This is the seventh of a series of point to point walks on the Chiltern Way. The full trail is a 177 miles (285 km) long distance path around the Chiltern Hills National Landscape. My friend Brian and I have been doing a section a year on or around the Winter Solstice since 2019. At the current rate we plan to be finished in December 2027. The Chiltern Way is well sign-posted however you should take a map or GPX route to keep on track and be prepared for all weathers. This post isn’t intended as a fully accurate turn-by-turn guide.
There is a quiet, poetic symmetry to the Winter Solstice that a simple calendar date can’t quite capture. This year, the 7th occasion of my annual trek with Brian, we managed to bookend the day with almost mathematical precision. We stepped out into the pre-dawn chill exactly 20 minutes before the sun broke the horizon, and we crossed the finish line in Marlow Bottom exactly 20 minutes before it dipped away again. We didn’t just walk the trail; we occupied the day. We claimed every minute of the year's shortest light.
It felt like a hard-earned reward from the universe after a busy fourth quarter. In years past, the "Solstice Walk" has often been a battle of attrition. We’ve been caught out by the elements: weathering thunder, lightning, and the kind of driving December rain that turns a path into a psychological test. But 2025 offered a rare truce. The air was crisp and bright, the kind of cold that keeps you moving but doesn't bite through your layers. Despite a week of heavy rain leading up to the walk, the trails were surprisingly forgiving—a mix of firm ground and tarmac that allowed us to look up at the scenery rather than down at our boots.
As we walked, our conversation followed its own familiar, geological strata—a four-phase evolution we’ve refined over several years of miles. We were laughing at the structure of our own friendship, acknowledging the predictable patterns our brains fall into.
The morning began with Phase 1: the "Essential Download." We bridged the gaps in life, work, and family that had grown since the summer, reflecting heavily on my 50th year and the vibrant memories of my recent trip to Japan. But as the sun climbed higher, we transitioned into Phase 2: Technology. While previous years’ conversations were a discussion of home automation and gadgets, this year was dominated by experimentation with AI.
We wove a long, meta-discussion about the role of Gemini and other models in our creative lives, including the writing of this website. I shared my philosophy: using AI to "get the ball rolling" and handle the heavy lifting of deep research, but never letting it sit in the driver's seat. It was a conversation that actually prompted me to use Gemini to dictate the first version of this post during a post-walk session in the hot tub—capturing the "raw" story while the muscles were finally relaxing.
Phase 3: The cultural exchange of Brian’s book lists and our movie reviews was punctuated by an incredible stroke of "pub luck." In a tradition often marred by "Closed" signs and ill-timed breaks, this year was different. We reached The Stag in Flackwell Heath at 12:00 sharp, just as the key was turning in the lock.
We were the first souls through the door, beating even the chef to the pub. We decided to lean into the comfort, stretching our lunch to a full hour as the "Stag Special" burgers did the heavy work of refueling our systems. The ease of the morning's walk meant we were already two-thirds of the way through our route, and that "ahead of the clock" feeling turned a simple pit stop into a celebration. We followed it up with a short, 2km hop to The Crooked Billet in Sheepridge, a classic, old-fashioned spot that felt like a relic of a different century. A small drink there served as the perfect transition into our final stage.
Phase 4 is always the most tactical. It’s when the conversation shifts from the cerebral to the physical—calculating kilometers, measuring the remaining daylight, and eyeing the finish line. The final 7km stretch toward Marlow Bottom was straightforward and serene, bathed in that low-hanging winter sun that turns the Chilterns into a gallery of gold and grey.
We finished exactly as we started: in the twilight. Having walked the literal span of the day, we reached our destination with 20 minutes of light to spare. It was a perfect 7th chapter to a tradition that, much like our conversations and our pace, only seems to find more rhythm with age.
