WITH TWO WEEKS to go before I head back to Sri Lanka to trek my final 7 stages of the Pekoe Trail, I’ve been spending a slightly embarrassing amount of time staring at my case and asking myself the same question over and over again: do I really need this?

Packing for a long distance trek is a balancing act. Take too much and every uphill section will feel twice as hard. Take too little and I’ll spend the next few days wishing I’d packed the thing I decided I could live without. In the past, I’ve generally erred on the side of caution and taken too much, only to discover that most of my carefully considered ‘essentials’ have never actually left my backpack.

Over the years I’ve made plenty of packing mistakes. I’ve carried spare chargers, too many T-shirts, socks, extra pairs of trousers in case I ripped the ones I was wearing. I’ve gradually learnt that some of the most valuable things in my pack aren’t necessarily the most expensive. In fact, some of the cheapest items have proved to be the things I wouldn’t now dream of trekking without.

So, with just a couple of weeks to go, here’s what will be making the journey with me this time, what I’ve finally learnt to leave behind and a few things that have earned their place in my increasingly carefully considered pack.

The Essentials

Boots

Walking boots with ankle support are now a non negotiable for me, even though some people prefer to trek in trainers.

Sri Lanka’s trails can throw almost anything at us: rocky paths, muddy tea estate tracks, slippery forest trails, uneven roads and sudden tropical downpours. Good footwear makes a massive difference.

I use Salomon boots because they give me the ankle support I need and, most importantly, don’t give me blisters. That wasn’t always the case. After twisting my ankle on a trek early last year, I learnt that particular lesson the hard way and converted to boots with proper ankle support and made sure they were well worn in for blister protection.

Wet Gear

I’ve learnt never to underestimate Sri Lankan weather. One minute we can be walking under clear blue skies and blazing sunshine and the next be absolutely drenched by a tropical downpour.

I’ve been caught out before and now carry a lightweight waterproof jacket even when the forecast looks promising. It also doubles as a windproof layer on cooler mornings in the hill country and takes up very little room at the bottom of my backpack.

Leech Socks

These are a must for me if there’s any chance of encountering leech life, which there almost certainly is on the Pekoe Trail. Even with leech socks on, there’s still a good chance I’ll get sucked at if I have bare arms. I’m told leeches are not particularly interested in personal boundaries!

Compeed

Possibly the smallest item in my bag but one of the most important.

On the first stage of my trek across Sri Lanka back in 2022, without Compeed my adventure would almost certainly have been over on day one. Fortunately, I had some with me and they saved the trek. I’ve never underestimated the power of a tiny plaster since. I now carry a couple, even when I’m out walking at home. You never know when an innocent looking blister is going to decide it has other plans for your day.

Sun protection

People often think of Sri Lanka as Sun, beaches, palm trees and ancient ruins, but even in the cooler hill country where I’ll be trekking, the sun can be relentless. My essentials are SPF 50 cream, sunglasses, a peaked cap and lip balm with SPF. My personal favourite is Heliocare. I’ve never burnt whilst wearing it and, unlike some sun lotions, it doesn’t leave me feeling as though I’ve been coated in cooking oil.

Insect Repellent

Leeches tend to get all the publicity, but mosquitoes can be just as irritating. A decent insect repellent is worth every penny and I also use DEET-free citronella soap which many locals swear by.

Phone and Camera

My phone has always been my camera, notebook and emergency contact system. This time, however, I’m also bringing my new compact camera in the hope of getting some great photographs, particularly of the wildlife. It will mean a little extra weight for me, but I’m hoping it will be worth every gram.

Basic First Aid Kit

Nothing elaborate, just the basics: painkillers, Ibruprofen, antiseptic wipes, plasters and antihistamine cream and tablets. Thankfully, my guide carries a more comprehensive first aid kit, including bandages, ice pack, emergency blanket which means I can keep mine small.

Food and Water

I generally carry enough snacks to keep my energy levels up between stops. Nuts, bananas and energy bars usually do it. Water is obviously critical, but one of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt is that carrying excessive amounts ‘just in case’ can add a surprising amount of unnecessary weight.

More on that later.

My Unexpected Must-haves

Some things sound unnecessary when you’re packing them, and others seem too small to make much difference. Yet over the years a few have become complete game changers for me.

Walking Poles

I resisted using walking poles for years. To be honest, I ignorantly assumed they were mainly for older walkers.

Then I tried them.

Now I wouldn’t want to tackle a long trek, particularly a long descent, without them. They reduce pressure on knees, ankles and most importantly for me, my hips. They improve my balance and are super helpful on uneven terrain, which is what much of the Pekoe Trail involves.

I’m still not entirely sure when I crossed over into being someone who gets excited about walking poles, but apparently it has happened.

Microfibre Cloth

Tiny, almost weightless and ridiculously useful.

It dries sweat, wipes condensation and dust from my glasses, cleans my phone screen, dries wet gear and generally earns its place several times over. It weighs almost nothing, which in backpack terms makes it practically perfect.

Arm Protectors & Gloves

Arm protectors became a revelation during hot weather trekking. They provide sun protection without having to constantly reapply sunscreen, help prevent scratches from vegetation on overgrown trails and can even reduce the chances of leeches attaching themselves to my arms or armpits. Yes, my armpits. Trust me - it is as unpleasant as it sounds.

Gloves are useful when scrambling over rocks, negotiating rough terrain or for preventing blisters when using walking poles for long periods.

Small Zip Bags

The humble zip bag is one of the most useful things I carry and weighs virtually nothing. They keep my electronics dry, help organise small items, separate wet gear from dry and prevent the contents of my backpack descending into complete chaos. For something that costs almost nothing, they earn their place every time.

Electrolytes

Electrolytes are one of the simplest additions to my kit and one of the most effective. When trekking in heat and humidity, replacing the salts lost through sweating makes a real difference to my energy levels and recovery. A few electrolyte tablets take up almost no room but can make a big difference at the end of a long day.

What I’m Leaving Behind

Experience has taught me that successful trekking is as much about what you choose not to take as what you do.

The ‘Just in Case’ Pile

I’ve realised that my backpack becomes heavier mostly because of ‘what-if’ anxiety.

What if I need this? What if I need that?

Before long I’m carrying several kilos of things that never actually leave the sack. Nowadays I’m much more ruthless. If I’m very unlikely to use something, it stays at home or goes into the larger bag that’s couriered ahead to my next destination. There is something very liberating about admitting that I probably won’t need three different options for the same thing.

Too Many Clothes

I’ve learnt that nobody on a trekking trail cares whether you’ve worn the same shirt twice. Or three times. Possibly even four.

I now choose lightweight, quick drying clothing, which means fewer items are needed and there’s less washing to worry about. On a trek, I’ve realised that nobody is judging my outfit. They’re generally far more interested in chatting, sharing stories or finding a shady spot.

Heavy Power Banks

Technology has improved enormously and there are now excellent lightweight power banks available that provide plenty of phone charge without adding unnecessary weight. Every gram matters when you’re carrying everything uphill, so my heavy power banks have been given the boot.

My Biggest Weight-Saving Lessons

After trekking more than 1000km across Sri Lanka, these are probably some of the most valuable packing lessons I can share with you.

Think About How You Pack

I’ve found that placing lighter items at the bottom of my backpack and heavier items closer to my back, around the middle to upper part of the bag, makes it feel much more balanced and comfortable to carry. In the past I’ve packed the other way around with heavy stuff at the bottom and it’s dragged my bag down and caused me lower back pain after a while. It sounds like a small thing, but when you’re walking for hours it makes a surprising difference.

Carry Less v Ultralight Everything

There’s a huge industry dedicated to convincing trekkers they need expensive ultralight gear. I’m sure some of it is excellent, but in my experience simply carrying fewer things saves more weight than spending a fortune replacing perfectly good equipment.

My most effective weight saving strategy has generally been to ask myself whether I actually need something before worrying about whether I can buy a lighter version of it.

Know where I can refill water

Water is heavy and very heavy when you have to carry it uphill. If I know there are reliable places to refill along the route, I’ll carry less and top up as I go. Of course, this requires planning and trail knowledge from my guide, but it can be a massive weight-saver.

That said, if I’m unsure, I’ll always carry extra water. This is probably the area where I struggle most to save weight because I’d rather carry a little too much than run out. There are some things I’m prepared to be ruthless about. Dehydration isn’t one of them.

Consider a Smaller Bag

This might sound obvious, but a smaller backpack physically limits how much I can take.

So this time I’m taking a smaller pack and having a slightly larger bag transported ahead to my next destination.

If there’s space available, I think it’s only natural that we tend to fill it. Give me a big backpack and I’ll somehow find a reason to put things in it. Give me a smaller one and suddenly I discover that I can survive without half the contents of my cupboard.

Final thoughts

Every trek has taught me something new. The longer I walk, the more I realise that successful trekking is about carrying only what you really need, leaving behind what you don’t and learning from past experiences.

One of the biggest things I’m hoping will make this trek more manageable for me is that I’ve been able to shed quite a few kilos in body weight. My hips, knees and ankles will appreciate carrying a little less of me up the hills. The challenge now is making sure I don’t use those saved kilos as an excuse to pack a few extra ‘non essential’ items.

I’d love to know what’s the one item you would never trek without, especially if it’s lightweight and doesn’t take up much space? Or what’s the one thing you thought you absolutely needed but never did?

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Last year

Pearl Stephen and me at the Women’s Development Centre a few days before her passing in July 2013

SINCE MY early 20s, volunteering in a distant, exotic and poverty-stricken place had been on my bucket list. I imagined it might help me discover my life’s purpose, or something like that. But when I first considered it seriously, I realised it was probably more about escapism, and the timing wasn’t right.

Volunteering abroad is a significant commitment. It demands time, focus, financial resources, consideration of family needs and, importantly, finding a placement that genuinely matches your skills. Getting all those things to line up at the same time is no small feat. I also wanted my volunteering to be meaningful, rather than simply an escape from the monotony or challenges of my life.

The opportunity didn’t come until much later. It was 2013. I was 46 and had a ten-year-old son.

The first visit

During a two-week holiday in Sri Lanka, I arranged a visit to the Women’s Development Centre in Kandy through a contact in the UK. It was a brief visit, fitted in between sightseeing at the Temple of the Buddha’s Tooth and a spectacular train journey from Kandy to Ella.

There I met Pearl Stephen, the woman who had founded the Women’s Development Centre almost 30 years earlier. Although I was there for only a couple of hours, I was struck by Pearl and her vision. As we were leaving, she said:

‘You must come back, and bring Joe too. One day he will do good work here.’

It was an intriguing thing to say to someone she had only just met. But I took her at her word.

Three months later

In July, I returned to the Women’s Development Centre as a volunteer along with Joe. That experience completely reshaped the way I viewed Sri Lanka.

There is a difference between simply holidaying somewhere and genuinely engaging with a country and its people. I began to see Sri Lanka in an entirely different way. Instead of spending that trip exploring the wonders of the country’s Cultural Triangle, we attended a support meeting at a Kandy hospital clinic for sex workers! The WDC staff were working to help these women move away from their circumstances by introducing them to microfinance projects that could give them a route towards safety and self-sufficiency.

Meanwhile, my son Joe, who had collected school supplies in the UK, distributed them to pre-schools and schools in some remote tea plantation villages.

I also used my professional experience to deliver training on writing evaluative reports for funders and introduced a staff appraisal system, which was a completely new concept for the women working for the organisation. This is what Pearl had asked me to do.

It was a very different kind of holiday.

Then everything changed

Sadly, less than three weeks into our month-long stay, Pearl suffered a sudden heart attack and died.

More than 80 WDC workers, along with countless others who had been supported by her over the years, mourned her passing. The church literally overflowed with people. It was a fitting tribute to a woman who had dedicated her life to helping women and children affected by gender-based violence and poverty.

Pearl’s warmth, generosity and determination made a real impression on me. Her death also changed the course of my relationship with Sri Lanka.

My son and I returned each year after that up until COVID stopped us going, and I have continued to return each year since 2022, finding ways to support the work Pearl had begun and which continues with her daughter-in-law at the helm.

Finding a Purpose

That first trip to Sri Lanka taught me something I hadn’t expected. Often it isn’t a grand plan that gives you a sense of direction or purpose. Sometimes it is simply an encounter with an inspirational woman. Pearl showed me what one person can achieve through years of commitment and hard work. Her example made me think differently about what I could contribute myself.

That short holiday in 2013 turned out to be about rather more than seeing a new country. It was the beginning of a relationship with Sri Lanka that has continued for more than 13 years, and one that has shaped much of what I have done since.

Please press the subscribe button if you’d like to read more about my involvement in Sri Lanka, perhaps if you plan to travel there yourself and would like some tips or inspiration, or should you like to get involved in the projects out there in some way.

What we often don’t see are the quieter, more personal costs that sit beneath those images: the ones paid in advance, and the ones that linger long after the adventure ends.

As I move into my final weeks of preparation, with the hope of completing the 323km long Pekoe Trail, I’ve been thinking quite a lot about those hidden costs. Not to discourage myself, but to acknowledge the truth of what this kind of adventure really asks of us.

Of course, the kilometres walked and the mountains climbed are significant parts, and they’re what we remember and talk about long after the adventure. But there’s also the physical graft that comes beforehand, the little injuries incurred whilst training, and the emotional terrain that must be crossed long before any physical one.

Preparing a body that needs more negotiation than it used to

With four weeks to go, my physical training has become its own kind of journey. Early mornings, lots of walking (although maybe not long enough), strength sessions (too few by far), and the steady discipline that underpins it all. There’s now a rhythm to it, a determined one, a character trait inherited from both my parents, but it’s not without its challenges.

Preparing for an adventure at this stage of life has become more about building resilience than chasing peak fitness. My body doesn’t seem to bounce back the way it once did.

My mind negotiates with me: if you go for an extended walk today, you can take the day off tomorrow.

And it bargains: if you increase your protein intake today, you can have those extra carbs you’ve been craving tomorrow. It’ll all balance itself out.

It occasionally protests: you’re getting older; you’re allowed to slow down.

And yet, with each training session, I feel myself getting stronger, both physically and mentally. If I keep going now, hopefully I won’t struggle quite so much whilst I’m trekking.

Preparation, I’ve come to realise, despite all the glam social media videos we see, is rarely glamorous at all. Not for me anyway! It’s been sweaty and repetitive, sometimes quite boring and frequently inconvenient. I know though, that if I don’t put in the leg work, I’ll really struggle, and perhaps fail. 

The quiet cost of time away from family and friends

One of the hardest parts of adventure, and one that rarely gets talked about, is the time it takes away from being with family and friends, and, for me, my 

Training eats into your day, whenever you decide to do it. I prefer daytime, ideally mornings. Planning eats into weekends. And the adventure itself means weeks spent far away, living a life that feels suspended from your normal one.

Friends and family are supportive, of course. They cheer you on, tell you they’re proud, and remind you that you’re doing something extraordinary. But adventure demands your presence in one world while ripping you away from another. There is a cost to that.

Injuries: The inevitable uninvited companions

Last year’s slip up!

Anyone who’s ever taken on a physical challenge knows that injuries are not an ‘if’, but a ‘when’. A twisted ankle (that was me 16 months ago) stopped me walking, let alone trekking), strained muscles are a given, major surgery just 8 months ago, and now a hip I fear may suddenly decide it’s absolutely had enough.

These things often arrive unannounced and linger longer than you’d like. It took three months for my ankle to fully recover last year, and injuries and surgery take on their own emotional landscape: frustrating, humbling and sometimes frightening.

You rest because you must, not because you want to. You ice, stretch, strengthen, rest and hope for the best.

The injuries I’ve incurred have also taught me something important: recovery is defined by persistence. Getting up again and again, adjusting, readjusting and continuing, even when the path looks somewhat different from the one previously imagined.

Being defiant!

The emotional terrain no one sees

With hindsight, there’s been a moment in adventures I’ve had, sometimes before it begins, sometimes halfway through, sometimes long after it’s finished, when the emotional cost has revealed itself. This has taken the form of self doubt, exhaustion and a little bit of fear. Preparing for an adventure means confronting these feelings early. I question whether I’m ready, whether I’m still capable, and I can get anxious about what might go wrong.

Of course, these emotional challenges don’t show up in the photos I’ve been prepared to share because that’s not what we tend to do. We show the best bits, the highlights. But there’s absolutely no doubt that the emotional challenge shapes the journey just as much as the physical miles.

Reflecting on them continues to teach me courage, but perhaps more importantly, it has taught me to be prepared to show my vulnerable side, a part of me I’ve not always been very good at sharing.

And then there is the simple act of continuing regardless.

And yet . . .

With all these hidden costs, I ask myself: why do I keep choosing adventure over a simpler, quieter life?

I think it’s because, despite everything, adventure gives us something back that little else does. It offers clarity of mind if you’re open to it, connections with new people and places along the way, and perspectives we just don’t get if we stay at home. I think adventures remind us that we’re capable of a lot more than we think we are. They act like a mirror, reflecting us back to ourselves in a way that our everyday life rarely does.

The hidden costs are real, but when I look at the balance sheet, the rewards are much greater.

If you’ve read this far, I’d love to hear in the comments what the hidden costs of adventure have been for you.

And, if you’d like to support the grassroots projects I’m raising funds for in Sri Lanka then please head over to my JustGiving page

However, there are some similarities. Most days involve breathtaking views, many across expansive tea estates, simple conversations with local people we pass; the sort of moments that make me stop and realise, ‘This is exactly why I came here’.

Other days involve feeling hot and exhausted whilst trying to find a way of reaching the end of the day’s trail as quickly as possible.

Most days, in fact, involve both.

So, if you’ve ever wondered what a day trekking the Pekoe Trail is really like, here’s a glimpse behind my Instagram photos.

5.30am – Woken by My Alarm or the Cockerel Call

It’s still dark outside at 5.30am. The sun rises just after 6am all year round in Sri Lanka, unlike here in the UK where it varies by a few hours depending on the time of year.

I get up and meet Sarath, my trekking guide, for breakfast, which is usually porridge with bananas, papaya, or whatever fruit is on offer, along with coffee and water.

I might do a bit of leg stretching, but never really as much as is recommended. I’m not very good at this bit as I’m just eager to get out there.

We fill our water bottles and stuff our sack with energy snacks and then hand over our bigger travel bags to someone Sarath knows who couriers them to our next accommodation point. This was not always the case. For the first eight stages of trekking the Pekoe Trail, I carried everything for ten days in one larger sack. That was a big lesson learned. It was simply too heavy for me.

6.30am-ish – Setting Off

Backpack on. Sunscreen at the ready, although I usually don’t apply it until around 8am.

As we join the start of the next stage of the trail, dawn has usually broken. We take a selfie at the start of each trail with us standing to attention by the board. It’s about 06.30 or 06.45 by now and village life is slowly beginning to stir. The cockerels have mostly stopped crowing and, if we’re walking near a tea plantation we might begin to see tea estate workers making their way to work.

The early mornings in Sri Lanka’s Central Highlands is often misty, but as the sun rises the hills slowly emerge. It’s my favourite time of day, which makes it easy for me to get up, get moving and hit the path.

The first hour is usually the easiest. Temperatures can be quite cool first thing, my energy levels are at their highest, and the excitement of a new day, along with chatting to Sarath about our day’s route and what and who we might encounter, carries me along.

The early morning light is something I never tire of. The landscape changes constantly. One moment you can be crossing open hillsides; the next you’re walking beneath towering trees or through tiny villages that don’t even appear on a map, with just a few traditional line houses from which children wave, and perhaps a small Hindu temple.

8.00am – Walking Through Real Life

Apply sunscreen. Drink water and hope it doesn’t go through me too quickly!

One of the things that makes the Pekoe Trail so special is that it combines wilderness trekking with walking through people’s lives. Children are heading to school by now. Farmers have begun working in the fields. Life is happening all around us. Foreigners these days come here to enjoy the beauty and challenge of the trails, but these paths belong to long-established communities and I’m very aware they’re sharing them with us.

10am-ish – Unexpected Encounters

First of all, snack time. Energy bar, small bananas and water. We find somewhere to perch and look out across the vista. If you asked me what I remember most from my treks, though, it usually isn’t the scenery. It’s the people.

The elderly man who insists we stop for tea. The family who invite us to sit and chat despite us sharing very few words of the same language. The shop owner who wants to know where we’re going and what route we’re taking. These encounters can’t be planned and you definitely won’t find them in a guidebook. These are the moments that stay with me long after the trek is over.

Midday – The Reality Check

Around lunchtime the trail often becomes less romantic. The sun is high. The climbs feel steeper and my backpack heavier, even if it is only a day pack. The snacks somehow taste less satisfying. This is usually the point where I begin negotiating with myself and asking Sarath if we’re nearly there yet.

‘Surely this hill must be the last one?’

It rarely is.

The physical challenge is part of the appeal, but I’m trying to be honest about it too. Trekking isn’t always easy. Some days my feet hurt and tiredness gets the better of me. Then I reach the top of a climb, look out across the hills and immediately forget all about the suffering.

1-2pm – Almost There

From here onwards we’re usually coming towards the end of the trail, depending on how many kilometres it is, what time we actually set off, how few rest breaks we took, how many ascents we had to climb and how many people we stopped to talk to.

As we approach the end of the trail, we’re normally entering a small town, as this is where we’ll usually stay for the night. On the descent towards the village we may see women drying spices outside their homes, children waving as they return from school, a tiny shrine hidden beneath a tree, or the smell of wood smoke drifting across a valley. If we’re lucky, we may see some wildlife too, although early mornings and dusk are usually better for this.

We talk a lot about sustainable tourism these days, and rightly so. But for me, walking along these trails is more defined by a slower form of travel that prioritises connection, staying longer in places, using local transport and booking homestays whenever possible.

Arrival

Eventually, the day’s destination appears. Boots come off. A cold welcome drink is normally presented to us. We’re asked how the walk was. Our answer is almost always: ‘Brilliant.’ Even if an hour earlier I was muttering unprintable things whilst climbing a hill.

I might lie down for a bit, then shower with citronella soap to repel the night insects. I usually make a FaceTime call home to check in with everyone, then sort through my day’s photos once Sarath and I have synched them. All of this is dependent on the Wi-Fi being good enough of course.

I might then write a short Instagram post with some of the day’s highlights and pictures of me looking my best

6pm-ish – Dinner and Conversation

I will have just sprayed myself with mosquito repellent before heading for supper. This year at home I’ve had several insect bites which have become infected and so I’ll be even more careful about sting and bite prevention than I might normally be. 

One of my favourite parts of trekking in Sri Lanka is the hospitality. After a day on the trail, a home-cooked Sri Lankan supper feels like luxury. 

In all the stages I’ve trekked, I’ve hardly met any other trekkers walking the trail, so the conversation tends to be with locals and our accommodation hosts. We might be told stories about village life, people who have passed through in previous days, or challenges that the local community is facing.

This time I expect to hear about the devastation that Cyclone Ditwah caused last November 2025 and the challenges it left behind. We heard about it and saw the shocking images on the news, but hearing about it from the people who live there will feel different.  The cyclone hit the Central Highlands part of the island particularly hard, destroying whole villages, causing a huge loss of life and damaging key sections of the railway. When talking to locals, we gain insights that no guidebook can provide, and this happens every day on the trails.

9.00pm – Bedtime

The sun set more than two hours ago, so it’s pretty dark now and I’m more than ready for sleep to prepare my body for the next day.

Until the alarm goes off, or the cockerels wake me again tomorrow!

There will be trekking, heat, humidity, aching legs and hips, blisters and, of course, wildlife.

Anyone who has read my earlier blogs, or visited Sri Lanka, will know that this relatively small island has an extraordinary diversity of wildlife. As I’ll be trekking through the highlands, I’m again expecting to encounter plenty of it.

At a recent talk, Gehan de Silva Wijeyeratne, a leading Sri Lanka wildlife expert, explained how Sri Lanka is one of the few places on Earth that offers such an incredible variety of wildlife: from ocean giants like blue whales to elusive jungle leopards and all within a few hours’ travel of each other.

On the trails I’ll be walking, there’ll be plenty of snake-life, definitely leeches, especially if it rains, exotic birds, beautiful flora and fauna, and perhaps even a leopard sighting as well as the difficult to locate rusty-spotted cat.

The snakes are probably what concern me the most, although my trekking guide, Sarath, is a reptile expert, which is quite reassuring.

Green Pit Viper

Colonies of wasps are also fairly high on my list of things I’d rather avoid.

So far, I’ve managed to avoid being bitten by a snake or stung by wasps, despite encountering both in rather dramatic ways – the story though could have been very different. The leeches, however, seem to regard me as a delicious mobile café. The feeling is definitely not mutual.

Mosquitoes are more of an irritation than anything else, but a good insect repellent applied at dawn and dusk usually keeps them at bay.

Then there are the elephants. I love seeing elephants in the wild. They are magnificent animals and one of the many reasons why Sri Lanka is such an extraordinary country to visit. I’m unlikely to see them on the highland trails during my upcoming walk though, but when you’re trekking in Sri Lanka, you never quite know what might appear around the next corner.

Sri Lanka is also a paradise for birdlife, and I’m hoping to see plenty during this trek; this time with a little more awareness and my new camera at the ready.

Unfortunately, my bird identification skills remain fairly limited, but between Sarath and my Merlin app I’ll soon know exactly what species I’m looking at, where it nests and probably what it had for breakfast. I’ll nod wisely and do my best to remember its name.

All of this is part of the adventure, along with the occasional feeling that I may have made a terrible mistake.

But the adventure isn’t the main reason I keep coming back.

Remembering Why I’m Doing This

In my last blog, I said I’d explain more about why I continue to return to Sri Lanka to trek, fundraise and raise awareness.

I love Sri Lanka – its people, landscapes, wildlife and the sheer variety of experiences it offers. But I also care deeply about the challenges faced by many girls and women there. Many have little control over their own futures simply because they are female. They often have fewer opportunities to develop vocational skills, access good work or achieve financial independence.

Only 31% of women compared to 73% of men participate in paid work in Sri Lanka. The reasons behind this disparity are complex and often disturbing. From a purely economic perspective, increasing female participation in the workforce is critical to supporting the country’s long-term growth. 

That matters to me.

I believe women and men should have equal opportunities, not because one is more important than the other, but because everyone deserves the chance to shape their own future. 

That’s why supporting basic human rights, education, training and employment opportunities for girls and women is so important. When a woman gains skills, confidence and the ability to earn an income, the benefits often extend far beyond her own life. She is better able to support her family, create opportunities for her children and contribute to her wider community.

One woman’s opportunity can create opportunities for many others when used well.

That was the message behind one of my earlier blogs, The Magic Multiplier: The magic multiplier – educate a woman, educate a  community and a generation – from an almost forgotten village in the tea plantation hills  where I share a real life example of how supporting village women can create benefits that reach far beyond their own lives.

One Step at a Time

This is why I continue to support projects that help vulnerable women and children in Sri Lanka, including the work of the Women’s Development Centre.

I know I’m not going to change the world simply by walking across Sri Lanka. But trekking allows me to see these places and communities for myself, to better understand the challenges they face, and to do something, whether that’s fundraising, writing about my experiences or supporting organisations already making a difference at grassroots level.

Sometimes the scale of the world’s problems can feel quite overwhelming. It’s easy to wonder: what difference can one person, or even a small group of people, possibly make?

But I don’t believe that’s a good enough reason to do nothing.

If everyone who cared about an issue did one small thing, those small actions could become something much bigger.

Yes, I’m looking forward to the challenge, being immersed in nature, the scenery and the adventure.

But a few weeks from now, I also hope to return with more stories, more photographs, more memories, and perhaps a little more evidence that choosing another trekking expedition instead of a relaxing holiday wasn’t such a ridiculous idea after all.

If female empowerment is a cause that interests you and you feel inspired to help, please visit my JustGiving page and help make a positive difference.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/marcia-summerstrekssrilanka

Last year’s trek

When I think about a long-distance trek, I visualise endless hill walking with a heavy backpack. The reality for me this time will be different. Since my operation, recovery has dictated my pace, and I’ve had to accept that rebuilding strength isn’t something that I can rush. Bish-bash-bosh and ‘just do it’ are not phrases I can completely adhere to just now. 

Instead, my months and weeks have been filled with aqua fitness classes, yoga, walking, cycling and some weight lifting to gradually increase the amount my body can tolerate. None of it is particularly glamorous although I’m enjoying the challenge, and each session feels like an investment in those mountain trails waiting for me in Sri Lanka’s Central Highlands.

One milestone I’m pleased about is my weight loss so far. I’ve set myself a target of losing a few kilos knowing that every kilo I can comfortably lose is another my hip won’t have to carry up thousands of metres. I’m hoping that by September I’ll feel less like I’m dragging myself through the mountains and more like I’m skipping across them.

Well, perhaps ‘skipping’ is a bit optimistic. I’ll settle for moving without grimacing

Living with the endocrine therapy hasn’t exactly made the process straightforward either. Joint stiffness and aches have become unwelcome companions, reminding me daily my body’s still healing. Add in a cortisone hip injection to calm everything down, it’s fair to say my body will have received more maintenance this year than my old car.

An equally big lesson though, has been psychological as much as physical. 

Over the past 9 months, there have been moments when I’ve caught myself developing what one might describe as an ‘old bird’s’ acceptance of death in a general kind of sense. Not in a depressing or dramatic way at all, but in a ‘that’s ok’ kind of way. I wonder if life has become as much about managing limitations than chasing adventures. Cancer surgery, treatment, medication and the endless appointments have a subtle way of shrinking your world if you let it. No thanks! 

Preparing for this trek is challenging my mindset.

Every training session I do takes me a little further than the last. They’re all reminders to me that my body’s still capable of adapting, improving and carrying me towards something that matters a lot to me. (I’ll say more about that in my ‘6 weeks to go’ blog in a couple of weeks). 

Completing the 323km Pekoe Trail has become like a marker for me, i.e. a line between simply recovering through doing small things, to actively living again.

I’m under no illusion that it’s going to be easy. There will almost certainly be days when the climbs feel endless, my hip protests loudly, and I question my life choices somewhere halfway up a tea-covered hillside or before we even set off for the day’s trek.

But that’s part of why I’m going.

Will I still be able to do this?

Eight weeks from now, I’ll be back among the tea estates, the villages, the extraordinary nature and the wonderful people who call the Central Highlands home. I’ll be carrying a much lighter backpack than before, a lighter body too hopefully, as well as a renewed appreciation for what my body is still capable of doing.

The countdown is feeling more real now, and for the first time in a while, so does the excitement.

As I prepare to head back to Sri Lanka in just 10 weeks’ time to complete the final stages of the 323km Pekoe Trail, I’ve been naturally reflecting on the earlier stages that I’ve already completed. The landscapes were often characterised by sweeping tea estates that you’d see in a high end tourist brochure, far reaching highland views, and the famous blue train weaving around the plantation mountains. These are memories I reflect upon often, and they’ve become part of my consciousness now. However, it’s been the interactions with the locals I’ve met along the way, along with the wildlife, that I think have had the deepest impact on me, long after my walking was done.
Here are some scenes with three groups of people I’ve met along different stages of the trail who continue to inspire me.

Early glimpses (Stages 1 & 2)

I walked these two stages at the tail end of my grand trek across Sri Lanka in April 2024. That is when I met Sarath for the first time, as he guided me and a couple of friends along Stage 2. I had been wondering what my next challenge might be after the big cross country adventure was complete. After walking Stages 1 and 2, I decided I’d like to walk all 22 stages that make up the then newly curated Pekoe Trail.

Some of my favourite unreleased footage comes from the very beginning near Hanthana and Galaha. Images of the strong morning light on the tea bushes, tea pluckers busy at work, and smartly dressed school children were captivating. Those early stages set the tone for me. I felt as if I were being invited to walk through the landscape and become part of the life happening within it.

Walking with women in Hatton

As I was walking through the Hatton area, a group of local women who were field officers for an NGO called The Women’s Development Centre (WDC) in Kandy, joined me for part of the way. What began as an introduction turned into a couple of kilometres of shared walking and attempted conversation about common connections and daily challenges, including trouble with the local buses. I dedicate a chapter to that part of my journey in my book ‘Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide’. The women joined me in Hatton to support me as I was raising funds for the WDC. How amazing is that!

Tea plucking and just resting with the women

Several times a day during every trek, I had to pause for a while to have a drink or a snack, perhaps to photograph something, or simply to take in the view. I recall that along Stage 6, which I trekked in April 2025, I took a break close to where a group of tea pluckers were having their mid morning break. I was invited to sit with them, or maybe I invited myself. I can’t quite remember. I guzzled my water and ate a protein bar while they drank their milky tea and chatted to one another. Their weathered hands, arms, and faces showed years of daily sun exposure. They were dedicated to tea estate work, probably through custom, but it was the resilience they displayed as they worked that was obvious for anyone to see. We had no shared language, yet in those simple moments, just sitting there, I felt a profound sense of connection with them and was humbled by their work ethic.

Children walking to school

I occasionally met children in their blue and white uniforms walking to school. Many had to walk long distances for an education, often 5km or more each way, yet they smiled easily and stopped to engage with me, despite their shyness. Their curiosity about seeing me always surpassed their reserve. I loved that. Their daily commitment to getting to school, and the tea pluckers returning to their daily grind, put any minor discomfort I experienced along the trails into perspective. It also reinforces why I link my trekking to volunteering for organisations that support women and children’s futures.

These are just three encounters, yet I could relay many more. They’ve taught me that resilience can be seen everywhere on these trails, that connection turns what many see as an ordinary walk into something meaningful, and that The Pekoe Trail really belongs to the communities who live here. We are simply passing visitors walking their well-worn work paths.

As I get ready for the final stretches toward Nuwara Eliya for Stages 17 to 22, before returning to complete Stage 13, the one that got away last time, I carry these thoughts  with me. They fuel my excitement and commitment to trek with a sense of purpose.

I’ll be sharing more photos and videos as I complete the final stages of the trail, but attached are just a few most of which I’ve not previously shared. In the meantime, I’m hoping they might inspire you to pay a visit and experience a stage or two for yourselves, where you’ll almost definitely learn something from the incredible people you’ll meet along the way and whose home is in these hills.

As I count down the weeks until I return to Sri Lanka to finish the trek that was interrupted 6 months ago, my emotions are a mixture of excitement, determination and, if I’m honest, quite a lot of fear. This isn’t my first adventure, but it feels different this time. The stakes feel higher. My body has been through a lot, and the ‘what ifs’ are louder than I’d like them to be.

In February 2025, when I trekked the very first stages of The Pekoe Trail, I had a bad fall on Stage 12 that resulted in an ankle injury. Three months of recovery followed with crutches, physio and the slow frustrating crawl back to walking normally. I joined a local gym to get it back working properly and that membership has been one of the best things that came out of that fall. I’m still a member and it’s become a big and satisfying part of my life. 

That fall was a stark reminder that even careful planning can’t eliminate every risk on the trail. However, I recognise I made some school-girl errors that I corrected for the following October trek. Now, as I prepare to head back later this year, the memory of that slip and the rehab is front and centre. What if it happens again? What if this time it’s worse?

Then there’s my hip. It’s been a nagging issue for 2 years but so far I’m fending off a hip op. The demands of multi-day trekking – uneven terrain, long days, carrying a pack – make me wonder how well it will hold up. I’ve been strengthening it, listening to my body, and working with professionals, but the doubt lingers: will it last the distance, or will I find myself limited, or worse – having to give up. 

Compounding all of this is a recent bee sting that turned into an infection. It was nothing dramatic at first, just an annoying sting, but the swelling, redness, following infection and need for medical attention brought home how vulnerable we can be to the natural world literally on our own doorstep. In Sri Lanka’s lush jungles and rural paths, the risk of insect and snake bites or other wildlife interactions feels more real than ever. I’ve always been respectful of nature, but now I’m researching everything from snake awareness to insect repellents with renewed intensity. 

And then there was last November. A breast cancer diagnosis came out of nowhere and completely derailed my plans to return to Sri Lanka in January just gone to complete the trek. Surgery, treatment, recovery all had to take priority. Cancelling the trip was disappointing at the time, but looking back, it became one of the most profound perspective-shifters of my life.

Cancer has a way of stripping things down to what really matters. It taught me that time is precious and not guaranteed. It reminded me that our bodies are fragile but also resilient. It made me more grateful for the ability to move, to explore, and to seek experiences that light me up. The fears I carry now; of falling again, of my hip failing, of something biting me in the wild, feel sharper because of it. But they also feel more manageable. I’ve faced something bigger than a trek, and I came through the other side.

This journey back to Sri Lanka isn’t just about finishing what I started although it is that too. It’s about proving to myself that I can carry the scars, physical and emotional, and still get out there. It’s about embracing the vulnerability that comes with adventure rather than allowing it to hold me back. 

I’m packing with extra care this time: the right support for my ankle and hip, comprehensive first aid, more knowledge of the terrain and wildlife and of course Sarath at my side as my expert guide again. I’m training smarter and not just harder. And I’m reminding myself daily that fear doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go, it simply means I’m fully alive and aware of what’s at stake.

There will be more posts in this series as my departure gets closer: gear choices, training updates, mental prep, and hopefully some practical tips for anyone else facing their own ‘what ifs’ before a big trip. For now, I’m sitting with the fears, acknowledging them, and choosing to move toward the hills anyway.

Sri Lanka, I’m coming back to you – wiser, a little more battered, and as determined as ever.

An invisible threshold between the ordinary world and something much less so is what I had just crossed. It was strange, eerie, a decomposing life-giver, a myth-making jungle.

The Sinharaja Rainforest – A Creepy Crawly Tale

The Sinharaja Rainforest is, in truth, a spell-maker steeped in folklore. I did not read about these myths; they came by word of mouth, in almost unheard whispers as we walked: the devil bird whose screech foredoomed human death, the tangled roots writhing like semi-sleeping serpents beneath the earth we walked on, that would bite if you got too close, bringing your life to a speedy end followed by rapid decomposition. The colossal trees, the canopy above, and the insects of the forest would hide these crimes in minutes, leaving no evidence whatsoever.

As we sat with our sour sop welcome drink and pulled on our leech socks in preparation for our walk in the wild, cockroaches clittered through cracks around our feet, driving a profound shudder through me – but they were just cockroaches.

Once socked-up and our thirst quenched, my guide and I set off through the thick, moisture-laden air. Every breath tasted of damp leaves, my tongue felt moss-laden, and decay filled my nostrils to their depth. Sweet birdsong and screeches echoed through the forest like fragments of myth. Tiny movements flickered at the edge of my vision.

The deeper we walked, the more the forest closed around us, although there was little mist. Ferns thickened and brushed against my attire. I had little flesh exposed, just my face and hands for most of it. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy in pale golden spears, illuminating clouds of drifting insects suspended in the suffocating air. Purple Langur monkeys smiled down at me from above with unsettling intelligence, their pale faces appearing suddenly between leaves before vanishing again. Massive spiders hung motionless in webs stretched like traps between branches, silently waiting.

I was absorbed in it all. Every sound felt amplified by at least tenfold. A drip of water from a leaf was a waterfall. Every smell as strong as a stale pit. The rustle of unseen and unknown creatures crashed around like a falling house. Distant croaks hidden beneath the foliage battered my ears. The floor was alive, breathing beneath layers of leaf litter and centuries of decay.

Hollow trees stood tall, concealing possibilities probably best left undiscovered. The forest delighted in threat and uncertainty.

As we wandered into its depths, reality and imagination began to blur. This was where myths were born. Fairytales and nightmares shared the very same path I was walking on, where every shadow concealed a story and every story might be true.

Beware, then, if you choose to cross the threshold into the Sinharaja Rainforest. If you make it out alive, part of you will remain tangled among its serpent roots.

And something of it will come back with you. It will have claimed a part of you, whether you know it or not. You will have absolutely no choice but to feel compelled to return.

As it is for me.

If you’d like to read more about this visit to the Sinharaja Rainforest and trekking across Sri Lanka you may be interested to read my book with other stories from the wilder side of Sri Lanka – Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide. Profits from all book sales go back to supporting grassroots projects I’m supporting out there.

Whilst trekking near Hatton, at the bottom of Adam’s Peak, I met a group of women who worked as field workers for the Women’s Development Centre in Kandy. They wanted to walk with me for a bit in solidarity with my fundraising and awareness‑raising trek. We communicated as best we could – they with little English and me with no Tamil or Sinhalese, but we still found a connection. They were working hard to empower women in their rural communities, and I was raising funds to help them continue that work.

These were just two of countless moments that reminded me how different a country feels when you experience it slowly, on foot, and outside the usual tourist routes.

As I was trekking across Sri Lanka, I realised something uncomfortable about modern tourism: many of us see a country without ever truly connecting with it. I’ve done this myself many times on my travels abroad over the past few decades. In Sri Lanka it’s easy to experience the country only through hotel windows and curated excursions, especially as tourists don’t tend to hire cars there themselves. The beaches, viewpoints and popular landmarks are undeniably beautiful, but they tell only a small part of the story. Walking from the south to the north of the country exposed me to versions of Sri Lanka that many tourists never encounter, for example, extremely remote villages, tea and coffee plantation communities, small family‑run guesthouses where I could have conversations with people whose lives are deeply connected to the land around them.

Walking, of course, forced me to slow down. I noticed the smell of cut cinnamon as I passed men scraping the bark off a cinnamon tree in tiny garage‑like ‘factories’ on quiet back roads. I fully experienced the rapturous morning birdsong, the sound of temple bells, and the bread van whose jingle took me straight back to my 1970s ice‑cream van childhood. Children waved from village roads as we passed shoulder to shoulder on their way to school, often stopping for a moment to say hello or, more often, “Suba udasanak”. I realised that it was in Sri Lanka that I stopped ticking off a destination and instead began participating in it.

What struck me most was the warmth, generosity and strong sense of community I found in places that rarely appear in travel brochures. I went down gem mines, visited elder homes, and was invited into people’s family homes and to join in with their community activities. Again and again, strangers offered directions, tea, food, or simple curiosity about where I’d come from, where I was heading next, and why on earth I was walking in the blazing heat. Those interactions became far more memorable than any carefully planned itinerary from a tourist information centre or travel agent.

But walking such long distances also revealed the inequalities beneath Sri Lanka’s tourism industry. In some areas, luxury hotels and tourist hotspots sit only a short distance from communities facing extreme economic hardship. As a result, I’ve begun to think more critically about where tourist money actually goes, who benefits, and how we as travellers can make more conscious choices about where to stay, what to do and how to travel around. Tourism can absolutely support local communities when done responsibly. Staying in family‑run guesthouses, hiring local guides, using public transport, eating at independently run places and buying directly from local businesses all help create a more meaningful exchange between visitors and the people who call this country home. I’ve come to realise that each of our small decisions matters far more than I once thought.

I also found myself reflecting on how social media has changed the way we travel. So many travellers now move quickly from one ‘must‑see’ location to another, focusing on capturing the perfect photo before moving on – Horton Plains, Sigiriya Rock, Dambulla Caves, Ella Rock, for example. I’ve done it. Yet the moments that stayed with me were rarely the photogenic ones. They were the conversations I had whilst walking, stumbling upon an elder home on a large tea plantation and being welcomed in, the unexpected genuine smiles from children walking 5 kilometres or more each way to school, and the unplanned encounters that can’t easily be captured or shared on social media.

Perhaps the greatest lesson I learnt isn’t about how many places I visit, but how deeply I allow myself to notice them.

Walking across Sri Lanka changed the way I think about tourism not only because I discovered hidden destinations, but because I learned the value of slowing down for long enough to spend some quality time with the people living in them.

If you’d like to hear more about my experiences in Sri Lanka or know someone planning to visit Sri Lanka, you can get a copy of my book Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide from Amazon with profits from all sales going back into supporting local communities in Sri Lanka.

Trekking in Sri Lanka is easy to fall in love with. I certainly have. The landscapes are beautiful, the people are extremely welcoming and the experiences we have can feel deeply personal, but there’s something I’ve learnt over time, and that is how you travel around there that matters as much as where you decide to go.

Walking especially puts us in closer contact with nature and communities which creates an opportunity, not just to explore and connect, but to contribute in positive ways. It’s not about trying to be perfect but by simply being more aware, respectful and intentional we can help make a difference.

1. Slow Down: Connection happens at a different pace

When we’re travelling it’s often tempting to move quickly, cram in as much as possible, tick off the big hikes and chase the best viewpoints, but in my experience meaningful travel in Sri Lanka doesn’t happen at speed but instead it happens when we:

   •   Pause in a village instead of just pacing through it

   •   Accept an invitation to talk to locals and practise our very limited Sinhalese or Tamil

   •   Take time to notice the nature and wildlife around us

Slowing down creates the space required for connection and that’s where our real experiences begin.

2. Choose Local, Always

One of the simplest ways we can give back is through the choices we make every day. Whilst trekking this means where we decide to eat, stay the night, get around and who we get to help us with matters.

Try to:

   •   Stay in locally owned guesthouses or homestays

   •   Hire a local guide whilst trekking especially when going off piste

   •   Eat at small, family-run places

Doing this ensures our money goes directly into the communities we’re travelling through and not just to large businesses.

3. Trek with Awareness and not just Intention

As we’re trekking, we’re often walking through agricultural farmland, tea and coffee plantations and villages with places of worship used by the local communities. For us this is incredible ‘scenery’ but we need to be aware that it’s people’s home or livelihood.

Be mindful of:

   •   Where we walk – keep to the paths and follow the signs

   •   What we photograph – if taking a photo of tea pluckers for example then ask them if it’s ok to do so and give them a few hundred rupees for allowing us to. This is a lot of money to them and next to nothing for us.

   •   How we interact – Sri Lankan culture is deeply rooted in tradition and so it’s important to do a bit of research before you go so we’re aware and don’t cause unintended offence. Simple things matter such as dressing modestly in villages and temples.

Just a little awareness goes a long way.

4. Reduce our Impact on the Environment

Many of Sri Lanka’s most beautiful trekking areas are fragile. Highland plateaus such as Horton Plains in the Central Highlands, as well as many of the remote regions in the tea country areas can be easily damaged by careless tourism.

What we can do:

   •   Carry our waste out with us

   •   Avoid single-use plastics where possible

   •   Stay on marked trails

Small actions, multiplied by many travellers, make a huge difference and help to keep the spaces safe and sustainable.

5. Support, Don’t Disrupt

There’s often a fine line between us helping and unintentionally causing harm. Giving back doesn’t always mean doing something big. In fact, the most meaningful contributions are often the smallest and the simplest:

   •   Paying fairly

   •   Supporting local businesses

   •   Showing genuine interest and respect

If you do choose to offer more of your time and perhaps volunteer your time and experience in Sri Lanka then take time to understand the impact of what you’re doing.

6. Be Open to Human Moments

Often our most meaningful experiences are unplanned – a conversation, a shared meal or drink, a moment of kindness. These are the things that stay with us and very often they matter just as much as any trekking trail or destination.

Be open to them.

What ‘Giving Back’ really means

It’s easy to think of giving back as something separate from travel, relaxing and enjoying ourselves, but in reality, it’s woven into everything:

   •   The choices we make

   •   The way we interact

   •   The respect we show

Wherever we go, we don’t need to change our entire trip but we just need to travel with awareness.

Final Thoughts

Of course Sri Lanka offers so much more than incredible trekking trails, however, in the simple motion of walking we are offered connection to people, places and to ways of travelling that feels more grounded and meaningful. If we approach it thoughtfully, our journey can leave a positive impact, not just on us, but on the places and people we visit.

Want to Travel this Way?

This approach to trekking and travel is at the heart of my book: Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide which you will find is less about routes and logistics and more about how to experience Sri Lanka in a way that’s more connected, respectful, and ultimately so much more rewarding.

If you’re heading to Sri Lanka and looking for some inspiration for trekking trails that I’ve already trekked – download a free chapter here or buy a copy from Amazon, from bookshops across Sri Lanka, this website or some independent bookshops.

Everyone talks about Adam’s Peak – the night climb, the sunrise, the crowds. And sometimes, the frustration of not even reaching the summit in time because of the sheer number of people ahead of you.

When I climbed Sri Pada at the tail end of Covid, it was a completely different experience. With barely anyone on the trail, I reached the top in time to see the spectacular sunrise. If you’re set on doing it, I’ve shared more in my free chapter ‘Climbing Butterfly Mountain’ from ‘Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide’.

But if you’re looking for something slower, quieter, and more connected than the crowded staircase of Sri Pada, there are other treks in Sri Lanka that offer a very different kind of reward.

Here are four that, for me, go beyond the climb.

1. Knuckles Mountain Range

The Knuckles Range in Sri Lanka’s Central Highlands feels, and is, very wild – but it’s also deeply lived-in. You’ll walk through tiny villages, pass people working the land, and experience a side of Sri Lanka that most travellers never see.

Why it stands out:

• Remote trails with human connection

• Opportunities to support local guides, homestays, and small-scale tourism

• A way of travelling that directly benefits local communities

I share more stories from this region in Chapter 10 of ‘Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide’

2. Ella Rock

On Ella Rock

Ella Rock is often treated as a quick ‘must do’ hike for the view – but that misses the point. Yes, the Ella Gap is stunning on a clear day. But the real experience is in the journey: railway tracks, misty forest paths, waterfalls, and a remote Buddhist monastery that’s easy to walk straight past.

It’s also where I came across a cobra in the woods

Top tip:

Start early, go slowly, and walk from Makulella to Ella rather than doing a rushed out-and-back from Ella. 

3. Horton Plains

Horton Plains Entrance

Horton Plains offers something different again. 2300m above sea level and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, no communities live here as it’s a protected landscape. Therefore, when trekking here it’s less about cultural connection, but about cloud forests, waterfalls, wildlife watching and responsibility.

Keep it simple:

• Stay on the marked trails

• Respect the environment

• Support conservation by paying the park fees

4. Loolkandura – Pekoe Trail – Stage 2)

Walking and talking with a group of tea pluckers

This is one of the most scenic walks in Sri Lanka and one of my favourites along the 320km/22 stages of the Pekoe Trail not least for its winding through vast tea estates. These landscapes are working environments, shaped by nearly 200 years of women’s tea plucking history.

Understanding that changes how you experience the trail.

Tips for a richer experience:

• Learn a bit about tea production before you go

• Use local transport where possible

• Hire a local guide if you can. I’ve trekked with @Sarathwijayawardane and @Virajdodawaththa and their insights add completely different layers to my journeys

• Support small tea factories and local shops along the way

What Makes These Treks Different?

Compared to Adam’s Peak, these routes offer:

• No crowds

• More time and space

• Real interaction with local communities

• A chance to travel more consciously

Final Thoughts

Sri Lanka is full of incredible trekking trails, but what makes them truly memorable is the interactions you have along the way and the pace at which you move through them. When we approach trekking with this in mind, even the simplest path becomes something unforgettable.

Go Further Than the Guidebook

If this way of travelling excites you, it’s exactly what I explore in ‘Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide’ –  a journey I made on foot from Galle in the south to Point Pedro at the country’s northernmost tip.

For me, trekking has become less about the destination or reaching the peak, and much more about connecting in a way that leaves a positive impact on the places I visit.

Check out my homepage for the background to my book ‘Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide’ and read a free downloaded chapter