LANDLINES

Over mountain and moor, nourished and restored by wilderness.

Eight years after Moth Winn was diagnosed with a neurodegenerative disorder, he and his wife, Raynor, set out on a valedictory walk of epic length: a four-month, 1,000-mile trek from the Scottish Highlands back to their home in southwest England. Though they embarked during the height of the pandemic, they were encouraged by the possibility that intense physical exertion could work its magic and forestall the worsening of his condition. This affecting chronicle continues the narrative of Raynor’s previous two books, The Salt Path and The Wild Silence, with the customary observations on environmental degradation and human shortsightedness. The text is also an engaging travelogue and a powerful evocation of place and personality, rugged landscapes and distinctive cultures. It may be a cliché to say this book is inspiring, yet it is, and it’s every bit as much about the Winns’ inner lives as their adventure. The narrative is so vividly drawn and emotionally resonant that most readers will come to feel like one of the family, sharing their pain and uncertainty and eventual triumph. Above all, there is the strength and durability of their marriage, which has weathered homelessness as well as illness. If, occasionally, her otherwise admirable ecological awareness skirts the precipice of sermonizing, it can be forgiven, so fundamental is her devotion to the wild and belief in its healing powers. One’s admiration for the Winns runs so deep it seems churlish to say her account may strain credulity here and there, but readers will give her the benefit of the doubt. This is an unforgettable story about fragility girded by resolve and the courage to keep going, even if it’s just that one more step, and to hold fast to hope.

Winn exudes the soul of a poet and the grit of a survivor.