Life not on skis

Calling them mountains is a stretch, but Scotland still packs a punch

Out of the mountains and readjusting to life at a normal altitude. First impressions include: 'wow there are a lot of people'; 'why is everything so flat'; and 'christ I’ve missed Noble Rot'.

The last few weeks have been spent catching up with friends and life admin (absolutely in that order), and a couple of mini-adventures as I build towards the next big trip.

Get yourself a hat like Tom's. Working feet not included.

The first of those was Scotland with Tom, swapping 4000m peaks and skis for 500m passes and boots. The plan was six days of trekking into and then exploring the Knoydart peninsula in Scotland. For those of you who do not know what or where Knoydart is, congratulations, you are in company with most Scots and pretty much all non-Scots. [James knowledge bite: Knoydart is peninsula on the west coast of the Scottish mainland. Its hilly terrain makes it incredibly difficult to access, contributing to the moniker "Britain’s last wilderness”. Your options for reaching the remote settlement of Inverie are a boat from Mallaig or a two to three day trek through hills, woods and bogs.]

Plan A lasted longer than most plan As. The first two days were brutal in terms of route finding (“Where’s the path.” “It’s over here. No wait, it’s over there!”) but rewarded with us with stunning views and the world’s greatest campsite. Picture a secluded spot on the inner bank of a meander, surrounded by small river on three sides and pine forest on the fourth. The river providing a steady sauce of water for our boil-in-bag meals (Firepot chile con carne is hard to beat) and - on one bank - a perfect spot for an evening dip. The trees would have provided an ideal source of fuel for a campfire, had the weather been marginally drier. Just add marshmallows for toasting.

The view down to the village of Inverie - and a warm bunkhouse for the night.

On day 3 – thankfully as we reached Inverie – it all came off the rails. A rogue boot choice and some ‘spicy’ terrain (putting it mildly) was Scotland’s way of reminding us that it is not to be taken lightly. With bruised feet and egos, we called time on Plan A and switched to Plan B: a beeline to the bunkhouse in Inverie for a warm bed and begging a table at the only restaurant in the village. It is hard to overstate the restorative properties of a beef burger and the Knoydart Brewery’s ‘Heavenly Blonde’ golden ale. The following day, a boat off the peninsula proved a much more relaxed form of travel than hiking with 15kg packs.

Knoydart is beautiful and I would recommend Inverie to anyone, but do not feel like you have to do it all on foot. Or if you do, invest in proper footwear!

After Scotland, a solo trip to the Alsace as a test run for Norway. This time I had moved onto Plan B before I even left the house - courtesy of a faulty dynamo that was meant to let me recharge gadgets on the move but did exactly ... not that.

The Alsace Plan C: villages and vineyards

The route was 400km along the Massif des Vosges, running north to south above the flood plains of the Rhine and the vineyards of the Alsace. It started well with a beautiful but tough first day through beautiful woodland and pretty little villages to a wild campsite by a lake, just outside the tiny hamlet of Lichtenberg. Lichtenberg’s bells tolling every hour on the hour throughout the night made for an unusual camping experience but it was reassuring to know people were not too far away when the local fauna came sniffing around the tent in the early hours of the morning. There are no wolves in the Alsace but I am very pleased that what I assume was a wild boar decided my bike and I were not particularly interesting!

Despite the promising start, Plan B came apart began early on day 2 when the brand new carbon fibre panniers I was relying on to carry everything I need to survive decided to crack. It is hard riding a fully laden bike over technical trails in the best of conditions; that job gets a infinitely tricker when 10kg of bags are swaying left and right behind you and rubbing against your rear wheel. Time to shift to Plan C: cycling on trails was out of the question, which provided the perfect excuse to drop down from the hills into the wine country below.

Early morning in the hills above Alsace. Hard on the legs but a treat for the eyes.

If there is a moral to this story, it is a fortune cookie tale about rolling with the punches and making the most of what your dodgy kit throws at you. Singletrack and camping was out; patisseries and showers were in. I spent the next four days wheeling gently through the vineyards that linked one pretty French village with the next and enjoying the products of every boulangerie I passed. To cap it all, I had a tailwind on all but the final day. Perfect.

The downtime between adventures has been spent catching up with friends and family. A flying visit to the godparents in Broadstairs (70k into a headwind), several very enjoyable meals and far too much coffee. I have also been getting a sheep dip into all that Jersey has to offer (besides to Kirsten). Beaches, fresh seafood and ready access to the towns and villages of Normandy. You can live well on this island.

Next up is one of the major objectives of the year: crossing the arctic north of mainland Europe by bicycle. I will be starting from Kirkenes, about 60km west of the Russian border, and working my way across Finland, Sweden and Norway to Tromso before dropping down into the Lofoten Islands. The weather will be very different to that of the Alsace but I am consoling myself with the fact that it is also much, much flatter.

Mobile phones and WhatsApp will not be a thing for large parts of this adventure. As a concession to Mother Dearest, I will be carrying a small satellite tracker that can send and receive text messages. If you want the details, let me know. Otherwise, the plan is to rejoin civilisation at the end of July.