Before joining the walking masterclass, I considered myself quite experienced. I am handy with a map and compass, have hiked most of Britain’s major peaks and go on a walking holiday every year. I scoff at hikers who complain about their ankles hurting when climbing trainers. Maybe I shouldn’t be so cocky.
The purpose of the winter skills course I attend is to educate hikers and prevent them from getting into trouble in the hills. Managed by the Lake District National Park Authority, this park is your chance to learn from the pros as you tackle Helvellyn, England’s third highest mountain.
“It’s very rare that I help someone at the top, whether it’s advice or helping move them down,” says my trainer Zac Poulton. He climbs Helvellyn every day as part of Weatherline, an assessment service that feeds Met Office forecasts and provides reports to walkers. Poulton believes he climbed the hill more than 200 times over seven years.
I still had a lot to learn. Poulton explained that my boots, which had seen me climb countless peaks, through forests, rivers and moors, were “summer boots” and not suitable for winter hiking. The soles were too flexible; It was comfortable for walking, but useless when I had to wear crampons to move on ice. And at Helvellyn in February, crampons are essential.
Poulton spent the first hour talking to me about the kits in the comfort of the Glenridding Information Center at the foot of Helvellyn.
“The most important thing is: when you can’t be disturbed, be disturbed,” says Poulton. “If you catch yourself thinking, ‘I should do this, but this is bullshit,’ that’s a red flag.”
“It’s a cascading effect,” says Poulton. “Your foot is rubbing against your boot, but your casts are at the bottom of your bag, so you can barely walk. This slows you down and the sun goes down. You’re coming down in the dark, so you twist your ankle. It’s cold, it’s dark, and you’re in the early stages of hypothermia when the rescue team finds you. This is all due to a blister you may have gotten dressed in hours ago.
Hiking backpacks have become smaller and more streamlined, but a small, densely packed bag is a pain to get items out of. You have to take everything out, put it all on the floor. “The bigger the better for winter hiking.”
The rule of thumb is to take a 30-litre pack for summer hikes and a 50-litre pack for winter hikes. Poulton inside, one for gloves, one for food, one for first aid, etc. He recommends color-coded dry bags, including:
Speaking of color, it’s a good idea to dress brightly when walking in winter. “We Brits love black, blue and green outdoor clothing, which makes it almost impossible for mountain rescuers to find you,” Poulton advises. “Wear unnatural colors if possible.”
Other must-have items include a first aid kit (“you need tape and painkillers as a minimum”), spare socks and gloves, extra layers, a whistle to call for help, a portable charger, compass and map (preferably 1). gets. The :40,000 scale makes it easier to spot large landmarks in the snow than 1:25,000.
“My number one kit for winter hiking is a plastic survival bag,” Poulton adds. “It’s the best £3 you’ll ever spend. It will keep you warm like a sleeping bag. You can use it as a sled to drag someone who cannot walk. Being large and orange makes it easier to spot. “If you spend the night on the hill, it might keep you alive.”
Bags planned (and boots changed), Poulton took me up the hill for his first lesson: pacing.
I counted 163 steps as we covered our first hundred metres. Then came the challenge: Keep walking and stop 400 meters ahead. Luckily, four of the five people in my group stood in the same place, with only one person about 20 meters away. “If you’re hiking as a group, it’s helpful to have a few pacers who can correct each other,” says Poulton.
Avalanches are next. Although rare, it is possible, especially in the UK. Around 150 cases are reported each year in the UK. Getting caught by one is no joke. Poulton lost a friend in an avalanche when falling snow dragged them to the edge of a cliff, and he himself suffered several broken bones while cross-country skiing in Sweden.
Seventy percent of surviving an avalanche is what happens before your hike begins: checking the weather and avalanche risk before setting off and planning a safe route. “This sounds easy, but most people rescued in the mountains convince themselves they will be okay,” says Poulton. “If you’ve taken time off from work, traveled somewhere, paid for an expensive hotel, it’s easy to convince yourself it’s now or never and move on.”
The next 25 percent is what you do on your climb; avoiding fresh snow, staying away from ridges and convex slopes where snow can move more easily.
He does his best while the remaining 5 percent snowballs.
Although the day I joined the course wasn’t particularly snowy, we found a patch of powder near the summit of Helvellyn where Poulton taught us how to walk with hard metal crampons (more challenging than it looks) and use an ice axe.
The latter can be a mini cane for climbing a hill, or when the slope is steep enough, the person can use it to pull themselves up by hitting the snow. However, in some cases it can also be used to prevent you from sliding down the hill during an avalanche.
Pressing the top of the ax against one shoulder and holding it across the body, knees toward the ground, feet in the air (“to avoid snagging on rocks and knocking you onto your back,” says Poulton) is the “safety position.”
We then had to climb the last 15 meters of snow at about a 35 degree angle. If I had any confidence left, it evaporated. I tried to focus on holding my ax and not looking down as I climbed to the top, Spider-Man style.
Wind speeds at the summit were 40 miles per hour, and a swirl of dark clouds threatened rain. However, even now there were tourists on the coaches. Poulton rolled his eyes and commented, “The charm of Striding Edge’s Instagram photo.”
Deciding that this iconic route was actually too dangerous in the wind, Poulton dropped us down to Swirral Edge on the other side of the mountain. It was a tough climb, climbing over rocks and shuffling.
The large number of climbers was at the danger limit. At one stage our group was left behind an ill-prepared walker who was wearing cotton shorts and a hoodie, carrying no gear other than a Tesco bag full of sandwiches, and got stuck on the descent. It sounds funny, but I wasn’t laughing as I waited, clinging to a ledge above a steep cliff.
“Unfortunately, this is common,” Poulton told me. “People come here because it’s iconic or because they see it on social media. They do it when they have a free weekend or half-term holiday, but they fail to realize how different walking in winter can be to summer, rain or snow versus sun. It gets chaotic fast.
Eventually, our ill-prepared attack was persuaded and we managed to get back to the bottom of Helvellyn. As I returned to the flat plain (and more importantly to the hot spa pool of the Brimstone Hotel where I was staying), I thought maybe I wasn’t so different from Tesco’s bag man.
Although I attended the course to improve my walking confidence, I also became more aware of the risks. I won’t be afraid to tackle hills like Helvellyn in the future, but I’ll definitely put some of my courage aside before doing so. In the end, maybe this was exactly what I needed to learn.
Fundamentals
Lake District Weatherline winter skills courses run until Easter and start from £125 for a full day. See lakedistrictweatherline.co.uk/winter-skills-courses for more information.