The Scafell Pike hike!

In February Sam and myself set off for the Lake District looking forward to some sunny weather but disappointed to be walking in regular conditions, far from that we found on Snowdon. Snowdon was meant to be our warm up, but we both agreed it could end up being the biggest challenge of all 3 peaks. As we got closer we found ourselves driving the Wrynose pass, taking us through spectacular countryside and up some 30% ascents. Pleased to still be alive we made it to the most excellent B&B in Boot. Boot was a fantastic place, it comprised a ½ mile road with 2 pubs / restaurants, a post office, phone box and B&B. Everything we needed.

On arrival we were straight into our first challenge: freeing Sam’s car from the boulder he had accidently reversed over. As men of action we soon had this sorted out! We were met by the B&B owner who was very friendly and offered us lots of advice for the tomorrows hike. Snowdon had left us with bags of confidence but this shouldn’t be confused with complacency. We had still brought all our kit and planned our route even more meticulously than last time. We had heard many stories of people getting lost on the summit plateau. That evening we enjoyed a few drinks and some great food in the pub before heading back to the B&B and sitting in front of the open fire.

The next morning we woke early and headed out on the 45-minute drive to the base of Scafell Pike. When I booked the B&B I noted that it was only 9 miles away from the mountain but forgot that this was the Lake District and the roads were slow going. On the way we passed Wastwater in all its splendour. So spectacular on this particular morning we had to stop and take some photos.

We eventually came to the start of the walk at Wasdale Head and in no time at all we headed out and up the mountain. Almost instantly we came across a field full of sheep, but these were no ordinary sheep. No, these we mountain sheep. The difference being that regular sheep seem to be relatively small and run at the first sight of you. These mountain sheep were the size of lions and starred at you like a bull. We walked swiftly and I couldn’t help but think how I would explain my injuries if attacked by one of these beasts. I’d be forever known as the man who went to conquer a mountain and got beaten up by a fluffy grass eating sheep.

We quickly started to ascend the mountain and soon became surrounded by mist. The path was very easy to follow and we regularly consulted my map and compass to ensure we were on the right route. Our first point of real excitement, with the exception of the sheep, came as we had to cross the mountain river. I was pleased with myself after crossing the river relatively easily with a hop, skip and a jump. I’m usually guaranteed to fall over when it comes to anything such as this. To my surprise it was I who was waiting for Sam! Sam attempted a number of routes but was scuppered by his own short legs. This was a rare occasion, it made me laugh. 10 minutes later Sam navigated the river successfully only to fall flat on his backside whilst walking towards me. At this point it really was like we had swapped roles. Jokes aside it was a pretty bad fall but fortunately for Sam resulted in no more than a few bruises.

We continued up the extremely steep path where I was grateful for the extra fitness I had gained over the previous two months. I had been running every other night. That said, the ascent was punishing and Sam continued to cope much better than I, although even he admitted he was pleased to have frequent rests. Before we knew it we came to a break in the path. To the left was the slow, steady and relatively boring path to the top. To the right was a hands and knees scramble to the top through a gully. Up until the day of the walk I had been experiencing some serious knee pain and my immediate thought was that risking damaging my knee on the scramble would be reckless. We had hoped to be able to see what both options looked like but the mist put a stop to that. We reluctantly agreed to take the long winding path and set off that way. Minutes later as we were on our slow and long path to the top the sky cleared. We got a fantastic view of the scramble up Mickledore Ridge and the sight of it was too much to resist. We immediately changed our course. As quick as the skies cleared the mist returned and we were back in next to zero visibility.

Upon arrival at the gully we realised the scramble, whilst exciting, wasn’t particularly challenging and as such we both swiftly ascended it to the ridge. On the ridge we knew we weren’t far from the summit, maybe 30 minutes. The OS map referred to a nice straight path all the way but we soon realised this path no longer existed. In it’s place was a winding path marked out every 10 meters or so with small cairns. The difference from the route described on the map was quite staggering and as such it rendered the map useless. We continued to follow the cairns and eventually reached the summit, only to find it populated with about 20 people singing camps songs. A disappointment indeed.

We quickly scoffed some Mars bars and took some photos before heading back. We decided to take the path down rather than the scramble as we met people coming down the gully which seemed to prove much more difficult. Without an obvious path we followed a bearing hoping to come off the mountain on a) the right side and b) the right path. We did.

The route back was fairly easy going on the lungs but the rocks and stones made it punishing on the feet and ankles. No problems to report on the knee though. Good news. We descended the route with relative ease and within sight of the car I was pleased to have nearly finished the hike without a slip, trip or fall. Of course I then fell flat on my back twisting my already injured knee. I didn’t appear to have done any major damage so we continued on back to the car.

My relatively newfound fitness had paid off. I didn’t feel anything like I did on Snowdon. Tired yes, but exhausted no. That night saw us return to the pub for some well deserved food and drink before heading back to the flats of Cambridgeshire the next day. 

Snowdon lives up to its name!

After a week of what the national media described as “the worst winter in 50 years” we reached the Pen-y-Pass car park at approximately 9.30am on a cold Saturday morning in December. We began the inevitable faffing about putting on our layers, boots, backpacks and more. The car park gave me cause for concern as we were 1 of just 3 cars parked there. Another bout of ‘are we doing the right thing’ hit me. That said, we were here now and we were going to start the walk. We were safe in the knowledge that we were following a path and could turn back at anytime.

The conditions were such that we immediately called upon our crampons for extra grip. In hindsight we were probably just excited and in reality we could have put them on much further up the mountain. That said off we went with our spikes biting beautifully into the fresh snow. Almost instantly all my doubts disappeared. The scenery was epic, some of the most stunning snowfall I have ever seen. There were just two sets of footprints in front of us, just enough to help guide us up the path, but also few enough to indicate that we were not going to get caught up in any crowds.

We must have stopped three times within the next hour to take off layers. We were learning very quickly that layers were best left in your backpack and only taken out when standing still. I couldn’t believe how hot I was in the arctic temperatures. I felt good that we were already gaining valuable experience.

Ascending the Pyg Track we were well aware that the first mile or so was quite heavy going and I soon realised that my fitness was seriously lacking. At no point did I think I wouldn’t make the summit but I was appalled at how weak I had become. I vowed to return home and undertake a new fitness regime to ensure I was fit for the future mountains. I am pleased to say I did and am doing just that. With lots of short rests we were soon overtaken by small groups of late starters. Whilst there were now more people on the mountain we were still plenty happy as we knew the numbers were very small. It was good to stop and chat to a few folks and everyone was very friendly and encouraging.

We continued plodding our way along the track with the snow getting deeper. Within a couple of hours we were walking in 2ft of snow with more coming down around us. It was spectacular. ‘We could be in the Alps right now’ I remarked. And we could have, the snow was like nothing I’ve seen in this country. As we progressed further I realised we would soon be approaching the dreaded ‘zig zag’ section of the walk. This was the final steep ascent followed by a gentle stroll up to the summit. The zig zag was always referred to as a potentially hazardous spot in the winter. In fact one climber had died there two weeks ago. I put this out of my mind any carried on.

When arriving at the base of the zig zag I was shattered, planning on having a rest I was shocked to see Sam, who was and is much fitter than I, straight off and up the path. I reluctantly followed. To my surprise the zig zag wasn’t anything like described by the internet scaremongers and the sensationalist headlines of the Daily Mail. It was a wide path ascending the mountain quite steeply. You could certainly fall here but most falls would stop within a couple of meters and result in no more than a bruised ego. A really bad fall and some really bad luck could certainly be fatal but the path was perfectly manageable in the conditions we were in and with the right equipment. We observed a number of ill prepared walkers attempt this section without the use of crampons and the result was laughable. People on their hands and knees trying to ascend this steep section left me pleased we had been so prepared. We continued to give the path the respect it deserved and slowly ascended the face.

At the top of the face the temperature dropped significantly but I was so hot from our ascent that I didn’t need any extra layers. At a snails pace, no doubt frustrating Sam, I walked the final ¾ mile to the summit. On arrival we took shelter next to the café, which was closed for the winter. All shut down it looked like a secret military facility in Siberia. We added a number of layers and ascended to the Cairn to take some photographic evidence. At the Cairn my hands were so cold that I suggested not taking any photos as I would have to take my gloves off. I reconsidered and took a snap of Sam as quickly as possible. Sam returned the favour. I would later find out that the photo I took of Sam was pretty poor as I did it so quickly, whilst the photo he took of me was of much better quality. I felt quite guilty.

I sent some texts to concerned family members to confirm our safety and then we began to make our way back down the track. We met lots more people coming up and were glad we had started early and avoided the crowds, although relatively small. Coming down the mountain our sense of urgency disappeared and we took time to enjoy the stunning views and speak to fellow climbers. Lower down the mountain we even met some Europeans having a picnic in the snow. Much respect.

With every step I felt more and more achievement and I have to admit a strong sense of ‘I told you so’ towards all the doubters. We had done it right. We planned, prepared, acted cautiously and as a result achieved one of the greatest challenges we had ever undertaken. Later in the day on our journey down we met a good number of people with very little kit and no idea of where they were going and how long it might take. These are the people we read about in the news I thought. We both concurred that they would all have to turn back at the zig zag, as there were not equipped with crampons.

We returned to the car park at 3.30pm full of pride and completely knackered. After a brief stop at the pub we headed back to the B&B and relaxed with a drink in front of the fire, recounting the day’s events. The next morning we couldn’t resist heading back for a short walk before heading home. Back at Pen y Pass we decided to walk the miners track at the base of Snowdon but stop before the final ascent. My legs didn’t thank me but my eyes were very happy. A day of Alpine conditions made some great photos.

Making a mountain out of a mountain!

It was a typical Saturday night in September, just me and my friend Sam sat in the Oliver Cromwell after a few beers in a few pubs prior. The Oliver Cromwell is a pub of inspiration for us. Is it something about the pub? Or is it because it’s always our last stop on our Saturday night crawl? Either way countless trips had been planned under this roof, some of which we undertook, others of which remain in our ambitions, trekking to the North Pole included!

Tonight we revisited a long held ambition to scale the 3 peaks of the UK in one winter season. Far from the easy trekking of summer we looked with great delight at photos of snowdrifts, blizzards and iced waterfalls on my iphone. 

Winter trekking was something different; something undertaken by few, dangerous, and the winter conditions would make it a real achievement. Lets face it, reaching the summit of Snowdon in summer only to be greeted by train riding tourists and a coffee shop removes the sense of isolation and achievement that a mountain should bring. Even worse when you’re scaling Ben Nevis only to be passed by a charity group dressed as the 118 guys and carrying a friend in a wheelbarrow!

We were both well aware of the risks involved but also recognised that at large these risks could be mitigated by our own preparation and healthy respect for the mountains. We would ensure we had all the right kit, knew how to use it, paid attention to the weather forecast and planned our route to the last detail. Besides, we had watched enough Ray Mears, Bear Grylls and documentaries about Everest to consider ourselves experts without even setting our foot in the snow! I jest.

We decided to warm up with Snowdon in December, tackle Scafell Pike in February and finish with Ben Nevis in March. That gave us a couple of months to buy / dig out all the kit we needed:

1.      Ice Axe

2.      Winter Rated Boots

3.      Crampons (the spikes attached to your boots to grip the ice)

4.      45 litre rucksack

5.      Waterproofs

6.      Hat and Gloves

7.      Trekking Poles

8.      Survival Bag / Kit

9.      Maps / Compass / Torch / Water Bottles.

10.    Base / Middle / Outer Layers

We soon accumulated all the kit and diligently read up on how to use it. Granted this was no substitute for a course in winter skills but one has to be realistic. These courses, whilst invaluable, cost a lot of money. We were confident that our approach would minimise most of the risks but also recognised that accidents can happen to anyone. (Later, after setting out on Snowdon we soon realised that whilst woefully inexperienced we were far more prepared, considered and knowledgeable than the majority of people we met on the mountain that day).

Preparing for these trips was all very exciting but that swiftly ceased after sharing our intentions with friends, family and colleagues. Well meaning friends and colleagues pointed to sensationalist headlines referring to the deaths of ill prepared wannabe mountaineers, helicopter rescues of ice climbers and stories of avalanches and freezing conditions. Unsurprisingly this knocked my confidence, what are we doing I thought.

The biggest reaction of all came from my mother. After informing her on my imminent Snowdon trip over the phone I was met with hysteria. “You cant! It's to dangerous! It's lethal!” Her comments made me feel reckless and I almost let her fear convince me not to go. The recent death of a climber on Snowdon didn’t help my confidence or my mum’s anxiety either.

A day later with my nerves shattered I was angry at the reactions of my friends and family and it was this anger that ended up spurring me on to complete the mission. Yes life would be safer sat on a couch but who wants to live like that? Yes people die on mountains, some as a result of inexperience and knowledge but some by just plain old bad luck. We weren’t most people; we were approaching this in the right way. Maintaining this attitude was hard as undoubtedly every person who has got into trouble on a mountain started with the exact same thoughts. I was confident we weren’t them.

Writing this after completing the Snowdon trip in 3 foot of snow I can say that everyone we met was impressed with our level of preparation and experienced mountaineers were encouraging us all the way. There wasn’t a single person who had concerns for our safety. Indeed, we were reassured we had approached this in the exact right way.

The sensationalist nature of British journalism would have us locked up in a padding room for the remainder of our lives. Unfortunately people don’t question the stories they read and the result of this was clearly displayed in the reactions of some individuals. I should point out that there were a number of friends, family and colleagues who had a much more objective few about our undertakings and I’m grateful for their encouragement.

We can’t let the influences of the media and other individuals make our decisions. I made my own decision to climb the 3 peaks in winter and I made it through a careful consideration of all available information. If I had listened to the fears of others, and without question, I wouldn’t have made it out the front door. Having now completed a winter skills course and winter climbs on Snowdon, Scafell, Creag Meagaidh, and a number of mountains in the Cairgorms, I maintain that I entered the world of winter mountaineering in a safe manner.