I had dropped off in the minibus, waking as we approached Manchester. Scafell Pike had proved to be a tougher top than we had all thought and we had lost the early time we had gained on Ben Nevis. Our early enthusiasm had waned as new doubts crept into our minds, we were physically tired and I was certainly mentally exhausted from Navigating on the hills and the roads so far. I just dozed off in my damp clothes, just give me four hours on Snowdon I prayed, that’s all I need. Nick Collison guided Andy through North Wales as we were all starting to get a second wind. This was it, we thought, only one hill. We arrived at Pen-Y-Pass car park at 11.15 a.m., we had nearly five hours. I could have kissed Andy. With renewed vigour we baled out of the van and piled our gear on. I had to make a quick toilet stop (we had been on the road a long time), by the time I emerged everybody had a good lead.

It was a superb day as I steadily made my way up the Pyg track. I decided not to rush it, Snowdon is still a big mountain over 3,500 feet, but I had done this route a few times in Winter, up and down in less than four hours so I was confident of making it barring injury or disaster. I caught up with Nick near the zigzags and thought it somehow appropriate to make the summit with him. A few feet from the top we met some more guys from our group and took a few moments to savour the occasion. Gaining the zigzags again we passed Ian Peacock on his way up who had put in a tremendous effort. He had been unable to get on with his newly purchased walking boots and had climbed all three mountains in his trainers, not to be recommended but an incredible feet, if you will excuse the pun, he had really shown iron determination. I passed, once again, an old climbing partner I had seen on Ben Nevis the night before, he was really showing the strain of the event, obviously not helped by my inane grin, secure in the knowledge that for me it was all nearly over. Snowdon still managed to have a sting in its tail though, the last hour was agony on my knees and Nick looked like he had given everything. The last couple of hundred meters, we straightened our backs and marched into the car park heads held high. It had taken less than 23 hours.

All the participants in our group had managed to come in less than 24 hours, except Ian who, as mentioned earlier, had shown the true spirit of the event by not giving in, even when that would have been by far the easy option. After a quick coffee, it was back in the van and to the Bed and Breakfast in Bethgellert. That evening in the Hotel we were all far too tired to fully appreciate what had been accomplished. After a decent bath, hot meal and a couple of beers we were too exhausted to even watch Euro 2000 (I bet a few women will be sending their partners to the hills next time football is on). The next morning we loaded the van a bit wistful that the weekend was drawing to a close, but as with many adventures it wasn’t quite finished, the minibus refused to start. After pushing for a while, the very nice people at the AA were called out. Whilst we waited, I lay on the wall of the stone bridge in Bethgellert, basking in the rays of a glorious sun. I allowed myself a very self satisfied smile as I realised what we had done that weekend, driven 1200 miles, walked up 10,500 feet and back down, over 25 miles of some of the roughest terrain this country has to offer in all weathers, and why? As Mallory would have said in 1924, because its there.

Extremely special thanks are extended to the following people:

Nick Collison, for inviting me and organising the event, the logistics of which as you can imagine from booking transport to finding accommodation are a nightmare.

Andy Hunt, for an enormous amount of driving, making up time but especially, not falling asleep at the wheel, cheers mate.

All the participants, Mac McKinnon, Kev Crawley, Simon Gilbey, Pete Lovelle, Nick`s friend Martin and the iron willed Ian Peacock. This year for a challenge Nick how about a very tough week in Ibiza, or two weeks on the beach in Barbados? A massage parlour in Amsterdam perhaps, JUST NOT THE THREE PEAKS.

Dave B.

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