The Three Peaks - In November? In the snow? Are we mad?

3YP2016 the Three Yorkshire Peaks Challenge – report

Well the day finally arrived for the 2016 challenge, Saturday 19th November 2016. Normally we do this in summer or early autumn in midweek but for various reasons this year we did it in November on a weekend. For the first time I was actually trying to raise money for a good cause, instead of just doing the hike because it's there and we can, which is our usual reason. The good cause in question was the Castlebrae Police Treatment Centre at Aucherarder, Scotland. This is were I went for much needed rehab treatment and physiotherapy following a bad leg break and damaged ligaments in September 2015, the tale of which is documented elsewhere on the blog. I owe much to the wonderful staff there who literally got me back on my feet, teaching me to walk properly again, and without the limp that the NHS physio promised I would have. They are trying to raise £42000 for a zero gravity treadmill, which will help police officers and staff with lower limb and hip injuries maintain a level of fitness during recovery from injuries, preventing muscle wastage and speeding recovery by allowing them to exercise with up to 70% of their body weight reduced, avoiding stressing the injury. It is a most worthy cause and you can still donate if you are inspired by this tale to do so, simply visit https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Y3PC2016 or https://www.justgiving.com/campaigns/charity/tnpctc/castlebraealterg?utm_campaign=20161031_83763&utm_medium=email&utm_source=ExactTarget to make a donation online, and don;t forget to Gift Aid it if you are a taxpayer as this makes an extra £2.50 for every £10 donated 

Right that's the begging bit done, back to the story.

The only remaining team members taking part from our original line up of 8 or 9 years ago were myself and Dave Selby, with relative newcomer Supermarket manager Pete also on board - Petes done it probably four times with us now. Dave had roped in a team of unknowns from the police training department to join us so we had sufficient hikers to make a decent team. In the event, with poor weather forecasts and the usual last minute drop outs only a few turned up.

The Humberside Police team then consisted of myself, Dave, Peter, Charlie, John and Kevin, the latter three being trainers. Statistically that gave an average age of 47, John being the oldest at 54 with Dave and Pete the youngsters at 39.

Arriving at the bunkbarn that would be our overnight accommodation there was snow aplenty on the hills and a fine dusting had covered the roads making the drive up through Selside on the ungritted roads entertaining, a little mini rally stage, which was fun. With more snow forecast throughout the evening, overnight and into Saturdaythe hike was going to be much tougher than usual.

Once we had booked in we met Martin and Joe who were sharing the bunkbarn with us. They had arranged to do the walk with workmates from Andrew Page motor factors, but like us they had been let down at last minute by people dropping out and afraid of the weather. Although both had walked the Peaks once before and were well equipped they were considering aborting rather than tackling it as a pair, simply due tot he bad weather, so we suggested they tag along with us – safety in numbers and all that. Joe was raising money for a Prostrate Cancer charity, a cause he felt strongly for having had many of the male members of his family touched by the cancer one way or the other. 

After the customary few beers it was to bed for an early rise on Saturday morning.  A 5 a.m. alarm call allowed time to park the safety car at Ribblehead and a quick breakfast before setting off, in true "Top Gear" style at exactly 0609 hours to complete the first leg up to Pen-Y-Ghent in the dark. At ground level in the Bracken Bottom valley there was just a dusting of snow, maybe 1/2 inch to an inch, but as soon as we left the metalled road and started up the ascent we stepped into two inches of snow, which got steadily deeper as we climbed higher. The temperature was hovering at about zero, and windchill took this down considerably, but all dressed for the weather we were warm to the point of Dave and Pete removing layers and continuing in shorts! Where the path meets the Pennine Way that changed as the winds increased and the temperature dropped further. The south eastern face of Pen-Y-Ghent always catches the wind, and it was bitter to say the least.

Pen-y-ghent has a long relatively shallow ascent with an abrupt climb to the summit. In the summer this can be achieved from Horton In Ribblesdale in under an hour. It took us at least an extra half hour, nearer three quarters of an hour and the sun was breaking through as we reached the sharp ascent, which was a challenge all of its own. The track is indistinct there at the best of times, and it is a case of picking your way up with the best handholds and steps you can see. It is in effect a climb rather than a walk, albeit only for a short distance, with three points of contact recommended at all times. With the entire outcrop covered in snow it was a two hands on climb, checking each grip and foothold before daring to transfer weight, and with both feet and hands slipping sending the heart racing. The very real risk was of a slip sending you down and it’s quite a drop, with jagged rocks and the sheer height no amount of snow depth would have prevented a serious injury. Regardless we all made it to the top, but John was clearly finding it hard going. Martin and Joe later admitted that had they not had us to guide them and coax them on they would have abandoned at that point.

Arriving at the trig point the entire summit was white over with a fine mist of snow blowing. With only the wall and the trig point it was a case of using experience and instinct to know which way to go, the map wouldn’t help without a reference point although we could have used compass bearing. John tried his military grade Magellan but due to the thick cloud cover couldn’t get a fix on any satellite. It really was hopeless at that point everything was white, with the sky merging into the ground. We struck on regardless, picking out clues to the route as we went along, the old trace of a footprint here, a trace of the trail there and within a mile or so had lost enough height to get under the cloudbase and see familiar landmarks again – and we were spot on course. Instinct and experience, knowledge of the route and terrain had seen us through. Dropping past Hull Pot we soon reached the T junction where you can turn back to Horton in Ribblesdale or continue along the new track towards Ribblehead. The going was still tough, and everybody had ended up on their backside at least once with the slippery conditions.

  

We continued to the second bail out point and here John made the sensible decision to retire gracefully back to Horton In Ribblesdale via the 1 ½ mile route. Although making better progress and thoroughly enjoying the hike Kevin also decided to bail out at this point. Being diabetic he was concerned he was burning up so many calories that he could be in trouble later. No shame at all in achieving only the one peak though, and both have already declared their interest in returning to take part 2017 – but in the summer.

Having ditched the wrinklies and with the average age slightly reduced we were down to a group of six but could pick up the pace a little. The hike across to Whernside was relatively uneventful, each participant taking the lead and the rear at various points as strengths and weaknesses came to the fore. I am fine on the flat and level but due to the ankle injury and a pre-existing knee injury I struggle on downhill stretches particularly where it is loose and rocky surfaces. When it comes to the upwards slopes I aren’t the fastest, but not the slowest either, and can plod on indefinitely – well almost. We made good progress and despite the snowy showers and the cold even Dave wasn’t cursing repetitively, he actually seemed to be enjoying it.

Arriving at Ribblehead Viaduct we were amazed to see the refreshments van there and grabbed a warm drink whilst we changed into dry socks from the backup car and replenished water supplies. A heavy shower of sleet accompanied our lunch, and looking at Whernside was spirit dampening too. A thick black snow laden cloud was settling over it, and Ingleborough itself was banked in snow and fog, the little of it we could see had snow blowing up and over the sides and top, bring some doubt as to whether it would be safely accessible without ropes and crampons. Ingleborough has a very steep climb up the edge of a waterfall – which we couldn’t even see in the conditions.

After a 30 minute R & R we set off up Whernside, again suffering a blast of sleet which tapered off as we turned into the wind and started the ascent. The path was discernible at first but as we made the turn towards the first of its many false peaks it became more and more difficult to see any track at all – it was just a case of following the drystone wall – except the wall wasn’t visible, only the fence posts and wire netting that stands on top of the 3 foot wall could be seen; the snow was drifting, covering the track with anything from 18 inches to 3 feet or more of heavily packed snow. Besides a hard pack of snow where previous hikers must have tread the snow was softer, and more than once my walking poles slipped in deep, sending me off balance. At one point I tested the depth with my fully extended pole and didn’t reach the bottom – around 3 ½ feet minimum of snow. By now we were again loosing all reference points the white foreground of snow merging seamlessly into the white grey sky. A single foot width track had been beaten through the snow by other hikers and it crossed the wall to take advantage of the shallower snow on the other side. As Dave and I took it in turns leading it began to snow again, and the wind picked up drifting the snow and smudging the trail. Charlie, in the middle, a short distance behind later reported that our footprints were disappearing almost before he got to them. He was only around 30 feet behind us, and I couldn’t see the other Martin and Jo at the back, although we kept stopping for them to catch up. As conditions worsened further we agreed that we needed to slow up and keep in visual range.  With the poor visibility it was difficult to gauge how far we were walking and we were beginning to think we had missed the trig point when I saw it looming out of the fog.

    

Time for a Bovril and a few photos before we set off on the right side of the wall this time, the drifts not being quite so steep but still tough going. We passed through a gate that neither I or Dave remember being there last time we did Whernside, last year, but on checking the map it was there, so that’s just our memories playing up.

The descent down the steep unevenly spaced steps down Whernside is always a killer for my left knee joint, but this year the right was worse. Slippery snow and slush meant foot placement was critical, and several times I slipped, either jarring the knees or the ankle or falling over completely. Dave and Joe meanwhile had decided that the quickest way down was on their backsides. It looked like it might be fun, but I didn’t fancy walking the remainder of the hike with wet trousers, so I soldiered on with dignity, if at a somewhat reduced pace.

Once back on the flat it was simple a case of following the trail which was pretty clear of snow by then. By now it was 3 pm and the chances of completing Ingleborough in daylight were nil. Knowing the decent from Ingleborough to be a boulder field I didn’t relish the prospect of crossing it in the dark with a thick layer of snow covering the rocks – it would be like crossing a minefield. Looking across the valley at the steep ascent we could see snow blowing in drifts up the sides, the trail was covered in a deep layer of snow and ice and visibility was nil. I just didn't want to risk snapping a leg or ankle and ending up back in a wheelchair again. That settled it, and we reset course for Ribblehead again and the prospect of a warm by the fire and a pint in the Station Pub. Ingleborough will still be there in the summer when we take the challenge again next year.

The walk back to the viaduct proved uneventful except for a flooded gateway on the path just ½ a mile or so from the finish. With the choice of a detour around it or wet feet I opted for the later and waded through, the depth coming just over my boot tops. Dave waded through with aplomb at top speed ahead of me, whilst the remainder detoured a short distance to a lower section of dry stone wall and climbed over – why didn’t I think of that?

The final time was 8 hours 55 minutes for 18.77 miles of the 26 mile total, and we were losing daylight as we arrived at the pub, 200 yards from the safety car. Given the conditions the energy expended is probably akin to doing the full walk in decent weather anyway. We normally finish in around 10 ½ hours, but there is no way we could have done Ingleborough in under an hour and a half to match that, there was still a good 3 hours walking and climbing in those conditions.

It remains however our fastest time for two out of three in heavy snow wintry conditions, and that is something of an achievement.

At the time of writing we have raised around £135 so far, towards the Castlebrae Appeal, which with the gift aid contribution added equals around about £170, and by encouraging Joe and Martin in the own endeavours have inadvertently helped towards their cause the Prostrate Cancer Research charity, raising a further £100 or so. 

If any of my sponsors feel cheated because I didn't complete the three peaks then they can rest assured I will be back to do it in better weather conditions, and I might well go back and do Ingleborough in the snow in daylight just for the hell of it. Had it been achievable I would have done it, but in the conditions we had it would have potentially risked lives, not only of those taking part, but of those brave and selfless souls who thanklessly take part in rescues when things go wrong. The hills have been their for centuries, and they'll still be there next year - as will I.

Finally a big thank you to all those who donated, and a thank you to the team for their support and encouragement on the day.

Coffee

Todays sermon is about coffee.

About this time last year, or maybe a little earlier I suddenly found myself with time on my hands due to having less time on my feet, more specifically my left foot which was temporarily detached from my leg due to an accident with a trailer which is well documented elsewhere. Whilst we all dream of having extended periods of time away from work the actually reality of that time off is somewhat depressing, particularly if one is confined pretty much to the house as I was. After you have arranged all your books and CD’s into alphabetical order, completed your imaginary ideal 10 car garage, then your imaginary 100 car garage, completed the jigsaw and made a wonky model of a Hawker Hurricane that genuinely does look like it was shot down, although by the USS Enterprise rather than a Messerschmitt, time does start to weigh heavily upon your day. Daytime TV is no help. Initially you enjoy the repeats of old Top Gear episodes on DAVE, until you realise that they are repeating the repeats that you watched only yesterday. Heartbeat and All Creatures Great and Small filled the nostalgia slot for an hour or so, but then to my horror I found myself looking forward to Jeremy Kyles show. Enough! So I broke out the box sets of Breaking Bad, Life on Mars, Ashes to Ashes and when I ran out of them I even watched Flambards.

And then boredom set in. Normally I would take a bath at this point, a long hot relaxing bath with a glass of red wine, a good book and good music on the background. This, with frequent top ups of both wine and hot water could easily while away an afternoon. Sadly with my wayward foot held in place with a cast a bath of his nature was completely out of the question, an unsatisfactory flannel wash and half a shower* was all I was allowed.

*yes, half a shower, with the plaster encased limb prohibited from entry into the cubicle to prevent it getting wet.

It is at this stage that an Englishman would mull things over with a cup of tea. Arthur Dent intergalactic time and space traveller has a lot to say about tea. He famously threw his plastic synthesised cup of tea at the Nutrimat Machine that had provided it saying “Take it back, it tastes filthy.” Having an inbuilt mechanism that rejects tea, i.e. it makes me vomit, I can empathise with this. Arthur Dent, however, liked tea. He enthused about tea. He could write a sermon about tea, and could also make sandwiches although he didn’t know this at the time.

I perhaps digress slightly on the tea thing, because what I did was have a cup of coffee. As I drank it, I realised how entirely and totally unsatisfactory it was. To misquote Arthur, it tasted almost, but not quite entirely unlike coffee.

There are two types of coffee. Well actually there are many types, more of which I will go into later, but two common methods of preparation; instant and not quite so instant.

Instant coffee can come in granules or powder and varies in quality from the very finest like Dowe and Egberts, and Kenco, through the middle ground Nescafe and Maxwell House, through supermarket own brands, and down literally into the gutter, where they sweep up the dust and spilt grounds from the premium brands and sell it as the “Smart Value” range. All have the same thing in common. They are like having sex with a girl from the local council housing estate – cheap, quick, tasteless and ultimately unsatisfying, no matter how sweet it may seem at the time. With very little preparation you can even do it behind the bike sheds – make the coffee that is.

With time on my hands I decided to have some proper not instant coffee. This was my road to Damascus moment. Well, it was the road down to the local COOP actually, a journey which took many minutes, and much hardship and on which I faced much peril, particularly when a car nearly hit my wheelchair on the Zebra crossing. The journey was worth it though, because there, on the shelf just above the level I could comfortable stretch to was a row of Taylors of Harrogate coffee, ready ground and beans in a variety of strengths and flavours. Being a morning I chose a strength 3 morning coffee, ready ground and a cafeteria in which to make it.

Back home my epic journey into coffee began. I decided from the outset that quality mattered over quantity. So where I had been drinking seriously silly volumes of instant each day I would limit myself to just one or two cups of real coffee a day. Perhaps three, maybe four as a treat. You get the picture. I didn’t want to get addicted to Columbian powders, that’s the main thing.

It occurred to me that experts at law are called Barristers. Experts at coffee are called Baristas. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Lesser qualified legal people are called solicitors, and people who solicit are prostitutes, so logically people who make cheap inferior instant coffee are hookers, right? It brings back that sex thing again. Making good coffee is like making love to a beautiful woman. You have to take your time, and make sure the whole thing is a beautiful experience.

So, I start by putting the right music on. It is possible to make coffee to Rock and Roll, but only if you are also flipping burgers. Classical is the way to go – Vivaldi, Holst, Elgar, Glen Miller, the theme from the Deer Hunter or anything by a brass band is could, although not Terry Wogans Floral Dance. Next take a coffee grinder and fill it with beans. Oh yes, I went from ready ground coffee right back to beans, because they are better, fresher and make the experience much more involving. You see it’s not just the drinking of the coffee, it’s the whole experience, you have to involve yourself in the making it.

Savour the flavour, the smell and the look of the beans. Inhale deeply. What joy. Try that with Nescafe and all you get is brown powder up your nose.

Now to the grinder. The grinder must be mechanical, use an electric grinder and you detach yourself from the experience. Now grind those beans, not manically like a dervish, but gently, smoothly, almost caressing the grinder to split and grind those beans. Once you have sufficient grounds pour them into the cafeteria and pour on boiled, but not boiling water. Leave them to infuse with the plunger just settled on top, touching but not compressing the still. Now you need to pick a mug, not a cup.

Just so there is no confusion here a mug is not a mug unless you can get at least three of your finger through the handle. Nobody of any worth ever drank coffee from a cup. Cups are for tea drinkers, mugs are for coffee – end of argument. The American idea of “bottomless” cups of coffee with free refills is just silly. Use a mug in the first place. Have two mugfuls if you like. Just don’t use a cup.

Sweetness of your coffee is purely to your taste. You may add sugar, but it must be brown Demerara sugar, not white. White is purified, and bleached, brown is natural, earthy and wholesome and sometimes has little bits of grit in it, which is fine. It’s like Real Ale tastes better when it has bits floating in it. The sugar goes in the mug first before you add coffee, never the other way about.

Milk or cream is a difficult one. Why would you want to add something squirted out of a cow into something that is pure and perfect? Real coffee is black. But if you do want to add milk or cream it is added to the coffee in the mug, not put in first.

Now comes the moment to savour, the plunging of the coffee. Don’t rush it. Many make the mistake of pushing the plunger all the way down straight away in their rush to get to the finish. Instead, take your time, plunge gently and slowly about a third of the depth, at a snails pace. Watch the grinds swirl and mingle as the steep darkens to an inky blackness. Then pull the plunger back up and immediately return to two thirds of the depth, pause, bring the plunger fully back up and then finally, with satisfaction, push the plunger fully home. Think not of a 1950’s steam engine as you do this, but more of a freight elevator in a 1960’s NHS hospital – slow, but smooth, no rush, dependable. Raise the plunger just a fraction, maybe half an inch to let the grinds breathe and leave to stand for a minute or two before pouring. Coffee perfection.

This brings us to the issue of coffee bars. Not coffee bars as in confectionary bought from Thorntons, which are actually cappuccino, but coffee bars as in the likes of Café Nero and Costa Coffee. As I have said, part of the whole coffee experience is the making of it. In fact it is entirely possible to enjoy a cup of coffee without even drinking it. So why you would want to miss out and have someone else make the coffee for you? Another problem in these vast commercial coffee houses is that they simply cannot make a simple mug of coffee. There are many problems to be honest. Some want to serve your coffee in a take out paper cup, which just doesn’t work. Coffee only tastes right in a proper mug. Put it in a plastic or paper mug and what you get is plastic or paper flavoured coffee. The next problem is Health and Safety, which for some reason, the irony of which is not lost on me, they must serve the coffee at temperatures akin to those in the core of Jupiter. This prevents bacterial growth which might give you a mild tummy bug, at the cost of the risk of third degree burns should you accidentally spill a drop, or take a sip of it at any time within the next 24 hours.

The next problem arises from the increasing multiculturalism in modern society. In the 16^th century when the British East India Company brought coffee to Britain we drank it straight and black. No messing. Gradually we added a little sugar and to make it more palatable for southerners milk or cream but basically that was it for four hundred years.

Now however our coffee shops have a bewildering menu of Espresso, Cappuccino, Moka, Mocha, Frapacinno, Ristretto, Guillermo, Café Crema, Cubano, Americano, Antocinno, Cortado, Galao, Macchiato, and Vienna. None of which mean anything to me, as I just want a straight mug of Joe. Given that most of these end in “o” I blame the Italians. Italian life is all about style, and making something look better than it is, rather like a Lambretta. A Lambretta is a machine of beauty, it promises style and speed and a good time right up until you open up the throttle and strip away the glamour, and only then do you realise that underneath its pretty skirts it has a wooden leg and is wearing clogs. The FIAT spider is the same thing, a stylish sports car, open topped, wonderful to look at, but lacking substance and it melts in the first shower of rain. Italians it seems could polish a turd and make it beautiful. All these variations of coffee are the same, just coffee with something added and a shiny name bolted on. Even the French are at it, with their exotic romantic sounding Café au Lait, which sounds wonderful until you translate into English; Coffee with milk. But give something an exotic name and we, the public are fooled into paying extortionate prices for it. This is why I shun Costa Coffee and look for the small independents which also sell bacon and mushroom sandwiches and usually have trucks parked outside. Provided they aren’t making instant their brews are usually far better than any chain and the drinks menu is simpler; Tea or coffee.

Finally, as a general rule coffee should have nothing added to it, except maybe a tot of brandy, rum or whiskey at Christmas, when it will be acceptable to add some proper cream to it as well, but not the stuff squirted out of a can. A sprinkling of Cinnamon is then also acceptable.

My coffee sermon is prompted by an email I received today advertising a new Wi-Fi enabled coffee making machine. This is simply the work of the devil himself. To take something as pure as the coffee making process and reduce it to pressing a button on an App on your phone is pure evil. It may save time, but it takes the pleasure out of the process.

Coffee making and drinking is not just a way of passing the time away. It is a way of toning up, invigorating, chilling out, de-stressing, taking time to contemplate, reboot, relax and renew ones soul. Nothing else should get in the way.

To quote Forest Gump, that’s about all I have to say about that.

Cheers.