Everest 50th Anniversary Event - Scafell Pike by Brenda Hall

It was cloudy when we awoke at 6 o'clock and when we had finished our magnificent, very full english breakfast, a gentle rain was falling. By the time we got to Seathwaite Farm in Upper Borrowdale the rain was heavier so we donned our waterproofs and set off undeterred. The first bit was easy, walking through the smelly farmyard, but soon we were picking our way along a very rocky river bank. We crossed a bridge and had left behind one of the rare pieces of level ground we would encounter that day. We were climbing now on laid, smooth boulders up a very steep hill. Up and up we went until we stopped under pine trees, removed our waterproofs and looked back at the farm, nestling in the beautiful valley below.

The going was hard, always uphill, of course, and uneven underfoot but morale was high and we still managed to find enough breath to talk. Several of us were to fall during the day but bruises and abrasions were not too serious apart from one sustained by Ron when his walking stick propelled his knuckles into a rock.

Passing a tarn, we reached a stretcher box, sat on the surrounding rocks ate our lunch and watched some mad people climbing what looked like a cliff face across the plain in front of us. Then our leaders informed us that that was the very route we would shortly be taking. I think we wished we were on homeground in Clayton Vale, Manchester, at that moment but, nil desperandum, we hoisted our rucksacks onto our backs and set off again. Actually, the ascent was not quite as bad as it had looked from the distance but it was still tough, in places hands and feet needed to pull one up and over the rocks. By now we were looking across at surrounding mountains sweeping down to Wasdale far below, a truly stunning sight, and above us the summit of Scafell was wreathed in cloud.

We struck out left, still clambering over boulders, but over the brow there was another hill to conquer, then another and another. While we were undertaking this feat dozens of walkers passed us either on their way up the mountain or returning to civilization. Everybody smiled and greeted each other in a collaborative way, reminiscent of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". Some of these were children, obviously enjoying themselves, sliding fearlessly, it seemed, down rock faces on their bottoms and climbing upwards like monkeys.

About mid-day Peter had sent his two mountain rescue colleagues ahead for the planned 1.30 pm contact between participants on summits of other UK mountains. We found one of them, Ron, waiting for us when we did the final uphill scramble in the late afternoon. There were about fifty other walkers there, feeling very pleased with themselves, admiring the encircling peaks and gazing down at the tarns and green valleys far below. Ann, bless her, had carted a bottle of champagne up the mountain and little plastic flutes. We toasted each other and Peter conducted an interview, armed with Ron's cine-camera.

It would have been nice to have a leisurely walk back to the farm over grassy hills but, of course, that was not to be. Although we took an alternative route it was still steep and boulder-strewn. I was despatched to phone the hotels to let them know we would be arriving back four hours or so later than we had estimated.

The day ended eating iffy fish and chips out of a tray in the centre of Keswick. The concensus was that it had been an experience none of us would like to have missed but it had been much more taxing than we had anticipated and we would not be rushing to repeat it.

One of my sons had been anxious as he had read on the internet that since January the corridor route had been much more difficult than usual because of a landslide. The most positive aspect was that we went on a day when visibility was better than usual and the views were breathtaking.

Regards

Brenda Hall
Stepping Out Group
Manchester