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A violent-wind, bright-sky day in the Peak District ticking off four new Ethels: Mt Famine, South Head, Eccles Pike and Chinley Churn. A route from Hayfield with cow stand-offs, Highland cows, an overgrown “path”, a missing trig ripped out by a farmer, and a winter-grade wind that felt more like February than late October. Finished cold, feral and satisfied — still convinced the Peak District is my endurance training ground and still full of surprises.

After five years and 214 fells, the list ended on Lingmell in Wasdale — in violent wind that tried to turn us back. It wasn’t the calm finale I imagined, but it felt exact. Above the worst of the wind the views opened: every chapter of the journey in one frame. I ran the last metres to the cairn — and then synchronicity struck. The same two people I met three weeks ago arrived to finish their 214 Wainwrights journey at the exact same minute.

Fog, sunlight, and self-belief on the Edale Skyline — 32 km of calm focus, one sandwich, and a finish I never thought possible - 6h 58 min

A perfect Wasdale morning turned into one of my most memorable hikes yet. I abandoned my 9 km plan within minutes, wandered to Burnmoor Tarn in total silence, faced down two herds of cows 🐄🙈, and climbed Slight Side & Scafell. By pure chance, four of us hit our 213th Wainwright together 🤯. Sunshine, summit banter, and spooky coincidences made it feel like destiny. Some hikes tick boxes — this one made memories. 💚

Trip #8 of 2025 took me back to Wasdale, my favourite valley, for a solo climb of Yewbarrow. From the steep grassy nose that everyone says is horrible (I enjoyed it), to the scramble at Great Door, to the easy grassy ridge, the fell felt like a compact adventure. The real surprise was Stirrup Crag — a descent that looked fine from above but delivered two airy downclimbs. Calm in the moment, reflective afterwards, Yewbarrow proved that small fells can pack big drama.

Whetstone Ridge, Highland cows, and a surprise COM— two Ethels, a trig, and a perfectly timed Peak District adventure before the rain.

The Eastern Fells are officially complete! In true Mira style, it took an 11-hour ‘fell shift,’ 9 summits, and one phantom path disaster at Blea Cove that had me crawling on all fours and losing my glasses. The day brought sunshine, relentless heat, and the rare miracle of zero wind on every top. I crossed Striding Edge and Swirral Edge, lounged on Catstye Cam with a cheese sandwich, and wrapped up with fish and chips at Glenridding. Just four Wainwrights left — the finale is

This was my 7th trip to the Lakes this year — clearly, I can’t stay away. Day 1 was a mellow evening climb up Troutbeck Tongue, my last of the Far Eastern Fells, with rain on the drive giving way to sunshine, blue skies, and a pint by the water. Day 2 was a contrast: ridge views from Hartsop Above How, buzzards circling above, and a grassy plateau on Ullscarf. Two fells, two chats with inspiring older hikers, and another area completed.

After a ‘leisure hike’ reset, I went full Mira mode: berries, a mystery tall furry creature, new peaks, soup, beer & Sofia views.

Berries, soup, cheese, beer, and family — a slow, joy-filled Cherni Vrah day that fed my soul as much as my face.

On my final day, I set out with a light pack and a full heart, hoping the Central Fells would finally show me some kindness. What I found was quiet magic — a startled fawn in the bracken, perfect hiking weather, and my 200th Wainwright. I wandered slowly, soaked in every view, and ended the trip exactly as I’d dreamed: with 13 peaks bagged and 13 left to go.

Day 3 brought sunshine, summits, and actual humans — a welcome shift from the previous day’s solo soggy suffering. I tackled Green Crag, Harter Fell, and Hard Knott over 26.3 km with 1,161 m of ascent and 9 hours on my feet. No rain, lots of chats, and no bog trauma. Nutrition? Laughable. Spirits? High. Feet? Tired. Turns out, all I needed was sun, strangers, and a vest to feel like myself again.

It was July 25 — peak summer — and I found myself in the Lake District, stumbling through rain, wind, and total whiteout for 7 relentless hours. No views. No people. Just fog, soggy layers, and six Wainwrights I was too stubborn to skip. I ate a squashed sandwich, wrung out my gloves like tea towels, and questioned all my life choices. Navigation was brutal. Spirits were damp (literally). It didn’t break me… but the dent? Yeah, that’s permanent. And mildly traumatised.

I parked at Mungrisdale to avoid the narrow road into Mosedale, ditched my route, and hiked straight up Carrock Fell through buzzing heather and wild blueberries. After scratching my legs in shorts and spotting ravens feasting on a sheep, I reached High Pike — my final summit in the Northern Fells. A peaceful tarmac road walk back, warm sunshine, and quiet reflection marked the end of another chapter. The blog is up now — come read the full story.

From fog to dead torches, wild pace, and rain at the end. The Carneddau broke me and kept me moving. Automatic mode, fully engaged.

800m up Elidir Fawr. Scree, boulders, scrambling joy, endless steps. Poles saved me. 26 km in, halfway wrecked, not broken. Still moving.

3 peaks. Zero views. Wind, clag, soaked socks, no fork. First time using poles. Wet, wild, relentless—and honestly? Wouldn’t change a thing!

An unhinged tale of tuna pots, failed torches, and why I emotionally disintegrated for six weeks just to climb 15 Welsh peaks in 24 hours. Spoiler: the mountains didn’t kill me, but the prep almost did. This is how I spiralled—mentally, meteorologically, and nutritionally—into the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Welcome to the Welsh 3000s. Bring oat bars.

I didn’t emotionally prepare for the Welsh 15 — I spiralled. One minute I’m thinking “I’ve got this,” the next I’m googling: “Will 4000m of ascent expose me as a fraud or awaken my inner mountain goat?” I check four forecasts. I panic-bought fusilli. Crib Goch is looming. The others might be ultra-runners. I’ve just brought vibes and cheese sticks.

I went to a Linkin Park concert, slept four hours, forgot my trekking poles and my jacket—and still hiked 34 kilometers in the Peak District heat without sitting down once. This final pre-Welsh 15 training hike was messy, sweaty, and wildly unplanned… but it showed me I’m ready. Sort of. Probably. Hopefully. Let’s find out.