Little Miracles
"Look at what you would have missed if you didn't get to the summit".
With that, Paul passed me his binoculars and directed my gaze to where Scafield Pike, Skiddaw, Derwentwater, Bessenwaithe and finally, my own little hostel were.
From a vantage point 451m above sea level (Bukit Timah Hill was only 163m high and the highest that I've ever climbed), the Cat Bells* is an excellent spot to admire the Lake District for all its beauty. I almost didn't make it to the top.
If not for the help of two persons whom God has sent, I wondered if I could still go on.
I didn't expect it to be so tough. Cat Bells was graded as an easy to moderate route which I could do under 3 hours. Although it has a clearly marked trail, what I didn't anticipate, was the cold, the rain which made the rocks harder to climb and that at some parts, I have to climb down the rock face, guided only by feeling my way down.
It started off well enough. I decided that though inexperienced, I wasn't about to give up fell walking since I toured the District.
As they say, good intentions are not enough. The only stupid thing really was to go at it alone, without a map, checking the weather report. And underestimating the distance and time to take to get up AND down.
After alighting from the jetty and cutting through a forest, I arrived at the foot of the Bells. Strange as it may seems, I was greeted by a bunch of Scout Cubs who were eager to sell me some flapjacks. While the Scoutmaster told me how to get up, he did warn me that I would need enough time to climb down to catch the ferry back home. Or risk walking in the dark (about 3 hours) back. Or if I'm keen, race down the other face of the fell and get to another jetty to sail home.
Undaunted, I calculated that if I can't make it all the way up, I would turn back and make a break for the jetty.
It wasn't too bad after 1 hour. I stood there triumphant, only to be told that the so called summit I have reached, was not really the summit. The clouds parted and I saw that the true summit was about two ascents away.
Damn.
Trudged upwards again, getting on all fours at some points. Halfway up, with rock crumbling underneath my feet, there was a plaque dedicated to some unfortunate soul who lost his life while trekking. Somehow, it gave myself an extra push to try to reach up for the rocky ledge above me... with both hands...
Just as I reached the second summit I took a look at my watch. The last ferry was 5.30 pm and I had to turn back if I want to sail home. The top peak looked tantalizingly unreachable and I prayed that God would guide me on my next step. If I should go on or turn back. If I go up, I prayed, I want someone to guide me up as the mist was rolling in.
As soon as I finished praying, I turned and saw Paul and Tess smiling at me. Brief greetings were exchanged and I causally asked them if they were heading up.
"Well, we hope to if the mist isn't too bad!"
Here's my chance, I thought. "So, where do you two live?"
"Just opposite the Youth Hostel. We drove here."
In the end, my prayers were answered. They were happy to bring me up and offered to drive me back to my hostel.
It was good to have climbing companions. It was pretty hard at first at the final ascent, as it was steep and a lot of rocks crumbled under my feet. Strangely, what forced me to hoist myself up over increasingly higher rocks overhead was my yet to be eaten chicken masala dinner. I certainly have no intention to let another hostelite enjoy my dinner!
The final push was almost impossible. Both Paul and Tess looked over the hanging rock and said that I could do it. With a final grunt, I hoisted myself up and was rewarded with a view of the mountains and the lake. And a view of the ferry scooting across the lake picking its last passengers from the jetty.
After a light tea at the top (you could say that having high tea takes on a literal meaning!), coming down was a problem. It rained and I slipped over the rocks on my butt, while the couple walked down with the surefootedness of mountain goats. We got to the car and we drove back, with them dropping me off at my doorstep.
I looked into the mirror to check the damage. My hair worked its way out of my ponytail and flying in all directions. My jacket and jeans were mud-streaked. My toes were bruised and I could see a big bruise forming on my bottom.
Nothing beats a hot shower, a dinner of chicken tikka masala, a hot cup of teh-o and ginger cookies, while another hostelite eyed my dinner enviously as he supped on bread and soup.
*Old English Catt Belde - den of wild cats.
With that, Paul passed me his binoculars and directed my gaze to where Scafield Pike, Skiddaw, Derwentwater, Bessenwaithe and finally, my own little hostel were.
From a vantage point 451m above sea level (Bukit Timah Hill was only 163m high and the highest that I've ever climbed), the Cat Bells* is an excellent spot to admire the Lake District for all its beauty. I almost didn't make it to the top.
If not for the help of two persons whom God has sent, I wondered if I could still go on.
I didn't expect it to be so tough. Cat Bells was graded as an easy to moderate route which I could do under 3 hours. Although it has a clearly marked trail, what I didn't anticipate, was the cold, the rain which made the rocks harder to climb and that at some parts, I have to climb down the rock face, guided only by feeling my way down.
It started off well enough. I decided that though inexperienced, I wasn't about to give up fell walking since I toured the District.
As they say, good intentions are not enough. The only stupid thing really was to go at it alone, without a map, checking the weather report. And underestimating the distance and time to take to get up AND down.
After alighting from the jetty and cutting through a forest, I arrived at the foot of the Bells. Strange as it may seems, I was greeted by a bunch of Scout Cubs who were eager to sell me some flapjacks. While the Scoutmaster told me how to get up, he did warn me that I would need enough time to climb down to catch the ferry back home. Or risk walking in the dark (about 3 hours) back. Or if I'm keen, race down the other face of the fell and get to another jetty to sail home.
Undaunted, I calculated that if I can't make it all the way up, I would turn back and make a break for the jetty.
It wasn't too bad after 1 hour. I stood there triumphant, only to be told that the so called summit I have reached, was not really the summit. The clouds parted and I saw that the true summit was about two ascents away.
Damn.
Trudged upwards again, getting on all fours at some points. Halfway up, with rock crumbling underneath my feet, there was a plaque dedicated to some unfortunate soul who lost his life while trekking. Somehow, it gave myself an extra push to try to reach up for the rocky ledge above me... with both hands...
Just as I reached the second summit I took a look at my watch. The last ferry was 5.30 pm and I had to turn back if I want to sail home. The top peak looked tantalizingly unreachable and I prayed that God would guide me on my next step. If I should go on or turn back. If I go up, I prayed, I want someone to guide me up as the mist was rolling in.
As soon as I finished praying, I turned and saw Paul and Tess smiling at me. Brief greetings were exchanged and I causally asked them if they were heading up.
"Well, we hope to if the mist isn't too bad!"
Here's my chance, I thought. "So, where do you two live?"
"Just opposite the Youth Hostel. We drove here."
In the end, my prayers were answered. They were happy to bring me up and offered to drive me back to my hostel.
It was good to have climbing companions. It was pretty hard at first at the final ascent, as it was steep and a lot of rocks crumbled under my feet. Strangely, what forced me to hoist myself up over increasingly higher rocks overhead was my yet to be eaten chicken masala dinner. I certainly have no intention to let another hostelite enjoy my dinner!
The final push was almost impossible. Both Paul and Tess looked over the hanging rock and said that I could do it. With a final grunt, I hoisted myself up and was rewarded with a view of the mountains and the lake. And a view of the ferry scooting across the lake picking its last passengers from the jetty.
After a light tea at the top (you could say that having high tea takes on a literal meaning!), coming down was a problem. It rained and I slipped over the rocks on my butt, while the couple walked down with the surefootedness of mountain goats. We got to the car and we drove back, with them dropping me off at my doorstep.
I looked into the mirror to check the damage. My hair worked its way out of my ponytail and flying in all directions. My jacket and jeans were mud-streaked. My toes were bruised and I could see a big bruise forming on my bottom.
Nothing beats a hot shower, a dinner of chicken tikka masala, a hot cup of teh-o and ginger cookies, while another hostelite eyed my dinner enviously as he supped on bread and soup.
*Old English Catt Belde - den of wild cats.
posted by Leng at 8:11 PM
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