Tag: scafell pike

Lakes Rampage 2020, Day 3: Six Summits

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Monday 6th July 2020

Scafell Pike, Great End, Esk Pike, Bow Fell, Crinkle Crags, Sca Fell

This was one of those rare days that I know for certain I’ll never forget. It started innocuously enough, with Ryan cooking breakfast and me making sandwiches at our camping spot on the edge of Wast Water, overlooked by the rugged, imposing mountains and ridges of the Wasdale valley. We knew it’d be a long one as our route encompassed six summits, a lot of miles and a serious amount of elevation gain. Bags packed and bodies fuelled, we drove to the car park at Wasdale Head and set off at 10am.

Scafell Pike, 978m. Summited 11:55

The path began in the lowest point of the valley, just 80m above sea level. It crossed a wide, shallow river, Lingmell Beck, before climbing a little way up the side of a high, grassy ridge, Lingmell. It followed the contour of this ridge through scrubby sheep territory until we rounded the corner, at which point the sheer, dark west face of Scafell Pike emerged at the head of an immense valley. Lingmell Gill flowed high and fast on our right and we followed the path alongside it until the rocky crossing, which wasn’t particularly crossable due to the rainfall. A few hikers had gone quite a way upstream before crossing and heading back down to regain the path, but we didn’t go far before hopping across five or six sturdy-ish looking rocks in an ungainly (but dry) manner and continuing up the mountain.

The rocky path led the way clearly up Brown Tongue which, as well as the multitude of other hikers and my vague memory of the route, made the map redundant for the time being. We took the left fork and approached the summit from its northwest side, the slightly longer but more popular approach. From the fork, going as the crow flies to the summit would have necessitated a serious multipitch rock climb up its ominously sheer west face, which gives the mountain its wild, dangerous appearance.

Our legs were already feeling slightly sore from flying up and down the Old Man of Coniston (803m) the previous day, and I’d forgotten that although popular, the path up Scafell Pike is surprisingly long and steep. Shortly after taking the fork we were hit by a sudden heavy rainshower, which – as they always are, once you’ve committed to getting wet – was exhilarating. We pulled waterproofs on, snapped a couple of pictures and carried on, turning right up the steep, scree-covered path that leads to the summit. The clouds were stubborn but intermittent, and we had our fill of the stunning, rolling mountain scenery in glimpses as we made our way up.

The top section is pretty much a huge pile of jagged rocks, as if the tip of the mountain has been shattered into millions of pieces. At the summit is a trig point and a raised war memorial, and we delighted at being the highest two people on English soil for a minute before finding a sheltered spot for a sandwich. Although perfectly warm when we were moving, our sweaty backs got cold quite quickly in the bitter mountain wind so we took a compass bearing to ensure we were heading for Great End and descended the awkwardly boulder-strewn, loose northeast side of Scafell Pike.

Great End, 910m. Summited 13:06

The cloud subsided when we reached the trough of the col between Scafell Pike and Broad Crag, the mini-top just before Great End. The path to Great End was fairly steep and quite direct, although when it came to branching off the path towards Esk Pike for the actual summit Ryan took us an unecessarily awkward way over a series of rocks. We pulled out the Jetboil and had a brew at the wind shelter on the summit, wondered at the panoramic views and seemingly endless mountains and descended the proper way back to the main path.

Esk Pike, 885m. Summited 14:02

Esk Pike wasn’t easily discernible as the ground on the east of Scafell Pike is all quite high and the rocky ridges and summits seem to merge together. Experience has taught me to be wary of paths as they often look obvious on a map, but much less so on rocky ground where everything is the same colour, and it was around this point that I commented on how the path thus far was suspiciously clear and well-marked by plenty of cairns.

Bowfell, 902m. Summited 14:47

Next up was Bowfell, which had a more obvious summit as there was a group of people having lunch on it. For some reason I remember the scenery here being particularly unforgettable, even though we’d been fortunate enough to have a clear view of the surrounding mountains since before Great End.

The nearer peaks were rugged and olive green, and all had unique shapes with sides that occasionally fell away to reveal sheer, unvegetated rock faces. They weren’t jagged like the gargantuan mountains of Patagonia or the Himalayas – in fact they’re not even comparable – but they had their own wild, majestic kind of beauty. Rivers ran like tiny veins far below in the steep-sided valleys, some so perfectly U-shaped it was as if they were carved out with a giant ice cream scoop, and the mountains further away glowed in mysterious, hazy layers of grey-blue. This is perhaps what I love most about the Lake District: it’s the only place in England where I feel truly immersed in the mountains. I can’t imagine how incredible it must have been up here before hiking became popular and there were no paths scratched into the surface or bright down jackets pock-marking the wilderness.

Crinkle Crags, 859m. Summited 15:51

Crinkle Crags was a bit disheartening because gaining the summit would mean scrambling up a rocky path a kilometre long, starting at the unimaginatively named Three Tarns, only to scramble back down the same way and continue our route. Ry insisted that he wanted to do it despite his knee hurting a little, so we went up the now-elusive path-come-series of rocky scrambles and after what seemed like an age, arrived at the (also unimaginatively named) Pile of Stones marking the summit.

This is where the real fun started (English for where it all went wrong). We looked across two wide valleys towards Sca Fell and it looked terrifyingly far away, leering at us from the horizon. Ryan suggested that if we descend Crinkle Crags off-piste, we should hit the footpath we were aiming for low down in the first valley which would take us parallel to and then across a river, and we would then walk [a really long way] to the base of Sca Fell on flat terrain. This would remove the need to turn back along the annoyingly rocky and long path we’d just come along. He was correct and I agreed – indeed, we should have hit that footpath by the river.

The descent was pretty sketchy, super-steep and more of a downclimb in places via huge boulders, mini waterfalls and loose, scrubby bits of ground. We were careful not to disturb vegetation, rocks or sheep, and although I was inwardly questioning our decision, it was kind of thrilling to be off the beaten track. I was super happy to discover some bilberry bushes (bilberries are like small, sweet wild blueberries) as I’d always wanted to find some but never had before, so my fruity mid-descent snack perked me up.

The Trough, 350m ish

This section deserves its own sub-heading because it would unfair (on the mountain) to attribute it to a mountain. It was a trough in both senses of the word – the low bit between peaks, and a sustained dip in the extent to which the hike was going as planned. As they say, peaks and troughs.

After what seemed like an age we reached the bottom of the treacherous descent down Crinkle Crags, only to discover that the footpath we had hoped to join was untrodden to the point of non-existence. Instead we were met by soft, tufty, awkward ground covered in long, yellow grass. In the absence of a path and an obvious place to cross Lingcove Beck, we looked at the map and decided that the best course of action would be to walk south parallel to the river until we came to the fork, where we would join another path that runs alongside the other branch – the River Esk – to the base of Sca Fell. It would extend our route by a couple of long, slow miles over difficult terrain, but at least we’d be certain of where we are and that we could cross both rivers.

This was frustrating enough, so when my left foot punched through a hole in the ground and into over-the-top-of-my-boot deep muddy water, I became tetchy. After a couple of hundred metres of tramping with one wet foot through boggy ground in an exasperated sulk, it dawned on me that I’d only eaten half a sandwich, half a bag of mini cheddars, an apple, half a flapjack and a few bilberries. We wanted to press on but I self-diagnosed myself as hangry, so we stopped and munched a whole sandwich each. It tasted incredible and I perked up magnificently.

We maintained our course by keeping Lingcove Beck on our right hand side, which took a long time because of the awkward, soggy ground, occasionally picking up scraps of what looked like they could once have been path. Eventually we reached a stone bridge at the fork we were aiming for, glad to finally cross the river and start walking towards, rather than away from, Sca Fell. This time we kept the River Esk on our left, relieved that we were now following a clear path.

The first bit was steep, then it levelled out and we walked for a mile or so across a great, open plain in the belly of the valley between the towering ridges. The path was better than the previous one although ambiguous in places, so we kept a close eye on the map, noting the shape of the river, the contours around us and the bits of drystone wall marked down as boundaries. Unhelpfully, the path disappeared at the river crossing. We’d hoped for some rudimentary stepping stones, but there was nothing. The river was about eight paces wide and higher and faster than usual, and we followed it upstream in search of a way across for 20 minutes or so. Eventually we accepted that our feet were wet anyway and committed to a crossing place that was far from ideal but slightly less terrible than some other places and hopped across.

Sca Fell, 964m. Summited 20:17

We tramped across pathless ground to a long waterfall leading up Sca Fell, which was a mile away as the crow flies. The next section was a steep scramble up a dubiously labelled footpath, keeping the waterfall/river on our left. It was tough going but good to gain height as it made us feel closer to finishing the day. We got to a crossing place and stopped to make a decision. We could either cross the river and approach Sca Fell from the south, carry on along the clear path and approach it from the west – which would mean branching off left and going up and down the same way – or call it a day and continue on the same path, which would take us safely through the col between Sca Fell and Scafell Pike and back to the van, potentially with time for a drink in the pub.

We were tired, hungry and at risk of losing light, but stubbornness prevailed and we crossed the narrow, rushing river, hopeful of completing a circular route up and down the mountain. It looked as if there was a path on the other side, but this quickly disappeared and we were once again tramping through the wilderness. We knew the approximate direction of Sca Fell and we knew we had to do a lot more “up”, so we made a beeline for a high, steep scree slope on our right hand side.

This was one of the crippling low points of the day. The terrain was very rough (scrubby vegetation interspersed with loose rocks), we were exhausted, our phones were nearly dead, the summit was an uncertain, invisible concept beyond a serious amount of elevation gain on poor ground and there was a real risk that we’d lose daylight. We had everything we needed – headtorches, an emergency bivvy shelter, warm clothes, foil blankets and porridge – but we were damp, hungry and determined to get back to the van.

On either side of the scree slope were high rock faces and from a distance it looked as though a figure of a person was suspended from one of them. At first it looked like someone leaning back and taking a photo of something higher up, then it looked like a climber who had  reached the top of a route, then it looked like someone hanging there eerily limp, as if they’d fallen and been caught by the rope. It’s funny how the mind plays tricks when you’re tired, as it turned out to be just a black, figure-shaped void between two slabs.

The scree slope took forever to reach, and once there it was even more terrible than we thought. I did something very unusual: I pulled out my last-resort snacks, an energy gel each, in a desperate attempt to boost us up the terrifyingly steep ascent. The scree was mostly saucer-to-dinnerplate sized reddish-grey rock, and I was careful not to climb above Ryan as I could have sent a rock tumbling down on him at any time. It took just about all our strength to reach the top, and I was almost too exhausted to feel relieved by the sight of the landscape opening out in front of me as I pulled over the brow.

We turned right and headed along the high ridge, relieved to be on more manageable terrain but uncertain exactly how far it was to the summit. Our phones pinged as we received signal for the first time in a few hours, but we were both on 1% so couldn’t faff around taking photos. The scenery either side of the ridge was beautiful, hazy in the fading light, but we didn’t appreciate it as much as usual. The ground got rockier and we finally came to the pile of stones and crude rock shelter that marks the summit of Sca Fell at 8.17pm. It was a huge relief to finally conquer this last peak, the bleakest and wildest of them all, after it had tormented us for the age that had passed since Crinkle Crags.

Return

It wasn’t over yet as we still needed to get on the path back before losing light. It’s common knowledge among mountaineers that most accidents happen on the way down, so we were careful not to get reckless. We descended down the path north east of the summit, which was once again ridiculously steep but this time marked by the odd cairn. It was a relief to be going down but our knees weren’t having a great time, and we half-slid down the loose slope. The path then bore left at the tiny Foxes Tarn and took us literally down a small river/waterfall, balancing on wet, slippery rock on whichever side of the water looked least treacherous.

Once we were at the bottom, miraculously intact, we munched our last snack bar and looked exasperatedly to our left at the next rocky slope we were required to climb to gain Mickledore, the col between Sca Fell and Scafell Pike. It was almost funny, and we just got on with the slow, awkward drag to the top, trying to keep on the vague, loose, steep, zig-zagging path. My concern was that the path over the col on this side of Scafell Pike wouldn’t be obvious (or even in existence) as I took this route the first time I climbed the mountain in 2014, and I remember scrabbling up a steep, scree-covered slope in claggy conditions following no obvious path and hoping for a cairn to appear through the fog. If this was the case, there was a risk that it’d get too dark to navigate and we’d have to bear a cold, damp, rocky night out.

At last we reached the top of the slope and spotted the emergency metal shelter on the ridge up to Scafell Pike. Its straight sided boxiness looked very strange against the rocky backdrop, having seen nothing but natural, jagged shapes all day. Then we experienced the best feeling in the world: pulling up over the lip of the col at Mickeldore. All of a sudden we could clearly see the path that would lead us back, and my concern evaporated. The world seemed to open out in front of us. We had Sca Fell on our left, Scafell Pike on our right, and in front was the vast valley that we’d hiked up eleven hours earlier. We could see the fork where our footpath met the path that we’d taken left up the other side of Scafell Pike that morning, the sun was low, and there wasn’t another person in sight.

We descended down the steep scree slope (see the pattern emerging?) that was the top of the footpath and gained slightly more level terrain, happy in the knowledge that there was no more up. The sun broke through the hazy clouds and glowed a magnificent, warm orange ahead of us, which illuminated the valley and accentuated the wild beauty of every rough, rocky, rugged corner. It felt like nature’s way of saying well done, you did it. I’ll never, ever forget that moment. The walk back along the strangely solid path was slow and unlike my vivid memories of earlier that day, I remember it vaguely as if it were a dream. We talked all the way back to the van, but I have no idea what we talked about.

We followed the path round to the right at the end of the valley, the same way we’d come up, through the steep sheep fields of Lingmell in dwindling light. We didn’t quite need to pull out the torches because the path was good, but it was dark by the time we reached the flat field and river at the bottom. We got back to the van at 10.30pm, equal parts exhausted, triumphant and famished, drove ten minutes to last night’s camping spot near Wast Water, and didn’t have the energy to cook stir fry so ate tinned soup, bread and cheese. Nothing has ever tasted so good.

Three Peaks Challenge – Write up

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Last weekend I experienced a new type of euphoria. There’s no feeling like standing on top of the highest pinnacle of an entire country (or three) with a group of wonderful, strong, determined friends. It took months of organising, training and fundraising, hours of sleepless contortionism in a sardine tin of a minibus, blood, sweat, tears, countless injuries and a copious amount of tape, but the team summited all three mountains and returned home with stupid grins and lovely memories.

We didn’t quite make the 24-hour goal, but that’s not the point. I’ve never seen such incredible determination, selflessness, teamwork, positivity and inexhaustible humour in a group of people. Several of the team had never climbed a mountain before but didn’t think twice about taking on the brutal ascents (and arguably more brutal descents) of Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon.

Injuries included but were not limited to a slipped spinal disc, an immovable leg (Charley wins already), a post-stag do knee injury, an agitated previously broken foot, a sprained/stress fractured toe and Lee’s mangled feet.

Pre-Challenge

We quickly realised that the child-sized minibus seats were not conducive to sleeping or being even close to comfortable, but the bus banter was excellent. We left Winchester about 10.30am and arrived at our Fort William hostel around midnight, via a handful of service stations and a pub.

I was up and exploring by 7am on Saturday; I went down to Loch Linnhe and read all the history boards, then headed up the hill that stands over Fort William. I found a wild moor area overlooking the loch and its mountainy backdrop, which was full of birds and wildflowers, bright with yellow gorse and deep purple wild orchids. I explored this impossibly peaceful hillside, then headed back and met the others for breakfast in town before leaving for Glen Nevis.

Ben Nevis

We set off from the youth hostel at 3pm and the mountain hit us at approximately 3:02pm. It was a steep, uneven, rocky start, and as we puffed our way along the busy mountain track we soon realised the scale of the challenge. The group became strung out fairly quickly and I was amazed by the hordes of people on the path, most of whom also seemed to be doing the Three Peaks.

We strode, heaved and shuffled ourselves up the long mountain track, which took us along the monstrous side of a wide, green valley. I flitted between the group at the back and the front, passing messages about various injuries, and we realised fairly early on that we’d struggle to complete the challenge in 24 hours. The decision was made to focus on getting as many of the team up as many of the mountains as possible, taking decent group pictures at the summits and not getting hung up over the time taken.

The zigzag near the top was relentless, but not as bad as when I last climbed Nevis in thick, wet fog. The widening view of the surrounding mountains made up for the loose, rocky path and seemingly never-ending switchback turns, and the group’s pace picked up as injuries were numbed by painkillers, willpower and the pull of the summit.

The cairns began, the zigzag ended and we followed the path through a barren, grey rock-field towards the top, past sheets of snow and the deadly drop of five-finger gulley. This section was also long, and when the observatory came into view I felt the unmistakable spike of elation that always coincides with the sudden appearance of a summit.

All twelve of the group congregated by the trig point for a photo, glad that the time pressure had eased as it meant we could mull around for a few minutes. We enjoyed the panoramic views, taking in layer upon layer of hazy blue mountains, and I nosed around the little sticker-covered shelter (which would have been lovely if it didn’t smell of wee).

Delighted to have made the summit as a team and in clear, sunny weather, we headed back down and made it back to the bus just half an hour or so off schedule.

Scafell Pike

Pain, adrenaline and the miniscule, hard and immovably upright minibus seats meant that the drive to the Lake District was sleepless, and the windy roads leading to Wasdale left us queasy (and Bertie actually sick out the window). Riyad did a great job of driving, and despite the 60mph limiter, accidental turn down one of the narrowest roads on Earth and bus full of sweaty, whiney, grumpy people, got us to Wasdale Head in enough time to set off about 3am.

A few of the boys stayed behind due to actual and/or very likely injuries while the rest of us shuffled off towards the imposing black silhouette of a mountain, following the light of our headtorches and the rustle of sweet packets. Charley’s body was falling apart but she refused to stop and some of the group were keen to power on, so once again we strung out fairly quickly. I hung around at the back for a while, then realised that I might catch the sunrise if I picked the pace up. I left the group at the back, joined the three at the front, then puffed my way up to the summit alone.

Scafell Pike isn’t as high as the other two but a lot of people consider it the most difficult. I see why – the route feels very long and the climb is sustained, without any flat sections for relief. Eventually the uneven, rocky path forks off to the left (on a previous ascent I turned right and ended up scrambling up a loose, precipitous ridge, then had to blind-navigate the featureless top section), then turns right towards the summit; it’s one of those where you think you’re there, then another exasperating brow of grey shingle appears from nowhere.

Unfortunately the spectacular sunrise I’d hoped for was mostly obscured by blue-grey haze, but the view was breath-taking nonetheless. Again I was on a barren, rocky plateau surrounded by layers of mountains. I swapped my sweaty t-shirt for warm clothes and nestled down for a nap on the sheltered side of the summit memorial.

I’d just managed to drift off when I was woken by my 5.30 alarm, 40 minutes after reaching the top. Five of the others had joined me in 10-20 minute intervals so we took a photo and headed back down, passing Dave and Siobhan shortly afterwards. We strung out again and collected Charley on the way back, who had to turn around after pushing her injured leg so far that she couldn’t lift it over even the smallest rocks. (Somehow she later attempted Snowdon too…)

We traipsed back along the path along the side of the lush, green valley, now visible in the early morning light, enjoying the view over Wast Water. Eventually it curved round to the right and took us back down to the car park. Reunited and tired, we had some hot food in the car park, looking like we hadn’t slept for weeks. Matt had sourced some self-heating packet meals which looked a bit suspect but went down well – I had my jetboil so stuck to porridge and tinned fruit. Fed and watered, we flopped back into the bus and semi-slept our way to Snowdon.

Snowdon

We arrived at Pen y Pass after a couple of stop offs to wee (mainly Mia) and organise kit. We bundled out the bus and watched the cloud come in over the mountain as we plodded along the easy-going Miner’s track, past the still, black lakes. After the long, flat stretch we reached the steep, scrambley bit where the “path” ascends up the side of the ridge to meet the Pyg track.

Once again the group had spread out, and as the fog thickened I stayed at the back to supply sweets and make sure we didn’t lose anyone. It was cold, wet and miserable but spirits remained high. Eventually we pulled up over the last steep bit and joined the track along the ridge to the summit, which runs parallel to the train. This section is always deceptively long. At last we joined the rest of the group for a wet, windy summit photo, then Matt and Mia charmed their way onto the train down to Llanberis and I ran off to rejoin the others. The people in the café looked at me like I was a lunatic.

By that point we were practically hallucinating about pub food. We made it down the steep bit much quicker than I expected despite the slipperiness, then when Dave and I – the only non-limping ones left – were satisfied that the last three wouldn’t get lost or injured on a steep bit, we went ahead. Cold and wet through, we semi-jogged our way back along the level path, which was much longer than it seemed on the way out as new bends (and even a lake) materialised from nowhere.

The gates of the Pen y Pass car park came into view and as we ran to them I felt a pang of sadness that the challenge was nearly over. It could have been madness induced by hunger, exhaustion and/or sleep deprivation, but it crossed my mind that I could just turn around and happily disappear back into the mountains. But I didn’t, and lured by the pull of the pub, I joined the group in the youth hostel across the road.

Post-challenge

We had a beer, changed into dry clothes (in that order) and waited for the last three to join us. They limped in, Lee’s feet nearly worn down to stumps, and we collapsed into the bus. It had gotten quite late so Lottie grabbed us a table at Y Stabblau in Betws y Coed and we went straight there for food – I inhaled a curry, then set to work on leftover pasta and “three peaks” burgers. Nothing has ever tasted so good.

The most telling sign of utter exhaustion is when this particular group of friends doesn’t fancy more than one beer. This is something I’ve never experienced before and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it, but fortunately I was too excited at the thought of being horizontal that I didn’t care. We bundled back to the bus for the two-minute drive to the hostel and practically fell into our bunks.

The next morning I hoovered up half-eaten breakfasts, then we stumbled round the hostel, losing and finding various belongings, attempting to conquer stairs and watching bemused as someone else attempted to conquer stairs. A few of us wandered round Betwys y Coed, admiring the pretty buildings and eating ice cream, before dragging our reluctant selves back to the lovingly despised minibus to head home.

To conclude

Undertaking this challenge made us realise that it was never really about finishing in 24 hours. Our goal was to make £2,500 for Friends of PICU (read the story here) by climbing some mountains. In the process we actually raised over £3,000, got the entire group up the highest mountain and a majority up the other two, strengthened twelve friendships each and just generally had an amazing time. I feel extremely lucky to have experienced some of my favourite places with some of my favourite people and seen faces light up at the landscapes I love. Until next time…

Endnote – our group chat name has been changed to “K2 2022”, so watch this space 😉

A massive thank you to the mountain team, Charley, Dave, Matt, Lee, Mia, Tom, Chris, Dan, Siobhan, Mark and Bertie…

The hero designated driver, Riyad…

The we’ll-do-it-next-timers, Lottie and Theresa…

And everyone who supported us by donating to our worthy cause.

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