It was the morning after the carnival, and the Vale of Pewsey was wrapped in an eerie, absolute silence. Not a soul was around—it felt remarkably like Christmas morning.
“Let’s do one of our big walks today, shall we?” I suggested over breakfast, looking out at a stunning, crisp sky. We had a completely clear day ahead, and both of us felt the urge for a proper trek.
As we prepped the gear—packing essential emergency snacks into the rucksack, charting the route, filling our pockets with dog treats, and harnessing up the hounds—we realised that between a summer spent knee-deep in house renovations and dodging intense heatwaves, we hadn’t embarked on a long-distance walk for months.
We crossed the canal and set our sights on Martinsell Hill. Standing 289 metres above the village of Oare, it offers some of the most spectacular views in the county on a clear day like today.
I’ve noted before that many of the world’s most complex problems are solved while walking dogs. Forget about AI, endless Teams calls, whiteboards, and Post-it notes—fresh air clears the head far better than Vicks Vapour, and physical effort generates solutions faster than a room full of over-enthusiastic corporate managers at a team-building weekend.
We chatted, made plans, reflected on the summer, and quietly resolved the world’s major crises; though we mutually agreed to leave third-world debt and the global energy market off our agenda for this particular outing.
Before we knew it, we had arrived at base camp at the foot of the hill, ready for the steep climb ahead. By Wiltshire standards, it is a formidable summit—reportedly the third-highest vantage point in the county—and certainly steep enough to warrant a mandatory drink and energy-snack stop before the ascent.
As we departed base camp, I felt immensely grateful for my ordeal on the StairMaster earlier in the week, while Karen took comfort in having recently conducted a client viewing on a second-floor flat. Between us, we considered ourselves fully prepped for high-altitude mountaineering. Martinsell Hill should be a doddle.
“It’s at times like this I genuinely regret teaching the dogs not to pull on their leads,” I gasped. Moog was walking obediently to heel precisely when I would have welcomed some four-legged tow-truck assistance. Pikachu was zero help whatsoever, trailing behind in our footsteps like a tiny vacuum cleaner, scouring the gradient for any stray dog treats that might drop from our pockets.
At Checkpoint One—a fence post merely five minutes into the climb—our conversation predictably shifted to fitness metrics.
“Apparently, if you can just about hold a conversation during a workout, you’re in Zone 2… the talk zone,” I managed to utter between heavy breaths. We held a brief, fractured dialogue about health apps and wearables, concluding that despite the years I spent wearing a smart tracker, I rarely looked at the raw data. I preferred the ‘talk test’—or, more accurately, the ‘gasping-for-oxygen test’.
We pushed on to Checkpoint Two (a further five minutes up the hill). I decided it was best to stop talking altogether, pretending I wanted to silently take in the panoramic views, listen to the birds, and appreciate the wind rushing through the trees. The actual reason was that I had completely lost the power of speech. I was reminded of what Julie ‘The StairMaster Whisperer’ had cautioned: if you have to pause frequently to gasp for air, you have officially crossed from Zone 2 into Zone 3.
Reaching the trig point at the summit felt like conquering Everest. Right on cue, Moog decided this was the ideal moment to start pulling like a sled dog because he’d heard a distant gunshot. Exceptional timing. We soaked in the sweeping vistas as our conversation naturally turned to comfortable furniture, armchairs, and plush sofas—both of us secretly wishing one was sitting on the summit.
The descent back down towards the canal was far more relaxed. We made one final stop before completing the journey home in the late afternoon sun. The weather had been flawless: warm, bright, and accompanied by a gentle breeze, though my legs were certainly starting to feel the mileage.
Sitting on the decking afterwards with an ice cream, we reflected on a glorious walk, thoroughly pleased that we’d survived one of our proper cross-country treks. I don’t think the dogs will be moving from their beds until tomorrow morning.
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