Scafell Pike - FAIL

County – Cumbria

Elevation - 978m (we made it to 934m)

Date – 14 January 2023

Distance – 19.1km

Elevation Climbed - 1,104m

Status – 1st

In any list of the highest things, you're obviously going to be drawn to the highest of the highest.

I'd been contemplating a shot at Scafell Pike, England's highest mountain, ever since beginning this challenge. I never seemed to be in the right place at the right time, until one cold January weekend I found the stars aligning...I was in the North West on the Friday, had a commitment in Windermere on the Sunday and work in Dumfries on the Monday, leaving a day spare for a crack at the Lakes. But the forecast wasn't great...

I met my mate Dan in the pub on Friday night. Dan does ultra marathons, Ironman etc. He's rather fit. I am not. After a few pints (he knows how to soften me up), Dan explained his plan. We would drive to Langdale before dawn, giving us a whole day to get up the Pike. We got the map out and planned the route.

"Erm Dan," I pointed out. "It's 22km and over a 1000m of climbing. And the sun sets at 3pm"

"Be fine," he asserted. "We can do 5k an hour, bit of stopping for snacks, photos, wees, and we will be done in five hours"

"No...I do 5k an hour on the flat. Not up a massive mountain"

"Nonsense! Get to the bar"

At 0630 I blearily walked up the path to his house and dragged him into the car. It's about a 90 min drive to the Old Dungeon Ghyll start point, and as we got closer the views were more spectacular. The rain had ceased, and things were looking good for our effort. We put our many, many layers on at the car park, and headed east up the valley.

The first few k were easy enough, heading along the valley floor at a decent pace. "Don't know what I was worried about," I thought "Piece of piss". This feeling lasted exactly to the moment when we reached Rossett Gill and headed vertical. It was very, very steep for a very, very long time, and I was delighted when we reached the top of the ridge and looked over Angle Tarn. "Nearly there now," I thought.

Oh my sweet summer child.

Once on the top of the ridge we met the full force of the wind, gusting at 50-60mph. Moving up Esk Pike and Broad Crag the wind was joined by hail, which at those speeds turns into thousands of tiny ice bullets. "ow ow ow ow ow" was all that could be heard at times. Broad Crag is where the problems started.

Looking at a map, you see a nice green line directing you towards the summit, where you might imagine a lovely well-made path might be underfoot. At the top of the country, though, that's just a boulder field. Covered in ice. In a gale. And a blizzard. The "path" is just a set of cairns to very slowly work along. It was, to be frank, insane.

Eventually we came to a pair of (younger, fitter) climbers coming back from the peak.

"How was it?" we asked.

"Bloody hard. At least another half hour from here"

We looked at our watches. It was 2pm. Getting to the top would mean the sun would go as we got back to this point...and then we'd have to go all the way back down. We looked into each other's eyes and nodded. Time to give it up.

The journey back, bereft of energy, was arduous (for me, anyway. Dan just hopped down the hill like a sprightly goat). By the time we got to the valley floor of Mickleden it was increasingly gloomy, turning pitch black as we got to the river. Thankfully we had brought headtorches and we made our way in shattered silence until eventually the welcoming lights of the New Dungeon Ghyll hotel flickered through the woods. That pint was so, so sweet.

So we had failed. We'd chosen the longest route and I think Dan had over-estimated my level of fitness - had he gone himself, he would have been fine; he had to slow for me. It was a lesson in planning, and in how much I would need to increase my physical state in order to attempt future challenges on this scale (and especially at this time of year).

The mountain isn't going anywhere. I'll be back.