Terry the Mountain Goat, Part Five - Final Thoughts

On our way back down south on the train we were all awarded with medals for completing the challenge. I didn’t feel like wearing mine as I wasn’t feeling terribly proud of my efforts.

As the journey went on though I soon snapped out of this short spell of gloom and began, with the other teams on board, to enjoy what we’d done. Some would say this coincided with the bar on the train opening for the first time but I couldn’t possibly comment.

We had an enjoyable trip back on the whole. There was a lot of laughter and it reminded me of what had been good about this. The camaraderie amongst teams had been great, the mountains had been challenging, we’d all got soaked to our skin by disgusting weather but we’d all done it together.

In the days that have followed I still feel sad that I only made it to one summit, but immensely proud that I made it to the top of what I think was the worst one, Snowdon in the pitch darkness. If you asked me whether I would do it again I might say yes, providing I can climb all three in daylight. I wouldn’t look forward to another stumble up a mountain at night and in the driving rain.

I’m pleased I walked so far on the second day given my knackered leg and the weather conditions, and I’m delighted that I got so far up Ben Nevis. I would have been more disappointed had I not tried at all.

For some reason I have it in my head that people will judge me for not doing what I set out to do, that it will confirm their suspicions that I was incapable of it in the first place, but I know deep down that these are my own insecurities coming to the fore. I almost feel guilty collecting the sponsorship money for what turned out to be one peak and two half peaks.

However I hope everybody who sponsored me will appreciate how hard it was and I challenge any doubters to have a go themselves in the same conditions.

Anyway, enough of this wallowing in self-pity, regular readers of my blog know that this isn’t me at all. If you’ve read each one of these little missives from the mountains then thank you. They’ve sounded quite serious but it’s hard to capture everything from the trip and throw in my usual flippant remarks. Well OK, I’ve squeezed a few in.

So, it’s time for Terry’s final thoughts should you fancy having a go at this next year……

·      Firstly, ensure you get on with the team around you. I’ve concentrated so much on my own personal battles with these mountains that I haven’t said too much about Neil, Adam and Alan. What I can say is they were a great bunch of lads and we had such a laugh on the train. Those memories will stick with me.

·      Make sure you have plenty of dry clothes on the train. I really can’t stress enough how good it felt to get out of those dripping wet clothes and into something dry.

·      Also, take a towel. Anyone who’s read The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy will of course be aware of this advice already.

·      Take a headtorch with a bright light, the brighter the better, if you’re climbing a mountain at night.

·      Don’t look down.

·      Don’t look up.

·      Make sure you use plenty of insect repellent on Ben Nevis or, like me, you will still be scratching those midge bites for days afterwards.

·      Always accept whisky from a stranger from Derby. It’ll warm you up and your football club is probably doing better than his.

·      Don’t be modest. If you have to get stark bollock naked in front of a carriage full of strangers (including women) then so be it. It’s better than sitting in wet clothes and getting hypothermia.

·      Maybe don’t do the above when you’ve stopped at a station. Commuters tend to stare.

·      Don’t try to climb a mountain dressed as Scooby Doo, or any other cartoon character for that matter.

·      Don’t expect to get a bacon butty at the top of Ben Nevis.

I think that’s all.

NEXT TIME: Normal service will be resumed.

Terry the Mountain Goat, Part Three - Scafell Pike

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.

As we tried to sleep that night the train headed slowly north to our final mountain. Ben Nevis.


TOMORROW: BY THE FAIR BONNY BANKS OF, WELL, ER, LOCH LINNHE ACTUALLY.

24 Hours from Snowdon

So, both my rucksacks (one for the mountain, one for all the rest of my kit) are packed and waiting for me. There's no going back now, the mountains await. In just 24 hours time I'll be stepping off the train in Bangor and, along with the rest of the team, be taken to the foot of Snowdon and sent forth to the peak under the cover of darkness.

Well I say darkness, we have head torches to light our way. I like the head torch, it makes me feel like I'm a robot.

Once Snowdon is accomplished we are taken to within a two hour trek of Scafell Pike the next morning, and then Ben Nevis in the wee small hours of Saturday morning, and be expected to conquer these as well. It's relentless.

I've probably overpacked whilst at the same time forgotten something vital. I do have wet weather gear and, given the forecast, I'm going to need it. We're expecting rain, and lots of it. Oh, and high winds, there's going to be a fair bit of that. Oh, and thunderstorms. 

So if I don't get hypothermia or pneumonia, or be blown off the mountain by a hurricane, I'll probably be struck by lightning whilst drinking from the metal water bottle the present Mrs Hayward bought me for Christmas. Maybe this is why she was so keen on me taking out some insurance for this event.

Weirdly though I'm kind of looking forward to it. I'm going to get soaked, my feet will ache and by Saturday I'll probably smell a bit musty and my hair will be stuck to my head but at least I can look forward to returning to my own comfortable, warm bed in the early hours of Sunday morning.

As you may know I'm putting myself through this to support The Railway Children, and they in turn support homeless children who won't be going home to a warm bed tonight or any other night. 

I know there's always someone waving the tin around for a few quid but I think this is a very worthy charity. Just think back to your own childhood, or think of your own kids, or kids you know, and think about what it would have been like for you or for them to be living on the streets. 

Think about the fact that there are kids, perhaps the same age, sleeping rough somewhere tonight. Then think about my aching, bleeding, blister-ridden feet come Saturday and click on the link below, or drop me a text or an email, and donate some money to a worthy cause.

The Railway Children will be grateful for whatever you can spare, and so will I.

Thank you :-)

Please visit our fundraising site here: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/team/noblewarriors