Why I Love Solo Hiking in the UK (Even When It’s Hard) 

The sky was a watery pink and orange, like the colours swirling in a jar of water when I dip my paintbrush. Still, damp air, globules of dew on foxgloves, and tall grasses strung together with spiders’ webs. A temperature inversion in the valley down to the sea, my sleeping bag soaked. 

This was the morning of my first solo wild camp, decades ago now. I woke with a sense of wholeness and peace, feeling grounded (if wet!), and the memory is fresh in my mind whenever I step onto a trail. These are the moments I chase, hope for and cherish – the moments that keep me going back.

The Joy Of Exploring Unknown Places Alone

When I step off the train onto the platform, looking for an unfamiliar exit sign, the excitment of landing somewhere new fills me with that mix of joy and anticipation. There’s a walk to the start of the trail, a chance to ease in, pop into a village shop for water, dip into a local cafe for one last coffee, check the map.

Those quiet moments before setting off, people-watching, getting a sense of place and the rythym of things, has become a ritual — one I can’t imagine sharing with anyone else. Solo hiking gives me that freedom.

I could be anywhere along the trail when an unexpected opportunity comes along, like the time I head into St David’s on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path for supplies. I got there way too early for a Sunday morning and sat in the cathedral grounds listening to the bells. The tranquility, watching the birds and the daisies in light rain, made me want to linger, explore the town a little. Which is what I did. And I had no guilt that I was spoiling someone else’s hike, holding them back by not walking for a few hours.

The same goes for all those moments. It’s an incredible feeling when the beauty of a landscape feels like it was meant just for me to experience, at that particular time. No one else would experience it in quite the same way, and no one could spoil it too soon.

The Quiet I Can’t Find Anywhere Else 

Solo hiking is a retreat from the onslaught of everyday noise —  both aural and visual — music, phones, voices through the walls and over the garden fence, relentless advertising vying for my attention. I crave solitude and the calm, steady rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other. 

I love the personal challenges, too, especially the physical feeling of working hard – difficult terrain keeps the mind sharp and the ageing body strong under the weight of a heavy rucksack (I call mine the Beast for a reason!). The beauty of hiking solo means I can take a breather whenever I want, and I’m not under pressure to keep up with others, or feel the frustration of being the one who’s always waiting. The rewards for the hard work are often simple: the shade of a tree on a hot day, finding shelter from torrential rain, watching a butterfly on a wildflower, and, of course, spectacular views.

Solo Hiking Isn’t Always Blissful 

Sometimes solo hiking feels euphoric. Sometimes it feels lonely, uncomfortable and endless, and that’s when it can be difficult to get out of my head. Bad weather often brings doubt, head down battling against a storm, wondering why I’m out there. Relentless miles of tarmac, my feet shredded, no one to share the pain and boredom with. Perhaps it’s worse when I pack more that my temporary home and bring along baggage that I should have left behind. And then there’s the anxiety.

The first few days of walking are invariably a mix of excitement and apprehension. How far will I get? Where will I sleep? What’s this trail about? But the anxiety soon settles; long days and big miles mean the restless nights give way to deep sleep. I often have some of my best nights’ sleep on the trail, and if I ever need to reset my sleep pattern, a couple of nights’ wild camping usually does it. 

My hopes and expectations for an entirely blissful hike can be upended by reality. I love the heat and clear views of a summer’s day, but it can be a miserable experience when the fog or rain rolls in for days on end and I can’t get dry: trenchfoot is real!

I suffered badly on Offa’s Dyke Path, so much so that sometimes it was excruciating to walk. I remember heading into Llangollen to buy socks (pulling on clean, dry socks was one of the best moments of the hike!), and I decided never to skimp on packing more socks in favour of saving a few grams ever again.

Extra clothes, guidebooks, and little luxuries soon start to feel very heavy, though, and travelling lighter sounds simple until you’re lying awake wondering what you forgot. But it’s empowering to learn exactly what you need and what you can live without, even if it takes a lot of practice. Be warned: this may be when you develop a fixation for lightweight gear!

I’m Always Asked About Safety 

Of course, people often jump straight to worst-case scenarios. “You’re such a risk taker”, “I’d be terrified, I don’t know how you do it”… It’s pretty clear: the benefits far outweigh the risks!

I take calculated risks; I’m not reckless. And what is there to be terrified of? There are no bears in the UK (although waking up with a cow in your face isn’t much fun!) and there are no poisonous snakes to worry about – one time, I discovered a shed snake skin close to where I was bivvying, and I was so excited! To be honest, my biggest wildlife worry is tiny: ticks are no fun.

And then there’s the question I’m most often asked: what about dangerous people? There are plenty of ways to reduce those risks, however tiny they are, including not telling strangers where you’re going or where you plan to camp. Ultimately, confidence comes with experience.

When you’re out on a trail alone, you become much more in tune with your surroundings. You notice things like imminent changes in the weather or cow pats on the other side of a stile. You’re aware of things like footprints or bike tyre impressions in the mud, the closeness of a carpark to a path, or dogs barking nearby. All this peripheral information builds a picture of what’s around you – which is reassuring.

Why It Matters So Much To Me 

Hiking alone feels totally natural –  an easy way to get into a state of flow and just be. I love the feeling of insignificance and find comfort in the fact that the world will keep turning, the tides will keep moving, and the night sky will always sparkle, whether I’m there to witness it or not.

And there’s no better way to explore the incredible, diverse landscapes, wildlife and culture there is in the UK: the pull of a new trail never grows old.

Solo hiking, more than anything else, brings me confidence and resilience that impact all areas of my life, and that, for me, is priceless.

If you hike solo too, I’d love to hear what keeps drawing you back to the trail.