I never meant to take up fell running. Climbing was my passion and all I wanted to do. But after spending many a wet weekend in the hills bouldering at Carreg Hyll-Drem or trying to make one flapjack and a single mug of tea last all day in Pete’s Eats, we tried other things to pass the time until the return trip to the inconveniently placed Southampton University on Sunday evening. An adventure through the abandoned slate quarries of Dinorwic perhaps, or lowering a friend down a random mineshaft in Coniston, just to see if he made a splash at the bottom, a night ascent of Commando Ridge with a flagon of local scrumpy for hydration even, but we eventually took to tramping over the hills when the weather was rubbish – which seemed like most of the time. Faster and lighter was more fun and so tramping turned to running and the rockier the route and the more challenging the terrain the more the grin grew.
So In 1986, even though it was a perfect climbing day a few of us chose to go for a run instead. Young, daft and optimistic I shuffled my way over the Welsh 14 peaks fuelled by one mars bar and a sandwich picked up from Ogwen cottage on the way. The day was hot, sunscreen was for losers and a couple of laps of Southampton common had seemed like plenty of training. A snooze in the minibus, chips and beer in Shrewsbury the night before and a 4am start from Aber Falls was all clearly perfect preparation for a long day in the hills. The original team of 7 or 8 of us had dwindled along the way so when I eventually dragged myself up Crib Goch, with only Crib Y Ddysgl and Yr Wyddfa to go I hadn’t seen any of the others for hours and I decided that a little sit down might be in order. Admire the beautiful view in the evening light, maybe close my eyes for a second or two?
20 minutes later I woke up with a start, slumped across the ridge and wondering where the hell I was! With shoulders burnt raw and skin bubbling from the whole day of sunshine (a vest had seemed like a good idea at the time) I shuffled on and after another couple of naps along the way finished the last mile and a half to the summit of Wales. I was hooked.
Fast forward 35 years and I like to think I’m a little wiser and a little better prepared for the day’s outing but my stomach really isn’t sure. I’ve been a bundle of nerves all week and hardly slept a wink last night. The alarm at 3:30am wasn’t really necessary and I was away by 4:00 cruising the empty roads from Corbridge in the Tyne Valley to Pooley Bridge to meet Mike Barron my solitary leg 1 mule and navigator.
A decade or more ago when over a period of 3 or 4 years a bunch of us had run the Bob Graham it seemed like a team was out every weekend. There was always a lift going over to the lakes and always someone to share the craic with. But now with my usual running buddies and heroes in their late fifties and sixties, it seemed that everyone was injured, recovering from injury, too slow, on holiday or “feeling a bit of a twinge”. A fortnight before the planned attempt I had one definite runner (who was supporting a BG the day before), one waiting for signoff from the physio, one who was hoping the calf would settle down in time, one who could only run the uphill bits and one on a mountain bike who could only do the grassy bits. Thankfully, over the horizon came the cavalry in the form of the Kevin Barron friends and family show. Kev had completed a few months ago so knew the form and after my plea for help volunteered his son Mike as well as Matt Beresford and Daz Moore. After a bit of negotiating I replaced the injured runner/mountain biker (but thanks for the offer Clive!), uphill only runner (thanks Lisa!), downhill-from-stoney-cove-pike runner (thanks Steph!) with Mike. Originally volunteered by his dad to run leg 2 only, he now “agreed” to do the first two legs and finish at Dunmail Raise. A walk in the park for a young whipper snapper of 31 even if he hadn’t run since May.
Finally, finally, FINALLY I could start running! Such a relief after the last week of stomach churning nerves. Why so nervous? It’s nonsense! It’s not a race (but of course it is, Kev had completed in 11:39). No-one is watching (except Joss knows I’m going for it). No-one is making me do it and no-one really cares. It’s just a fun day out in the hills that I love with a bunch of like minded runners. Madness!
But now I’m running, the weather is pretty much spot on, if a little muggy, and Mike is carrying all my gear. Up through the campsite and the cags came off. Onto the fell and into the clag. Mike’s navigation was spot on after the initial long drag up to Arthur’s Pike the tops tick by. The pace on leg 1 is fast and furious and absolutely doesn’t play to my strengths. Steep rocky downhill where a wild grin and gay abandon win out over VO2 max is where I’m happiest and so I’d built a bit more time into my leg 1 schedule in a desperate attempt not to blow it all in the first couple of hours. At least the summits roll by pretty quickly and apart from a flash of sky and a blast of hot sun on Kidsty Pike there weren’t any views to trouble us and so the routine of backing off up the hills whilst drinking/eating and then blasting down the fun bits passed the time pretty well. I’d hoped to feel pretty fresh at Kirkstone pass but the pace and heat was taking its toll already and meeting up with Loz Brown and a (nice) surprise Rachel Vincent for the trudge up Red Screes was a welcome mood lifter.
On familiar Hodgson Relay ground now and pretty much in Mike’s back yard, the mist lifted enough to easily see our way down to Scandale Pass and on towards Hart Crag. Loz had very kindly reccied this bit religiously, putting the hours in only a month or two after his own successful BG, but now the visibility was good, Mike “you can almost see my house from here” Barron knew the way like the back of his hand and it seemed like it had (almost) been a waste of time. But of course time in the hills is never wasted. The best bit about the JNLC or the BG is the pleasure to be had from the reccies. The days out that you wouldn’t bother with otherwise which then turn into the best day ever. Getting familiar with a route in baking heat and freezing rain, high winds and breathless muggy stillness. Having the excuse to get out in the glorious hills again and again with some mates or even going solo with nothing on your mind but the views. Never wasted.
Some debate at the front about the exact route around Dove Crag but we soon found the trod and pushed on. Hart Crag and then Fairfield loomed in the gloom and then we were over Seat Sandal and bounding down towards Dunmail Raise in bright sunshine. A little slip, a scuffed hip and muddy hand and back up again hoping no-one had noticed then across the road and a big sweaty hug with Jo 😊
On the BG the road crew have four road crossings of maybe 10 or 15 mins to fuss around, feed the runner, maybe provide change of clothes or shoes and generally be helpful. On the JNLC I felt guilty for dragging Jo across to the lakes with bags of stuff I didn’t touch and for a mere 5 minutes of scoffing, drinking and hugging then I was off again whilst she deposited Loz and Rachel back at their cars and drove round to Greendale to supply the finish line pasty and photo service. Even so that 5 minutes of a friendly face and hugs was invaluable for reinvigorating me emotionally if not entirely physically.
Steel Fell with Daz and Matt in blazing hot sun and a tummy full of pasta was a full 5 minutes slower than my last recce with Oliver but still felt quite fast enough. Daz was brilliant, continually chatting and reminding me to eat and drink. I’d never met either of them before and didn’t quite know what to expect but of course they were fab. Turning out for a friend of a friend of a friend with hardly any notice is another of the best things about this community. I’d checked out some of Matt’s previous race times and realised that as he was a good 2 hours faster than me on the OCT he’d have no trouble keeping up! I wasn’t sure of Daz’s surname so hadn’t found any times but as Gary Thorpe noted he “injects enthusiasm into you whether you like it or not” which is hilariously accurate!
Fuelled by Daz and pasta and guided by Matt’s navigation we made good progress over High Raise and on towards Rosset Pike where disaster struck for Daz. In the final climb a big rock moved under my foot and I almost stumbled, Daz did the same behind me but the rock slipped onto his other foot and we both heard a nasty crunch. A strangled cry and a weak call of “no don’t stop, keep going …” so I pushed on but a glance back saw that he hadn’t moved and was obviously in proper pain. I called Matt back and carried on to the summit of Rosset Pike feeling awful that I was just walking away from a clearly badly injured man. Matt reappeared below Bowfell having swapped my spare kit and food for a his van key and we left Daz to spend the next 2 hours hopping and wincing his way down to Langdale.
Another new line up Bowfell (I find a new one every time I go) and then back in the mist on to Esk Pike and Great End. The cloud/mist/clag/murk was back down and somehow I managed to persuade Matt that the trail off Great End was to the left of where he was (it wasn’t) and so we slipped, scrambled and shuffled down unstable jumbled greasy rocks, finding a trod for a few minutes then losing it again. Not my finest hour but down we went till eventually Sty Head complete with Oliver and Kev came into view.
A rapid swapping of kit and munching on bars and then we were off. Matt back down to Langdale in search of the injured Daz and me Kev and Oliver trudging up Great Gable. Last time I’d been up here it had been ludicrously hot and full of walkers. Now with the ever present murk shrouding the hills everyone else was in the shops and cafes and we had the hills pretty much to ourselves. To my horror/delight Kev told me I was still on schedule so no slacking now!
Another new/hybrid line off Gable, shake the stones out of our shoes and away up Kirkfell. Perfect nav made for efficient climbing and a rapid descent down the sopping wet red gulley. And so to the never ending, grinding climb up Pillar. Eat, drink, trudge, jog, shuffle, eat, drink, repeat … But once there the feeling is brilliant. All downhill from here!! (almost). Kev uses his hill-ninja skills to find a cracking line down to wind gap and Scoat Fell and Steeple fly by. No views from Steeple this time, but no howling winds either.
My knees are throbbing now and I’ve been gritting my teeth for a while, but a dose of Ibuprofen seems in order. So it’s jelly babies and drugs up Haycock. Oliver shouldn’t be here, the physio told him his ankles definitely wouldn’t stand it but trooper that he is he has muled and entertained all the way from Sty Head. But finally some good sense prevails and he leaves Kev and me to tackle the last 3 peaks whilst he makes a beeline for Greendale. So when Kev stops to get water I’m on my own racing (in my mind) along the grassy trod towards Seatallen. The familiar clag shrouds everything and within seconds its just me running semi naked (I ditched the shirt a while ago) through my very own scene from a horror film. Shapes loom in and out of the darkness beyond my sight and when I glance over my shoulder something is chasing me down … Luckily it’s Kev with fresh water and yet more jelly babies.
I’ve never minded the climb up Seatallen, there’s no hope of running it for me so it’s just a case of keeping on keeping on until the top. The last hundred yards might generously be called a run and then away again with Kev shouting “one hour left!”.
A curious descent line avoiding the path - “its quicker like this” says Kev as he takes the last 100 feet on his backside. Past Oliver, still heading for Greendale, and up the last climb. Passing a solitary walker we must have looked a sight, emerging from the mist with Kev looking cool and well dressed, me trudging along behind, a topless sweaty mess, wild eyed and barely coherent - like some medieval slave following his master.
A rare photo on the top of Middle Fell and then down, down, down, down, down, the mist clearing, the views to the coast just spectacular and the promised land of Greendale looking lush and welcoming. Big grins all the way now finally daring to believe that I might make it!
Just the best finish there cold be, all down, no nasty surprises and Jo waiting to welcome me 😊
And Joss … well Joss had got bored and wandered somewhere up the hill to beat up some bracken! But he returned soon enough and we had the nicest chat and best photos I could wish for.
11:33 all done 😊
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