So, the weekend of the 3 peaks challenge. I'm now wondering why I didn't read the initial description more intently from the outset.
"The 3 Peaks Challenge is Britain’s classic hill walking challenge with climbers attempting to climb the highest mountains in Scotland, England and Wales in only 24 hours. Tackling Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon, participants will take on this physically and mentally demanding challenge in support of Bowel Cancer UK.
The event will see participants climb over 11,000 feet, travel 500 miles and be exposed to the elements as they aim to beat the clock to complete this incredible challenge – including snow on Ben Nevis."
Reading this after the event, it makes more sense, but still doesn't go any way to describing the magnitude of the challenge. Little did we know, when the mini-bus picked us up from Central Station in Glasgow at 3pm on Friday, what lay ahead.
We arrived at Ben Nevis at around 6.30pm and following a hearty meal and a pint, we headed to the Salvation Army base for a team briefing. Only then did John and I realise how far out of our depth we were. Everyone looked much fitter and "up for it" than us. Appearances can be deceptive but our intuition was confirmed as they asked for a show of hands from the people who had climbed Ben Nevis before. 75% of people raised their arms ... and again for Scafell ... and again for Snowdon. John and I were, I think, the only people who didn't put our hands up for any of them. A handful of the 35 climbers for this Bowel Cancer UK event had even done the 3 peaks challenge before. In my humble opinion this doesn't make them much fitter than us or more "up for it", it just makes them bloody stupid for doing it again.
In hindsight though, it makes more sense hill walkers would sign up for an extreme hill walking challenge. I somehow imagined it would be a mixture of people of varying abilities who wanted to raise money for charity but thinking about it, if there was a charity cycle ride from Lands End to John O'Groats, you would reasonably expect keen cyclists to sign up. John and I whose furthest jaunt prior to 3 months ago had been to the corner shop started to wonder what the bloody hell we were doing there.
The event organisers then drilled home just what we were setting out to do and the perils that lay ahead. I can't remember anything specifically in the briefing that made me uncomfortable but I became increasingly nervous throughout. They finished the meeting by telling us that some people wouldn't make it. These were normally people who had re-occurring knee and ankle injuries. Maybe people who hadn't disclosed such problems from the outset but people who were nonetheless doing both themselves, together with the team-mates who would be majorly disrupted by anyone in their group having an injury and needing to be helicoptered off, a severe disservice. For those of you who know me, you'll know I've had dodgy ankles for years having torn the ligaments in them numerous times. Luckily, I had John with me and any concern I may have had was focussed on him as he's had not one but two cruciate ligament operations on his knee and was advised by his doctor only a couple of weeks ago not to take part in the challenge.
We were then split into teams of 8 or 9 and a team leader assigned by the event organiser for Bowel Cancer UK, Jock Wright. John and I knew who our team leader would be before the words "Lee Crompton" escaped Jock's lips. I was responsible for looking after the mountain packs, issuing the kit to members of the team to carry (2 x emergency shelters, maps, compasses, first aid kits etc) and giving/collecting the GPS equipment, sat phones and walkie talkies to the three individual guides on each peak. There are 3 schools of thought as to why I was picked as team leader. Firstly, it may have been a reward for raising the most money. Bowel Cancer UK's fund raising total for the event was £19,500. They raised circa £22,000 ... of which John and I alone contributed over £5000, just over £6,000 if you include Gift Aid. I'm not sure if the BCUK total included Gift Aid (sometime they seem to, others not) but either way, it's a truck load of money.
I may have equally been earmarked as team leader as punishment for my Mum's complaint letter. She (like an embarrassing parent, although her heart was in the right place) wrote an email outlining her grave disappointment that 3 Peakers were having to spend the night before the challenge in a tent after BCUK failed to put down the deposit on the accommodation in time and that with a week to go, fund-raisers were being asked if they knew anyone who could drive the buses as they didn't have any drivers.
The third reason may have been, in the words of John Gallagher, because I was "bosom email buddies" with Jock Wright. I'd like to think it was the first one.
Either way, having had the shits put right up us, it was time to seek out our aforementioned accommodation for the night. Please refer to pictures 1 & 2. Our tents were allegedly 3 man tents, just about big enough for both John and I to fit into. After sorting out our kit, searching the camp site for somewhere we could buy booze and discovering there wasn't anywhere, we had a wee nip from the hip flask and settled into our new home at around 10.30pm. I tried to get some sleep with my T-shirt up over my nose after John had saved his eggiest fart until we had zipped the tent up although the act of sleep proved very difficult due to the smell, John's general fidgeting and him prodding me every five minutes to ask if I was asleep yet.
The alarm on my mobile phone rang at 5.20am. It was then back to the Salvation Army for a porridge breakfast and collection of our packed lunch at 6am before returning to the base of Ben Nevis for the start of our challenge. The 24 hour clock started at 7.11am.
START CHALLENGE : 7.11am Saturday 30th May 2009
I would now like to draw your attention to picture 5. Yes, I'm fully aware I look like a cock and just in case I wasn't fully aware, John was sure to remind me every 5 minutes. This was however taken later in the day than the pictures would suggest. There is a reason for this, our mountain guide was a bigger knob than me ... if I'm not making much sense, hopefully all will become clear.
Our guide was a former Canadian marine and what started as a gruelling challenge for charity quickly turned into an SAS training morning as the bastard pushed us to the summit in 3.5 hours. Even when we were walking on the flat at the foot of the mountain, I leaned over to John and said "we're setting out on a hell of a pace here aren't we?" to which, surprisingly, John agreed. For anyone who knows Ben Nevis, the first stint is pretty intense and I don't mind holding my hands up and saying I was struggling, so much so that Mr Army Marine threatened to demote me to the group behind unless I got my act together. I plodded on, and with a measly two 5 minute breaks on the total ascent, we reached the top of the highest peak in the land.
I can now explain that the photographs are actually showing out of sequence. Under the former marines (aka Nazis) regime, we didn't have time to take photographs on the way up so yes, whilst I agree I look like an idiot, this was actually taken during the descent and I'd been climbing a mountain for about 6 hours in the blazing sunshine and was concerned my baldy heed would get burnt. Why did I have time on the way down to take pictures I hear you cry? Well, everyone else who has happily keeping up with the horrendous pace on the way up, was knackered by the time they got to the top and we had to keep stopping every 20 to 30 minutes as people were out of puff. Therefore I had plenty of time to snap some shots on the way down (which for the purposes of the photographic montage have arranged to look as though it was on the way up). 6.5 hours we took in total, only half an hour quicker going down the bloody thing than we were going up.
The last stint was a bit of a slog also, ankle deep in snow in places, the final ascent was similar to climbing up a sand dune. Needless to say I cried when I got to the top. John gave me a manly cuddle, then I cried some more. I wasn't particularly physically drained at this point (in comparison with later points in the weekend). The emotions of the day got to me though ... the reasons we were doing it, thoughts that I really wasn't going to make it within the first hour of the climb and how the bloody hell I was going to survive another 2. All of these things played their part but what actually started me off was thinking of Dad whilst listening to Space Oddity by David Bowie on Gemma's iPod Shuffle as we climbed the last bit through the snow. In some freakish way, when all I could hear was the music coupled with the snowy sights around, the lyrics somehow had some weird meaning, some hidden message between me and my Dad and I can't really explain it rationally but if you listen to the lyrics, maybe you'll understand (but maybe not). Anyway, I cried. From here on in it's officially known as the 3 Weeps Challenge. 2 more to come.
I'll finish off Ben Nevis by drawing your attention to photo 30 which inadvertently includes the overweight man in his 50's, with only a skimpy pair of black shorts and a bum bag to cover his modesty, who passed us running up in the snow and in this picture was passing us again as he ran back down. Bonkers!
I should also mention a couple of things that John will be dining out on for months to come. The ex-marine Nazi allegedly said to John shortly after we had set out that he should slow down as he was demoralising the rest of the group with his pace. My particular favourite though is when he looked John up and down when we came off the mountain and said, "you're a lot fitter than you look."
END NEVIS : 1.41pm Saturday 30th May 2009
Finished peak 1, everyone back to the salvation army to pick up our soup and pasta to eat on the bus on the way to Scafell Pike. We also had a bag with our packed lunch in it for the next peak. It then dawned on me that we were supposed to have taken the previous packed lunch up Ben Nevis with us, so I now had 2 ... not that any of us would have been able to eat it anyway as the climbing Nazi wouldn't allow us to stop for any time longer than it takes to scoff a sneaky Mars bar.
Please now refer to pictures 31, 32 and 33. These are photos of a Vauxhall inconveniently exploding on the hard shoulder, the emergency services arriving on the scene literally seconds before we did and shutting the motorway. We were stuck for around forty minutes until it was safe to pass. Factoring in the weird way in which we travelled from Ben Nevis to Scafell (via Norwich from what I could tell) on a mini-bus which was restricted to a maximum of 60 mph and the result was we didn't start the next peak until 8pm, some 6 hours and 20 mins after we'd finished Ben Nevis.
START SCAFELL : 8pm Saturday 30th May 2009
I don't know where to begin with this one. It's a catalogue of disasters. I started in fine spirits and with the recovery time on the bus my muscles were feeling much better, ready to charge at Scafell Pike. The problem was, we were now (somehow) 2 hours behind schedule. We needed to complete Scafell Pike in 3 hours to get back on track, but had 2 hours less daylight to do it in. Rather than getting to the top for dusk, we were now in complete darkness by around 10pm.
Please read the following extract from the wonderful Wikipedia:
"The ascent of the Pike is most often attempted from Wasdale Head. This is at the north end of Wastwater to the west of the Pike, and is at about 80 metres above sea level. On summer weekends, crowds of people can be found attempting this steep but straightforward walk. An alternative ascent from Wasdale approaches up a hanging valley whose head is at Mickledore, which is itself ascended, before following the path from Sca Fell to the Pike.
A more taxing, but scenically far superior, approach begins at Seathwaite Farm at the end of Borrowdale, proceeding via Styhead Tarn, then taking the Corridor Route (formerly known as the Guides Route), a delightful walk along the western flank of the Sca Fell massif with intimate views of the mountain, before joining the route from Wasdale near the summit."
Now, considering the impending darkness, which route do you think we took ... the more leasurley tourist route or the "more taxing but scenically far superior" route from Seathwaite Farm? Yip, you've guessed it. Please pay particular attention to pictures 44 to 48 showing just how scenically far superior it really was.
Here's another snippet on Scafell from mountainwalk.co.uk.
"To walk up Scafell Pike involves clambering over a lot of boulders. Hiking poles are a distinct advantage and can help you avoid getting broken and twisted ankles."
Walking poles are particularly useful when coming down as they take the pressure off your knees. Imagine my delight therefore when one of my walking poles snapped in half just before reaching the summit. Also, unfortunately for me, I'd had a bit of 'rubbing trouble' with my boots on Nevis and so to avoid taking myself out of the running with potential blisters, I opted for my walking trainers. Scafell Pike being very stony and the bottom of my trainers being much less rigid than my boots, the soles of my feet took a bit of a pasting.
Add to that my head torch which, when required, gave out about as much light as ... well I may have well have sellotaped a glow-worm to my forehead for all the good it was. Fumbling around on a mountainside for hours on end when you can't see your feet isn't much fun, let me tell you.
A couple of our group began to complain about the difficulty of the climb. There were sections where we were traversing across rocks, in the dark, no wider than our feet with a sheer rock face one side of us and 150 foot drop the other. One of the last sections to the summit was up 45 degrees of scree which was the equivalent of scrambling through treacle, every foothold giving way, sending stones and shale on the person behind. In all honesty, I probably enjoyed this bit the most as it was a real adventure but I could see their point. For a bunch of amateur walkers it was probably a bit too much to expect us to do this in the dark. With all these things, it's all ok until something goes wrong and I'm sure if anything had happened to any of us, questions would have been asked of the event organisers about what the bloody hell we were doing up there in the dead of night.
On reaching the summit, in a respectable 3.5 hours, we then had to make our way back down. The guide got us lost at one point which meant we had to go back up again for a while to re-find the trail. John took a bad tumble about half way down and jarred his knee and I honestly thought it was curtains for him but he soldiered on like the trooper he is. The descent seemed to take forever. By the time we returned to the farm, some 8 hours after we'd started, we were like a group of zombies staggering off the hillside. It was 4am when we'd finished Scafell, 14.5 hours of hiking and 21 hours after we'd started Ben Nevis on Saturday morning. I was completely done for, nothing left in the tank whatsoever.
The cold take-away dinner we were then served did nothing to perk me up, the chicken curry, peas and carrots having had 4 hours to cool from when it had initially been ready.
I was ready to chuck it in. I looked at John and he shook his head, uttering the words (not for the first time) "f**k you, Crompton" as we hauled ourselves back on the mini-bus.
It was at this point I could utterly relate to Steve Redgrave and his, 'if anyone sees me go anywhere near a boat again, you have my permission to shoot me.' after winning his fourth Olympic gold medal at Atlanta in July 1996. Whilst I'm not suggesting for one minute our achievement was anywhere near the magnitude of Sir Steve's, I can honestly say I could relate to exactly what he meant. It's all relative. His 4 golds was our 2 peaks. I have never hurt so much physically and emotionally as much as I did after finishing Scafell. I felt dizzy, nauseous and ached as if I had the flu. If was awful. So yeah, Steve, I can see exactly where you're coming from on that one but then you went on to win gold for the fifth time at the Australian Olympics in 2000. It's at this point I would like to say, if anyone DOES ever see me with a walking pole in my hand or strapping on my boots ever again, they really DO have my permission to shoot me, preferably one clean shot to the head.
END SCAFELL : 4am Sunday 31st May 2009
We learnt on the bus that one of the other groups had turned back on reaching the scree, considering it too dangerous to continue. John and I discussed chucking it in, both of us completely exhausted and him now suffering with his knee. By the time we got to Snowdon, Gemma and Julie who had travelled to Wales to pick us up when we finished the challenge, were already there.
START SNOWDON : 9.30am Sunday 31st May 2009
Part 2 of the 3 weeps occurred when we reached Snowdon, hobbled off the mini-bus and I saw Gemma's smiling face. If we hadn't raised so much money for Bowel cancer UK I can say without a shadow of a doubt we'd have both thrown our kit in the back of the car and driven back to Scotland. Whereas my legs had recovered a fair bit on the trip from Nevis to Scafell, having completed 2 of the peaks and got very little sleep in the previous 26 hours (not including the crap nights kip in the tent on the Friday night) I was in no better physical condition when I reached Snowdon than when I left Scafell. But between us, we'd raised a staggering amount if money. After all the effort everyone had put in to raise the cash, all the texts of encouragement and messages of support, I couldn't imagine telling people I hadn't done it. Doing it in 24 hours was long gone and BCUK are subsequently re-thinking the event for next year. Even one of the independent groups in their own car didn't make in within allotted time. I somehow felt I'd be cheating people if I didn't at least give it a go, and so ... spurred on by Gemma and Julie, we got our kit ready and made our way up Snowdon.
There's not much to say about Snowdon really. I don't remember too much about it other than it being a slow slog in blazing sunshine and weeping uncontrollably when John and I sat on the grass next to the summit. I couldn't tell you how long we'd taken to complete the 3 peaks, time didn't seem to matter. All we knew was that somehow (and both of us are still not sure quite how) we managed to climb the highest peaks in Scotland, England and Wales in around 28-29 hours.
I hope nobody feels cheated that we didn't complete the challenge in the 24 hours and the fact we caught the train from halfway down Snowdon. The challenge was to climb the 3 peaks in a day, the clock starting at the bottom of Nevis and stopping at the summit of Snowdon and I can say from the bottom of my heart that we both gave it our all. Did I feel a sense of achievement at the top of any of the peaks? Not really. When I've been doing the training walks on my own I did get a sense of satisfaction from conquering what I'd set out to do and I guess the difference is, you get to the top of Nevis and Scafell and know you haven't finished what you started and still have much more to do. By the time we reached the summit of Snowdon I had a mixture of emotions but none of them were what I would call achievement or satisfaction, more disbelief and relief. I thought a lot about Dad, why we had set out to do the challenge and the enormous effort everyone had gone to to help raise money, but by then, I just wanted to go home. We'd somehow made it where others had failed. Adding together the bus load who turned back at Scafell and a couple of other injuries, a dozen or so never made the challenge and only one of the independent car groups actually managed it in the 24 hours. All in all, although the result wasn't exactly what we'd set out to achieve, it wasn't a bad effort.
When we got to the bottom, people were asking if we enjoyed ourselves. "You had a great time though, eh?" And I answered, quite categorically, "NO!"
It was quite possibly the worst weekend of my life. Physical exhaustion, mental exhaustion, the kind of extreme discomfort that won't go away no matter which way you twist and turn ... sleep deprivation not to mention having to share a tent with John, is not my idea of fun and I hope I never have to go through anything like it again. I've decided I don't like hill walking. I don't see the point. Why anyone would want to look at a hill and think, "you know what, I fancy walking up that," is beyond me ... unless ... perhaps, you wanted a pleasurable walk on a nice day, at your own pace where you could stop for a drink and a sandwich when you wanted to and take some nice pictures of the views. I could maybe ... just maybe understand that. But there is absolutely nothing pleasurable about climbing 3 mountains in a day (2 in sweltering heat and 1 in the dark) at a frantic pace with a group of strangers who all want to stop at different times, both on the mountain and in a mini-bus that is restricted to 60 mph. Not to mention, because of the scorching weather, thousands of other people decided to have a jaunt up Snowdon and Ben Nevis as well so rather than being a reflective solitude of mountainous wasteland, when you added Joe Public to the other hundreds of people climbing for various charities, the peaks were mobbed.
The only pleasure I gained from it all was from completing the challenge with John on Dad's anniversary and raising so much money for Bowel Cancer UK. I'd like to thank everyone for their support over the last couple of months, their generous donations and messages of encouragement on the day. It meant a great deal and I'm only sorry I didn't have chance to get back to everyone but hope you appreciate after reading this that it was absolute bedlam and chaos.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Together we raised a shed load of money for a very could cause but as for hill walking ever again ... £u*k that!
