A Scary Afternoon on Scafell Pike - Early May 2003
By a Dutchman - Sven Pekelder
The following true story has been kindly provided by a visitor
to the Lake District who wishes others to learn from a his group's mistake - all
paths going up lead to the top, but this is not the case when descending,
particularly Scafell Pike in mist......
Dear people of the Wasdale MRT,
Through the Cockermouth MRT-page I found your page. Reading through the stories,
I relived my agony from a year back, and decided to send in a story, as a
warning.
My name is Sven and I'm from Eindhoven in the Netherlands. The following is an
account of a scary afternoon high on Scafell Pike with my mate M. It shows that
stop and think is a smart thing to do. Going back and not pushing on is
sometimes even better.
Early may 2002, three friends and I were on a walking-holiday in the Lake
District, staying near Cockermouth. It actually started, how odd it may seem,
with a visit to the Cockermouth Sainsbury's. People from the Lions Club were
selling tickets, with the first prize being a 3 minutes trolley-dash in the
supermarket. We bought a ticket, what the heck. Two days later, we were called
in our hotel by the chairman, who told us we won the prize! In unison, we
decided to donate the prize to the
Cockermouth Mountain Rescue Team. We agreed to show up at Sainsbury's the next
day to collect the prize and donate it to the MRT, who's headquarter is (was
actually) in the same carpark.
Next day, we set out from the bottom of Hardknot's pass to walk up Eskdale to
Scafell Pike, and maybe, weather and legs permitting, climb the highest mountain
of England. The weather was perfect, and we reached the bottom of the waterfall
at the foot of Scafell Pike. Two of our party decided not to climb, as the climb
would have to be fairly quick to be back a reasonable time in Cockermouth to
meet the people from the Lions and the MRT. We had two hours to go up and
return. Our friends would wait the two hours, then head back to the car, as we
would catch up with them.
Me and M started out and made good progress, the weather turning to slight
drizzle and a fair wind. Looking up, the top became covered in clouds, but the
opportunity to stand at the highest point in England made us push further. We
encountered two walkers, asking where they were. It turned out they had
descended the wrong side of the mountain. We thought that was
rather clumsy. We would soon find out........
Further up the path, I turned to my compass to make bearings, thinking it would
help me keep direction on the return. Up on the summit, the terrain was more
flat and covered in loose boulders. We discovered cairns and making
compass-readings, we followed them through the mist until we came to the top. We
had made it in good time, one hour, no worries. There was
no view, the top being full in the thick mist. Retracing our steps, we followed
the ill visible path back to a small cairn we built, from there retracing on the
compass. Feeling confident from the quick ascent, we sped back to our friends
and the party with the Lions and MRT. At the edge of the plateau, the actual
path up was hard to find in the mist, but we thought we were on the right
course. We headed down, quickly realizing it wasn't the path we had taken up.
Based on the map, the compass and our sense of direction, we decided the path
was a little over to our right, and headed that way, without going back up.
Progress was slow, slippery. But, the path was just around the corner, or so we
thought.
As time passed, we became more urged to find the path and go down, or we would
be late. This stopped us from going back, as it would mean losing a lot of time,
and we would be facing the same difficulty finding the right path down. And,
still sure, the path was just around the corner, to our right.
Scrambling down, we found ourselves in a gorge, and to our agony and fear, we
found ourselves stuck there, the terrain being to slippery to go back up, being
dangerous to go down. We stopped to discuss the situation, deciding to carefully
press on down, to get under the mist to see where we were. The experience will
not be lightly forgotten, as two times we
slipped and in a stream of boulders managed just to regain a stand and get out
of the falling rocks. We had been stupid, we knew, extremely stupid. But
stuck with it.
We made it down, finding a small path downwards, and were able to look around,
just under the mist. We saw a lake. There is no lake in Eskdale.
There is a lake in Wasdale though, so we descended the wrong side of the
mountain! Man, were we p*ssed. I had walked in these hills before, I should have
known better, my friends relying on me, I felt responsible. I put them in this
situation, I put M. in this risk. I was angry at myself, embarrassed, concerned
about the fitness of M. and about the worrying of my other two friends. It was
now the time they would be heading back, expecting to see us any time now up the
path down from Scafell Pike. And we were nowhere near.
Eventually we saw two walkers up on a path about half a mile to the north. We
shouted for attention and sped over to them. They confirmed our position. We
would have to go back up (about 350 meters up), and down the other side. Going
down to Wasdale head was an option, but wouldn't get us back in time. We became
worried that our friends would panic with us not
being back in time and call out the Mountain Rescue. And they were the people
waiting for us at the supermarket! Oh man, horrible, shame.
We sped up the path over Hollow Stones towards Lord's Rake. We were tired, but
the adrenaline and anger kept us going. Up Lord's Rake we were in the clouds
again, and a group of walkers, also a bit lost but coming from Scafell, guided
us in the right direction. We hurried down, now being about an hour late. Our
friends would soon reach the car. There was a
phone booth at the beginning of the path up Eskdale, and we feared they would
call the MRT from there. We had mobiles with us, but there was no signal, we
couldn't stop them. Our only hope was to push on, trying to make up for lost
time. The sun was setting, and tired as we were, we pushed on.
We were extremely grateful to find our two friends, who had walked slowly back
to the car, constantly checking behind them to try and spot us at the
phone booth. They called the people from the Lions Club, telling them we would
not be able to make it, but had decided not to call the MRT yet, trusting our
fitness and ability to find our way back. They were relieved to see us, and
because of the look on our faces knew that being angry wasn't necessary. In the
safety of the car, I finally could let the
tension slip and started crying, feeling relieved and embarrassed.
Extremely tired and hungry, we finally joined the meeting of the Lions club in a
local pub in Cockermouth, being able to formally hand over the prize to the
Mountain Rescue Team. At least we had a good story to tell!
Thanks to the walkers up on Scafell Pike that day. Thanks to Mr. McCuslin and
all other members of the Cockermouth Lions Club for the pleasant evening and
great fun (we did do a trolley dash the day after, see
picture). But most of all, thanks to all the people of the Mountain Rescue
Teams all over Britain for the reassurance of being there when you need
them!
Regards, Sven Pekelder, the Netherlands
P.S. I posted this story to the Cockermouth MRT also.
"We gratefully appreciate your letter Sven and true story - please be assured that your warning will inevitably prevent at least one mishap in the future - we receive many emails from people who read the stories and modify their plans accordingly - Richard Warren WMRT"