writing | Hot Aches
Walking in a winter (not so) wonderland. A bout of hot aches on our last trip up to Scotland.
We’d spent the last thirty minutes breaking a trail down from the snowy summit of Càrn Bàn Mòr. I was with Sally, my partner, enjoying a winter break in the Cairngorms. I have a love-hate relationship with winter mountain days. I love being out but hate being cold.
The day had been pleasant as we made our way up Sgòr Gaoith, arriving in a thick white cloud but not quite whiteout conditions. At the summit, we were careful not to stray close to the cornices overhanging the edge. Through the gaps in the cloud, we looked down the cliffs of Coire na Caillich to Loch Eanaich and didn’t fancy the drop.
Making our way back down and crossing the saddle to Càrn Bàn Beag, through knee-high powder, we carried on. The downward slope got steeper and the going more difficult. The wind picked up, and with it an awful cold that sent a chill through to the bone. This descent didn’t want to end. But I’d had enough and just wanted to quickly get off this mountain.
Then it hit me like a brick. I felt the colour draining from my face. My fingers and toes were numb as my body drew in heat to keep the core warm. Nausea crept over me like a rising tide. The cramps in my stomach twisted into a thick knot, as I fought the urge to bend over double. I knew the signs but ignored them. Hot aches.
I was exhausted and dehydrated, and despite the facts presenting themselves to me bluntly, my instinct was to plough on. Every fibre urging me to move quicker. I’d rest when I was down.
With every step, more pain, throbbing and numbness. Growing nausea, dizziness, and irritability. The last was a result of the apparent lack of progress my partner was making in her descent.
“She’s slowing me down,” I thought selfishly. I started to ignore what she was doing as my body tried to cope with what I was feeling.
My mind was telling me “Stop, rest, take on board what’s happening, ask for help, eat something idiot.” But my body kept urging me on “Just keep moving. There’s another 20 minutes of descent, keep going.”
I was sweating and felt cold. I needed to stop now, or I was going to pass out. Stumbling, I dropped to my knees, looking back to my partner who was maybe 10 metres behind. She caught up with me as I sucked in the air.
“I knew there was something wrong when you stopped turning round to check on me” she said, as she crouched down to look me over. “What’s up pickle?” she asked, calling me by her pet name for me.
I described what I was feeling, and she fed me some glucose tablets and water. Then a flapjack. With a joke and a smile, she brought me around. I felt like shit for putting her in this situation and for being so selfish. I should have known better.
After five minutes I felt like myself again and took a layer off. I was soaked through and needed to get the wet layer off my skin. I’d been reckless, but the time for assessment would come at the end of the day over a cold pint and warm supper.
After another minute I was back on my feet. I tucked the ice axe in the gap between my shoulder blades and rucksack, not needing it anymore. Grabbing my pole, we started moving again and stuck together as we finished our descent.