Before participating in a walking masterclass, I considered myself fairly experienced. I’m handy with a map and compass, I’ve hiked many of Britain’s major peaks and I go on a walking holiday every year. I grin at hikers on the trail, moaning about sore ankles as they climb in sneakers. But maybe I shouldn’t be so smug.
The winter skills course I am taking is designed to train walkers 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 professionals as you climb England’s third highest mountain, Helvellyn.
“It’s rare that I help someone up the hill, whether that’s giving advice or helping to carry them down,” says my instructor, Zac Poulton. He climbs Helvellyn daily as part of Weatherline, a rating service that feeds into the Met Office’s forecasts and provides reports to walkers. Poulton believes he has climbed the hill more than 200 times in seven years.
I still had a lot to learn. My boots, which have taken me up countless peaks, through forests, across rivers and moors, are ‘summer boots’, not suitable for winter walks, Poulton explained. The soles were too flexible – comfortable for walking, but useless when I had to put on crampons to navigate 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 chatting about gear.
“The most important thing is this: If you don’t care, don’t care,” Poulton says. “If you catch yourself thinking, ‘I should do this, but it’s a faff,’ then that’s a red flag.”
“It’s a cascading effect,” says Poulton. “Your foot rubs in your boot, but your plasters are at the bottom of your bag, so you muddle through. That slows you down and the sun sets. You climb down in the dark, twisting your ankle. It’s cold, dark, and by the time the rescue team finds you, you’re in the early stages of hypothermia. All from a blister that you could have dressed hours earlier.”
Hiking backpacks have become smaller and more manageable, but a small, tightly packed bag is difficult to get stuff out of. You have to take everything out, put everything down. For winter walks, bigger is better.”
A rule of thumb is to buy a 30 liter backpack for summer walks and 50 liters 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 to dress cheerfully during the winter walk. “We Brits like black, blue and green outdoor clothing – it makes it almost impossible for mountain rescue services to find you,” Poulton advises. “Wear unnatural colors if you can.”
Other must-have items include a first aid kit (“at a minimum you need tape and painkillers”), spare socks and gloves, extra layers, a whistle to call for help, a portable charger, compass and map – preferably 1:scale of 40,000, making it easier to spot major landmarks than a 1:25,000 scale in the snow.
“My main gear for winter hiking is a plastic survival bag,” adds Poulton. “It’s the best €3 you can spend. It keeps you warm like a sleeping bag. You can use it as a sled to drag someone who can’t walk. It is large and orange, making it easy to recognize. If you’re on the hill at night, it can keep you alive.”
Packs planned (and shoes replaced), Poulton took me up the hill for his first lesson: pacing.
I counted 163 steps as we covered our first hundred yards. Then it was time for a challenge: keep walking and stop 400 meters further. Luckily, four out of five of my group stopped at the same spot, only one person was about 20 yards away. “If you’re walking with a group, it’s helpful to have a few pacers who can correct each other,” says Poulton.
Then avalanches. Although rare, especially in England, they are possible. About 150 are reported in Britain each year. Getting caught in it is no joke. Poulton lost a friend in an avalanche when falling snow swept them over the edge of a cliff, and he experienced one that broke several bones while cross-country skiing in Sweden.
Seventy percent of surviving an avalanche happens before your hike begins: checking the weather and avalanche danger before you go and planning a safe route. “That sounds simple, but most people rescued in the mountains are confident they will be fine,” Poulton says. “If you’ve booked time off, traveled somewhere, paid for an expensive hotel, it’s easy to convince yourself that it’s now or never and move on.”
The next 25 percent is what you do during your climb: avoid fresh snow, stay away from ridges and convex slopes where the snow can move more easily.
The last 5 percent is doing what you can while an avalanche is happening.
Although it wasn’t particularly snowy on the day I attended the course, we found a patch of powder near the top of Helvellyn where Poulton showed us how to walk with carbide crampons (tricker than it looks) and use an ice ax to use.
The latter can be a mini walking stick for scrambling up a slope, or, if the slope is steep enough, you can hammer it into the snow and use it to hoist yourself up. But in emergencies it can also be used to prevent yourself from sliding down a hill during an avalanche.
Press the top of the ax into one shoulder and hold it across the body, with knees on the ground and feet in the air (“to avoid catching on rocks and throwing you on your back,” says Poulton ) is the “safety position”.
Then we had to climb the last 15 meters of snow, at an angle of about 35 degrees. If I had any faith left, it disappeared. I tried to concentrate on holding my ax and not looking down as I clambered up Spider-Man style.
Winds at the summit were 40 miles per hour and a swirl of dark clouds threatened rain. Yet there were still tourists in sports shoes. “The appeal of an Instagram photo of Striding Edge,” Poulton commented, rolling his eyes.
In fact, that iconic route down was too dangerous in the wind, Poulton decided, who instead took us to Swirral Edge on the other side of the mountain. It was a challenging climb, requiring clambering and shuffling over rocks.
The number of climbers alone bordered on dangerous. At one point our group was held up behind an ill-prepared fellow hiker who had climbed in cotton shorts and a hoodie, with no equipment except a Tesco bag full of sandwiches, and got stuck on the descent. It sounds comical, but as I waited, clinging to the edge above a steep slope, I didn’t laugh.
“Unfortunately, this happens often,” Poulton told me. “People come here because it’s iconic or because they saw it on social media. They do it when they have a free weekend or half a semester, but don’t realize how different a walk can be in winter than in summer, rain or snow versus sun. It quickly becomes chaotic.”
Finally our ill-prepared raid was brought down and we reached the bottom of Helvellyn. By the time I got back to terra firma (and more importantly, into the hot spa pool of the Brimstone Hotel where I was staying) it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn’t so different from the Tesco bag man.
Although I had taken part in the course to build my walking confidence, I also left feeling 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 bravado aside before I do. In the end, maybe that’s exactly what I needed to learn.
Essentials
Lake District Weatherline winter skills courses run until Easter, from £125 for a full day. For more information, see lakedistrictweatherline.co.uk/winter-skills-courses.