A WET ONE
The forecast was for occasional drizzle and low cloud gradually clearing. The forecast was wrong. The postcast (which obviously was right) was 14 hours of rain.
At 01.50 Pooley Bridge was quiet as the four of us waited on the bridge for the clock to tick round, one of us rather nervously. At 02.00 we padded off down the track beside the river. Patrick and Alex had recced the way out through the camp site and no time was lost here. I think recceing is cheating and these things should always be done on sight or just using existent knowledge but trying to weave a way between people’s tents in the dark is tricky. On Arthur’s Seat the lights of the farms beside Ullswater twinkled up at us but by Loadpot we were in the cloud and starting to get wet. When we got to High Raise the wind was up and conditions were becoming distinctly unpleasant. The mist was definitely a hard drizzle. Alex, Patrick’s brother-in-law is a resident of Montana and more used to running on the trails around the hills there. This was a fairly precipitous introduction to real fell running. Max stuck close and handed the bottle and jelly babies as his father demanded. The rain meant I had to remove my glasses. Removing the glasses meant I couldn’t read the map so the main burden of navigation fell on Patrick who did sterling work. On High Street Alex announced that he was cold and he did seem to be close to hypothermia. We crammed a hat on him and jelly babies in him and hurried on to Threshthwiate Mouth where there was respite from the wind and he could pull on more clothes. The dawn came reluctantly as though the day had seen the weather and wanted to stay in bed.
By Stony Cove the torches were ineffectual and we romped down the wall and completely missed the turn to Pike Howe. Patrick caught the error 500m further on as we arrived at St Raven’s Crag. Back we went. 20 mins lost to the schedule. Annoyed, I made up quite a few of these descending to Kirkstone. The car park seemed deserted, just a couple of camper vans loomed in the mist. Panic. And then Scott saw us and leapt out of a car we hadn’t seen in the fog. Suddenly the place came alive. Coffee was poured, potatoes offered, bottles filled, Jaffa cakes grabbed and we were on our way with another five minutes saved. The new team included Scott Collier and Kevin Harding. With them to navigate there was no point in me even carrying a map. Paul acted as mule and handed drinks and food when required. The pace was a little slower than on the Hodgson Relay but by Fairfield we had pulled back more time and on Seat Sandall the rain seemed to ease off. We found the BG trod and soon we could see the cars at Dunmail and there was Julie out to meet and greet. On runs like this when there are times you feel a little fragile it is amazing what a boost a friendly face can make and a quiet: “You seem to be going really well” She surveyed the team: Scott, Simon Barnett, Ned Needham and Paul Addison. “You’ve got a crack team here” she said. Between them they had decades of hill days and, as Paul discovered, Simon is a secret weapon as he knows every blade of grass between Dunmail and Sty Head.
On the long stretch to High Raise the clouds began to clear and for a few wonderful moments we were graced with a rainbow and views of the hills we had come to run over. Climbing High Raise was a chore, though, the rain came on again and the weather closed down. Despite this I felt better on the nice grassy trods down to Stake Pass. I wanted to get Rossett behind me so I could get stuck into Bow Fell which loomed large in my mind. Things went quiet as we toiled up. It felt slow but Scott informed us that we were 15 minutes ahead of schedule and immediately I was lifted. Scott headed off down the Band to the ODG for lunch having done a brilliant job keeping us on the straight and narrow. We retraced from Great End towards Esk Hause and ran down the track past Sprinkling Tarn rather than try to find the direct descent. It might be slower but it was safe.
A party had come up from Wasdale with coffee, brownies, potatoes and bars. It was cosy behind the stretcher box and nice to stop moving. Simon had to gently suggest that progress should be resumed. We wanted to use the scree descent off Gable but the scree we found was a bit bigger than the ideal. We stumbled onto Beck Head with little time lost and the final big climb on Pillar just the other side of Kirk Fell. My back was getting very tight and on the slopes of Pillar I had to lie down and try to stretch it out. It improved it for about 150m but that was enough to get me over the top and but for the fog the end was in sight and 30 minutes in hand on a 17 hour schedule. I kept telling myself to concentrate. A trip here could end it all prematurely; too cruel at this stage.
Finally we were on Middle Fell and trotting down the path. We heard Greendale Gill long before we saw it through the clag, clearly in spate. I realised just how much rain had come down since we started. Then we dropped down out of the cloud and there were the cars and the bridge that we had be running to all day and a little group of friends to welcome us in. Passers by looked on curiously as we stood for photos in the rain, drinking coffee and grinning from ear to ear and satisfaction, as Fred Rogerson used to say, dripping like fat from a goose from one of the group.
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