Or why you should always wear gloves in a blizzard
I know what you’re thinking. “Girl. Why the everliving heck would you not wear gloves in a blizzard you FOOL?” To which I would reply, “dear friend, you don’t know the half of it.”
Peak of Arthur's Seat
For those who read my last post “Flight fiasco #3”, you know that the majority of my trip to Edinburgh was consumed by a horrible snow storm that killed me and forced me to watch my loved ones live as if I didn’t exist “It’s a Wonderful Life” style. (If you haven’t read it, go check it out it’s a wild ride.)
I’ve had such bad luck with transportation lately that I’m actually having trouble committing to booking things for my trip in April. I’m living in a Nicolas Sparks movie but my beau, that I write [strongly worded] letters to every day for a year is kayak.com. How can I book until I’ve learnt to trust again?
I guess I can’t really blame the airlines and booking agents anymore. The storm was so bad that people in the UK were referring to it as “The Beast from the East”. The only beast from the east I’ve ever encountered is my cousin who lives in the eastern hemisphere who was an absolute monster behind the wheel when he first got his license, and the only thing they have in common is that everyone should steer clear because they’ll leave a trail of angry travelers in their wake.
But enough about travel disasters. I wanna tell you about an experience I had that was actually planned (for once) but was nothing like what I had expected.
Pro tip: don't listen to that little voice in your head that tells you not to bring gloves in order to pack lighter
Picture this: it’s early in the morning. Last night snow began to fall and you cross your fingers that it was just a light dusting. You pull back the curtains and and your eyes are momentarily blinded by all the white you see. A foot of sky dandruff sits outside. Waiting. Mocking. You think to yourself, this is no joke, I gotta be prepared. Two pairs of pants shall be worn today.
Despite the obvious signs that we should have just stayed in bed on Wednesday, my four friends and I decided that we would proceed with our plans to hike up Arthur’s Seat, the highest point in Edinburgh. I mean it was just a little snow on the ground, it wasn’t even falling anymore. We’re north-easterners. One foot of snow? Pfft. That’s nothing. Snow day? Don’t know her.
So we got up, got dressed in layers that would make even Ralphie Parker’s mom proud (bonus points for second Christmas movie reference), and headed out.
As we fueled up with coffee and bagels at a cafe, the snow started to fall again. Still in denial, we turned away from the windows and chatted with the guy behind the counter. Compared to the snooty French, this old Scottish man with a ponytail was a pleasure to talk to. Making typical small talk, we discussed the weather, and the man told us that he had not seen snow like this in Edinburgh in a very long time, which should have been another red flag. I think it’s also worth mentioning that his place was an old apothecary-style medicine shop converted into a cafe with all hand-carved wood furniture, so the only way this man could have been more of a wizard is if he had used the phrase “in many moons”. (By the way, he also makes a #wicked cup of coffee) When we told him our plans to climb up Arthur’s Seat he smiled, but his eyes had a level of concern that made me feel like I would never return from that mountain alive. But all he said was, “well lass I’m glad I’m not you”.
Another pro tip: always listen to the wizard man with the ponytail.
Out into the frozen tundra we went
As we stepped out of that coffee shop, we didn’t realize we were abandoning the last feeling of warmth we would feel in a very long time. We didn’t appreciate what we had. We should have left a bigger tip. #tipyourwizardwaitor
We walked to the start of the trail (which honestly was such a long walk it could have sufficed for the day’s hike), the snowfall had stopped so we marveled at the snow-covered peak we were about to scale. Ok, I say peak, Arthur’s Seat technically qualifies as a hill and not a mountain. It's like a 40 minute hike up and down. Ok the walk to the trail was probably longer now that I think about it but that doesn’t disqualify the challenge we were about to face!
We began our ascent, not five minutes pass, and the snow starts again. I should mention that Arthur’s seat is not a beautiful meadow-y hill. You’re not about to find frauline Maria up there singing about how these hills are alive. No this hill is just one big ole rock. No music whatsoever. And climbing up steep, sharp, probably tone-deaf rocks, covered in ice, while visually impaired by falling snow, lemme tell ya friend, that stuff's legitimately dangerous. Don't try this at home kids.
As we climb, the sheer force of the wind starts to take it’s toll. We’re out of breath, people are groaning and slipping and falling, we start having to use our hands and knees just to keep moving, I start having an existential crisis about whether the life choices that led me to this moment were the right ones, y’know regular nature hike stuff.
We finally make it to what I think is the top, when I turn to my right and realize…we are on the wrong peak. The peak we were on was very flat and open. We were exposed to the elements. At this point the wind and snow were coming at us from an angle, slicing at our faces. My ungloved hands were so cold they started to burn and blister. I was almost grateful when I cut my palm on a rock and blood actually rushed to the area, because I was concerned the blood would assume that my hand had already been lost to frostbite. An actual thought that crossed my mind was that my hands would never be the same after that day.
The wind was almost horizontal so the snow was sticking to the side of our clothes making it look like we’d decided to lie down and take a nap half way up the mountain. It was so forceful that I started doing an involuntary moonwalk towards the the edge of a cliff. I was ready to turn around and start sliding on my behind back to safety, but we pushed on.
Finally. Our final destination.
We climbed over to the other peak where there really wasn’t even a trail anymore. I’m pretty sure it would have been more prudent to have grapples and harnesses. But we make it to the peak and find a perfectly angled rock to shelter us from the wind. We huddled together and snapped some photos of…really nothing because the snow had blocked the view and defeated the purpose of our hike, so we prepared to descend. As we turned the corner the wind that hit us, oh dear god, it was like hell had frozen over and then released flatulence. I don’t know how many of you have actually been swept off of your feet at 1000 feet above sea level but I doubt it’s unlike your seatbelt coming undone on a rollercoaster. I’m pretty sure I was dead for about seven seconds.
The Atlantic Ocean from Arthur's Seat.
After much struggling, we make it back to the lower peak, and suddenly, the snow clears up. We had before us a 360 degree panoramic view of Edinburgh all the way to the ocean. We were overjoyed. It was so pure. We started shouting and hugging, it was like a war had just been ended. I suddenly felt very refreshed. And although my hands were numb, my knees were weak and my teeth were chattering, looking down on that little kingdom made me feel very powerful. The climb back down the mountain was no longer a mad dash towards a warm bed and hot shower, but a royal descent down to meet loyal subjects. Magic.
So the next time I climb Arthur’s Seat I think I'll check the weather report before hand. Snow probably won’t stop me from heading up there… but in the future I’ll remember to bring gloves.
xo PZR
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