It had been a cold and short sleep on the floor of a moving
train. We’d left Bangor station at around 4.30am but it had taken a long time
to find a comfortable spot. By the time I’d just got comfortable, around
6.30am, the lights came on and an announcement of breakfast stirred us into
life and back into our seats.
The weather outside had not improved. We stopped off at
Carlisle whilst they changed engines on the train, much to the excitement of
any on-board trainspotters, and we were served with a good old-fashioned fry-up
to get us energised for the next leg.
Arriving at Ravenglass station in the Lake District, we
quickly disembarked and were herded on to another train. I’d heard we were
being transported via a steam railway but I’d imagined something a little more
substantial than what we were presented with. This was one of those little
locomotives that would normally chug around a Safari Park rather than a proper
full-size train.
As I’d walked from our train to this one I realised the
groin strain I picked up from the night before was more painful than I’d
remembered, even when I was walking across a flat, tarmacked car park. I
thought to myself that I just needed to warm up and then it would be fine.
I sat opposite Adam on the little open sided carriage,
wedged in with a couple from another team. We were both cold and wet and barely
spoke, other than to note the expression of the sheep in the fields as we
slowly chugged past them. They seemed to be observing this gaggle of humans
with some sort of curious amusement. It was if they were wondering what the
hell we were doing. I’ve never felt as if I’ve been judged by an animal before,
let alone a sheep, but if there are sheep words for ‘look at those bloody idiots’
then that was what they were bleeting to each other across the fields.
Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, but was probably
about half an hour, we arrived at Brackenclose where we were to walk for two
hours across hill and dale to the bottom of Scafell Pike. We set off via some
roads and all was well. The rain was continuing to pound down on us but we were
in reasonable spirits.
However we soon went off road and up a steep track. It was
here that the pain at the top of my leg (I hesitate to keep using the word
groin, it seems quite unsavoury) became more prominent. We clambered over a
raging stream and then across an undulating and boggy expanse of land.
By this time I was suffering badly. I was becoming slower
and slower in movement as each step became increasingly painful. Other teams
would pass me and my own team frequently had to stop and wait for me to catch
up. I told them what my problem was and Neil looked concerned.
“You can’t really walk off a groin strain” he observed as I
gulped down some Ibuprofen.
I, however, felt that was an unnecessarily pessimistic point
of view and was determined to soldier on.
As I dragged myself over the uneven hills I thought several
times about the mountain ahead. I knew it was going to be hard, I knew I was in
pain, but the worse thing as far as I was concerned was to give up.
I thought of all the people who had sponsored me. I thought
of friends and family and having to go home and tell them that I’d failed. In
the end I came to the conclusion that I hadn’t dragged myself through these
conditions in this much pain to just go and look at Scafell Pike. I was going
up it come hell or high water, the latter of which was looking more and more
likely as the rain fell out of the sky like the last days before the Great
Flood.
I have to pause a moment to say how beautiful the Lake
District is. Unlike the night before we could see the terrain around us and as
we came over the ridge of a hill the land fell away to a valley with a large
lake. It was a magical sight compared to the miserable greyness above and was
one of the few things so far that day that put a real smile on my face.
We arrived at the base of Scafell Pike and stopped to eat.
As we did so the rain, which was already heavy, got even heavier, as if someone
had flicked a switch to a ‘monsoon’ setting. I tried to eat my sandwich quickly
before it became too soggy and Alan held his vertically in a bid to keep it dry
for as long as possible.
I announced to the team I was coming up with them despite
the pain I was in and I then avoided their gaze as they looked at me with worry
in their eyes. We set off and from the outset I was slow and lagging well
behind. The terrain was hard from the start and we were soon on similar rock
steps as we had been the night before. This time I could see where I was going
but it wasn’t making it any easier. Every step was so painful that I cursed under
my breath so many times that I’d have filled up a ‘swear jar’ and now be entirely
bankrupt.
After about half an hour I caught up with the rest of the
team who, unusually, had all stopped to wait for me.
“How are you doing?” they asked. I considered my answer but
decided I had to go for honesty.
“Not well” I replied.
They looked concerned and Neil quietly said, “The terrain’s
like this all the way up, I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself”.
I knew what he was saying and I knew he was right. With the
heaviest of hearts I knew I had to stop.
“Go and rest”, said Alan, “then you’ll be able to have a go
at Ben Nevis tomorrow”. I didn’t want to hear this and I quickly agreed and
turned back down the mountain.
As I slowly and painfully headed my way back down to the
check in point I was grateful for the driving rain as it was hiding the tears
of frustration that by this time were rolling down my face as I passed other
teams battling the elements as they made their way up. I was desperately upset
and disappointed in myself and felt like a massive failure. Yet I knew it was
right, there was no way I was going to get to the top given the timescale and I
didn’t want to get us all stranded up there.
I made my way back down and through the medical tent, and
was pointed towards a pub some 15 minutes walk away. There I was reassured to
meet up with a whole load of teams, some who’d decided the conditions were far
too treacherous to even attempt the mountain. I chatted to two women, one was
limping after a trip and the other had nasty cuts and bruises on her face where
she’d fell the night before. We bonded with tales of our various injuries and
sat there with our clothes dripping whilst waiting for a coach to take us away.
As it turned out the rain then went from ‘monsoon’ to
‘armageddon’ and shortly after I had left Scafell Pike the decision was made to
turn all the teams around as the weather was making the mountain deadly, with
huge raging streams of water pouring off it.
We all ended up in ‘The Ratty Arms’ a nice little pub by
Ravenglass station. As I arrived it resembled a refugee camp, full of soaking
wet people huddled around a pile of rucksacks in the door. Some people were cloaked
in those foil blankets to keep themselves warm. I went inside, found a seat,
got myself a pint, sat down, and was shivering once again.
The train was delayed to pick us up so we had longer to
enjoy there. I was joined by a large team from Derby and we sat and talked and
laughed and drank whisky to warm ourselves up. Eventually Neil, Adam and Alan
arrived, cold and wet but safe.
When we eventually got back on the train it was quite
convivial, perhaps helped by the input of some alcohol. We all had tales to
tell, and every single one of us had gained a new and deserving respect for the
elements.
TOMORROW: BY THE FAIR BONNY BANKS OF, WELL, ER, LOCH LINNHE ACTUALLY.
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