When is a walk a failure? That is a funny question and I can’t think of anytime a walk itself could be considered so. I have had to turn back on mountains, but when this happens I see it as less of a failure and more of a reconnaissance trip. The mountains will always be there. Do I wish I’d climbed more in my early 30s? Sure, of course. But I don’t regret it. The conquering of the mountain was maybe a failure, but the walk, the hike, the adventure, the lesson, certainly was not.
A walk will often conjure new thoughts and ideas, even on very familiar ground, but equally, often it won’t, and this is hardly a failure either. For experience never can be, and there is an argument to be made that any experience outdoors surpasses an equivalent amount of time indoors. Outside our senses are fired, we are uncomfortable (in this weather anyway), instantly more active, and more in touch with our older primal selves. This is an area I would be interested in tackling more; how does one realise our inner ancestor, our dormant caveman? Is it possible? Is it easy? I don’t know. Maybe a walk is just the thing to bring that idea out.