The Crow #2

My new single “Crow” will shortly be available across all streaming platforms so I thought it would be fitting to give you the backstory and detail the events that inspired the song.

It was a bright day in October and an unusually warm weekend for the autumn, in fact the temperature went up into the mid 20s. After a 13 mile bike ride around the Forest of Dean the previous day Sammy and I were set to climb Pen-Y-Fan in Wales as the second stage of our adventure. We took a backpack containing a bottle of water and a couple of bottles of Corona Zero, before setting off we scoffed a bit of leftover picnic food from the coolbox in the boot of the car and we set off for the summit. We’d opted to park up in a less commonly used car part as we liked the sound of a more technical, scenic climb. The views were spectacular. We watched birds of prey flying overhead, we encountered sheep casually trotting and tip-toeing the rugged steepness of the terrain. Of our two phones mine has the better camera but the cable has been loose and it had failed to charge overnight. So I had about 20% battery life to capture the scene.

As we approached the top the terrain got tougher, the views got even more breathtaking and the October heatwave really kicked in. The final climb to the Pen Y Fan plateau the winds grew stronger and the rocks crunched beneath our feet and the ascent got steeper. I can still recall the feeling of reaching the top, it was incredible. We took some photos and found an edge to sit on where the view expanded outwards and we took a moment to breathe it all in. A few metres from us and above a steep drop we saw a crow, riding the thermals, playing with the breeze, it was pretty magical. There were lots of people reaching the top via the gravel path, taking photos with the large stone, taking selfies. We decided it was time to unpack the corona’s; our hard-earned celebratory beverage but we had no bottle opener. “Pass me your keys” I said. Sam passed the keys and I got to removing the bottle tops. First bottle complete I passed it to Sam, as the cap popped off the second bottle - “CHEERS!” as Sam clinked the bottle against mine, “CHEERS!” I replied as I unconsciously put the keys down.

After about 20 mins at the top we started the descent. Coming back down the mountain was fine, we were getting a little tired, a little thirsty, a little hungry but we were good, thinking about where we would go next, a local cafe perhaps? If not we can pas through Cheltenham or Tewkesbury on the way home and get something there.

The sentiment we shared was “That was a good hike, tiring but not exhausting.” As we passed a group of people at the bottom of the mountain I thought “Good luck to those people doing the climb in jeans” as I rifled through my bag for the car keys. Suddenly in disbelief, my head started spinning - “the keys aren’t here” I exclaimed, the sheer panic bounced between us as we checked every pocket we could find time and time again. “They’re not here”

So where were the keys? Had we dropped them on the trail when we were getting the water bottle out? Had the dropped on the floor while we were sitting… Then I recalled using them to open the Corona’s, i buried my face in my hands “They must be at the top”

Physically we were doing okay but we had run out of water and it was still pretty warm, it must’ve been around 2.30-3pm at this point. We quickly decided we had no choice but to go up the mountain again. The battle between disbelief and acceptance was intense, it was so difficult to reconcile with the reality of what face us. We were so far from home or for that matter; anywhere that we knew. In my despair I started to notice physical pain, blisters had already started to form on the fronts of my toes from the first descent and climbing Pen Y Fan for a second time with no food or drink started to feel like a heavy, heavy burden. Psychologically the hardest part was that this was our only option but what made it worse is that there was no guarentee the keys were even there.

“They must be there”, “Nobody would move them”, “Maybe they’ve taken them to a visitor centre”, “Maybe they would put them by the stone at the top”, “Maybe someone picked them up and they’re looking for us”

The what-ifs were innumerable and ultimately we had to let go of them and hold onto hope. As we got near to the top I started to feel really unwell, they sun was beating me up, I was so thirsty and weak. I collapsed in a heap. Sam said she would carry on without me but I couldn’t let her go alone. “Give me 5 and I’ll move” Sam got really strong here, she supported and encouraged me and when we got to the top, there was a sense of relief that took away the exhaustion. We didn’t even look at the view the second time. The awe was gone.

We tried to re-trace our steps around the plateau, the keys were nowhere that we had hoped so we asked around, could anyone help us? A lady offered me some water which I slaked gratefully. People showed compassion but most of the conversation was just white noise, nobody had the information we so desperately needed. We had heard there might be a visitor centre on the other side of the mountain and I vaguely remembered seeing something of that sort on the map earlier. There was no internet service so we had to ask for directions but we had a pretty good idea where we would be going. As we started to descend the other side of Pen Y Fan, I noticed a stream. For a moment our predicament left my mind as I ran to the stream and filled our bottle several times over. Feeling somewhat refreshed and with tentative hope that our keys would be handed in to some visitor centre that might be a couple of miles away we continued.

At this point everything hurt, my legs, joints, lower back, not to mention my brain and in particular the second descent made me acutely aware of the blisters that had risen across the very front of my toes, shuffling downhill sidewards was the only method that didn’t feel excruiciting.

As we reached the bottom of Pen Y Fan for the second time, on the surface we started to feel giddy with hope and yet beneath that we still harboured a vast layer of doubt. Surely, the keys would be here and just one more trip up and down Pen Y Fan to the car. It wasn’t to be.

The visitor centre was not in fact a visitor centre, it was a closed off private building, nothing but a cruel mirage. On top of that the last bus had left a few minutes ago and hope was all but completely extinguished. This is where Sam started to really feel the agony of despair and where it was my turn to reignite optimism, somehow.

“Listen, what’s the worst that will happen? We keep each other warm and sleep under a tree and then morning will come and we’ll make our way to the nearest town. But for now let’s keep moving, we’ve got money so as soon as we find civilisation we can buy a food, drink and a room.” And that’s what we did. It was a long and gruelling 9 mile walk from the where we were to Brecon but we made it for around 10pm and it wasn’t a mirage or a dead the lights were on at the petrol station and when we walked in they were still on.

We filled our faces with food and coffee as we waited to be rescued.