Cartels, InstaMums, and a new plan.
Unless you’ve been deep in the stories or tracking the kilometres on foot, you might not know this: we’ve been working on a film.
This is not an epiphany-passion that rose from my final gasps for oxygen while nearly(not)dying at altitude (though I’ll concede that my love of celebrating culture has been reaffirmed). Filmmaking has been a frivolous dream of mine since I fantasised of becoming the next David Attenborough (though the people version) as an awkward high school teenager.
This film is the first in what we hope will become a series called Heading North, and I’m so proud of it—not just because it documents this untamed journey, but because it looks and feels different from your typical adventure flick. Think fewer hero shots, no laundry, and a focus on the surprise meetings that make continuing possible.
Our aim was to show a side of women in adventure that doesn’t usually make it into the highlight reel. The lonely bits. The uncomfortable bits. And the incredible people who enable you along the way.
Paddy Pallin loved the concept so much, they agreed to sponsor not just the pilot, but a second film too!
My unsuspecting buddy Cam from @knowstudio and I set to work, finding stories we wanted to share, in a place neither of us had been to, or were fluent in the language. So… we hired a local Mexican cinematographer, @benjamin_soto, whose footage brought the film to life by helping us access places we never would’ve found —and captured them with a style that puts you in the walk, not just watching from the sidelines.
Over before it began
I was halfway through the heat of Mexico when it hit me that I might not make it through. Not because I wasn’t fit or prepared enough. But because everything—the weather, the timing (summer), the criminal activity and recent collapse of power between two cartel groups—was stacking up against me. And I was running out of time.
So when Bailey created a reel that led to a group of insta-mums (and one insta-dad) project managing a fundraiser to Bring Bailey Back to support me through a climatically difficult, high-risk area, it wasn’t just a logistical win. It was a bloody miracle.
The cocktail-maker method of survival
Bailey’s a deadset legend. She didn’t just fly in and jump in a van. No. She jumped into a ticking time bomb of a glorified tin can… nearly got arrested bringing it into Mexico, and lived through the train-wreck of a support van that needed more support than I did… but that’s another story.
Bailey brought strategy. She turned survival into a system. At one point, she literally made my shirt into a protein shake—shoved it into a cocktail maker, filled it with water, and handed it to me like a chilled towel in a luxury spa (except it smelt like month-long sweat and regret). I wore it like armour. Cold, wet armour. But it worked.
She made the days doable. Helped manage hydration. Kept track of energy gels, food, electrolytes, and likely my general sanity. But most of all, she reminded me that even on this solo mission—I wasn’t alone.
Friendship, fatigue, and a 3:30 a.m. wake-up
We were up at 1:30 a.m., walking by 3:30. I’d knock out 20km before sunrise, all while half-asleep and full of caffeine gel. Bailey would try to force-feed me lunch, and I’d resist like a stubborn toddler, only to find snacks mysteriously appearing on the van dashboard.
And yet, it’s not just about the kilometres. It’s about the moments in between—the laughter, the conversations at dusk, the sweaty silences. It’s about how good company changes misery into madness… the good kind.
That’s the thing no one tells you about extreme endurance. It’s not just about strength or training. It’s a mind game. And when 99% of this journey has been spent solo, the presence of someone who just gets it, changes the game.
The pointy end
There are about 14 days of walking between me and the U.S. border now. The home stretch. And yeah, it’s exciting. But it’s also bittersweet.
Bailey’s leaving soon. We’re all pretending it’s not happening because, frankly, I’m in denial. I’m always gutted when someone leaves. I’m extroverted—I need people to refill the tank. And walking solo through these long, dry days? It empties you.
But she reminded me of the “why.” Of the community of women who are watching this journey unfold. Of the possibility that one woman can show others that yes—it can be done. That we belong here too.
So I’ll keep walking. Maybe a little slower. Definitely sweatier. But with a heart that feels just a little bit fuller.
Click here to watch the film and see the story that’s hard to explain in words—it’s dusty, emotional, and maybe a little sweaty—but it’s real.