My first impression of Edinburgh was
hundreds of fans from a local football club all wearing blue pouring out onto
the street and a few police officers desperately trying to get them off the
road and onto the sidewalks. There is something about Scottish football fans.
They looked like a collection of bruisers, even the kids. Lots of tattoos and
bald heads while all sounding like groundskeeper Willy from the
Simpsons.
I found a pub to sit and contemplate
what lay ahead. The Three Peaks Challenge consists of climbing each of the
three highest mountains in Scotland, England and Wales, one after the other. In
total it is 36 km hiking and 3,000 meters of altitude gain, all to be finished within
24 hours. Unfortunately, I didn’t start out in the best way for this grueling
challenge. I had struggled with an injury in my right knee for months and it wasn’t
really getting any better. While that was an issue in itself, it also meant
that I hadn't been training as hard as I should so it was with some dread that I
thought about the days ahead but I was determined to try and give it my best.
I caught the train to Fort William where it all was to begin early next morning. It’s a four hour train ride from Edinburg and I sat next to a French middle-aged couple who argued most of the time. They were busy exchanging insults and sniping at each other until the wife started suspecting that I understood what they were saying at which point they continued arguing in an angry whisper, occasionally interrupted by the man suddenly yelling "Photo!" and point at what he wanted his wife to take a photo off only for him to complain about the result afterwards. The landscape was beautiful. Rough and windswept mountains with the occasional red deer grazing. It wasn’t enough to distract from the ongoing argument though. Anything she suggested, he opposed. When finally, we were about to arrive and with it the end to my crash course in French marital disputes coming to an end, she wanted to get ready to get off but he refused to move. It was only when the train was rolling into the station that he finally budged.
The train emptied its content out onto the small platform. It seemed like we were all going to Fort William. It looked like it was going to be crowded on the trail the next day. Fort William isn’t much. The town has a nice pedestrian shopping street where every second shop is either an outdoor equipment shop or souvenir shop, leaving no doubt where the town makes its money from. For some reason which only the towns planners know the town is separated from the sea side by a large ugly road effectively cutting off access to the seashore. Aside from the pedestrian shopping street the town has little to offer and if it wasn’t for its location next to Ben Nevis I doubt anyone would have heard about it. The towns disassociated youth gather on the main street, trying to talk strangers into buying booze and waping refills for them.
My hotel was somewhat run down and spartan, aside from the price of the room. The manager tried to make the best of it and was very helpful. He warned that as they were sold out it meant all the other places were also sold out. I guess he implied that his place always sold out last. The point he was making was that the town was full and if I was looking to get something to eat it would be difficult to get a table anywhere. I stocked up on water, snacks and what else I needed for next day and headed to one of the pubs. It was still early and getting a table was easy enough. The pubs all pretty much had the same menu. Despite being woefully unprepared for what lay ahead I gradually started feeling better about the whole thing or perhaps it was the pints. After a steak meal I went back to the hotel for an early night. There were long lines outside every restaurant and pubs; punters waiting for a table.
Early next morning, I made coffee in the room and had the two stale donuts I bought the day earlier before heading down to the collection point. Starting time was seven but nothing opened in Fort William until eight so regarding breakfast it was the best I could do. It turned out we were quite a group, some 45 or 46 hopeful hikers, with the majority around 30 years of age or so. I looked around and only saw two others who looked like they were over 50. There was a quick kit check to make sure everyone had the basics to get them through the challenge. We got on the busses and 10 minutes later we were at the Ben Nevis visitor center.
With its 1,345 meters it is the highest mountain in the UK and gets about 130,000 visitors a year. We were divided into four groups, based on our own assessment of how quick we could move. I opted for Group Three. Not too ambitious but neither a complete slacker.
We were told we had five hours to complete both the ascent and descent. Normally it takes six to eight hours or more. At 7:55 the clock started and we were off. The pace surprised me. It was fast! I wasn't the only one. I saw people struggling right from the beginning. The beginning of the trail wasn’t too steep and though I was out of breath I managed to keep up. After about half an hour the first one gave up and turned back with a busted knee. The trail was well marked and wide enough in most places to allow overtaking.
The weather was beautiful and gave the completely wrong impression of the British weather. We made good progress though the guides were not happy and kept egging us on to move quicker. After the halfway point the trail got steeper and I struggled to keep up, but I wasn’t the only one. The guides were relentless. “You got to keep moving; dig deep; you are behind schedule, keep going!” At one point I stopped for a quick breather and immediately the yell came "You can’t stop! Keep going!"
“I am about to faint,” I tried to protest, seeing stars while trying to catch my breath.
“Well, don’t!”
The sympathy was heartwarming.
The summit was covered in heavy fog
but we made it. A quick photo and then back down. While going up had been a
struggle going down was a lot easier. I used the walking sticks a lot to ease
the pressure on my knees. They have been a weak point for years, but they gave
me surprising little trouble, much less than when running. I made it in 4 hours
56 minutes. There was hot tea and cake waiting for us when we got back; I could
feel the energy return as I sipped the hot tea, with several spoons of sugar in
it. It turned out there were a handful who didn’t make it to the top, but aside
from the guy with the busted knee everyone continued.
The guy I sat next to on the bus was part of a group eight colleagues who joined as a team building exercise. Some had brought their girlfriends and wives along. They seemed a lot less excited about it than the guys did. It was around one pm as we started our six hours drive to Scafell Pike, the highest mountain in England. There was a quick stop at a service station. I got a cheese sandwich and called it lunch.
We arrived at the parking lot around seven
pm. Scafell Pike gets a lot fewer visitors than Ben Nevis and the facilities
were basic. There was a light rain as we set out. We put on the rain
covers, got our headlamps ready and we were off. “Four hours!” the head guide
yelled after us as we started out.
Scafell Pike is 978 meters, so not as
high as Ben Nevis but a lot more brutal to climb. It’s steeper and you feel it
right from the beginning. The guide kept the pressure up and I really
struggled. After about an hour or so, I dropped into Group Four. While on Ben
Nevis the thought of quitting did cross my mind once or twice but I easily overcame
the temptation. On Scafell Pike, it was there constantly. My legs were sore
from the morning hike and the track was steep, uneven and slippery. I had to
take higher steps and I felt it in my legs. The guide kept yelling that we were
late and that we had to dig deep. I dug as deep as I could but it was a
struggle. We got into the fog which covered the summit and I was
drenched.
At this point we were only four in our
group. One was struggling badly and wanted to turn around. Honestly, if he had
done so I think I would have followed, but he was told in no uncertain terms by
the guide that quitting was not an option so it was just to keep going. It was
getting dark and we put the headlamps on. We fought our way up. As we got close
to the summit, I had a heavy fall on a slippery rock and really banged my right
leg and hand. I got up and pressed on, encouraged by the guide’s yelling not to
waste time on lying around. Once we reached the summit we turned around almost immediately
and started our descent. I made a promise to myself at that point that I would
sit out the last mountain. I was beat! The walk down was a challenge. It was
dark and the rocks extremely slippery. Regardless, going down was still a lot
faster than going up. One in the group had busted his knee from the effort.
Despite the guide screaming at him he only continued down slowly. The guy who
wanted to quit earlier kept him company while I and another were forced to wait
for them to catch up again and again. It probably cost me 45 minutes or more of
delay and we didn’t make it within the four hours allocated. I had 20 minutes
to make up for. Not an easy task.
We were the last to make it back to the busses. I was soaked but there was hot tea and porridge waiting. I drank a couple of liters of water and felt a lot better. I started reconsidering my earlier promise to myself to sit out the last one and decided I would wait and see how I felt when we got there. It was just after midnight when we pulled out and we had about 4 - 5 hours drive to Snowdon. I slept a bit; a very light interrupted sleep. We stopped at a service station and I grabbed a sandwich. Around 5:30 am we pulled into Snowdon visitor center and got ready. My clothes were still damp but I felt better than I had expected and I decided I would go down fighting. The weather was horrible. Rainy and windy, the whole mountain covered in a heavy fog. I was surprised to see the guy with the bad knee joining us again. He assured the guide that he was fine now. We were about 35 that kept going. The first few hundred meters were steep and on a tarmacked road but once we got on to the normal track it was better. Snowdon is by far the easiest (but not easy) of the three peaks. It was pouring down and it was cold but we fought on. The guy with the busted knee could only follow slowly, continuously dropping way behind. I got irritated that he didn’t accept he wasn’t up for it but it was too late to do anything about it. We couldn't split up the group so there was little choice but to wait for him. Funnily enough, I never even once got the urge to quit on Snowdon. I clearly had more stamina than I realized and while I expected the last mountain to be the hardest because of lack of sleep and exhaustion, it turned out to be manageable. We finally got within sight of the summit in the fog. The guide gave us no time but told us to turn around right away. We were way behind schedule, so we never actually got to stand on the very summit before we started back down.
Going down was easy, despite the slippery rocks. We didn’t descend as a group, and I left the guy with the busted knee and the others behind. The rain turned the walking path into a stream and my booths filled with water. I had managed well without blisters but on this last stretch with wet socks I could feel them grow by the minute. It was the only issue I had, thanks to the use of Lycra underwear which works wonders to reduce friction and chaffing, even when wet.
Once we were all back down it was a quick departure to Chester. No big ceremony in the pouring rain, just a quick handover of certificates with our individual times and then we all, smelly and wet, huddled back into the busses and off we went. I slept a bit on the way but was otherwise too hyped up to relax. At Chester we said our goodbyes and I caught a train to Cardiff to recover for day or two before returning home, my whole body stiff and battered black and blue from the fall, but also with a real sense of accomplishment.
I went with Three Peaks Challenge. They were well organized and professional, and the guides know how to give you that really warm and fluffy feeling when you drop behind the group on the mountain.