Steve Nelson had a sudden rush of blood to the head earlier in the week and rounded up a few waifs and strays with nothing better to do on a midsummer Saturday night than to climb a mountain to watch Midsummer sunrise. At 10pm Steve, Brian Flemming, Joe Southworth, Bernard and myself set off up Helvellyn. The weather was beautiful, a bit warm at first but there was a light breeze when we got higher up.

Photo: A rest stop on the way up (16k)

When we got very high up the breeze became a howling gale. As we neared the summit (1am and pretty dark) the force 9 became a force 10 (or thereabouts).

Both Joe and myself got blown over more than once; the others probably had more ballast! Along the last few hundred yards of path (few hundred metres for those of you who are not bilingual) we passed quite a number of people, some partying in the lea of cairns, others just lying beside the path (presumably all partied out). The shelter at the top was packed to capacity, so we retreated to a force 9 area with softer ground and Steve produced an enormous pair of knickers.

Four of us attempted to hold them down in the gale while Steve climbed in. I was summoned next, and the others followed. When we were inside our weight held them down and it was certainly cosy. Large backpacks had to be left outside and fidgets had to be negotiated with the person on either side. Once we were all sitting still on the ground we started to chill down, so we took it in turns to put more clothes on, wriggle into survival bags, &c. After two packets of crisps and a couple of swigs of whisky liqueur we were all too tired to party and fell asleep, despite the deafening noise of the knickers flapping in the gale.

Very soon Steve’s wristwatch alarm went off and he announced enthusiastically "4.15 folks, time for sunrise." He poked his head out of a knicker leg and said "Oh dear, we’re in a cloud." He disappeared out through the knicker leg anyway, probably in search of a bush. Doubt if he found one; we never saw any [Confirmed -SN]. In due course he returned, very cold, and tried to persuade us it was time to get up and go. Some of us were less than keen on this idea [I was surprised to hear such language from a lady -SN] so we were eventually allowed another half hour’s sleep.

At 5am Steve became hyperactive again and refused to be subdued. We were evicted unceremoniously through a knicker leg and the knickers disappeared back into Steve’s backpack. We set off in thick mist across the summit towards the top of Swirral Edge and found it with no difficulty - excellent navigation. After a lengthy committee meeting, Swirral Edge was vetoed in favour of the safer route down Lower Man. We set off down that path and ended up back at the summit - crap navigation.

After consulting map and compass, we all turned round and went the opposite way and encountered a crowd of about thirty people. One of their women accused Steve of walking on her in the night. I suppose I could have sprung to his defence and assured her that he’d spent the night in an enormous pair of knickers with me. But then, who knows what happened when he went in search of that bush?

The descent was damp and misty which gave me the opportunity to explain to Steve the meaning of the word bed-raggled [very interesting]. We kept our spirits up with talk of breakfast in Glenridding. Unfortunately, at 8am Glenridding was closed, so we drove to Windermere and found a greasy café that was open. By now the sun was shining and I suspect that if we had had the sense to stay in the knickers a few hours longer we could have enjoyed a sunlit descent.

Cheers Steve, I had a great time.

What’s your next mad idea?!

[Oh dear. Readers with a long memory may recall a Nameless Horror. I think we’d better revert to the equally nameless - knickers -SN]