Anticipation and Trepidation
© WoodyHill.co.uk 2006
You know how it is – every now and then you agree to something that seems like a good idea but the more you think about it (and the closer the time gets) the more you wish you’d thought of a prior engagement. My friend and colleague Doug has a periodic and insatiable need to lead a bunch of intrepid explorers into the wilderness. When he asked me if I liked walking I thought he meant to the pub or at worst to the station but as it turns out I somehow got myself roped in to his latest scheme to scale the highest point in England - Scafell Pike.
The cal
l of the wild got the better of me and plans were laid to establish a base camp one weekend in early September. I was told to expect a hazardous and gruelling ascent which would be a challenge even for the most rugged and bravest of men. Luckily, I am both rugged and brave with a strong sinewy stature, a jaw that looks as though it was chiseled from granite and dark gunfighter eyes (but unusually soft hands due to all the washing up that my lovely wife insists I do since I told her we were not getting a dish washer).
Doug, with his wealth of experience would be forging the way with the GPS and maps offering inspiration, motivation and leadership. While I, as the newbie in the team, would be bringing up the rear with the tea bags and throwing out comments like "are we nearly there yet"?
I had just over two weeks to get my kit together and book a room in a convalescence home. Doug said it’s about a 12 mile walk which “translates to about 20 with all the ups and downs”. The anticipation was overwhelming – please let there be a coffee shop at the top ...
For a novice walker/climber there was much to do in preparation. My primary concern was to get a decent
pair of walking boots - I've got a reasonable pair of flip-flops but experience around the pool revealed that they are not waterproof. I needed a top notch pair and so with no expense to be spared I set off to scour the outdoor equipment retailers with an eye for the highest quality available. Fortunately, I found just the thing in no time at all, the label had the magic words 'walking' and 'waterproof' on it and an even more appealing £19.95 so that's good enough for me.
Since they’re new I decided to err on the side of caution and run them in for a few miles, after all the last thing you want during a valiant attempt at the summit is to get a blister in the craggy regions. So, for a couple of evenings I slipped behind the laces of my 2x2s and went off-roading over some rough terrain.
Other equipment I was advised would be a necessity included ear plugs – I asked why I’d need them, was it to keep the bitter mountain winds out? No – apparently some of the Sherpas snore rather loudly. I also invested in a whistle to attract attention if I loose contact with the others in a blizzard. The girl in the shop said the cheap one isn’t really loud enough for mountain use but I decided to buy it anyway and resolved to only get a little bit lost.
Once all the
essential kit had been gathered for the expedition, my thoughts turned to the important subject of food. As the new boy in the team I was put in charge of the essential tea, coffee, milk and sugar supplies – nothing too taxing there. But of course there’s the much more pressing problem of personal fuel supplies for the climb. The pointy bit at the top of the mountain is 975 meters above sea level; I calculate that’s equal to about 243 flights of stairs.
The plan was to leave base camp about mid morning and aim to arrive at the summit around 3pm – Tiffin time. So, being English the obvious things to take are cucumber sandwiches (crusts cut off) and a selection of fairy cakes (fondant fancies, profiteroles etc.) or maybe a nice Victoria sponge to be washed down with a hot cup of tea. But the thought of lugging a cake stand and all that bone china up the side (plus, where would one do the washing up?) was a bit off putting. I'd got a pretty good rucksack (another bargain, this time from Tesco) and it was already getting heavy with spare clothes and food. At one point I even had to reconsider the wisdom of taking a laptop.
Doug told me to get lots of high energy, low GI foods. Definitely not chocolate which would have me running around like a Labrador puppy for 10 minutes and then slump into the human equivalent of a four toed sloth when the glucose hit wore off. Luckily though, there’s still plenty of scope for looking after myself so I cunningly used the whole thing as an excuse to over do the kind of tasty savoury morsels that I’m not usually allowed on my strictly controlled ‘stop the husband getting fat’ diet.
I’m planning to take plenty, not for sharing you understand, it’s just that the last thing I want is to get hungry while I’m waiting at the top for the others to catch up.
As t
he weekend approached the anticipation was almost unbearable. It was to be the most energetic and taxing experience of my life – apart from a particularly gruelling late night disco dancing competition at the ‘Room at the Top Club’ when I was 19. The assault on Scafell Pike would require a level of stamina and physical fitness not normally found in even the most hardy of outdoor types. Luckily my normal strict fitness regime had prepared me for anything the wilds of the mountainside could throw at me (with the possible exception of hand to hand combat with a yeti).
However, it never hurts to go the extra mile so I toped up my stamina with some endurance training. Well, a bit of walking, mostly to the nearest town (one unexpected benefit of which was the discovery of hitherto unknown coffee and cake shops). I also avoided all kinds of mechanical hoisting devices (that's lifts and escalators), the three flights of stairs at work doubled as a makeshift mountainside which I scaled every morning. At first it was hard going; by the time I got to the top, my legs were like rubber, my heart pounding and my head in a spin – a bit like when I get the credit card bill. Recovery times soon improved though, towards the end of the week I managed to regain my composure after just one cup of coffee and only two Jaffa cakes.
The cal
l of the wild got the better of me and plans were laid to establish a base camp one weekend in early September. I was told to expect a hazardous and gruelling ascent which would be a challenge even for the most rugged and bravest of men. Luckily, I am both rugged and brave with a strong sinewy stature, a jaw that looks as though it was chiseled from granite and dark gunfighter eyes (but unusually soft hands due to all the washing up that my lovely wife insists I do since I told her we were not getting a dish washer).Doug, with his wealth of experience would be forging the way with the GPS and maps offering inspiration, motivation and leadership. While I, as the newbie in the team, would be bringing up the rear with the tea bags and throwing out comments like "are we nearly there yet"?
I had just over two weeks to get my kit together and book a room in a convalescence home. Doug said it’s about a 12 mile walk which “translates to about 20 with all the ups and downs”. The anticipation was overwhelming – please let there be a coffee shop at the top ...
For a novice walker/climber there was much to do in preparation. My primary concern was to get a decent
pair of walking boots - I've got a reasonable pair of flip-flops but experience around the pool revealed that they are not waterproof. I needed a top notch pair and so with no expense to be spared I set off to scour the outdoor equipment retailers with an eye for the highest quality available. Fortunately, I found just the thing in no time at all, the label had the magic words 'walking' and 'waterproof' on it and an even more appealing £19.95 so that's good enough for me.Since they’re new I decided to err on the side of caution and run them in for a few miles, after all the last thing you want during a valiant attempt at the summit is to get a blister in the craggy regions. So, for a couple of evenings I slipped behind the laces of my 2x2s and went off-roading over some rough terrain.
Other equipment I was advised would be a necessity included ear plugs – I asked why I’d need them, was it to keep the bitter mountain winds out? No – apparently some of the Sherpas snore rather loudly. I also invested in a whistle to attract attention if I loose contact with the others in a blizzard. The girl in the shop said the cheap one isn’t really loud enough for mountain use but I decided to buy it anyway and resolved to only get a little bit lost.
Once all the
essential kit had been gathered for the expedition, my thoughts turned to the important subject of food. As the new boy in the team I was put in charge of the essential tea, coffee, milk and sugar supplies – nothing too taxing there. But of course there’s the much more pressing problem of personal fuel supplies for the climb. The pointy bit at the top of the mountain is 975 meters above sea level; I calculate that’s equal to about 243 flights of stairs.The plan was to leave base camp about mid morning and aim to arrive at the summit around 3pm – Tiffin time. So, being English the obvious things to take are cucumber sandwiches (crusts cut off) and a selection of fairy cakes (fondant fancies, profiteroles etc.) or maybe a nice Victoria sponge to be washed down with a hot cup of tea. But the thought of lugging a cake stand and all that bone china up the side (plus, where would one do the washing up?) was a bit off putting. I'd got a pretty good rucksack (another bargain, this time from Tesco) and it was already getting heavy with spare clothes and food. At one point I even had to reconsider the wisdom of taking a laptop.
Doug told me to get lots of high energy, low GI foods. Definitely not chocolate which would have me running around like a Labrador puppy for 10 minutes and then slump into the human equivalent of a four toed sloth when the glucose hit wore off. Luckily though, there’s still plenty of scope for looking after myself so I cunningly used the whole thing as an excuse to over do the kind of tasty savoury morsels that I’m not usually allowed on my strictly controlled ‘stop the husband getting fat’ diet.
I’m planning to take plenty, not for sharing you understand, it’s just that the last thing I want is to get hungry while I’m waiting at the top for the others to catch up.
As t
he weekend approached the anticipation was almost unbearable. It was to be the most energetic and taxing experience of my life – apart from a particularly gruelling late night disco dancing competition at the ‘Room at the Top Club’ when I was 19. The assault on Scafell Pike would require a level of stamina and physical fitness not normally found in even the most hardy of outdoor types. Luckily my normal strict fitness regime had prepared me for anything the wilds of the mountainside could throw at me (with the possible exception of hand to hand combat with a yeti).However, it never hurts to go the extra mile so I toped up my stamina with some endurance training. Well, a bit of walking, mostly to the nearest town (one unexpected benefit of which was the discovery of hitherto unknown coffee and cake s
hops). I also avoided all kinds of mechanical hoisting devices (that's lifts and escalators), the three flights of stairs at work doubled as a makeshift mountainside which I scaled every morning. At first it was hard going; by the time I got to the top, my legs were like rubber, my heart pounding and my head in a spin – a bit like when I get the credit card bill. Recovery times soon improved though, towards the end of the week I managed to regain my composure after just one cup of coffee and only two Jaffa cakes.