The first Wainwrights on my list were done in 2024, with a friend, on — and this took planning to avoid and we did not do that planning — the hottest day of the year.
Seven hours out. No hat, because I did not think to check what the sun does to an exposed ridge in July. Not enough food, because I assumed enthusiasm was a food group. By the last descent I was something adjacent to heatstroke and entirely out of conversation. My friend, who had a hat, was fine.
It was, and I want to be honest about this, a genuinely good day. The kind you only call good once you are sitting down with a cold drink and the shaking has stopped.
I have never gone up unprepared since. The list has grown. The hat comes on every walk now, including the rainy ones, out of respect.
