"The Bear went over the Mountain,The Bear went over the Mountain,The Bear went over the Mountain,To see what he could see.But all that he could see,But all the he could see,Was the other side of the Mountain,The other side of the Mountain,The other side of the Mountain,Was all that he could see."At aged 8, my song of choice on a family trip to Scotland, for 6 hours non-stop. Apparently.Well I made it back from my weekend in Wales. Just.
In a few words: "Not my finest hour."
If you're interested in the full story keep reading.
Arrived late on Friday after a slightly tricky time finding the cottage. Managed the initial 175 miles including navigating Birmingham without a single hitch, but at Welshpool and only 20 miles from the venue, I got completely lost and at 10pm, having been driving for 5 hours, I admitted defeat and called for help. A fellow guest mounted a search party and by 11.30pm I arrived at the cottage at long last and was rushed into the weekend briefing. In hindsight, they would have been better off not waiting for me to arrive before briefing everyone as it later became abundantly clear how little I took in.
"Arafing" down for a local to cross the road.
Apparently it is illegal to run a Grouse over AND stop to pick it up.
However it is not illegal to run a Grouse over
OR to pick one up for supper that has already been run over. Crazy Welsh rules.
Saturday dawned which was amazing weather wise. I was feeling a little daunted seeing everyone preparing very serious-looking equipment, exchanging Everest and Kilimanjaro climbing stories and joking about "approach shoes" (WTF?!). It seems that I should have been concentrating on myself and my kit, but I was just too scared to think straight. So when we got to the drop off point - I realised that I hadn't collected a packed lunch - the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. The group were in hysterics but agreed to sling a few crisps and a chocolate bar my way to keep me going. I was asked if I had sufficient water and I assured everyone I did, but, in hindsight, again failed to check my pack.
So we set off for the ridge. Climb was instantaneous and it was immediately apparent, how ridiculously hard this day was going to be. Within half a mile, I looked down to see that the sole of one of my walking boots had come away from the boot and raised the alarm. GROUP MEETING 1. Boot was strapped together with duck tape and we set off again. Twenty minutes later I had to stop the group again, as the other sole was close to coming off. GROUP MEETING 2. It appeared I'd already exhausted the group's supply of duck tape with the repair job on my other boot and they started to bring out the string.
The epitome of walking glamour, I assure you.
I suggested that as it we were only 1.5 miles in and as these boots clearly weren't up for the job, it was probably best for me to head back to the drop off point and wait for the group there. The group protested that no man, woman or quivering wreck (in my case) gets left behind so I was dispatched off back to the drop off point with our accompanying Mountain Leader, as one of the group had a pair of size 4 walking shoes in the boot of her car (this was the closest alternative footwear we had to hand for my size 5 feet) and then Mountain Leader and I would tackle the climb from the other (and shorter) direction and so rejoin them at the summit for lunch. The group's departing gifts of a packet of crisps and a bar of chocolate and their promise that we would beat them to the top, helped to dampen what was complete humiliation by this point.
Back at the drop off point, with feet crammed into the size 4s, (Mountain Leader kindly shed his thin sock layer for my benefit) I took the opportunity to visit the Portaloo. When I sat down, I realised I was sitting butt naked less that a cm away from the biggest bee I've EVER seen. Gripped by paralysing fear and a fit of the hysterics, once again I had to be rescued. After a restorative mid-morning snack break we set off for the ridge for the second time. The alternative climb was no less punishing - although my legs were fine, my lungs couldn't suck in enough oxygen to stop my heart pounding. So progress was slow - even with the Mountain Leader giving me his climbing poles. After two hours, we both realised that me getting to the summit in this lifetime was probably a pipedream so we decided a leisurely climb/nature walk would be a better option and thankfully this allowed for lots of rest breaks looking at e.g. rare breeds of caterpillars, grouse excreta (resembles pile of fags ends if you're interested), lambs or learning how to castrate a Ram (you never know this may prove to be a life-enhancing skill!) or which type of moss is anaesthetic and therefore useful for bandages/ loo roll etc.
Four hours in and still only mid way up to the Ridge.
Mid morning I also realised that the second bottle of water that I thought was in my bag was actually in my car so by 12 noon I had exhausted my water supply and it was baking hot. Fessing up to Mountain Leader that I was a COMPLETE idiot was gut-wrenching although to be honest by this point I'm sure he was under no illusions. Luckily he was a complete sweetie, restrained himself from clubbing me over the head with one of the climbing poles and instead broke out the hydration tablets and put ourselves on water rations of his final flask.
By 1.30pm we made it to the saddle of the ridge and at 1900 feet we stopped for lunch. Mountain Leader kindly donated a sandwich to my cause. Yummy. Though I would have exchanged my lunch, dinner and breakfast the following morning as well as whatever was left of my dignity at this point for any liquid more than a few sips of rehydration fluid mixture. (During our climb we had been keeping our eyes open for a reasonably flowing brook or stream but just my luck this was proving to be the driest Spring on record).
Post lunch re-energised and after radioing our position to the group, I convinced Mountain Leader that I wasn't quitting until I reached 2000 feet so we set off again. I hadn't gone 10 steps, when the Mountain Leader was turning round to warn me of the bog- but you guessed it- I was already in it, lodged in the swamp up to my knees. Once again I needed rescuing and as I was wringing out the Mountain Leader's donated socks, I remembered that Promise of God joke where man dies in a flood after ignoring all manner of assistance. Similarly I could see myself standing at the Pearly Gates, with St Peter trying to tell me he had tried to save me from myself - preventing my friend from coming, making me forget my lunch, wearing out my shoes, sending me the most fabulously resourceful and unruffable Mountain Leader, pitching me into a bog and yet I still ignored him.
Mike - Mountain Leader Extraordinaire, not to mention Tree Surgeon, Bee-Slayer, Swamp Rescuer, Amusing Story Teller, Font of all knowledge and Personal Chef.
Thankfully he is also Father of two Teenage girls so is familar with the idiotic ways of girls.
At the Pub, Mike confessed that he'd actually enjoyed the day as
he'd never used every single bit of his kit before - Glad I could help!
The legend of the mountain is that a serviceman stationed on it during the war was coming to the end of his service when he was struck by lightning. I decided that if I was similarly struck, I was definitely turning back. No arguments this time. Luckily we both made it to the ridge, unharmed. So at 2440 feet!!!!!!!! (Mountain Leader of course had an altimeter on him) we embarked on a map reading and compass lesson to while away the time before making a slow descent to let the group catch us up.
Thankfully we got down without a hitch - although I was seriously concerned by the lack of fluid to hand as I was SOOO THIRSTY. Sucking on a pebble is supposedly a good cure for thirstiness - though I'm fairly certain Mountain Leader was just testing my state of mind by this point. The rest of the group caught us just as we got back to the drop off point and I then felt compelled to treat the group to a round at the pub as a miniscule token of thanks for the MASSIVE KINDNESS and PATIENCE they'd shown me by donating to me their sun cream, food, climbing poles, shoes, socks, towel, water and to apologise for monopolizing the Mountain Leader all day and for my generally appalling ineptitude.
Sunday dawned and I resolved to abandon the group's planned hike with my last remaining scrap of dignity as a) my toes would not cope being squashed again as my toenails were already bruised and threatening to fall off and b) the previous climb had demonstrated I was just not even slightly capable.
Smokey Robinson and the Miracles.
Leaving the Professionals to it.
So to the group's visible relief, I headed for the nearby lake, armed with an idiot proof map, to hire a bicycle and venture round the lake. But I'm learning - Day 2 and I remembered my pack lunch!!!!
The missing yet vital pack lunch.
The lake ride was amazing and even more so because although a very wet day, there was a Leukaemia Bikeathon underway on the same route so there was plenty of bike traffic and camaraderie. I was so buoyed up that crooned by Randy Travis, Martina McBride, Sugarland, Demi Lovato and Alan Jackson, I managed 2 laps of the lake, completing 26 miles in 2.5 hours! I was tempted to attempt a third lap to really push my legs but as my butt had painfully become one with the saddle since the 18 mile mark, I relented.
The lake in question
Stopping for Lunch at the Giant Picnic Tables and to massage feeling back into my butt!
The joys of being able to share my picnic with one of the locals
So with a little of my pride restored, I changed into some dry clothes and fled from Wales.
Never felt so grateful to get back to the crime and rubbish strewn streets of London. x
