Walking the White Mountains: A 100km Journey Through Crete’s Wartime Past

The call when it comes is a blow, but it isn’t entirely unexpected…

“Hi Claire, I’ve just been told that the Kiwis are cancelling due to the ongoing situation in Iran. They’re not going to be able to fly to Crete via the Gulf States, so they won’t be making the walk this year…”

For a moment, everything we’ve been planning seems to hang in the air, suspended. Months of preparation and anticipation, uncertain….

Since January, Craig and I have been planning and training for a long walk: 100km in four days, from the Aegean North Coast at Tavronitis, west of Chania, to the tiny southern harbour town of Hora Sfakion, right on the edge of the Libyan Sea.

Tavronitis on Crete's North Coast and Hora Sfakion in the South

The walk is designed to follow, as closely as possible, the path taken in May 1941, when the Nazi invasion and capture of Crete’s strategically vital airfield at Maleme forced thousands of British, Greek and ANZAC troops to retreat southwards. Their path took them over the jagged spine of Crete’s White Mountains, in a desperate bid for evacuation.

This is the 85^th Anniversary Year of the Battle of Crete, and Craig and I had planned to follow directly in the footsteps of my Great Uncle, Royal Marine, Harry Palmer who arrived in Crete just two weeks before the battle began. Alongside other walkers from the UK and New Zealand - some of them also relatives of those who fought in Crete - we would remember, reflect and honour the sacrifices made by soldiers and civilians alike.

Royal Marine Harry Palmer Ex2759 MNBDO

Preparation has been both practical and emotional. We’ve spent months studying sections of the route, recceing footpaths and tracks on the ground with organising members of Crete’s Commemorative Committee. I’ve taken photographs and video clips, checked out possible rest stops, and identified accommodation. We’ve tested out new walking apps. Broken in new boots…

It’s been exciting – and daunting.

It will be the longest distance Craig and I have ever walked together in one concentrated period of time. We’ve asked ourselves the same questions over and over. How much water, food and equipment will we need? How many changes of socks and how much insect repellent can we realistically carry? Will our aging knees and ankles hold up? Will we keep up the pace if it’s hot?

Will we keep on going when the going gets hard?

Souda Bay Allied War Cemetery, Vryses and the War Memorial, Hora Sfakion

In early February, I drove between Chania and Hora Sfakion, clocking distances by road, realising just how long the stretches of rough countryside are between settlements. Descending from the Askifou Plateau towards the south coast, there was nothing between me and the horizon but sea, sky and gravity. On the promenade at Sfakia, between the tavernas, massive rocks lay scattered, hurled up from the sea, metres below the harbour wall. It was a reminder just how wild and inhospitable Crete’s landscape can be.

And yet, the landscape is also simply breathtaking. It is impossible not to be excited about walking south from Chania through the Apokronas foothills and up into Crete’s White Mountains. When we were recceing again on the Askifou Plateau in early March, the high peaks were blanketed by snow, even as spring was arriving in the lower pastures. Everything was alive with promise, from the goats grazing on rocky hillsides, kids springing after them, to the Griffon Vultures wheeling in the sky.

I found myself wondering whether Uncle Harry saw snow too - whether he shaded his eyes to watch the birds overhead. What did he feel? Fear? Hunger, certainly. Relief when he found water? Did the rocky terrain destroy his boots as other soldiers reported? How did he manage to carry equipment on his sun-blistered back? I imagine his constant awareness of danger - the weight of not knowing whether he would make it. Did he think about what came next? Freedom, capture, or worse?

On the final day of my March recce, hot and dirty after a climb and descent at Malaxa above Souda Bay, those thoughts about the realities of war crowded my head again. I was standing at the black marble ANZAC Battle of Crete Memorial at 42^nd Street, when, without warning a fighter plane slammed directly overhead, the roar of its engines ripping through the silence. A few days before, the mighty aircraft carrier, the USS Gerald R Ford had sailed from Crete to the Middle East to support US military action against Iran.

42nd Street Battle of Crete ANZAC Memorial, Tsikalaria

War then, war now. Global tensions shaping decisions, changing lives - altering plans…

And in a call now, those same global tensions preventing people from gathering to remember. The irony is hard to ignore: A walk to commemorate the sacrifices of a long-ago battle impacted by modern geopolitical warfare.

And yet, Craig and I have agreed that we will still be joining the smaller group to walk The Battle of Crete Allied Evacuation Route. We’ll be doing it, not just to remember the events of May/June 1941, but also to raise funds for Worldwide Cancer Research, a charity that funds projects in 34 countries, including Greece, New Zealand, Australia, Germany and the UK.

Perhaps all the many layers of remembrance will make our pilgrimage mean even more? Remind us when we set out from Tavronitis, dipping our toes in one sea, before our boots find another, that lives are fragile. Peace is fragile –

And remembrance matters more than ever.

If you would like to support us on our ‘big walk’ and make a donation to Worldwide Cancer Research, please follow this link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/claire-craigs-very-long-walk-4-worldwide-cancer-research

Thank you.

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If you like this article, you might also like to read about the first journey I took after discovering my connection to Crete’s wartime history:

And in anticipation of Greek Easter, my blog about what Greece’s biggest celebration of the year really feels like: