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 Two - Mount Snowdon

The initial trek up Snowdon was via a reasonable path and I felt quite pleased with myself that this, as I had imagined, was just going to be a bit of a stroll. Twenty minutes later however, after encountering the first in a series of rocks and stones that acted as a semi-natural set of steps, I was panting like a Bullmastiff.

I knew that there were these type of steps but I had imagined a more uniform pattern, one in front of the other at roughly the same height. They weren’t. With each step you had to look and decide whether you wanted the steep one on the right or the slippery one on the left, like some extreme uphill version of Hopscotch. I made my decisions by watching whoever was in front of me, but it was hard going and I realised for the first time that this was not going to be quite as easy as I’d thought.

As well as this little problem I was also having a couple of other issues. The rain was blurring the view through my glasses and, with all the hot breath emanating from my open mouth, they were steaming up. This I solved simply by removing them and putting them in my rucksack. My vision without my glasses isn’t the best but enough, I thought, to get me by.

Issue number two was that I realised as the remainder of the light faded that I needed to rely on my borrowed head torch to shine the way forward. Unfortunately it wasn’t up to the job and only semi-illuminated the ground in front of me. These two things combined so that when I looked at the ground it was often hard to get any sense of how even or uneven the path was in front of me. I was relying on the lights of my team mates and watching where they trod.

We made our way up, crossing streams and encountering steeper and steeper sets of rocks to clamber up. To our left there was an ever growing void of blackness, but even with poor visibility we knew that was the valley below. One slip could lead us tumbling towards a substantial and life threatening drop. This was fine when the path was wide, but more and more we encountered parts of the route that involved clambering around a damp and slippery rock face, trying to find whatever footing was available.

It was long and arduous but it wasn’t too cold. The rain was keeping us nicely cool as we journeyed ever upwards. When we stopped for a breath we looked up and could see the long trail of little white lights of the teams ahead of us, and looking back, there was a longer snake of lights behind us. We were like a procession of Glow Worms heading up the mountain and it was a strange and eerie sight to behold in the middle of nowhere.

As we got higher the little radio we’d been given crackled into life every now and then with team after team reporting that they’d got to a checkpoint, or in some cases, to the summit itself.

Eventually, a very steep set of rocks turned us around to a new side of the mountain we’d not been on before and a viciously cold wind whipped around us. However, we knew we were near the top as we encountered more and more teams on their descent, so we didn’t want to stop to add more clothes.

Up and up the path went until finally we seemed to stop by a flat-topped stone plinth. I clung onto it in the freezing wind and increasing rain and watched as Neil brought out the radio to announce we’d got to the summit. I hadn’t realised.

I didn’t feel elated, I just felt cold and tired. We were there for just a few moments before descending.

If you’d asked me before I set off, I would have said that the trip down was going to be easy. Sadly I realised on the way up that it wasn’t going to be. For the most part you are heading down but the same problems around finding the right footing and scaling around rock faces were still ahead. If you built up speed and fell in the wrong place, you’d probably fall forwards and increase your chances of tumbling off the mountain.

As it was I slipped a few times as I gingerly made my way down. Every time I landed hard on my backside and fortunately each time on a flat, if wet, piece of rock.

Before long we were in a long line of other teams all heading the same way and we began to slow up, just as the rain began to pelt down harder and noisier than ever.

My light was as bad as ever and as the fatigue kicked in it was becoming harder to find the right footing with each step. I continued to fall on my arse a few times and I occasionally mis-judged the ground and stepped just that little bit further than I was expecting. On one of these occasions I felt a sharp and unexpected pain in my groin at the top of my right leg but the cold and the rain and the thought of being in the dry and the warm kept me going.

Eventually we saw the lights of the car park twinkling some distance below, but the agonisingly slow descent seemed to make our destination come no nearer, like we were trying to reach the mythical pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

We got there eventually but it hadn’t been quick or easy. We were guided towards a packed café where other drenched individuals were huddling around in shock. It was 3am and all we wanted was to get somewhere warm and dry and sit down.

We found our way on to one of the coaches and sat in the dark, shivering. We listened to the rain beating heavily on the roof and knew that, in just a few hours, there was another mountain waiting for us.

Perhaps, we thought aloud, the rain won’t be as bad as this at Scafell Pike.

TOMORROW: RAIN, RAIN, AND MORE RAIN.

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