There was a reason for the timing of our climb up Snowdon. As my alarm called its robotic chant at 6.30, it was exactly one year since we were climbing the highest mountain in England, Scafell Pike in the Lake District. The warmth of bed was the antithesis of that climb; the day began cool and wet and got worse, on the way I misjudged a river crossing and spent the rest of the day squelching those cold, wet, sore feet, as we got higher the winds became stronger, driving in hail and mist and pretty much everything else weather can strike you with. This was only the half-way point of the three peaks challenge though, the pointless journey to climb the highest mountain in England, Scotland and Wales and drive between them in less than
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