Lived Experience

Hiking had always been my passion

For four years I was seriously unwell — often housebound, often bedridden. I couldn’t hike. Some days I couldn’t manage a twenty-minute walk

Doctors couldn’t explain what was happening. Tests didn’t give a clear answer. Eventually I was diagnosed with ME/CFS and Long Covid. The physical suffering was real.

But there was another layer: the slow grief of watching your identity shrink — especially when your deepest passion is the outdoors and your body won’t cooperate.

Small steps

On New Year’s Eve 2024 I was very low.

Even though I felt terrible, I went out and camped overnight in nearby woods — not because I was recovered, but because I couldn’t bear being trapped in illness anymore.

I managed the night and returned home. It didn’t “fix” me.

In March I tried again — one more night — and came back feeling terrible.

At the time, these trips weren’t about recovery. They were about refusing to fully disappear.

Pattern recognition

The turning point

In June I tried again — this time further away, near the coast, far from towns.

That night I pitched my tent at the ruins of a church at Covehithe. I felt really sick.

I called my wife, thinking she could pick me up and I could go home. “You’re already there," she said, "Your tent is pitched. Stay the night. If you still feel awful in the morning, I’ll come and get you.”

I stayed. And in the morning I woke up feeling just a little better — not cured, not suddenly well, but noticeably improved in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Small steps

The next day I walked five or six miles and found another place to camp. I had moments where I thought I might keel over. But I stopped, pitched the tent, and slept.

The next morning I felt quite a lot better. So I carried on.

And on day three I woke up feeling almost normal — for the first time in years.

Importantly, I didn’t connect any of this to EMFs at the time. I didn’t have a theory. I assumed it was fresh air, movement, or just the vagaries of fate.

But I kept going, because I finally had something I hadn’t had in years: hope.

A clue I couldn’t ignore

The turning point

I ended up hiking the Suffolk Coast Path.

When I reached Felixstowe, I told my wife I was feeling good and wanted to continue — and she encouraged me.

That night I stayed in an Airbnb in town. The next morning I noticed something immediate: I felt tired and wired again — for the first time in many days. I carried on anyway.

And as soon as I cleared the outskirts of Felixstowe, that unwell feeling lifted.

That was the first time I seriously considered this might be environmental — not psychological, not “in my head,” and not random.

An unintentional pilgrimage

My journey continued, and although I didn't set out to go so far, after 4 years of isolation and illness, I felt that I had to continue.

I hiked the entire length of the country over the summer, hiking the Pennine Way, and St. Cuthbert's Way, until I finally crossed onto Lindisfarne island at low tide.

I walked the old pilgrim's path that had been used by travelers walking to the monastery since the year 635.

After weeks spent alone, far from the disconcerting undercurrents of modern life - I had finally reconnected with myself.

I had hiked over 500 miles - when just a few weeks before I had hardly been able to get out of bed.

A strange symmetry

From ruins to rebuilding myself

I spent the first night of the turning point in the ruins of Covehithe Church.

I reached the end at the ruins of Lindisfarne Abbey.

I didn’t plan that. But it felt like the journey had its own quiet structure — as if something long-broken was being rebuilt, one night at a time.

And the entire way through, my wife was keeping me steady behind the scenes — telling me she could come and get me at any time, and giving pep talks when I was struggling.

Stepping back

What I said — and what I didn’t know how to say yet

The BBC covered part of this story. Read it here

They wanted to cover my story because it seemed a message of hope for others whose health might have seemed irrevocably damaged after the pandemic.

At the time, I still didn’t know how to articulate the EMF piece — I didn’t have language for it, and I didn’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist. But I had very strong suspicions, and set out to understand the science, and why it seemed so confusing.

This site exists as a testimony to what I learned. And because I eventually realised: I did not imagine my recovery, and I have replicated the result time and again. I don't know why I got so very sick from EMF exposure, but I think that I am only the canary in the coal mine and others must be sick as well without realising the cause.

If EMFs made me sick, then they must be making others sick too. And if reducing my exposure has helped me to live a normal life again, then that too can work for others.

One of the many beautiful views I enjoyed on my hike across England.

Go deeper

Want something more concrete?

This page stays intentionally personal and non-technical. If you want the structured material—what people report, what has been studied, and why disagreement persists—use the routes below.

Guided route: Start the slides Follow the full narrative in sequence (25 parts). Reported symptoms & patterns What people commonly describe—without claiming causation. Evidence landscape Why the science looks settled — but isn’t. Why it’s contested Where disagreement comes from, and why it polarises.

Prefer practical steps? Start here: What you can do.

Where to go next

If this resonates, the next step is to follow the guided sequence, or—if you prefer— begin with the Science overview and explore at your own pace.

Start the slides Explore: The Science