What really happened in the hills

The Three Peaks Challenge, September 2013

A bit of a marmalade revival so I've got somewhere to share the write up of my latest adventure. For general background, see my story on http://www.justgiving.com/Amy-Wackett

The Three Peaks is seen as a ‘well trodden’ very achievable challenge. And it is, but as some of our group (me plus a group from a law firm that supports Aspire) discovered, it isn’t quite a walk in the park. On top of the walking, there is also the sleep deprivation, weather conditions, travel sickness (hurtling around the winding Lake District roads will turn even the strongest of stomachs) and a good few hours of walking in darkness.

Ahead of the challenge, we spent a night (reminiscent of a year 7 residential) at a Welsh youth hostel close to the foot of Snowdon. Then, well stocked up with toast, radioactive jam and individually wrapped weetabix, we set off in the pouring rain up the Pyg Track via the Miners Track. It was pretty standard Wales, with the very occasional rain let-up and brief opportunity to take my hood down and get some relief from the rustling.

Unable to tell whether the rain had seeped through all the Gortex, or it was just cold against my skin, I powered on, determined to catch up with the speedy guys at the front. Whilst I could match their pace from a distance, actually reaching them became futile so I soothed my competitive side by remaining in the top third.

Our summit was brief. It was cold, I'd foolishly neglected to put gloves on, and you couldn't see a damn thing. So back down again, gloves perched on the ends of my claw hands until they loosened up enough to get my fingers in to the... fingers.
 

Down and down, it felt twice as far as up. I found someone who just about matched my pace, but we'd completely lost track of who was ahead of us. We did pass a couple still on their way up, which was a bit a concern if we were planning to complete the challenge in 24 hours. I finished in 3 hours 20 for that one, including some extended stops at the beginning, before attempts to stay together were abandoned. It turns out that only two had been ahead of us! 

A minibus, a dry top and socks, instant coffee and a hot sandwich and I was a new woman. Adorned with hanging wet stuff, the minibus gradually filled up with group members as my body heat returned. We set off for the Lakes rather late- about 2 hours behind schedule; damp and sleepy. The roller coaster ride through the winding Lake District lanes was a bit if a wake up call, and made for some slightly green faces.

When we finally piled out of the buses, it was starting to get dark. Despite severe warnings against it, we faffed extensively. The public toilets were closed, walking poles were required and needed some adjusting. By the time we set off we caught only a glimpse of the view behind before we step-stoned across a river and focused on the ascent.

Visibility was very low by the time I relented and switched on my head torch. Some steep climbs and wet rock scrambles later, we were on the loose rubble that surrounds Scafell's summit. It must have been around 10pm by this point and I'd reached that strange, imaginative state when you've been in your own head a bit too much.

"Hey, this is what it would be like to walk on gravel if you were really really tiny", and so on.

We were met by two men who had lost the other two in their party but were assured that the lost pair had phone signal and were not in danger. Eyes and ears open as much as they could be in those conditions to listen out for them.

A quick group shot at the summit, lit by head torches and rain reflections, and we headed back down, staying as a group so as not to rack up the missing persons count. There was no sign of the Two, but we got word that Mountain Rescue were on the way up (one of the guides being ex Mountain Rescue and one being current). 

Meeting a very happy search and rescue dog was a highlight, as was having a stand off with a Scafell mouse that clearly couldn't see past my head torch to establish that I was something to run away from.

An article later turned up that detailed the not-so-dramatic rescue that night... http://www.grough.co.uk/magazine/2013/09/09/lost-scafell-pike-walkers-failures-lead-to-frustrating-six-hour-rescue 

Now, sleeping on a minibus is not ideal. Neither is finishing your second mountain climb at midnight with no epic pub meal to fill your boots, or shower, or even reclining seat. But I was elated from the dark mountain adventure (and being the fastest Scafell climber!) and endured the six bumpy hours under a fleece blanket.

 
Amazingly awake at 5 or 6, or whatever it was, it was a case of cramming in some fruit/nuts/whatever else was around, toggling up and heading off from the car park at Glen Nevis just as it was getting light. Our final climb was relatively uneventful but equally rain-free and we were rewarded with a stunning view for most of the way up before hitting the clouds, not before spotting a few ptarmigans (I'd first casually dismissed them us funny looking mountain pigeons until the people behind me started getting excited).

After about three quarters of the distance, the group had spread out so much that our guide, Zac, waited to gather members in the middle and three of us continued to the cloud covered summit alone.  

"Don't fall off the North Face!" Zac called.

When we reached it after a couple more steep climbs, it's sharp drop, obscured by cloud, was tantalising. I have to go back and see that view on a clear day...

The barren, rocky summit was eery in the cloud. Stone constructions loomed out of the white mist, each cairn appeared to float in to sight until we found the highest point.

It was cold up there after a very warm, sunny climb. Fleeces, gloves and hats on, chocolate consumed and we were off back down. Our speediest member decided to run it, and quickly disappeared leaving Phil (seasoned hill walker and bird enthusiast) and I to skip, hop and jog our way over the rocky 'path'. After an hour or so, every impact was bone shaking. Ben Nevis had been making me increasingly aware of my own skeleton as the aches seemed to reveal the position of every bone from hips down.

The descent seemed to go on for ever. More and more walkers, many very inappropriately dressed, were heading up, giving as admiring looks for being so far ahead so early. And as we got closer to the end, it felt further and further, pain mounting in my toes, ankles hips, shoulders and rucksack chafe points.

Some ran the last bit but I couldn't even manage a jog. It's not quite the glorious finish line of the London Triathlon, a couple of blokes with a minibus, but it was better- personal, like they were with us all the way. A big congratulatory hug from driver Simon, a freshen up and change of clothes in the visitor centre toilets. Fatigue, relief, elation. 

People arrived in quick succession. Having missed our Scottish breakfast, the only option to re-fuel was a McDonalds take away, after which I suddenly couldn't keep my eyes open.

It's a strange, sleepy end to such a challenge. Everyone anxious to get home (and Glasgow is a long way from it). The exhaustion hit hard and didn't really let up for three days.

So I'm proud to say that my individual times were well within the required 14 hours to qualify. I can cross two more mountains off the list (although Ben Nevis will need a re-match on a clear day).

Thank you all for the support, it's what made the challenge happen, and will make it possible for someone with a spinal cord injury to buy vital equipment to give them their independence back.

And I'm on to the half marathon, my biggest challenge yet. Fuelled by coconut water and Swedish House Mafia, training is going well. Just over a week to go. £250 still to raise. It's not over yet!

If you'd like to support me, I'll be massively grateful, and I promise that if I do a similar write up of the half marathon, it won't be nearly as long.

Donate online at: http://www.justgiving.com/Amy-Wackett