New beginnings

Leaving my life in Orkney behind in 2013 was more difficult than I think even I realised at the time. I went from being unable to shop in Tesco without meeting at least 3 people I knew, to knowing almost no one - my best friends all hundreds of miles away. There are no traffic lights in Orkney, no dual carriageways or motorways but suddenly, after 6 years on a wonderfully idiosyncratic island, I was thrust back into this alien urban environment. In my quest to adjust to a new home and a return to student life after 11 years as a commercial archaeologist, I didn't paddle, I didn't climb, I didn't run and I was miserable. It was as if I had lost myself.

By the end of 2014, things were improving but my boats were still in the garage and my box of climbing kit remained untouched beneath the coffee table. I felt sad and frustrated when I looked back at the photos from all the paddling and climbing I used to do. It felt like another lifetime. But then I met someone who made me see that despite this huge change in circumstances, I was still the same girl, with the same interests, the same dreams and passions. It was as if I was a broken boiler and my pilot light was suddenly reignited.

Perhaps things didn't take the course I expected, but through the shit, that pilot light stayed lit and I regained the drive to start making some changes. I found out a friend at uni did some climbing, I wrote a UKC post to find a regular partner and I started running again, with week 6 of Couch to 5K. And slowly but surely, I rebuilt a life. As a result of that post I met the wonderful Simple Chick and together we climbed, through good times and bad. I battled with a severe, vomit inducing fear of falling, wimping out of leading 4s and kept going until the grades kept increasing and the improvements were even noticed by others. At times my own health was far from good but through it all I kept climbing and I kept running until I could run 5K, then 10K and over 20K, ending up as a member of Queensbury Running Club. 

Witnessing a near fatal climbing accident was an obvious low, but paradoxically, it was climbing, and those that I climbed with, that helped me deal with that and everything else - it gave me a purpose and at times the only reason to get out of bed. Things got better, of course, and as they did, my climbing continued to improve. I found the climber that I had left behind in Orkney and then I overtook her.

On a local paddle, in another lifetime...

In my other life, sea kayaking was a huge component, I lived 5 minutes from the sea in two directions and at one point I seriously considered starting a summer kayak guiding business for visitors to the island. Although for various reasons that never happened, I did obtain my coaching qualifications and coached extensively for both local clubs. So as I climbed more, it made sense to me to also qualify as a climbing instructor. So I did. And of course, the more I shadowed, the more instructors I met and with that another part of life was rebuilt, as I made friends and climbed with these new people.

So, although it is a cliché to look back at the past year, 2015, for me was somewhat pivotal. I still miss my friends desperately, and the network of climbers and paddlers that I left behind, but at least things are now going in the right direction. I wish I had a 'go to' friend who would greet my mad cap ideas with even better suggestions for summer and winter mountaineering, camping, fell running, climbing and anything else in between; there are so many things I want to do that I can't, merely because they are the sorts of things that need two.

This year, I have to finish my PhD and I suppose I have to decide where my life is headed, but I like it here and I like the life I have started to build. What I do know is that in 2016 I will climb more mountains, strive hard to make my own adventures, continue to build a network of friends, jump at all opportunities to get outdoors that come my way and most importantly, I am going to run my bloody stove on petrol. Gas is expensive and I am now an adoptive Yorkshire woman...

New Years Day - starting 2016 in the right way...

Under the night sky

I arrived in what can only be described as a monsoon, I had expected it to be raining, but not like that! I stopped the car, and as I peered out through the window, Hogmanay Plan F disappeared rapidly out of sight. As the strengthening wind whistled through the trees and the road pooled with water, the decision was made, and feeling rather crestfallen, I turned the car round and headed for home.

I think I had been in the house for all of 20 minutes when I sat down at my desk, almost out of habit, and clicked on the forecast. It was now fantastic. Outside, the weather was so shit that it was hard to believe it could change, but I had borrowed a tent and I felt like it was only right that I should use it. I picked up my rucksack, ran down the path through the storm and got back into the car...

Peering out into the darkness a few hours later, I didn't know whether the gamble was going to pay off, but with the cloud thinning and the stars becoming visible, it seemed like a risk I had to take. I am fed up with being too scared to do the things I want to do because I think something bad might happen to me and of feeling that life is passing me by because I have no one to accompany me on the adventures that I long for. But as I walked up that path alone, with the world's brightest torch strapped to my head, I felt no fear at all. 

Several hours later, tent pitched and belly full, the wind had dropped considerably and it seemed a waste to spend the bells sat in my tent, so I set forth towards the hill, map in one pocket and hip flask in the other. Scrambling upwards, the rock was icy and a thickening layer of hail stones lay on the ground. Reaching the steepest cliff, I chickened out - it was 11.30 pm, it was very dark and not one person knew where I was. I sat down on a suitable rock. 

Stars and silhouettes

I tried in vain to capture what I saw from my high perch but nothing could do justice to the sheer beauty of witnessing those thousands of stars and planets shining out above the dark silhouettes of the hills. I heard the cheers ring out at midnight and enjoyed numerous firework displays stretching far into the distance below me. And as I sat on that rock, watching the landscape being illuminated by flashes of light from every direction, and as I stared up at Orion and at the plough, to me, it didn't matter where you were, or how you were celebrating, nothing in the world could possibly be better than being where I was, sitting alone, under that cloudless Lakeland sky.

Home

Work your weaknesses

The Simple Chick and I have made milling around at the wall, drinking tea and updating each other on life's ups and downs into such an art form that sometimes climbing becomes secondary to the experience. These very sociable sessions are great fun and often progress is made, but I sometimes find myself climbing the same old 10 vertical routes and shying away from anything that might be remotely challenging. I suppose I convince myself that I won't be able to do anything harder and on occasion, would rather drink more tea than actually try. Ultimately though, such an approach just leads to frustration and those horrible plateaux during which gains just seem never to be made and confidence begins to wane. 

The process of CWA consolidation did more than prepare me for assessment, those five months of hard work also, rather unexpectedly, resulted in many new friendships with people who climb far harder than perhaps I ever will. These people inspire me, but because they also happen to be climbing instructors, they have the innate ability to draw the very best out of me. The fact that Fantastyczna Cooka also feeds me healthy pizza, cake and ginger biscuits is a welcome added bonus! It was through these friends that I became inveigled into Main Wall Monday, a brilliantly simple idea which may very well result in my imminent death and judging by the full body pain as I hobbled about this Tuesday, I wouldn't be surprised if the Grim Reaper turned up and asked me for a belay next Monday night.

Views of the Main Wall

The Greater Main Wall (similar to Greater Manchester but with less hipster beards), is pretty much entirely overhanging, the premise of Main Wall Monday, to only climb the routes on it. I hate overhangs, I have no stamina and my technique is still pretty embryonic, for me, Main Wall Monday is like some kind of pump-filled torture, punctuated with cups of tea I can barely pick up. But, if it wasn't a challenge, it wouldn't be fun and although possibly still in the realms of Sir David Brailsford and his 'marginal gains', I think, some progress has been made, not least because after a full-on wrestle up the Main Wall, nothing else in the centre seems half as intimidating as it did before. 

Main Wall Monday, together with its younger siblings Training Tuesday, Weakness Wednesday and Features Friday, forces me to address a huge and gaping weakness in my climbing and try as I might, I simply can't do that while gossiping in the cafe - if only we could work out what to do on a Thursday...

Spot the Long Legs

The boots in the loo

In the late 50s my father, an analytical chemist, went to work at the BACO plant in Kinlochleven. I once asked him what he did there but he claims not to remember. I bet you though, that he could still outline in great detail the days that he and his mates spent in those mountains, even if it was 55 years ago. I imagine in the heyday of the works, he and his contemporaries never dreamed that one day the smelter would stop smelting and that ultimately their place of work would become The Ice Factor, in fact, the very concept of climbing indoors remains totally alien to him.

My dad - judging by my rucksack, sometime in the early 2000s

When I was young there was a pair of hobnail boots next to the 'end' loo. I presume these belonged to my father. Back in the day, so he once told me, your only option for mountaineering boots was to draw round your feet and send the templates to a man somewhere in London; at least by the time my mother was climbing in the early 1960s, Graham Tiso had opened his shop in Leith. One of her favourite stories involves sneaking a pair of boots in diabolical condition into the secondhand boot display and going past the shop every day to see if they had sold!

My parents have endless tales of mountain, climbing club and bothy antics and it transpires that they were acquainted with folk like Robin Smith and Dougie Haston, now firmly in the annals of Scottish mountaineering history. (Said of the former: "He used to down-climb things in his wellies that I could hardly climb up in my climbing shoes"). There was the guy known as 'Bogtrotter', who moved so fast that he failed to sink in the bogs that trapped the following group, and the tale of a Rag Week scaling of Castle Rock in Edinburgh, dressed as a baby, with ropes hidden from the police in a pram. 

But the more I hear about what they did and the more I am able to equate their experiences with my own, the more impressed I become. Earlier in the year I told my mother about a winter trip to the Highlands, she consulted the encyclopedia that is my father and reported back that they too had done those routes. In the 1960s. With crap clothing, no harnesses, long axes and probably a hemp rope... She then digressed into a range of winter tales: inadvertently descending some (Grade II) gully in the dark, the time my dad dropped a small cornice on her head and the piece de resistance, when a girl fell past my father on a winter climb and he pulled off her trousers trying to arrest her fall. 

State of the art gear found in the cupboard!

Mountains brought my parents together too. The male mountaineering house claimed to have an additional housemate who was always 'in Switzerland, in Italy, in the Alps, in Norway', the female mountaineering house, increasingly sceptical of his very existence, began to devise reasons to visit at odd times of day... On one such foray they found a dark haired, blue eyed, tanned stranger in the front room, just returned from the Italian Alps...

My father went to the Lofoten Islands long before there were causeways between every island and my mother's comedy stories extend to Norway, the Alps and the Pyrenees, her favourite involving my father firing up his petrol stove in an Alpine hut, while a cowering Frenchman exclaimed "Il sera un grand explosion!"

More than anything, when I hear these stories and look at their, often black and white, photographs, I am envious of my parents and the adventures they have had, experiences I long for but never seem to have the opportunity to partake in. Rock climbing, scrambling, hill walking, winter climbing or Alpinism, they seemed to have done it all, almost in another life time. And I like the fact that they did these things together; mountains have played a pivotal role in their relationship and I am envious too, that their deep rooted love of these places is something that they have always shared.

I suppose it comes as no surprise to anyone that I love mountains too.

Zen

It was the 11th route of the night but I knew, at that precise moment, that I was doing the best climbing I have ever done in my life. I had tried the route once before, months and months ago on a top rope and remembered thinking it was tricky. Now, on lead, everything felt so smooth and effortless, my head so uncharacteristically in the game that I reached a previously unknown state of zen, the moves just flowing as I floated over the lip and through the crux. As I stood up and shook out, I was so psyched that internally I was screaming an expletive ridden monologue of joy and it was hard to stop myself from bursting forth out loud. Clipping the chains, inside I was doing cartwheels and fist pumps, I may even have let off some fireworks. I was still buzzing as the Simple Chick lowered me to the ground, and, when a passing Campusman asked how our session had been, his eyes turned to saucers as he was hit by an unexpectedly excited, and enthusiastic, potttymouthed reply!

Having clearly reached the peak of climbing, I briefly went into retirement, however, this only lasted the weekend, before a good, solid session last night. On a new and ungraded orange, where there was huge gap to get over the lip, a similar, but lesser, zen state seemed to wash over me and I pulled some shapes and just went for it. There is no way I would have done that 6 months ago.

It is hard to explain what has happened to me or how I feel about climbing at the moment. I know I have worked really hard at it all through the year and I should be getting better, but I don't think this is really about technique, or power, or weight, I think it is about confidence. The people I climb with seem to have faith in me, they tell me things are 'comfortably within my grade', they encourage me to try that little bit harder. Last night my climbing partner, absent for 6 months, said it was as if I was a different climber now. 

Two years ago I gave up everything to move from an island in the North Sea to somewhere near Bradford. This year, climbing has helped me rebuild my life and to find the girl I felt I had left behind - it has made me happy. And because I am happy, my climbing is better and when I climb better I am happier still. Yes, I am a different climber now, but I think the change also goes deeper than that.

Good times on the island

A change in focus

Way back in June I completed my Climbing Wall Award training, but the weeks immediately following were taken up with preparing for the big Saltburn race, together with the small matter of a full time PhD, and it was not until July that I finally plucked up the courage to ask the nice man at the wall if I could come in and observe some sessions. Following a hiatus in September, during which time I spoke about field systems to an international conference in Glasgow and taught a local society how to collect and process geophysical survey data, I finally had time to get back to what really matters - climbing.

When I was a paddler, on a small island off the north coast of Scotland, I became both a 4* sea leader and UKCC L2 paddlesports coach within the local club(s), so when I started climbing, it seemed quite natural for me to want to get involved with the instructional side of things. Something in the recesses of my mind reminds me that one of the impetuses for taking up climbing was my desire to work towards my SPA, as a complement to my water based qualifications (the other reason being because I had broken a finger about a month previously!). 

The Orcadian L2 coaches, looking very wet and bedraggled after a long journey to obtaining their awards

In real life I often teach students and local groups about archaeological survey and geophysics and I have come to realise that I get a great deal of enjoyment from teaching people practical skills - it is very satisfying to watch them begin the day asking lots of questions and seeking your input, to finishing the day being able to undertake the tasks independently. To me, it does not matter if I am teaching them to use an RM15, perform a sculling draw or belay correctly, there are many approaches that are directly applicable to teaching any practical skill. Certainly, I have often felt that the things I learned about teaching and learning styles in my very thorough L2 training have been incredibly useful in the other areas in which I also work.

Explaining archaeological survey with a GNSS system

After the Simple Chick and the One on the Island took a metaphorical stick to me, I finally manned up and booked to undertake my CWA assessment in November - this gave me around 8 weeks to prepare and meant I well and truly had to shift my focus back to climbing and engage in what I have come to term as 'binge observation'. For the last couple of weeks I have also been permitted to assist at the wall, looking after one line and 4 people under the watchful eye of a fully qualified instructor and this has been a brilliant way to learn the ropes (boom boom).

I have found, to my surprise and contrary to my own preconceptions, that I actually really enjoy working with young children, particularly when they have huge smiles on their faces and are so excited about getting the chance to climb for the first time. I have also found that my own confidence is increasing, partly because I have to have 'instructor front' when I am working, but also because I am continuously being pushed slightly outside my comfort zone and am learning an immense amount from every instructor I work with and from every different session I see. Watching people being introduced to climbing for the first time and gaining obvious enjoyment from the experience takes me back to when I first started to climb and reminds of why I love this sport and everything related to it. It may sound rather clichéd, but climbing is not just a hobby, for me it is a real passion.

Doing what I love

First Aid

Although I have held a First Aid qualification for the best part of 10 years, I had never, ever, had to use it. Perhaps I had just been very lucky, but holding the qualification seemed to me to be more about ticking a box on the Risk Assessments for working on archaeological sites, or the requirements of my paddling qualifications, as much as anything. But then, as has been previously mentioned in this blog, I found myself involved in a life threatening climbing incident. 

https://www.thestudentsunion.co.uk/pageassets/opportunities/howto/Firstaidsafetysign.png

A few years ago, I distinctly remember doing a standard First Aid at Work course and saying, 'But where I work [in a field] there is no mobile signal or anyone nearby, what do I do?!' and so, when my current qualification needed to be renewed, I realised that I wanted to ensure the course I chose was more relevant to being in the outdoors; after all, even my PhD involves working in an area 2 km from the nearest road, at an elevation of 330 m O.D.. No longer living on a small island has its benefits and I was easily able to find a 16 hour Outdoor Incident Management First Aid Course based only 20 miles away in Leeds. This was offered by Underwood Training and was taught by Brian, an active Cave Rescue Organisation member and Helen, who had previously worked in intensive care and paediatrics but who is also a qualified outdoor instructor. 

The 8 attendees all had previously done a First Aid qualification so the information came at us at a fast and furious pace. However, there was lots of active learning thrown in, involving lying on the floor, progressively adding learning points with each roll play. Later in the morning we moved outdoors and had a go at assessing an unresponsive casualty in a slightly more realistic environment, beginning also to think more about terrain and access to help. Later in the afternoon we had to treat poor old Rescusi Anne who had yet again collapsed unconscious on the floor and was in need of CPR.... The next day started with some theory but we were soon back outside, dealing with more and more complex problems and casualties and discussing aspects such as group safety, group use, duty of care and access to help.  Could we walk the casualty out? Would it be safer to stay put? To whom did we have the greatest duty of care? 

Although there was a lot of information to take in, the scenarios proposed and discussed were all those that could easily happen to any of us or one of our groups and this made everything feel really relevant and directly applicable to all the outdoor activities I do (work, climbing, hill-walking, paddling, off-road running etc etc). Sometimes there were no right or wrong answers to our questions but it was really useful being able to discuss these aspects with people who had actually been in such situations themselves. I think the main thing I took away from the discussion was trying to recognise and be aware of developing situations (such as hypothermia or hypoglycaemia), the importance of insulating the casualty, the use and potential dangers of slopes and above all, that keeping them breathing until other help arrived had to take priority above all else. 

I really enjoyed the course and I hope, if faced with another serious accident, I will be able to draw upon this added training and again help someone in real need.

Wood and trees

My climbing partner, who I had not seen for several months, asked, quite legitimately, what grade I now climb. I remained evasive. Of course there is an answer, but there are so many caveats to it (is it vertical but technical? Sustained or featuring an overhang?), that it would have taken too long to give a full and thorough reply. I responded with some unconvincing muttering, but I suppose the main reason I didn't want to answer was because I didn't want to (quite literally) set myself up for a fall.

Week in, week out, the Simple Chick and I are down the wall. Sometimes we climb better than others, during some periods we are frustrated, at other times we feel like we are making real progress, but twice a week we are there, climbing routes, doing pull-ups, drinking 'one tea and one coffee' and indulging in rather a lot of gossiping. I don't blog about these sessions for no other reason than I have no photographs of us climbing (or eating Chia Charge bars). 

When I watch the Simple Chick and her excellent use of smears and screw ons, I am so proud of her. For months she wouldn't lead at all and it took a long period of steady progression for her to get where she is now. I often watch her on the sharp end and I know that 6 months ago, she wouldn't have even attempted routes she now looks so smooth and confident on; to me, the improvement in her climbing is obvious. But in my own head I am still the same climber I always was and perhaps that is why it was so difficult for me to answer that initial question. It's hard for me to stand back far enough to know if anything is changing, I am particularly good at convincing myself that 'I can't' or even that parts of the wall 'are not for me'. And I don't know why I think like this, because, as Coach Emma pointed out the other day, that's not at all the way I think about running races. 

Coach Emma's overhang aversion therapy.

My coached session earlier in the week had looked at overhangs and so yesterday, when it was very quickly clocked that I appeared to have become blind to the overhanging routes behind me, I thought I better HTFU and get back on the first route I had worked with Emma. I was pleased, on reaching the crossover, to find myself placing my foot correctly and twisting right to reach the next hold with ease. And for the first time in a long time, I realised that, although I was aware of the overhang being there, this fact did not really bother me, I was far too focused on what I was doing. Back on the ground, my climbing partner said, 'You bossed that route!', elaborating with a (slightly uncharitable) impression of me whimpering on the same overhang 5 months previously, 'Today,' he said, 'you just did it, without hesitation.'

I continued the session with my first clean lead of a very steep and sustained 6a; 5 months ago, I wouldn't have even attempted it. Perhaps, sometimes, you just need that view from outside, to help you obtain perspective on yourself and all those things you didn't even realise that you have achieved.

Aiming high

I had approached Bradford 10K like a carefully timetabled military operation. When to get up, when to go for a jog, when to eat, when to drink, when to warm up... But I was a girl who wanted a PB and following the advice I was given when in Snowdonia, I was damn well going to give myself the best chance of getting one. I even went as far as shoving a gel down my gullet (yuck).

Crossing the start line, I tried very, very hard to avoid going out all guns blazing, keeping my pace within a predetermined range. This seemed to work well and I felt pretty good for the first few Ks. Reaching the hill (well this is Yorkshire!), I managed to gain a few places, before I launched myself into a kamikaze descent. Back on the main road, there were a couple of further undulations until we turned at around 5.5 km.

The main road back into Bradford is a very gentle climb and it just felt like an absolute grind from 6K onwards and I had to give myself a good kicking between 8 and 9km, as my pace slowed and my body started to strongly object. However, comparing the scrawl on my hand to the numbers on my watch, I knew I was on target so I picked my feet up and tried that little bit harder.

Finally I found myself in the finishing straight and although I tried to end on a sprint, I'm not sure if I actually managed to move any faster, with the last few hundred metres feeling like miles. Eventually crossing the line, Martin from the club steered me to the water station and made sure I didn't pass out!

Finally at the line and totally spent.

The race atmosphere was lovely, it was a large event, but not too large, and the marshals were all members of local clubs or familiar faces from Park Run. I was even interviewed live on Bradford community radio before kick off! As I ran round, it really spurred me on to hear my name being called, to see a familiar face, or to just get a 'Come on Queensbury'. It was also great to run in club colours and to feel part of a super friendly and encouraging team. 

My time of 53:47 well exceeded my 55:00 target and meant I had bettered by Leeds 10K time, from July, by a massive 3:12! As a rather long legged, youngish woman, I know there is still huge room for improvement but I have come a long way since those cold C25K days back in January. As I tucked into a large slab of malteser tiffin after the race, for now at least, it was job done. 

Proudly modelling my finishers t-shirt!

Falling in love

Standing on the summit of Snowdon, most of North Wales lay spread out before me. The landscape was bathed in a hazy afternoon sunshine, the high clouds dotting the scene with occasional areas of shade and I was completely awestruck. Why had I not been to Snowdonia before?

The Pyg Track running up from Pen-y-pass

The next morning was very exciting: the lovely people at Run Snowdonia had fitted me in for a guided run at very short notice and so at 9 am we met at Pete's Eats to discuss the day ahead, my main issue being how to go hill and mountain running on my own, in a safe way (with minimal faff and without a truck load of gear!).

Pete's Eats!

Tiny bivi bag!

We started off looking at the MWIS forecast and thinking about the information that could be gleaned from it, in terms of route planning and the conditions to be expected when out on the hill. Sarah then talked about planning logical points on a route, at which to adjust clothing and to make sure you took on food, for example, before you found yourself freezing cold on a windy, steep ridge. She talked about equipment and suggested some things I might like to add to what I had, including a tiny bivi bag, and also about the accessibility of items, such as food and gloves and trying to become really slick with everything you do. We discussed fuel and hydration in some detail, which I found very interesting as I have sometimes struggled with my blood sugar, particularly on long distance paddling trips. I think what I really took from the discussion was to approach a mountain run as light and fast mountaineering first and foremost - the running aspect was almost secondary. 

Llyn Idwal from the Y Garn ridge

Next was a mountain run with Gareth. First up was Y Garn - it was steep and I felt a bit pathetic that I was puffing and panting up at a walk but at least the rapid ascent gave wonderful views once again. As we crested the ridge we found ourselves shrouded in mist but as we descended the grass and stone slope, and discussed technique, it seemed to lift and we were afforded a clear view by the time we had climbed up again to Glyder Fawr and its amazing rock formations.

The mysterious summit of Glyder Fawr, with Glyder Fach in the background

On the plateau, I ran as much as I could, I wasn't fast but the terrain was pretty technical. Interestingly, where the rocks were larger, I found it much easier to cross them at a run than I would do at a walk. Skirting around Castell y Gwynt, the Castle of the Wind, we made our way to Glyder Fach and stopped for the obligatory photo opportunity at the Cantilever Stone.

Quite a feeling to have run up here!

The descent to Bwlch Tryfan was horrid, steep scree is about my least favourite thing in the world, but again, it was probably easier moving slightly quicker in light shoes than it would have been in my huge boots. Finally, the gradient eased off and I was able to run, although I was concentrating so hard on where I was putting my feet (fast and light!) and following Gareth, that it came as a complete shock when I found myself at a very familiar looking gate and suddenly back at Idwal Cottage. We left the car at 10:29 am and my phone tells me it took us 2:53:37 to complete the circuit. After some stretches, we headed back to Llanberis where we met Sarah for a debrief over coffee and cake. We discussed lots of things, including technique, training, PhD woes(!) and confidence, with me sucking up information like a big sponge!

It really was a fantastic day - the run was absolutely amazing and being guided up there allowed me to see that I was perfectly capable of doing such things in future, but I also learned so much about everything else. More than anything, the whole experience gave me the confidence to get out there and try and that's exactly what I did the next day!

An inviting ridge clocked from Snowdon

As much as I didn't want to, I knew I had to leave Llanberis by lunchtime to get back to Leeds in time for my climbing date with the Simple Chick. I thought about going on a train or round the power station, but really I wanted to make the most of being in the mountains. From Snowdon, I had been continually captivated by a ridge a few kilometres to the west and a study of the map indicated it could be easily accessed from the Youth Hostel via a bridleway at the top of the road. I knew that the cloud base would be low and that it was likely to rain, so I was not too fussed about going anywhere too high as I wouldn't see much anyway and because I was short of time, I thought the long ridge descent to the north would be reasonably fast and didn't appear too technical.

Bridleway to the col between Foel Goch and Moel Cynghorion and cloud down to 500m

After my run and bike ride on Tuesday, power hike up Snowdon on Wednesday and mountain run on Thursday, it is safe to say that my quads were in a little bit of pain, but I ran as much as I could, walked purposefully otherwise and used the whole experience as an opportunity to think about how to manage myself and my equipment. I purchased a tiny bum bag in Joe Brown's and put my gloves and some chopped up banana in it and realised that my normal waterproof, although bulky, fits over the top of my rucksack, making it easy to take on and off if I tie it round my waist.

As soon as I started to climb to Foel Goch, the rain began to come down heavily and I was reliant on map and compass to find my way, but I enjoyed the wet (underfoot) descent to Foel Gron, where the mist lifted a little. Carrying on to the north west, I came to a rapid halt when I saw a stone boundary very reminiscent of those in my PhD study area. I took a photo, before crossing a nameless top and climbing higher into the mist as I made my way to Moel Eilio. Here, there was (a denuded) prehistoric cairn and a shelter for walkers.

The majestic Snowdon ridge 

Leaving the summit, I checked my map to ensure I was heading in the right direction and tried to look for the easiest route down the slope, thinking about moving 'fast and light' where I could. As I descended, I finally escaped from the cloud and was rewarded with a view northwards towards Bangour and eastwards towards the Llanberis Pass. The old cobbled bridleway was a little quicker underfoot and I was soon back at the road end. Making my way down to the Youth Hostel, I tried to think about my descending technique, lean forward and gracefully zoom down - it was a work in progress! Despite numerous map stops and the study of various bits of archaeology, I completed the circuit in 2:22:34 - certainly faster than walking!

Back in the village, I rewarded myself with a well deserved recovery chocolate milkshake and a baked tattie with beans and cheese at Pete's Eats. I may not have gone anywhere overly dramatic, but I had gained the confidence to apply the mountain skills I already have and had had a lovely morning out, without incident or drama. Best of all, I had had that whole hill to myself.

By the time I drove out of Llanberis, I had knew I had fallen in love. Snowdonia, I will be back.