I
had avoided this challenge for 15 years but on reaching 65 I joined
Pete Simpson’s
regular 5 yearly traverse. Unfortunately Colin Brooke’s
back and knee problems defeated us at Bowfell as darkness descended.
John Minta (a young 48) offered to support me on a repeat attempt for
a “good
day out on the hills”.
With Paul Frechette providing transport and road support and Tony
Wimbush for company to Dunmail Raise we set off 10 days later at 10pm
with the M65 schedule of just under 23 hours.
After
early cloud a bright gibbous moon lit our way to Kirkstone pass,
which we reached half an hour up on our schedule with only short
delays in identifying one or two minor summits. A rich pink streak
across the horizon heralded the breaking dawn as we approached Hart
Crag. Uncharted lakes were revealed in the valleys, turning into
beautiful cloud inversions as the light grew. Fairfield and Seat
Sandal went up and down in full morning light and Dunmail Raise came
an hour early, but Paul was ready with humour, coffee, food and fresh
clothes in that order.
From
Steel Fell it began to feel tough, but John was forever positive,
cheery, encouraging and supportive, with only occasional bare knuckle
fights over his Garmin route versus my map route, which he eventually
solved by saying I was getting slow, taking my bag off me and telling
me to buck up, in the nicest possible way. I focussed just on keeping
going. The scheduled split times seemed more generous from here on
and we continued to make progress against the schedule. We found a
good route up Bowfell, but I remember mad craggy descents off Great
End and Great Gable. Pillar, Scoat Fell and Steeple passed quickly in
the warm afternoon but, from Haycock, Seatallan felt to be a long way
and its steep grassy slope never ending. I don’t
know how the sheep got up there. The descent was not much better but
the last summit, Middle Fell was in sight.
With
the steep descents I was getting footsore, but thought I could take
my time on the last one with 31 minutes allowed on the schedule. John
was having none of this and said I had 21 minutes to get down for a
sub-20 hour time. I set off, but railed against this for a while,
particularly when the finish came into view in the valley and it
looked miles away. I know 20 is a round number, but it’s
perfectly arbitrary as well. Reluctantly overcoming wimpiness I
valiantly raced down to the bridge to finish in 19 hours 57 minutes
just before 6pm. Instant relief from a footbath in the waters of
Greendale Gill. Thanks, John.