Scafell Pike's 5 Easy Lesson's
An Account of how Little Mistakes can lead to difficulties
Rescue 02/12: 8/02/02 (1900 hrs) - Friday
- Thank you to Rachel Johnston and Geoff Pearson for sending in their story and be willing to share their experience in order to help others avoid a similar uncomfortable and scary night on the fell.
Scafell
Pike - Friday 8th Feb 2002
Our rescue story shows how little mistakes that aren’t really that important on their own can build up and get you into trouble, especially in winter. It was the first time for me on Scafell Pike, most of my walking experience had been from the Peak District, but Geoff had a lot of experience winter walking in the Lakes, and had climbed the mountain twice before.
Lots
of things went wrong that day, the first one before we’d even parked the car.
We were on our way to Seathwaite when I realised I had forgotten to put my
contact lenses in, so we had to go back to Ambleside and get them. This meant we
had a late start – we’d wanted to set off at 9.30 latest but didn’t get
going until after 10am. We set off from Seathwaite at the head of Derwent Water,
attempting the Corridor route to the top of a deserted Scafell Pike.
The
weather forecast wasn’t great, but the fell conditions weren’t bad enough to
cry off. I was living in London at
the time, and when you’ve paid money and taken time off to go walking,
you’re determined to get out there unless conditions are actually dangerous.
However it started raining about 10 minutes after we left the car, and didn’t
stop for the rest of the day. For the duration of the corridor route, we were
faced with relentless horizontal rain and hail, soaking through boots and
goretex and at one point so severe that we ended up having to put our goggles
on. It made the entire ascent miserable and at one point led us to consider
turning back. We learnt that day
that sometimes it’s better to call a halt to a miserable trip than slog it out
– after all, it’s supposed to be enjoyable!
Despite
the weather and poor visibility we were doing well, even with the poor
visibility we successfully negotiated the corridor route to the summit without a
single mistake, and reached the summit before 2pm. However, I was exhausted and
despite reaching the summit, our spirits were low. We took a photo, and ate our
sandwiches but it was too cold to sit still and in any case we were late. By the
time we got moving again, Geoff was very cold and was not thinking straight –
it took him 15 minutes after setting off from the summit to remember that he had
extra warm clothing in his pack.
Coming
down, we couldn’t see a thing due to hill fog and were reliant on compass
bearings. We passed Ill Crag but unsure of the distance we had come, we were
starting to worry about accidentally climbing back up to Great End instead of
making our way across to Esk Hause. I thought we had come too far in that
direction, Geoff was not sure, and after a brief discussion we turned back for
200 yards, and followed a different path.
Pretty
soon it became clear that we weren’t on the right route, what we thought was a
path had disappeared and the gradient became too steep, forcing us off our
compass bearing. However, we thought the path was only a bit above us and that
if we continued trying to keep the compass bearing towards Esk Hause and avoided
losing too much altitude, we could meet the original path. But as the ground
became steeper, we kept having to climb down, each time deviating from the
bearing. Looking back at the map it is difficult to imagine how we ended up
going so far off course, but we were forced to descend further in order to cross
a small beck. However, when that beck met a steep gully we saw the start of the
river Esk, in full flow, blocking the way we’d been intending to go.
It
was a spectacular and awe-inspiring sight, but hearts sank into our sodden boots
as we now realised exactly where we were. At first we couldn’t believe how far
wrong we’d gone, but it was a distinctive landmark – we had come much too
far down the mountain and had been heading mostly South rather than East. We
were at the start of Eskdale and even getting the map out of its case and
unfolding it, we could see that we were in the middle of nowhere.
The
initial feeling was one of disbelief and of panic - by now it was about 3.30pm,
and we had to make a very serious decision. We could either climb back up and
try to find the way to Esk Hause, or go down into Eskdale and head for Hardknott
Pass, knowing that it would be dark long before we reached the road. We managed
to calm down, assessed the situation and ruled out going back up – it was a
steep climb and we were running out of daylight. If we were going to be caught
outdoors, it would a be safer, and warmer, at a lower altitude.
We
then discussed whether to ring mountain rescue. We knew we were in trouble, but
at the same time we weren’t injured, we knew where we were, we knew how to get
down and we had an hour’s daylight, plus a torch. We didn’t want to be
melodramatic and trouble people who probably had much more urgent things to do
when we thought there was a chance we could still get ourselves out of the
situation. Our plan was to get down into Eskdale before it became dark, stick
close to the river and use the torch to get us to the Pass. There was a path
above the river that would lead us to the Pass but we were unwilling to waste
time finding it and were also aware that if we had to contact Mountain Rescue,
it would be important to give them an accurate location – at least we knew
where we were with the river.
We
started hurrying, rushing down to lose altitude and make as much progress as
possible before it got dark. The grass was slippery, the ground steep, and the
light fading fast – we were lucky not to get injured as we hastily stumbled
our way down the mountain. But with only a few bruises we managed to get down to
the top of Esk Dale before dark. The valley was heavily flooded and progress
from now on was going to be slow. At this point we realised that we wouldn’t
have a chance of reaching the road before dark and decided to contact mountain
rescue. We had left details of our route back at the B&B, but we wouldn’t
be reported as overdue for hours yet. Unsure of how to contact Mountain Rescue
we rang 999, but were cut off - there was no reception.
Geoff
managed to get a couple of texts out, one to his parents (who turned out to be
at the cinema!) and one to his housemate, telling them our location and asking
them to contact mountain rescue. Then we continued down into valley, trying to
stick as close to the Esk as possible, which was becoming increasingly difficult
as the valley became more flooded, the day’s rain flowing down to join the Esk
in streams that got wider and deeper as we got more and more tired trying to
cross them. The phone beeped and our spirits rose for a second, until we read
the text from Geoff’s housemate helpfully asking “Are you serious?” We
spent the next 10 minutes trying to get a signal as the light faded further, and
only succeeded in sending a text confirming we were deadly serious. Then, the
phone rang – our hopes were raised, but it turned out not to be mountain
rescue, but a colleague from work ringing to tell Geoff a meeting next week was
cancelled. It was a stroke of luck and we managed to get our estimated map
reference to him before the signal was lost.
It
was dark by now, and we had assumed that our torch would be better than it was.
On a good path we might have been able to proceed with it, but in the flooded
valley it was useless. We found a patch of dry and reasonably sheltered ground,
got into our survival bag and waited, hoping we wouldn’t have to spend the
night there. The bag provided us with a bit of comfort – at least it was dry
and allowed us to keep some warmth in.
I
was kitted out with base layers, fleece and goretex (3 years of Christmas and
birthday presents!) and I was pretty cold and damp, but Geoff had a few layers
of thick cotton under his coat, which had got completely wet through and was
chilling him to the bone. He was looking in quite a bad way, so we were very
relieved when we got a text saying
the Mountain Rescue had been informed. We waited and hoped that it wouldn’t be
too long.
Spending
3 hours cold, wet and scared in a survival bag in the pitch black in a flooded
valley at the start of February was pretty miserable. When you live in towns and
cities you forget what real darkness is. I have no real memory of the time spent
in the bag, it seemed to pass really quickly but also felt like an eternity. I
tried to stay awake, but could easily have been asleep.
It
was a huge relief when we saw headlamps down the valley. We got out of the
survival bag and started signaling with the torch, although it was the search
dog, Bliss, that reached us first. We were a bit embarrassed at having to be
rescued, and thought we might somehow be ‘in trouble’ but at no stage were
we criticised for mistakes we’d made and the team just seemed interested in
ensuring we were fine, and getting us in a fit stage to continue down to the
pass. After half an hour in a survival shelter drinking hot ribena and waiting
for the rest of the team to assemble, we were given headlamps and led back down
the valley to the pass, and then given a lift back to our B&B in Ambleside.
The incident shook us up and made
us realise that if we wanted to continue winter walking in the fells we needed
to be more cautious and needed more equipment to guard against situations where
things might go wrong. Since the incident coming off Scafell Pike, we have
continued winter walking in the Lake District, Snowdonia and Scotland, but have
invested in better winter clothing, a survival shelter (great peace of mind!)
and, most importantly of all as far as we’re concerned, headlamps for
situations where the light runs out. We have also been more willing to accept
that sometimes it is best to turn back when the conditions are bad – it’s
better spending the evening in the pub disappointed that you’ve not got to the
top, than in a survival bag waiting to be rescued.
-Page created 18 October 2004 -