This story is about how to find happiness, but it begins in a strange way.
In 1981, I tackled what for me was the most challenging walk possible. Known as the Fellsman Hike, this trek is in the sparsely populated Yorkshire Dales region of England. On this occasion (I had attempted it before with companions, but had failed to finish) I travelled up with my family, who camped nearby while I did the walk.

It started in Ingleton and finished at Threshfield, but the route was far from a straight line. With the exception of about two miles of hilly road walking around the village of Dent, we walked on rough countryside all the way, a total of 62 miles, to be completed in 24 hours. We started at noon, aiming to finish before noon the following day. There were about 400 of us at the start.

From the very start, we climbed Ingleborough (over 2,000 feet). We then descended and went up Whernside (also over 2,000 feet). The rest of the walk that day was at high levels most of the time, though there were no more peaks to compare with the first two.

Just before night fall, we were forced to make teams of six, time being deducted for those who had to wait for a team to be made up. This was for safety reasons. I recall that we climbed a steep hill together and then arrived at the infamous Fleet Moss, one square mile of peat bog. It was now dark, so we encountered this awful place under torch light. It took an age to cross, and the night weather deteriorated into cold and wind.

On the far side of Fleet Moss, we came across an even worse place, from the point of view of navigation. At least the route across the bog had been straight and followed a fence, but now we were trying to weave a path between areas of higher land, and the terrain was tiring in the extreme. There was no discernible path to follow either. By now it was well past midnight and I felt that I was walking like a Zombie. After hours of searching, we came across the check-point that we were seeking, and dawn began to break. We soldiered on, our spirits rising.

I recall trudging up Buckden Pike and being forced to do a huge circumnavigation to the next check-point. Then we descended to the foot of Great Whernside, the last peak to be climbed. I remember that I trudged up without a rest. I suddenly realised that I was at the top and that I hadn’t stopped. It had taken a long time, from noon the previous day, but I had achieved the perfect rhythm.

At that point I had nine more miles to go, mostly downhill, but involving various peat bogs on the way down. I had just two hours to do it. I knew I would have to put on a spurt.

I finished in 23 hours 28 minutes. It really meant something to have finished. I didn’t have much time to enjoy the scenery, but the sense of achievement was tremendous. Moreover, I felt a keen sense of gratitude to my family and the staff for making it possible, and to the Creator of the world for making such compelling beauty.

This story about how to find happiness and joy was submitted by Stuart E. Nelson.

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