Snowdon

I boarded the coach from Northampton around 8.00pm Thursday evening and headed for North Wales and Snowdon arriving in Llanberis around midnight. We were allowed two pieces of luggage, one an overnight bag for after the event which was collected and transported straight to Scotland, and a rucksack to contain everything we needed for the mountains. Despite the fact that it wouldn't begin to get light for at least another 3 hours people were setting off, so as there was nowhere to wait I decided to join them. The chosen ascent to Yr Wyddfa (1085m), the highest point on the Snowdon massif is from Llanberis via the old mountain track, past Hebron and Clogwyn to the summit cairn at 3560ft (1085m).

Having registered on the computer at the bottom and had my photo taken (left) I set off at 12.30am in complete darkness. After a little confusion about which road to take, myself and three younger fitter looking chaps strode confidently up the lower slopes. They soon left me behind and we turned off up a rocky track, by this time a torch was absolutely essential as the path became more difficult underfoot. I then fell in with three young women from Luton whose pace suited me better, this quartet stuck together in the darkness until well past halfway when conditions began to deteriorate as the temperature dropped in the mist and drizzle.

By this time it was getting very unpleasant and I became more focused on my own progress and subsequently lost the others, it had become extremely difficult to recognise anybody due to the necessary extra layers of clothing and headgear. The procession of people up the mountain was becoming more strung out, I found myself alone with no sign of life behind and a faint torchlight from the person ahead, this was incentive enough to keep me going, I had no desire to become completely detached. I began to catch up and pushed on to towards the summit, although I couldn't see I was sure there were cliffs not far away to my right so full concentration was required to keep on track. Then last section to the summit was up steep and slippy rock to a platform below the cairn, there were quite a few people there and it was time for a celebratory hot drink. It was about 3.00am, I didn't hang around too long and headed back down.

		The descent wasn't too bad once I'd passed the tricky upper section although I did begin to get my first blister which was a bit worrying with two more mountains still to go. I eased back the pace in a partially successful attempt at damage limitation. Dawn came around 4.00am and we eventually got spectacular views over Llanberis and the lake. I arrived back at base around 5.00am, my official time on Snowdon was 4 hours 29 minutes, I was on my way, but with the hardest parts yet to come.
Photo taken 3 months later by my younger daughter Alice during a school trip

After a bit of stretching and rucksack sorting at Llanberis I boarded the coach heading for the Lake District and Scafell Pike. A pleasant journey along the Welsh coast turned less pleasant when we hit the M6, but the traffic wasn't too bad and we stopped at a service station near Kendal to take on board water, hot drinks, and change into our second set of underclothes, T shirts etc. The coaches rendezvoused on the outskirts of Penrith and went down to Borrowdale at 10 minute intervals to avoid congestion at the village of Seatoller from where we were to begin our ascent. As we stepped off the coach it was 12.30pm and had just started raining, it did so for the rest of the day. In full waterproofs we headed up Grains Gill gradually getting wetter as the path became steeper and more treacherous. The trouble with most waterproof gear, apart from the extremely expensive variety, is that not only does it keep the water out but it also keeps the water in.
		Climbing mountains is a hard work and naturally enough you sweat a lot, even the ladies, so on a day such as this you end up wet inside and out but hopefully not too cold. I have to say that the ascent of Scafell Pike was one of the more unpleasant experiences I've had fellwalking, everybody else I spoke to felt the same. After two hours in unrelenting weather I had reached Esk Hause, a sort of crossroads on the fells. One of the mountain guides was keeping an eye on things, his opinion was not encouraging, I was just over halfway up with the worst weather and terrain to come. It was so awful that I seriously considered turning back, I was not alone, there were a few others wavering as well. After a few minutes though I decided I had come too far and set off again. I was tired and cold, a sheltered spot gave me a chance to sit down and have some coffee, I began to realise how important a hot drink was in these conditions, it warms from the inside.

I was feeling a bit better, a lady sitting on the next rock offered me a handful of lemon sherbets which really did the trick, thus fortified I headed for the top. The path disappeared, the way ahead was marked by red and white poles across boulder strewn terrain. This would have been hard enough dry but after several hours of rain the boulders were unpredictably slippy, so full concentration was required to ensure a safe passage. The summit of Scafell Pike is a tease, she makes you think you're almost there then the guiding poles disappear into the mist. It was now very exposed and the wind stronger whipping in rain and hail making your face and eyes sting, I began to question my sanity. At about 4.00pm a final short sharp climb took me to the summit and a huddle of bedraggled people sheltering behind a large cairn. A quick cup of coffee was followed by a hasty retreat. Photographs, you must be joking! The one above is from my previous ascent with my father in 1976 in much friendlier weather. The descent was hard at first but with gravity and the wind in my favour I was down by around 6.30pm. Official time on the mountain 6 hours 4 minutes.

Some weeks after the 3 Peaks I was in my local library looking through Alfred Wainwright's classic Lakeland pictorial guide 'The Southern Fells.' The Scafell Pike section contained the following words to which I could relate wholeheartedly.

"The ascent of Scafell Pike is the toughest proposition the 'collector' of summits is called upon to attempt, and it is the one above all others that, as a patriot, he cannot omit. The difficulties are due more to roughness of the ground than to altitude, and to the remoteness of the summit from frequented valleys. From all bases except Wasdale Head the climb is long and arduous, and progress is slow. This is a full day expedition, and the appropriate preparations should be made. Paths are good, but only in the sense that they are distinct, they are abominably stony, even bouldery, which is no great impediment when ascending but mitigates against quick descent. Ample time should be allowed for getting off the mountain."

The major problem on the 3 Peaks Challenge 2000 had been the weather on Scafell Pike. UK Outdoor Pursuits, who organised the whole event, later sent out the following communication to explain the rationale behind events on the mountain during the scheduled ascent on 23rd June 2000. The words are those of Wayne, the chief instructor, justifying his decision to stop walkers progressing to the summit after 4.00pm. I was fortunate having been one of the earlier starters I was actually hitting the summit around 4.00pm, others would be disappointed at not being able to continue.

"The weather forecast for the Lake District was not promising from the start and I did consider diverting all the coaches direct from Snowdon to Ben Nevis, but after talking to the other guides I did allow the Scafell Pike walk to go ahead. Lincoln (senior instructor, Scafell Pike), who was on the summit told me by radio that the rain was continuous and that there was a 25mph wind, this combined with a temperature of around 15° gave challenging but acceptable walking conditions. At 4.00pm I was told that the rain was increasing, this combined with the normal drop in temperature as evening approached resulted in what I considered to be unacceptable conditions for an event of this type. I went to the Esk Hause junction and told Mark, the instructor there to inform people they should not continue, myself and Lincoln walked to the summit and cleared everyone off. I really do hope that everyone understands that I did not want to cancel any part of the Challenge, but safety must come first. I realise some people were disappointed, but it was the correct and only decision to make under the conditions."

Back in Seatoller in the incessant rain we hung around waiting for the next coach. Soaked to the skin the main problem was how to dry my clothes before starting off up Ben Nevis, the highest mountain with the lowest temperatures. There was no way I was going to attempt the climb in wet clothes, it would be crazy and dangerous. We had a journey of around 8 hours ahead of us so I concentrated on using the heating to dry my various crucial items of clothing. After rotating hat/gloves/jumper/coat for some time I began to make some progress. I even grabbed a some sleep and by the time we arrived at Fort William for a 4.00am scheduled start my gear was acceptably dry and my spirits raised. A quick cup of tea and I hit the trail at 4.20am, it was a lovely clear morning, only the peaks shrouded in cloud. Most people were soon taking off their coats as the steep rocky path in mild conditions caused overheating.

There were superb views back over the lochs and valley as we moved on up to the bottom of the ascent to an invisible peak way above us. As we hit the cloud cover the temperature dropped noticeably and extra layers were immediately required. The long tiring haul up the steep zig zag paths to the summit became increasingly difficult, at one point I flopped down exhausted to have a cup of coffee and genuinely felt like going to sleep, not recommended at 4000 feet. I had an energy bar and an extended rest, this was to be the final push. I drove myself on and eventually found myself on a plateau of snow, a weird experience on June 24th. I was almost there, a couple of hundred yards following the poles across the snow field and the summit cairns loomed into sight (see above, photo courtesy of my father in 1979, it hasn't changed).

For a few seconds I was the highest person in Britain, it had taken 4 hours to get there. A fellow mountaineer recorded the moment, I'm the one in the centre in grey. My camera had got so wet on Scafell Pike the winding mechanism had seized up, so I could only take one shot. The return seemed endless and was very hard on the feet, blisters and bruises began to remind me of their presence. After 7 hours 14 minutes on the mountain I checked in at the bottom. It was all over.