Forty Old Socks Went Up A Mountain

Once upon a time in the Land of the Dragons who dined on Welsh cakes, thirty eight merry men and women looking like prunes searching for dates, known as the Sherwood Old Socks Hikers group from Nottingham ended up in Snowdonia for their winter weekend away.

Planning for the next day with the weather looking as promising as it gets for that time of year their leader Clive Mann , nicknamed Captain after Captain Mannering which he rather liked (not knowing it was the group being humorous), made the decision to ascend Snowdon, the Mother of all Hills!

After supper the Captain asked the group to. “Gather round,” which sounded like an order and then continued. “I have a plan. We are to split the group, one for the early morning sparks and another for the lazybones setting off an hour later.”

Apart from the Hikers group, the twins Elsa and Anna were the only other guests staying in the hostel. After the crazy Christmas party scene back home in Milton Keynes, the twins decided to reconnect with nature. In the oak panelled bar on their first night mixing with Bruce and Butch, the young hunks from the Socks, it was not long before they were invited to join them on their jolly jaunt up Snowdon. 

The next morning the twins waited for their bang- bang-my- heads-on-fire hangovers to stop tormenting them, then proceeded to crawl out of bed. Meanwhile outside The Crooked Shepherd Hostel the lazybones slowly gathered. Just as they were about to leave, the hostel’s front door flung open with the twins popping their heads around the door. With sweet smiles, they chorused “Hiya, we’ve not missed the start, have we?”

As the Old Socks with the aid of their walking sticks slowly crept around to face them, their eyes lit up as if they were twenty once again and they were looking at young Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret. The Captain said. “Oh look its Elsa and Anna; No! No! We were expecting you.” This was a complete lie by the way the twins had been knocking back the G and T’s the previous night,  the hikers presumed the girls would be having a duvet day. The Captain dutifully added their names to the group’s register making it twenty in all.

The Captain with his OS map in hand, tried not to stare at the girls’ pink florescent bobble hats with Elsa’s being embroidered with Booze Bitch, whilst Anna’s had Psycho Babe in shock-horror font. He indicated to the twins the route, informing them that we are going to traverse Snowdon using the Pyg Track to reach the summit. The twins reply was a chorus of pig snorts to the song. “She be coming round the Mountain when she comes!” This left the Captain looking bemused and decided it was high time he called the hikers to “Gather round,” reminding the ramblers, “We start together, we finish together; we leave no one behind! Oh yes and don’t forget there is no mobile phone signal in the area.” With his duties done, he took up the lead whilst the rest of the group following like a flock of sheep.

The twins turned their attention to Tiger Wilson one of the more experienced members and enquired what the weather was to be like. Tiger’s reply was. “It’s hard to tell, the mountain has its own weather system but me thinks it will be wet and windy.”

“A bit like one of Elsa’s farts” Anna replied, this tickled old Tiger. This bonded the three of them in conversation as they ascended. Elsa said to Tigger, which was to be his new name on the count of him having a face like the lovable character and a bouncing walking style. “The Captain is a little dry is he not?”

Tigger responded, “You see the Captain is like a vegetable, a turnip in fact, whereas you two are more like fruit and nut, sweet and nutty!”

The girls reply. “Arr, that makes sense!”

As they left the boggy moorland there was less and less sheep poo to negotiate, but with the temperature falling so did the conversation. Halfway up the group took a break and some refreshment. Some pulled out their thermos flasks, others went for their hip flasks, whilst Elsa debagged her rucksack of a litre bottle of gin, a bottle of tonic to help rehydrate, plus two bags of pork scratchings, all left over from the night before.

Whilst the twins savoured the last drop of their G&T the other group of twenty, the early sparks from the Socks came into view returning from the top of Snowdon. Making their way down from the ridge above, it wasn’t long before they all met up. Bruce and Butch made their way straight to Elsa and Anna. The girls were so pleased to see the guys after the droll company that they gave the boys sunny smiles and warm hugs.

Where they all meet at the junction with the Miners Track was the perfect place to rest. They were looking at the most spectacular views of Lake Glaslyn, the winter sun reflecting on the icy water, the sound of native birds singing in the background and when they looked up at the snow topped mountain, it was illuminated like a brilliant white lofted iceberg.

When the drink was drunk and the talking done, the two groups parted company. With Elsa and Anna’s bodies aching and legs burning, plus the added temptation of Bruce and Butch for a foursome it was a no brainer not to swap groups and descend with the guys. The boys and girls were in great form with plenty of playful flirting leading inevitably to the subject of twins. Bruce saying. “Twins are God’s way of saying have one, have one free.”

The twins replied. “Double the giggles, double the gin, and double the trouble when you tread with the twins.”

In no time at all the early birds were next to the Llyn Liydaw Reservoir then continued on for the last mile. It was a country mile taking twice as long on the count of having zigzag through the valley of the f...locking sheep shit. With the temperature plummeting and the clouds becoming more menacing by the minute, the first group of Socks finally arrived at the hostel, tired but happy the twins with their two hunks grabbed the cosy leather arm chairs around the open fire and collapsed with glasses of heavenly mulled wine, being oblivious to the view through the double glazed windows of the snowstorm outside.

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Meanwhile the Captain leading the lazybones group had summited and had been waiting for what seemed forever for the tail enders. Eventually the snails in the group, The Sheilas as they were affectionately known by the men of the Old Socks arrived. Then they all posed at the peak of Snowdon for a memorable photo. As soon as the click of the shutter was heard they were bombarded with a snow blizzard, which along with the gale force winds felt like the snow demons were relentlessly tormenting their faces with spiking frozen snow.

With no time to rest the Captain made the decision to descend as quickly as possible to where the weather would be less brutal, having to shout at the top of his voice to make himself heard of his instruction.

In the rush for shelter the Captain slipped on the icy shingle, going down like a pack of cards.  As Tigger helped him up he could see the Captain was in pain.  Tiger thought to himself, this is not looking good! Once up the Captain was unsteady on his feet, but by the time the Sheilas had caught them up aided by his walking poles he was managing a slow walk.

For the rest of the walk they were descending through a fearsome snow storm with a wind-chill that was so bad it was burning their faces. Being so tired and miserable the Old Socks had given up talking and carried on in a morbid silence; as for the native birds they had long given up singing and had evacuated the mountain. By the time they reached the last stile it took all their strength to clamber over it. By now it seemed they were travelling no faster than a troupe of tortoises and with the day turning into night they were walking in the dark with their mood as black as sky.

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At last the lazybones group made it to the brightly lit car park outside the hostel, cold, wet and miserable. The Captain made them all stand outside the hostel whilst he checked the register. He became deeply concerned and then panicked when he discovered Elsa and Anna were missing. He addressed the rest of the group informing them of the situation and his plan to send the earlier group back as a search party to retrace the path. He would also inform the local mountain rescue team of the emergency, and then seek medical treatment for his ankle.

With urgency not even bothering to remove the sheep blessing from the soles of his boots, breaking a golden rule for ramblers, the Captain hobbled to the public phone in the bar. As he rammed the bar door open with the residue of melting snow from his hat dipping on to his frozen face he was blasted with a barrage of snorts to the tune of, “She be coming round the Mountain when she comes. She be coming round the mountain when she comes!”  The Captain shouted at the top of his voice. “Shut up we have an emergency,” then he marched to the phone and picked up the receiver. As he started to relay Elsa and Anna’s names he could see out of the corner of his eye the girls cuddling up with Bruce and Butch giggling without a care in the world.

He informed the operator it was a false alarm and then with his trembling hand partly caused from the cold, partly with rage he slammed the receiver down. With Elsa and Anna looking more sheepish than sheep the atmosphere in the room flipped on its head, there was not a sound in the bar but for a mild crackle from the retiring fire.

The silence was shattered by the group from outside stampeding to the bar in desperate need of some warmth and refreshment. The group as soon as they had grabbed their first drinks were mingling with the others with their tales of the days’ events and with all forty the hikers as one group it was wasn’t long before the party was up and running again.

The Captain thought it wise to have a stiff brandy to calm his nerves, this lead to one more, then another then before he knew it he had forgotten all about his injured ankle and had a more pressing engagement, chatting up the lovely Gladys Pugh the barmaid with her seductive Welsh tones.

The Captain soon forgave the twins who were happily snuggled up with Bruce and Butch by the open fire, giggling to smutty conversation, with Butch asking if they were true twins, which the two teased a reply at the same time. “Yes she is my twin and we do switch boyfriends.” Then Bruce continued to tell his repertoire of smutty Welsh jokes, which mainly contained themes about Shaun the Sheep, rams and rubber gloves.

The Captain feeling in good form decided to impress Gladys by leading a snort-along to the tune of, “She we be coming round the mountain, when she comes.”  The Old Socks apre`s drinking was turning into a riotous party, with the alcohol weaving its way into their brains the ramblers weather beaten faces became progressively beetroot, but they did not care all forty hikers had conquered the beast Yr Wyddfa, (Snowdon).

The End