Similar to a lot Brits, I was caught off-guard by the cold winter of 2009. I shall keep in mind December 17th especially well because, unusual for me, I was ill prepared for the climate and the experiences of the day. I had enjoyed the morning rambling, it was chilly and the very first few snowflakes fell during the early afternoon. I reside in Ingleton however had been trekking around the amazing Ribblehead Valley, admiring its renowned viaduct. I retired to the local public house for a meal and a crafty half pint before driving back home. Unfortunately by the time I’d cleared my plate, there turned out to be almost 6 inches of snowfall. The public house is high in the peaks within Yorkshire’s Three Peaks and such startlingly fast snowfall is known to arise. My auto at the point was a small hatchback, which can be far from appropriate in such weather conditions therefore I promptly was aware I had a concern. The already compressed snow on the highway had soon developed into the feel of ice. I could see that this had resulted in no less than two automobiles skidding and becoming caught up in the snow-covered moorland.
At all times an optimist, I strode to my hatchback, started it, put it in gear gradually but notwithstanding my best attempts, it travelled only a couple of metres, backwards. There turned out to be no grip for the transmission in these sorts of situations, so every point I attempted to make my way in the direction of the main road the little car merely slid to the rear once again. By this juncture it was early evening, the snowfall kept coming plus the sun was going down. So, with no other choice, I re-entered the pub to equip myself for a mighty challenge; I was going to have to hike home. I had along with me a high-visibility coat and a couple of bike lights. They would ensure I wouldn’t be very slowly run over by an out-of-control motor vehicle. Nonetheless, because I had not expected to be outdoors for very long, certainly not in snow and darkness I hadn’t brought my best coat.
I had on my standard hiking gear of fleecy jacket, water resistant outerjacket, military surplus pants, strong boots and (fortunately) thick socks considering that the trek would be seven miles. It was rapidly becoming obvious that this amount of preparation wouldn’t nearly be sufficient. I was acquainted with the publican and he lent me a strong flashlight and also a cosy hat for the journey back home. He on top of that gave me a considerable measure of spirits “For good luck. And inner warmth.”
Hence, thus gowned, I began my hike home. One thing I learned about winter hiking is never to walk using the tarmac street, which is a recipe for slipping and many injuries, stay on the verge at the edge of the road. This I learned the tough way when I slipped on a slight incline and was sent skidding along. For the next four hours, I edged my path along the valley, teeth knocking so hard I acquired a headache. My face hurt with the cold what’s more I appeared ridiculous with my borrowed pink woollen hat and cycle lights strapped on with string. Eventually I stumbled into my local pub, I am advised, appearing like a cross between the Yeti and St. nicholas, so crimson were my cheeks. I felt better with the heat and some traditional hot tea, a buddy offered to take me the remainder of the way home, for which I am permanently grateful. His advice stuck with me and I intend to never forget it. “Next time, take with you a decent jacket, just in case”. Sensible words indeed.
