Walkin’, Chapter Nine.

Originally posted 19^th May 2013.

Tin cup time people!  The National Three Peaks is just a few weeks away and my sponsorship page (link expired, removed) is up and running, hint hint.  In preparation for the National, I walked the Yorkshire Three Peaks a few weeks back with a crowd from work.  The walk finished up in a pub near the bottom of the last peak.

They told us the Old Hill Inn was “right at the bottom of Whernside”.  It was no more near to that fell than Tokyo is to Chepstow.

As I trudged towards the Inn, I thought back to where I first heard about the Yorkshire Three Peaks: climbing the three highest points in the county – Ingleborough, Pen-y-ghent and Whernside – in no more than twelve hours.  It was when I read about a guy called Norman.  It is unspecified whether that is his first or last name, or simply if he goes by a single name like Madonna or McLovin’.  Anyway, in 1976, he ran the route in under two-and-a-half hours.  I continued my weary shuffling, long since broken off from my slower and faster comrades.

We slowly regroup at the Inn, in similarly confused states of mind.  As we sat, peeled off muddied walking gear and tended to varying degrees of sunburn and blisters, I considered my ‘lightening’ pace.

Clearly, my well-researched walking diet was the key to success.  I had packed frugally; my daypack consisting of a light lunch, water and eight Mars Bars.  By the end of the walk, the bars were all gone, although two had been selflessly donated to other members of our expedition, who were not malnourished, but just really, really wanted to eat something more interesting than cereal bars.

One was gone before the start of the first mountain.  Ingleborough was our first target and the prospect of scrambling (yes, with hands) up a rather high, frozen-over escarpment pushed me to confectionary almost immediately.  Luckily the rest of the walk was just that – feet only.  One more bar got destroyed at the rocky summit of Ingleborough half an hour later.

I ate two more bars on Pen-y-ghent.  The ascent was gradual and surprisingly tiring, so lunch was taken on the way down.  In the beating April sun, I heartily tucked into my three-day-old, un-refrigerated Tesco sandwich, crushed crisps and chocolate.  The energy gave me the boost for the four-hour overland trek to Whernside.  Along the way, we depleted my Mars stash and took full advantage of a tea and coffee stop from the back of a Transit Van near the Ribblehead Viaduct.  It was the best coffee I have ever had.  The magic Nescafé pushed us to the summit of Whernside.  My reward?  The Turner-esque views? Yes, but also a final Mars Bar and a jog down the side of a surprisingly steep ridge.  I felt like a slightly bloated Sherpa.

It felt like it took me two and a half hours just to get from the foot of Whernside to the Old Hill Inn and the welcome pint of cloudy ale to toast my time of ten hours fifty minutes.  Despite a time difference of over eight hours, I’m sure Norm would have been proud – he had probably eaten more Mars Bars than me anyway.

There’s that link again!

(link expired, removed).

Roll on 8th June!