Over a third of the way now, and the going is getting tougher. As I had predicted at the outset, the main challenge posed by the PW is mental rather than physical. To the untutored eye, one moor, hill, field looks much like another and yesterday the burgeoning monotony started to take its toll. However Davinder had agreed with me that the main purpose of embarking on the PW is not enjoyment but satisfaction, and that would not be forthcoming without facing down some adversary, even if it's just tedium. My usual walking environment is urban, and I was missing the endless variety offered by London with its pulsating street life and oases of countryside-in-miniature. But today the weather brightened and I was able to appreciate the appeal of the fells after the sensory deprivation of interminable moorland. Behind me Pen-y-Ghent glowered like an intemperate monarch, to the left the Ribble viaduct resembled a forgotten Hornby toy and a long curved ridge stretched ahead, dappled by the shadows of high clouds. For the first time, I had the sense I was marking out the backbone of England.
All day the trail followed the old packhorse roads which were the highways for transporting the products of the countryside - wool, iron, charcoal and peat - and are now the preserve of the walker. So clear was the way that I felt safe to indulge in some music and luxuriated in Simon Rattle's peerless recording of Mahler's Resurrection symphony played by the CBSO. Rattle conducted it at the concert which opened Birmingham's Symphony Hall and also selected it to start his 2010 season with the Berlin Phil, which I insisted on attending during a weekend city break with my friend Andy. It formed a powerful soundtrack to the PW and other walkers looked startled to see me conducting an invisible orchestra with my walking pole.
Routine governs the way I pack and unpack for trips, usually putting the same items in the same places. This minimises the effort required to achieve repetitive tasks while reducing the risk of things going wrong. It seems to me the obvious way to organise one's life, releasing time to concentrate on more interesting matters. A colleague to whom I confided this philosophy remarked, with approval, that it was "very six sigma". I nodded sagely, reluctant to admit I didn't have the foggiest idea what he meant. Despite this much-vaunted efficiency, I can't help noticing that, after 8 days, there are an awful lot of unused items in my suitcase. Will I ever need either of those two new Paramo shirts, bought for this trip, since the one I wear every day dries overnight when it needs washing? And those insulated waterproof trousers would look more at home in Spitzbergen than the Yorkshire Dales. I think of Davinder again; everything he needs for three weeks on the trail is in one rucksack, not much larger than the one I use as a day pack, and wonder whether he has more insights into six sigma than I do.
© David Thompson 2012
All day the trail followed the old packhorse roads which were the highways for transporting the products of the countryside - wool, iron, charcoal and peat - and are now the preserve of the walker. So clear was the way that I felt safe to indulge in some music and luxuriated in Simon Rattle's peerless recording of Mahler's Resurrection symphony played by the CBSO. Rattle conducted it at the concert which opened Birmingham's Symphony Hall and also selected it to start his 2010 season with the Berlin Phil, which I insisted on attending during a weekend city break with my friend Andy. It formed a powerful soundtrack to the PW and other walkers looked startled to see me conducting an invisible orchestra with my walking pole.
Routine governs the way I pack and unpack for trips, usually putting the same items in the same places. This minimises the effort required to achieve repetitive tasks while reducing the risk of things going wrong. It seems to me the obvious way to organise one's life, releasing time to concentrate on more interesting matters. A colleague to whom I confided this philosophy remarked, with approval, that it was "very six sigma". I nodded sagely, reluctant to admit I didn't have the foggiest idea what he meant. Despite this much-vaunted efficiency, I can't help noticing that, after 8 days, there are an awful lot of unused items in my suitcase. Will I ever need either of those two new Paramo shirts, bought for this trip, since the one I wear every day dries overnight when it needs washing? And those insulated waterproof trousers would look more at home in Spitzbergen than the Yorkshire Dales. I think of Davinder again; everything he needs for three weeks on the trail is in one rucksack, not much larger than the one I use as a day pack, and wonder whether he has more insights into six sigma than I do.
© David Thompson 2012
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