A route design practice built on fifteen years of walking the same paths in different seasons
In 2009, three of us took a week to walk from Exeter to Plymouth without using main roads. The OS maps showed bridleways and footpaths we had never noticed. That walk taught us that Britain contains multiple geographies occupying the same space: the Britain of motorways, the Britain of rail lines, and the Britain that only walkers can see.
We started mapping alternative routes for friends. Then friends of friends. By 2011 we were doing this full-time, though none of us quite remembered deciding to make it a business.
For the first three years we optimised for efficiency: shortest routes, best viewpoints, reliable accommodation. The routes worked but felt generic. Then in 2012 a geologist walked one of our Highland routes and sent back eight pages of notes about what we had missed.
He explained how to read glacial valleys, why certain plants only grow on specific rock types, how Bronze Age people chose settlement sites based on water and sightlines we could still identify. We realised our routes were ignoring most of what made landscapes interesting.
That led to a complete redesign of our methodology. We started working with specialists: archaeologists, botanists, industrial historians, people who could teach us to see layers we had been walking over blindly. Routes became slower, more specific, focused on teaching observation rather than achieving distance.
Every route begins with research, not walking. We spend weeks studying old maps, parish records, geological surveys, anything that reveals why a landscape looks the way it does. Then we walk the area repeatedly across different seasons to understand how weather and light change what is visible.
We test each route with walkers of varying experience. Beginners often notice things experts miss because they are not yet trained to filter out details. Advanced walkers help us identify where paths become dangerous in poor conditions.
Not because they are inferior, but because they are already well-documented. The Coast to Coast walk does not need our input. What interests us are paths that appear on old maps but have vanished from modern guidebooks, or routes that connect interesting fragments in ways nobody has described before.
We maintain relationships with landowners across England, Scotland, and Wales. Sometimes we negotiate access to concessionary paths that are technically public but unmarked. Other routes use only official rights of way but sequence them in unexpected patterns.
We are seven people working remotely across the UK. Three of us design routes, two handle logistics and accommodation coordination, one manages documentation, and one focuses on updating existing routes when conditions change. Nobody works from an office because offices are useless for this kind of work.
We walk continuously. In any given month, at least two of us are in the field testing new routes or verifying old ones. This is expensive and time-consuming, but it is the only way to produce route notes we trust.
We do not design routes for speed records or fitness challenges. We do not create circular walks that start and end at car parks. We refuse commissions from tourism boards because they inevitably want routes that highlight specific attractions rather than revealing authentic landscapes.
Our routes serve walkers who want to understand terrain, not conquer it. If that sounds pretentious, it probably is, but it keeps our work focused.
Landscapes change faster than most people realise. Coastal paths erode, forests are cleared or planted, landowners close access points. We walk every published route at least twice per year to verify conditions and update notes.
Sometimes we withdraw routes entirely. Three years ago flooding destroyed a key bridge on our Pembrokeshire coastal route. Rather than reroute around the gap, we retired that route because the replacement path would have been inferior. Maintaining quality means accepting when something no longer works.
We are currently developing routes in areas we previously ignored: industrial landscapes, post-mining regions, agricultural flatlands. These are harder to romanticise but often more interesting than mountain scenery once you learn how to read them.
The goal remains unchanged: help people see Britain as something other than a backdrop. Walking is the method, but attention is the real practice we are trying to teach.