On that second night I decided the floor wasn’t for me, it
had been too cold down there the night before, and so I tried to sleep in my
seat. This led to a fitful night of constant fidgeting to make myself
comfortable and, before I knew it, we were being woken some time around 4am as
we approached Fort William.
Looking out of the window there was at least one respite, it
wasn’t raining. There was even some hopeful breaks in the cloud and you could
sense the mood in the carriage brighten after the monsoon conditions of the
past two days.
The night had given me a chance to re-evaluate things a
little. Before I’d undertaken the challenge I hadn’t considered for a second
that I wouldn’t be able to reach the summit of the three peaks. Now, with a bit
of experience, and knowing that my leg hadn’t had the time to recover fully, I
realised that it was irrelevant. It was a challenge, and that’s the point. If
you don’t make it to the summit then, in some ways, so what? It’s always the
goal, but isn’t the real challenge to have a go?
I had therefore decided that despite everything I just had
to attempt Ben Nevis. The problem was, how do I break this to the rest of the
team? In all likelihood I would be just as slow and ponderous as the day
before. I decided that I had to have a plan.
I put it to the rest of the team that I come along with them
but that they should go on ahead. The path up Ben Nevis is obvious, so we were
told, and so I’d just go along at my own pace and give them the chance to get
to the top. This wasn’t entirely the selfless gesture that it sounded. I found
it hard to keep looking up the mountain to see that they’d stopped and were
staring down at me, their eyes willing me to go faster. I felt that, on my own
and at my own pace, it would be an easier task.
I have to stress that this is absolutely not the way that
the organisers of the event would want teams to behave. Their role is to ensure
we get up each mountain safely and put everything in place to ensure that we
don’t end up on our own. At Snowdon and Scafell Pike I would agree with this,
but Ben Nevis is a slightly different kettle of fish, at least for most of the
way.
The rest of the team agreed to this and we prepared
ourselves to get off the train at Fort William, donning clothes and boots that
weren’t entirely dry.
Fort William is a small Scottish town surrounded by hills and,
of course, Ben Nevis itself. It sits on the banks of Loch Linnhe and the centre
seems to be dominated by a branch of Morrisons.
As we stood at the doors to the coach I surveyed the town
and said “It’s really quiet here isn’t it?”
It was, there were no cars or people to be seen.
“That’s probably because it’s 5am” said Neil.
“Oh yeah”.
The concept of time had been lost to me altogether since
embarking upon this mission. 5am, 9pm, midday, who knew anymore?
We took the short journey to the base of Ben Nevis, went
through the checkpoint, and up we went again. I sent the team on their way and
I started quite sprightly, staying close behind them for quite some time. Soon
though, we were back to the steps and loose rocks of the previous mountains,
and that annoying pain in my leg decided to remind me that it was still there
which meant that I began to drop back.
Unlike the previous day however I was fairly relaxed about
it. I let other teams pass and I kept going. It wasn’t too bad just yet so I
was keen to see how far I could get. As far as I was concerned nothing was
going to stop me from trying to get to the top of this mountain.
After quite some time I saw Neil coming back down the
mountain. He informed me that he’d heard via the radio that other teams were
getting a bit of a bollocking for waylaying team members and suggested we stick
together until the next checkpoint.
“How far away is that?” I asked.
“About an hour’s climb” he replied.
He may as well have said that it was on the moon. I carried
on with Neil in front but progress was agonisingly slow. Before long however I
spied Adam and Alan up ahead.
I realised that us sticking together when I was so slow
wasn’t realistic, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Between us we hatched a plan.
They would radio to say that I was going back down, but I wouldn’t. I would
keep going and report into the next checkpoint when I got there and say that
I’d decided to keep going.
Again I have to say that this was entirely the wrong thing
to do but we had a clearly defined track ahead of us and conditions were good.
Also, and this is the real crux of it, you have to define your own strategies
for coping in life and for me I knew I would make steady progress on my own
rather than constantly having to try and chase down my own team.
They moved on and I followed behind, but before long they
were out of sight again. I kept going and even stopped to take a few
photos for the first time on this trip. I chatted to other people and was
relieved to see other people having as much difficulty as I.
My leg was sort of holding out and the clear visibility and
dry path was making things considerably easier than the day before.
Eventually I found myself on a steep rocky path that seemed
to ascend for as far as the eye could see. It was on this section that an
elderly Scottish man appeared alongside me and asked how I was. I told him that
I was having a bit of trouble and that my team had gone on ahead. He stuck with
me and kept me motivated for quite some time.
He was an old hand at this mountain and knew that this was a
tricky part, but explained that it evened out up ahead. He tried to point out
where this would happen but I couldn’t really see where he was pointing to.
We talked about the weather and he gazed at the sky
mystically and said “There’ll be rain before 9.30”.
I looked around at the comparatively clear skies and
couldn’t see what had prompted this forecast of precipitation but he said it with
such a tone of wisdom that I didn’t dare doubt him.
We stayed together for about half an hour but the steep
ascent was, by now, playing havoc with my leg. I got to the point where I was
stopping in pain after every two steps up and, at this pace, I had no chance of
seeing the summit within the timescale.
After numerous attempts to try to ignore the pain and crack
on with the climb, all observed passively and with great patience by my new
companion, I finally stopped as I realised that I could go no further.
Unlike the day before I didn’t feel devastated. I felt quite
calm acknowledging that I’d tried as hard as my body would allow. My companion
agreed that going down now would probably be a good idea and told me not to
worry, I’d already climbed over half way. He radioed back to base to tell them
I was on my way, and they acknowledged that they knew about me already.
Thankfully no further questions were asked.
We bade farewell and he headed upwards in a sprightly manner
for a man in his 70s as I limped slowly back down.
I don’t know whether it was the change of weather or the
fact that it was my decision but my spirits were high. I looked out at the
valleys below, where houses were tiny dots and signs of life indistinct, and
felt quite pleased that at least I’d tried, and was confident that if I’d not
slipped on Snowdon that I could have made it. I decided that one day I would be
back and this mountain would be mine.
By the time I was heading down it was approaching 9am and
more and more teams, not part of our group, were busily ascending the mountain.
There was quite a mix of people, some were proper mountain walkers all fully
equipped and ready for whatever the mountain was going to throw at them, and
some were in charity t-shirts looking as if they were out for a morning stroll.
For one moment I thought that the lack of sleep and
painkillers had caused a hallucination as I could see a pack of Scooby Doos
heading up the mountain towards me. Thankfully it was just a group of people in
fancy dress.
I thought back to the past two mountains, and what I knew
was ahead of them and wished them luck. At the end of the day, Ben Nevis is
still a mountain, and there are numerous fatalities every year. Mind you,
tumbling off a mountain dressed as Scooby Doo is as good a way to go as any
other I suppose and may posthumously win you a Darwin Award, so at least you’ll
be remembered.
Fellow climbers on their way up assumed I had been to the
summit and were keen to ask me what it was like. Initially I told them the
truth, that I hadn’t made it, but after a while I decided to amuse myself and starting
telling people about how lovely and sunny it was up there, and how the café was
open and serving breakfasts. Not one person appeared to doubt me and one group
in particular were already planning what they were going to eat as they went on their way. It may sound a little cruel but I’m blaming the painkillers
again.
I had a slow and painful trek back down but I eventually reached the first checkpoint at the base of the mountain. I was driven back
into town with another chap who, when I’d got there had been suffering a bit
and was wrapped in a foil blanket. We were dropped off at Fort William’s
premier social spot, that branch of Morrisons, and went for a pot of tea.
It was whilst I was there that I started to feel a bit disconsolate.
I didn’t feel happy about my achievement, just a bit sad that I hadn’t done as
well as I’d hoped. It had genuinely been the hardest physical thing I’ve ever
done. I firmly believe that I was fit enough to do it had I only stayed on my
feet on that first mountain.
The sadness turned to amusement as we left the supermarket
to head back to the railway station to catch up with the train. We had to climb
a short bank to leave the car park and due to my leg I made quite a meal of it.
It was one of those laugh or cry moments, I was in a lot of pain trying to
climb something no higher than a metre which was massively ironic given what
I’d just been doing for the past few days. I decided therefore to laugh.
Shortly after we got to the station the teams arrived to
join us. I was glad to see my team back and triumphant, although it was mixed
with regret that I couldn’t have enjoyed it with them.
I was flicking through my phone and could see that on
Facebook some friends were looking for updates on my progress. I didn’t know
what to say. Should I post that I feel like an abject failure because of my
leg? Do I mention the hideous conditions on Scafell Pike?
I chose not to go into these details and posted a fairly
light response explaining how we’d made it up and down each mountain. It wasn’t
a lie as such as we had, just in my case not quite as far up as I’d intended.
It was there and then that I decided I would
just have to go into the gory details via my blog, and here we are.
TOMORROW: THE FINAL CHAPTER (What do you mean, at last?)
