Beorn Again: the saga of a hat - Author: Duncan Lee.
By Duncan Lee
A hat, according to the dictionary is " a head covering, often with a brim, usually worn to give protection from the weather." The hat in question most definitely fitted the definition despite its gaudy Rasta colours and the lack of a brim or any shape or even a modicum of style. Certain nasty individuals have even claimed that the hat protected the weather from my dreadlocks but regardless, or possibly because of its pre mentioned failings it was undoubtedly my favourite hat. It was more than just a hat however; it was a good look talisman that had accompanied me through thick and thin for years in the mountains of North America, Britain, Spain, France, Italy and Morocco. The hat and I had been inseparable for years despite strong objections from many a fashion conscious climbing partner. Alas however, on a cold windswept November day our beautiful relationship was to come to an end.
The fateful day greeted us with a slate grey sky and a healthy strong breeze blowing in from the west. A perfect day for a leisurely breakfast and a spot of retail therapy in Llanberis. Finally after festering away the morning Sabina and I headed off up The Pass to Dinas Mot for an ascent of The Cracks. By the time we reached the crag a howling gale was lashing heavy drizzle horizontally up the valley. Undaunted we set off and despite the large quantity of moisture all was going well until a particularly violent gust of wind suddenly ripped the sodden hat from my head and blasted it away upwards and eastwards round onto the East Wing of the cliff. I was grief stricken. An extensive search proved fruitless and I resigned myself to a period of mourning for my hat; my trusty loyal climbing companion for years. After all, the hat had never uttered the words; "that is the last time I agree to one of your stupid ideas."
The winter snows came and went. The spring monsoon turned into the customary soggy summer and the hat was still deeply missed but not forgotten. Thus on a club meet at Millstone in July, when Lee mentioned that he and Kevin had been on the East Wing of the Mot I optimistically asked. "I don't suppose you saw a hat lying around up there?" A surprised look passed over Lee's face as he nodded before proceeding to describe my hat down to the last pom-pom. He even described its exact location; stuffed securely into a crack at the start of Beorn; an esoteric gem by all accounts.
With the hats whereabouts known a subsequent trip to Snowdonia in August provided me with a chance for a reunion. I even managed to find a partner gullible enough to venture onto the vegetated ramparts of the East Wing. Overnight rain ruled out any cragging on the slow drying East Wing itself but Stairway to Heaven on The Nose provided a fine preamble to the serious business of the day. Scrambling up the choss to the base of Beorn, where to my joy, my hat still resided. Patiently waiting for me after a mere nine and a half months on the hill. A true epic expedition for a battered woolly hat that looked non the worse for wear after its ordeal.
Filled with glee I quickly removed The Hats inferior replacement and plonked the genuine article upon my head once more. A beautiful relationship rekindled.
Cheers Lee I owe you a pint.
P.S. Unlike the dreads the hat has been washed since its ordeal.
