The Samaria Gorge in Crete. One of the longest gorges in Europe – a 16km hike through the breathtaking White Mountains. But once you start, there’s no turning back until you reach the sea at the very end. With a seven-year-old and a baby, could we do it? And could we do it by 5.30pm in time to catch the only boat that would take us out?

We’d been advised not to do it. Not with young children. One of Matt’s colleagues laughed at the suggestion and the people we booked the trip with recommended taking the easier, quicker option that started at the sea and only took you a short way into the gorge.

But hiking the Samaria Gorge had been one of the main reasons we’d chosen to go to Crete for our annual holiday. And our neighbours had done it with young children, carrying them by the end. The fact that they are amazingly fit triathletes was something I chose to ignore.

We weighed things up. Goobie easily hiked the 7km Adonis trail on the Akamas Peninsula earlier in the year. And he ran 5km in a charity race shortly afterwards. Matt felt confident Goobie could do it but said he’d carry him if it came to it. I’d walked a 21km half marathon with Herc in March, though Herc was a few kilos heavier now and this hike would be much more challenging. Mainly though, it was the time I was worried about. Could we finish it by 5.30pm?

But there’s only so much ruminating you can do.

So we booked it.

I was still feeling uneasy when we boarded the coach at 6.00am and travelled south, through the mountains to the start of the hiking trail. I looked down at Goobie and Herc asleep on my lap. What were we taking on?

The journey was beautiful; the morning sun glinting off the sea in the distance as the coach climbed higher and higher. We passed tiny mountain villages, the white walls of a church gleaming on a nearby peak.

The coach stopped at Omalos, a settlement on a high plateau next to the entrance to the Samaria Gorge. We all had breakfast in a restaurant there and I fed Herc, hoping he’d sleep for the initial, most challenging part of the hike down the steep side of the gorge. From the restaurant, it was a short walk to the start of the trail. We were 1230m up and all I could see were steps snaking downwards into an abyss, the sheer white walls of the mountains towering overhead. It was 7.45am.

The Samaria Gorge is situated in the National Park of Samaria and is closed throughout winter due to high water levels of the river that runs through it, making it impossible to cross. It’s also closed on rainy days due to the risk of rockfalls. Our trip had already been postponed once due to rain and as we started our descent into the gorge, it started to rain lightly, drops reaching us through the trees we were walking under. Would this turn into a storm as it had on previous days?

I’d been told that the first couple of kilometres into the Samaria Gorge are the hardest. Many people find the constant downhill climb hard on the knees. My knees twinged a bit but what made it challenging for me was making sure I didn’t slip. There were steps and railings but many of the rocky steps had been worn smooth by countless hikers and were slippery. I couldn’t fall, not while I was carrying Herc. I took it extremely slowly, head down, considering where to put my feet with every step. We’d brought hiking poles with us and these were an absolute godsend. I’d recommend hiking poles for this hike, even if you aren’t carrying a baby. Matt was carrying our provisions in a heavy rucksack and his poles helped him too.

We walked on under magnificent pine trees, Goobie eager to scoot ahead, me calling him back, not wanting to be rushed. After about 40 minutes we reached the 1km marker. In order to catch the boat at 5.30pm, we had to complete the hike in under ten hours. If we allowed 30 minutes per kilometre we’d have an hour and 45 minutes to spare. There were also three rest stops on the trail where we’d need time to eat and feed Herc. There was no way I could feed Herc on the go as I’d done in the half marathon – the route was too treacherous. So really, 30 minutes per kilometre was the absolute slowest we could afford to go. Already, one kilometre in, we had time to make up.

But not on this stretch. It was too dangerous to pick up the pace.

Shortly before the 2km marker we reached some loos in a wooden hut. They were squat toilets, thank god – always more sanitary than sit-down loos in this kind of environment. I was impressed by how many loos there were on the trail – I didn’t have to use my infamous she-wee once.

Further on, we reached one of many springs in the Samaria Gorge. These springs are a life-saver because they mean that you don’t have to carry litres of water for your entire hike. Just one bottle each to fill up on the way. The water was cool, fresh and totally clean.

Just before the 3km marker, we reached the dried-up riverbed. We had made it down! And our pace had increased to 30 minutes per kilometre. Soon after the 3km marker, we reached Agios Nikolaos, the first rest stop. There were more loos, a spring and a rangers’ station. We saw many of the child-free hikers who had passed us on the way down. It was a relief as I didn’t want to fall too far behind.

Although we weren’t hiking with a group, the company we’d booked the hike with did supply a guide. Our guide set off an hour after us and reassured us that she would remain behind us to ensure that we made it safely to the sea. This was some comfort, though as we ate snacks and I fed Herc, she advised us that we’d need to make the next rest stop by 11am if we wanted to complete the hike in time. Basically, we couldn’t fall under our 30-minute-per-kilometre pace – not even if we got tired later on.

We rested for 10 minutes and carried on, stopping for a look in the tiny Agios Nikolaos church as we went. Apparently there used to be a temple of Apollo in this area too.

Now we had made it down the steep side of the gorge, the route was easier. Though not as easy as I’d anticipated. I still had to watch every step as we crossed and recrossed the river, climbed banks and boulders. We missed the 4km marker but my Fitbit told me we’d increased our pace to 25 minutes per kilometre.

Just before we reached 5km, Goobie slipped on a boulder and fell in the stream. He cried then brushed himself off and carried on. I was surprised – and impressed.

The next few kilometres to the second rest stop took us through stunning scenery. We had to keep stopping to take it all in, not wanting to look up while we were walking in case we fell. Matt took most of the photos while I clutched my hiking poles.

The crowds had thinned out now, with many hikers overtaking us. I was surprised by how many people were in the Samaria Gorge, but we were hiking in May – the optimum time, as it’s usually dry and not too hot. Apparently up to 2000 people can hike the gorge a day.

After the 7km marker we reached our second rest stop, the uninhabited village of Samaria. The village of Samaria had been inhabited since Byzantine times and has a colourful history. It is here that people fled from Turkish invaders. There were feuds with Venetians over a beautiful maiden and the allied forces hid here during the Second World War. It was inhabited until 1962 when the National Park was established, forcing the villagers to leave.

For us, with its loos and shaded benches, Samaria village was the perfect place to stop for a quick lunch. I fed Herc while Goobie took photos of a Cretan goat or kri-kri. Kri-kris are rare and now mainly live in the National Park.

You are advised not to sit down for more than 30 minutes as your muscles can stiffen, so we didn’t stay long. Time-wise we were bang on schedule but, as we passed the 8km marker, I knew we were only halfway through and we might slow down big time in the second half.

As it turned out, I was given a major kick up the arse by our guide. She came up to us as we were leaving Samaria village.

‘I can see you like taking photos,’ she said, looking at the Nikon in Matt’s hand. ‘But on this next bit, where the gorge narrows, don’t stop to take photos. You need to walk fast. It’s windy and the kri-kri on the mountains can make rocks fall.’

Once upon a time, this might have made things more exciting. But not when Goobie and Herc were with us. I looked at Herc’s pink, tiny head and felt a rush of fury towards myself. How could I be so irresponsible, putting my baby at such risk? I didn’t know that there was a risk of rockfalls, but I hadn’t checked either. I later found out that a couple of people had died after being hit by falling rocks a few years ago.

But there was no turning back.

Despite my heart hammering like the clappers, this section of the Samaria Gorge was, perversely, my favourite. It was utterly stunning. The forest path took us to the wide dried-up riverbed and much of the trail involved hopping over the rocks. We passed the 8km marker and ahead we saw the sheer walls of the gorge extending hundreds of feet into the air.

I felt tiny and vulnerable and filled with awe. I wanted to stop to soak it all up and I wanted to run as fast as I could to get through without being hit by rocks. I couldn’t do either. It was too rocky to run and I couldn’t risk slipping and hurting Herc.

Instead, I hopped, like a kri-kri, from rock to rock, my footing confident and steady. I hunched over Herc so that, should a rock fall, it hit me and not him. I raced ahead, oblivious to my tired legs and the sun in my face. The distance between me and Goobie grew and I felt torn. He was my baby too – shouldn’t I protect him as well? But Matt was there, walking just behind him.

But Goobie, seven-year-old Goobie, who looked so tiny against the intimidating walls of the gorge, didn’t give up. He didn’t slow down. Instead, he sped up and by the time we approached the 10km marker, he was right behind me again.

He followed me over little bridges made of logs, along tiny paths at the bottom of monster rock faces, hopping over stepping stones in the river. Never complaining, never scared. Just continuing on. Singing Eurovision songs to himself. His resilience was as awe-inspiring as the gorge we were walking through.

We reached the 11km marker and followed the trail as it cut through the centre of an almighty landslide. But the trail looked reassuringly worn. This landslide hadn’t moved in a while.

Finally we were through the dangerous bit and reached the third rest stop, Christos, in a shaded glen. We sat down at a picnic bench, relieved, and watched the birds while I gave Herc another quick feed. We did a time-check and saw that, incredibly, our pace through the last few scary kilometres had increased to 15 minutes per kilometre. Our fastest kilometre had been 12 minutes! Quite a change from our hour-per-kilometre pace on the Aphrodite Trail a couple of years ago.

I also realised that I hadn’t heard a single rock fall.

We couldn’t stop for long and headed off towards the most iconic part of the gorge, the Gates. At the Gates, the Samaria Gorge becomes so narrow that you can almost touch both sides. It was here that in 1770, 200 men defended the 4000 women and children that had taken refuge from the Turks in the gorge. The Turks were forced to retreat. The same thing happened in 1821. In 1867 a Turkish army of 4000 troops failed to gain entry through the Gates. The gorge has been protecting its people for hundreds of years.

We walked through the Gates, marvelling at how nature had created the perfect fortress.

By the 12km marker, the gorge had widened again. We were surrounded by pink flowers and pines. Utterly beautiful.

The actual gorge is 13km long and on that final kilometre, the vertical rock walls grew less vertical, less steep. We could now feel the sun beating quite fiercely on our faces, all signs of the morning’s rain gone.

And all too quickly, we reached a different sort of gate, the way out of the Samaria Gorge. Here we surrendered our tickets and stopped for some ice-cold fresh orange juice. We had done it!

We were all tired but we still had another 3km to walk to reach the sea. We ignored the mini-buses offering lifts – to us, that would have been cheating.

The final 3km was an easy, but hot, walk. We spotted a couple of Venetian bridges and the Agios Antonios cave church nestled in a hill. We didn’t have the energy to climb up to it.

And then, finally, Goobie spotted the sea! A Well Done! banner of blue shining in the distance, offering the promise of cool water and rest.

Our pace quickened and before long we’d reached the outskirts of Agia Roumeli village. When the Turks couldn’t gain entry to the Samaria Gorge in 1867, it was Agia Roumeli they took their anger out on, burning it to the ground.

Today, Agia Roumeli is still only accessible via foot or boat. At first glance it looked like it had been built solely for the purpose of feeding weary hikers and putting them on the boat back to their hotels. But there is more to the village than that. As well as the many tavernas, there are places to stay here if you want to enjoy the area for longer. Nearby is the archaeological site of Tarra, an ancient city dating back to the 3^rd century BC. And up on the hill overlooking the village is the imposing fortress of Agia Roumeli. It takes 30 minutes to walk up there apparently.

Not a chance.

The only place my feet were walking to was the sea. I was ready to combust. Agia Roumeli sits in a pretty bay with a black sandy beach. We found some sunbeds, kicked off our shoes, put on our swimmers and headed to the sea. It was deliciously freezing! My first sea swim of the year. Ahhhhh!!!!

Refreshed, we had a drink in a taverna while we waited for our boat to arrive. We checked our watches – we had completed the hike in 8 hours and 15 minutes – with 90 minutes to spare! I looked at Goobie, drinking his juice. He’d done so well. He’d properly started to tire during the last 3km when we’d been walking in the sun. But he hadn’t complained, hadn’t asked to be carried. Just a constant, cheerful ball of depleted energy. Many grown-ups couldn’t have done what he’d just done. And I know I’d never have been able to do it when I was seven.

God, did we let him know quite what a spectacular thing he’d achieved! As did the guide, fellow hikers and the hotel staff at Flamingos that night. His eyes shone with pride. He knew.

Finally, the boat arrived and we waved goodbye to Agia Roumeli and the Samaria Gorge – and the amazing adventure we’d had within its walls.

An hour later, we were in the coach being taken back to our hotel in Chania. And Herc and Goobie finished the day as they’d started it. Asleep on my lap.