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Never say never

  • Writer: pac
    pac
  • Apr 24
  • 3 min read

Updated: May 1

Sub-title: there's only so many years left


I don't think that it's equivocation to keep one’s options open. My justification – if indeed that’s what it is – is that one can’t be certain what’s around the corner. With a few fundamental exceptions, locking yourself into a closed position may not necessarily be all that smart.

That’s not to say that I’ve haven’t actually done it a few times – the most notable being when, in 2010, after an incredibly special trip to the Himalaya I said something to the effect of “that was awesome but I won’t do it again”, only to return to the mountains another six times. That experience, with the benefit of wonderful hindsight, told me that saying never was not only untrue but potentially limiting. My subsequent trips to the Himalaya have been wonderful in so many ways, and I could have missed them had I stuck to that very first assertion. The lesson: never say never.

When we finished the first half of the Via Podiensis in October 2024 (refer to https://www.an-impossible-dream.com/post/yin-yang for an overview), I thought that that would be the end of my travels in that part of the world. I didn’t say so, at least not explicitly, but I did believe that to be the case; even though on that occasion I don't recall that I actually said the “never” word. And so it’s funny how the world evolves, because over the last many months we have decided that doing the second half of the walk – in my case finishing that which I didn’t complete two years earlier – would indeed be a good idea. Sure, I had my fair share of physical challenges over the first half, and maybe they'll pop up again, but hey, never say never.

So in just 49 days we’ll board a bus from home here in beautiful, peaceful rural Yallingup to Perth International Terminal for multi-hop trip to Paris, and then a couple of days later on to Cahors, our end point a couple of years back. We’ll spend another couple of days there before crossing Lot River over the 14th century Pont Valentre (pictured), climbing up what looks like an impossibly steep hill, and then strolling for 23 days and some 400 klms to St Jean Pied-de-Port, the end point of this journey and the start point of our very first Camino in September 2015.


As the start of the journey gets closer I realise how thrilled I am by the prospect of the walk. I’m certainly logistically prepared (transport, accommodation and all those things) and maybe sort of physically prepared (well maybe not as fit as I probably ought to be). But mentally, psychologically, spiritually, I’m set to go. I think that that’s why I can now write this – these words have sort of been rattling around my head for several weeks, and now they’re ready to come out and show themselves to the world.

Which brings me to a rather sober here and now viewpoint. Realistically I have relatively few years left; at least three-quarters of my life is behind me – perhaps 80%, or maybe even more. That leaves only so many years left to embark on a journey like this, and the other things I’d like to do before it’s too late.

The world is an extraordinary place, notwithstanding the craziness being wrought upon it by the madman in the White House (I shake my head in disbelief and hope that somewhere, somehow, a level of common-sense might prevail, not that I’m all that optimistic). We all have some sense as to how extraordinary it is, but just in case you'd somehow missed that, the crew of Artemis II proved it with some of their amazing photos, like the one below.

And even if I’ve only got 25%, or 20%, or even less of my life left, I’ll give it a good shot to get out and live it as best I can.

Never say never, you just don’t know what’s around the corner.

Nighttime picture of Earth taken on April 2, 2026 from Artemis II. Photo courtesy of NASA
Nighttime picture of Earth taken on April 2, 2026 from Artemis II. Photo courtesy of NASA

I’m not normally a regular blogger, and I’m far from being an influencer by any definition of the word, but if you are interested in following this little journey please feel free to subscribe if you’ve not already done so. I promise you some nice photos, a few anecdotes about French food and wine, perhaps some tales of joy and woe from the path, no doubt some stories about Janet, and maybe some life lessons gleaned along the way.

And all being well, there'll be an update every day ...



14 Comments

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Clare Patrick
Apr 28
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

Amazing and inspiring. I think about being on the Camino all the time and would like to go back.

Buen Camino, Janet and Peter 🥾

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Lynda
Apr 27
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

“Never say never, as you’ll start nevering like you’ve never nevered before!” an old saying my Mum would repeat and now I hear in my mind whenever I start nevering.

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Greg
Apr 25

50 years on and you continue to inspire! Maybe there’s one more in me. Buen Camino

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Barbara - Shouvle
Apr 25

Wow, can't believe it. You have my deepest respect for this adventure. And, Peter, your words are inspirational - about how much time of life is spent. And that we should use the time, without fear (in my case) for new adventures, and already keep on staying curious. Maybe we have tha chance to meet up here in Europe at the end of your journey.

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Alistair
Apr 25
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

You guys are an inspiration!! Look forward to hearing all your adventures.

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Peter Campbell

Peter Campbell is a traveller, photographer, author, and occasional business advisor.  He lives on Wadandi boodja (country) in the south-west corner of Western Australia. The Wadandi (Saltwater people) are the traditional owners of land upon which Peter lives with his wife Janet and Golden Retriever puppy Harper. He lives in a peaceful rural setting surrounded by tall trees and in the company of kangaroos and parrots and kookaburras alongside the Indian and Great Southern oceans.  He can be contacted at this email address.

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