Crime reporter Geoff Bennett was part of a team from the Swindon Evening Advertiser that took part in the Three Peaks Challenge. Here, he gives his account of the adventure.

It was half way up Mount Snowdon when a wind-battered team of walkers from the Evening Advertiser came face to face with Swindon born explorer David Hempleman-Adams making his descent.

"How does the Three Peaks Challenge compare to the Antarctic?" someone asked him, as he gripped my hand in a firm handshake.

With a beaming look of admiration, the man who has scaled the highest summits on all seven continents replied: "The Three Peaks is harder."

The comment may well have been gracious, but it was a morale booster for me.

We were some 20 hours into a challenge to walk to the top of the highest mountains in Scotland, England and Wales in 24 hours, and my legs were beginning to feel it.

Thanks to a bright spark in the Advertiser newsroom we decided to take on the challenge instead of just write about it, and what a challenge it turned out to be.

Add together the heights of Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Mount Snowdon, and you are talking about a climb of just over 11,000ft – the equivalent of walking to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris 11 times or a third of the way up Mount Everest.

The Evening Advertiser team managed to scale them all, albeit one-and-a-half hours over the 24 hours, in an adventure that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Having driven from Swindon to Fort William on Friday, our team of seven walkers and three drivers meandered around the Highland town on Saturday before arriving at the event’s start, at the foot of Ben Nevis.

The Glen Nevis visitor centre was our first chance to check out the other 28 teams in the challenge who, like us, had each seemed to have acquired a white minibus for transport.

With a final medical and equipment check, at 3.46pm we stepped through the starting gate and the walk of our lives had begun.

The way to the top of Ben Nevis is a long, rocky ascent, curving to a plateau before rising to a snowy, zigzag path.

Straight away I realised we would have to quicken our pace as, although it was drummed into us that the event is not a race, other teams who set off minutes behind us caught us and strode by.

As we pushed on, the sun-bathed mountain rose before us in all its spectacular glory, the walkers on the route before us looking like processions of multi-coloured ants.

Before too long a crackly radio message confirmed the first teams had reached the summit, and they soon passed us at jogging speed as they made their way down – trainee marines on a mission.

We kept morale topped up with jokes, and our thirst at bay with cooling sips of water. When we reached the craggy, zigzag path there was even a chance for a snowball fight between taking in the stunning view.

A slippery, snowy slope led to the 4,406ft summit, and there we stood, casting long shadows in sunshine and taking a celebratory swig of brandy and munch on chocolate as we surveyed the mountain range below.

Before our hot sweat from the climb cooled too much we made our descent, sliding Shackleton-style down from the summit and giggling and whooping like fools.

Retracing our steps, we plodded on, returning to the start in a time of six hours as dusk fell and devouring tea and cheese and ham sandwiches before boarding our van and driving south into the night.

Journey time on the challenge is time to grab some sleep; but like a long haul flight it is easier said than done and though I shut my eyes I never dropped off properly.

A few, noisy hours later we were at Southwaite Services in the Lake District, checking in with all the other teams.

The services provided a chance to use the loo, have a snack and re-fuel the van before we drove on to mountain number two, Scafell Pike.

This is the one the organisers warn you about, because you are tired and you know you still have two peaks to climb.

After another brief check, at 5.30am on Sunday, the team left a muddy farmer’s field and headed for the summit of Scafell Pike – and though a bubbling mountain stream ran parallel with the rocky path, dotted with grazing sheep, its beauty wore thin when the rain began.

On we pushed, this time stepping up the pace and managing to overtake some teams immediately before us.

The path curved upwards to a bleak, lunar landscape which was wet, cold and inhospitable, and it got worse.

Before too long we climbed to a snow-covered, bolder-strewn "summit" – yet it wasn’t the summit because the slope fell sharply down, then up, then down again before shooting upwards to the treacherous, wind-lashed peak.

Some teams looked before them, winced, and turned back. We winced too, but we carried on, got the job done with the briefest of celebrations and came down from the 3,205ft just as quickly as we could – notching up a time of just over five hours as we scrabbled down slip-sliding shale.

After gulps of tea we hauled ourselves into the van and drove to Wales, where Mount Snowdon loomed before us like a giant guarding a prize.

Having taken a wrong turn near the great peak we radioed on to the organisers.

"This is team Swindon," said our team leader Ian Fannon.

The reply was: "Hello Swindon, confirming you have reached checkpoint one on the mountain."

With some degree of mirth we had to put them right by saying we were still on the road, not on the climb.

Limbs heavy and ankles sore, after a brief check in we started the final ascent at 3.40pm, at first a gradual, slow climb – where we met Mr Hempleman-Adams and Trust director Rikki Hunt – twice cutting under the Snowdon Mountain Railway before curving steeply into the clouds on a slippery, snowy slope.

Winds of 60mph lashed us, whipping up a flurry of snow, bringing our temperatures down to what felt like freezing point.

Through my sodden gloves my hands felt like I was on the way to frostbite.

A final scramble and we huddled around the howling summit, gazing at the world 3,560ft below.

I was relieved yet pensive – as I turned I felt a sharp jolt of pain from my left knee and fellow walker Alex Emery reported the same from her right knee. It is coming down when you feel your knees being punished.

There was nothing to do but head down, and we pressed on through the savage wind-chill, past the closed café, and down.

After a total of just over five hours, we crossed the challenge finishing line to cheers and applause and an immense feeling of personal satisfaction.

A hog roast and beer in a marquee lay before us, and we devoured the meat like a platoon of soldiers back from the war.

A couple of the walkers – Ben Fitzgerald and Alex Emery - even managed a dance at the disco laid on in a nearby hotel, though the steps up to it proved a trial for suddenly seizing limbs.

We know a handful of teams made it under 24 hours. Whether we join that elite remains to be seen, but I for one am tempted to have a go.

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