Cold and Calder

Saturday 16th March.

Back in January, I'd started planning a big run in the Lakes for the middle of March, inviting every Ultra runner I knew and imaging a breezy Spring day summiting peak after peak.

Come dawn on the 16th, sickness and circumstance had struck everyone down, and having watched the story of George Mallory on BBC on the Friday night I was almost relieved. Winter conditions had returned to the Lakes, and I related strongly to the image of his frozen body discovered 100 years later close to the top of Everest. That could have been me on Helvellyn...

So a hasty gatecrash of someone else's Fellsman reccie found me speeding to Upper Wharfedale to meet C and J, two members of my old club, for a run around the middle section of the Fellsman.

We started off on the old Dales Way, slipping along muddy paths to a creepy abandoned bunk barn before starting off into the first snow of the day.

The snow here on the road was deep and we marvelled that someone had been up here already on a mountain bike as we followed the bike tracks, until we came to a mess of snow followed by a set of footprints alongside the tyre tracks. A little tragedy in snow sculpture.

Eventually we made it to the Fellsman course proper and started the long climb up to Great Knoutberry Fell, usually undertaken weighed down by pasta and cake from the Stonehouse checkpoint.

The clear ground from the valley soon gave way again to snow and by the time we'd made our way all the way to the top of Great Knoutberry (J and I letting C do the hard work by making footprints for us to step in), it was full winter conditions.

Great Knoutberry view today

Great Knoutberry view on the Fellsman last year

A quick stop and it was a turn around and back down through the snow. I let the brakes off and charged down the hill following our ascending footprints in reverse. Eventually it became too tempting and I diverted through a virgin white patch of snow, realising as I decelerated and pitched face-first into the cold water that it was just a thinly covered bog. Quickly jumping up I managed to be on my way before my running partners got the chance to see me.

From here we crossed down to the site of the Redshaw checkpoint site and across the boggy side of Snaizeholme Fell. The wet pools of icy water put us all in a silent hell of cold, numb feet, silent except for the loud swearing from C who lost her sense of humour for a noisy few minutes.

Warming up on the climb away from the checkpoint location, we agreed to include the last top for the day at Dodd Fell.

A slight mis-counting of walls resulted in us having to rely on our tracking skills as we followed a set of fell shoe prints to the trig point; invisible in the mist and snow until we were about 20 yards from it

A glimpse of sunlight, some graceful, comedy falls by J down the steep slopes and finally a slow haul through knee deep snow and we were back on the road to our parking place.

At last the sky cleared as we ran past the start of the worst section of the Fellsman (a possible target for next week) and back to the car. A brilliant five and a half hours out on the hills.


Sunday 17th March 

Waking early up on Sunday, I realised that the sacrifices of an early night and not drinking beer meant I had to make the effort to get over to Calder Valley to run the Heptonstall Fell Race.

A scary drive round the diversions to the hill top town, a chat with friends from my past and present clubs, a sermon from a vicar in vestments and a Ron Hill hat and we were off up the cobbles.

The first 10 miles were a blur of long ascents and short, muddy, scary descents, enlivened by a short knee deep river crossing.

At about 11 miles, my interest started waning and I was forced to eat the Mars Bar in my bum bag that had become like an old friend to me, keeping me company for over 60 miles in the previous 8 days.

He was delicious, and after the last steep climb, nicknamed the Stairway to Heaven, it was back to the finish, a catch up with some friends (including my 2012 Fellsman partner who I hadn't seen since 2am at the abandonment of the race), and a slow drive back to reality.