SIMON SAYS

Striding on the Edge

by Simon Hastelow

As I sit down to write this I have the remains of a monumental blister on the heel of my right foot. So large even the special ‘blister plasters’ don’t cover it. But it was gained during a very enjoyable and adventurous outdoor activity, climbing Helvellyn in the Lake District.

This might sound like the opening from a church parable about being prepared, facing your demons and soldiering on. Although it does feature all of those elements, I’m not preaching, just recounting the day. I hope you’ll forgive that it does not feature a 4x4 or any other motorised vehicle, other than my wife’s gutless Vauxhall Corsa that also struggled with some of the higher routes through the lakes. That is a moan for another day.

We’ve had this trip to the Lake District on the calendar for two years, originally booked in 2019 but we postponed it due to work commitments. Then it was rescheduled for the middle of the first wave of Covid, before we knew that was going to be a thing. Finally re-booked for the week after the restrictions ended. Luckily the delay for the those restrictions didn’t apply to selfcatering accommodation so we went ahead.

The lengthy delays gave my wife the opportunity to add more and more activities to the wish list which, if we did all of them, would easily occupy a month-long trip rather than the week we had available, so we had to prioritise and Helvellyn was No.1 on the list.

At 950m elevation it is the 3rd highest peak in England after Scafell (964m) and Scafell Pike (978m), both of which we’d already completed. The added attraction for tackling Helvellyn is that it can be approached via Striding Edge and exited via Swirral Edge. These are rocky outcrops leading to the summit which literally form an ‘edge’ which, in places, is no wider than a couple of hiking boots. There are ‘easier’ ways up to the summit but why would you do that?!

Striding Edge stretches on for 1.5km. The photos showing the entire mountain top do not clearly illustrate the treacherous nature of the ‘path’. I use the term ‘path’ very loosely, there is no path, you just choose a place to put one foot then look for another suitable place to put the other foot within one stride of the last one. Repeat this process for one mile while holding on to other rocks so that you don’t fall to your death. Yes people have died on this stretch, quite a few of them.

For this fat 54year old, just getting to the start of ‘The Edge’ was a sweaty endeavour in itself. We do go hiking regularly, and although my fitness levels are not what they were 20 years ago I still like to push the limits.

I also sweat...profusely...regardless of the levels of effort. I leak copious quantities to the point where my shirt can usually be wrung out a couple of times along the route, and a towel is packed for every hike. I only say this to let you know that once I have exerted that much effort there’s nothing going to stop me from completing the task at hand, so when low cloud shrouded the entire upper-half of Helvellyn, including the Edges, we decided to continue anyway.

Visibility was down to just a few metres in places, and many more sensible climbers would have just turned back, but we figured there’s not much chance of getting lost. I had a GPS with a good signal and battery life, and there really is only one way to go - forwards. As I mentioned earlier, Striding Edge is so narrow in places that there is little chance of venturing off the ‘path’.

The other advantage with the low visibility is that it also clouded the lower slopes. Obscuring all reference to the terrain where a loose rock might propel your falling body. I have heard a few people say that they gave up trying to cross Striding Edge out of fear, but we couldn’t see how high up we were or how far we’d fall so that fear was somewhat eliminated.

What the cloud also does is hide the convenient, and safer, paths at the base of the edge which allow you to bypass the rocks. We couldn’t see these, so just kept going over the top!

Eventually we found our way to the summit, passed along the way by several younger and fitter climbers, but we got there in our own time. The low cloud showed no signs of lifting which was a real bummer considering that I’d just lugged about 3kg of Nikon DSLR, lenses and tripod along with GoPro action camera and gimbal to the top! Subsequently we only have iPhone photos to show for it.

I’m reluctant to call this mountaineering, but one thing you often overlook when tackling a mountain like this is that getting to the summit is only half the job, you then have to get back down again. Past experience has taught me that this can be even more arduous than the uphill section.

We had planned to descend via the much shorter, but also steeper, Swirral Edge to complete our loop. My wife wasn’t so sure about this after the experience we had with Striding Edge, but the only alternative was quite a lengthy detour, or back the way we came. So Swirral Edge it was.

As I said, going down is often harder than going up. Especially when you’re scrambling over rocks and gravity is just itching to take charge of my not inconsiderable weight. This is where the blister started to take shape.

Digging my heels into any purchase I could find, accompanied by sweaty socks, is just the kind of environment these blighters like. Add a badly twisted ankle to the mix, and we had a very, very slow descent, but an amazing sense of achievement at the bottom.

Some lessons learned…

I made the mistake of posting a video on Facebook while we were traversing Striding Edge to show the ridiculous conditions. We lost signal soon after that and only a while later did we realise that, even though we were both nervously smiling, some friends had seen this and interpreted it as an SOS!

Messages started to ping through once we’d found a signal again asking if we were OK and whether we needed rescuing! I think it was only then that we realised that most sensible people would probably have turned back when faced with such low cloud and gusting wind.

Someone commented that they couldn’t do it in perfect weather never mind what we experienced!

Taking the extra weight of my DSLR camera kit was probably unnecessary even in good weather. An iPhone shot would have been just as good and would have freed up pack space for better provisions. Not that we ran out of food or water, but it might have been a different story if we’d have been injured or the weather got any worse.

The biggest lesson learned for me is that I’m not as fit as I think I am. No matter how many hikes we do, there are still times I stand there with hands firmly on hips sucking in as much air as possible. Seeing a 12km route drawn on the map is very deceiving when most of that route is vertical!

Would I do it again?

Most definitely! I’d like to do it in good weather to see if the clear vision affected my judgement at all, and knowing that there are ‘easier’ paths to take - assuming you can find them - would be a convenient safety net.

PS: This was just day two of our holiday. We had another five days of this to go!