Such a beautifully written book, Pathfinding is not only for the mothers amongst us but for everyone who values walking as something cathartic and balancing in their lives. Kerri Andrew’s is a walker but now she is a mother as well and here she explores her thoughts and feelings around her abilities as a mother and as someone who has always walked for pleasure. As she walks through the different terrains in the North West of England and in Scotland she meets fellow women who are often on the same journey as she is herself. Together they compare their stories of the ups and downs that motherhood can bring and learn from each other that things are not always meant to be easy but mountains can be climbed and though everyone is on their own separate journey there are always similarities and a huge amount of help and support through each other. This book is part memoir, part history book and part nature writing and the three come together with a beautiful balance. I loved it.

What a book! I will say it at the start so that if you read nothing else you will know my thoughts: this one is a keeper. Of course, I am the perfect audience for it, being a relatively new mother, and being passionate about walking and hiking. It astounded me that these two things would intersect for others and not just myself, and reading Pathfinding made me feel seen and gave me new insights into motherhood as experienced by others. I think it’s a valuable read for non-mothers too, for its invaluable insight into the postpartum experience and the ways women change when they become mothers, but I do think some interest in the act of walking and in the natural world will be necessary to appreciate this book. Though I have to say, Andrews paints a stunning picture of her surroundings so that even those who may not have a natural tendency to notice the natural world may find the sudden urge to do so… Pathfinding is a beautiful amalgamation of memoir, travelogue, and history: as the author embarks once again on paths that early motherhood forced her to abandon, she is not only tracing her own feelings, but also referencing the writing of historical women who walked. Particularly, historical mothers who walked, both with their children and as a way to cope with parenthood. I had no idea that through time this was such a common theme, especially among authors, and to read about the ways people did so before our many modern contraptions to carry our children for longer distances is amazing. To be connected down the ages through the act of walking and mothering is a powerful feeling, and Andrews provides just the right amount of detail to make that stand out. This look back on history also shows how some things haven’t changed: society doesn’t often look kindly on mothers who walk, especially in more extreme environments. It is seen as undignified, as an unnecessary risk, as unladylike. And these are things the author talks candidly about struggling with, wrestling with her past self who had conquered the slopes of Scotland and with her current body that has been softened and weakened by childbirth. I appreciated that she did not shy away from showing the worst parts of her experiences, both in motherhood and walking, because it created a much more realistic image than that seen today on social media. Yet her love for her children shone through, and I had a sense of hope as I read her journey, thinking of the times ahead when she – and therefore I – will be able to share her love of walking with them. Andrews writing style is easy and conversational, feeling almost as if she were talking to you as you both ramble up a hillside. There are asides, there is laughter, there are tears, and there is satisfaction in reaching the end. Her anecdotes slot perfectly into the accounts of her walking, and I found myself being able to visualise the paths as she took them. Reading Pathfinding filled me with a longing to get out, to stride along hilltops and through forests, to discover the hidden corners of where I live and to journey to far flung places and explore them. It is a door cracked open on a possibility, and I know that the world beyond it can only be great.