I made it! Exactly two weeks after I started on the east coast of Skåne, I arrived at the west coast. Thus completing the Coast to Coast trail.
Well, up to Båstad at least. I abandoned the original plan to continue along the coast to Ängelholm which is the official end of the trail. It would have taken me another 60 km or so to get there. For about two days before getting to Båstad, I oscillated between wanting to continue and reach the goal that I had set myself, and calling it quits. The day before getting into Båstad, I opted for the latter.
There were several reasons for that, the most compelling one was pain. The niggling pain I felt in my right ankle became constant. It was generally not to bad, but gradually got worse. In the beginning of the second week, I'd start the day with a pain level of about two or three on a scale of one to ten, and end with a level of about a five or six. Towards the end of the second week, I started a day on about a four, and end on a seven or an eight. I had surgery on my right foot earlier in the year and neglected to build my ankle back to full strength. It had not been problem when walking or even running. But hiking over 20 km a day, with over 20 kg of additional weight, took its toll. A regime of heat and cold treatment, straps, regular blasts of my handy freeze spray and physiotherapy exercises got me through each day and over the distance. But still, I was in pain more often than not.
I could have probably continued another three days if I really had to. Because of that, I struggled with feeling like I was admitting defeat by stopping at Båstad. In a moment of clarity however, I realised that I had nothing to prove to anyone but myself. Also, I was satisfied with what I had already proven, and that was what counted. What I was satisfied about and why is a story for another time. On top of that, had signed up to do a half marathon* nine weeks later and would have had to start training as soon as I got back, so I did not want to risk more damage to the ankle.
The other reason I decided to stop at Båstad was that once at the coast, I would be walking through more populated areas. I noticed it already as I approached Båstad: there were more day trippers, not just on the trail but also around the campsites and... everywhere! I could only assume that it would be worse along the coast. I had already written about my search for solitude, and I was loath to give it up at the end of the trip.
The second week felt both easier and tougher at the same time.** After my stop at the cabin where I wrote the last post, the weight of my backpack was close to its peak (having received extra supplies the day before). With that weight, I walked the longest distance on the whole trip: 28.6 km. It was to be a long stretch to begin with. But I made it longer by taking a detour into a nearby town to the pharmacy to get some shock absorbing insoles for my shoes. My heels were starting to feel sore, so I wanted to avoid any problems from that. That added about 2 km to the distance. I also went about 400 km the wrong way because I was day dreaming and missed the signs.
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| Random letterbox |
That was probably the most mentally challenging day on the trail. I was tired, my pack was heavy and I was in pain. What made it worse was the fact that I didn’t know how far I was to the campsite. The Skåneleden maps were not entirely accurate. The trail changes from time to time, but the maps are not immediately updated. Some stages of the trail were as much as 2 km longer than stated on the maps. Also, the fact that I took a detour and had to double back meant that my tracking of miles that day no longer represented the miles on the trail. In the last third of the hike, being surrounded by trees, I did not have many distinct landmarks to reliably orientate myself and figure where I was on the map. At some point, I thought I had about 4 km to go, walked about 2 km, only to realise that I actually still had 4 km to go. That was disheartening.
Perseverance
On that day, I realised that's what perseverance is really all about. I felt that I had to keep going. If I had seen a nice place to pitch a tent on the way, I maybe would have stopped. There was no water expected at the site anyway, so it didn't really make a difference where I stopped. But there wasn't anywhere, so had to keep going. I suppose I could have found somewhere if I really needed to. But some of the options had traces of wild boar, and I did not fancy being in wild boar territory overnight. I am all for wildlife encounters, but I was happy not to encounter a wild boar. Especially when one forest survival guide I came across adviced that if being attacked by a wild boar was to let it charge at you and jump away at the last minute, climb a tree or jump on a rock. However effective that advice might be, I was not convinced I would manage any of that with the pack on my back. Anyway, my point is, I did not come across anywhere I felt comfortable stopping, so I felt I had to continue. And because I did not feel like I had a choice, I carried on. Motivation or enjoyment had nothing to do with it. I found the energy because I had to.
I made me think about professional athletes training to achievement something far in the future. Like those with Olympic aspirations who train and train for a chance to compete and qualify for the Games. We hear about how teenagers wake up at (to me) ungodly hours each day, to train, then go to school, train some more, do homework, train some more and so on. Where do they find the motivation? And how do they keep going when the motivation runs low or runs out? Not to compare me and my walking with Olympic hopefuls of course! It made me wonder though, if for them, they have no choice. The drive to achieve their goal is so deeply set in their psyche that giving up is simply not an option.
As it were, I persevered. I don't think I was ever happier to reach the campsite. Nor did I appreciate my hip flask more. It was the one of three luxury items I allowed myself and was my reward when I could finally throw down my pack and put my feet up.
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| My campsite companion |
I had an unexpected second reward. The campsite was at the edge of a forest, and I am generally happiest in open spaces, even when wild boar were not in the vicinity. I chose to camp in a nearby field instead of under the trees. As I was pitching my tent, I heard a meow. Being well trained by my own cat, I instinctively meowed back. Another meow came back. I could not see the cat, but the meows were coming from somewhere close to the tree line. We continued to communicated in that way for a while, (meow, meow back, meow again, meow back) until the source of the meows finally found its way over to me. He (I checked) came over to say hello. He checked out what I was doing, had a sniff about my pack and tent, rubbed itself against my legs, then settled down on the grass and purred while he watched me. He hung out with me as I cooked, and climbed on me to try to get some of my dinner. It was spicy arrabbiata, which was actually quite spicy. So I did not think it would be a good idea to share it with my new friend. He cheered me up tremendously anyway. In his company, I was distracted from my weariness and aches. Every campsite should have a cat.
He stayed with me until a young Danish couple showed up, then divided his time between us. The couple were staying in a summer house nearby, and I assume, were hoping for a romantic night in the forest away from the parents. Imagine their disappointment to realise that they were not going to be alone. Their expressions when they saw me said it all. They were also much relieved when I pointed out that I was camping in the field.
The cat came back in the morning, and got some oatmeal for breakfast and looked at me reproachfully as I walked away.
One foot in front of the other
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| Tea break |
The 28 km hike moved the goal posts for me. It made me realise that my body could manage a lot more than I thought, and I started covering more ground each day. I hiked something between 22 and 27 km per day after that. I covered more ground not just because I could. The hiking became more automated in a way. The more I walked, the stronger I felt a kind of compulsion to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Even if I was thirsty or tired, or even in pain, the forward motion mechanically continued, almost like an auto pilot had taken over my legs. I didn't stop for my water, soup and snack breaks as I did in the first week. It took discipline to stop in the end. I had set an hourly alert to make sure I stopped at least once every hour for water and rest.
Because I was covering more ground, I made it to Båstad sooner than I expected. It also meant that I deviated away from the "official" Skåneleden stages and did not always stop at a campsite at the end of the day. Instead, I made my home in a few fields. It also meant I had to carry more water with me than before. Aside from what I drank during the day, I also needed to cook dinner and breakfast the next day, brush my teeth and occasionally have a wet towel wash if I was not stopping next to water.
Water and weather
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| One of many clear, cloudless days |
As much as I thought about the weather in the first week, I did not have to spare a second thought on weather in the second week. It was hot and sunny more or less throughout. The one day someone told me that the weather forecast had changed and that it was turning colder, the temperature dropped all the way down to 26 degrees Celcius during the day. I no longer had to think about putting on anything more than a sleeveless top and shorts every day. Oh, except when I went through overgrown stretches of the trail, the trouser legs had to be reattached to my shorts.
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| Parts of the trail were so overgrown that spotting the trail was not always easy and called for long trousers |
Rather than weather, I spent a lot of time thinking about water. I had to work out distances between water sources and how much water I expected to drink and how much I needed for cooking. I drank about 2-3l each day, and needed about 1l for dinner and breakfast, which included coffee and some hot water for my flask. I bought a water filter bottle for the trip which set me back slight more than €100, but was worth every penny... or cent. The water filter bottle magically transformed any dirty water into clean drinkable water. One of the best, if not the best, investment for the trip! Even so, there were stretches where there was simply no water source available, clean or otherwise. So, my bottles were filled to capacity on most days.
Heavier and stronger
After getting resupplies and having to carry water with me, meant my pack in the second week was on average heavier than it was in the first week. It felt all right though. I definitely felt the weight especially when my water bottles were filled to capacity, but it did not feel too much. I did not come to hate the weight on my back like Cheryl Strayed did in Wild (the book). Nor did I have any problems with my back or legs (other than my ankle).
I felt stronger in the second week. I felt leaner and fitter, and I imagined that I could even see that my muscles were more toned. My clothes were also getting looser.
The physical aspect of the hike was one thing that I really appreciated on the hike. It felt good, really good, to push myself physically. I generally gravitate towards workouts that are demanding, that push me to the limit of my physical capabilities. I get that high from a workout that challenges my body, and a satisfaction from having my body rise to the challenge. This was the same thing in a different way. And it felt good, as always, to know that the more I push the limits, the further away he limits are. The more I make myself do physically, the more I can do. And I loved it. I loved feeling strong and knowing that I had not been beaten by the challenge before me.
Sleeping in close quarters
I also pushed myself out of my comfort zone a bit. While I embraced the routine of sleeping out in the "open", it was still inside a tent. On my last night on the trail, I had what I suppose it part of the authentic Swedish hiking experience: I slept in the wind shelter. I slept in a shelter before, but that still had a screen across the one open side of the three sided shelter. And I was up half the night in a stand-off with the local mice, so I am not sure that it counts. This time, the shelter was really just three walls and a roof, with one side open to the elements. And, while I was on my own the last time, I shared the shelter with three lads this time. What little space there was to pitch a tent at the site was taken by a German couple on their plan B honeymoon. Plan A had been Asia, but that plan had to be abandoned due to the pandemic. While they put on a brave face, I think they were overwhelmed. They were self-confessed non-hikers and non-campers, laden under the weight of overpacked backpacks and generally appearing to be miserable. Feeling every bit the seasoned tougher-outer hiker, I relinquished the tent space to them and opted for sleeping bag in wind shelter. I also secretly thought it would be a bonus not to have to unpack my tent. The three lads arrived later, so the four of us ended up having to share the 4-6 man shelter.
And it was fine. It did not feel too weird. One of the lads snored which kept everybody up for a while, but tiredness and fresh air ensured that I slept well anyway. We were all zipped up in the sleeping bags and as it got colder in the night, I threw a fleece over the sleeping bag to cover my upper body and face. All the lads did the same, so we were basically four cocoons in a row.
Getting to the coast
The lads made sure I kept a good pace on the last stretch. They were also heading to Båstad, but wanting to walk on my own, I made sure I left before them. I could not have been more than half an hour ahead of them though so it felt like they were hot on my heels. I kept seeing them creep up in the distance, especially if I had stopped for a break. But I stubbornly refused to be overtaken by them. We had been talking the night before and they were all impressed by how far I had walked, the weight of my pack and that I was alone. I felt determined that they should continue to be impressed, which in my head translated as having to keep ahead of them till the end. I did.
It was a special moment when I caught the first glimpse of the sea. I rounded a corner and saw the blue horizon in the distance. I fell to my knees in relief and joy as tears rolled down my cheeks.... no, not really. I maybe did fall to my knees in my head in some kind of silent celebration. Outwardly, I smiled, took a photo and carried on. It lifted my spirits, for sure. I found a spot with a shade soon after to take a break and enjoy the view. It was over 30 degress Celcius with no cloud cover, so a shade was important.
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| First glimpse of the sea |
The last 4 km felt like nothing. I must admit to a sense of pride for having made it to the coast. It felt like an achievement in some kind of small way. I say small, because it was not an impossible feat. It was something that really, any able-bodied person could do if they wanted to. But I suppose that is the thing, they have to want to. With the right preparation and equipment, the physical part of it, is completely manageable. It might take some people longer than others, that's all.
As soon as I was sure when I would be arriving in Båstad, I booked a hotel and spa at Båstad.
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| Båstad beach |
I got myself a massage and spent the evening by the beach. I'm glad I did that instead of getting on a train home immediately. I needed the time to adjust back to the real world. I had felt so far away from my day to day life that it would have been a shock to the system to find myself at home that evening. As it were, it was a shock to be at the popular seaside destination that Båstad was, and it still took a few stays for it to stop feeling odd that I was home.
This trip did not change my life, but it did change some things, I think. Some of which will hopefully stay with me for a long time to come.
*The race was later cancelled because of the Covid situation but I did not know that at the time.
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