Hey, what’s up?

Who here loves hiking or long walks? If not, well, this might not be your cup of tea—but hey, stick around. You might get a laugh out of my brilliant decision-making skills.

So, many weeks ago, somewhere near the end of autumn in 2024, I decided to embark on my first-ever solo hike in the Peak District. Why solo? Well, normally, I’d rope in a friend as my emergency backup—a human first-aid kit, if you will. What if I randomly developed a plant allergy and ended up reenacting a medical drama mid-hike? Or worse, what if I got chased by a wolf? (Are there wolves in the Peak District? I didn’t Google.)

But if I’d focused on every disaster scenario, I’d have never gone! Instead, I convinced myself to embrace the tranquility of being alone in nature, even if that meant becoming one with it in the terrifying sense.

So, join me on this solo adventure, where I attempted to channel peace, independence, and maybe a little survivalist energy. What could possibly go wrong?

I recently bought a travel bag from Decathlon, and I thought, Why not share how I pack my essentials? First things first, this bag is amazing. It has so many compartments, I half-expected it to have a secret portal to Narnia. Plus, no back pain! Big win.

Packing for a one-night stay in a YHA hostel meant keeping it simple. I brought clothes, essential toiletries (toothbrush, toothpaste, facial wash), and—because I’ve apparently become that person—two cameras. One film camera because I wanted to feel vintage, and my mirrorless camera because…well, Instagram. Instant noodles were a must, and I threw in a pair of slippers because, knowing my luck, my shoes would end up soaked (spoiler: they did).

In a burst of optimism, I packed my iPad and MacBook, convincing myself I’d do some studying at the hostel. Guess who didn’t study? But hey, the thought counts, right?

I started with a Swift bus from Derby to Ashbourne. It only cost £2, which made me feel like I’d cracked the secret to budget travel. From Ashbourne, I caught the 442 bus for another £2 to reach my hostel. I’d read in a brochure that the 442 route is one of the most scenic in England. And while the scenery was stunning, the bus windows were so dirty, I might as well have been looking through frosted glass. Luckily, the return journey gave me the clean-window experience, so I wasn’t totally robbed of the views.

My hike started from Hartington and was supposed to be a loop. Supposed to be. Somewhere along the way, my shoes turned into portable puddles because waterproofing is apparently for future me. The trail signs weren’t much help either—one pointed to what I can only assume was Narnia again, and another had completely given up.

Then came the cows. Oh, the cows. At first, they were safely behind a fence, and I thought, Wow, what lovely creatures!Fast-forward to me standing in an open field, surrounded by 20 cows slowly walking towards me like the world’s most terrifying herbivore army. I panicked, ran, and ended up crossing a river just to escape them. I’m pretty sure they were moo-ing with laughter.

By some miracle, there was internet coverage, and I managed to navigate to the nearest town before it got too dark. At one point, I found some abandoned stepping stones hidden in the forest. They were so small and slippery, I felt like I was auditioning for an obstacle course show.

Later, I stopped by a river to take ablution and pray. The water was icy and refreshing, but jumping in crossed my mind. Thankfully, logic (and my fear of hypothermia) won. No solo hiker wants to end up on the news as “the one who froze mid-adventure.”

The YHA hostel was surprisingly cozy. It had everything: showers, a kitchen, a drying room, and even a mini-bar! Definitely not what I expected, but I wasn’t complaining. After a long day of hiking, being able to dry my soggy shoes and relax felt like a luxury.

The next morning, I headed home, feeling refreshed and surprisingly proud of surviving my solo adventure. The whole trip cost barely anything, and I learned some valuable lessons: cows are scarier than they look, wet socks are the worst, and my study plans were doomed from the start. I’d definitely do this again—next time, in summer, with a picnic mat and a proper pair of waterproof shoes.

Thanks for sticking around to read my little adventure! See you in my next post. Hopefully, it’ll involve fewer cows.