Back to back

Its been a while since I’ve done back to back days running on the fells, i’ve deliberately not done so, choosing to mix in some road-cycling or simply give my legs a chance to recover but as we head towards the time of the season where there are more ‘Long’ fell races and the odd ‘mountain-marathon’ looming on the horizon, its time to start to upping the mileage.

Langdale Pikes from Esk Pike

And so Sunday morning found me toiling up the Band. I dont go out of my way to run up this thunderous lump, I cant say I ever particularly enjoy it but at least its direct. 40 minutes or so after leaving the Old Dungeon Ghyll car-park i veered off the main path and struck out, initially on the small path that heads towards the Climbers Traverse before, just as the path breaks out onto the prow of the ridge-line and drops towards the crags, I cut left and picked my way through the craggy ground attempting to stick to the indistinct upper ridge.

As expected I found myself in a small grassy hollow just to the East of the main path that comes up the scree choked gully above ‘Three Tarns’. A quick rising traverse brought me onto the main path and it was a short run to the summit of Bowfell.

From the summit of Bowfell, i had a change of plan, and rather than retracing part of my route and heading over to Crinkle Crags, I dropped down to the North-West heading for Great End. This would serve as a mental refresher for the first third of the Great Lakes Run.

A fast runnable trod can be found just to the left (in descent) of the main path and this quickly brings you to Ore Gap, followed shortly afterwards by the promintory of Esk Pike. From this satellite peak its a descending path towards Esk Hause, it looks much further down than it actually is, but that doesnt make the climb back up the other side towards Great End any less tiring.

Rich & Seren on Great End

The obvious turning point from the main path is rather handily marked by an old erosion sign, blink and you’ll miss it, you’re looking for a small wooden sign without any markings on it!

View north from Great End

I misjudged the vague trod heading upto Great End, veering too far North too early causing me to pick my way across bouldery ground, luckily today it did not matter and I quickly re-routed towards the summit proper.

A short stop and it was back on the long descent back to Langdale, heading down to Esk Hause before picking up the main path that led back to Angle Tarn, Rosset Ghyll and the warmth of the valley floor. All that was left for, was a well-earned pint in the Old Dungeon Ghyll.

Distance: TBC Ascent: Time: 2 hours 33 minutes

An easier day

Weathered gate posts near Satura Crag

Its the first weekend in what seems like a while where I’ve decided to not race. Instead I’d decided to focus on getting some mileage in, and so whilst others were running the Old Counties Tops or the New Dungeon Ghyll races I opted for a relatively benign run over the fells above Patterdale. Heading out from the small car-park at Low Hartsop we headed along the path up and around to Angle Tarn before heading along the Coast Path before dropping down to Hayeswater and returning back to the valley.

Joining me today was Steph and our unstoppable Collie, Seren and so I took advantage of enjoying a slightly steadier pace than whats been the case on recent runs. Reasonable weather this afternoon, glimpes of sunshine in what was otherwise a fairly grey day and not too cold.

Looking across towards Deepdale

Hayeswater

Running in an arctic spring

Longsleddale Round (Sadgill – Gatescarth Pass – Harter Fell – Kentmere Pike)

Tuesday evenings training session was to be fast run around the fells of Longsleddale, a great route offering a mix of fast tracks, steady and runnable inclines, high fell paths and fast soft trods taking in Gatescarth Pass, Harter Fell and Kentmere Pike.

A quick dash round to Longsleddale after finishing work brought me to the start at Sadgill at the road-head. There was no-one else around, just a few solitary sheep, the farmer and me. I quickly put on my running shoes, set the watch and set off at a brisk pace along the walled track that winds itself towards Gatescarth Pass.

Everything was pretty benign as I set off along the walled track towards Gatescarth Pass, my legs felt a little heavy but i managed to keep the tempo going as the incline increased and within 30 minutes I found myself on the exposed col that marks the high-point of the Pass. Light sleet had begun to fall by now and as I looked northwards towards a leaden sky with the unmistakeable outline of precipitation falling out from beneath there was an ominous increase in the wind-speed. This was to be no light shower.

I had gone barely another 50 metres higher when the full barrage of this wintry onslaught made its presence felt. Sleet had turned to a mixture of hail and graupel which was now being hurled downwards in a never-ending series of sorties. I stopped to pull my wind-shirt on, the only upper body protection I’d bought with me before carrying on up the steep series of switch-backs that were now disappearing into the cloud above.

I contemplated turning around as the visibility steadily reduced and the ferocity at which frozen platelets of ice were being whipped against my legs and for five minutes or so I ran on in a semi-blur, head down, focussed on my feet and little else. Strangely it was the increasing sense of muscle burn in my calfs that signalled an easing in the weather – i was able to and beginning to focus on other things, as the gradient eased, and I pulled onto the broad flattish ridge that makes up the bulk of Harter Fell.

Everything was eerily quiet as I passed by the tangled web of rusting fence posts that marks the top of Harter Fell. The pellets of hail and Graupel had given way to a steady fall of light but damp snow and with it the cloud level had risen a little, allowing me to catch fleeting glimpses across to Ill Bell and Froswick as I descended towards Kentmere Pike.

 

Just as soon as the weather showed signs of clearing, than another wave of cloud and snow would stream in from the North-East. And despite my forcing of the pace in descent, I had to stop once more to don gloves for any loss of height and theoretical gain in temperature was being masked by the effects of being slightly damp and a little tired.

Thankfully there was only a handful of miles left to go and I continued to push the pace as I descended through the increasingly soft and boggy ground, only giving way briefly for the short ascent to Kentmere Pike before dropping down and picking up the track running from Longsleddale to Kentmere. I turned East and raced down the last mile or so of fast track, watching the matchbox sized outline of my car gradually grow in size until, just a few minutes later I was back in the relative calm of the valley floor.

Distance: TBC Ascent: TBC: Time: 1 hour 22 minutes

Fairfield Horseshoe

Fairfield Horseshoe 2012

This years run, my first ever Fairfield Horseshoe race was indifferent, I could hardly be unhappy with my time, but crossed the finishing line cursing myself for not being quicker, I had missed my informal goal of running the course in under one and a half hours, by a minute.

On the outrun towards Nab Scar we were greeted with a foot and a half of deep cow slurry. Delightful, man up, run straight through it since there was no quick way around it. I slotted into the now snaking line of runners and began the increasingly steep ascent onto the main ridge proper, clawing my way passed a handful of other runners as I lurched and slid across the slightly boggy fellside.

I wasn’t feeling strong by the time we reached the main ridge and the proceeding 20 minutes was the weakest part of my race. Caught and overtaken by numerous runners, I could feel the tightened stride and lack of drive coming from my legs, I hung on, accepting of the fate that more could and possibly would pass me by. Arriving at Great Rigg the rot was beginning to stop, those in front were not pulling away, those behind becoming less of a concern. I kept running, others did not and gradually began to reel some of them back in.

I arrived on the summit of Fairfield with my watch just having passed the 53 minute mark. Turning towards Hart Crag, the gap had briefly opened up once more, on the fast, descending track. By the time we had reached Link Hause, I was back amongst them, the steeper, technical ground was playing much more to my strengths, I’d already overtaken one and was now on the heels of another 3 or 4. I stuck with them on the short climb back towards Hart Crag, from whose descent I then made my move, passing a number of other runners as we gained height again across to Dove Crag.

And so it remained as I felt my legs open up a little as we strode down the fast runnable ground towards High Pike. I could sense someone running hard behind me and sure enough, seconds later, passed came another runner. I tried not to worry, the ground was about to get a lot steeper and sure enough as we crashed down through the short steps, tussocks and rocks of Low Pike I hit back. I was now at the wall crossing, that marks the must-make detour to avoid the Bad Step. I was now running as hard as I could and not looking back. Ahead I could see the familiar figure of Mike Robinson, a person I’d, to date, not got close to being in contention with. It felt like a long, lonely run chasing down towards Sweden Bridge.

As I hammered the feet down into Rydal Park I let out a strained scream of anguish, looking at my watch I had just 3 minutes remaining, if I was to finish in under one and a half hours. A bystander cheered me on, telling me to keep pushing hard, but this track was killing me. I pushed, as I felt my legs get slower and slower. I was perhaps no more than 400 yards from the finish line as the seconds ticked over the one hour 30 mark, I could feel the immediate deflation in my body. I kept going, keen to be as close to my target as possible.

Distance: 16km Ascent: 910m Time: 1:31:18 Position: 25th

Speed takes time

Coniston Fell Race 2012

I raced through the grassy meadow towards the taped lines that marked the end of the Coniston Fell Race. I couldn’t quite believe it, the leagues of fast runners had not materialised, the agony of having kept ahead on the climbs, only to be overtaken on the flat had not materialised. I’d just finished in 20th place, normally such a place would not have stirred quite the sense of satisfaction that it did, for this was Coniston, it attracts a quality field, a fast time can easily result with a finishing place well past 30.

Parking up in the school playing field in Coniston, one had the feeling of being involved in a very British event. It felt like a proper Spring day and there was a noticeable air of excitement and anticipation in the conversations of those around. Walking into the village, two elderly gentlemen’s gaze was drawn to the lush green slope of Mauldry Bank. ‘Have they started yet?’ one asked, their years didn’t diminish their enthusiasm for this annual village event.

And on a day like today it was hard not to be full of enthusiasm, fluffy white clouds were filtering across the sky and the sun was doing its best to warm the cold air, if any day was to convince you that running up and down a mountain made sense, today was as likely as any.

Rich at the top of Mauldry Bank

Leading runners above the Coppermines

A few minutes after 1230 hundreds of runners found themselves snaking their way up the steep slope of Mauldry Bank that heralds the start of the race. Hand on knees, hunched forwards I moved upwards, already some metres behind the leading pack but some way in front of the snaking masses also. It felt hard but within acceptable limits, some ten minutes later as I began the drawn out ascent to Wetherlam I felt on the edge. The ground was soft, my quads were twanging with a burning desire to be on the flat and I was strangely alone. Ahead 2 other runners could be glimpsed but looking behind there was no-one. For 5 minutes that felt like an hour, it continued, until pulling on the broad flat top of Red Gill Head I spied the chasing pack down and to my left.

Hundreds of runners snake their way towards Crook Beck & Wetherlam

Faster ground ensued as we approached and past the summit of Wetherlam, running across Black Sails I passed Rich Stevens and Jim Byrne, two fellow Ambleside runners who were checking out an alternate route that included dropping off a small cliff (!) before our paths came together.

I arrived at the Black Sail Pass with 44 minutes on the clock. Slightly disappointed but aware that if I ran hard enough my target of 1hr 25 was still a goer. The scramble up Prison Band was a mixture of running and hands on knees walking, clawing my way towards Swirl How as fast as I could. The last 30 feet or so spurred my guilt ridden body back into running, pausing on the summit only to throw some water down my neck and devour a jelly baby. I attempted to look poised as Mike Robinson took a photo but probably failed.

Turning north, I headed towards Levers Hawse, forcing my stride, so conscious was I of runners behind, I was counting those I could see ahead, I knew there weren’t many and that only sought to increase my paranoia and expectation of a sudden swathe of sprint merchants flying past. I took the fastest line I could remember and ran as hard as I could comfortably sustain. Passing one ‘well done’ after another from the steady stream of fell walkers I reached the low point on the ridge that marks roughly the half way marker between Swirl How and the Old Man.

Undulating ridge lines are always harder than they look, those seemingly irrelevant short inclines, each individually maybe no more than 20 or 30 metres join together to drain leg muscles. In training runs this was where my motivation would normally hit that mental barrier but today with stronger more motivated legs I kept running. Shortening my stride but not walking, the sounds of people behind had vanished, I kept going, keen to put as much distance between me and the mysterious runner behind me. Sure there were obviously hundreds of other runners behind me but whether the person who I had believed to be on my heels was actually there or not, I knew not. The wind and my mind were playing tricks and it wasn’t until I began the last climb of the race, onto the summit of the Old Man itself that I felt certain no-one else was going to pass any time soon.

The descent off the summit of the Old Man is a classic and it’s steep, hurtling straight off the summit, you need to remind yourself it’s runnable, so steep that the ground simply drops away from you. Thundering down the steep grassy slope and jumping between the loose slate that litters this mountain I scoured the ground ahead looking for the quickest line. I aimed for a small rocky knoll, choosing then to veer off to the right before cutting back left.

Rich descending from the Old Man of Coniston

Rejoining the main path, I raced down the track, dancing between boulders, with one last surge of energy kicking in as I past Lizzie Adams. I was nearly home, joining the track that ran down from the Coppermines, the last few hundred metres was a heavy pounding on the feet, before I turned onto the soft grassy meadow and raced for the finishing line.

I looked around there was only a small group of finishers, all strong runners. I grabbed a drink, sat down on the moist grass and soaked up the spring sunshine, feeling strangely content. Rhys Findlay Robinson who finished well inside the top 10, remarked that I’d had a good race commenting that people don’t get fast overnight, it takes time. After the last few years I’ve had I would be inclined to agree.

Coniston Fell Race 2012

Distance: 14km Ascent: 1065m Time: 1hr 22 minutes Position: 20th

Rhys Findlay-Robinson

Rob Hope on his way to winning the Coniston 2012 fell race

Lizzie Adams about to add Coniston to her list of Women’s titles

Dockray – Hartside Fell Race

Wednesday night saw my second mid-week fell race of the season.

Dockray is a less well known and less frequented corner of the Lake District, lying on the A5091 just to the north of Ullswater between Glenridding and Troutbeck.

I arrived with 5 minutes to spare following a spirited drive from Manchester where I had been working that day. It wasn’t the ideal preparation, I handed my money to Joe, quickly threw my running shoes on and jogged along the road towards the Royal Hotel and the start of the race. That would have to suffice as my warm-up.

The race began on a sombre note, with a minutes silence, held following the tragic death the previous weekend of a fell runner competing in this years Buttermere Sailbeck race, as was noted a reminder to us all that running around the mountains is never without it’s risks. Following a round of applause it was back to business.

The race began with a long, gradually rising ascent up the tarmac lane that led to the open fellside. Already the leading guys were pulling out ahead, I could spot the vests of Carl Bell as well Tom Gibbs up ahead. My legs felt a little tired but not horrendous, and I slotted in amongst one of the following packs. Reaching a minor T-junction and we left the road and initially followed a distinct trod up onto the fell. The further we went the more indistinct it became and the more numerous the possible racing lines. I’d never ran this course, had little idea which were the faster lines, all I could do was rely on my interpretation of the ground ahead, if I could see far enough, or simply follow someone else in front. By the end of the race, this on the hoof tactic was to have cost me valuable time and places.

The route is a much rougher, much wetter course than the fast high mountain courses I had been running lately. This was back to proper mountain and fell running, undulating tussocks, boggy ground and the opportunity to fall over at every other pace.

By the time I reached the first checkpoint of Highbrow, the leading pack was already stringing itself out, I took an ok, but possibly not the fastest line down towards the beck before climbing once again back towards Hartside. But it was coming off Hartside where I lost the most time, quite literally not knowing where I was going and with no time to consult the map, I was forced to slow the pace and follow the nearest fellow runner north-west. It was rough on the descent, I fell over once, rolling through the tussocks and came to grief almost on several more occasions. Again a poor choice of line gave the chance for two more runners to draw level.

The final checkpoint was Common Fell, the slight incline gave me the chance to lose a couple of the group thronging around me and then it was a case of who could run down through the rough ground fast enough. Initially I thought I wouldnt be able to make up ground but as I descended I could feel the legs relax, my stride open up and before I knew it I was in front again. Desperately trying to stay upright I ran flat out to the finish line.

I realised I’d missed out on a top ten finish by a whisker. Still it wasn’t a bad result all things considered.

Distance: 10km Ascent: 800m Time. 56 minutes 33 seconds. Position: 11th

Feeling guilty? Only slightly…..

Today i should have been running….I had a half hearted plan to run the Buttermere Sailbeck race but half hearted or not, it was a plan.

But today I just didnt feel like running. The forecast was for everything to go down the pan just before any race was due to start and I just didnt need a battle through gale force winds and torrential rain today.

Do I feel guilty? Only slightly. Its been a reasonably full past few days, with a good run over the Coniston fells on Friday evening followed by a fairly demanding cycle ride yesterday. I say fairly demanding, by the standards of trained Fred Whitton athletes it was probably a steady if slightly taxing jaunt, by the standards of me, who is far from anything relating to cycling and who hasnt cycled further than 70 km this year, indeed barely any year in the past three, it was demanding.

I’d never cycled over the Wrynose Pass before, but by the end of Saturday, I’d cycled over it twice, once from each side, as well as the passes of Kirkstone, Redbank, Blea Water and Ulpha Fell. In total, some 120km of Lakeland lanes and roads. I think I enjoyed it, I didnt enjoy not being particularly strong, but then i was for the most part accompanied by people who spend far more time on two wheels than I do currently. At least I managed to not get off and walk, even if I chose to emit the ‘full tour’ over Birker Fell and Hardknott and opted for a direct return to Cockley Beck and a 40 minute siesta behind a boulder whilst I waited for others.

I’d omitted that extra leg, partly on the basis that I had nothing to prove to anyone and certainly not myself, even without it, I’d done more cycling that day than I had in a long, long time, in fact more cycling than any other time with the exception of an ill-judged entry into the Etape Du Dales some four years ago, the pain of which is still etched on my memory and partly because I was supposed to be racing today, followed by a race on Wednesday, followed by Coniston next week.

And so, on balance, today was probably as good a day to have a rest as any. A new week now beckons.