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Bring Me Sunshine...

Submitted by An Outdoor Idiots Team Member.

Page 5 of 5 Previous [Index]

So we pushed on, very slowly now, on account of the fact I couldn't go any faster. Carrying on upwards was doubtless the best thing to do at this stage, since we were not far from the summit, and the other side of the mountain had a much easier descent. We kept a lookout for shade. As it turned out, I eventually had a tremendously lucky find. I walked off-route, towards the edge of the ridge, to see what lay behind a large slab of rock. What lay behind it was a long thin patch of grass, all in the shade. If I had designed the mountain, and had wished to provide a shaded resting spot for two people to lie down, I would have created that spot. The relief that we both felt as we entered the shade can't be put into words. We stayed there for a very long time, probably almost an hour. Neither of us wanted to move. I couldn't get to sleep, as it happened. I occupied the time with staring at a blade of grass, which gets us up to the point where this story began.

We had had about an hour's rest in the shade. I was feeling much better. I even took the opportunity to urinate where we had rested, before we left. I didn't feel too bad about doing this. First of all, I needed to. Secondly, the very fact that I could urinate meant that one reasonably reliable diagnosis could be made: I wasn't severely dehydrated. Now that I was in a better frame of mind and more able to take in my surroundings, I noticed that there was a lot of sheep wool around where we had been resting. That meant I probably wasn't the first life form to urinate there. It was also yet more evidence of the wisdom of sheep when it comes to finding shade.

Now would be the moment of truth, as we left the shade and made our way up to the summit. I certainly felt that the rest and the shade had helped. It hadn't. Stepping out of the shade and back into the sun's rays was like stepping into a different world, even though we had been there just recently. Within a couple of minutes, the fact that we had rested was forgotten. And within five minutes, I was acutely aware that, in spite of the rest, my condition had deteriorated.

The previous symptoms had got worse, and now new symptoms were presenting themselves. My legs were now like lead, and every step was an effort. Most worryingly, I was having difficulty breathing. All it would take would be about five steps up the slope, and I was breathing so heavily and with such difficulty that instinct told me I had to just stop everything. So that's what I did. I would progress very slowly and for no more than a few paces, then I would rest. There weren't many options open to us at this point. It was now clear that resting in the shade hadn't helped, and so we could either progress, or things would become worse. Well, things would probably get worse whatever we did, but we might as well progress as they did so. Luckily, we were very near the summit, and so, in spite of my constant resting, we were there in what seemed like a short while.

The view from the summit of Moel Siabod is quite something to behold. It has to be one of the best spots for getting a view of all the other big peaks in Snowdonia. Or at least, northern Snowdonia. I keep forgetting how far south that National Park extends. I had fully intended to bore my walking partner rigid with an uninterrupted account of all the adventures I'd ever had in that part of the world, while pointing out their locations. Instead, things being as they were, we just sat down for a while, glad to have made it, and glad that the rest of the journey would be downhill.

There was nobody else on the summit when we arrived. We weren't expecting much company. Not because it was so hot; I recognise that I am unusual in my attitude to hot weather, and so no doubt the mountains of Snowdonia were being given plenty of company that day. But it was never likely to be too busy, because it was the middle of the week, and there were more popular attractions, such as Snowdon itself, nearby. Throughout the course of the day, we had seen three other parties clearly intent on the summit of Moel Siabod, though they were taking different routes. Right now, though, we seemed to have the whole mountain to ourselves.

After a brief rest, we made our way downhill. It was a relatively easy path. We could both keep up a reasonable pace. Even I was managing to cope much better now. The breathing problems could be kept at bay by simply not walking too fast. Whatever was wrong with me, it became apparent that it required the exertion of climbing up a steep slope in order to really make itself felt.

And when it comes to working out what exactly had been wrong, here's an interesting thing. We rested halfway down the mountain. I had a bit to drink. It also occurred to me that I should probably eat something, even though I wasn't feeling hungry. I tried eating some flapjack. It was a particularly nice flapjack. But I couldn't eat it. The piece that I had bitten off had been getting mangled in my mouth for a good five minutes. But I just couldn't swallow it. Appetite is a hard thing to describe. I didn't exactly feel like I would throw up if I forced myself to swallow it. But I just couldn't do it for some reason. I ended up spitting it out. This was strange, and was certainly at odds with my usual attitude towards food.

Interestingly, when researching the article on summer health and safety, I noticed that sometimes, loss of appetite is listed as a symptom of heat exhaustion, but sometimes it isn't. And, a short while after failing to eat any flapjack, I would learn that I didn't in fact have a complete loss of appetite, after all. I tried to eat a packet of crisps. I still wasn't feeling hungry, but the salt in the crisps might have helped replace anything lost through sweating. Unlike the flapjack, the crisps went straight down, no messing about. I am a great believer in the magical abilities of one's own body to know what's good for it, even if you don't. Such magical abilities weren't on top form that day - I didn't have a craving for salty food. But as soon as I tried eating some food laden with salt, it went down a treat.

So the best diagnosis that I could come up with was that I hadn't been eating enough salt to replace what I was losing through sweat. Some of the symptoms I was having did indeed coincide with the usual suspects for hyponatremia. But the breathing problem was the most worrying thing, and that is more likely to suggest dehydration. However, the fact that I could urinate, and wasn't particularly thirsty, and didn't have dry lips, all suggest that I wasn't too dehydrated. So I'm sticking with the hyponatremia theory.

The walk finally ended, with no casualties. But I wanted to do it again, this time better. Could there be a way to have made things go more smoothly? Would simply eating more salt have done it? I tried again a week later. This time I focused on the kind of advice given to marathon runners. They are very big on isotonic sports drinks, and ensuring that the balance of salt and water in your body is correct. They even weigh themselves before and after training, in order to make sure they get used to drinking just the right amount of water during a race. Well, I wasn't proposing to take a set of scales up a mountain to weigh myself, but I did stock up on sports drinks and, like the previous attempt, made sure I had eaten enough salt in the run up to the walk.

The temperature was less unpleasant, now. It was a good five degrees cooler. And I had my isotonic sports drinks ready to go. So, presumably, it would all go better this time. Well, it didn't. In fact, it didn't go at all. After ten minutes, my legs were like lead, I couldn't see out of my eyes because of the sweat, and I felt awful. There was no struggling with breathing, because I hadn't done much exercise. But given that it almost went horribly wrong a week earlier, when I started off feeling fine, it clearly wasn't going to go too well now that I was feeling awful in the first ten minutes. So what was wrong now? Humidity and a complete absence of air flow. Not a single leaf or blade of grass was moving in the slightest. The humidity was awful. I'd had enough.

The conclusion for me is clear. Just because other people can enjoy hot weather and can function well in it, doesn't mean I can. You can stick all the advice in our "summer health and safety" article where the sun don't shine, as far as I'm concerned. For the really useful advice, you need to go back to 1973 and listen to Clint Eastwood. A man's got to know his limitations. You can have your heat wave. I'll stick to my 10°C.

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