So much for my training and preparation.
On the Friday night before attempting the Welsh 3000s, I had gone out drinking again. When Tim arrived a couple of hours earlier than I expected, I was still packing. I threw the rest of the kit I needed into my rucksack, loaded it into his Toyota van and we headed north towards Snowdonia.
It was not exactly the carefully managed preparation you might expect before attempting to cross all fifteen of the Welsh mountains over 3,000 feet in one continuous journey. But I was nineteen, reasonably fit and still at the age when enthusiasm could compensate for quite a lot.
More importantly, I had only recently returned from an Easter trip to Knoydart, where I had been running in the mountains with Tim and Martin. That had at least given me some idea of what a long day moving quickly through mountain terrain might demand.
We were delayed on the way by a serious car crash. The vehicle was completely burnt out, a sobering sight at the beginning of what was supposed to be an adventure.
Despite the delay, we were the first of our group to arrive in Llanberis, so Tim and I headed down to Pete’s Eats for tea and bacon butties.
Pete’s Eats was something of an institution among climbers and mountaineers visiting North Wales. It was the natural place to wait, eat and talk while people gradually gathered for a weekend in the mountains.
Back at the Heights Hotel, which for us was really more of a bunk room than a conventional hotel, we began sorting our equipment. Martin arrived next. He was the only other member of the group whom Tim and I already knew.
Martin had invited us after that Easter trip to Knoydart. Although I had spent plenty of time scrambling with my father and had recently started experimenting with running through mountain terrain, I was still the youngest and least experienced member of the group.
Once everyone had arrived, we were briefed on the route and the plan for the following day. Cars were deployed at the road crossings and stocked with food and anything else we might need as we passed through. We ate, drank and eventually went to bed, although there was not much time left for sleeping.
Two thirty in the morning came around quickly.
We set off up Snowdon in darkness. Somewhere near the summit, we met two people who had been bivouacking on the mountain. They were preparing to head down while we were only just beginning our day.
The official Welsh 3000s time is measured between the summit of Snowdon and the final summit of Foel-fras, rather than from the valley. Reaching the summit of Snowdon therefore marked the real beginning of the challenge.
From there, we headed towards Crib Goch.
I had scrambled for years and was comfortable on exposed rocky ground, although I might have moved more cautiously had I been alone. Being part of an experienced group gave me confidence. Everyone moved quickly and efficiently, and I concentrated on staying with them.
Some members of the group dropped out at the road crossings, but those of us who continued remained together throughout the day. That became increasingly important as tiredness set in.
From the Crib Goch, we descended into Nant Peris, losing much of the height we had gained before beginning the next major climb towards Elidir Fawr.
That is one of the defining features of the Welsh 3000s. It is not simply a continuous high-level ridge. The route repeatedly drops into the valleys before climbing back onto the next mountain range. Every descent brings the knowledge that another long ascent is waiting.
At each road crossing, we stopped to eat from the supplies left in the cars.
In retrospect, we probably stopped for too long. Each time I stood still, my legs began to seize up, making it increasingly difficult to get moving again.
The route continued across the Glyderau, taking in Elidir Fawr, Y Garn, Glyder Fawr and Glyder Fach before reaching Tryfan.
Tryfan is still one of my favourite mountains. Even with the distance already in my legs, I enjoyed the scrambling and the familiarity of the mountain. We descended through a gully on its western side towards the Ogwen Valley.
Arriving at Ogwen felt like significant progress. I found myself thinking back to school trips to the Tryfan campsite, with walks around the lake and ghost stories told in the evening.
But looking up at Pen yr Ole Wen from the valley floor brought me firmly back to the present. It rises steeply above the road and marked the beginning of the final mountain range.
I remember thinking that once we had climbed out of Ogwen, most of the hard work would be behind us.
I had underestimated how long the Carneddau section would feel.
From Pen yr Ole Wen, the route crossed Carnedd Dafydd and Carnedd Llewelyn, with the out-and-back diversion to Yr Elen. By then, the individual summits were beginning to merge into one long period of movement.
I was tired and increasingly focused on little more than keeping up with the others. My body seemed to be operating on autopilot, continuing long after I thought it should have run out of energy.
That is one of the advantages of youth. Sometimes the body simply keeps going, even when the mind has begun to check out.
At one point, even the group’s experienced navigators made a minor error near the first summit in the Carneddau. We headed briefly in the wrong direction and lost some height in the cloud before correcting ourselves.
It was a reminder that tiredness affects everyone, however experienced they may be.
The weather had also deteriorated during the day. The wind had been strong throughout, but later the cloud came down and the rain arrived. Visibility reduced, and the final part of the route became colder, wetter and considerably more serious.
Eventually, after crossing Foel Grach, we reached Foel-fras and completed all fifteen peaks.
We walked off the final mountain in darkness.
Although the timed challenge finished on Foel-fras, it did not really feel finished until we had returned to the vehicles. After so many hours of running, walking and scrambling, there was still the descent and the journey back to Llanberis.
Once we had collected the cars, we drove to the fish and chip shop and then returned to the Heights. I had a pint with Tim and Martin before crawling upstairs to bed. Staying awake long enough to finish the drink was about all I could manage.
The following morning began with a large breakfast and a great deal of tea. Gradually, the rest of the group left, leaving Tim, Martin and me to go gear shopping.
I needed a new pair of Walsh fell-running shoes. Walshes were the fell-running shoe of choice at the time, and I had already started using them for my weekly school cross-country runs. It would not be until a trip to Ireland in the early 2000s that I discovered Inov-8 shoes, which promptly fell apart a few days into the trip.
Afterwards, we climbed back into Tim’s Toyota van and headed south towards university.
Looking back, my preparation now seems almost comically inadequate. I had been running from the university halls, climbing indoors and spending occasional weekends climbing, but there had been no structured endurance programme or carefully planned nutrition strategy.
I was relying on being young, fit and stubborn.
More importantly, I was relying on the experience and generosity of the people around me. Tim was one of the kindest and most supportive people I have known. Martin had invited us into a group of mountaineers who were willing to take a nineteen-year-old under their wing and give him the opportunity to attempt something far beyond anything he had previously completed.
I remember Martin later saying that he had been surprised I made it all the way around. I do not think he meant it unkindly. On our Knoydart trip, I had not always been able to match the pace of the stronger runners, and the Welsh 3000s was a much longer undertaking.
Perhaps I was slightly surprised too.
The experience taught me that the body is capable of much more than we often imagine. It also showed me what becomes possible when experienced people encourage someone younger, rather than excluding them because they have not yet proved themselves.
I later returned to complete the Welsh 3000s again with my friends Jon and Rob, in better weather and in a faster time. But there was something particularly significant about that first crossing.
It was not polished or perfectly prepared. It involved too little sleep, lengthy food stops, deteriorating weather, tired navigation and a long walk off the final mountain in darkness.
But we completed all fifteen peaks.
At nineteen, I had discovered a new way of travelling through the mountains: running where possible, scrambling when necessary, carrying little and continuing long after I thought I should have run out of energy.
It was an approach to adventure that would stay with me for many years.