I left it
rather late entering this year due to a certain lack of enthusiasm.
However when long range weather forecast predictions began of another
cold repeat of the previous two years, thoughts of breaking out the
Kahtoolas flooded my mind and my enthusiasm suddenly rose. If there
was still accommodation available at the Queen's Head in Askham, I'd
enter. There was, so my 100% attendance record would remain intact.
(As it turned out, the weather did the opposite of what it was
supposed to do: it returned to normal. We were to expect a day of
rain and wind, with no snow or ice.)
I
chatted to a couple of other runners over Friday evening dinner in
the pub. One of them was Mick Cooper, who would be loaded down by a
big rucksack in training for The Spine multi-day race in January. The
other was a ‘young pretender’ called Edward from London, who was
asking about suitable attire for the event. I was mildly concerned
over his leanings towards minimalism. I may have offered sage advice
with a sprinkling of dire warnings on survival strategies on the
fells in winter. (This is one event where my sense of self
preservation would not let me venture out without being covered from
head to toe like a hiker for a day's survival unless the forecast was
for dry, calm, mild conditions, and the chances of that are virtually
zero. It’s probably why I’m always so slow on this one.) After
dinner we popped next door to the village hall to get registration
out of the way before retiring for a good night's sleep.
By
Saturday morning the rain had already started when I toddled next
door once again. However it was only drizzle on the gentlest of
breezes, while the temperature felt almost tropical compared to what
we'd grown accustomed to on this event, and it was set to rise
further. The micro-spikes would not be leaving their box this time.
It was 06:30 and the last sleepyheads were stirring (it had been
possible to sleep overnight in the village hall). Runners began to
mill around in the gloaming, silhouetted by the single pair of lights
that had been switched on so far.
I
planned to leave earlier than had been possible previously thanks to
the bringing forward by half an hour of the opening time of the first
manned checkpoint at 10.1 miles. Patterdale would now open at 09:30,
which made a great deal of sense. Previously, if we departed at the
earliest start time of 07:00, even the slower runners would have
arrived at Patterdale well before checkpoint opening. It always
struck me as crazy for runners like me, who were among the last to
finish, having to delay our start because of this. Thankfully that
anomaly was now gone.
With
kit check complete and the time at 07:15, I joined the trickle of
runners emerging into the night – a first time for starting with
head torch. I was banking on a PB performance getting me to
Patterdale within 2hrs 15mins this time. I looked forward to having
more daylight at the end of the day before having to use the torch
once again. I would still be out from dark 'til dark, whatever. I
jogged up the lane and track towards Askham Fell, soon entering the
low cloud base. The rain was light and drizzly at worst and it wasn’t
windy, which was a bonus. I was soon toasty warm, done up as I was
like a dog’s dinner in full body cover and waterproofs, and
rucksack with extra chest pouch for easy accessibility of the day’s
survival rations. It wasn’t conducive to speed, that’s for sure.
My one acknowledgement of the warmer conditions was that I wasn’t
wearing gloves – yet.
There
was no ice to skate around on this year, just big puddles and bogs to
soak the feet. A few head torch beams were visible ahead and a few
more behind. The atmosphere was beginning to take on a dim blue hue
just sufficient to make out silhouettes in the distance, but daylight
proper was a long time coming. We looked out for the fork left at the
top of the fell. We crossed the cross-track and continued on the same
heading on the path (linear bog) that was so easy to lose in the
dark. We paddled and sloshed our way past The Cockpit (ancient stone
circle) on our left. Another runner shone his head torch at the
stones to highlight them (my aged Mk1 version Myo XP was too dim for
such activity). I looked forward to the end of the day and the
successful navigation (hopefully) back in the opposite direction.
At
The Cockpit we joined the Lakeland 50/100 route up from Pooley Bridge
(to where I understand runners have strayed on their return leg in
the past. OUCH!). Head torches finally got switched off on the undulating
technical trail to the first unmanned checkpoint at Martindale Church
(5.9 miles). The cloud base was lifting to give decent visibility in
all directions. However the rain was beginning to increase in fits
and starts and the wind was making its presence known at times as it
turbulated around the mountains.
This
year we were using Sportident electronic
timing for the first time, so the dibber had to be easily accessible
among the layers of body cover. On the inside of my right wrist
pointing downwards worked well, as proven by the first ‘dib’ at
Martindale Church.
From
CP1 we ran down the lane and up the valley
towards Boredale Hause. There was a steady stream of later-starting,
faster runners overtaking me. Strong gusts of wind hit us at times as
we climbed higher. The wind seemed to be waxing and waning, as was
the rain, which never became as heavy as I had feared. Near the top
of the col was StuStod taking pictures. He frequently had to wipe his
lens as the easterly wind drove the rain onto it. (Sporting injury
and surgery had forced Stu out of running and into photography for
the time being.) Stu, it was great to see you out there and to ‘ave
a bit of a chat. Get well soon, buddy.
Over
the top and down to the right into Patterdale we went,
running like mountain goats. At least I did whenever there wasn’t
bare rock, since my LaSportiva Crosslites mistake wet rock for ice.
In such cases I have to mince instead. Much of the Lake District is
rocky, so I had a mincing good day.
A
location change for CP2 to the George
Starkey Hut meant we were back to a right turn at the kissing gate at
the bottom instead of a left turn onto the lane like we did last
year. I was looking forward to the opportunity to get inside to swap
head torch for cap to keep the increasing rain off my glasses, to get
some food out and to put my gloves on in readiness for the more
exposed section over Sticks Pass. I timed it perfectly to arrive
virtually on the dot of 09:30, to what can best be described as a
broom cupboard that opened to the outside. “There go any ideas of
‘getting inside’”, I thought to myself. I shouldn’t have
expected such decadence, such frivolous mollycoddling on the TdeH,
should I? ;-)
Said
broom cupboard was just big enough to serve
drinks, which were flooding all over after the tap on the barrel had
jammed in. I gave it a few stabs with my thumb to see if it would pop
out, but all that achieved was a bruised thumb and broken nail. I
dumped my junk on the wet ground to get myself sorted out: torch,
cap, drinks bottles and food taken care of. The rain fell and I was
getting rapidly chilled. I took my waterproof lobster gloves out,
only used on special occasions like this, and tried to put them on.
There was nowhere for my fingers and thumbs to go. They looked like
proper gloves on the outside, yet the lining obviously had other
ideas. I don’t think I’d worn them since last year’s Tour de
Helvellyn and the lining was misaligned. I ran off down the road with
my fingers twisted in all directions in their restricted palm-sized
cocoon. The linings refused to cooperate so I took them off again and
stuffed them in my front rucksack pouch. They were bulky and there
was hardly room for them alongside the pork pies and Soreen. The zip
was under considerable tension and I feared it might be torn asunder
at any moment.
I
was getting overtaken quite comprehensively as our route took us past
Glenridding, past the Yoof ‘ostel and up
into the disused mine workings. I had never seen it without snow. The
cloud was above the hill tops and we could see where the paths went
(usually). For some reason while playing ‘follow the leader’ we
ended up having to climb up the fell-side to regain the path. We
never made that mistake when it was covered with snow.
As
the path began to level out before CP3 at
Swart Beck footbridge (13.3mi.) and I continued to walk as I
recovered from the steep climb, a minimally clad runner ran past as
if he was on a short autumn fell race. “Bit reckless”, I thought.
“It’s raining and cold and not even a Pertex?” “Anyway how
can he be running, right here, right now?” He was soon gone and
forgotten as we got our heads down to survive the heaviest bursts of
rain of the day on the climb up to Sticks Pass. I was thankful it was
blowing onto our backs. I was also glad to be able to see where the
path went this time. I could see where we were off-path last year in
the thick snow, and where we climbed the snow wall out of the stream
gully. We had only been a few yards to the left of the proper path!
We
topped out at Sticks Pass then began our descent towards CP4 at
Stanah footbridge (16.0 miles). I had forgotten how long and steep
the descent was. A few more runners overtook me on the steep grass
next to the fence as I did some more mincing down the rocky path that
zigzagged its way downwards.
The
rocky path back from CP4 above the fell wall forbids running by those
weakened by the crossing of Sticks Pass.
Every year this is a low point for me, and time to get some food down
to get energy back into the enfeebled body. I may have cracked out a
Marmite and cucumber sandwich to add to the gels I’d already been
eating. I tottered my way along to CP5 at Swirls car park (17.6
miles), where Garry Scott caught up and soon left me for dead.
I’d
finally emptied my drinks bottle of Chia
Charge by combining squeezing with various industrial suction pump
techniques, so that could be consigned to the rucksack. The bottle of
water could go in the bottle holder, which would leave two free
hands. I decided to give the gloves another go as I continued my
totter along the forest track. After much manipulation and
finger-writhing, they just about felt right. I marvelled at their
warmth, which lasted until they’d soaked up water like a sponge.
(What’s the point of putting a sponge on the outside of the
waterproof membrane? Where’s the manufacturer's common sense? Would they do the
same for a waterproof jacket?)
I
was surprised how strongly the wind was gusting through the trees. I
had expected to be in shelter here. I began
to brace myself for our return over the watershed, but not before I’d
‘dibbed’ at CP6 (Birkside Gill footbridge, 20.6mi.).
By
the time we turned left to begin our climb up Raise Beck from Dunmail
Raise, the wind and rain seemed to have died out.
With the exception of the occasional frigid feet as we once again
sloshed along a path that had become a stream, the experience was
generally quite pleasurable. I enjoyed seeing the cloud-free,
snow-free terrain for the first time as we topped out at the pass
with Grisedale Tarn below to the right. The fell-side was a pleasure
to run down but as soon as we hit the rocks once again down to
Grisedale Beck, pace dropped dramatically in the interests of
survival. I got overtaken plenty once again, including by Chris
Davies (his running fitness amazes me).
On
arriving back in Patterdale, with my gaze fixed further down the road
I ran merrily past CP7 at the George Starkey broom cupboard
(26.5mi.). Fortunately someone called me across. It had taken me just
over 7 hours to complete just over marathon distance. I was on for an
emphatic PB at this rate (yes, really). This time I forced my way in
(shame it wasn't the Tardis) to sit cross-legged in the corner to
drink a mug of sweet tea (pure nectar), sort out some more food and
the head torch for later. The door to Narnia in the rear wall opened
a couple of times and banged into my left knee, but I don't think I caused too much of an impediment to free passage.
With
renewed energy from tea and pork pie and with just over 10 miles to
go, I was up and off back up that hill to Boredale Hause with one or
two other runners. I luxuriated in the amount of daylight left
despite it being very overcast. Last year it was well on the way to
getting dark and the skies were much clearer. I also marvelled at how
the wind had dropped and the rain had stopped. The running conditions
now were nigh on perfect. My clobber would do an even better job at
speed regulation via the overheating effect. On the rocky descent
where StuStod had sat 6 hours earlier, I got left for dead once more.
Further down when it became runnable again, Fraser Hirst caught up
with me and remarked that it was around this point that we first met
two years ago. We continued together to the end that time. He's upped
his game since then, and so he became the next runner to leave me for
dead.
I jogged
on in my own contented world of blissful solitude, in daylight and
without snow cover (how novel) towards Martindale. I allowed myself
to be mildly entertained (with a tinge of pity) at the sight and
sound of a car trying in vain to drive up a track to a house on the
hill. The mud and water were too much and it kept sliding back into
the gate at the bottom. CP8 at Martindale Church (30.7mi.) soon
arrived. I was alone as I took the quicker low road to the Outdoor
Centre to take the footpath up the field. My overheating condition
meant that my water bottle was well on the way to being empty, so I
refilled it within a millisecond from the torrent that raged along
the culvert across the field.
I climbed
to the kissing gate to join the high path. Another runner was just
coming along, who turned out to be Geoff Pettengell. He must have
overtaken me at his faster pace earlier on and I'd caught up with him
again. He seemed to be on a bit of a downer. I had just ingested yet
another gel and had a second fourth
seventh wind. I was raring to go to make the maximum use of the
remaining daylight. I hung back for a chat (I always enjoy a good
chin-wag). This was his first time, so we agreed to run together to
the finish. Since I was already on for a guaranteed PB I welcomed the
company and the removal of self-imposed pressure. We picked up
another runner around this point whose name I have forgotten.
(Forgotten runner, if you read this, please speak up via the comment.)
We jogged
up the ascending trail back towards The Cockpit. We had to switch on
our head torches shortly before we got there. I knew we had to
continue ahead past The Cockpit but I was fooled into following a
linear bog (assumed to be the correct path) a little to the left.
Unknown runner, who really knew where he was going, pulled me back to
the right and we continued on the perfect heading that eventually
veered left, across the cross-track and uphill towards the copse on
the horizon. I knew we had to veer right before the copse. The
grassy path was clear to see by our torchlight and we descended from
the top of Askham Fell back down to the village hall in the warmest,
darkest (most moonless and snow-free) conditions I have ever known.
My
finishing time of 9:52:11 was over an hour faster than last year's
previous PB. I make the distance 37 miles, tops, which gives a speed of 3.75mph. That might sound slow to you. It sounds dreadfully slow to me considering the amount of 'running' I was trying to do, but this is a tough event with self-imposed clobber to impede
progress. Even so I never guessed I would achieve under 10 hours. 5th
PB in December and counting?
Geoff
started later than I did. His off-the-boil time was 9:07:23. He would
have got an easy sub-9 finish if he'd been as fit as I was. Next
year, Geoff.
I found
out afterwards that the minimally attired racing snake who overtook
me just before Swart Beck footbridge was none other than Edward
Catmur, to whom I had imparted my considered advice on attire on
Friday evening. He finished second in 6:05:04. It was a good job he
didn't take my advice to venture out dressed as a hiker otherwise his athletic performance
might have been somewhat inhibited. (Even if he'd been dressed in a
gorilla suit as a fun runner I bet he still would have beaten me, though.) Well
done Edward. You are certainly no pretender.
The
fastest time went to Kim Collison once again with a time of 5:59:53.
Third went to Stuart Walker in 6:13:26. Well done all three, and to
everyone else who took this on. It is an amazing event at the right
time of year. As long as I am alive and able, I shall return. Many
thanks to Joe and team from
NAV4 for making it all possible. I luv ya for it.
Because of
the rainy forecast my camera never left the village hall, so I only
have a few before and after
pictures.
StuStod
took some good
shots up Boredale Hause in spite of the rain driving
into him.
Official
photographers SportSunday were roving about in a few places.
Unfortunately, poor light conditions meant that not all the photos
were published. I'm missing from the Raise Beck pictures. The ones that
were published are
here.
One of the marshals took another good crop
here.
Finally, here's one of my closing shots from the stage.
