Here is an account of a mountaineering accident I had in Aug 2015
You might want a stiff drink or something similar to hand...

I had ahem... a misadventure on Sun 16th Aug 2015, while scrambling the North Edge of Tryfan in Snowdonia.  Scrambling is in between hill walking and mountain climbing.  You have to use your hands to cross terrain, and at its easiest level, Grade 1 route, rope and helmet are not needed.  Though in wet, windy weather a Grade 1 becomes more challenging and safety equipment is strongly advised. Tryfan is a popular mountain to go up, as whatever route you take, you will have to scramble a significant part of it.

The previous day in sunny, calm weather, I had gone up starting off on an easier route before joining the more difficult one on the North Edge.  After getting to the top, I continued along a section known as Bristly Ridge, going over Glyder Fach and then coming down without any problems. Sunday was another fine day, so I decided to do the climb again.  This time doing it all along the North Edge, which I had done as part of an introduction course to scrambling the previous Nov.

After going up about 2/3 of the way to the top, I slipped after losing the grip on my leading hand hold while attempting a mini route which was 'off piste' to the regular North Edge Grade 1 routes.  If you are of a sensitive and imaginative disposition, you might find some of the following descriptions a bit vivid. So, let’s carry on.

While falling, I smashed the right knee against a protruding rock.  This killed the momentum of the fall, so I came to a ‘gentle stop’, and luckily had no impact on the back, head etc.  My right leg was bent at the knee 90 deg in a normal position, but it couldn't be extended.  Feeling for the knee on top of my untorn trousers the kneecap was several cm left of the normal centre position, i.e it had become dislocated.  It also felt that it had been split into two pieces.

For some reason, I couldn’t call emergency services on the phone, so I shouted out for help.
A nearby group of walkers sent one of their first aid trained members to come up, and they  called out mountain rescue.  By the time the gentleman came up, I had been able to extend my leg, and I think that relocated the knee.

The HM Coastguard Search and Rescue (SAR) helicopter radioed the mountain rescue team to ‘stand down’ as they were already in the area on exercise.  Ironically, 10 min before the accident I had waved at them while they were flying down the Ogwen valley.  With school boy excitement, I took a couple of photos as it approached. For any aircraft buffs, the helicopter was a Sikorsky S-92A  which had just replaced the famous yellow Sea Kings.  Feeling guilty about taking any more photos, I pretended to look suitably in pain and in distress.  As the winchman came down, he signalled to me to stay put. Did he also think I was a muppet? My injury meant that I was in no physical state to move anywhere.  Then it clicked he was relaying to the pilot via a crewman at the open door how far to move so that he could land safely.  Though a civilian aircrew, they were all probably ex RAF.  I’m sure some of them would have served in the wars in Iran and Afghanistan, operating in unimaginably extreme conditions.

When the winchman landed, he greeted me in a cheerful relaxed manner, as if to say,

“Nice weather for it.”

And it was still a lovely morning with clear views all around, well if I could turn around. But at least there was a fine view of the Ogwen valley and 3000ft below was the A5 with its matchbox cars passing through. As we were being winched up, the downdraft increased, and I spun around more than one of those crazy Waltzer rides at a funfair. Although the lift was good fun, I became worried about being sick all over the winchman, RICH T (the name stencilled on his helmet, the T might be aircrew humour. Overseas friends and relatives, Rich Tea is a popular brand of British biscuits). But I kept everything down, and enjoyed the 10 min ride to Bangor Hospital, looking out of the open door, as they had been having problems closing it all morning.  Hence the ear defenders I was given when strapped in. Those jolly SAR crews, never a dull moment with them when flying around.

At hospital, x-rays revealed only about 5-10% of my patella (kneecap) was broken, and these were small chips off the top.  Not a smashed kneecap then. The consultant reckoned these were not from the accident, as the edges were quite smooth and showed signs of healing (recalcification).  Over the years, I have had a few knocks which chipped off bits of bone...nice (I reckon the last chipping event was when it took me four times to finish the last obstacle when doing the Yorkshire Warrior, one of those 'Tougher, Mudder' events).

The knee had swollen up to a large grapefruit size, though there was not much bruising visible.  Up to now there had been not much pain, only when pressure was applied to where the kneecap had originally dislocated to.  The consultant, Dr Azouza, gently pressed the bottom of my thigh muscle and continued to the knee area. Here, I felt and saw a small but distinct depression under the skin surface.  I indicated this to the Doc by swearing at him, and saying, 'excuse my Portuguese'. That gentle touch created pain out of all proportion.  He then did the same to the left knee, saying all intact there, and that slight depression was where the quadriceps tendon had ruptured.  Just to reassure me, he repeated the same procedure but this time placing my fingers on the snapped tendon area.  This time when I swore, Dr Azouza, kindly corrected me on my pronunciation and said not bad for an Anglo Sri Lankan stuck in North Wales.  By the way, I forgot to mention that when the knee struck the rock, there was a clear bang sound like one of those kid’s cap guns going off.  Once again, the Doc kindly reassured me that this was the sound of the tendon actually snapping.

This tendon is essential for extending the knee.  Basically, without it you can't walk, run, jump or even get off a chair to the standing position.  Luckily the rupture was a clean break.  The broken ends could be reconnected without the need of grafting a new section of tendon from a relatively underused muscle elsewhere in the leg.

On tues I had the reconstructive surgery.  All went well apart from a common side effect of the anaesthetic when I found out I couldn't wee, even after drinking 700ml of finest Welsh hospital water.  So (cross your legs), they pushed in a catheter to drain it off.  In doing so there was an initial bit of obstruction which was caused by having a slightly enlarged prostate gland.  When they discovered that, I also discovered that I could swear quite clearly through tightly clenched teeth and simultaneously activate my tear ducts.  After the drain, I was back to my old free flowing self, able to do all sorts of tricks with those thick, cardboard wee pots while lying on my side/back and not spilling a single drop.

The rest of the week was spent in pleasant company with fellow patients, where within the hospital bay a unique sense of camaraderie is briefly developed.  One early evening a rather polished lady who was one of the hospital volunteers, came in and asked if any of us wanted prayers said on our behalf or Holy Communion to be received the following morning in the chapel. To a man (all five of us), politely declined.  Though I was tempted to add that I was a ‘born again non-believer’.  However as soon as she left, I said: “That’s it lads.  We are all going to hell!”  And we had a bit of a chuckle which stopped when she stealthily came back in, looking at me with a little glint in her eye and a wee smile said, “I heard that.  But I wish you a speedy recovery anyway”.  I just weakly smiled back and looked down intently at the breakfast menu card which had already been filled. 

The nights always ended with me drifting off to la la land thanks to my liquid morphine nightcap, accompanied with the lovely sing song lilt of the Welsh accents (with a bit of Spanish and Filipina thrown in from the overseas staff) coming forth from the angels of the ward.

At the end of the week, I was able to use crutches to hobble/shuffle/properly use them to do a couple of circuits of the ward. This satisfied the Doc and his team, and I was discharged into the back seat of my beloved TC (Toyota Corolla).  It had faithfully waited at the youth hostel where I had been staying previously and was picked up by my cousin and Dad who had travelled up by train.  It was a 4.5hr drive back to Harrow, and with regular adjustments to my  contorted 5ft 11" frame, I was able to avoid any prolonged cramps.

On returning home, the only medication to take, was an evening injection of warfarin in the stomach area.  Not only did it get rid of any rats that I might have picked up, but it helped to keep the blood from clotting due to DVT.  It was a bit painful as sometimes I injected into muscle tissue when it should have been really into the outer fat layer.
Oh well, at least I know my six week correspondence course to build a six pack was successful (that’s one pack a week, result!).

Here endeth my tale, well actually not. A year later in Aug 2016, I successfully reclimbed Tryfan, making sure to stick to the regular Grade 1 North Ridge route. If you do visit North Wales and want something a bit different than Yr Wyddfa (Mount Snowdon), I recommend visiting Tryfan and the surrounding area.  There are a range of walks and climbs to suit all levels of vertigo: from 0 to 10.

Photo taken shortly before falling.  In the attached pic, if you take a centre line from the bottom of the pic, and go up about a third, that is approx where I fell (dropping about 10ft).  I should have followed the ridge line or been much closer to it. If you look closely at the ridge just left to the top, there are two lads who appear to be looking down at me. Perhaps they wondering whether that muppet will attempt going up the section that would unexpectedly end all too quickly.

Coastguard SAR helicopter has its side door open as the winchman prepares to come down.

A Room with a View: Looking out from the 'bedroom' window at Bangor General Hospital.  Another SAR helicopter, maybe the same one, appears to be coming in with another casualty.