The Ascent of Jacob’s Ladder – A Mental Battle in the Brecon Beacons

There are moments on the trail when your legs are still moving, but your mind is begging you to stop. That’s the true test. That’s what separates a casual climb from a challenge that sticks with you long after your boots come off. And that’s exactly what I faced on my latest charity hike — a brutal encounter with the infamous Fan Dance, deep in the heart of the Brecon Beacons.

This isn’t just any route. It’s the legendary SAS selection test — a 14-mile slog across harsh terrain, repeated ascents and descents, and mental obstacles that hit harder than the hills. I decided to take it on not just for charity, but to tick off peaks five and six on my challenge list. Even though I've done this before I thought I knew what I was in for.

I didn’t.

A Cold Start at the Red Phone Box

At 05:40, the morning air at the Storey Arms was bitter, the kind that bites at your fingertips before you even start moving. I stood beside the iconic red phone box, staring up at the path that disappeared into mist and shadow. It looked endless. Fourteen miles of unforgiving ground lay ahead, split in two by the monstrous climb known as Jacob’s Ladder. I notified my social channel with my live tracking information as usual.

The MWIS weather report promised dry skies and light winds — a rare mercy for this place. But the challenge wasn’t in the forecast. It was in my head.

The First Summit – Waking the Body, Calming the Mind

The route wastes no time. Within minutes, you’re climbing, breath catching, legs waking up far too slowly. After the first cruel descent to a stream crossing, it’s an unrelenting grind up to Corn Du. The wind howled as I climbed, slicing through the air with an icy edge that turned sweat cold in seconds.

I reached the summit of Corn Du in just over an hour — quick for me — and pushed on to Pen y Fan, the highest peak in South Wales. The views were non-existent, swallowed by cloud, but I snapped a photo and soaked up the solitude. A few hikers asked what I was doing. I explained the full route. They nodded, half-impressed, half-concerned. Then I turned toward the beast.

Descent Into Madness – Jacob’s Ladder

The descent down Jacob’s Ladder is where reality begins to sink its teeth in. Steep, rocky, and utterly unforgiving, every step sends shockwaves up through your boots. It's less a trail and more a collection of vertical boulders and jagged rocks all of which point directly at your feet. The route twists around Cribyn, then drops to the Roman Road, a stretch that punishes your knees and tests your resolve.

I reached the halfway point — the turnaround car park — in around three hours. A couple of young guys jogged in shortly after, soaked in sweat but hardly out of breath. They were doing the Fan Dance too — and had done the first half in 1 hour 45 minutes. No water, no food, just raw, ridiculous fitness. They turned and sprinted off. I stood there chewing a protein bar and wondering if we were even the same species.

The Real Challenge Begins

The journey back was slower, hotter, and lonelier. The sun was rising, the crowds were arriving, and my legs were no longer cooperating. Heading up the Roman Road again, Pen y Fan loomed in the distance, cloaked in dark cloud like a sleeping dragon. It was cinematic, surreal — Tolkien-esque.

I overtook a group of cheerful hikers, their weekend just beginning. Mine was a full-blown battle of attrition now. As I passed Cribyn again, I spotted a few men with army bergens and civilian clothes — clear signs of SAS hopefuls. One man floated across the rocks with a 40-pound pack and barely a bead of sweat. I couldn’t help but watch in awe. I wanted to ask his target time, but I was saving breath for survival.

Jacob’s Ladder – Round Two

Then came the moment I’d been dreading: the return climb up Jacob’s Ladder. From below, it looked vertical — a ladder into the clouds. Worse still, you can see the false summit, a cruel illusion that tricks your brain into thinking you’re almost done.

This was no longer physical. My legs were shot. This was mental warfare.

I took short, measured bursts, stopping to breathe when needed. Pride was gone. Ego was gone. Just me and the mountain now. The false summit passed under my boots, and then I dragged myself up the final scramble to the shelf at Pen y Fan’s summit — for the second time that day.

No fanfare. Just heavy breath, a photo, and the quiet realisation: I’d made it.

Final Descent and A Surprise Encounter

The last two miles down the "motorway" path to Pont ar Daf were filled with waves of walkers, families, Instagrammers, and dogs. I moved among them like a ghost, tired but glowing. At the car park, I turned and headed back to the red phone box, closing the loop.

And then, out of nowhere, I saw him — the guy in the shirt and trousers I’d spotted earlier. He'd also just finished the Fan Dance. “Three hours,” he said when I asked his time, barely winded. Forty-pound bergen on his back. Sweat pouring. Unfazed. He smiled, gave me a fist bump, and said, “Well done mate — it’s not easy.”

And it wasn’t. But I’d done it. Every blister, every ounce of doubt, every grimaced step up Jacob’s Ladder — worth it.

Six Down, Nineteen to Go

Back at the car, I swapped my boots for trainers, sat on the bumper, and demolished an ice cream without tasting it. Exhausted. Elated. Humbled.

Six peaks down. Nineteen left.
The mind is stronger than the body — and the mountains always remind you of that.

What’s next?