6am arrived and I rose, showered, dressed, and exited, heading down to the start area and the hall where we would congregate prior to setting off.
We got our GPS trackers attached to our race packs, so the race people and those at home could follow our every move. Then we just stood around nervously chatting and glancing at the clock on the wall waiting for 07:45 when we would be ushered out into the cold ready for the 08:00 start.
Finally, Father Time got a bit bored and signaled to the organisers that we aught to be on our way, so we were herded out of the warm hall and into the crisp morning gloom.
The weather forecast for today was very cold and crisp and it was true to its word. A heavy frost lay over the light covering of snow that was already there. We made our way over to the start area and waited for the off.
We set off up the hill in Edale, the air was cold, but there was the odd spit in the air. I was wearing my windproof shell at this point as I wanted maximum breathability, but as no rain was forecast this should be fine, Wrong! Within 30 minutes of the start it started sleeting really hard. I stopped behind the shelter of a wall (copied by many other runners) and donned my full waterproof gear.
The sleet quickly turned to snow and as we climbed higher full blizzard conditions arrived.Navigation in these conditions became "interesting" and I took a small detour before realising the rest of the field was heading in a different way, so about turn I went.
We continued over Kinder, the snow had abated a bit now but was a good 6 inches on the ground, with drifts of over 2 feet in places. The slabs over Featherbed moss were not visible, but it was obvious to me which way to go, being near the back of the pack I had plenty of foot prints to follow.
Over Snake Pass we went and I briefly stopped to put on my "Yaktracks" which would hopefully stop me from slipping so much. They worked really well but did keep moving around on my boots, requiring me to keep having to pause and re-position them. Over Bleaklow we went, stopping once to confirm the direction with my GPS as the way wasn't obvious in the snow, but all was ok and we were spot on.
I descended to Torside reservoir where the next small monitoring post was, I scrounged some water from a support crew as I had nearly ran out, and then continued on my way towards Black hill.
Climbing back up into the snow line, things were much the same as on Kinder, but no blizzard, just lovely snow and a crisp silence.
Over the top of Black hill I started the final descent towards Wessenden where Jeff and Cathy would be waiting for our first pit stop. I arrived at the road, I couldn't see them so I carried on assuming they were at the car park we had used on our recce weekend months before. I was powering along the road when I saw the familiar shape of Jeff calling me back. They were on the main road after all, just a bit along, so I cut the corner and headed back down to them.
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| Coming into the first crew stop at Wessenden. |
Arriving at the van, I quickly sorted out what I wanted to do. A sock change, a bite to eat, replenish my food and water for the night ahead and to slip on another layer as the temperature was dropping. Then off into the night I went.
This next section was another load of high moorland. Still with snow on the ground, the going wasn't too bad, and the light from my head torch was magnified by the snow meaning I could have it on a lower setting to conserve the battery.
Dropping off the moor to the marshal point of Harrop dale, I just showed my number and blasted straight over and back up to the dark moorland. In my mind the next thing to look out for was the sharp left turn before the sweeping right towards the white house pub. Across the moorland I went, it seemed to be going on for ever, no landmarks as such, just a bleak snowy nothingness with a path in the middle.
I saw what looked like a large post up ahead. Ahh I thought, this must be the left turn, although the post must be new as I didn't remember it from the recce, but I suppose it is put there so people don't miss the turn. I carried on, the post kept drifting in and out of visibility in the dark misty air, dimly silhouetted against the dark sky. It didn't seem to be getting any nearer - it was just there in front of me but I could never reach it.
Eventually I went over a small crest of ground and the story was laid out in front of me. There was a car park, complete with mountain rescue monitoring crew, a burger van, the M62 in the background and what I thought was a marker post turned out to be the 300ft tall windy hill transmitter!
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| Windy hill transmitter and car park (in the summer) |
Much of the snow was now gone, or very much on the way out, rapidly being replaced by treacherous ice, both water that had frozen, but also snow that had compacted down and made glassy smooth by the light rain that was now falling. Crossing the M62 over the purpose built footbridge, I was warned to keep to the left as this was less icy - it was still icy and I slipped my way across, but at least I was on the best side according to the people I met.
Up over the other side of the M62 I climbed up to Blackstone edge, a very rocky and confusing place in the dark, but managed to find my way down the other side, and eventually to the real sharp left turn that I had so longingly looked for earlier, following the path down and around, to the White House pub, out of bounds to Spiners, but in the car park I had another hot beverage supplied by the mountain rescue people manning this point (a hot blackcurrant juice if you are interested).
The next section was pretty flat as it skirts the reservoirs on the way to Stoodley pike, this was easy ground until the path peters out near the pike and you have to pick your own way up. I took a bit of a wrong turn here (or rather I didn't turn and went straight up) this was a mistake as it led to a 200 meter section of boggy, uneven ground. I hopped (as best I could) from tousle to tousle, trying to avoid the wet mess between them, to make matters worse some poor chap had followed me into this soggy place. I battled on, veering slightly right towards higher (and hopefully dryer) ground, glancing back it was clear my follower was checking his navigation. I should have but I knew if I could get above it things would improve, which indeed they did and I trotted off towards Stoodley pike monument which I could see looming in the distant darkness. I never saw my follower again, despite repeated glances back for his light.
All this soggy ground was starting to affect my feet. I could feel they were wet, I was pretty sure the boots had started to leak, especially the left one, although some wetness also seemed to be coming over the top of the boots. Having wet feet at this early stage wasn't great, but I would check them at the next crew meeting near the first main Checkpoint.
Descending into Hebden Bridge was uneventful (although I thought I had missed a turning and was cursing myself on now having to take a large detour along the road to regain the path), when I rounded the corner to see another mountain rescue monitoring point, it seems I was spot on again - awesome :-)
The climb up out of Hebden Bridge was quite intricate even though I had done it in the summer, and a bit of tricky navigating got me out onto the path across the fields, down the dip into the fairy glen, and then back over the fields onto the Slack road - at last I could turn off the Penning Way and head towards the main Checkpoint. I also knew Jeff and Cathy would be waiting along here so I could get re-fuelled and watered.
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| Arriving at the second crew point near Hebden Hey |
I ate the KFC they had kindly got me from the valley, topped up my hill food, donned Jeff's less muddy boots and headed out towards the legendary descent into the checkpoint proper. Yes it was a bit muddy after it had been churned up by most of the field of runners before me, but it was fairly straight forward, right a bit, then a sharp left for a fair way (over a tree trunk and under some annoyingly sharp holly), then right, and then finally left into the scout centre.
As I wondered in they took my number and got my drop bag, I proceeded into the conservatory to remove my (now very muddy) boots and gaiters, which is the rules, then I pottered into the hall to the kit area.
In my head this was to be a large hall with kit bags everywhere, stuff disgorged from them and loads of people milling around sorting themselves out. Well that is partly correct, except replace the large hall with a small box room and you get the idea.
I balanced my kit bag on the top of a pile of 10 other kit bags, grabbed some socks and my foot powder and made my way to the mens loos to sort out my feet. They were getting bad with a deep fissure developing in my left foot between the ball of the foot and the rest. I rubbed powder into them and donned my dry socks, this should help I thought to myself. I then tried to go to the loo, but the double dose of Imodium was still staunchly doing its job, so I gave that up as a bad job (pun intended).
I downed a mug of strong coffee while having a quick chat with a couple of fellow racers, then grabbed my stuff and back to the conservatory to head out. I was in a bit of a quandary about how I would get into the muddy conservatory to get my boots on while in just my socks, but one of the helpers located my boots for me, and we laid out my gaiters like stepping stones with the clean side up, and I used them to get to a seat while keeping my socks dry.
Complimented on my quick turnaround, I headed out into the night (this was about 04:30 Sunday morning by the way) and back up the muddy path with no dramas (although another racer did come a cropper at my feet as he descended rather quicker than he intended).
I headed back out onto the Slack road, past the van where Jeff and Cathy were snuggled up to sleep, and back onto the Pennine way.
The ground was now proper icy, hindering my every step, I was slipping and sliding all over the place, the stone slabs covered in a thick layer of glass-like ice. I descended slightly off this bit of moorland onto a very wet looking track - and Bam! I was on my back. It wasn't wet, it was a huge sheet of ice. I lay there for a couple of seconds, slightly winded, and checked for hurty bits, but I had landed on my pack which was fairly soft so everything seemed ok. Stumbling to my feet, my gloves now saturated and I could wring them out, I dug out my mitts and donned these instead.
Concentrating hard now so as not to slip over, I carried on my way. I recognised (only just) a bit where we had gone wrong due to too much chatting, and avoided that again, heading up past the obvious sign we had missed before. Now I was at the series of reservoirs heading towards Wadsworth moors and Withins Heights. I trotted along the path/track next to the reservoirs when there loomed out of the dark a track coming in on my left. Strange I thought, that shouldn't be there, so out came the map, and sure enough I was heading away from the correct path. Heading down this surprise path would mean I was back on track after a small detour so I followed it back down, and re-joined the Pennine way. A couple of smaller false paths eventually led to the correct path up into the moors.
As I rose again the path got increasingly icy, meaning I had to move much slower. I did think about putting on my ice spikes, but as the ice was intermittent with the stone slabs I thought it would take too much time taking them off and putting them back on again. With hindsight I should have just put them on and left them on, it would have been far safer and probably faster, but my thinking wasn't the most sensible of thinking after about 24 hours on the go.
Descending to Top Withens, the supposed sight of the house in Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, I paused on the bench outside to adjust my boots. My ankles had really started to hurt, Jeff's boots were obviously a different shape around the top, and my bony ankles were taking the brunt of it.
Dropping down to Ponden reservoir was uneventful as was the climb up the other side to cross Oakworth moor and Ickornshaw moor. These were both a mix of icy slabs and deep peat bogs. Several times I was up to my knees in the cold wet goo, but my momentum mainly got me free just as quickly. Descending from the moors into Cowling and farmers fields, the ground changed dramatically from peat moorland to cow churned fields, often plodding through endless fields of ankle deep mud, each step pulling you back, but at least it was daylight for a change so I could see where I was going.
Over one more hill and I was descending at last into Lothersdale which was the next meeting point for Jeff and Cathy. I hobbled into the village as my ankles were really hurting now and there they were right by the pub, parked up and rearing to help and assist me.
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| Arriving in Lothersdale |
I needed to sort out my feet now, there we no way I could carry on with Jeff's boots so opted to change back to my leaky ones. I changed socks again to prolong the dryness and did everything up, even now my ankle felt like it had more room to move. I would just have to put up with soggy feet for the rest of the race.
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| Changing my boots back to the more comfy ones. |
Not wanting to waste any of the precious daylight I was keen to get moving as quickly as possible, so without any more delay I was up and out. A quick ascent onto Elslack moor and Pinhaw Beacon and then heading back down to Thornton-in-Craven. I passed a chap handing out quality street, but I declined as I just didn't fancy chocolate. It is very strange how my tastes changed at various times during the race. Things I loved before I just couldn't face, and I craved other things that normally I wouldn't choose to eat. The rehydrated meals for instance. Usually I would not go to these by choice, but every time Jeff and Cathy presented me with one it was very welcome, even if I couldn't handle the full meal.
Lots of very undulating fields and mud later I reached the canal, and then crossed more very muddy fields (the site of the muck spreading area in the summer) and then I was in to Gargrave. Mentally Gargrave was a huge target. It was at about the 72 mile mark, but the last recce we did went from Gargrave to the finish so this was very fresh in my mind. I had also thought before the race that if I got to Gargrave then I would finish the race. This was a great boost.
Arriving in Gargrave Jeff and Cathy met me again. This was a stop we had planned at the last minute due to possible road closures caused by snow. The road was open but they kept this meet up in as agreed just as a bonus. It was starting to get dark again now and as I left them (after another rehydrated meal) I suddenly remembered my little red lights on the back of my pack. I called back to the van feebly but they didn't hear me, not wanting to walk back in the wrong direction all of 50 feet, I said to myself forget it, and carried onwards.
Walking up the road out of Gargrave I came across another racer coming down the road in the opposite direction. She said her feet were in a bad way and couldn't continue, I sympathised with her, it certainly wasn't easy under foot, and this next section across the fields and along the river would not be any let up to the wetness under foot. We parted, me heading up and her heading down (I think this was Maxine Lock according to the retirement lists).
Making sure I didn't miss the elusive right turn into the fields that I had already completely missed once, and nearly missed a second time on the 2 recces that went across these fields, I then trudged across the next set of waterlogged fields. All signs of snow and ice had now gone, and we were treated to a persistent light drizzle, My waterproofs were doing their job though and I was perfectly comfortable in the cold wet darkness.
The river was very high and I could hear its rushing and gurgling noises in the darkness, a bit disconcerting when you cannot actually see the water. I knew this part quite well, but it is still a long drag into Malham village.
Straight through the village I went, without stopping and heading up towards Malham cove and eventually Malham tarn where we had previously arranged with Jeff and Cathy I would stop for a short sleep. Heading into Malham cove I was really starting to feel tired now. I was 38 hours and 78 miles in and things were really turning strange. Ascending the steps next to the cove, they seemed to go on for ever, and I had started to feel my right knee twinging a bit. I flexed it back and forward which relieved it a bit. It didn't help that my coordination was also beginning to suffer. I would step up a step or two, but then lose a bit of balance and was forced to step backwards and down, only to attempt the step again, a sort of up 2 steps and down one. I got to the top of the cove, and still had the brainpower to navigate my way behind the limestone pavement, avoiding the worst of the slippery limestone.
And then the hallucinations started kicking in...
I had heard about these from other blogs. When you get to extreme tiredness your mind starts to play tricks on you. I was fully expecting this so wasn't unduly worried when I started to see all sorts of objects in the stony track. All rocks or stones took on some form or other, a face, squirrels, an alligator, an owl, a lizard, I was sort of smiling to myself, wondering what would be next. Luckily they were all immobile and I knew what was happening, so no dramas.
Coordination was still an issue, couple this with a hurty knee and the hallucinations and things slowed somewhat for the last mile into the meeting place. It was very foggy now, but I knew the way without too much problem, and eventually emerged from the fog to the sight of the twinkling fairy lights that was our van.
I was welcomed into the confines of the van, muddy boots, gaiters and over-trousers off. I shoved some food down my throat and then got ready for some much needed sleep. I just took off my jacket and a fleece and dived into my sleeping bag. Set the alarm for one hour please and that was it, but as soon as I laid down I was racked with a coughing fit, some gunge had built up on my lungs with all the heavy cold air breathing, and was rattling about as I laid there. After several minutes of wheezing and coughing things got a bit better and I must have slept a bit.
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| Having a sleep. I am in there somewhere. |
I think I got a bit disorientated as I came across what I thought was a track coming up from the tarn (a track which wasn't there the last time we were there) and started following it to the right, but then just to be sure I checked the GPS and it was actually the track leading to the next checkpoint, and I needed to be heading in the opposite direction. I turned round and headed the other way, the force was screaming to me that it was the other way, Soon enough I came across the pile of logs that I knew where there from before so I knew for definite I was heading the right way.
Skirting round the tarn I eventually arrived at the next checkpoint. This was just a hall with hot drinks and a toilet, no sleeping facilities like the main one, but as I said, it had a toilet, time for another try. This was about 2am Monday morning and the Imodium had been doing its stuff for about 44 hours...
About a stone lighter I popped another couple of Imodium and some paracetamol for my feet, which were really starting to hurt now, and carried on into the night (after a sneaky coffee in the hall).
Not far out of the checkpoint Jeff and Cathy drove past on their way to the checkpoint, they had been asked to ferry a couple of retirees there as the mountain rescue people had to be elsewhere, so they obliged.
Leaving the road I started the long slog up Fountains fell. This is one of the longest climbs of the race, and doesn't it let you know that, it goes on for ever. Not far into the climb I saw 3 lights coming up fast behind me, these must be the leaders of the Full Spine race that had started the day after ours, what with me being near the back and the leaders moving really fast. They sped past me, but then I could see they were just "normal" people, maybe they had had a better kip than me because they were really flying.
I had gone a little bit astray at this point, and needed to follow a wall across the climb until I found the stile over it, by this time they were well in front, but I could see their lights which was handy as this bit can be a bit tricky navigationally.
Continue the climb, every now and again I saw a light up ahead from the people in front, either they were checking for followers, or they were helpfully shining a light back to aid followers (me) in this tricky ascent.
Rounding the summit I started the equally long descent to the road between Fountains Fell and Pen-Y-Ghent, the highest point on the race.
When I reached the road I met a camera crew who were eagerly awaiting the leaders - obviously they were not that far behind, but I had seen no more lights behind me since the speedy bunch had gone past, so they must still be fair distance away.
Trotting along the road, which seemed longer than I remember, I eventually started the climb up to Pen-Y-Ghent. This is quite a technical climb, certainly much more so then any other part of the race, It was still dark on the ascent, being 07:00 ish Monday morning.
Now the ascent is a bit of a scramble, but me with my rock climbing background shouldn't find this a problem, especially as I have done it a couple of times before, once at night, but when I hit the steep ground I was really struggling. Before the climb I was suffering from sleepiness again, but this soon woke me up. My problem was that I was still a bit shaky on coordination and still needing to take the odd step backwards like at Malham, and this was the last thing I wanted to do mid scramble in the dark, so I reverted to a sort of kneeling, swimming, crawling gait as I ascended the rocky steps, poles dangling from my wrists and my bare hands making sure I had a proper grip on something before risking a step upwards. Being in this very unnatural position meant I missed the correct way up a couple of times so I really made a meal of it, but my mind was all over the place and I was playing for safety rather than speed.
Eventually I crawled over the last steep bit and arrived at the summit plateau, relieved that the technical bit was over I headed for the summit and the descent down the other side, a much safer rocky path, complete with hallucinogenic faces, lizards, alligators, squirrels etc.
I fired off a text to Cathy saying something about being asleep on my feet, hoping she would take the hint and get a coffee to me somehow. She replied with something like someone was heading up with a coffee. Great I thought and sped up downwards. It was getting light now so I could see the path disappearing into the distance, but nowhere could I see the coffee bearing superhero heading my way.
I skirted round a field full of old cars and vans (this may have been in my mind), and downwards towards Horton in Ribblesdale, the last proper civilization before the final leg to the finish.
Nearly at the bottom with no signs of coffee man, when round the corner stepped Cathy bearing a flask. Yes! I thought, caffeine. Nope - of all the things to put in a flask when meeting someone who was complaining of falling asleep while on his feet, and only having less than an hours kip in the last 48 hours, she had bought hot Ribena??!!
Ribena i ask you? really? Ribena?
I smiled at her, took a drink and sort of grinned a thank you through gritted teeth, but inwardly I was already drinking the coffee that would be waiting at the van - or at least there had better be.
Plodding into Horton, I quickly checked into the monitoring station and then carried on towards the van which was parked along the road a bit in the public toilet car park. The very same ones that saw me and Cathy have a cozy breakfast in a couple of months back.
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| Arriving at the van in Horton |
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| Setting out from Horton, on a mission! |
This was it, do or die (not literally), there was absolutely no way I was getting this far only to time out and not officially finish in within the 60 hour limit.
I blasted out of Horton (as mush as someone who has just covered 93 miles in 50 hours with less than an hours sleep, could "blast" ) and started the final climb up towards the Cam high road.
This stretch is mostly uphill. Imagine a number 7 lying on its face. You climb and climb and climb steadily up its long back until eventually you reach the top, then it is a very short but steep descent to the finish,
I started up the climb. As we were in Horton, two of the leaders of the full length race had come past,and now as I gained height the third place man shot past. I thought I was moving fast, but these guys were rocketing along, rounding a corner expecting to see him in the distance, he was just gone, nowhere to be seen, he was that quick.
I munched on the quiche as I climbed, it was very tasty and quite moist (I love that word), just what I needed as I couldn't manage anything dry without sipping copious amounts of water to help me chew. It was one of the only savoury things that I managed to completely finish.
Jeff and Cathy had mentioned a possible meeting up near the top of the Cam road, and as I got to the road I expected to see them, but no I was on my own. I had probably gone too fast and they were not expecting me there yet. I carried on, forever upwards, really beasting myself now. Imagine one of those army recruit documentaries where the evil corporal shouted at the slow recruit, "get a blinking move on you piece of ship" (or something like that), I was actually shouting at myself in the lonely misty wilderness that was this place (I checked first for people around me in earshot), marching up the hill, breaking out into short running bits where the gradient allowed, all the time coercing myself along with verbal abuse.
This bit of road was one of those magic "go on for ever" bits you sometimes find. Crossing a small brow in the climb thinking you were near the top, only to see it disappearing into the distance and knowing I had to cover that bit before finding out if it continued further over the next brow. There was not a person in sight and certainly no welcome van.
Climbing and climbing, I was tiring again and started craving my next caffeine hit, maybe it wont actually be until the finish now as I knew I was fast approaching a turn off marking the end of the cam road and the start of the final muddy stretch before the final steep descent to the finish.
Rounding another corner I suddenly made out the van in the distance, right on the above mentioned turn. Awesome I thought - I love them both.
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| Arriving at the impromptu meeting at the top of the Cam road |
I marched off into the mist, still speeding along as fast as my tired legs and painful feet could carry me.
The nice ground under foot was soon replaced with a muddy rutted path, deep puddles loomed, waiting to suck me in, but I was relentless, ploughing through everything, praying for the final descent and the finish. My mind started to drift, in and out of full consciousness, despite my forced pace my brain was still sleep deprived, and was doing everything in its power to force my body to stop and take a nap. Suddenly my feet slipped side-wards and I found myself sprawled out on the grassy bank next to the path. I had landed on my side and luckily had avoided any rocks and other nasties, to find myself in rather a comfy position. This was no good, sleeping here was not an option so I clambered back upright and carried on, and happily before long the final descent started.
Now 4km from the finish, I was on the final steep descent. It was relentless, navigation seemed trickier than the map suggested, I should be just following this wall and turning right when it finished, but I was making a right meal of it, getting stuck in boggy sections and needing to circumnavigate other seemingly impassible sections.
My mindset had now taken a huge leap of change. Where as before it was set on pushing on to ensure I would make the cut off in time, I now knew that pretty much whatever happened I had plenty of time to cover this last bit. That was it, my brain relaxed, its job done, and then the pain took over. It had nothing to stop it hurting now, before my brain was masking it to ensure I could carry on at speed, but with this taken away the pain just flooded in un-checked.
The pain was all in my feet. They had been swilling round in watery boots for about 75 miles, and were letting me know that they would be packing themselves to warmer sunnier climes if I did not do something about it soon.
At last, the final field arrived, but what a sting in the tail this was to be, checking the map, it is about half a km long, but is at what seems like a 45 degree angle and churned up with cow hoof prints and the foot prints of 100+ runners before me. Slip sliding down this with hurty feet took ages, and I cursed every moment of it, there was no easy way, it just had to be dealt with.
Breaking out onto the track at the bottom of the field was a relief (but negotiating the stile was interesting) and off I hobbled down the track, still descending steeply, but at least the ground was solid.
A few twists and turns through the village covering the last km, I at last hit the main road and turned left towards the market place and the finish line.
Jeff and Cathy came thundering up behind me, they had been waiting for me to arrive and nearly missed me, but they were here now, taking pictures of me arriving in the evening gloom.
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| Arriving in Hawes |
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| The finish line |
I plonked myself down on a waiting chair and Cathy helped me (well actually completely took over) and removed my muddy boots over-trousers and gaiters, then I tottered into the hall to get my medal. I wasn't fussed about sitting down, or resting, or eating, or drinking, I just wanted that medal.
We went over to the medal area and the chap did the obligatory hand shake, medal round neck and photo, then we had a photo with the three of us, me in the middle sagging on tired legs.
Breaking up after the photos, I stumbled a bit, my legs getting the better of the argument to want to rest, Cathy caught me and I luckily remained upright. We went over to where they had plonked my kit bag and I proceeded to get myself sorted out before the drive to my bed.
A quick change of clothing and into something dry, then came the feet. I peeled off my socks to reveal some very sorry looking feet. They had been battered and tortured for 108 miles, 75 of which were while being wet, and they certainly told that story well enough just by looking at them.
I rubbed some foot powder on them as best I could, and then donned some dry socks and my comfy trainers.
Saying our goodbyes I hobbled out of the hall, at a quarter of the speed that I went in at. We walked the (what seemed like) mile to the van (it was only about 10 meters I think) and I climbed in. I really wanted to sleep now, but my brain must have been waking up a bit as it became suddenly very aware that Cathy who was driving probably hadn't had much sleep over the last few days either, and thus I was obliged to keep chatting to her in order to keep her from driving us into a ditch as she attempted to catch up on some overdue sleep.
We arrived at their house, a quick shower, some more foot powder and then a very welcome hot meal cooked by Cathy's husband Paul.
And then to bed.
To bed for a very fitful, sweaty, but long, oh so very long sleeeeeeeeep..........zzzz
