Yowsers! A Tale of 3 peaks

The challenges are beginning to heat up. The brave men of Team Tenzing, with a combination of bravado, naivety, dedication, and a fair degree of foolhardiness took on the 3 peaks challenge over the weekend. This involves scaling the highest mountain peaks in Scotland, England, and Wales within a 24 hour time period. In total, it's 42km of ascent and descent interspersed with 475km of road travel. On paper, this is a very challenging yet very achievable target. However, we were about to learn some very valuable lessons.

The goals set out when this idea was originally floated by the demonic fitness bastard that possesses three quarters of G-Unit's brain was to get a) vital mountaineering experience, b) great exercise, c) team bonding, d) finishing a goal to be proud of. These were all to be achieved, but maybe not in the way we intended.

My preparation was not the best. Whilst 10 days or so living it up in European party-havens Prague and Barcelona (mostly good times....) was good for the spirit and soul, it was fairly detrimental to health and fitness. So as I embarked upon my 4th flight in the space of 10 days, I was a mixture of nervousness, anticipation, excitement, and shitting myself. Adding to this mixture of emotions was the unfavourable weather report and a complete void in experience of these sort of activities.

As we set out straight from the flight out of Glasgow in a tightly-packed minibus circa midnight Friday, I managed to nick an hours sleep before an horrific car accident up ahead delayed our progress. Our bus driver Craig, a dance-music loving Scouser, seemed to revel in telling us that we were doomed. In hindsight, he had some good points. It was now 2 and a half months since the end of climbing season, the weather report predicted high-winds, rain, subzero temperatures, and snow at the summit. In short, he said we weren't going to make it and were stupid for trying. With some dismissive and stubborn language, we decided to forge on with the backdrop of a guy being cut free from an overturned car.

At the base of the mountain, at around 4am and as we all squeezed into our specialist clothing, Gareth gave his final talk. It went something along the lines of 'bad weather, big challenge, it's dark, are we all still up for this?' - with only a hint of hesitation everybody responded positively and we set out. For one of the first times in my life, I was one of the better prepared guys in terms of equipment, and was feeling relatively good. Resplendent in ultra-expensive hiking gear (worth a total of £500+), I attached my glow sticks, checked my headlamp and whistle, tightened my boots, took an energy gel, overcame the urge to regurgitate the energy gel, took a deep breath and set off.

The hiking itself went better than expected. My baselayers and microfleece kept me warm enough to ditch my beanie and gloves, and the outerjacket was waterproof and wind-resistant. I certainly had it better than Joe, who had stepped in some quicksand and was wearing trainers, and Mark, who had raided the bottom drawers of any friend he knew. (As an aside, I can't recommend my boots enough). We started off with some friendly banter and a couple of games to keep us occupied, and at any spare moment I displayed to anybody in my vicinity how catchy the song Great DJ by The Ting Tings is. It was the last song I had heard, and now it was the only song that anybody would hear for entire climb of Ben Nevis as I sung the chorus over and over and over again. 

The General set a great pace at the front, perhaps forgetting the other guys lack of equipment. I was generally just behind him, and was so chuffed at how I was going that I even had time to throw in a few token Kiwi sheep-shagger jokes towards Blinky when we passed a few wild Ram. Just I was beginning to feel comfortable we rounded a corner and bang. The wind hit us. The chat stopped. The only thing that could be concentrated on was trying to forget about the rain that was flying horizontally directly into our face. The only thing that could be heard, above the howling of the wind, was Hillsy's bag flap that sounded like a chopper. I shouted this out to Hillsy who replied, only half-joking, with 'I wish it was'. We were now 2 hours into the walk. Everybody was wet, cold, tired (my 1 hour was the only sleep the entire group could muster), and hungry.

We rounded another corner which provided some relief as the wind was now behind us and did a great job of pushing us up the mountain. JC tempered this somewhat with 'you realise we'll have to walk back into that soon'. Another turn and the summit was in site. But only if you arched your neck up. Another turn and the weather got nasty again. At least, it got relatively nasty, the wind and rain was again behind us. G called us all together. He looked worried. We had briefly taken a wrong turn. Turning up the correct path was going to mean walking into these huge winds up a narrow path, with a steep fall on one side. He suggested we turned back. Hillsy suggested a vote. Joe mentioned he couldn't feel his legs. Mark said something similar. Of the 11 of us, only 3 or 4 of us stuck our hands up to continue. Reflecting my fresh nature and the awesome quality of my gear, I was one of those who wanted to carry-on. Blinky and G then briefly mentioned the very real dangers before G called it upon himself to turn everybody around in the name of responsibility.

I'll be honest and say I was fucking disappointed and almost a bit let down by the guys who hadn't bought along the proper kit. My legs still had plenty of walking in them and I thought we'd fallen at the first sign of difficulty. That was, until I turned back around into that headwind. Jesus it was ridiculous. I have never experienced anything like it. A small hill that was descended in 5 mins took about 20 to get back up. I was now at the back of the pack, as the wind made progressing my meagre 75kg frame even one measly step a near-impossibility. The below-freezing conditions combined with the wind gave me the worst ice-cream-style headache you could imagine. The only solace from that pain was the fact it went numb in about 60 seconds. The driving rain into my face meant I couldn't see anything but my feet. This hike was about to be turned up a notch.

As that wind started to appear to die off, all the boys started screaming encouragement. That was the worst of it I thought as we rounded a corner. And as if to spite me, the wind picked up again. Jesus fucking christ get me out of this fucking place. This was ridiculous. It was still pitch black. It was freezing. It was wet. And I was struggling to stay upright as the sidewind knocked me off balance with every attempt to move forward. This wasn't the Glastonbury-style wet-weather jolly I planned it to be. My breathing was beginning to get frantic as I struggled to get a proper breath in. I will now never, ever tease my dog with a hairdryer into his face. It's a fucking awful feeling having your breath taken away by the wind. We went into a little ditch and again the wind softened a little. But still not enough to stop knocking me sideways. Somebody behind me (JC, maybe?) took it upon themselves to hold onto me and my bag to keep me walking straight. My headlamp kept on getting blown down onto my face, which was a double whammy of lost light and covering my eyes. You've been through the worst of it, distract yourself. fuck. how do i distract myself. And then the Ting Ting's came flooding back as it was the forefront of my subconscious. In hindisght, a mindreader would have had a good laugh at my thought patterns. Imagine all the girls ah-ah-ahhh-ah-FUCKKKKKKKK ok c'mon you're still alive battle through it. Imagine all the boys ah-ah-ah SHITTTTTTT I don't know how much longer I can do this. And the strings e-e-e-e-eee-ee-e man i just want to be warm. And the drums. the drums. the drums. I think the worst of it is over.

Man was I upset at myself for thinking that last thought. Again, the wind gods heard me. And by god, did they want to ram their point home. They picked up to by far the worst of the night. Weather reports would later place the gusts at approx 90mph. Ninety. Miles. Per Hour. I was repeatedly blown sideways, as were a few others. I remember Blinky screaming to grab hold of each other. I also remember somebody desperately clinging to me as I almost hurtled off to my right. Moving forward was now secondary to staying upright. Every bit of energy I had was focussed on staying up as the wind edged me further and further off balance. what's going to happen next? what the fuck is going to happen next? was running through my mind. I contemplated crying at the sheer helplessness of the situation, and for a split second, I was devoid of all thought and presence of mind. I've since pondered that perhaps that is what it's like to completely lose consciousness. Ironically, it was the strength of the next gust that snapped me out of it as it threw me 3 or 4 steps to the right. Keep moving forward. It's the only way home.

As the wild winds continued, I began crabbing sideways, unable to face front as the speed of the wind hitting the back of my throat prompted a gag reflex. At this stage I remember the gharish bright yellow hi-vis jacket of Hillsy, in typical Lieutenant Dan against the Hurricane style, start shouting 'c'mon, it's only fucking weather... take it on boys... TAKE IT ON... Tooves, fucking swear at it... SWEAR AT IT!!!' - and funnily enough from this point it got easier. We rounded another bend and the wind started dying down. Although I didn't dare think that we are through the worst of it again. 

The rest of the walk was a surreal experience that I can't actively recollect. I do remember slipping a couple of times, as a combination of exhaustion and slippery rocks took hold. The first fall I took, in hindsight, was fairly dangerous. It was close the edge of the cliff and I had completely lost control.

Back at the van, we were met by a visibly relieved Laura, with everybody keen to retell adrenaline-fueled stories of the hellish experience we had just been through. Her and Craig told us that the winds had hit them hard at ground level too, and at one stage Craig thought the van was about to topple over. We convened in the cafe of Morrison's in Fort William for what was a Clayton's meeting. Everybody knew we were about to abort the rest of the trip. The options were put forward. The combination of possible injuries, no sleep, soaking wet clothing, and the clincher... weather reports of winds of approx 80mph on Scaffel Pike sealed the deal. The attempt was off. Gareth summed it up well by saying although we didn't achieve our goal, we definitely achieved all our objectives. Along with it came another lesson, mother nature is not to be taken lightly. We could have very easily been chewed up and spat out like a baseballer's tobacco. 

The disappointment of missing out on completing even a single peak began to dissipate once the adrenaline wore off and the injuries kicked in and the realisation of the bullet we had just dodged sunk in. Weather reports came in stating readings of 150mph on the summit of Ben Nevis. If it hadn't been for the clear thinking and leadership of Gareth, I'm sure there would have been several casualties, if not fatalities. Further to this, a controversy has erupted about a race in and around the Scaffel Pike area. It was a great idea to pull out of that one. G-Dawg has posted this video from the aforementioned race. This is as close as you could get the conditions. Just increase the wind by 70mph and take away the light and add 800 odd metres of altitude.

As for now, I'm going to enjoy some home comforts for a couple of days that I wished for on the hellish trip up the mountain and ensuing 15 hour drive back to London. For example, a heater, some take-away thai food, a couple of beers, and the entire Beatles back-catalogue on random before getting back into the exercise tomorrow. Yesterday still feels like a bit of a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare. Despite the obvious negatives, there were some outstanding positives. The way everybody looked out for each other was superb. Our determination was admirable, and the bonding value was immeasurable. Not to mention the humour that will garnered from seeing how much the stories get elaborated over time. I have a feeling it will be exponentially related to time passed and pints consumed and quality of girl that is attempting to be pulled.