This post reflects on an unusual experience I had whilst on sabbatical, and the day I thought it would be a good idea to climb Glyder Fach and Glyder Fawr in Snowdonia, with no knowledge or experience of mountain climbing.
Lost on a mountain: A familiar tale
The light was fading fast, the mountain air growing colder, and I had no idea where I was. I’d walked 30 minutes in a circle, and that sinking feeling started to grow. I was lost, and there was no one around—except for distant voices I hoped would lead me out of this maze...
This incident took place when I was speaking at a conference in the USA and I decided to go for a walk on a mountain trail on my day off. Clearly I found my way back eventually but I end up doing things like this all the time and have something of a reputation for it with my friends and family.
“Oh no, I’ve done a Paul!”
I had a lovely text from a friend the other day. She said her 12-year-old son was playing Minecraft online with a bunch of friends and he’d got lost and shouted out “Oh, no I’ve done a Paul!” None of his friends had a clue what he was talking about. So he went on to tell them my reputation for organising walks, misreading the map, taking the wrong paths and generally always making walks further than they should. “It doesn’t matter” I always say because “it’s all about the journey, right? And it’ll give us something to laugh about in the pub at the end.”
I also walked the South Down’s Way on my sabbatical. It’s officially 100 miles and almost impossible to get lost on. But not when I did it. Somehow, I managed to miss way markers and take several wrong turns. (Not something you want to do when it’s a heatwave and you’re carrying all your camping gear with you.) I’d say Paul’s Southdown’s Way is probably 104 miles!
The challenge of The Glyders
I love walking, so when I was on my sabbatical I did as much as I could and decided to go to North Wales, an area I’ve never walked in. I had my OS Pathfinder book of walks and turned to the orange (difficult) ones at the back. It said “it should be tackled only by walkers experienced in [walking mountain] conditions and properly equipped.” (There was also a little warning triangle next to this paragraph which I managed to miss.)
How hard can it be? I thought. I’ve walked up and down plenty of hills in my time at all times of the year.
So off I parked by Llyn (lake) Ogwen and started out on my walk. The craggy peaks of the Glyders loomed ahead with their jagged rocks piercing the sky and me looking forward to the challenge of getting to the top.
The lost map and the moment of decision
The weather was looking pretty good, and I felt well prepared for a good day of walking. I started off up a clearly defined path, so there was no real need to look at the map. After about 45 minutes, there was no path just a load of scree. Good time for a break, have a drink and consult the map book.
My map book was gone. It had slipped out back pocket somewhere down the mountain!
For a moment, the excitement of the day vanished, replaced by a pang of anxiety. Should I turn back?
I was, after all, completely alone, and without the map, I was at the mercy of the mountain. I couldn’t let myself quit now.
So I retraced my steps and asked a couple of other walkers if they’d seen my precious book. I was halfway up the mountain without a map.
I’d set my heart on a good day of walking and it was incomprehensible to me that I should turn back and give in. But my determination kicked in.
Meeting Pete: A kind stranger
So I decided to press on and aim for a man I could see ahead of me in the distance. I thought I’d follow him at a distance and watch where he went. When I reached him, he was still enjoying a cup of tea, so I asked him if I was on the right path.
“Yes,” he said, “but to go any further, you’ll need to do some scrambling.” And then he said, “but you’re most welcome to join me and I’ll show you what to do.” He introduced himself as ‘Pete.’
Pete, with his weathered face and calm composure, was the picture of a seasoned mountaineer. Plus, he had proper mountain climbing trousers, a pack full of treats and proper gloves. There was something warm and reassuring about him. He made me feel like perhaps everything would be okay.
Scrambling out of my comfort zone
So off we started climbing up a ‘Grade 1’ scramble route. Google describes this as:
“These scrambles are usually easy to follow and climb and are ideal for beginners. They often involve short rock steps, and you probably won’t need a rope. However, you should be aware of the steep and exposed ground, and choose your route carefully.”
As we started the scramble, it hit me how different this was from the gentle hills of the South Downs. The path was narrow, steep, rocks were falling away in my hands, while sheer drops lurked on either side. My woolly gloves were completely useless against the cold rock. This was no Sunday stroll.
But Pete told me in the 1980s he’d studied at Bangor University and used to climb these mountains all the time, and still visited often.
Eventually, we reached the top. My heart was pounding, and I was so relieved to get there. I’d not focussed on anything other than reaching the top, and survival!
When we reached the top he said, “where are you walking to now?” So I pointed at the next mountain, which appeared to have a fairly straightforward path leading to the top, and said, “well, maybe walking up that one?”
He replied, “yes me too. Do you want to join me for the rest of the walk?”
Shared stories in the wild
We walked and talked, and as we did, he opened up about his difficult divorce and the intense stress at work. He also shared how much better his neurodiverse son was doing at sixth form college, thanks to the right support now being in place.
Pete also told me something which made me laugh. He said his son can only have the volume of the car stereo on an even number. Pete, on the other hand, can only have it on a prime number (2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31 etc).
Meaning the only number they could both agree on was ‘2’, which is a pointless volume to have on if you’re driving. To this day, I still wonder how they ever listened to music together at all.
We climbed to the top of the next mountain and stopped for a while to take in the view, whilst shielding ourselves from the 80 mile per hour cross wind. The view was wonderful in every direction, but I was also marvelling at what was happening.
A walk to remember

As Pete and I descended together, I realized that what started as a disastrous day had turned into an unforgettable one. Life has a funny way of bringing people together just when they need it most. I didn’t just find my way off the mountain—I found something more profound: the kindness of a stranger, shared in the most unlikely place.
We reached the kiosk at the car park, had a coffee together and thanked each other for a wonderful day. We shared phone numbers and Pete said, “we should do this again.” But there is no way we could repeat what this was.
Two men lost up a mountain, me actually lost, and Pete struggling with life, and in that desolate and windy place somehow we managed to connect. Two strangers sharing a special day together.
I recklessly ignored the warning in my map book and failed to zip it properly in my bag, but the kindness of a stranger turned it into one of the best and strangest walks I’ve ever had.
So as my friend’s son said “I really had done a Paul” on this walk. But without that moment of carelessness, none of the other wonderful things would have happened.
It turned out the day wasn’t just about reaching a physical summit. I’d actually haphazardly stumbled into something feeling like a metaphor for something bigger. That sometimes, you just need to trust the path you’re on even when you can’t see the way forward.
Lessons from the mountain
As I sit back and think about the day, a few lessons stick with me:
- Don’t ignore the warnings in the OS Pathfinder books
- Look after your map book
- Take lots of snacks
- Don’t go mountain climbing in woolly gloves
- Expect any walk with me to be more about the journey, including a few wrong turns before we finally reach the pub.
When you’re lost, allow yourself to be vulnerable, ask for help, and stay attentive to how you might also help the other person.
We often set goals, like climbing a mountain or ticking off a destination, but sometimes the true reward comes in the form of something entirely unexpected. Maybe being lost isn’t always a bad thing. What I didn’t know was that the real summit I’d reach was one of connection, shared stories, and vulnerability.
At the start of the day, my goal was simple: climb a mountain. Sometimes, being lost leads you to exactly where you need to be.
Read more about what I learned on my sabbatical here>>>
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