35

The Lost Art of Festering

IF YOU LOOK up the meaning of the verb ‘to fester’ in most dictionaries, you’ll find only negative connotations concerning putrefaction, discharge and general all-round debilitation. Only a trusty dictionary will give you the more informal definition of ‘to be inactive’, and it is in this sense that the activity has a long and distinguished history in the annals of mountaineering.

Activity? Indeed. Festering involves prolonged confinement in a tent. It raises the pursuit of inactivity to such a high art form that it requires as much planning, dedication and perseverance as any more aerobic athletic endeavour. N.B. I admit to a personal interest here as it is the only aspect of mountaineering in which my ability matches my aspiration.

The ability to fester is a greatly under-appreciated outdoor skill. It’s all very well romping around the hills, but you can’t do that all the time. Every body needs a spot of rest and recuperation. Even on a week’s holiday, with permanently beckoning peaks shimmering in constant heat haze, you’re going to need a break at some point. And if you’re camping in a remote location, what are you going to do but fester?

When it comes to matters of hillwalking prowess and climbing technique, I am the first to acknowledge my betters, but when it comes to festering I bow only to Sandy, my Ben Nevis ice-­climbing leader. Sandy could fester for Britain. Several attempts to out-fester him, by myself and others, have all ended in failure. When we finally give up and answer the call of the hills once more, he emerges from his tent even more bedraggled than usual but grinning smugly. He knows he is the undisputed champion. Nonetheless, my own festering expertise is exceeded only by my falling expertise, and it is with no feigned humility that I offer some advice to neophytes.

A basic prerequisite for a successful fester, as in all fields of mountaineering, is good equipment. To survive for any length of time in a tent under normal British meteorological conditions, this begins with a good sleeping bag. Breaking the fester, in order to get up and move around to keep warm, is a beginner’s mistake. By definition, a fester must avoid exercise at all costs. Eating, drinking and evacuating are permitted, but only when absolutely necessary.

There are, of course, rare climatic conjunctions when the temperature rises and a sleeping bag is surplus to requirements. It may surprise beginners to learn that, on such occasions, a hot-day fester can be even more difficult to sustain than a cold-day fester. Staying cooped up in the heated interior of a tent, in a form of hibernation known as estivation, requires considerable stamina.

With regard to re-provisioning, a prolonged fester is more readily maintained if all food required is at hand. Cooking is best avoided, especially if safety concerns demand that it be undertaken in the forbidden zone, i.e. outside the tent. Rainwear, compass, first aid kit and similar hill gear should not be required if the fester is prepared correctly.

A common reason for fester failure is the urging of al fresco companions to undertake activity. Such exhortations can be especially awkward to refute if you are the driver of their sole means of transport to the pub. In such circumstances, it can be useful to have a good excuse for lassitude. Here are some suggestions. It can always be too hot or too cold. If not, you can feign recollection of one weather forecast that says it soon will be. Handy ailments that are easily faked include headache, stomach ache, muscle ache… in fact, any kind of ache.

You may think that doing nothing is easy, but prolonged inactivity is inimical to the human condition. It requires great dedication to achieve its purest form: free festering. This precludes the use of artificial aids such as playing cards, reading material or (even worse) wi-fi connection. It is the ultimate goal of the art form and something to which beginners should aspire.

I have free-festered in tents in all weathers, both at home and abroad. Third place in my Top Ten Festers goes to a camp in the Llanberis Pass in Snowdonia, in the days when camping was permitted there. With heavy rain and gale-force wind deterring even a cautious peek outside, there was minimal incentive even to jump in the car and head down to the pub. The more the flysheet whipped and flapped, the more I drew my sleeping bag around me, a cocoon of comfort against the ravages of the elements. The 24-hour fester, from evening to evening, was finally broken by a lessening on the Beaufort Scale and the lure of alcohol.

Advanced festering

Runner-up spot goes to a fester at the head of a high valley in the Ubaye region of the French Alps. After a hot day’s hike up the 3,340m Bric de Rubren, exhaustion and overcast skies made Jo and I loath to leave the tent. Our 30-hour fester was broken only by a need to replenish food stocks and a unique opportunity that was impossible to refuse. The nearest village was across the border in Italy. How many times in life do you get to shop for groceries in a different country?

We had to cross a high pass, descend to the village and re-ascend to our wilderness camp (a tad more slowly), laden with goodies. It was worth it. I can still taste that evening spread of fresh local produce, to say nothing of the single bière that was enough to knock us out.

Coming in at Number One on my list of Top Ten Festers is a two-day fester-thon in Glen Brittle on the Isle of Skye. To accomplished festerers, the location will come as no surprise. No mountains take so much out of you as the Cuillin in a heat wave. After several days of being cooked by solar rays bouncing around the rock cirques, the body is almost demanding respite, making conditions ideal for a prolonged fester.

This particular session was extended beyond the point of justifiability by a desire to out-fester Sandy, who had taken up residence in an adjacent tent. Of course it was an unwinnable contest. Even when I emerged squinting into the blinding sunlight, hungry and stiff, no sound emanated from his tent until I prevailed on him to poke his head out the flysheet. I can still see his creased features, the manic grin wider than ever.

In a world in which speed is such a prized commodity, be it for a road trip, for internet connectivity or simply for kicks, there is no doubt that the standard of festering has declined. More’s the pity. Festering has so much to offer. Margaret Thatcher split opinion, but she was right when she said that one of the problems of the modern world is that too many people feel and not enough people think.

This point was illustrated by a recent study at the University of Virginia, which showed that even spending six to 15 minutes alone in a room with nothing to do but think was too much for most people. Some even preferred to administer electric shocks to themselves rather than be left alone with their thoughts.

If the human race is truly losing its ability for stillness and quiet – an evolutionary development hastened by the advent of mobile phones and social media – it is time to redress the balance. Let there be time for us to think. Let there be time for contemplation and for the inactivity that allows it to flourish. Let us go to the mountains and, when we get there, let us sometimes do nothing at all. Let us, in Walt Whitman’s words, be ‘both in and out of the game, watching and wondering at it’.