TraceysTrek

Angela always said I was crazy. And perhaps she had a point. Back in 2020, I did my first firewalk. There is something rather strange about deliberately taking off your shoes and walking barefoot across red-hot coals, but I absolutely loved it. Ever since, I’ve been itching to do another one.

I actually had one booked last year, but unfortunately it was cancelled at the last minute. So when another opportunity came along, I invited Danny and Sara to join me. What better way to spend a Saturday evening?

This time we were heading to Tir na Nog in Balfron for a Lammas Firewalk. Apparently, Lammas is traditionally associated with harvest time — a moment of abundance and gratitude in the year, when we pause to appreciate what our hard work has brought us and give thanks for the natural world and its many wonders.

Before we were allowed anywhere near the hot coals, our instructor gave us a little history of the ancient and modern practice of walking barefoot across hot coals and embers. The firewalk ceremony is seen as a symbolic rite of passage — leaving something behind and stepping forward into a new way of being.

We were each given two candles. A black candle represented the bad things or negative energy we were carrying with us, while a white candle represented the future — our hopes, wishes and positive energy.

One by one, we lit our candles and placed them amongst the stack of logs that would become our fire. I popped mine in and, as the fire took hold, one of the black candles promptly fell back out. Danny was absolutely convinced it was mine. Clearly deciding that my negative energy was NOT going to escape that easily, he rushed forward to put it back.

Unfortunately, by this point the fire was raging. Danny is quick. But not quite quick enough. There was suddenly the unmistakable smell of singed hair as the flames caught his fringe! Fortunately, that was the only damage done.

We stood watching the fire grow, feeling its fierce heat as the wind fanned the flames. At times it looked like a dragon breathing fire into the night. Eventually the burning logs collapsed in on themselves and we headed back inside to let the fire burn down.

Angela always said I was crazy. I can almost imagine her watching me standing barefoot in front of a bed of glowing coals and shaking her head at me.

“What on earth are you doing now?”

While we waited, we were encouraged to draw or write something representing our future — our hopes, intentions or whatever we wanted to carry forward with us. It reminded me of doing drawing and painting with the kids years ago as we all sat on the floor scribbling away.

Then came the next challenge. Arrow snapping. This is based on a ritual designed to act as a physical metaphor for confronting fear and committing fully to a goal.

The principle is simple. The reality is slightly more alarming. A wooden arrow is placed with its point against the soft area at the base of your neck. The other end rests against a board held by somebody else. You take three deep breaths. Then you step forward. Not tentatively. Not half-heartedly.

You have to commit and move straight through the fear until the arrow snaps.

Meanwhile, your fellow firewalkers chant whatever words of encouragement you have chosen. There were various choices throughout the evening, ranging from “Fuck yes!” to “Courage!”

Mine? “Go girl!”

Three breaths. Commit. Forward. SNAP! Phew! The arrow broke.

Surprisingly, Danny and Sara decided they were quite happy to sit this particular activity out. I can’t imagine why.

After a safety briefing, it was time to head back outside.

The huge fire had now burned down. All that remained were a few charred logs, the occasional lick of flame and an enormous pile of glowing red-hot embers. Our instructor raked and patted them into a long, flat pathway.

This was it. Shoes and socks off. We were told to look ahead into the distance rather than down at our feet. To think about where our future was taking us and then walk purposefully across the coals.

One by one, we stepped forward. There is something incredibly exhilarating about doing something every instinct tells you really shouldn’t be doing.

Danny made it across, only for a couple of hot coals to stick to his foot at the end. He shouted “Ouch, you bugger!”

Sara, meanwhile, made us laugh because she is quite small and seemed to tackle the firewalk using absolutely enormous comedic strides. Perhaps she thought the fewer times her feet actually touched the coals, the better!

Once everyone had crossed individually, we were invited to do it again — either alone or with somebody else. Danny and I decided to walk together. Hand in hand, we crossed the fire. Then, because apparently once wasn’t enough, we did it again.

Eventually, when everyone had done quite enough walking on fire for one evening, the embers were extinguished and we all retreated to the café for that most British of post-firewalking rituals: Tea and cake.

The resident cat had taken a particular shine to Sara and seemed to appear wherever we went. We later discovered his name was Chancer. Very appropriate.

We thought our adventures were over for the evening. They weren’t.

From Firewalkers to First Responders

It was about a 30-minute drive home through the dark country lanes. We had been driving for around 15 minutes when a car coming towards us flashed its lights. Almost immediately, we saw why.

A car had left the road and crashed into a tree. I pulled over, put on my hazard lights and the three of us jumped out.

There were four young people inside the car and fortunately the airbags had deployed. The vehicle had automatically contacted the emergency services and, thankfully, the driver was able to speak to them. The crash had literally just happened.

As we helped prise open the rear doors to get the passengers out, there was suddenly an enormous crash beside us. A huge branch fell from the damaged tree. For a split second, our rescue could have resulted in several more casualties. Fortunately, it missed us.

The two young lads in the back managed to get out relatively unscathed, although both were understandably in shock and struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

I took them to my car, sat them in the back and checked them over while Danny and Sara stayed with the driver and front-seat passenger as their doors were damaged.

Amazingly, all four had managed to walk away from the wreck with what appeared to be relatively minor cuts and bruises from the shattered windscreen and seatbelts. I did what I could to clean the cuts, checking for any more serious lacerations from the glass.

Then the rain started. By the time the paramedic arrived, all four were sitting inside my car, keeping warm and dry. The young woman who had been in the passenger seat was shaking badly and seemed particularly shocked, so I asked the paramedic to check her first.

The paramedic had blocked the road from one direction and gave Danny and Sara a large torch so they could warn traffic approaching from the other side and bring it to a halt.

Then more vehicles began arriving. Friends of the driver had received an alert about the crash through their 360 app and came to help. They were soon followed by the police, two ambulances and the driver’s parents.

Once all four occupants were safely inside the ambulances being properly assessed, there was nothing more for us to do and we were able to continue our journey home.

The car, sadly, wasn’t going anywhere. It was an absolute write-off.

Quite a Saturday Night. So our supposedly short journey home turned into something rather different.

Earlier that evening, we had deliberately put ourselves in situations designed to make us confront fear. We had snapped arrows against our throats. We had walked barefoot across burning coals. We had talked about leaving negative things behind, looking towards the future and stepping purposefully forward.

Then, just a short while later, we found ourselves faced with something none of us had planned for. No preparation. No ceremony. No chanting of “Go girl!” Just four frightened young people who needed some help.

Thankfully, everyone appeared to be okay and we were simply glad that we happened to be there and were able to do something useful until the emergency services arrived.

It struck me afterwards that perhaps there was something rather fitting about how the evening unfolded.

A firewalk is supposed to be about stepping through fear rather than allowing fear to stop you. Sometimes you choose the challenge. And sometimes the challenge simply appears on a dark country road on the way home. Either way, you take the next step.

But as I have thought about the evening afterwards, I kept coming back to those two candles. The black one representing the things we wanted to let go of. The white one representing our hopes for the future.

I don’t think you can simply put the difficult things in your life into a fire and watch them disappear. I certainly can’t throw my grief into the flames and walk away from it. Nor would I want to, because my grief exists because Angela existed, because I loved her and because we shared a life together.

But perhaps the white candle meant more to me. Since losing Angela, so much of my life has been about learning how to move forward while still carrying her with me. My trek was a huge part of that journey, but finishing those 5,108 miles didn’t mean the journey was over. In many ways, I am still working out what my future looks like.

And maybe that’s what I liked about the firewalk. We weren’t told to stand looking backwards. We were told to look ahead. To focus on where we wanted to go. And then to take purposeful steps towards it.

Perhaps that’s what I’m doing now. There are still things I don’t know. There are still moments when grief catches me completely by surprise. But there are also adventures to be had, people to spend time with, places to discover and plenty of ridiculous things that Angela would undoubtedly have called me crazy for doing.

I don’t want to leave her behind. I want to take her with me into whatever comes next. And so I keep looking forward. I keep saying yes. I keep having adventures. And I keep taking the next step. Sometimes it’s along a coastal path. Sometimes it’s into a completely unknown future. And occasionally, apparently, it’s barefoot across a bed of red-hot coals. Although next time, Danny might want to keep his fringe well away from the fire.