Peaking

Ironically, I saw on the OS map that we passed Simon Fell as we peaked. And we peaked three times in twelve hours. In near perfect weather, pretty much everything in moderation without any torrential rain, hail or snow. In The Yorkshire Dales National Park, some of which was moved to Cumbria, all of which remains in the north of England. No one left behind. No traumas brought home.

The challenge started at 7 am, from Horton-in-Ribblesdale where noise abatement considerations preclude earlier departures. We set out for Pen-y-ghent (694 m) in a conga-like line of several hundred challengers of all ages, shapes, sizes and purpose. We fourteen plus two guides from Maximum Adventure melded indistinguishably into the hordes. Said hordes were relatively well disciplined, discarding little waste other than losing hats and ziplock bags to the crosswinds and generally lining up patiently for the more vertical bits. Our guides reminded some overly enthusiastic folk that scrabbling above us risked dislodging rocks or sliding down onto us. My thoughts were darker; along the lines of 'If I survive you knocking me over, I will hunt you down'. A group of dentists from Leeds sportingly yielded space to me on the ascent of Pen-y-gent when I asked for a bit more time and showed them the scar I was protecting on my left hand. Guide C and I were discussing the 320 million year old cyclotherms underfoot, the alternating layers of limestone and grits that resisted recent glaciation and form the distinctive flat topped peaks, the mountains of our challenge. Ninety minutes into the hike and we were lined up at the wall on the peak for a team photo, in a gap between mists. Not too bad at all; so far, so good.

The second peak at Whernside (736 m) was a long way off; about 19 km and five hours away in fact. Much of the boggy portion between the first two peaks is paved and more paving is being added, all needed to limit people to a track and reduce the erosion due to the several hundred thousand who trek here annually. We crossed steams and walked beside dry stone walls and passed typical Dales stone houses. We stopped en-route for twenty minutes at the Ribblehead Viaduct for a bathroom break in the Station Inn, hot soup for some and generally, to take a breather. I often wonder what other people think about on treks like these. I wondered what it was like living in shanties during the four years of viaduct construction, especially when you know around a hundred were killed in workplace accidents and that smallpox was endemic. And do many folk notice (or care about) the impressive glacial drumlins that fill the valley? And on and on we went, alongside the aqueduct that takes a beck (the Force Gill) over the railway with a view to the entrance of the famous Blea Moor tunnel, up to the Force Gill waterfall and then up Whernside proper, a rounded mountain that is both the highest and least visually impressive of the three peaks. We lined up again for another team photo, this in strong crosswinds that somehow thickened the mist; 23 km and 6.5 hours done. Coming down from the plateau of Whernside was tough, along the sometime walled border with Cumbria and then precipitously down into the Shake Holes area but the weather was pretty much perfect and so it was nothing like as treacherous underfoot as wet limestone can be (and would have been if we'd walked 24 hours earlier).

We crossed the valley of the Winterscales Beck towards Ingleborough (723 m), the third peak, stopping for thirty minutes at Philpin Farm for tea, ice cream and a change of socks (at least these are what I enjoyed on that break). I was getting intermittent messages of encouragement, when mobile coverage allowed, via text and Whatsapp as Walkmeter was broadcasting our progress to friends and family across the world. Guide C rightly chastised me for 'being like a teenager' reading a message, I thought safely, being on a flat grassy bit; I was risking a tumble I couldn't afford (and nor could the team), mea culpa. As an aside, in a truly extreme example of mobile madness, I saw one young woman in trainers shouting over the wind to a tablet-sized video call as she stumbled over limestone cobbles in the mist, just a few metres from the top of a cliff. Ingleborough was the hardest peak for me. By far. I found the ascent really challenging. I was neck-tired from the concentration it took to visually spot the best place for each footfall - normally, this is pretty much autonomic but not when you are consciously protecting a recently repaired hand. Also, much of the blocky scramble was on my left side and I was having to steady myself with my good, right hand, while making very large steps up. Guide C and team mates, BA and AF really helped just by staying with me. And on arrival at the table-topped summit, Guide M walked me across to the peak for the last team photo, another misty mountain trophy. Ten hours and 33 km done, it was a trifle dismaying to accept what we already knew, that there were still two more hours to walk back to Horton-in-Ribblesdale. And so, for the first time, our team split into two, seven hares deciding to run to the pub (or so they said). Us tortoises still made it in twelve hours, just, enjoying the delightful evening sunshine as it brought fields to light and warmth to our faces. And we'd only needed our rain gear twice, for nothing more than short lived drizzle. Hurrah.

Ribblehead Viaduct

There are many memories and eventually, our photos will supplant them. As RN said, 'The memories of these challenges go on for ever - just like the last few miles'. Or perhaps SZ, 'it was the last 23 miles I struggled with most'. Meantime, in summary, this was a great walk, a fine challenge and despite it promising to be the hardest of the four I've done over the last decade, it was the most satisfying. The difference? This was the only one that didn't involve sleep deprivation. And our guides, M and C, were fantastic. They paced us well and circled to rescue any who became dispirited, and not just folk on our team. However, having experienced guides is about the security in case of accident or emergency. And having a reassuring safety-net to promote self-confidence.

There are several serious aspects to these challenges. In our case, we raised a lot of money for Care International (you know who you are and we are exceedingly grateful for your support). And the success of our fund raising was really put into perspective by some of the conversations I had with other groups out on the trek. There were an incredible number of motivations for their pilgrimages. Charity fundraisers for poverty, cancer, the children's hospice. Memorial walks after loss of family members or loved ones. A temple of Sikhs, a practice of dentists, a union of students, university challenge, all team building. Family outings for significant birthdays. A sober stag group. Reunions of all sorts; some said army, some said a get-together of former work colleagues. One group said they were on a corporate spirit weekend but I think we call that Corporate Social Responsibility, which is why we were walking. And I'm sure others had lots more reasons besides. The scale of it all is quite impressive. Imagine that we 14 averaged 60,000 steps each, expended about 3500 calories each and took not just three days in travel and trek, but maybe averaged 100 hours training beforehand. Our partners, spouses, family, friends, colleagues, employers and supporters deserve at least a moment's consideration. We, none of us, did this in a vacuum. And we, each of us, spent a small fortune on boots, socks, back-packs, poles, waterproofs, snacks, water-bottles, vitamins I and P (ibuprofen, paracetamol), sudocrem, knee braces, compeed and maps, gadgets and batteries. And they say a quarter of a million people will set out to do The Yorkshire Three Peaks this year. It's quite fantastic especially since Level 4 fitness is needed to conquer The Yorkshire Three Peaks (same fitness level as Mont Blanc and Kilimanjaro). Some readers might like to know that the annual Yorkshire Three Peaks Race attracts runners who can complete the course in approximately three hours. I'm pleased that we took the twelve and because of that, I feel less fatigue due to taking one hour at rest stops. Rather than a medal or a certificate, I have a flat cap, and to quote from colleague JB, 'I'll always wear my flat cap with pride'. Twelve hours was the perfect time to spend on this challenge.

And here's the link to the final map. Some might say that I owe my sponsors 100 km in training walks. I say I broke my hand four weeks ago and I'm delighted to have been fixed and able to complete the challenge at all. Including the challenge itself, I did 44 walks in total, and it took 100 hours to cover 447 km. Thank you all, sponsors, team mates, guides, physiotherapists, surgeon, friends and family.

And finally, the remainder of the string of (disjointed) notes from my phone:

Who'd have thought you could assemble a team of fourteen with everyone having unique initials? BA TB PB JB AF HG MJ SK RN SR MS PS PT SZ

Our guide M has done both Mont Blanc and Matterhorn.  Our Kiwi AF was discrete in her celebration of the ABs defeating the Lions as we walked. Our American HG took great photos in his new clothes. Our IT savvy Scot MS shared a host of new gadgets. Our Cornish delegate BA ate pasties and wore shorts that earned him a mild hypothermia. Our co-driver JB forgot to bring a tie for the designer shirt worn on the mountains. The Canadian PS sliced and diced a toe only days before the trek.

Who knew phones were for streaming anthems via Deezer into blue-tooth boomboxes inside reverberant minivans? Prince Kinks Dolly My Way with Rocket Man.

Seasoned trekkers talk of anti-inflammatories and pain killers in tablet / caplet count to avoid admitting to self-medicating by grams rather than milligrams.

Time for a few top tips. Always turn off the taps in your hotel bathroom if plumbers are adjusting the mains water supply. Baby food pouches are a great way to keep hydrated and nourished - Ella's Kitchen red, yellow, purple and even green ones worked for me. As did putting sudocrem between my toes before the walk. Professional guides M and C from Maximum Adventure were just that, professional.

Hadrian's Wall was suggested for next year. Please count me out.

Dandelion

"It's a flower not a dandelion" insisted the indignant three-year-old yesterday before we left her for a trip to rugby disappointment. There's a lion theme to this blog, dandy or not, coincidently as Leo Vradkar vies to replace Enda Kenny running the country. We've seen the Leinster Rugby mascot, Leo the Leinster Lion for the last time this season. It's Scarlets that head to the Pro12 final in our home city. 

I came away from the game last night, dispirited, thinking of George Best who said "I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered." It's the last bit that came to mind. Maybe coach Leo Cullen and his management team have squandered the talent that earned five selections for the imminent Lions tour of New Zealand. Saracens, who are on track for a double double had six Lions selected. Leinster, in the same two seasons, have managed to lose two semis and one final. That's poor, very poor. A management problem with serious implications; the inspiration of three European Championships in the four seasons 2009-2102, the European Challenge Cup in 2013 and the Pro12 in 2013 and 2014, successes that filled the rugby academy with amazing young talent, is perhaps being squandered.

dandelions,

dandelions

on the sandy shore -

spring

opens its eyes

Ogiwara Aeisensui

These are things that were in my head as I walked 8 km just to to get to the start of the Dublin Mountains Way in Rathmichael Wood. There were other thoughts too, as I put on and off my rain-gear as the showers drifted over me. I had been to a Cecil Beaton photo exhibition during the week where I realised that fake news and photoshop are just new terms for old concepts. Char to Dowager is worth a look, from the Beetles+Huxley gallery where some 70 photos, all printed before 1945, are being sold.

The beach and some of the mountain walks were augmented by the musky smell of valerian. There were no deer to see because the forest is being logged.

Imagine being so sick that you need home visits by nurses. Imagine having a friend who one day takes you out to lunch where one of your carers happens to see you. Imagine being told that since you have a friend who can drive you to lunch, you no longer need home visits. Is this nationalised health care? 

I wanted to walk the whole way, as I did last year. But I hit the wall on Ballyedmonduff, carried on to Three Rock where my packed lunch did nothing to restore me. So I called for rescue and walked back to Johnnie Fox's pub where I was collected and transported to sanctuary. Only 26 km today according to Walkmeter. But it's OK, there's a month to recover from the blisters and even better, we have reached one of our sponsorship goals.

And I see that I also used Dandelion as a title in 2011.

Haddock

Old anthurium, pavement paw marks, Sorrento and rough seas.

Another loop around the hill. I went down to sea level thrice and back up to the top of the hills. I was on a dinner mission, headed to Robert's in Dalkey to get some haddock, and took the opportunity to make it a 10 km walk, on Trump's 100th day.

Early on, I met a family of five at the top of the Cat's Ladder, where they asked me for directions to the nearest DART station with emphasis on routes with the least traffic. The adult accents were foreign, I presumed tourists, so I showed them the way with Walkmeter on my iPhone before I headed down to Coliemore Harbour. The youngest of the three kids fell over and the kids and I exchanged a bit of banter in perfect English as the eldest told me their ages to lend weight to the need to get the howling five year old to a train. On my way back up from the sea, I met them at Khyber Pass; they had changed their plans and were consulting a paper map. I carried on back up to Telegraph Hill and then went back down again, cutting through Sorrento Park where I met them a third time. I crossed the road, heading back down to sea level in Dylan's Park. And of course, I met them for a fourth time as I left the park. From there I went to Dalkey to buy the fish. And wouldn't you know it, I met them again 20 minutes later for the fifth and final time on Coliemore Road. Which is when I heard the 9 year old use the word 'stalking'. I wondered about that (a lot) on the last two kilometres walking home.

Once home, relaxation in mind, I decided a bath was better than a trip to the jacuzzi in Fitzpatrick's hotel. Best not to dwell on why there's dog shampoo in our bathroom? It was hidden under the anthuriums that have lived there since the Sydney Olympics. Plus a zinc pot of them that arrived two years ago when colleagues in America kindly sent me 'get well' flowers. In a strange coincidence, a local florist chose potted anthuriums, not understanding that a near death biopsy infection, followed by a diagnosis of prostate cancer was why Interflora got involved in the first place. There are three pots still thriving in the light at the top of the house.

Evening

Another 10 km walked off the 500 km goal. In two walks, one in the AM, the other on an absolutely beautiful evening that faded pleasingly to a monochrome layered haze rather than a colourful sunset spectacular.

Positives:

• Spring weather has finally arrived.
• Hang gliders - some so high they appeared lark sized and barely visible.
• Cherry blossom as confetti - it's always a treat.

Negatives:

• Three different drones - the noise nuisance, very big-brotherish and a health worry about battery life.
• Jarred lager louts with blue tooth speakers.
• No weekend litter collection - but at least people have piled the rubbish close to the bins.
• Narcissistic selfie tourists competing for bucket lists or social media irrelevance (while shaped as bright toothed helicopters).

Overweight

I woke up to the start of March worrying about The Yorkshire Three Peaks. The event is on June 24 and time is compressing. My concern was that I pledged to walk 500 km in training as a fund raiser.

Then I weighed myself and found no comfort in being 9 kg over ideal. I recalled the mind altering book 'The Things They Carried' by Tim O'Brien from the 1970s. Inspired, without intending to trivialise the sacrifice of soldiery, I found another purpose for half of the books in the bedroom, books also in mind because tomorrow is World Book Day. I collected and piled them on the scales until their weight allowed me visualise my excess. That's a 60 cm tower of books. I really need to keep walking.

So I took a lunchtime walk, choosing a route I'd blogged in April 2010 for another challenge. This date I know with precision because I still use Walkmeter on my iPhone and the track is still stored there all these years later.

There was a great variety of scenery with lots of chatter from hedgerow birds. In Harefield Place between the lakes, long-tailed tits were mobbing a jay. And the waterfowl on the lakes and canal were in courtship. I even saw two swans going through the entire ritual on the canal - fascinating and so elegant.

A few observations I dictated to the phone as I walked along The Drive - a road naming pun (?) leading to the Uxbridge Golf Course, passing Harefield Place and the former Blockbuster HQ, now being block busted, judging from the demolition advisories, four years after video streaming killed their rental business.

6.5 km today which leaves me 470 km to walk which is about 115 km per month. While nothing is impossible, some things are unlikely.