Grand Day Out 3

For our December Walk we had settled on a two day challenge, intending taking on two of the three Yorkshire Peaks, Ingleboruogh and Pen-y-ghent, leaving Whernside for another day. Some of our usual suspects couldn't make it, and when Rachel dropped out due to work commitments, so did Dawn, lewaving just the stalwarts to go on, Dave Selby and PK along with myself. The plan of attack was an 0445 start, pick up at Driffield then to Horton In Ribbersdale where we would be staying the night after tackling one of the peaks, then doing the next on the Wednesday before returning home in plenty of time for work on Thursday. (Although I was hoping to be contacted by duties with an extra day off!)

As ever plans went to ratshit the moment we left Driffield, with a snowfall hampering our progress through to Horton. Oh yes, and to make things worse we arrived in Horton, thanks to SatNav woman, who managed to steer us off the wrong junctions whenever we hit the A1 or M1, rather than the similarly named and fortunatley not to faraway Horton in Ribbersdale. Snow had settled, but ceased falling by the time we set off up Ingleborough at about 1120 hours.

Having gone only a short distance it started to snow again, but as it was on and off, and not a serious blizzard we decided to push on - there was perhaps 2 to 3 inches of snow by now, and it was probably hovering about -6 degrees, but hey, what the hell. We'd come a long way, we were dressed for the weather and determined to get some walking in right? Light weights we are not (particularly the fat lad!) Visibilty began to deteriorate sporadically, but it's a well waymarked track and confident in Daves map reading and falling over abilties we pressed onwards. A breif luncheon sojourn in a derelict shooting lodge provided welcome relief from the wind and snow, and the opportnity to enjoy a glass of red wine with my Duck and port wine pate sandwiches - well, one has to keep standards doesn't one? In the absence of any girls we enjoyed a Yorkie too.

We pushed on and by 1400 hours had reached a decision point. Visibilty was almost nil, further snowfall had left about 6 inches of snow now settled on the ground with progres becoming more difficult. Dave had fallen over/slipped about 5 times by now (his total was 8 by the time we got back) and although he is well padded and escaped serious injury there was a real risk on of us might break something. incredibly, despite the sub zero temperatures, I had a sweat on from the exersions of making progress against what had now turned into a blizzard, with stinging freezing rain and hail being propelled at us sideways.

We reckoned we were only maybe 20 minutes from the summit, but the last 20 minutes is a hard climb, requiring the use of hands in places, and in the conditions it would have been too risky to push on. Even by 2 p.m. with the falling snow and cloud cover the light was starting to fail, and if we had taken the risky decision to push on it would have meant making the latter part of the return journey in the dark. We made the wise decision to turn back and head for the pub, with a vow to return in better weather, with more daylight hours to play with. incredibly, and to our joint surprise, given the remotness of our location, it was at precisely thsi moment that my mobile phone rang and duties granted me Thursday as a rest day. Proof indeed that they can reach you anytime, anyplace, amywhere! Strangely, immediately I terminated the call I lost the signal, and only gained a strong signal once we returned to the pub. Bob works in mysterious ways.
Left: The snow got deeper than this in places, over black ice on the rocky bits - very slippery!

At the pub (I forget the name of it - was it the Globe?) we had booked bunks in the bunk room, which turned out to be colder than a badgers nose, and turning on the radiators did little to improve things. Still, things would improve after a nice hot shower and a meal, right?

The hot shower proved a little too much to ask. There where two showers, one had a broken control for the heat adjustment, and none of us had pliers, so it would only give cold showers. The other one worked fine for the Selby person, but then refused to give hot water for anyone else - not in any quantity anyway. It would either give a jetwash of cold water, or a trickle of superheated steam too hot to bear - but nothing in between.

The bar opened at 6 with the promise of a mixed grille. Unfortunately chef didn;t have the ingredients for a mixed grill, despite the hills being covered in "them big woolly dogs" (sheep) and cows he was short of eggs, lamb chops and something else. We settled on fillet steak but guess what - he didn't have that either, but he did have sirloin which was very tasty when it arrived. PK plumped for Fish and Chips which looked equally appertising. Sadly the Black Wooly Dog bitter had run out, as had my second choice. I had the distinct impression this place was running down for the winter. I ended up with Timothy Taylor biter which was palatable right up until i drank the barrel dry and had to switch to John Smiths - did I really get through 8 pints that night? PK and Dave meanwhile were drinking Guiness, which didn't bode well for the ambience in the bunkhouse later.

At least a tenner disappeared into the pool table and a very sociable evening was had by all, retiring to the bar until about midnight, when we ran out of money and our drinking trousers wore out, much to the reilief of the barmaid, who we had christened Ingrid, for no other reason than she had revealed herself to be a Student visiting from Austria. We never asked her real name.

The bunkhouse was Bloody freezing, and dispite the beer coat and thermal vest it was an uncomfortable night for me, although to be fair my sleeping bag is summer weight - PK had some sort of centrally heated NATO surplus sleeping bag with a built in DVD player, minibar, colour satelitte TV, with hot and cold running water and reports that he was quite comfortable. Mind you, he fell out of his third storey bunk at one point so he could have been suffering concussion whe he said this. The night was punctuated by the homely smell of Guiness farts and PK's tuneful snoring.

Breakfast couldn't come to soon. Incredibly noone had a hangover, and the concensus of opinion is that the beer must be watered down. Despite having ordered full English breakfast, surprise surprise there were no eggs. I don;t see why the Chef couldn't have nipped out overnight and got soem from the loal Tesco's, it was only about 50 miles away, and the snow hadn't got that much worse, only another couple of inches falling overnight.

More snow was forecast however, so despite the clear blue skies and the inviting slope of Pen-y-Ghent it was probably a wise decision to cut and run and head for home. Pk was suffering a knee injury he insists is from the walking rather than the drunken buffoonery of falling out of bed, and I was feeling the effects of too little sleep. Rather than risk getting cut off in the snow and unable to return home (which would have been a terrble shame - snowed in in a pub!) we set off reluctantly for home. No point being stuck in a pub with no beer, no eggs and surrounded by Woolly dogs you can't eat.

Pen-Y-Ghent (or that dark brooding bastard, as Dave would have it) looking terribly inviting under a cloudless blue sky.

We shall return and conquer.

The car doors were welded shut by the snow and ice, and it took considerable effort to defrost and release it. Temperature at that time (about 1015) had risen to -4, so the overmight low was probably -10 or less, and we reckon about -7 (plus the wind chill factor) when we tackled the climb up Ingleborough. Okay, it doesn't make us Chris Bonnington, but it certainly gives a feeling a achievement to have got as far as we did given the conditions.