The Fellsman Round 2

The cover of this year's entrants' handbook for The Fellsman nicely sums the event and the challenge up:

What it can't really do is convey what it's like trying to keep your body moving on through the darkness and cold of the early morning on top of a boggy hill.

The Fellsman and I have previous.


The disk of shame from 2012 - 3 punches short of full tally.

Last year for the first time in 50 runnings, the event was called off mid-run at the point where I had just reached the last roadside checkpoint 10 miles from the end. At the time I was convinced I would have completed it in one piece, but the conditions were terrible due to unseasonably cold weather and a very strong wind. It meant that I had to come back this year to try again.

Waking up on the Saturday morning this year, after a short sleep on a sports hall floor, it was a bit disconcerting to see the weather look so similar (apart from the wind) to last year's. As we took the coach to the start in Ingleton, outside it was cold with blue skies and fluffy white clouds.

After the last session of standing in queues, it was out to the starting field, a pep talk, a minute's silence and then the traditional sprint off up the first hill. There are over 60 miles ahead, but everyone sets off at a speed that would bring them home several hours under the record. This was pointed out to me by Tom as I ran alongside him briefly. "Why is everyone going so fast? This anaerobic pace will kill your legs" he shouted as he stopped to a fast walk and was overtaken by everyone. He completed the course 6 hours quicker than me...

Ingleborough sat hunched ahead with its own cloud shawl and a topping of snow.

A steady climb up, and suddenly no-one is running any more.

The climb gets steeper and rockier and then the longest ascent of the race is over and it's up onto the flat icy top for the first checkpoint...

...and down the slippery tourist path to the Hill Inn checkpoint.

Coming off Ingleborough.

Heading towards Hill Inn

And off towards the second climb of the morning, Whernside.

Me trying to ruin the best view in Yorkshire

Starting up Whernside and I pair up with 'Grand Slam' Mick, and together we enthuse about how fantastic it is to be out racing on a day like this. Many, many hours later I think back on this period as a kind of temporary madness, but the views, the running and the company running up Whernside and then back down the ridge and onto Kingsdale (flapjacks) were fantastic.

After the steepest climb of the day up Gragareth, it's only 13 miles into the 60 mile race but already nearly a third of the height gain is done.

The final feet of the climb up Gragareth

Gragareth checkpoint and the Irish sea in the distance 

Great Coumb checkpoint with the Howgills as a backdrop

After leaving Gragareth there's a fantastic ridge run along to the other end at Great Coumb, and as this is at the Western edge of the Dales there a views across to the coast, the Lakes and closer by, the Howgills. For me though, my bad regulation of my liquid intake means I'm starting to feel sick, and for the first (but not the last) time, my mind starts to toy with an alternative reality where I don't spend the next 14 hours running, but instead get a bus back to Threshfield for a relaxing evening. Fortunately the antidote is close at hand; two sausage rolls and two cups of tea at the Dent checkpoint. A third of the race distance is done.

Dent checkpoint

I don't recover quickly enough to set off with Mick and Gary though, despite them telling me I need to be still running with them at 7pm. It is 2pm at this point and I am trying not to plan that far ahead. As I set off on the road away from Dent towards Blea Moor, I wish had company like I had on the same stretch last year. The miles go past very quickly when you're talking, but on your own it's hard not to focus on the task ahead and the discomforts. A hail storm and then a long haul up to the Blea Moor checkpoint and then I can start looking forward to Stonehouse and the pasta meal.  



Stonehouse - you'll never want to leave



After Stonehouse, things really start looking up. The food has picked me up (I remember Nick Ham's advice to always have a piece of cake after the pasta at this checkpoint), and on the climb up to Great Knoutberry I meet up with Chris who I ran with during the night at last year's Fellsman. Even better he has a ready made group of Dallam AC members who intend to run together after 7pm (when Fellsman rules say that you have to form a team of 4 or more people to stick with until daylight).



Leaving Great Knoutberry



I therefore stay with Chris and his friends over the next 8 miles, generously sitting on the cold wet floor at the Redshaw checkpoint to ingratiate myself, so that they can sit on chairs. As we run up towards Dodd Fell, Chris mentions he is attempting a Bob Graham round in June. I ask who of the other 5 in the group has done one and he says, "Well, Mike has, and Dave, and.... actually I think they all have". I'm not sure whether to be reassured or scared at this point, but I know I'm with 6 hard men for the rest of the race...  

Fleet Moss. 36 miles in and where the race starts properly

The Dallam guys kindly agree to let me join them and we set off across Fleet Moss taking the controversial  'Southern route' heading for the Middle Tongue checkpoint.

The Dallam AC men heading across Yockenthwaite Moor 

We're slowly losing the sun over the hills to the west and after a little detour we find the small tent at Middle Tongue, don our head torches, and set compass bearings to head across the dark boggy section to Hells Gap.

Last of the sun and last of the photos

By now, I'm starting another slump. As we approach Hells Gap then run down the hill to the Cray checkpoint, I'm starting to talk myself out of the race. I feel sick and am worried that I will not make it up Buckden Pike, the last big climb of the event. I force down some vegetable soup, and feel I should say something. I tell Chris I might retire, but the looks and comments from two of the group make me realise I should just shut up and push on. As they tell me it's up to me to decide, a bus driver sticks his head into the checkpoint and shouts that the coach is about to leave to take retirees back to the finish. I feel like the leading man at the key decision scene in a Hollywood film, whereas actually I'm just a whining bloke in a tent, and we leave and start the climb. It's tough, but by the time we're at the frozen top, the panic is over.

The group is fantastic to be with. It starts to split 4/3 as we head down to Top Mere, as the stronger runners are keen to get moving, but there's only encouragment from them. At Park Rash, where the race ended for me last year, I know there's still a long way to go but also that I can't give up here. There's a wet final climb up Great Whernside and then 'just' 8 miles to the finish.

By now the front four are flying and it's hard to keep going. Either my headtorch or my sight is getting dimmer and as I jog along straining my eyes to keep them in sight, I see some strange things. One of the team turns into a woman dancing with a pot on her head. To the east I see what looks like a fantastic cloud inversion with huge mountains pushing through it (which may just have been more clouds). As we start to near the last checkpoint at Yarnbury, I twice glimpse a glowing tent on the lane ahead, looking warm and full of people, before the quiet, real checkpoint actually appears.

Now we're 'degrouped' and the rest of the team speed off. After 5 minutes or so I realise the quicker I go the sooner I'll be back, and I break into a jog, speeding into almost a run and overtaking a group of 7 runners before cruising back down the deserted Grassington high street to the sound of the first birdsong of a new morning. At this point my only thought is that I'll never run another Ultra again, ignoring the fact I have already committed to running the 10 Peaks race for charity in 8 weeks.  

I finish at about 3:45am, and after a thanks to the members of my team still around and a shower that highlights all the parts of my body that have no skin on them, I lie on a sports hall floor and sleep like I've never slept before.