Health and safety reflections from Cracoe fell race, Sun 21 July 2024
Always carry a phone
Always carry a waterproof
Be able to call Mountain Rescue, and keep warm while waiting for them to arrive
For all runs on the fells – short or long, racing or training, good weather or bad.
A comfortably warm summer Sunday afternoon. Just a short race, 2.5 miles. There’s no definite start time for the Senior race, it’s just whenever the Juniors have finished, which will not be before 1.30pm. From 1.30 onwards we mill about in the start field, dreamily passing time. Eventually the last Junior is in at 2.10pm and we’re underway. The kit recommendation is a waterproof but I decide we won’t need anything today, we’ll be up and down in 25 minutes.
Halfway up the climb, 7-8 minutes in, a runner at the front of the field collapses. I arrive about 90 seconds after; he’s unconscious, unresponsive, unmoving, and I fear the worst. Already he has a gaggle of runners around him, but I also stop to see if I can help. I hear the words “it’s a mountain rescue job” and instinctively dash straight down the fell. There are marshals and spectators on the course; as I pass I quickly mention what’s happened and ask if there are any first aiders. One lady says yes, she is, and will walk up to the casualty. I run straight through the start field to the café by the car park and ask if there’s a defibrillator in the village. Yes, outside the pub down the road. I find the defib in a box with a keypad on it and a sign saying dial 999. I don’t have my phone on me, but I mug a passer-by and he lends me his. I ring 999 and ask for the keypad code. The assistant tells me I have to report the incident first before I can be given the code. Five minutes elapse with me outlining events, describing the location and requesting mountain rescue. Eventually, the assistant tells me the incident has already been reported then gives me the code. I grab the defib and run back up the fell with it. It has a strap like a satchel and is surprisingly heavy. 30 minutes after the incident I arrive back at the casualty with the defib. At the same moment, the Air Ambulance helicopter lands close by and 2 paramedics jump out to assist the casualty, who I’m very relieved to see has now regained consciousness, still accompanied by several people around him.
Shortly after a regular ambulance and Mountain Rescue land rover appear in the fields far below. It’s not immediately obvious how they’re going to get up here, so for a second time I dash down the fell to help guide them up. After some scouting around we find a track to a gate blocked by a herd of cows. After shoo-ing them away the land rover can get through, across the next field and to within 200 yards of the incident. In the meantime the casualty, with the AA guys and everyone else, has managed to very gingerly walk down towards the land rover. At 3.35pm, 80 minutes after the incident, he’s in the land rover and soon after transferred to the ambulance and hospital. Later in the evening he posts to say he is recovering and thanks to all.
On the face of things, it’s been a great outcome, considering. A runner has collapsed in a race but several people – runners, spectators and marshals – provide assistance as best they can. An emergency is reported and Air Ambulance, regular ambulance and Mountain Rescue arrive. The casualty regains consciousness, is brought off the mountain to safety and begins to recover.
Nonetheless, it’s good practice in any health and safety incident to review what happened and think about if there are any lessons that can be learned for next time. It would be all too easy to say “everything turned out OK”, move on and hope it doesn’t happen again. But this is the third similar incident we’ve been aware of at NLFR in the last 7 months, so here are some hopefully useful reflections from Sunday:
Assess the situation
When I stopped and saw the collapsed runner I understandably wanted to do something useful asap. It may have been better though to get a fuller picture of what had happened before acting. There were several people about and I just assumed someone would report the emergency. This is a problem though if everyone makes the same assumption! Perhaps I should have specifically asked “has the call been made?” and, if not, made it, either with my own phone or someone else’s. I could then have described the casualty’s condition and location while in situ. Equally, I could have asked the ascending runners if any were experienced first aiders at that point.
Take a phone
But I didn’t have my phone on me, I’d left it at the start, thinking it wouldn’t be needed. Well, it could have been; again, what if everyone else had decided not to bring a phone? (Obviously, you don’t always get reception halfway up a mountain, but often you do depending on where you are).
Take a waterproof
Even after stopping for just a short period on a warm day, I began to lose heat rapidly. I was just in a vest and hadn’t brought a waterproof. When I got back with the defib half an hour later, the guys I’d left with the casualty were still there; you may end up being still for some time in an emergency. So take a waterproof with you, so that in the event of you can keep either the casualty or yourself warm on the fells.
Defibrillators
In the event of cardiac arrest a defib could save someone’s life. Coincidentally we’ve been discussing defibs amongst the NLFR committee recently, and it was what came immediately to my mind at the key moment, hence my dash down the fell. I had recently visited https://www.defibfinder.uk/ which shows the location of every public defibrillator in the UK, so I had a pretty good hunch there would be one somewhere in Cracoe. What I didn’t know though was that I would need a phone to access it and that I would have to report the incident first (or that it would be so heavy). Another reason for having your phone on you. Equally, if making the initial emergency call, it may be worth asking the assistant for the location of the nearest public defib (and code) at that point, to save duplication and further delay later.
It turned out the defib wasn’t needed on this occasion, as by the time I got back the Air Ambulance had arrived (with their own) and the casualty had regained consciousness anyway. However I later asked the lady who had gone up to provide first aid if it had still been worth me getting the defib; in her view it was, what if the helicopter had been on another call or hadn’t been able to land, or the casualty not regained consciousness?
It’s perhaps a more moot point whether it would have been useful to have had a defib at race registration. If there had been, theoretically it could have been with the casualty in 10 minutes, not 30. I do understand RO’s concerns though about expense, maintenance and the balance of responsibility (we do sign a disclaimer before every race accepting that we run it at our own risk). For the moment, perhaps be aware of the likely location of the nearest defib at a race, whether that’s at the start line or nearby phone box/other public location. Bear in mind that defibs come with instructions on how to use them, and amongst any race field there are likely to be first aiders who have used them before.
But perhaps the key reflection is: always take a phone and waterproof, so that your first option is making an emergency call for fully-equipped assistance, and to keep you and the casualty warm while you wait for it to arrive. Kit recommendations and requirements are not just for races, and not just for poor weather, but for all runs on the fells, long or short, fair weather or foul. Kit advice is not just in case it turns a bit cold or rainy for you on your run, it’s to protect you and others in the worst-case scenario.
Normally to merit a write-up on here you need to have completed some epic Category A fell race or ultra, reliving your day with the following likely sequence: weeks of training – meticulous on-the-day preparation – step-by-step details of each challenging element of the race – the rewards and highs of finishing and lessons learned.
On Saturday, by comparison, I had a lazy morning, chucked a few random items into a bag and left the house shortly before 2pm for a 3.15pm race start. I drove a few miles, parked the car in a free moor-top car park, jogged 5 minutes to a carnival field, handed over a fiver and got a race number for the Baildon Canter. At 5km with 500ft of ascent this may be at the opposite extreme of fell-running to the long stuff, but it’s still very much fell-running. In fact, as the blue red kite flies it’s probably the closest fell race to North Leeds and ideal if you’re thinking of trying a fell race for the first time. It’s only a little more challenging than Chevin parkrun, for example.
Having got my number there was time to have a wander around the Baildon Carnival, in full swing in the field to the side. A typically random selection of stalls, attractions and novelties lent a lively backdrop. I wandered off to find a quiet seat so I could do the fiddly attach-number-to-vest-with-safety-pins business and found one in the adjacent cricket field, where a match was in progress. I’m a lapsed cricket fan but quite enjoyed watching a couple of overs. The bowlers were surprisingly competent with some admirable variations in pace; the batsman by comparison tried to slog everything, without success, until eventually middling one, sending the ball arcing into an adjacent back garden for 6. The resulting ball-hunt and delay was my cue to return to the race field.
By this time a gaggle of other NLFRs had gathered – Jonny (trying to define his new gainful employment of oceanography), Ian (now a guinea pig in a pre-marathon VO2 Max study), Cailum (on home Baildon turf) and Nick (often keen for a race). I was glad to see that the start had been slightly altered from my last time here in 2022 so that the course is now spread out before the narrow snicket at the exit of the field.
3.15 and we’re underway, a mad dash for the snicket. It’s still pretty awkward, with low hanging branches and some steps adding to the fun, but we get through it OK and out onto the moor. Very soon we cross the road for the first time, which is well marshalled, and begin a gradual climb towards Hopes Hill. Unlike most short fell races, which are very steep, the pace here feels flat out, more like a cross-country race. As we loop round the back of the hill the guy in front momentarily stumbles. This is enough for me to get past and he never re-overtakes. Fine margins in a short race like this.
Cailum and Jonny have disappeared out of sight but I do have Ian around 20 yards in front as a hypothetical target. However he begins to pull away on the short climb up to the top, and is faster on the mildly technical descent on the other side. As the course flattens out re-approaching the road I begin to reel him in a bit. Just before the road itself the following sequence of calculations happens in the blink of an eye, perhaps 2 seconds, while we are both running at speed:
Is there any traffic obviously moving on the road? – no
Is there a parked car blocking the path on the other side of the road? – yes
Are the marshals making it very obvious where the path is? – no
Ian guesses to the right of the car, I guess left. I was correct, and surprisingly find myself in front. It’s just 90 seconds to the finish from here, I don’t think I could have successfully overtaken at any other point.
Before long we are all collapsed at the finish line and awaiting the presentations as the rain sweeps in. Me and Cailum both win an out-of-season Toblerone, reminding us of the tumultuous downpour at December’s Gathering Winter Fools Relay, where we used a Toblerone as the team’s novelty baton. By Leg 4 the Toblerone was in a state of significant decomposition, and beyond edibility, although enough of it remained at the finish to prove we’d completed the course. Next time we’ve pledged to put the Toblerone in the freezer the night before, to increase its chances of survival. Today though, it was just nice to take sweets home from the fair, not least Matterhorn-shaped ones, even if this course had hardly been Alpine-style.
Seven summits, 2370m of climbing, 28km and only 250 places.
When I first heard about the Isle of Jura Fell Race a few years ago, I regarded it very much as one of those races for people who knew what they were doing. At that stage, I wasn’t one of them. Intrigue gradually turned into serious consideration when on repeated half term visits to Tayvallich, we would see runners returning from Jura on the Jura passenger ferry. I pledged to do it when I turned fifty, but my wife Martha encouraged me to stick an entry in this year. They only admit 250 runners each year and a place was not guaranteed on the first attempt. I went from 18th on the waiting list to one of the lucky 250 in a very short time. It seemed to be happening and I was pretty daunted.
For anyone unfamiliar with Jura, it is renowned for a few things: whisky, Nineteen Eighty-Four (which George Orwell wrote on Jura) and (if you read NME in the 90s) the KLF burning a million pounds there. It is also host to the annual fell race, a circuit of 17 miles and an eye-watering 2370m of ascent. The route takes in seven significant peaks, most notably the three Paps of Jura, which dominate the skyline. When the weather is clear enough to see them that is.
The adventure started with an early morning boat trip across the Sound of Jura from Tayvallich. The boat I was on was usually deployed for wildlife cruises, so the pilot couldn’t help himself pausing halfway there to point out a pod of porpoises, a welcome distraction from my pre-race nerves. The first sight of Jura from the ferry did nothing to ease my navigational anxiety. Low cloud hung like a wet dishcloth over the island, obscuring all but the lowest foothills. The forecast promised brighter skies later, so I clung onto some hope as I arrived on the island and looked for a tent-sized spot on the crowded (and midge-infested) campsite. It felt like arriving late to a festival.
Having distracted myself with pitching my tent, registration and kit check there was nothing left to do but soak up the pre-race atmosphere and try to contain my nerves. There was a real mixture of Jura veterans, relative newcomers and first-timers like me. It was comforting to have my NLFR vest recognised by another first timer and ex-NLFR member, Will, who cheerily confessed that navigation-wise, he was very much going to be winging it. Amidst the pre-race anxiety, it’s hard to get away from the feeling that everyone else seems to have more of a clue what they’re doing than you do. Maybe it was all going to be okay.
Amidst some signs of brightening weather and a stirring bagpipe send-off, the race got underway. The first couple of miles were fairly standard fell race fare: a steady, bog-ridden climb up into the aforementioned low cloud, which showed no sign of shifting. Descending out of the cloud after the second checkpoint though, the race began to feel like no other. Views opened up to the sea and the coast of Islay to the west and blue skies framed the route ahead. It was one of those moments of fell-running exhilaration when everything comes together. And it looked like I might actually get the clear visibility I’d been praying for.
The view couldn’t have been clearer as I headed towards what the route description bills as “probably the most intimidating climb in British fell running”, Benn a Chaolish (pronounced Hoolish), the first of The Paps. The glorious sunshine, surging endorphins and spectacular vista probably took the edge off the intimidation, but this was a monster of a climb nonetheless and I had to fight the urge to sit down for a rest half-way up.
The second and third Paps (Benn an Oirr and Benn Shiantaidh) are already a glorious blur in my memory, but each punishing ascent seemed to come far too soon after the last. The marshals on top of the third Pap were helping runners to celebrate the ascent by pumping out banging techno from a bluetooth speaker and plying us with wine gums. A bit on the chewy side for race sustenance in my view, but I gratefully accepted a couple.
After a horrible descent off the third Pap involving a scree chute and a very wobbly boulder field I was on track for the final ascent to checkpoint 7. Surprisingly, the bagpipers from the start of the race had also made the ascent and were piping runners up the last climb – stirring stuff! It was all downhill from here, albeit it on “awful trods across desperate bogs” as the race-map describes it. I was feeling pretty desperate by this stage and was struggling to get my head round the fact that I’d only covered 10 miles of the 17. I had, however, dealt with all 2370 metres of ascent, which my legs were painfully aware of.
Three Arch Bridge marks the end of the fell section, but not the end of the race. A three-mile slog along a flat tarmac (and in some sections aluminium) road completes the course. This is the longest flat three miles I have ever run. Craighouse was in view for much of the way but did not appear to be getting any closer. I was in no fit state to enjoy the view of white sandy beaches to the left, or the chocolate digestives that one supporter was proffering from the roadside. I finally made it to the finish, clocking in at 5 hours and 6 minutes. Respectable if not remarkable.
I’ve never been so relieved to have finished a race, but I was immediately sorry it was over. I spent the rest of the day and evening in a bit of a daze, so much so that I completely missed the prize-giving gathering. I did make it to the traditional fell race ceilidh, but I was happy to observe from the sidelines rather than attempt any dancing.
This was such a special race to take part in, not just for the race itself, but for the whole experience. I’d urge anyone who might have toyed with the idea of tackling The Paps to give it a go. It didn’t take long before I was wondering how I might fare in the V50 category next time…
“You’ve come all the way here before to do a 20-minute race?” exclaimed Adam in surprise. He wasn’t referring to the race we were about to do – the 10-mile Fairfield Horseshoe – but to my several previous visits to Rydal for the Ambleside Guides race (1.5 miles, last Thursday in July). As we lined up for the start I tried to explain that (in my mind) a race is just the focal point of a day out. In the case of Ambleside Guides, as much about the mildly eccentric spectacles of grass-track cycling, hound trails and Cumberland & Westmoreland wrestling that come before and after. Adam didn’t seem immediately convinced, and indeed there’s a pervading view in fellrunning that a long journey is only justified by a proportionally long race.
But to press my case further, here’s how the 2 hours spent on Saturday’s Fairfield Horseshoe fitted into my day as a whole:
0530: Alarm
0730: Departure from Bradford after the usual painstaking gathering of gear and other stuff for every eventuality. Today, this includes 4 separate water bottles of different volumes – 500ml, 750ml, 1 litre, 1.5 litres. I appreciate driving through Shipley traffic-free, a rare event. The Dales look stunning in the early morning sunlight. I get the chance to listen to my current fave album of choice (The Who’s Quadrophenia) all the way through at suitably ear-splitting volume.
0930: Arrive Rydal Park. What becomes the Ambleside Show field in July is today the car park. The Pete Bland van is set up, the marshals are friendly and the fells are crystal clear – all is well with the world at this moment. It’s already on the warm side though, and still 90 minutes to the start.
1010: It’s a 15-minute walk to the start line, so no chance to return to the car. I select the 750ml water bottle and pack the race rucksack. Put a jacket on with 500ml water in one pocket and sun-tan lotion in the other (these 3 to leave at the start).
1030: Go through kit check and get my race number. Despite nearly 150 fell races under my belt I‘m still hopeless at attaching race numbers to vest with safety pins. Everything seems straightforward after that.
1040: Find the other NLFRs milling around the start area – Cailum (looking ridiculously fresh for someone who completed 65km of the Fellsman 2 weeks ago), Niamh and Joe (who’ve gone for an ultra-convenient accommodation option 50 yards away), Tom (who I’ve not met before) and the aforementioned Adam (running late) – plus some other familiar faces. The banter begins and helps us forget about what’s ahead….
Cailum, Dave, Tom, Niamh, Joe
1100: Just over 200 of us are underway and immediately hit a wall of heat. After half a mile we swing sharp left up Nab Scar and the walking begins. Thoughts go no further than whether actually completing this course is going to be possible today. One runner sits disconcertedly on a rock, already weighing things up. Eventually we hit the ridge, a bit of a breeze and the stunning view over the Grasmere fells. It’s a steady climb for the next 3 miles to the top, and the walking becomes interspersed with periods of slow jogging. Get a muesli bar and some water in. Niamh comes past whilst also holding down an earnest conversation with a Kiwi runner. Just before the summit of Fairfield I take a last slug of water and finally convince myself that completing the circuit is a goer.
1210: Reach the summit in 1hr 10 mins and make the incorrect calculation that I should therefore be back in 1:45. Overtake Niamh on the initial rocky descent, then a faster stretch over easier ground. There are numerous fellrunner-trods to the side that may or may not be quicker, some of which are taken. Further down the ground becomes more technical and I look out for the distinct left turn on the map indicating where to avoid the “Bad Step” of Sweden Crag. After the third or fourth likely spot I assume I’ve passed it. In fact, I’m grateful for shouts telling us it’s just ahead (a course recce would have been useful but in fact I’ve not been here for 20 years). After what seems like forever the descending eventually ends, we reach the car park and just the small matter of the half mile left along the track, which of course goes on forever.
1302: My 147th fell race but the first that ends under an inflatable finish line, in 2hrs 2 minutes. Am sprayed with water and handed an ice-cold can of Fanta. Find some shade, have a short period gathering myself alone and chug the Fanta in one go – it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Drag myself to the registration barn where a cup of coffee and flapjack are equally divine. Collapse in more shade and watch everyone come in and go through similar post-race recovery. In time a low-key presentation is convened, MC’d by the man with the quietest voice in fellrunning. Eventually, our group gathers at the café, the tea is so nice even in a paper cup. Of the NLFRs, Cailum’s made it look like a walk in the park, Niamh’s won yet another bottle of wine for 2nd F40, Tom seems pleased to have got round, Joe too after suffering cramps and taking a scenic diversion over Low Sweden Bridge, and Adam now resembles a lobster.
1445: A slow walk back the car, then I start poking around the adjacent beck trying to find somewhere nice to have a dip. Eventually am rewarded with a sunlit pool with a gravelly base, deep enough to get under if not actually swim in. Water temperature quite tolerable, for May. That should sort the DOMS out for the rest of the week.
1600: Back to the car park to find I’m one of the few cars left on the field. The marshal tells me he’s going home now, please shut the gate behind you and don’t let any sheep out. Much as I could stay here indefinitely I reluctantly decide to join the queue of traffic into Ambleside.
1800: There’s still a bit of the day left so rather than go straight home I make a short diversion to Airton in the Dales and have a walk along the Aire. My Gran used to live here when I was a kid and me + brothers used to run up and down the hills and poke about in the river, much like I have done today.
1900: Plans to cook a sensible dinner at home go out the window as I approach The Stocksbridge Arms fish + chip shop in Riddlesden. Fish, chips, peas and another can of pop, the perfect end to a perfect day. All built around another memorable race.
NLFR results
16th: Cailum Earley 58th: Dave Middlemas 75th (14th F): Niamh Jackson 142nd: Adam Nodwell 158th: Tom Sanders 187th: Joe Steele 217 ran (76 F) Full results
Most fell races start mid-morning, which makes organising your pre-race routine pretty straightforward: get up – have breakfast – get stuff together – travel – register – warm up – race. An early afternoon start is a bit trickier. Enjoy a long lie in? Late breakfast?/mid-morning snack?/early lunch? Do something else with the morning first?
Last Sunday’s race, Runners + Riders, started at 2pm. Waking early, I decided to get out and about rather than sit around at home, there’s already quite enough of that at this time of year. Conditions outside looked unpromising, so I packed two extra sets of clothes along with everything else (this proved to be a good decision). With the race being in Appletreewick I thought it would be a chance to have a poke around the old lead mines above Grassington, which I’d read about but not previously visited. I imagined this would be as much about exploring as covering distance so I wasn’t going to expend too much energy before the race.
I’ve never much liked Grassington – too twee and busy – but driving up onto the moor beyond you enter a very different world. I parked the car at the end of the road at Yarnbury and immediately came across the remains of an old mine, the various abandoned debris adding to the general sense of desolation of the open moor. I started loosely following a marked trail that takes you around various holes, derelict buildings and spoil heaps, in the general direction of a chimney on the skyline, which would have been more prominent if it hadn’t been for the sluicing rain and swirling mist. Arriving at the considerable remains of an old smelting mill I came across the most impressive feature, a half-mile long flue – straight as an arrow to the distant chimney – which once took all the smoke and fumes away from the mill. With the whole moor pockmarked with dubious-looking shafts and other hazards I didn’t explore too closely, but it was OK to duck under the base of the chimney, scramble in and look all the way up. At least it got me out of the by-now howling wind for a moment.
With conditions rapidly deteriorating all thoughts now turned to getting back to the relative shelter of the car. Despite having been out for under an hour I was soaked. With still four hours to go until the race I had plenty of time to effect drying out, as well as to linger over an unbeatable £3.50 piping-hot sausage sandwich and coffee offer at the Threshfield Spar. Mid-morning snack it turned out to be. It also gave me the chance to get to Appletreewick nice and early and secure a vital parking space on hard-standing (yes we did help push someone out of the mud later on). Having registered in the barn, the final stage of the drying-out procedure was completed on a faded sofa in front of a roaring log fire, taking in several draughts of healthy wood smoke.
Soon four other members of the NLFR gang arrived – Jonny, Josh, Nick and Harry – and before long we were lining up in the field ready to start (spot 4 of us in the photo below):
Photo by Andy Holden
The race is a joint affair for both runners and cyclists, on a course 4.9 miles long with 890ft of ascent, carefully designed to give all an equal chance. In that respect, much of it is relatively flat for a fell race, although you do get two proper climbs in, one about three-quarters of the way round, the other right at the start. This certainly helps spread the field out quickly:
Photo by Olga Wood
With 170 runners and 30 cyclists, there was plenty of space for everyone. Not like Bingley Harriers’ Harriers v Cyclists in November, where the ratio is more like 50-50 on a tighter course, so the risk of being cut up by the cyclists is much more part of the “fun”. Good hearing and peripheral vision helps!
Apart from those two climbs this was a pretty speedy race, particularly at the end as you zig-zag down the final field to the finish, with the cyclists whizzing past. In the end 168 ran, 31 cycled and 1 e-cycled, thus 200 in total.
But these are mere numbers, the highlight was yet to come. This race makes me about as happy to part with £10 as is possible, because that gives you the race, a donation to three local charities (including Mountain Rescue), the sofas and the fire, and as much post-race cake, sandwich and hot caffeinated beverages as can be reasonably consumed. Below a picture of a fraction of the spread from a previous year, I was too busy stuffing my face to get the camera out this time.
Many thanks as always to Ted Mason, Wharfedale Harriers and Appletreewick village for organising and hosting this event, a mid-winter classic
These are not just fell runners, these are North Leeds fell runners
A couple of weeks after my Paddy Buckley Round on 10th/11th June 2023, I’m feeling alright – a little tired and in the midst of that, really pleased. What a brilliant feeling, I’ve done it! I moved through and over 47 copaon/peaks in Eryri/Snowdonia with a sense most of the time of confidence and pleasure. It was enjoyable hard work. I know the time of 29 hours 24 minutes is slow, but I don’t sense I could have gone much faster.
The Paddy Buckley was devised in 1982 by Paddy Buckley and first run by Wendy Dodds in a time of 25 hours 35 minutes. It comprises 100.5 km (62.4 miles) distance, 47 copaon and 8700m of ascent. It is the Welsh round of ‘The Big Rounds” alongside the Bob Graham (England) and the Charlie Ramsey (Scotland), and takes in the Moelwynion, Carneddau, Glyderau, Yr Wyddfa massif and Nantlle ranges. You can start at any point on the round, and there is no time limit.
BEFORE
Training for my Paddy Buckley commenced in February 2017 with a first foray with Matt, running in the torrential rain from Capel Curig to Llyn Ogwen along the bottom of the cwm (valley) and then back again over the Carneddau. I’ve had in mind many ideas — some derived from my Bob Graham in May 2016 — which I wanted to explore in my Paddy Buckley training. These included:
strengthening my feet so I didn’t need insoles anymore
sorting out my back
doing training and fitness differently
managing thoughts and feelings differently and more effectively
knowing the mynyddoed / mountains and the route map-free
using the Paddy Buckley as an opportunity to start learning Cymraeg (Welsh)
starting the actual Round in the morning (hopefully after a good night’s sleep)
and however tough it feels, to hold in mind the sense of adventure of it all
Since that first run in 2017, I have spent many days and nights in Eryri, walking and running alone or with friends and family, staying in hostels and cottages, campsites and wild camping. A lot of time moving and being with people: perfect. Over the last 11 months before tapering, my training has included 160 hours and 640km in the mynyddoed, 200 hours and 1730km of general off-road running, 260 hours and 2000km of general walking and cycling, and 160 hours of general conditioning. Although those figures indicate something about the quantity of the preparation, in the end what felt most important to me was the quality of the preparation, and in particular aiming for movement quality.
I first learnt the route clockwise, but then I had a revelation on Tryfan, in which I realised there was no way I wanted to descend Tryfan in the early hours towards the back of the round. I instead learnt the route anti-clockwise, eventually settling on starting at 8am from Pont Aberglaslyn, which technically put Tryfan about half-way round (and made it an ascent). It also put my night section on the Yr Wyddfa massif with its relatively straightforward navigation.
THE DAY
So, to the actual day. I woke up after a perfect six hours of solid sleep to a hot day with the potential of thunder and rain later in the day (this was the first rain advertised for weeks!). I felt OK and got on with breakfast, warming-up and final faffing. I had in mind a couple of things. One: the first 12 hours were to be “easy” and that all my training was about getting me through the second set of 12 hours. Two: finishing within 24 hours would be a dream and the potential of going over 24 hours was also fine. There was real comfort in these thoughts.
**
Leg 1: Pont Aberglaslyn to Capel Curig
Clock time: 08:03 to 15:39
Cumulative time: 7 hours and 36 minutes
Pacers: John and Dave
I left Pont Aberglaslyn with a nice spring in my step. All was going well ascending Cnicht until both John and Dave were obviously beginning to struggle, I assume because of the heat. After some worried thoughts and then some problem-solving on the move, I made the decision to leave John and some of our supplies in the Rhosydd quarry, and Dave and I made our way round the loop taking in Moelwyn Bach and Moelwyn Mawr. One of my favourite though brief sections on the Paddy Buckley is on an old quarry track above Llyn Stwlan and just under Moelwyn Mawr, which in my opinion is best done in a clockwise direction. It lived up to my expectations.
An hour and half later, we picked up John again at the quarry and made our way to Llyn Conglog. We separated there, with me heading to Allt-fawr, and John and Dave picking up more water, cooling down and then contouring around to meet me at the top of Moel Drumman. John and I left Dave then in order to pick up some speed to get to Capel Curig, but I was a little cautious having experienced some small twinges of cramp. In hindsight, it would have been useful before the Round to have devised some more creative solutions to managing the water over such a long leg on a hot day.
The other disappointment for me was one of my few bits of “anxious navigation” when it came to locating Moel Meirch. I knew exactly where it was and how to get there, which is fine when practicing, but on the day other pressures are of course in play. I ended up taking in an extra small peak in the jumble of features up there, just before Moel Meirch. It only cost a minute or so extra, but I felt disappointment all the same that as soon as I knew I wasn’t quite on track, I hadn’t taken the time to stop, properly orientate myself and navigate in the here and now, rather than desperately trying to remember. The next two and half hours were incident-free, with John consistently giving me food and liquid.
I made to Capel Curig feeling good, a bit thirsty but with no aches or pains. My original intention was not to stop but just pick up supplies and eat on the move. But I knew I needed to stop, if only to re-jig myself after what felt like a difficult start to the Round. The changeover was lovely with family and friends there and getting pampered. Chocolate milk, a tin of fruit, an electrolyte tablet and a dressing for the beginnings of a blister (interesting how I never had any blisters in training). There was another Paddy Buckley Round going on and its crew were waiting for their runner to come in on his final leg. One of his support crew came up with a beaming smile, put his arm around me and said some really encouraging things to me. With quick goodbyes to everyone, shouts of encouragement being yelled, I left Capel Curing with Ian and Adam, feeling just so excited about the whole adventure.
**
Leg 2 Capel Curig to Llyn Ogwen
Clock time: 15:39 to 20:06 including 10 minutes changeover at the start
Cumulative time: 12 hours and 3 minutes
Pacers: Adam and Ian
Again all was going fine until half-way up Pen Llithrig Y Wrach when I noticed Adam struggling behind. No need to worry, Ian had already spoken with Adam and got him to contour round to Bwlch Y Tri Marchog, whilst Ian and I continued up Pen Llithrig y Wrach. I continued up Pen yr Helgi Du, whilst Ian sorted out supplies with Adam and then caught me up 10 minutes or so later. I was very pleased to see him. I became conscious of the need to stop thinking about events so far, and I said to myself “the past is the past, and all I’ve got to do right now is focus on now and pick it up a bit”. I had the sense that I could now settle down and try to get on with the business of striding out with a bit of jogging where I could. The heat was draining and I don’t think I got any faster, but I was certainly more focussed.
Ian was brilliant. Whatever I did, he just increased his walking stride length which made me giggle. The only time I saw him run was on the downhills! Getting food down (gels, crunchy oat biscuits, vegan jerky) was becoming interesting now, as I had so little saliva, so I created the delightful technique of chewing, then a mouthful of liquid, creating a slurry and then swallowing it. I had planned to have something to eat every 15 minutes but in the end having something permanently in my hand to nibble on worked better.
It felt fabulous to be coming off Pen yr Ole Wen to be met by Phil and Jess and to run to the car park at Llyn Ogwen. A swift stop, shoulders and legs being massaged by my son Ray, change of blister dressing and socks. Flask of tea, chocolate milk, another electrolyte tablet, and tin of fruit to drink and eat. I also put on my race vest in order to carry some liquid and food, to make it easier for Matt, him being my only pacer and as we were about to go over some particularly tough terrain. It was good to be with Matt. I was reassured because of all the shared experience and knowledge that we have developed over all the time of being and training together in Eryri.
**
Leg 3 Llyn Ogwen to Llanberis
Clock time: 20:06 to 01:55 including 10 minutes changeover at start
Cumulative time: 17 hours and 52 minutes
Pacer: Matt
My son Jackson walked with us halfway up Tryfan carrying my flask of tea and a tin of fruit. A quick recant to Matt of events so far, and then we acknowledged that the rockiest bit of the Round was going to be slower with the rain and darkness setting in. We really had to concentrate the whole way round from Tryfan, over and down Far South Peak, up Glyder Fach, and around Castell y Gwynt to Glyder Fawr. The rocks were so greasy and of course night was falling. If you’re familiar with the terrain of the Glyderau, you’ll know you really don’t want to trip or fall up there! But from Glyder Fawr, the rain stopped and on our way down to Llyn Cwn we could relax for the first time. What a few hours … what a sense of relief!
On our way up Y Garn, Matt commented that he was concerned that we could easily end up just walking the rest of the Round. I reassured him (and myself) that quicker movement would come. It felt like we made good time from there onwards and we got into our usual focussed and yet relaxed style of moving over the mynyddoed. There was just enough residual light in the sky to pick out features. Calculating that Leg 1 was a half hour over our expected time, Leg 2 was an hour and half over and this Leg was likely to be nearly 2 hours over, we calculated that the 24-hour Round was now not do-able and settled in for an estimated 30 hour round. I asked myself: surely 30 hours is enough?! Anyway, it felt like a realistic and achievable aim. We arrived at my favourite bit of Leg 3 on the top of Elidir Fawr. Just for a moment when you’re there, you can sense feeling really high up, tiny, alone and exposed. As we came off Elidir Fach with its Owain Glyndwr flag fluttering, the lights of Llanberis suddenly emerged below, providing a useful sight-line off. We then made our way to the high voltage cable route through the quarry, through the old wheel-houses, inclines and the modern cable housing, down to the car park at Llanberis.
We were greeted by the core support crew of my friend Tom, my wife Di and my sons Jackson and Ray. Everyone else had gone back to the cottage near Llanfrothen to rest up and sleep. The first thing was that we all agreed that 30-hours was feasible. Tom probably saw a momentary flicker of doubt across my face and said “you’ve come here to do the Paddy Buckley, so let’s get you on with it”. More tea, chocolate milk and this time chips, pizza and an onion bhaji from the Llanberis Tandoori take-away, along with a new discovery, a carton of custard. Wow, did the chips, custard and greasy onion bhaji feel good! Hugs from the team were also beginning to feel really important. For the first time, I was beginning to feel the tiredness. Matt had been given new supplies. Di walked with us whilst I continued eating to the Llanberis main bus stop and then Matt and I continued on our way.
**
Leg 4 Llanberis to Pont Cae’r Gors
Clock time: 01.55 to 08:02 including 10 minutes changeover at start
Cumulative time: 23 hours and 59 minutes
Pacer: Matt
We made our way through the estate and out to the foot of Moel Eilio. A new route up the first chunk of Moel Eilio brought us to the fence line which travels to the top. We were accompanied by a beautiful orange half-moon in the east and the sound of skylarks singing. It’s always strange to hear skylarks singing in the dark. There was a dream-like quality as we made our way towards Yr Wyddfa, and a comfortable silence between us: we only spoke to confirm the copaon. Matt kept producing bits of Cliff bar for me to slowly eat as we moved along. We climbed consistently up another favourite, Bwlch Carreg y Gigfran (the Pass of the Raven Stone) which has a lovely rock formation of one rock appearing to be balancing on top of another. From here we were beginning to notice we were no longer alone. We could see that Yr Wyddfa was full of people and indeed there was a queue to Yr Wyddfa at 5.00am! As we dropped down from Moel Cynghorion to the Snowdon Ranger Path and up Clogwyn Du’r Arddu, we joined this throng, which was strange to say the least, and my social skills and desire to say hello were lacking. I left the greetings to Matt.
My memory on approaching Carneed Ugain was that I was incapable of working out what I was really doing. I couldn’t connect the previous sunny day, the rainy night-time that we’d just emerged from and this new sunny day. I felt pretty confused all round. I was also beginning to experience pain in my legs going downhill, so there was a lot of using my arms whenever I had the chance to lever myself down. Heading south from Yr Wyddfa we lost all the other people and we could see that the lowland was shrouded in mist. It was funny to think of the support team hanging around in that mist down in Pont Cae’r Gors whilst we were in the bright morning light . We made good time down to Craig Wen. Over the years Matt and I have practiced coming off Craig Wen many times, the map just doesn’t do justice to the terrain on the ground. It felt good to confidently and competently make our way down. It took an hour over what it had taken me before, but it was lovely to be greeted by John, Ian and everyone else and to see that the mist had lifted. More tea, chocolate milk, some paracetamol and tins of fruit. Matt emptied some of the rucksack of extras we reckoned we wouldn’t need and was given just enough supplies for the final leg.
**
Leg 5 Pont Cae’r Gors to Pont Aberglaslyn
Clock time: 08:02 to 13:28 including 10 minutes changeover at the start
Cumulative time: 29 hours 24 minutes to complete
Pacer: Matt
Admittedly my memory is not that clear of this leg, I just have a few fragments. I remember thinking “ah … the final leg” and having the sense that I could do this under 30 hours. I was concerned about what the heat might have in store for us but I also knew that we had trained many times before in such heat. I remember Matt at one point saying he was really tired and that he would be quiet for a bit, and that I should just ask if I needed anything. I remember getting the map out a lot more, not necessarily to look at, more as holding a security-blanket (anxious navigation!) in my hand. The thought of making a mistake now was not a good one. I remember at one point saying to Matt I was struggling to co-ordinate my legs and arms. I felt like I had to think about how to run (the last thing I wanted or needed to be doing). I remember that there was no rhyme or reason to my running, it didn’t appear to be related to fluid or food intake or the terrain. I would run for what felt like 10 minutes, feel just great and then suddenly all that would evaporate.
I discovered the delight of the more subtle SIS gels (compared to the full flavour intensity of High 5 gels) redueced into the ‘slurry’ with a crunchy biscuit. This was a perfect blend which went down very easily. I remember the time we moved into the cloud on Moel yr Ogof and experiencing a cooling relief, but literally in those 30 seconds, had managed to come off Ogof slightly differently than usual. This was tiredness taking its toll. Map and compass were definitely needed, and luckily Matt also recognised a familiar wall and we were then back on track. After the steep climb up Moel Hebog, the route off was great. All my pain had magically disappeared, all the familiar landmarks were in place: the three piles of stones, the single upright stone on the edge, the stunted Christmas tree, the grassy shoot down to Cwm Cyd, and then the familiar path over to Bryn Banog. Despite the many times of going over Bryn Banog over the years, I realised in these final moments of my Paddy Buckley, that I didn’t really know which of the three capaon was the defined top. I made a last and final check of the map for the Round (this time not “anxious navigation” but “thoughtful navigation”) which indicated the actual top, was not the one I usually summitted. A quick out and back was required.
So, the final decent down to Coed Aberglaslyn, heading away from the usual Paddy Buckley route, thus avoiding bracken-bashing, and down to a path we named in the past Y Llwybr Suran (the Sorrel Path), famed for its patches of thirst-quenching sorrel. Phil, Jess and Dave met us just above Coed Aberglaslyn, joining us on a fast descent through the woods onto the A498 and then a quick 100m run back to Pont Aberglaslyn.
Man, did I feel good. I was delighted. What an amazing time. I was tired and I had no pain. Fantastic.
Of course, none of this could have been done without other people joining me in training, pacing, being in the support crew and generally being encouraging. A big diolch yn fawr iawn to them.
Upon reflection, I’ve realised there’s an emerging and comforting pattern and consistency to my performance on the big rounds. Fastest time for the Bob Graham, 12:23; me 23:42. Fastest time for the Paddy Buckley, 15:14; me 29:24. So I’m coming in at just under double the fastest times. Fastest time for the Charlie Ramsey, 14:42; me … hey, watch this space.
It’s a balmy easter bank holiday weekend in Wardle village, and the R.O. has just done about his fifth lap of the square encouraging all runners to drink plenty of water (the dangers of heat exposure are real, folks, he’s seen it before on this race, etc, etc). Even the whiteboards at registration advise that there’s no mandatory kit today, but that water is recommended. In Phil Davies’ words: a heat stroke warning at 15°C might just be the most British thing ever! On a very pleasant warm-up jog to the reservoir and back we’ve discovered that there’s a decent breeze though, and I’d go as far as to say conditions are pretty much perfect. The Marathon des Sables it is not.
Image by Paul Taylor
I do my usual trick of setting off mid-pack but starting fairly strongly, gradually making up places on the run out of the village and on the first climb up Brown Wardle. I manage to get behind a Rochdale Harrier shortly after as well, and get the unexpected bonus of a few nice alternative lines to follow. After the second climb up Middle Hill the route undulates over the next few hills and I start to slow down and lose a couple of spots but the route is excellent, the views open up going over Rough Hill and a distant Stoodley Pike is visible on the horizon.
Image by Steve Taylor
An only partially-healed blister I picked up the weekend before starts to burn on the long descent back towards Wardle and my heel, which is propped on a bag of frozen sweetcorn as we speak, starts to twinge worryingly (excuses excuses!). I’m not carrying enough speed downhill and lose a few more positions over a painfully long section of lethal cobbles. The route description promised a sting in the tail and a draggy climb of around a kilometre on tarmac delivers a tough finish. With the village square in sight I hear feet closing in behind me and manage to find a sprint finish to cross the line without losing another place. After catching my breath I look up to see that Phil has come in just behind me after a strong descent.
Image by Paul Taylor
As we all know, the post-race spread is crucial, and the scout hut put on a terrific array of cakes. Sadly I didn’t have a brew so I’m unable to confirm the type of tea on offer, though this was Lancashire so we should probably fear the worst. The real drama of the day was that the front runners all managed to miss the tag drop at Rough Hill though, and our own Jonathan Coney looked set to be denied a brilliant sixth-place finish as a result. The world held its breath…until Thursday morning when the official results dropped and confirmed no disqualifications! There may yet be protests from the first of the tag-less finishers, a formal enquiry, and almost certainly rioting in the streets of Wardle. Watch this space!
9am and I’m woken by Ollie knocking on the door. I’m still in my pyjamas and still in bed. I’ve been snoozing the alarm since 8.30, desperately grasping for the last remnants of sleep, all the while wondering why the hell I’d signed up for a fell race the morning after our Christmas do? I gather my racing vest and various layers from the radiators, open the door to a far-too-chipper Ollie then pile into the car to head off to the race, just about below the legal limit.
Mytholmroyd fell race is the last of the races organised by Calder Valley Fell Runners and is a popular end of season jaunt. It’s reasonably short (~6 miles long), of middling steepness (category B) and flagged for most of the way, making it a good race for those still new to racing. It’s a good one for a December Sunday morning, getting you out in the mud and cold before returning home for a roast dinner and a curl up by the fire… or so I’d thought when I’d entered a few weeks ago. Last Sunday though, queuing outside Mytholmroyd cricket clubhouse, shivering in the cold and drizzle with my head slowly throbbing, I was regretting my hubris. “Maybe I should just wait in the car and snooze off the hangover”, I thought.
I forced myself through the requisite kit check (and dashed back to the car to retrieve my whistle: it’s always the whistle I forget) then joined the steady jog half a mile along the canal to the start line. Here, I found the rest of the black and blues – 10 of us in total – each in various states of freshness reflecting the amount of alcohol consumed the night before.
I half-listened to the race briefing with the coffee starting to kick in and my faculties slowly returning, then made a panic change out of my pyjama top which I’d accidentally left under my Helly-Hansen and vest an hour earlier. I chucked it to nearby Will Hall who’d come along to spectate and got ready for my first fell race since the fell relays in October.
Look, no pyjamas
The start of Mytholmroyd is steep and hellish, but it demands a sprint off the gun if you’re to avoid the inevitable bottlenecks as over a hundred and fifty runners vie for a single track. The horn blew and I sprinted off among the front runners, who were quickly reduced to walking pace by the gradient, up and out of the Red Acre woods, through the fields on our way onto the top of the moor. I had the usual early race thoughts of “this pace is insane, there’s no way I’m not going to die” and at one point almost chucked up some of last night’s pizza. But the race calmed as it always does and once on top, I settled into my running, along well marked and runnable footpaths, catching a glimpse of Harry well out in front and leading proceedings. Here, the races-within-the-race began and I sized up who I felt I could stay with, who was OK to let go, and who under no circumstances I would allow to beat me.
Not even halfway up the hellish start
We headed across the moor to Crow Hill, then down a furious descent that broke up any happy rhythm, dibbed, then contoured along the base of the moor, up the charming Ludden Valley. I’ve gotten into a bad habit recently of dawdling in the middle third of races, as the race breaks up into little groups and the pace softens a touch. Mytholmroyd was no exception and my thoughts wandered away from the race, back to hazy glimpses of last night’s revelry. Oh god did we do shots? Why are my arms so sore? Oh yeah, the pullup challenge.Whose idea was that?! Hmm… did we get a kebab? God I’m hungry…
This final thought was enough to get me back into the present. I opened my bumbag to fish for the gel I knew to be in there. I was struggling to feel for it with my mittens on, so stopped to take them off and have a proper look. Two runners ran past while I searched. Frustratingly, I found no sustenance anywhere. I zipped up the bumbag and carried on, three places down, no calories up.
A set of steep wooden steps took us the direct and vertical route back up onto the moor. The drizzle had abated by now and patches of sunlight dappled the heather. I was feeling a little overdressed. Gaps opened up and I retook the places I’d lost, then set my sights on the red and white vest of the Calder Valley runner ahead. Maybe just the thought of a gel had been enough for a second wind, more likely it was the actual wind, blowing now from behind and pushing us back along the Calderdale Way to home. The final descent retraced our original ascent and was fast and furious. The gorse lined path shredded my legs, the stone slabs that followed were like an ice rink in the wet, and the final muddy fields almost put me on my arse. I loved every bit of it. I tumbled my way down to the finish line and a respectable 13th place, annoyingly pipped on the line by a local Todmorden Runner, whose footsteps had hounded me every step of the descent. Harry was waiting at the finish line fully clothed in layers and looking like he’d been back a while. “Yeah, I won” he said with a grin when I asked him.
Aye, Harry won (well done Harry) but 13th place on a hangover isn’t too shabby
Back at the cricket club, a cup of homemade soup and rye bread warmed us up, as did the awards, where Niamh, Harry and myself won the fastest mixed team prize – a great win for North Leeds holding off the organisers Calder Valley Fell Runners. Harry won the overall and Niamh the V40 women and collected their tins of chocolates. Among the runners there were smiles all round – hard not to when you get a free beer for finishing – and gratitude to CVFR who put on another enjoyable race. I was grinning too: it turns out fell racing is the best cure for a hangover.
It started with a handful of club runners, then slowly but surely, the word spread, a Whatsapp group was created and a few months later 24 fresh legs stood at the bottom of Dunmail Raise ready for a three-day Bob Graham Round.
The Bob Graham Round (BGR) is a renowned route in the Lakes that takes in 42 peaks over 66 miles and 27,000 ft of climb. To join the Bob Graham 24 Hour Club you must (spoiler alert) complete the route in 24 hours. But we thought a “leisurely” three-day attempt would be a good place to start.
The Round is split into five legs, starting and finishing in Keswick. As we needed accommodation every 20 miles or so, we did a slightly different version and started at leg 3 from Dunmail Raise which gave us:
Day 1 Dunmail to Wasdale: 15miles, 6640ft
Day 2 Wasdale to Keswick: 20.8miles ,7171ft
Day 3 Keswick to Dunmail: 25.2miles, 11,145ft
With it being close to the summer solstice weekend we were blessed with long days, green fells, lark song, and mild weather. For many of us this was our first attempt at piecing together all 5 legs and luckily we had some top notch navigators in the group. While the common experiences were enjoying each other’s company, sore knees and consuming more snacks than you could ever imagine, we each have a tale to tell…
HELEN FREEMAN
Never have I ever eaten so many calories in 3 days! Perks of long-distance running! Sausage rolls, crisps, battenbergs, crisps, satsumas, crisps, Snickers, crisps, bananas. Did I mention crisps? Plus, double pub dinners, living the high life. Sore knees resulted in a few descents on the derriere and day three soggy bogs resulted in some seriously wrinkled toes! Thank you Caroline for the dry socks and Phil for day 3 company. The best thing about doing the BGR is how you get to know the skyline ahead and behind you. I’m proud to say I can now stand atop Helvellyn and name the peaks in my view.
NIAMH JACKSON
Ah…The Bob Graham Round. Already I’m viewing this adventure with rose-tinted spectacles and only remembering the moments of euphoria and fun. But everygreat adventure brings challenges and I had mine. For me, it was Hell’s Fell or more commonly known as Halls Fell and our chosen descent off Blencathra. My, I was not happy! I started to lose faith in my shoes and felt quite nervous. Thanks to Andy and Helen for patiently guiding me down and not making me feel like a complete idiot. But back to the good stuff (and there was plenty of it): one of my highlights was the injection of energy from new people joining the group on day 2 (take a bow, Hilary, Sheelagh, Caroline and Ian) and Phil on day 3. It really lifted my spirits seeing these guys. Tips for next time? Ear plugs (in case we have the grave misfortune of having a stag party opposite our YHA room again) and more comfortable shoes. Mudclaws were not a wise choice. Thanks to the whole group: you were all magnificent. Special mentions though to Emma the trooper, Helen the captain of chirp and Adam the entertainer/cameraman.
EMMA LANE
The Bob Graham Round is something I’ve been wanting to do (over a few days) for a long time, so I jumped at the opportunity. I was extremely nervous, mostly because we had planned to do it in one big group. I’m certainly not the fastest runner in the club and I knew there were going to be loads of speedy people for me to attempt to keep up with! As it turned out, it was a steady, social pace and my nerves settled almost straight away.
Recap:
Day One: Banter, food, sunshine, food, rain, mist, food. I fell over on Great End and split my knee open (again). That was fun. Thanks to Phil for the first aid and to the others for reassurance/putting up with me. Bigger thanks to the girls for letting me have the double bed all to myself in the hostel!
Day Two: £60 taxi, West Cumberland A&E, a doctor scrubbing the inside of my knee with a toothbrush, 5 stitches and a lot less food. Massive thanks to Hilary (aka Mum?—ed) for driving miles to collect me and saving me a small fortune.
Day Three: More banter, more food, a few tears descending Halls Fell (with Helen kindly reminding me that tears weren’t going to help me down!). STUNNING views, numerous pairs of sore knees, a fair bit of swearing, great company and the feeling of joy in finishing.
Same time next year?
PHIL DAVIES
Days completed: 2 (legs 3-5)
Musings:
For some reason I had it in my head that it would be good practice, though I’m still not entirely sure what for, to follow suit with a few of the party who were carrying full packs for the weekend in preparation for their upcoming Mountain Marathon. The realisation that this was not a good idea and entirely unnecessary hit me about three quarters of the way up Steel Fell, roughly fifteen minutes into the weekend.
The rough weather forecasted for the afternoon of the first day turned what were lovely vistas into a bitterly cold, closed-in day. At no point did it escape me that while the rest of the country was experiencing a heatwave, we were in some truly miserable mountain weather.
Down to some misplaced exuberance, a nice stretch of downhill coming off High Raise, and ultimately a deceptively deep bog, I soon found myself muttering expletives whilst trying to walk off a sprained ankle. It would ultimately cause me to call it quits at the end of day two, having hobbled and cursed my way down Robinson.
Now I’ve got my grumblings out of the way, it’s worth saying that the weekend was lots of fun with great company. Legs 3 and 4 are challenging but beautiful and I’m already keen to go back and revisit them.
Kudos & thanks: Fair play to Emma for trooping through to Wasdale YHA, having cut her knee open on the top of Scafell Pike – impressive stuff! And for coming back for more on the final day too. Big thank you to Hilary for kindly lending me some poles for Leg 5, it really helped take the weight off the ankle. And thank you to everyone who joined, both for the full weekend and in part, and made it a wholly enjoyable experience.
Dan icing his knees with an innovative system of buffs.
DAN STARKEY
I have just started to recover from the Bob Graham three-day event, my knees are still slightly swollen, thats almost six months of recovery. However, it was one of the best adventures I have had in my running career and I almost certainly put the injury I sustained down to my own lack of conditioning for this epic.
If my memory serves me well, it was approximately a marathon a day for three days straight, with an enormous amount of climbing on steep sharp fells.
I very much enjoyed every minute of the trip, apart from the final descent back to Dunmail Raise when I could no longer actually run due to the pain in my knees. I especially enjoyed the company of the fellow NLFRs including Nodders who was very cheerful throughout and appeared to be filming the whole thing (release date?), singing Cumbria Ma Lord, Cumbriaah with Andy and a special shout out to Caroline for providing dry socks!
Immediately after we finished I was so psyched for long-distance running (despite my injury) that I entered into the Kong Mountain Marathan on Arran, which I later had to pull out of. Next time I will make sure I am ready for this type of trip before embarking upon it. No regrets though. 🙂
IAN FURLONG
Here are some photos!
Big thanks to Helen Freeman for being the Bob Graham write-up High Sheriff
To be able to do the Three Peaks Fell Race, runners have to finish two qualifier races. So this time last year I started hunting down qualifier races and used them for training and to see if I was ‘ard enough for the actual event.
Jumping in at the deep end, I chose Tour of Pendle 2021. My first AL (bloody steep (“A”) and long (“L”)) race. Mud, sweat, tears (of pride at the end). Tick. Next qualifier wasn’t til March; Coledale Horseshoe. AM (bloody steep (“A”), not as long as Pendle (“M”)). I got overtaken by a chump in a cowboy hat. Less mud, more sweat, no tears. Tick.
I’d qualified. Oh shit. Now I had to enter! And even worse, run the bloody three peaks. I’d tried two of them together in February and despite copious pork pie scoffing and friendly company I had a tough time of it. Other training runs had me trotting three of the peaks in the Wicklow Mountains whilst visiting friends, stomping round the forests of Fontainbleau on a climbing trip, running from Meanwood to Harrogate Baths for a well-deserved soak, and jogging the espresso round (spoiler, you don’t get a free espresso at the end from the café, the bastards).
The Three Peaks Fell Race day came. I got round just within the cut-offs, and had lots of jolly faces to support me along the way. It was great to get it in the bag and be part of such an amazing and inspiring event. But the thing I noticed 10km in was that I hadn’t really done a single training run on my own, and I so missed having a buddy to share snacks and chats with and not worry about the time.
And so began “Chats Not Stats”.
I deleted Strava and pencilled in some long-run adventures with all my favourite running pals and entered a handful more ALs. Some highlights were the Bob Graham Round over three days with the club, the Ilkley Skyline, the Wharfedale Three Peaks, a stunning ridge run on holiday in Spain, a few very sweaty summer Lakeland and Dales races, and to finish what we started on the Espresso Round I did the Tea Round with the BGR girls.
To book-end this year of long runs, I ran Tour of Pendle again, and guess what… I did it in pretty much the same time. Which goes to show, you don’t need a year of long runs to drag your ass round an AL. Just get out there and do it!
Top 5 things I learned this year:
Don’t put red sauce on your pre-run sausage butty, it leaves a funny vinegar taste in your mouth which no amount of jelly babies can get rid of.
Do keep on top of your salts (I’m looking at you Emma Lane), and if you don’t like the taste go for the tequila shot method; salt, water, lemon fizzy sweet.
Do bring spare dry socks to avoid white wrinkly bog-ridden toes.
Do have lots to eat (Niamh’s tip is: if you’re in a grump it’s probably because you need a feed… which means I need a lot of feeds!)
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