Fell

With optimism and inclination to determination and my summit inukshuk.

Welcome to a right handed blog post. It's one handed because I broke the other one. I stood on a tussock in a boggy patch among granite boulders and it gave way. I went over, skinning hip, hand, head and knees. And fracturing a metacarpal base.

As the nursery rhyme goes:

Hands, knees
and boomps-a-daisy
what is a boomp
between friends
Annette Mills

Going back in time, the day had started so well, I'd driven to the car park in Glenmalure, a beautiful morning, windows open, music from the XX reinforcing the majestic views, especially along the Military Road from Laragh. I got a text at the start of my walk:

Hope you have a lovely walk

To which I replied

Thank you. I'm just starting 0750. Beautiful here but no mobile coverage.

I didn't know I had the whole mountain to myself. Apart from the sheep, larks, meadow pipits, hooded crows and some Sika deer. The only signs of humanity were the occasional jet trails far above in the azure skies. Indeed, vertical visibility seemed so much more than haze limited horizontal views. Of course humans have long shaped this area; I was on roads and tracks, among fenced Sitka spruce plantations, seeing tagged sheep with red and blue dyes of ownership, modern hiking boot cartouches in the mud, the adjacent Glen of Imaal military firing range warning signage; but there were no other folk around as I headed up Fraughan Rock Glen. And vertically, up past the waterfall beneath Ballinaskea. I'd been here often before, the last time was in 2008 when I came on a family excursion. And the time before that, it was for a 30 km hike. But this time, I only had time for a four hour round trip hike, so I was headed directly to the summit of Lugnaquilla. And I'm not as fit as once upon a time, but getting fit, that's the point. 

I recalled the last time I got lightheaded and puked was 60 km into the 100 km Oxfam Trail Walker on the UK South Downs,  seven years ago. Then, I was very fit but had too many 'energy' drinks and supplements; sugar was the enemy. This time I reminded myself that I only have a month to get fit enough for the Yorkshire Three Peaks. So, I simply had to reach the summit. I rested several times, rehydrating, recovering among the meadow pipits, them saying 'sweet-sweet' when perched and keeping an eye on me, in between their normal business activities, which mostly involved flying up directly to a great height and dropping like hang-gliders, trilling exuberantly on descent. Lovely to watch.

The ascent from the valley of the Glenmalure River to Lugnaquilla feels like the inverse of a volcano climb. Volcanoes get steeper with altitude. The bits on the Lug that feel steepest are lower down, the final climb is along a broad shouldered plateau, popular with sheep. There's a good description here. The point is that I knew how it would end if I could get up to the shoulder. So I persevered, perhaps a bit too fast, perhaps more mindful of the limited time rather than accepting fitness limits.

Once up to the shoulder, I hiked quickly across to the summit where I took in the views, made an inukshuk on the benchmark atop the cairn, took a few photos and had a snack in the refreshingly cool and surprisingly strong wind. Surprising because the hike was otherwise windless.

Then I headed back down, retracing my steps. And took a tumble. And in taking the tumble, I realised, even as I willed myself to be unbroken, just how exposed I was. I found myself speaking out loud for the benefit of the onlooking sheep. I was otherwise alone. On the Lug. Madness. I felt my iPhone digging into my pelvis, stood, checked and saw 'no coverage'. Bottles of Lucazade and orange juice had popped out of the backpack's external pockets. The mouth piece of my Camel-Bak had somehow joined them on the ground. Contused on bony corners, and bleeding from other places, my left hand didn't feel normal as I reached down to pick up the jetsam. But I was standing and everything else felt normally connected. Lucky. Annoyed but lucky. I told myself to feel very lucky. But I was worried that I'd broken my hand. And worried that I was five or six km from the car park. And there was no one in sight.

I walked on down and was only troubled on the descent around the waterfall, scared to fall again. First time I wondered about walking poles in years - said to spare the knees and make you think and therefore be careful on the tricky bits - but despite having two sets at home, I've never got comfortable with them. Are they an age related necessity?

And yet, I got to the car park in half the time it took to summit. Where I saw my first other people, a family group who had just arrived. They asked about local loop walks and told me they were seeking a one hour hike, practice before a 120 km walk in June on the last part of the Camino de Santiago. By now, my hand felt broken as I struggled to remove my hiking boots. And I can paraphrase what one of the Camino group said of my hand, them summarising a poem read the night before, you're not living if you're not getting knocks and scrapes. And a corollary I overheard ascending Ben Nevis in 2008, on the day of the annual Ben Nevis Run when I was doing another Three Peaks Challenge - the seniors (70+) were descending, two in conversation, one carrying bloody stigmata on knees and palms, he shouted "I'm getting so old that if I fall again, I'll give up fell running". 

The car is automatic and together with Tom Petty anthems, I drove home. I convinced myself it was a sprain until the next dawn light forced me to consider swelling as an indicator of fracture.  X-ray and CT scans confirmed and imaged the damage. Left fifth metacarpal fractured at base. Pinning may be required. And while telling tales of woe, last year's factor 50 sunscreen failed to protect my face and ears.

Four hours, 14 km, 770 m up at 21C. I wonder will I be able/allowed to do the Yorkshire Three Peaks in 26 days time? Our sponsorship status is here.

And by the way, here's something lucid and brilliant I read while in the emergency department.