An experience worth more than gold

Nearly 40 Year 12 students completed their gold Duke of Edinburgh Award four-day assessed expedition, based in the Western Fells of the lake District, travelling over 50 km across four valleys and scaling 3,000m of ascent on the way, including Red Pike. The route started at the lake foot in Ennerdale, went to Buttermere, back to the head of Ennerdale to wild camp then on over passes to Wasdale and Eskdale - finishing on the Cumbrian coast in Ravenglass. KAREEM SAID reports, with additional photographs by JACOB LAMB

AS my friend very rightly put it, my reflective cycle when it came to packing for our Duke of Edinburgh (DofE) expeditions could be summarised in the following: overpacking for an incoming nuclear winter in the practice expedition, following by what seemed minimalistic packing in the actual qualifying.

However, as the theme suggests, this time I believe I hit the Goldilocks ‘just right’ balance between clothing, camping equipment and food. In no way did I do it alone, my faithful buddy practically wrote the list for me, alongside giving me the advice I ignored for ages: actually using a bin bag to not only protect your items from drowning but to compartmentalise them as well.

So, with that done, we set off for the Lake District. The long haul ended with a nice campsite, where the band met for one final tour, and having received the news prior, we were excited to welcome a new member. Re-integrating ourselves took basically no time; we had just broken up for summer. The groups got together. The introductory talk had been given. Ticks down the checklist. Before we knew it tents were up and we were playing card games and indulging in chicken goujons dipped in sumptuous McDonald’s sweet and smokey BBQ sauce.

The campsite was near a wide and gaze-worthy lake, and with the weather finally resembling that of the summer months, my friend brought out his inner professional photographer and proceeded to seek a prize-winner in the plethora of fantastic snapshots he’d taken.

In fact, reviewing these photos myself, I am not sure what to pick and what to exclude, I’d rather compile them into a slideshow, have some music play in the background while I read out this article, just to give them a bit more justice.

While our muscles, tendons, joints and ligaments were still unimpacted, we tested our balance and finesse in the family-to-be-game Twister. I lasted quite a good while, however, awkward angles and positions got the better of me, as I dangerously avoided nearly being sat on by one of my tortuously-placed group mates.

The first night went by smoothly, but we hadn’t gone anywhere yet, and the sun was not going to be out for long.

We woke to a gloomy sky, and the even gloomier news that our route had been changed. The good news was that it shrunk, the bad news was that it was, well basically, a staircase to hell – going upwards. Red Pike was no joke, it was about 700 meters of elevation and not even the slightest resemblance of a path, and the weather, well, I will come back to that later.

There we were a band of Strolling Stones. A squad of warriors. A pack of young, high-esteemed spirits. Walking and marching and singing towards the bottom of the hill, in absolute confidence that it cannot be that bad. Such confidence was brittle. And as usual with brittle confidence, it was shattered at the first sign of reality. Trouble came. The incline was monstrous. The terrain was cruel. The path was – as previously mentioned – invisible, and saving the best for last, the star of the no-short-to-being-diabolical show: the weather.

Cold met wet and gave birth to miserable, as we ascended into the cloud that was simultaneously crashing on to us like a flying elbow, and we all know who came out of that exchange the better. Our relatively healthy skeletal systems were failing massively against the jaws of the beastly hill that stretched our muscles to extremes. With our aim being to match poems to the Lake District journey, it was clear that the current theme was the merciless exposure to the elements.

It was not just a physical test, but a mental grinder that reduced us to groans and cries of despair and pain and anguish. Soon the cloud was thickened to the point of blindness - we could see the map, but it was useless when you couldn’t see where it led. We must have motivated ourselves with the sight of the peak about 25 times due to our short-sightedness. Eventually we just kind of accepted our fate and kept trotting along until we went downhill or just fell. At that point we were met by our instructor, who could unfortunately offer us no more than a warm congratulations that quickly froze up in such weather.

We had no time to celebrate. Or rest. Or eat or do anything but get moving downwards. Going downhill, was not the same as going uphill, but our expectation was not that it would be harder, as we descended the very hill that coined the term “slippery slope”. Our hope of an unscathed start to the four-day journey crumbled just like the ground beneath us. We tiptoed towards the bottom, resisting the ever so sweet temptation of relenting to gravity, yet gravity had its say, as every step created an avalanche of eroded and crumbled ferrous rock. With that, what was meant to be an inspirational and fairly epic display of physical and mental determination, turned out to be a painful clown show, as each of us slipped and slid with half of our weight crushing us at every blow. Whatever character we were building, it was not anything physical.

After finally reaching the end, I dropped dead on the campgrounds. Or at least I felt like I did. I had no idea where the rest of the group brought the strength to assemble tents and cook food, by that time I had just realised we were still in the UK, and for some reason, EE even sent us a message to welcome us back to Great Britain. My only explanations are we either went so high up we entered international airspace or Cumbria declared independence from the UK while we were gone.

The group slept. I passed out (almost literally), and we woke up for the rest of the journey.

We were told that this time the journey is going to be much shorter and sweeter. I can tell you now, that my relief was inexpressible, because it was not expressed. I will give credit where it was due though, the trek was very much like you would expect from a ‘nice day in the Lakes’. We had the spectacular view of the pike we just climbed the previous day. We also had complete view of the hill we are yet to climb, by then we have already faced the worst, and the journey has ameliorated to -like I said - a nice walk in the Lakes. Buttermere was not short of stunning, I had to take of my sunglasses and let my eyes burn with the majestic brightness of the scenery, if this were the last thing I would have ever seen, I wouldn’t be too mad about going blind. And my dear friend missed no such opportunity, he took each and every opportunity, meticulously searching for a Pulitzer as if literally trying to pick it out with a camera. He made a very good job of it, capturing the very air of the place. We reached the top and snacked on a very hearty meal of beef jerky and dried fruit. Sumptuous, I tell you. We then made it down in delightful spirits to the wild camp.

I can tell you the wild camp was not to be slept on. Literally, the place was a minefield of cattle faeces. Or at least that’s what I thought before I realised that we were sleeping a few tens of meters further in whatever direction it was. We sat down to eat pasta carbonara. A true delicacy, however, if I must be ridiculously critical, it lacked a hint of water, which I believe contributed to its rather Al Crunchy texture. With all seriousness, we had no choice but to endure a slightly undercooked carbonara which I still believe would have tasted exceptionally well had we actually had enough water to cook the thing.

Have I mentioned sleep? If you have read the previous article, you already know about my endless trouble from sleeplessness due to the jaws of cold trying to frostbite off my toes. That did not happen on this trip. And it only took me until day three to notice: I actually slept. Whether it was due the weather being fairer (considering it is July) or to the extra layer of thermal socks, I am not sure.

But I was too overconfident, I slept with shorts on for two nights and the midges must have had enough food for more than three months forward. Maybe even three generations forward. Must have been the food in my bloodstream. Sumptuous, I tell you. Back to the story, I feel a little itch slightly under my kneecap. I start pulling back the leg of my trousers only to find occasional spots of normal, unaffected skin in a hilly terrain of bites.

The epicentre was the area I itched, almost mimicking the landform of what we just went through. Suddenly, everything itched. Not just my knee, but my leg. Not just my right leg, but my left arm. Not just my left arm, but everything. I was scrambling my arms around my body like a madman who hasn’t realised he was no longer in a straitjacket. As I hop around trying to somehow resist the urge of peeling my skin off, I stumbled upon my local pharmacist, long-time friend and member of the group full of my chemistry arch-rivals. She had an incredibly useful bottle of some sort of weird concoction of something rather medieval looking and even more medieval sounding, I struggle to remember what it was, but it definitely had hazel in it - Oh, yes! Witch Hazel spray. I can confirm it had magical properties because even though the itchy feeling disappeared, I still kept itching.

I still managed to fall asleep after going through a therapy session with my tentmate, we had a long day ahead. The longest in fact.

We woke up at 5am, we had to be quiet, as even the birds and other wildlife were still asleep. We planned to take the longest route today, that was considerably longer than both of the other days (not combined certainly), we were not the fastest walkers, but we were sure close, so to be able to celebrate the glory of not being last group to arrive, we compensated by setting off before the other groups realised that they are no longer in their nice cosy homes and were indeed just in a dream.

We did our best to be efficient and took the incline with oomph and pomp. Once we made to the town on the other side, we took a mere breather and filled up our water bottles, threw away our trash and applied suncream so that we do not burn our skin and the heat could cook us more evenly. The moment we finished our tasks, we had a bit of time to rest, after all we had just downed a hill for breakfast. Or so we thought, as another band of familiar faces came to ruin our tour. This group was not only the group to whom I lost on countless chemistry test scores to, but apparently the group we were racing to the end. It consisted of five athletes and one who had a mentality of steel. I did have the chance to greet my local pharmacist and told her to enjoy the trek but not too much lest we overtake them. A bold threat I did not intend to enforce or even attempt.

We forced ourselves to an early kick-off, and according to some sources which I heavily doubt, Ghandi once warned heavily against early kick-offs. Nevertheless, we each brought out the inner Bear Grylls and pushed ourselves. I really liked the fact that everyone brought their compass, because I would have very much doomed everyone if they relied on my compass. I picked it up, the thing was attached to my neck the entire trip, but although the frame existed, the compass was completely gone. I did not even bother looking for it, I had a spare, but that wasn't the reason. We had a flag to capture, a race to win, all those who fell behind were left to the dead, even if it was a thirty-something quid compass that I would have loved to give to my siblings when they do the award so that I am present in spirit form with them, and all that.

We had lunch in front of a lake, we ran out of beef jerky so ate some more beef jerky, just another flavour. In DofE, beef jerky is your most reliable (and the most edible) source of nutrition in general. If you ran out of jerky, you had some jerky just as a back-up, everything that was not a meal to be prepared was jerky. We walked further, having already given up on the prospect of the entire race thing we were just happy we were at least not the last. But then we ran into the leading group, who were just finishing up their break. We had an awkward face off for a few seconds. Then we all sprinted for the finish line. It was not about the award anymore, it was about honour, it was about glory. It was every person for themselves, London Marathon style.

And we reached the end first, or at least two of us did, I just dragged my heels along thanking the Lord for keeping me safe in my travels. I took a picture of myself on the ground eating, (you guessed it) teriyaki beef jerky and this time it had an added taste of victory over my chemistry archnemesis.

The camp we stayed in was very much a five-star hotel in comparison to every other place we stayed in and I am not saying this because we camped in the wild the night before. The facilities were a lost traveller’s dream, no? Ok maybe just mine then. It had warm water in its showers, the toilets had good lighting and heating. The place did not look like it was used by some green creature you would find in a Dreamworks® movie, it did however give me the all-star feeling. We slept the night.

However, for some indistinguishable reason, I had an incredibly realistic dream about the tent floor on my side specifically being flooded with ice cold rainwater. Then I woke up to find exactly that. Great. Flashbacks to the previous practice session where sleep was a rare resource enjoyed only by those who were smart enough to recognise their limits.

The final day came along and I will be honest. In reflection the walk itself was uneventful. I did however break my water bottle, again (in almost exact fashion as last time) at the start of the day. At least the bag was lighter. We reached the end on high spirits, but those spirits took a cab and left home the instant we arrived, leaving us in the rain to wait for our parents.

I found a convenient restaurant where I managed to dine in on a fantastically cooked burger and a nice glass of lemonade. Thinking about all that happened to me and the group as we finished our final tour was emotional and even more so now that the summer broke us up to our constituent missions, I had a university application test I had to get on with when I return home to face whatever mess I left it in. And my room was in terrible state, I could not study for a test in there and so on and so forth, but I left that to the dust as the plate was served to me. And All I could think about was the first and last bite of that burger, and that extremely large sip of lemonade.

Sumptuous, I tell you.

RGS DofE coordinator Ruth Smith said: “They were an absolute credit to Ripon Grammar School. Teamwork was exemplary, with group members looking out for each other, showing great fortitude and leadership and helping share the load.

I was very proud of how all 39 participants stepped up and dealt with the terrain, weather and navigational challenges - and persevered even when it was tough and there were many aches and pains and blisters! Well done all.

“Our thanks also to BXM instructors James, Daryl, Martin, Mark and Jai for guiding the groups and keeping everyone safe - even building a river crossing when it was discovered that the footbridge had been washed away down the River Liza.”