A metaphorical and literal mountain climb
We headed towards the start of the mountain. To start with it was a tarmac road, it was way steeper than either of us expected. We couldn't see anything further than the 4 or 5 feet our head torches shone and had no idea how long the steepness would go on for, it could have been the whole way for all we knew. Within ten minutes my knees were already feeling the strain and my poor mum could barely breathe. I could see the panic on her face but I tried to be calm, tried to say a few words of comfort, but she was really struggling. My mum would tell you herself that she is 54, overweight and not very fit. She had done well to lose a lot of weight previously and took getting her fitness better more seriously and was more dedicated than I was, she even gave up smoking, (she'd tried doing so anyway) but I think this made her more determined.
I heard the words, "Zoe, I can't do this" and my heart sank. I've got to admit I don't think either of us thought, in a million years, that she would feel like she wanted to stop ten minutes in. We stopped for a moment, but the group was going pretty quickly. There were a few still straggling behind, which we were grateful for. We weren't the only ones struggling. She had a drink and I told her that she could do this and that I thought if she stopped now she would regret it. The guide said it wouldn't be too much longer for this bit and I don't know what she said, but she had a bloody good word with herself and it obviously did the trick and she cracked on. We took it at a slower pace then, even one of the guides said that the people leading got a bit carried away with their take off. I was relieved, I didn't want her to give up for herself, she had her own reasons for being there. I didn't want her to feel disappointed with herself and give herself a hard time, because she would have. I didn't want her to feel bad for stopping me (there's no way I would have left her to go do it. She wouldn't have done me either) but I also didn't want to stop, I was there for reasons bigger than myself, I was compelled and needed it. I wouldn't have been mad or resented her, but I would have been quietly disappointed and trying to avoid showing it, knowing my mum would have felt bad enough, but it would have been ok, there would have been other times.
Anyway that didn't happen. We carried on and struggled all the way up that mountain! I'm not sure how, but we did. After some time had passed, we caught up with the rest of the group who were sat having a break and our groups were decided. Of course, mum and I were in the last group with the few others that were dragging behind. Luckily for us, it was the woman that we had met at first, they were very nice and we'd already had a good laugh. The guide with our little group, Alex, was young and funny. He encouraged us when we needed it, talked us through the best ways to go, and kept us going when we needed it.
There was an older guide that we had taken a disliking to. We realize now that this was just because he was honest and we didn't want honesty, what we craved, in fact, was false hope and lies. He described in detail when a hard or "easy" bit was coming. He brutally let us know when the "gentle" bit would be over, while we looked at each other in horror thinking, 'What gentle bit?' The more time went on, the less we saw of him, which was fine with us.
We had aptly named ourselves #TEAMSHIT and got further and further behind the rest of the teams. I was happy with that, I do think at some points I could have carried on when others stopped or walked a little quicker in places but I was grateful for those times, it meant I could take it a little bit easier. Mum and I had gotten ourselves into a bit of a routine. We'd walk ahead a little and sit on a rock and wait for the others to catch up. Those minute or two breaks between saved us (and were absolutely hilarious because every single time my mum went to sit on a rock instead of sitting down she fell down, and every single time I equally shit myself and cried with laughter. She claimed that these failed attempts at sitting were purposeful but I'm not sure. Either way, it got to the point I was waiting for it to happen just so we could laugh, and every time I giggled and worried about the prospect that she would just topple off. We were told several times that to keep stopping makes it harder, but we know ourselves and I know that if It weren't for the way we ended up doing it, I wouldn't have made it. It was nice to just sit with mum in those breaks too, out of the hecticness and just trying to reclaim some energy was yet more time I wouldn't usually have with her. I'd layered up so I wouldn't get cold but I was working up such a sweat I had to begin removing layers which I never imagined I would. It was difficult because the temperature changed regularly so I had to keep taking off and putting on. Eventually, I was moving at such a slow speed that there was no heating up of my body so the layers remained and I was grateful for them. I was shocked that at no point did I need to put my fleece on and I'm pretty sure that my mum just had her hoody on and didn't even need her coat for a large percentage of the walk up! We laughed and whined our way up and the 'I cant do this' moments weren't far apart but we eventually got to the halfway house. God it was hard! We'd already experienced slopes steeper than we'd imagined, bits of path that were described as "steps", which in truth were huge uneven rocks placed in a step-like formation. That is NOT the same thing! I sat and had a drink and a chocolate bar. I was happy to not be able to see where we were going, how far we still had left to go, what the terrain coming up was like or what the incline of the slopes coming up were. Again, I think had I have known all those things, I would have been less inclined to carry on.
Everyhere was pitch black so there weren't many opportunities for photographs and apart from anything else the only thing I could think about was us getting up the bloody thing. Part way up I noticed the moon glowing a bright orange, I wished then, that I had brought a camera instead of relying on my iPhone. It was stunning, a deep orange glow with flashes of red across the moon's surface. The gruelling climb carried on and so did we, at our pace, with our breaks, stumbling across the different random terrains. In some parts, it was steep and hard and painful. In others, less so, although still hard work.
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| Rubbish iPhone moon photo does it no justice. |
We were still a fair way off, but far behind the mountains, you could see the sky starting to become lighter. It was beautiful but made me a little nervous. I was here for that! To be sat at the top of Snowdon to watch the most beautiful sunrise I'd ever seen.
Was I going to make it on time? I hoped so. The further we got the lighter it got. It was 4am and I wondered how far off we were, as official sunrise time was at 4.40. Alex told us that it was still quite far and when I asked if he thought we'd make it for sunrise, he said he wasn't sure and didn't look very convinced. I felt a bit disheartened at that prospect. Honestly though, at that point, it didn't really matter, I was still accomplishing something. My focus had turned to just putting one foot in front of the other and what I was starting to see was stunning anyway, so I put no more thought into it and just quietly hoped, but didn't pin all my hopes onto it. I was happy to just let it go if I had too. So far nothing had really gone the way I preempted it would and usually, that would totally throw me off but unusually, it was ok. I was ok. I was living completely in the moment, taking in what the world had to offer, one very heavy, unpurposly mindful, step at a time.
It was over the next hour that the views were at their most magnificent. THIS, this right here was exactly what I was there for. Chasing beauty, experiences, new sights and new perspectives. There for a few moments, I felt displaced or in disbelief, that in fact, it was me, stood in that spot, seeing that sight, climbing this climb. Me? But mostly, I was just there, just being.
Steve A.T.S
To some, I'm not sure that would mean a whole lot, but for me, it was a humbling experience. I felt I knew myself better up there than I ever had before. This is what I'd been chasing, and waiting, and climbing, and stumbling for. This was the thing that had inspired the whole thing. This is what had inspired my mum to lose her marbles and join me.
We got to a slope that I could see from to top to bottom, I don't know if it was actually the steepest part so far or if that's just what my brain and bones were telling me. It was rough and loose, I knew for the last half mile or so I'd been walking at snail's pace, sometimes a step forward felt like I'd only moved an inch and in some cases, I think I had. But I looked up at that thing looming over me and thought there is no way I'm ever going to get up that unless I just do it as quickly and as powerfully as I could. I turned to my mum and explained that I just need to get the fuck up it and checked that she'd be ok if I left her for a minute or two with the others. I knew she would be, we were all quite well acquainted by now and the top was in sight so I'd just plonk myself on the rock at the top and wait for them. So I did and my word it was brutal, but instead of spending a long time suffering my way up slowly, I used a burst of stubbornness and willfulness and off I went. I finally reached the rock where I did a more mum effort of a sit down, more of leg wobble, arse fall kind of effort, my knees seared with pain, but I didn't really mind, I knew I had a few minutes to wait for the others to catch up, as they did what I couldn't and stumbled half a step at a time. I watched, grateful to not be doing it and sitting instead, pleased to see that mum hadn't stopped, was way further ahead of the others and not far off sitting on that rock beside me. She told me afterwards that it helped her along..............................
Not long after I had asked if we would make it, we reached a point where you could actually see the summit. It still appeared to be quite far away, but the end goal was in sight. I think, without acknowledging it at the time, it gave us a bit of oomph in our boots because within half an hour we'd gotten up that last slope and reached the foot of the steps that lead you to the summit!
Barry Finley.
A little sit, a few fab photos and the perfect selfie opportunity.
Nearly there, Mum.
Nearly there, Mum.
Four long gruelling hours, approximately 4.5 miles, 1085 metres higher than sea level, nearly a litre of water, many stops, many near quits, many swear words, many moans and many aches and pains later, we..... were..... there.
I, Zoe Horsfield, little old nobody, was actually standing on the summit of the highest mountain in the whole of England and Wales, looking over the world watching a brand new day begin, from a brand new perspective, in a brand new world, with brand new eyes and I was doing it about 10 minutes ahead of time which was a little Brucey Bonus.
At the summit there was a spiral of stone steps that led to the plinth, mum clocked straight away that there was no rail and her height phobia was absolutely not ok with that. I said I'd stay on the outside while she went up on the inside, I got about halfway up before I realised that it was absolutely fucking terrifying and we were definitely going to fall to our deaths....... we didn't, but it was bloody scary and I laughed at my own incompetence while previously bouncing delightfully to my mums aid, what a fool. We got to the top of the step and the ledge around the plinth was fairly narrow, it was quite busy with people already and some of them were very, let's say, eager? Mum got nudged, which nudged me and we were most certainly coming to a sticky end....... again, we didn't, obviously, but we held on for dear life, took our obligatory selfie, a quick snap of the plinth and got the hell on down! (It was bloody freezing up there anyway, it was the first time I'd had to wear my gloves and it was only ten foot higher, but about 20 degrees colder)
These two photos alone are proof that neither me or my mum, can ever say that we can't do something ever again. With some willpower, some determination, good company, a sense of humour, an adventurous spirit, taking things a bit at a time, pushing through when things get hard instead of giving up, and a good dose of insanity, you can literally do anything you want.
Next stop Everest!!!
or maybe just Scafell Pike in a few months, my legs are killing.......
or maybe just Scafell Pike in a few months, my legs are killing.......
We definitely had envisioned ourselves having a while to sit and take it all in, to spend some time up there to enjoy it and relax, but being the last ones there, everyone else had already done that and it was time to make our way back down, again. It would have been nice, but I didn't mind all that much. It was still hard work. It was still steep and unstable and uneven. It wasn't quite as strenuous as on the way up, but my knees always struggle more going down hills and steps than up. It was no different in this case. I felt nervous going down, I already knew I would, I just never feel quite as sturdy on my feet, and it's further to fall if you fall forward downhill, the landing and distribution of weight is different, you have to hold yourself differently. Saying all that, It was definitely more enjoyable, there was no pressure now, it was light so you could see the views for miles and we just took in what we had missed in the darkness on the way up. The groups weren't necessary any more and the guides just wandered down at their own pace, as did everyone else. It was a lighter feeling. It wasn't as intense and neither were the moods, the swears and complaints were now more in jest than through frustration. We laughed on the way down, coming to each part we'd just ferociously struggled up, trying to find the particular rocks we'd slumped on or the same "steps" we'd scrambled up, renaming them cliffs.
We quietly chuckled at each passerby going up, knowing what they were suffering, relieved it wasn't us anymore. It was a surreal feeling that people kept congratulating us and saying well done, and we naturally did the same, the atmosphere was subduedly buzzed, people were tired but full of energy too, full of pride in themselves and the people around them, strangers and friends alike. I was awed at every new sight I was engulfed in. I felt good, I was knackered but I felt good, I felt, proud and, ironically, strong. I tinkered here and there on thoughts of the whats, the whys and the whos that got me here and silently gave them a nod.
We were getting there. The way down was a lot quicker in real time and in feeling, we knew that we were less than a quarter of the way off finishing, The little village we had set off from started to come into view and got closer and closer and that bacon butty I'd been thinking about all night as a celebratory Brecwast to myself, was singing my name in the most beautiful Welsh accent.
Mum told me that she could see the tarmac we had come up and I danced inside, I couldn't see it but after a while I noticed it, and IT WAS BLOODY MILES AWAY! I manage to get my horror live on facebook which was lovely.
It was not that much later from me having to end my live video to try and scramble down yet more "steps/rock/cliffs" that my mum said she wasn't going any further, to which I replied, "Yes you are, because the only other way you're getting out of here is by air ambulance so you'll have to fall and break your leg." To which her response was to fall flat on her fucking face! I have never been so scared and yet howled so hard in my entire life! The first thing to set in was sheer panic. The woman fell straight. It was the best TIMMMMBEEERR moment I've ever seen, but it was downhill and I had a horrible feeling she might have totally smashed her face up.
The first thing she did was hand me her camera, I thought so she could get up, but no, she later told me it was because she didn't want it to break, typical. She was ok, looked like someone had taken a paint roller covered in dust and just rollered the front of her with it. She'd bashed her knees and was a bit sore and bruised, knocked her head a bit but nothing to worry about. Some people helped her up, while I kind of awkwardly hovered trying to help but doing nothing effective at all, but yes, she was ok, thank god, and no air ambulances were necessary. The timing was impeccable to the moment, even the lady who stopped told me not to mention air ambulances again because god knows what would happen.
We hobbled our way down, now more so for mum, and finally reached our end.
That last bit of tarmac was just as shitty and steep and intimidating on the way down too, by the way.
Feeling flat ground beneath my feet was absolute bliss. My bacon butty and coffee was just a mere 100ft down the road. We passed all the guides that had gathered on the benches by the Snowdon Station, thanked them and followed our stomachs.
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