1996_102001 - Before the Storm
This is an innocent image of a wild camp in the Lakes. But it hides a drama, and is the only picture I made that trip.
Later in the day, after we crossed Wetherlam and Swirl How in high winds, we decided to camp under the north side of Grey Friar to get shelter from the gale-force south-westerlies. But we got it wrong.
At 4pm it started raining torrentially. At 10pm the wind was straining the little single pole tent to its limits, pushing the fabric down on our faces, making it impossible to sleep. At midnight, it lurched violently and didn't spring out again; the pole had snapped.
With the full force of a storm on our backs, we packed. Outside, water in dozens of rivulets was pouring clean over the grass, and huge raindrops were driving horizontally. My pack rolled over the ground.
We navigated carefully down 1200 feet of Grey Friar's slopes in pitch blackness to the Duddon valley road at the foot of the Wrynose Pass, and then walked for two hours back to the car. The road was like a river, and becks were overflowing everywhere.
After spending the remainder of the night in the car, I reflected on how clear thinking it all was: the decison to get out, the navigation, the organisation. The situation was clearly and ultimately threatening, but we dealt with it all so calmly. Our mistakes were underestimating the severity of the conditions and not having an accurate forecast. For many mountaineers, those things, coupled with inexperience, have proved to be the final mistakes. Thankfully, we dealt with it.
1996_102001 - Before the Storm
This is an innocent image of a wild camp in the Lakes. But it hides a drama, and is the only picture I made that trip.
Later in the day, after we crossed Wetherlam and Swirl How in high winds, we decided to camp under the north side of Grey Friar to get shelter from the gale-force south-westerlies. But we got it wrong.
At 4pm it started raining torrentially. At 10pm the wind was straining the little single pole tent to its limits, pushing the fabric down on our faces, making it impossible to sleep. At midnight, it lurched violently and didn't spring out again; the pole had snapped.
With the full force of a storm on our backs, we packed. Outside, water in dozens of rivulets was pouring clean over the grass, and huge raindrops were driving horizontally. My pack rolled over the ground.
We navigated carefully down 1200 feet of Grey Friar's slopes in pitch blackness to the Duddon valley road at the foot of the Wrynose Pass, and then walked for two hours back to the car. The road was like a river, and becks were overflowing everywhere.
After spending the remainder of the night in the car, I reflected on how clear thinking it all was: the decison to get out, the navigation, the organisation. The situation was clearly and ultimately threatening, but we dealt with it all so calmly. Our mistakes were underestimating the severity of the conditions and not having an accurate forecast. For many mountaineers, those things, coupled with inexperience, have proved to be the final mistakes. Thankfully, we dealt with it.