by Before joining a hiking master class, I considered myself very experienced. I’m handy with a map and compass, I’ve climbed many of Britain’s great peaks, and I take walking holidays every year. I laugh at catchy walkers whining about sore ankles while climbing in trainers. Maybe I shouldn’t be so smug though.
The winter skills course I’m on is meant to educate hikers and prevent them from getting into trouble on the hills. Run by the Lake District National Park Authority, it’s a chance to learn from the pros while tackling England’s third highest mountain, Helvellyn.
“It’s rare that I don’t help someone on the hill, whether it’s a word of advice or helping them carry them down,” says my instructor, Zac Poulton. He climbs Helvellyn daily as part of Weatherline, an assessment service which supplements the Met Office forecast and provides reports to visitors. Poulton believes he has climbed the hill more than 200 times over seven years.
I still had a lot to learn. My boots are “summer boots”, which I’ve seen up countless peaks, through forests, across rivers and moors, not suitable for winter walking, Poulton explained. The soles were too flexible – comfortable to walk on but no use if I needed to wear crampons to go over ice. And on Helvellyn in February, crampons are essential.
From the cozy confines of the Glenridding Information Center at the foot of Helvellyn, Poulton spent the first hour talking to me about gear.
“The bottom line is this: when you can’t worry – worry,” says Poulton. “If you find yourself thinking ‘I should do this, but it’s a faff’, that’s a red flag.”
“It’s a cascading effect,” says Poulton. “Your foot is rubbing in your shoe, but your plasters are at the bottom of your bag, so you get confused. That slows you down and the sun goes down. You’re climbing down in the dark so you twist your ankle. It’s cold, dark and by the time the rescue team finds out you’re in the early stages of hypothermia. Everything from a blister you could have dressed hours earlier.”
Hiking backpacks are smaller and more organized, but a small tightly packed bag is a pain to get things out. You have to take everything out, put it all down. For winter hiking, bigger is better.”
The rule of thumb is to get a 30-litre pack for summer walks, a 50-litre for winter. Inside, Poulton recommends colour-coded dry bags – one for gloves, one for food, one for first aid etc.
Speaking of color, it’s a good idea when walking in winter to dress brightly. “Us Brits love black, blue and green outerwear – making it almost impossible for mountain rescuers to find you,” advises Poulton. “Wear unnatural colors if you can.”
Other must-haves include a first aid kit (“at the very least, you need tape and painkillers”), extra socks and gloves, extra layers, a whistle for help, a portable charger, a compass and a map – preferably 1 :40,000 scale which makes it easier to see large landmarks than 1:25,000 in the snow.
“My main piece of kit for winter hiking is a plastic survival bag,” says Poulton. “It’s the best £3 you’ll spend. It will keep you warm as a sleeping bag. You can use it as a sled to pull someone who can’t walk. It’s big and orange and easy to spot. If you’re out on the hill overnight, it might keep you alive.”
Packs planned (and boots replaced), Poulton took me onto the hill for his first lesson: swinging.
I counted 163 degrees as we covered our first hundred meters. Then it was time for a challenge: keep walking and stop 400 meters further on. Happily, four out of five of my group stopped in the same place, only one was out about 20 meters. “If you’re hiking as a group, it helps to have a couple of pacers who can correct each other,” says Poulton.
Next, avalanches. Although rare, especially in England, they are possible. Around 150 are reported in the UK each year. Being caught in one is no joke. Poulton lost a friend in a landslide when the snow swept them over the edge of a cliff, and he has experience while cross-country skiing in Sweden, breaking several bones.
Seventy percent of your survival is what happens before you start your hike: check the weather and fog risk before setting off and plan a safe route. “That sounds easy but most mountain rescuers convince themselves they’re going to be OK,” says Poulton. “If you’ve booked time off work, traveled somewhere, paid for an expensive hotel, it’s easy to convince yourself it’s now or never and keep going.”
The next 25 percent is what you do while climbing – avoiding fresh snow, staying away from ridges and steep slopes where the snow can move more easily.
The last 5 percent is doing whatever you can while an avalanche is happening.
Although the day I attended the course was not particularly snowy, we found a patch of powder near the summit of Helvellyn where Poulton showed us how to walk in hard metal crampons (harder than it looks) and use from an ice ax.
The latter can be a small walking stick to push up a slope, or, when the gradient is steep enough, it can be slammed into the snow and used to pull themselves up. But in a pinch, it can also be used to prevent you from sliding down a hill during an avalanche.
The “safety position” is to push the tip of the ax into the shoulder and hold it across the body, knees to the ground, feet in the air (“so you don’t catch on rocks when you’re getting into your back,” a says Poulton.
Then we were left to make our way up the last 15 meters of snow, at an angle of about 35 degrees. If I had any confidence left, it evaporated. I tried to focus on holding onto my ax and not looking down as I went up, Spider Man style to the top.
The wind speed on the summit was 40mph and there was a dark cloud threatening rain. But even now there were tourists in coaches. “The lure of an Instagram picture of Striding Edge,” Poulton said, rolling his eyes.
In fact, the iconic route down was too dangerous in the wind, decided Poulton, who took us down Swirral Edge on the other side of the mountain instead. It was a challenging climb, involving scrambling and scrambling over rocks.
The sheer number of climbers was bordering on danger. At one point our group was trailing another ill-prepared hiker who climbed in cotton shorts and hoodies with no gear but a Tesco bag full of sandwiches and got stuck on the descent. It sounds funny but waiting, clinging to the ledge above a big drop, I didn’t laugh.
“Sadly this is common,” Poulton told me. “People come up here because it’s iconic or because they’ve seen it on social media. They do it when they have a weekend or half term off, but they don’t realize how different a walk can be in winter and summer, rain or snow and sun. It gets chaotic fast.”
Eventually, our unpreparedness was detected and we made it back to the bottom of Helvellyn. By the time I got back on solid lowland ground (and more importantly, into the hot spa pool at the Brimstone Hotel where I stayed) I realized that maybe I wasn’t so different from a Tesco bag man.
Although I started the course to increase 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 I do. In the end, that might be exactly what I needed to learn.
Fundamentals
Weatherline Lake District winter skills courses run until Easter, starting at £125 for a full day. For more information see lakedistrictweatherline.co.uk/winter-skills-courses.
