A swift drive through the night takes us to the foot of Scafell. A brief (?!) muffin stop has thwarted our plans for Cumberland sausage.
It's 4.10am and it's already light. We all march up towards the summit (actually, Andy and Nige limp, Steve just floats).
Soon, we reach the clouds and start practising our well honed navigational techniques. After a few false starts, we stride confidently up the wrong hill. For what seems like ages, we stumble over the rubble in the mist, with the summit nowhere to be seen. Morale drops.
Then, in a shining example of good luck over good judgement, we reach the top - nearly 3 hours after starting!
A brief look at the watches reveals that time is running out. The only solution is to practically run down.
So we do.
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OK, I give in - you deserve some sponsorship! | |
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