Monday 7th January 1991. A day which, in future years, mist surely rank among the most remarkable in the Club's history; a day, even, which rivals the legendary Beinn Alligin experience...
Many of us had reached the summit of Sca Fell on Friday, whereas others had yet to breach the magical 3000ft barrier and felt compelled to do so. There was only one place to go: Scafell Pike - at 3210ft, England's highest mountain - just had to be climbed. Club prestige demanded it. Despite an indifferent weather forecast, a lengthy power cut and the unexpectedly potent Cumberland Ale, morale was good. So why not?
Mark R., Nick H., Sarah A., and Toby were far from impressed, adopting an attitude of "been there, done that," and forming themselves into a self-styled elite, announcing their intention of perpetrating Dark Deeds on Pillar ("We've got crampons and we're going to use them!"). As a result, yours truly was left with the task of leading one of two assaults on the Pike, a responsibility which I quickly sought to dilute by recruiting the services of Pete. I had been impressed with Pete's professionalism as a leader on previous trips - Pete owns a map-case, and I don't. Sarah D., Mark P. and Dan made up the rest of the summit team.
Thus it came to pass that CUHWC came to Wasdale Head. Banishing all thoughts of imminent death from our minds, grimly determined, we set off up the deeply-scarred path up Brown Tongue. As we climbed, we were treated to increasingly awesome views of Scafell Crag, plastered with snow and ice. It was, as Pete had said of Upper Eskdale a few days earlier, a "huge view."
As further height was gained, the wind began to pick up, but we continued, despite having seen the first party turn back, encouraged by our alternative choice of route - the "tourist" path by Lingmell Col. On reaching the col, however, any thoughts of the summit were abandoned, as ice and snow joined forces with the battering winds. It was unanimously decided to try the Corridor Route, a path which winds its way between crags and ravines across the northwestern slopes of the mountain, as a way down off the mountain. Hopefully, this would turn out to be more sheltered, but soon progress was abruptly halted by a hideously exposed cornice - we then attempted to climb round this obstacle by following the stream up beyond the ravine.
Those of you who have seen Pete this term cannot have failed to notice a certain rigidity in his leg, courtesy of large quantities of the best plaster Addenbrooke's have to offer. I did not see Pete slip, dislocate his knee, and then perform an ice-axe arrest, bit I can testify to his subsequent determination in getting off the mountain. Not only did he insist that he was still perfectly able to walk, but he also led the retreat, striding boldly directly into the wind, whereas mere mortals (i.e. me) were reduced at times to crawling.
Even then, the excitement was not yet over. Understandably, Sarah had become quite attached to her ice-axe, to the extent that she was inspired to a more intimate acquaintance. Her attempt to bestow upon it a large sloppy kiss ended miserably and painfully - the resultant cut lip earning the day's second Purple Heart. Wasdale Head was reached without further incident, and not without great relief. Tragically, we failed to make last orders at the Inn, unlike the Dark Deeders, who emerged from the cosy niche of the bar to greet us with news of a successful ascent of Pillar, and equally sensational tales of derring-do.
Next: Snowdonia, February 1991