The Earth Beneath My Feet

Taking an extraordinarily (eighteen-month) long walk is a rare endeavor, but doing such a hike and being a gifted enough writer to capture it in such beautiful, soul-nourishing language is something else entirely. I devoured this book. It’s a humble account of the first half of Terrill’s epic journey in the late nineties to walk the length of Europe, from the southern tip of Italy to the northern tip of Norway - via the most mountainous, meandering route within reason.

The shortest distance between two points is equivalent to a wasted opportunity.

I was most captured by Andrew’s honest reflections on his introversion, his reasons for finding such joy in solitude and wild open spaces; his trials and tribulations on the way to self-acceptance. His musings on loneliness, and need for community in spite of himself, moved me in unexpected ways.

Time slowed, and everything around me changed as though a mask had been lifted. The rocks I sat among were soon more than mere rocks; they became curiously familiar and welcoming. Next, the brittle night-time silence softened, and from within it I heard a gentle breeze whispering across the summit; carrying stories from far below of water rushing, of creature stirring, of birds calling. And the great space stretching before me changed. It pulled me into it until it no longer seemed like a great space but like a part of me, and me a part of it.

Alongside his gentle lifestyle and world view, it’s ‘Mad Mountain Jack’s’ deep reverence for nature, wilderness and peace that make this book so magical. His ability to loose himself for hours atop a mountain summit at dawn, to sit and watch dew falling from grass or spiders spinning webs; his total absorption and mindfulness in doing ‘nothing’ are intangibly beautiful. In stark contrast to other books I’ve read about hiking, this captures my draw to long distance walks like no other. It’s not about miles completed, dehydrated food, achieving goals or even really getting somewhere from somewhere else. It’s instead deeply about being present for every moment, and reconnecting with the earth.

I wasn’t on The Walk to complete it as swiftly as possible, to set any records, test the limits of human endurance, or do something never before done. The journey wasn’t about bragging rights afterwards; it was about experience at the time. It wasn’t about rushing; it was about finding a natural rhythm, and stopping when it seemed natural to stop. And it wasn’t about collecting places; it was about finding them and savoring them.

I can’t wait to read the second half On Sacred Ground, and to get my walking boots on.