Wales Trip December 2009
From ICCC
People
- Tom "milky" Haywood
- Mark "rhododendron / chilli suicide" Flower
- Ralph "dry weekend" Evins
- Antony "dirty pint magnet" Farrington
- Joanna "I've been drinking since lunchtime" Davies
- Alby "ALBA" Roseveare
- Luke "who are Rage?" Foreman
- Sam "Alan Davies" Heaton
- Rachel "chocolate warrior" Fox
- Robert "chilli vodka suicide" Macrae
- Rory "advent" Fyffe
Trip Report
Twas a snowy yuletide eve when the hardcore few gathered in South Ken. Faff was severely minimised, so much so that we were ready to leave by 6:00. This was clearly unacceptable, so we waited for 15 minutes for Sam Davies, who may or may not have been coming, and in the end didn't. An unprecedented 35 minutes Beit-to-M25 set us up well for an 'early' arrival at the hut - we would have made it before midnight had there not been a couple of chunder stops (Joanna had been drinking since lunchtime).
At the hut we found Rory and Rachel, who'd come down from the lakes, plus Rob, plus a roaring fire. Very nice, given it was ~-5C outside. Much festive imbibement ensued. Given the general lack of water, it was decided that a leisurely start of 10 in the morning was acceptable; Tom came up with the rule of 1 hour sleep plus 1 for every grade you intend to paddle in the morning. By this logic, intending to paddle some grade III the next day, we drank until 6am.
We in fact got up at 11am, to a cooked breakfast (cheers Mark and Rob) and a lot of snow. A kindly neighbour turned up with a chainsaw to chop a LOT of wood for us. A snowman was constructed, and even the keenest quickly abandoned thoughts of boating. We drove around for a while looking for suitable hills for snowboating, but in the end went for a walk part way up Snowdon, the Welsh countryside looking very scenic. Later on we did find a good snowboating spot, and spent some time building a ramp, over which a variety of lines were taken. Lots of people fell in a bog hidden under the snow.
We then returned to the hut to commence drinking, at around 4pm. Mulled wine, beer and tea were consumed, the latter two forming a dirty pint. Chilli preparation commenced, with Tom committing the school-boy error of going for a piss after chopping the chillies. Mark tried to kill Ralph by adding all the hottest chillies to the one-portion veggie chilli. Butternut squash roasted on the fire worked well; garlic less so. Mark then decided, for no clear reason, to eat a bird eye chilli. He survived for about 15 minutes, furiously swilling milk and cheese, before chundering. Rob, despite attempts to dissuade him, drank some of Rik's evil chilli vodka; he hadn't really recovered by midday the next day. We left the vodka (with added bird eye chillies), with a health warning on the bottle, to see how many other clubs we can kill.
The ladder was demonstrated by Tom and conquered in style by Sam and Joanna. Rob and Tom then tried 'one footed' and 'no hands' ascents, both failing dismally. Many rounds of tone-lowering jokes took us to what was possibly an all-time low. In an attempt to raise the tone again, we played pictionary on the side of a beer can, surprisingly not ending up with entirely obscene film titles. At some point a descent of the fireman's pole became associated with the number eight in circle of death. On the stroke of midnight, heralded by Alby's alarm, many people leapt for Rory's advent calender, Tom ending up victorious. The night ended soon after.
The next morning Mark cooked breakfast again, and we decided that some boating really should take place, so drove over to the Tryweryn through snow-covered countryside, pausing for some snowy car-based fun in a carpark. At the put in we had to fit the snow chains to the bus to turn it round without sliding down the hill sideways. With Ralph and Rob elected to take photos, everyone else got on for a couple of runs of the upper, with Joanna and Alby taking swims (one of Alby's being due to a direct hit with a snowball while surfing the cafe wave). Most people then ran the lower down to Bala.
Ant did a sterling job of tying boats on in a blizzard, and we headed to Llangollen for chips. Rachel managed the world's most ironic car crash by skidding into a gritting lorry. Everyone was fine, with minor dents to the car; her parents may forgive her one day. The bus hourney home was enlived by the Christams No 1 charts battle, with Rage receiving a huge cheer for their victory. We made it back to Beit in time for last orders... except the bar had closed early, so we sat in the quad drinking cans from stores before heading home.
