If you’ve read my memoir, Wandering (2023 Gray Wolf Books), you may recall that I toured England, Scotland, and Wales before embarking on the overland journey to India (Chapter 28). I did not share much about those few months before taking the Magic Bus to Greece because I couldn’t choose which experiences to include and which ones to leave out. So, I opted to keep it simple.
Anyway, one of my goals when I toured the British Isles was to climb the three highest peaks: Ben Nevis (Scotland), Scafell Pike (England), and Snowdon (Wales), in that order. After successfully hiking up Ben Nevis and Scafell Pike, I arrived in Wales shortly after New Year’s and stayed at a youth hostel at the base of Snowdon. The day dawned without a cloud in the sky, and I set out early. Plenty of time, I thought. Even though the mountain was covered in snow and ice, the sun was warm, and before long, I had wrapped my down coat around my waist and began the climb, kicking steps into the snow on the steeper parts, taking my time, slow and steady on my feet. At several points, I stopped to admire the view. When I got closer to reaching the top, I noticed two men standing there, seemingly watching my every move. One peered through his binoculars and gestured to the other guy; then he, too, looked through the binoculars. Great! It’s just what I need. Two men ogling me.
When I arrived at the summit, the two men were still there. I took a much-needed deep breath and smiled. “Hi, there. Beautiful day.”
“What in the hell were you thinking?” shouted one of the men.
Who are these guys, and who do they think they are? I opened my mouth, but the other guy marched toward me before I could respond. He wore gators and a harness and carried an ice axe. His jacket bore an embroidered emblem. It read: Mountain Rescue. “How do you think you’re going to get down?”
Despite their abruptness, I remained confident in my abilities. “Uh… The same way I came up,” I replied, trying to keep my tone steady. “I’ll take my time. I know what I’m doing.” I was surprised by their reaction on such a picturesque day atop a mountain. Wouldn’t a simple ‘hello’ have been a better way to start a conversation?
“No way! We are not letting you climb down Snowdon on one of the hardest routes.” He said a few other words, but his thick Welsh accent made it hard for me to decipher them.
Can they do that? “No need to worry. I’m staying at the youth hostel. I’ve done a lot of mountaineering back in Canada, where I’m from.” I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, along with a bit of self-doubt.
By then, both men were standing beside me. One was younger. Probably late twenties. The other was older. Maybe forty? The older one shook his head. “We’ll guide you down this route.” He pointed in the opposite direction of where I had just summited. “In our expert opinion, you should not attempt to descend the mountain from the route you just climbed.”
The younger man piped in. “Yes, correct, and there’s no time to waste. We’ve been waiting for you, and it will likely be dusk by the time we get to the trailhead.”
The two men trotted ahead and motioned for me to follow. “Time to go.”
I didn’t want to go. I knew I could descend that steep slope alone. I’d done it so many times before, in much more challenging conditions, but I followed them because I didn’t want to get in trouble. The other route was long and tedious and took twice as long to get down. They kept a respectable distance and did not converse with me. My stomach growled.
The men walked to their car. The older man turned and said, “The highway is right there, and you can go east to the hostel.”
What? They’re not going to give me a ride? “Wait. What am I supposed to do? Hitchhike?”
“We got you down. The rest is up to you.” And with that, they left.
I was pissed. I was mad at them for assuming that I didn’t know what I was doing, thinking I was an inexperienced female in the wilderness, and for not giving me a ride. What? Guide me down, but then leave me at the side of a highway to hitchhike! But mostly, I was mad at myself. I knew I could’ve descended that mountain on my own. Why didn’t I stand up for myself?
I walked to the lonely highway and stuck out my thumb. I waited an hour before a kind gentleman picked me up and dropped me off at the hostel. By then, the kitchen had closed, and I ate crackers and some cheese before I climbed into my sleeping bag. For the next little while, I replayed the day’s events, all the while thinking it was all possible until it wasn’t.
It was a great lesson that continues to teach me whenever I think about it. Trust my instincts. Take the risk. Believe in myself. Everything is possible.
“The moment you doubt you can fly is when you can’t do it.” Peter Pan
Sharon
© 2024. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved.
