Stefan Durkacz

Stumbling and sliding down a track off the plateau, sunburned and parched, I cringed under massive pylons to reach the A9 and the world of noise and speed. After seven tough, unforgettable days I had made it to Dalwhinnie. Seven days of no cars, roads or buildings, the only sounds those of wildlife and weather. I'd been forced to cut corners on the watershed route - therein lies a tale that I'll get to - but I got there all the way on foot via several major summits, and I'm happy enough with that. I left Braemar a day early to tidy up Glas Maol, but mainly to escape the snoring, farting hell of the youth hostel dormitory. I hitched a lift up Glen Clunie and climbed up to the plateau to rejoin it where I'd left in a hurry two days before. After Glas Maol I dropped to the A93. I paused before the steep climb to the Cairnwell: no roads or houses now until Drumochter. The first camp by Loch Vrotachan was a peach. I arrived as two anglers were leaving. They'd only caug

What began as a sunny stroll through glorious Angus countryside ended fighting wind chill and freezing rain on the Mounth and bailing out on the slopes of Glas Maol. Inbetween I've camped deep in the woods under huge ancient beeches, crawled under an electric fence, got sunburned, climbed infinite gates and fences, waded through a marsh through reed beds over head height, and pulled out a tick or two. Perhaps what has surprised me most is just how much I enjoyed walking through lowland Angus. Not just the wildlife, lush woods, and many wild corners, but the people too. Even in the deepest countryside I frequently met people on the road or in the woods, dog walkers, farmers, people who don't drive and get from A to B the old-fashioned way. Reaching the solitude and bareness of the Mounth was almost an anticlimax, though my first hill camp a few miles north of Cat Law was a cracker, as darkness fell, moorland birds called and a mantle of mist settled over the round hills. Later

Two days until I start walking. I've had a sense of ground rush this week. A million jobs to do and suddenly so little time to do them. Add in trying to spend as much time as possible with my girls, and finishing a work assignment (although I'm officially on sabbatical now), and the week has flown away from me. At least now the kit list is finalised and my bag is packed. I haven't weighed it - I probably should but don't have the means to do it and frankly it's not a priority. I think I've honed it down to what I really need without compromising safety and a modicum of comfort. It's heavy but bearable, and would have been a lot heavier if I hadn't changed my thoughts on a few things - that is, got real about weight. The two big purchases have been a PHD Minim 300 down bag in their recent spring sale, and a Gossamer Gear Mariposa pack from Backpacking Light UK. The overall weight saving, compared with the old synthetic bag and Berghaus Vulcan pack I was

I thought it would be a good idea to find out now whether or not I'm up to a full day's hillwalking again, following on from my tendon injury , and also to try out a new pair of boots kindly donated by Alt-Berg for the Tay watershed walk. Not easy to do from London, but I worked out that the Peak District was just possible in a day by train. Raw-eyed and nauseous from a 4.30am alarm call, I slumped onto the train at St Pancras. Back in 2001 I lived in Sheffield for a year and got quite familiar with the Dark Peak and the hills around Hope and Edale. Last time I was here was a few years ago with my other half on a blistering August bank holiday weekend. We did a round of Edale, along the edges of Kinder Scout and Edale Moor round to Mam Tor, Hollins Cross and back down to the valley. We got seriously sunburned and ran out of water. No chance of that today. There was water in abundance, falling from the sky and flowing down the hills. The train dropped me at quiet weekday Edale

In two weeks' time I'll be setting off to walk the boundary of the River Tay catchment . It's a 300 mile route through some of the best and most varied of Scottish landscapes. I've never walked this far before. I've nearly recovered from a tendon injury a few weeks ago, so whilst I'm optimistic I'll be up to it physically, it's the psychological challenge that may be most interesting. But it's not just all about me. I'm using the walk to raise money for two great charities whose work should be appreciated and supported by everyone who values wild land: Venture Trust and Scottish Wild Land Group . You can read more about these charities and why I've chosen to support them here . So, this is a call for donations. Anything you can spare will be much appreciated. Times are hard, for many young people and for our wild land, and the work of these two organisations is needed more than ever. Please consider splitting your donation: you can donate to