits on the day. A trail that is straightforward in July can be genuinely dangerous in March. I have turned back from routes I know well because the conditions were wrong. There is no shame in it. The hill will still be there. For those thinking about more technical terrain, our overview of scrambling grades in the UK is worth reading before committing to anything that involves using your hands.

    How to support your local mountain rescue team financially

    As I said, these teams run on donations. They buy their own stretchers, their own radios, their own vehicles. Training costs money. Fuel costs money. And because they are charities, they are ineligible for most emergency service grants. The simplest things you can do: find your regional team online and make a one-off or regular donation. Many teams have kit sponsorship programmes. Some have relationships with local businesses that host collection tins, and a number of outdoor retailers donate a percentage of sales to their nearest team.

    If you travel to mountains regularly and use other services to get around, ACE ABC is one example of a local transport provider that operates in areas near popular trailheads, it is worth asking whether they have any fundraising partnerships with local rescue teams, as some do.

    You can also give time. Most teams welcome new volunteers, though the commitment is real: expect regular evening training, weekend call-outs, and a long probationary period before you go operational. Search your team’s website for recruitment details.

    A final thought

    Mountain rescue volunteers do not want recognition. They want people to come home safely. The best thing any of us can do is prepare properly, make good decisions on the hill, and if we need help, ask for it without embarrassment. And then, when we are back down and warm and eating something good, find the team’s donation page and put something in. They will be out again by the weekend.

    Frequently Asked Questions

    Does calling mountain rescue cost money in the UK?

    No, mountain rescue in the UK is free at the point of need. Teams are charities staffed by volunteers and receive no government funding for running costs, so they rely entirely on public donations. You should never hesitate to call because you are worried about cost.

    How do I contact mountain rescue in an emergency?

    Call 999, ask for police, and state that you need mountain rescue. Give your location as precisely as possible, a six-figure OS grid reference or a what3words address is ideal. If you have no mobile signal, SMS can sometimes get through when a voice call cannot.

    How long does it take mountain rescue to reach you?

    It depends entirely on the terrain, conditions, and your location. Teams can mobilise within minutes of a call, but the walk-in to a remote casualty can take several hours. This is why calling early, before your situation deteriorates, is always the right decision.

    What are UK mountain rescue teams allowed to treat at the scene?

    Many volunteers are trained as casualty care practitioners and can provide advanced first aid, including pain relief, wound management and splinting. Some teams have paramedics or doctors among their volunteers. They work within protocols and will hand over to NHS services once the casualty is evacuated.

    How can I support my local mountain rescue team?

    The most direct way is a cash donation via your regional team’s website. You can find the relevant team for your area through Mountain Rescue England and Wales or Search and Rescue Scotland. Some teams also welcome volunteers, check their websites for recruitment information.

  • Glencoe Without a Car: Is It Actually Possible to Hike Here on Public Transport?

    Glencoe Without a Car: Is It Actually Possible to Hike Here on Public Transport?

    Glencoe has this reputation. You see the photos, the dramatic ridgelines, the rust-and-shadow colour of the glen in autumn, and you want to be there. But most guides assume you’ve already got a car, parked neatly at one of the Highlands’ notoriously small car parks, ready to drive back on your own schedule. Hiking Glencoe by public transport is a different kind of trip entirely, and I want to be straight with you about what that actually involves before you miss a last bus in the dark.

    Glencoe valley with dramatic hillsides, ideal for hiking Glencoe by public transport
    Photo by Vadaint Sikka on Pexels

    Getting to Glencoe: what the rail and bus network actually looks like

    The starting point is ScotRail’s West Highland Line, which is genuinely one of the best rail journeys in Europe. Trains from Glasgow Queen Street run to Fort William via Crianlarich, stopping at Bridge of Orchy and Tyndrum. That gets you close, but not into the glen itself. The nearest station to the heart of Glencoe is Glencoe station, which sits at Ballachulish Ferry, about 3 miles from the village and considerably further from the key trailheads further east along the A82.

    The realistic approach for most walkers is to take the train to Fort William and then board one of the Scottish Citylink coaches that run along the A82 towards Glasgow. Route 914 and 915 pass through the glen and stop at the Glencoe Visitor Centre, which is almost directly opposite the start of the path up the Pap of Glencoe and a short walk from the Lost Valley. Check the Scottish Citylink timetable before you book anything else, because frequency varies significantly by day of week and season. In summer 2026 there are roughly four to five southbound coaches per day from Fort William stopping in the glen, but that number drops sharply outside peak season.

    Which routes are genuinely accessible without driving

    Honestly? Fewer than you’d hope, but more than people think. The key is matching your walk to the bus stop, not the other way round.

    The Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail) is the most accessible without a vehicle. The path starts from the car park at the Three Sisters, which is a request stop on the Citylink coaches. Ask the driver when you board, and flag one down heading back to Fort William. It’s a 6-kilometre round trip with around 350 metres of ascent, well within a half-day’s walking. I’ve done this as a solo day out from Glasgow and it works well, provided you’ve checked the afternoon coach times before you set off.

    The Pap of Glencoe is another good option. The ascent from Glencoe village is direct and the village itself has a bus stop with services to both Fort William and Glasgow. It’s a steep 742-metre climb but the return is straightforward enough that you won’t be stumbling off the hill at an awkward hour if you set off by 10:00.

    The Aonach Eagach ridge, on the other hand, is a different matter. It’s a full-day commitment, a serious Grade 2 scramble (worth reading about what scrambling grades actually mean before you attempt it), and the traverse takes most fit parties five to seven hours. You’d need to be on the hill early and off it by mid-afternoon to catch the last realistic coach, which makes for a very tight window. I wouldn’t plan this route around buses unless you’re unusually fast on technical ground.

    Hiker studying a map on a Scottish mountain path when hiking Glencoe by public transport
    Photo by Leo Shao on Pexels

    Timetable realities: the last bus problem

    This is where people get into genuine trouble. The last southbound Citylink coach from the glen in winter can be as early as 15:30. In summer it extends to around 18:00 or 19:00, but not reliably later. Miss it, and you’re either waiting hours in Glencoe village for a connection, paying for a taxi from Fort William (a 30-minute drive away), or calling someone. None of those options are fun after a long day on the hill.

    My practice is to set a hard turnaround time before I leave, based on the penultimate coach, not the last one. Weather in Glencoe moves fast. I’ve watched the glen swallow itself in cloud in under twenty minutes. If you’re not planning to overnight in a bothy and you’re reliant on a coach, you need a margin. Build in an hour at least between when you expect to be off the hill and the coach you’re aiming for.

    Also download the Traveline Scotland app. It’s patchy in places, but it’s the most reliable way to see live service updates and flag any cancellations before you’re standing in the rain at a lay-by.

    Practical tips for planning a public transport day in Glencoe

    A few things I’ve learnt the hard way, and a few from other walkers I’ve spoken to at the Glencoe Mountain Resort café nursing a coffee after a wet descent:

    Book your train in advance. ScotRail Advance fares on the West Highland Line sell out, particularly on summer weekends, and you’ll pay significantly more on the day. The Fort William train from Glasgow Queen Street takes around three hours, which is long enough to study your map properly.

    Carry everything you need for a full day out, including a head torch, extra food and a proper waterproof layer. You can’t nip back to the car park for something you forgot. The Mountain Rescue teams in Lochaber are excellent, but they’d rather you didn’t need them. If you’re interested in how to handle rapidly deteriorating conditions, the guidance on realistic daily distance in UK mountain terrain is worth a read before you go.

    If you’re travelling in a group, ride-sharing within the group to split a taxi from Fort William as a backup plan is worth arranging in advance. There are local taxi firms in Fort William, and some walkers contact them to pre-book a late afternoon pick-up from the glen as insurance. It costs money, but so does an unplanned night in a B&B.

    Accommodation in Glencoe village itself is limited. The Glencoe Independent Hostel is good value and genuinely welcoming of muddy walkers. Staying locally overnight removes the bus anxiety entirely and lets you get on the hill at first light, which in Glencoe is an experience worth having on its own terms.

    Is it worth the extra planning effort?

    Yes, without question. Glencoe without a car requires more thought, but the glen doesn’t care how you arrived. The Buachaille Etive Mor still looks the same whether you stepped out of a car or off a Citylink coach. There’s also something satisfying about doing it properly, about being genuinely reliant on your legs and your map and a printed timetable folded into your jacket pocket. It strips out the option to bail at any moment, which keeps you more focused on the walk itself.

    Scotland has been steadily improving access in the Highlands without vehicles, and tools like reliable Claude AI for UK public sector are increasingly being explored by transport planners looking at how to model and improve rural connectivity. But on the ground in 2026, Glencoe public transport still requires patience and honest planning. Know your times, pick your route to match them, and leave the Aonach Eagach for a day when you’ve got a car or a very understanding hostel just down the road.

    The glen rewards people who show up prepared. Arrive with a plan, leave before your margin runs out, and Glencoe will give you everything you came for.

    Frequently Asked Questions

    Can you get to Glencoe by public transport from Glasgow?

    Yes. Take a ScotRail train from Glasgow Queen Street to Fort William (around three hours), then board a Scottish Citylink coach heading south along the A82. Route 914 or 915 stops at the Glencoe Visitor Centre and the Three Sisters lay-by. Book the train in advance, especially at weekends.

    What time is the last bus out of Glencoe?

    It varies by season. In summer the last Citylink coach heading south from the glen is typically around 18:00 to 19:00, but in winter it can be as early as 15:30. Always check the Scottish Citylink timetable before you set out and aim for the penultimate service rather than the last one.

    Which Glencoe walks are best suited to arriving by bus?

    The Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail) and the Pap of Glencoe are both well-matched to a public transport day. Both have manageable round-trip times that allow you to catch an afternoon coach back to Fort William or Glasgow without rushing dangerously off the hill.

    Is there a train station in Glencoe itself?

    Glencoe station is on the West Highland Line but sits near Ballachulish Ferry, about 3 miles from the village and well away from the main trailheads on the A82. Most walkers find it more practical to use Fort William as the rail hub and take a Citylink coach into the glen from there.

    What happens if I miss the last bus in Glencoe?

    Your options are a taxi from Fort William (around 30 minutes away), which local firms can arrange, or accommodation in Glencoe village itself if it’s late enough that continuing isn’t sensible. Pre-booking a taxi as a backup before you start walking is a worthwhile precaution on full-day routes.

  • The Long Mynd in Shropshire: Why This Underrated Upland Deserves a Place on Every English Hillwalker’s List

    The Long Mynd in Shropshire: Why This Underrated Upland Deserves a Place on Every English Hillwalker’s List

    Most English hikers could name the Lake District peaks, rattle off a few Yorkshire Dales favourites, or describe the Cairngorms plateau in reasonable detail. Fewer could tell you much about the Long Mynd. That’s a genuine shame, because this broad, windswept ridge in south Shropshire is one of the most atmospheric upland areas in England, and it sits within easy reach of Birmingham, Wolverhampton, and the wider Midlands without ever feeling like it’s been trampled flat by weekend crowds.

    I first walked the Long Mynd on a grey November morning, not quite sure what to expect beyond a vague promise of open moorland. Within twenty minutes of leaving the village of Church Stretton, I was out on the ridge with a cold westerly at my back and a view stretching over layer after layer of Shropshire hills. By the time I dropped into Carding Mill Valley and climbed back out again, I was already planning a return trip. That’s the effect this place has.

    Broad moorland plateau on the Long Mynd, Shropshire, on an autumn walking day
    Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels

    What actually is the Long Mynd?

    The Long Mynd is a high moorland plateau roughly ten miles long and about three miles wide, sitting between Church Stretton to the east and the valleys of the River Onny and River West Onny to the west. The plateau itself tops out at around 516 metres at Pole Bank, which doesn’t sound dramatic until you realise that the surrounding terrain drops away sharply into a series of narrow, steep-sided valleys called batches, a very Shropshire word, that cut deep into the ridge from the east.

    It’s managed largely by the National Trust, and most of the open moorland is designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest. The heather, bilberry, and bog cotton up on the plateau are worth protecting; down in the batches, you get rushing streams, old sessile oaks, and that peculiar enclosed feeling you only get in steep, narrow hill valleys. The contrast between the two landscapes within a short walk is what makes the Long Mynd such good walking terrain. You can read more about how the right of way network opens up areas like this in our piece on the right of way rules every UK walker should actually understand.

    The ancient trackways on the ridge

    The broad back of the Long Mynd has been a routeway for thousands of years. The Portway, which runs roughly north to south along the ridge, is considered one of the oldest roads in Britain, a prehistoric trackway that drovers, traders, and travellers used long before tarmac was a concept anyone could imagine. Walking it today, you get a strong sense of that layered history. The views haven’t changed much. The wind probably hasn’t either.

    The Portway is wide, grassy, and relatively easy going in dry conditions. In wet weather, and the Long Mynd gets its fair share, it can turn boggy in patches, particularly in the lower-lying sections near Asterton. Decent waterproofs and proper boots are non-negotiable up here. I’ve seen people attempt the ridge in road trainers and they always look faintly miserable by the time the first proper bog appears.

    As well as the Portway, there’s a network of paths crossing the plateau and dropping into the various batches. The Jack Mytton Way, a 70-mile multi-use trail through Shropshire, passes through here too. Picking up sections of it on foot gives you a natural structure if you want a longer linear route rather than a circular day walk.

    The drama of the batches

    If the plateau is the Long Mynd’s headline, the batches are its best supporting act. Carding Mill Valley is the most visited, there’s a National Trust car park and café at the bottom, and the stream that runs through it feeds a small reservoir that’s been there since Victorian times. It’s busy by Long Mynd standards, though that still means pleasantly quiet by the standards of, say, Borrowdale on a bank holiday weekend.

    Light Spout Hollow, which branches off Carding Mill Valley, is worth the extra legwork. The waterfall at its head is genuinely lovely, particularly after heavy rain when it throws itself over the rock lip with some force. Ashes Hollow, a little further south, is quieter and arguably more dramatic, it runs deep and narrow for a good mile before opening onto the plateau, with the path hopping back and forth across the stream. I’d put Ashes Hollow among the best short valley walks in the English Midlands, full stop.

    Practical day walk ideas for Midlands visitors

    Church Stretton is the obvious base. It’s accessible by train from Birmingham New Street via Shrewsbury, which makes it one of the more public transport-friendly upland destinations in England, something that matters more than people admit when you’re trying to justify leaving the car at home. The town itself is small but has a good pub, a couple of cafés, and enough accommodation to make an overnight stay easy to arrange.

    A solid half-day circular starts in Church Stretton, climbs through Carding Mill Valley to the plateau, follows the ridge south towards Pole Bank, then drops back down via Ashes Hollow. That’s roughly 10 to 11 miles with around 450 metres of ascent, manageable for most reasonably fit walkers in about four to five hours. For a shorter version, cutting across from the head of Carding Mill Valley back down into the valley rather than continuing to Pole Bank keeps it under seven miles.

    Those who want a longer day can push north along the Portway from the plateau towards Ratlinghope and loop back via the Batch Valley. That adds another four miles or so and takes you through some of the quieter western slopes where you’re unlikely to see many other walkers at all. Our guide on how far you can hike in a day in UK mountain terrain is worth a read before you commit to the longer options, especially if you’re new to upland walking.

    What to watch out for on the Long Mynd

    The plateau can be a seriously exposed place in bad weather. The Long Mynd is not the Alps, but don’t let the modest elevation fool you, cloud can descend fast, the temperature drops sharply when the wind picks up, and the open moorland offers no shelter whatsoever. Navigation is straightforward in good visibility, but in mist or low cloud the plateau can feel featureless quickly. A map and compass is sensible; relying solely on a phone signal is not, because coverage is patchy at best across much of the ridge.

    The National Trust has more information on the Long Mynd and Carding Mill Valley, including seasonal access notes and updates on path conditions, on their website. The National Trust’s Long Mynd page is the best starting point for planning a visit.

    The gliding club on the plateau is also worth knowing about. The Midland Gliding Club has operated from the Long Mynd since 1934, and the ridge lift created by westerly winds makes it one of the best soaring sites in England. Watching gliders circle silently overhead while you’re eating lunch on the Portway is one of those small, unexpected pleasures that the Long Mynd keeps throwing at you.

    Why it stays under the radar

    I think the Long Mynd suffers from proximity to better-known destinations. The Welsh hills are only a short drive west. The Peak District is an hour and a half north. The Lake District pulls Midlands walkers north whenever they have a full weekend free. The Long Mynd sits awkwardly between these bigger names, never quite managing to claim the same level of reputation despite genuinely deserving one.

    That’s changing slowly. The Shropshire Hills AONB (now designated as a National Landscape) has a higher profile than it did a decade ago, and Church Stretton has started to market itself more deliberately as a walking destination. If you’re the sort of person who enjoys finding somewhere brilliant before the crowds do, now is a good time to go. If you want ideas for spending the night out rather than driving home the same day, our piece on bivvying in England and Wales covers the rules and practicalities.

    The Long Mynd won’t hand you the drama of a Munro or the social cachet of a Wainwright. What it gives you instead is space, silence, ancient tracks, cracking valleys, and the particular satisfaction of finding somewhere genuinely good that most people walk straight past. That, for my money, is worth a lot.

    Frequently Asked Questions

    How do I get to the Long Mynd from Birmingham?

    By train, take a direct service from Birmingham New Street to Church Stretton via Shrewsbury, the journey takes around an hour and a half. By car, the A49 from Shrewsbury brings you to Church Stretton in under an hour from Birmingham.

    Is Long Mynd walking suitable for beginners?

    Yes, with the right preparation. The plateau paths are mostly clear and the gradients are steady rather than severe. Beginners should stick to the Carding Mill Valley circuit, wear proper boots, carry a waterproof, and check the weather before heading up onto the open moorland.

    Where is the best car park for the Long Mynd?

    The National Trust car park at the bottom of Carding Mill Valley in Church Stretton is the most popular and practical starting point. There is a charge for non-National Trust members. There’s also parking near the Midland Gliding Club on the plateau itself if you want to start from the ridge.

    What is the highest point on the Long Mynd?

    Pole Bank is the highest point at 516 metres above sea level. It’s marked with a trig point and offers wide views across Shropshire, the Welsh hills, and on clear days as far as the Wrekin and the Malvern Hills.

  • Trig Points: What They Are, Why They’re Everywhere, and How to Start Bagging Them

    Trig Points: What They Are, Why They’re Everywhere, and How to Start Bagging Them

    You’ve seen them on hilltops, moorland edges, and occasionally in the middle of a field that took you twenty minutes to reach through ankle-deep mud. That squat concrete pillar with the brass fitting on top. If you’ve spent any time walking in Britain, you’ve almost certainly rested a hand on one, maybe even sat on it for a sandwich. But most people have no idea what they actually are, how they came to be scattered across every corner of the country, or why a quietly passionate community of walkers has made collecting them into a genuine hobby. Trig point bagging UK style is a growing thing, and once you understand what these pillars represent, it’s easy to see why.

    Ordnance Survey trig point on a moorland hilltop, a popular goal for trig point bagging UK walkers
    Photo by Michał Robak on Pexels

    What a trig point actually is

    The full name is triangulation pillar, and the clue is in that word. Ordnance Survey built 6,190 of them across Great Britain between 1936 and 1962 as part of a project called Retriangulation of Great Britain. The idea was to establish a precise, consistent network of fixed survey points from which every map in the country could be accurately drawn. Each pillar sits at a known, measured elevation and has a precisely recorded position. Get those points right, and everything else on the map follows.

    The method is classical surveying. A theodolite, a precision optical instrument that measures horizontal and vertical angles, would be mounted on the brass fitting at the top of the pillar. Surveyors would then take sightings to other visible pillars on the horizon, triangulating positions across the landscape. Hence the name. The pillars are built from pre-cast concrete, typically 1.2 metres tall, and most have an underground bolt at the base for additional stability. A brass spider fitting sits in the top, which is what you’ll see if you peer down into the hollow centre.

    Ordnance Survey no longer uses them for active surveying. GPS made the whole network redundant from the 1980s onwards. But the pillars themselves were built to last, and most are still standing, maintained now largely because walkers like them there.

    Why are they always on high ground?

    Triangulation only works if each pillar can see other pillars. So surveyors needed clear lines of sight across the landscape, which meant high ground, ridgelines, open moorland, and prominent summits. A trig point on a hilltop could potentially see six, eight, even a dozen other pillars on clear days. That’s why you find them where you do, the network was engineered around the topography of Britain itself.

    Not all are on dramatic summits, though. Some sit in remarkably undramatic locations: flat coastal ground, agricultural land, urban fringes. These filled gaps in the network where sightlines were needed at lower elevations. The Holme Fen post in Cambridgeshire, which marks the lowest point in Britain at roughly 2.75 metres below sea level, has its own trig point of sorts, though the famous marker there is a cast iron post rather than a standard pillar. The OS website has the full background on the history of triangulation pillars if you want the technical detail.

    The community behind trig point bagging UK

    This is where it gets properly interesting. A website called TrigpointingUK has been logging visitor records for pillars across the country for years. At the time of writing, it has tens of thousands of logged visits from thousands of registered users. People photograph each pillar, record conditions, note whether the brass fitting is intact, and add it to their personal tally. Some are chasing all 6,190. Most are working through their local county, or collecting the pillars along a particular trail.

    I first started paying attention to trig points properly whilst walking a long section of the Pennine Way. You pass several along that route, and once you’ve deliberately gone slightly off the path to touch one, you realise you’re going to do it every time. There’s something deeply satisfying about the physical act of reaching a fixed, known point in the landscape. It anchors you to the map in a very literal way.

    The hobby attracts all kinds of walkers. Some are Munro baggers who’ve extended their collecting habit to include trig points as well. Others are lowland walkers who’ve found that chasing pillars gives purpose and direction to walks that might otherwise lack a clear objective. A retired geography teacher I met on the South Pennines moors had logged over 300 pillars across Yorkshire and Lancashire, working from a printed list he’d folded into his waterproof jacket pocket. He wasn’t interested in the highest or the hardest. He was just working through them systematically, one weekend at a time.

    How to get started with trig point bagging

    The barrier to entry is essentially zero. You need a pair of boots and a route to your nearest pillar. OS Maps (the app and the paper versions) marks every trig point with a small blue triangle symbol. You can also find your nearest ones through TrigpointingUK, which lets you search by postcode and shows whether a pillar has been recently visited and what condition it’s in.

    A few practical things worth knowing before you go:

    Not every trig point is on a public right of way or open access land. Some sit on private farmland or within restricted areas. Always check access before setting out, and don’t assume that the pillar being there means you have any automatic right to reach it. The right of way rules apply as firmly here as anywhere else, and trig point bagging is no excuse for crossing a fence you shouldn’t cross.

    Photographing each pillar is the standard way of logging a visit. Most people take a shot of the brass fitting from directly above and a wider shot showing the surrounding landscape. Some bring a small logbook and leave a note inside the pillar itself, though this requires opening the inspection cover at the base, and not all pillars still have accessible covers.

    If you’re planning a multi-day trip around trig points, it’s worth thinking about this alongside your wider route planning. I’d combine it naturally with reading up on planning a multi-day backpacking trip, since linking several pillars across a longer route is one of the best ways to add structure to an expedition without it feeling contrived.

    Some trig points worth seeking out

    Ben Nevis has one, naturally, at 1,345 metres. The pillar on Snowdon (or Yr Wyddfa, to give it the Welsh name it now officially carries) sits just below the summit café. Scafell Pike in the Lake District has one too. These are the obvious targets for peak baggers.

    But the more interesting ones are often the obscure ones. The pillar on Black Hill in the Peak District sits in the middle of one of the most featureless, boggy plateaus in England, and reaching it in poor visibility requires actual navigation skills. The trig on Ditchling Beacon in the South Downs is accessible enough for a half-day walk from Brighton and gives a genuinely sweeping view across the Weald. Win Hill in the Peak District has a pillar on a sharp summit that rewards the climb with a view out over Ladybower Reservoir.

    The point is that there’s no single right way to approach this. You can make it as easy or as demanding as you like. That’s probably why trig point bagging has quietly grown into one of the more inclusive outdoor hobbies going, because it stretches from a casual afternoon stroll to a years-long project covering every corner of Britain.

    Start with your local one. It might be closer than you think.

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