Month: June 2019

Aberdeen

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May 2019

I missed Scotland and as I was working up north anyway, I took advantage of cheap flights from Manchester to Aberdeen. I fell in love with the country a couple of years ago and as a climbing friend recently moved there, I hoped to squeeze a climb in.

I spent Friday exploring all the corners of Aberdeen on foot, running (a very slow) 20km round the city. The buildings are made of dark grey granite blocks, which make everything seem very dull on a cloudy day but glisten prettily in the sun. Shiny new cars sit outside rows of houses lining the leafy streets, which have a clean, homely feel, and regular shops and eateries give the place a pleasant, quiet bustle.

One long, wide street seems to form the heart of the city, lined with everything from posh Thai restaurants to Wetherspoons to high street stores to haberdashers. Four lanes of cars and a constant stream of pedestrians give it a buzzing atmosphere, livelier than that of the suburbs, but somehow it doesn’t really feel like a city. Grand old buildings shoulder smart, modern ones, there are lots of churches, and I was never worryingly far from a pub.

Just a few minutes from the centre are the docks, boasting a rich history and filled with all sorts of boats. A long (extremely long if you’re running) sandy beach stretches along the east coast, punctuated by groynes, seabirds and the occasional surfer. I stopped at an estuary nature reserve at the northern end in the hope of seeing gannets or skuas, then headed back via Old Aberdeen through the pretty, cobbled streets of the university.

I ran back through the bustling streets looking the most Scottish I’ve ever looked – wearing black, white and blue, with a box of oats (staple snack) from Aldi tucked under one arm. Aberdeen successfully explored, I ended that day rigorously assessing a selection of the city’s pubs (variable types, would recommend most), making pub friends and as far as I can remember, having a lovely time.

Favourite fact: “Aberdeen” comes from the Gaelic “Aber”, meaning river confluence, and an amalgamation of “Dee” and “Don”, the two rivers that meet the sea there. Thanks to my geeky habit of reading all the info boards.

Verdict on Aberdeen: 9/10. Would have been 10/10 if I’d seen gannets and skuas.

Three Peaks Challenge, June 2019

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Three Peaks

Next weekend I’ll be taking on the Three Peaks Challenge with a group of thirteen friends. The challenge consists of climbing Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon, the highest mountains in Scotland, England and Wales, in 24 hours. We’re heading up on Friday 21st and returning Monday 24th June.

Five minutes of googling showed us that regardless of fitness and mountaineering experience, everyone seems to find this tough. Occasionally someone posts a link on our group chat to a story detailing how a group of ultramarathoners failed to complete all three summits, or how an experienced hiker recently perished on Ben Nevis.

There are several factors entirely out of our control which could jeopardise our success. The 24-hour time limit includes travelling time, so we’re subject to traffic conditions and the reliability of our minibus. We can’t choose the weather conditions. Even the most competent hikers get injured. These mountains can get busy – queues to the top of Snowdon are becoming very common. Little, unexpected things can happen – water containers leak, laces snap, someone comes down with food poisoning.

On top of this, we’re pretty fit (we’ve done several “training hikes” together, which I’m yet to post about but had great fun on) but the fact we’re such a big group could go against us. If just one of us gets injured on Ben Nevis or Scafell Pike, we all have to wait as we only have one minibus. Which may resemble a tin of damp, twitchy*, achy sardines as we attempt to sleep between summits, cuddling our gear and buzzing with adrenaline.

Adversity aside, I feel good about this. Maybe I’m naïve, optimistic and overenthusiastic about mountains, because I think it’ll be a lot of fun.

But that’s not the point. We’re taking on this silly, painfully difficult, potentially self-destructive challenge to raise money for an incredible cause – Friends of PICU, a charity which supports the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit at Southampton University Hospital.

*because of the adrenaline, not because Bertie has tourettes…

From a training hike up Snowdon, March ’19
Box Hill, Surrey, January ’19

Nora’s Story and Our Cause

This whole crazy thing has been organised by my lovely friends Charley and David. In August last year, their baby daughter Eleanor was diagnosed suddenly with bronchiolitis. Her little lungs couldn’t cope and she was rushed to hospital. She was put on oxygen, but her condition deteriorated and she stopped breathing, turning blue and lifeless as Charley watched helplessly.

In Charley’s words, “the room filled with people and she was taken from me immediately receiving CPR and masked oxygen. They let me hold her tiny hand, then we’re on the move to theatre 2 floors up. I was allowed to stay with her whilst they worked on keeping her alive. They managed to keep her going long enough to put her onto a ventilator to breathe for her, this is how they would keep her until her lungs became strong enough to work on their own.”64222665_1207279716120758_2821219001466617856_n

“I remember every detail, every face and it seemed to last a lifetime. I then got the news that we would need to transfer her to the PICU in Southampton. I was terrified, I didn’t want to move her in case something happened. I didn’t want to leave her anywhere.”

The Paediatric Intensive Care Unit provides first class care and treatment to over 900 critically ill children from the South of England and Channel Islands every year.

Here’s Charley’s account of Eleanor’s experience at the unit:

 “PICU have their own ambulances and arrived so quickly. They introduced themselves, always talking to us and Eleanor and assured me I could be with her at all times. They transferred her onto a portable ventilator and we arrived in PICU that night. The staff were amazing and she had a nurse with her 24/7 who never left her side and allowed me to do the same. They provided a room across the corridor to stay in and encouraged us to go and rest but equally were happy for me to stay by her side, I couldn’t bear taking my eyes off her on the machines.”

“During our stay the nurses and doctors were exceptional, dedicated and kept us informed at all stages, they let me stay for everything including changing her tubes and letting me clean her. They took footprints and made birthday catds for family whose birthdays came and went. They made the hardest time in our lives that bit easier. Each baby and child admitted got their own handmade blanket and a Friends of PICU “Ellie” elephant to keep, which we still have to remember how lucky we are.”

“We were one of the lucky families that got to take our little girl home, many families whilst we were there did not get that chance but they were very respectful to those families and others by ensuring their privacy at all times. Eleanor had a gruelling few weeks ahead of her once awake, enduring feeding tubes and relearning how to drink again but finally her battle was over and we got to go home!”

“Without this service, of which we knew nothing about before this, we wouldn’t be telling the same story.”

Friends of PICU is the charity whose support keeps this unit running. It pays for vital equipment and services which are not otherwise funded, including specialist ambulances, beds, family accommodation, medical equipment, furniture and toys. Every child admitted will benefit from the work of this charity, and without its support many children would have missed out on lifesaving treatment.

So that’s why we’re doing the Three Peaks Challenge – to raise money for Friends of PICU. We are eternally grateful for every little donation, no matter how small, to this incredible cause.

If you’ve ever a) had children, b) known a child or c) been a child, please support Friends of PICU by clicking the link below and donating what you can. The benefits are twofold: it’ll help very sick children and their families, and alleviate our pain and suffering as we force our weary legs onwards and upwards (then back downwards).

Click here – Three Peaks Fundraising Page

More Three Peaks related posts to follow…

Thank you.

Naomi xxx

PS. Special thanks to Charley and Dave for organising, Riyad for offering to be our designated driver, and everyone else for the (anticipated) wonderful company!

 

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Charley leading the team up Snowdon on a training hike

Great Gable, Lake District

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I had one three-quarter day left in the Lakes and wanted to climb Great Gable or Bowfell. I decided on Great Gable as I could start at Seathwaite; I’d never approached these fells from the north, and as lovely as Wasdale is I wanted to see somewhere new.

I drove from Coniston and parked along the road just down from Seathwaite. I fell in love with the little cottages and farmyard feel of the hamlet, with its roaming chickens, stone walls and sleepy dogs. It sits nestled quietly in a valley carpeted by lush, green fields beneath wild, rocky ridges, alive with the sound of whispering rivers and rushing waterfalls, and feels a bit “F-you society”. Perfect.

I took the Gillercomb route as I’d read something that recommended it. I climbed the steep path which goes up the east side of the valley, through fields, over rocks and past a waterfall, and found myself on a gently ascending moorland plateau covered in the sandy-yellow grass that only grows in wild places. It rained but I didn’t mind; it meant I had the mountain (almost) to myself.

It got steeper and at the top of a ridge I made the mistake that I’ve made too many times before – to assume. This time I decided that the thick, green footpath on the map must be the obvious, well-trodden footpath on the ground at the top of the slope I’d just climbed, and that I was at spot x. I turned left, and it turns out I’d been a short distance from spot x at spot y, as I found myself inadvertently summiting a different hill – Base Brown.

Exasperated, I backtracked along the ridge and tramped up Great Gable’s little sister, Green Gable. After a quick detour to the fog-shrouded summit cairn, I descended the path south west and reached “windy gap”, a narrow gulley between the steep shoulders of the two Gables. It couldn’t be more aptly named – it was like all the wind in Cumbria was concentrated into that little gap, where it rushed and howled relentlessly as if it were trying to turn me into a squawking little human kite.

I escaped the noise and wind-beating by scrabbling round the side of Great Gable, which loomed ominously over me like a steep, rocky monster, shrouded in thick cloud. Then the all-too-common near-summit occurrence reared its smug, ugly head: the path became indistinguishable from the rock-strewn, scrambley mountainside. Footing was quite poor; steep, wet and loose, and I narrowly avoided a rockfall which, although small, would have knocked me a long, bone-breakingly hard way down the near-sheer edge.

I decided to stop searching for the path and climb directly upwards. Perilous but the right decision, as I realised when a tall cairn suddenly appeared through the fog. Relieved, I followed a series of just-visible cairns to the summit, which is marked only by a mountaineers’ memorial.

I descended back to windy gap via the proper path, then turned right to head back down Stye Head. I love a circular hike. This path is more well-trodden than Gillercomb, passes an attractive tarn and runs parallel to a crystal clear river down a long, gentle valley into Seathwaite. I arrived back at the van wet, triumphant and sad that I had to leave the Lakes.

Then I drove to Manchester for work the following day, which is not worth writing about in itself… But after a few days in the mountains a hotel shower felt indulgent!

Ultramarathon Two

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My impulsive personality has got the better of me again. Last year I blagged my way through an ultramarathon, intending to push myself to breaking point. I pretty much did, but the fact that I made it over the finish line has been nagging at me since. I figured that if I was still limping along after 50 miles, I’d failed. So yesterday I googled ultramarathons in Scotland (my favourite place) and signed up to another one.

I tried to reason with myself. I hurt my knee last time (well I hurt everything, but my left knee was worst), couldn’t walk for a few days and couldn’t run for a fair while. I lost toenails, skin and blood.

I was incredibly lucky to complete the run, and I’m almost certain I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for the lovely, supportive, experienced runners that I happened to befriend on the way. Somehow I didn’t get blisters, thigh chafe, shin splints or lost, despite having brand new, untested and unbroken in shoes, and conditions were perfect – clear, dry and not too warm.

In short, I owe that day’s success to a multitude of tiny little factors that came together to see me over the finish line. It was like the stars aligned and some higher power steered every detail in just the right direction, forgiving me for my sins and charging me with some kind of divine debt (an afterthought – I have a lot of praying to do).

Which is why I feel okay about this next run – like last time, and I’m not just saying it, I don’t expect to finish. I’m fairly fit for an average person, but I’m not super fit. I haven’t trained. 50 miles is the furthest distance I’ve ever run, 15 miles is the second furthest. Having zero expectations is the best way to approach pretty much everything, so I’m happy to cross the start line knowing that if I collapse after 20 miles, it’s okay.

The run (I’m not using the word “race” as that suggests competition, and there’s no way my ability comes even close to that of the second least capable entrant) is 71 miles long, along offroad trails from Fort William on the west coast of the Scottish Highlands to Inverness on Scotland’s east coast. I have 22 hours to complete it unsupported (ie. with no help), it starts at 1am on Saturday 6th July, and the name “Great Glen Ultra” suggests there’s a fair amount of “up”.

My plan is to turn up, enjoy the scenery and see how far I get. If I make 20 miles I’ll be content, 30 miles I’ll be happy, 50 miles I’ll be elated and 71 miles I’ll be being carried (alive or otherwise).

Really it’s just an excuse to go back to the Highlands.