The crow
12 August 2026
Have you ever lost your temper with a crow?
In the early evening of my first full day of my Edinburgh to London walk, I stumbled towards Melrose with creaking hips and shattered shoulders. It’s a familiar feeling: for the first few days of any long endurance effort your body is still getting used to what is being asked of it. Usually these gripes subside by the third or fourth day, but knowledge of this doesn’t help at the time. In any case, this was relatively early in my journey career so I wasn’t so familiar with the phenomenon. I was broken, and I needed a rest. The path approaching Melrose inched along the river Tweed.
Eventually I found a lovely stone beach on the banks of the river. I threw my bag down, unclipped the buckles, and raised up the plastic bag of food I had stashed inside. I took a swig of water. Relief.
Among other things, the plastic bag contained a tupperware filled with cakes. Before leaving Edinburgh, I had been attending a conference and was quite pleased with myself for having the foresight to pack a couple of the leftover afternoon snacks for the journey ahead. The cakes had been a source of great impatience during the day, and I was looking forward to finally getting some sugary energy in.
And the water looked inviting. So inviting. There are few treats during a long walk - save perhaps those sitting in the tupperware previously mentioned - that match the allure of a cold plunge into freshwater. It seems to reset your senses and washes away any previous complaints your body had with your behaviour. The Tweed itself is a river with some meaning to me. I cycled up the valley on one of my formative cycles - eventually passing the source - and of course it forms much of the England - Scotland border. I have passed over it on the train at Berwick-upon-tweed more than 50 times as it is on the east coast line from London to Scotland.
Anyway, I was lying down on my sleeping mat, on the stone beach, on the bonnie banks of the Tweed. I decided to have a quick dip in the water before eating properly, and of course the cakes were in my line of sight. So I got changed and gingerly stepped across the stones into the cold water. I must have been about ten steps away from my bag - and a couple of steps into the water - when I looked back and first noticed the sudden appearance of a jet-black crow in the tree overhanging my basecamp. There was a mischievous look to it. I can’t gender the crow - they’re essentially impossible to tell the difference between in appearance - but it feels too alive to refer to as ‘it’, so I will call the crow ‘Crow’. Crow hopped down from the tree onto the stones. I didn’t think anything of it, so I continued into the river. By the next time I looked back, Crow was ever closer to my bag, and, I realised, my precious cakes. Protectionism took over and I walked back to shoo the bird away. Crow hopped back. I thought that was that. So I returned to the water, and each step of mine was matched by a hop from Crow in the direction of my bag. By this point I was fairly exasperated at the ordeal - I just wanted a quick swim and wash - so I thought to myself, ‘well, everything I have is covered and sealed’. And yet, every time I looked back, Crow was avoiding my eye contact; suddenly looking the other way, pretending the proximity to the cakes was simply by chance. It would not have been out of context for an innocent whistle to accompany this behaviour. But I ignored my worries and continued into the water. The next time I looked across, Crow was right next to my tupperware. I saw its beak smash into the plastic. Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack. Oh dear. That was all I could take - I ran back over and, again, Crow hopped away innocently looking in the opposite direction as if I was just being overly-anxious. I picked up the tupperware and there was a gaping hole. The cakes were relatively unharmed. Phew. But I was riled up now. Ready for a fight. I gave Crow a stern talking to. I quickly gobbled up some of the more substantial sandwiches I had packed before turning my attention back to the ransacked tupperware. Then I looked around and saw that in our commotion we had attracted a crowd (crow-d …) Some of Crow’s peers had obviously decided to come and watch.
My appetite had subsided slightly by this point - I guess I didn’t particularly fancy the prospect of cakes which had been pecked at. Caught between grudging respect and indignant resentment I grabbed a cake, broke a piece off, and - making sure to catch the attention of both Crow and the crows - threw it across the stony beach. The crows immediately flew down from the trees and began fighting each other for the piece of stale two day old cake. This gave me a crumb of satisfaction, and soon after I was on my way.
Crow had induced a reaction from me larger in magnitude than anyone, possibly ever.