Final Thoughts

Camp Life I was extremely apprehensive about spending the week with a bunch of strangers, but as the cliché goes, strangers are only friends you haven’t met yet. And everyone on the team was great – 5 runners, 8 crew, and I hope to stay in touch with all of them, as they made my week a very special experience. In a way it is a shame that the event will be so much bigger next year, as with such a small team, strong bonds were forged this year.  The organisation was superb – I can’t fault anything. Tents were up and ready long before we finished running, dinner was often ready just as I got back, and the morning wake-up cup of tea was enjoyed by my fellow runners.  The food was fabulous, and as well as porridge, toast, bacon and eggs for breakfast, we had delicious dinners:  Lasagne, new potatoes and salad Chargrilled chicken with rocket mash Pasta bolognese Chicken wrapped in cheese and bacon with barbecue sauce Sausage and mash with onion gravy Cottage pie with cauliflower cheese  There wasn’t much time for camp life from my perspective, as by the time I got back each day, I only had a couple of hours before it was time to try and sleep, but there was certainly a very welcoming and jocular atmosphere in the ‘santa’s grotto’ marquee each evening. Equipment Raidlight backpack – comfortable, lightweight, lots of pockets. Would recommend and use again. Having used body glide most days, I also minimised the chafing, and only slightly aggravated the still unhealed chafe wounds from the Ridgeway.  Raidlight bumbag – attached to the backpack to form a front pack. Had two bottles, and a large front pocket, meaning that I didn’t have to take the pack off during the day. I usually had to have help putting my bag on as my shoulder injury restricted my movement and I couldn’t fasten it all up, so not needing to take it off/put it on when alone during the run was a big help.  Power Monkey Xplorer – Fabulous, and well worth the investment. I didn’t use the solar monkey regularly, as there were sunny spells rather than constant sunshine and I kept forgetting to attach it to my rucksack. But the mains charger was fabulous – my Garmin and iPhone were sufficiently charged all week, and with little hassle  Marmot Atom sleeping bag – I loved my sleeping bag so much. Lovely to the touch, lightweight to carry, and under moderate temperatures, extremely cosy. However the chilly nights were more than a match for it, and I did struggle to sleep at all on 3 nights due to the cold. It does however state on the sleeping bag it is suitable for temperatures to 5 degrees, and it was well below that on the coldest nights, so I can’t really blame the sleeping bag for not keeping me warm enough.  Thermarest Prolite – light, easy to pack up and carry, my intention for using this was to provide a bit of padding to sleep on, but I quickly realised the benefit of the warmth it offered, as if my arm strayed off the mat onto the ground sheet of the tent, the temperature difference between the two surfaces was quite remarkable.  Swiss Army Knife – having recently discovered that a v cut into blisters is far more effective at keeping them drained than a needle stuck through them, I had been on the search for a small pair of foldable scissors. I couldn’t find anything suitable anywhere. On the compulsory kit list for TB was a knife – wanting to have everything in order I looked in Millets and saw Swiss Army knifes for sale, so I bought the cheapest they had. I then realised that these included a scissor function, and this saved my feet, and probably my race. By being able to treat my blisters with scissors at the end of each day, and use regular applications of iodine, my feet gave me little trouble beyond discomfort each day. By keeping the blisters dry and open, they didn’t refill, and because all of the problem areas were being treated with iodine, new blisters rarely developed and filled. Of course it helped being able to treat them at the end of each day and rest for 12 hours or so but this is the least trouble I’ve had with my feet during a race for about 6 months.  Compass – essential. The degree of navigation required on TB was such that I was frequently stopping every 50 yards or so to take a compass bearing. It made for very slow going, but added to the sense of achievement. Despite being a gadget freak, the simplicity of the compass really appeals to me – you don’t need a signal, you don’t need to charge it, you just need to know how to use it. My new favourite toy. Final Thoughts

At the beginning of the week, I had every intention of not doing anything like this again. Now, I am regretting that my own race clashes with TB next year, as I won’t be able to compete.  The urge may wear off before TB 2011, but if I do ever take part in another event like this, it is all credit to Steve’s team for making the event so enjoyable.  If anyone is thinking of doing a multi day event in Britain, I would whole-heartedly recommend this one.  The routes were fabulous (even if I personally found a few bits a little frustrating!) and gave me the opportunity to navigate myself around specific routes whilst being supported with checkpoints (between 1-4 a day).  Having the catering taken care of, and the tents transported and assembled for you was a luxury that made the logistics of the race possible, whilst still allowing you to feel that you were ‘roughing it’ by carrying everything else with you each day.  My navigational skills, which were passable at the beginning of the week, have improved immensely. My observational skills, usually fairly dormant, have developed and I notice things with even noticing, if that makes sense.  My confidence has grown, in particular socially. I guess I really need to stop thinking of myself as the painfully shy girl in the corner, as I’m not that person anymore, and probably haven’t been for some time.  Most of all, my confidence in myself as a person has increased. I can rough it. I can find my way out of anywhere. I can survive. I can climb. I can mix with people. I can eat anything. I can cope without OCD rituals. I can improvise. I can push myself. I can keep on going. I can.

Day 6

17.25 miles

5 hours 27 minutes

Bershaw to Ruthin Castle The last day. The glory day. And it was glorious indeed.  As the name of the event was Trans Britain, Steve was keen that we did get to run in as much of Britain as possible, and so designed a route that started in Scotland, ran through England and finished in Wales. However, as Scotland and Wales were some distance apart, this could not be run in a week and so we would have to be transported by car for the final section, in order to get the running in the three countries.  So after an early start at the Rugby Club, we headed off in convoy to the start of the day’s running – an insignificant car park in Bershaw.  But from here we took a lovely wooded path along the Clywedog Trail, up to The Wern, and then skirted New Brighton to reach the moor. From here I saw the other four runners, still together, but not where I thought they should be on the map. They were some distance away so I left them to it and continued on what I felt was the right way. As I’ve said before in navigational races – never just follow the person in front!  I then took the wrong way myself, as I spotted a path in the fern, but it was on the wrong bearing. Believing that it would soon follow the right direction I walked along it, only to find myself at a dead end next to an electricity generator. I retraced my steps and saw where I had gone wrong – a tiny, almost unnoticeable (I certainly hadn’t noticed it) path winding through the fern.  Esclusham Mountain I could only see a gap in the fern for a few metres ahead of me, but I trusted in the compass, and was duly proved correct – this was my path and I could see the others up ahead of me on what I believed was top of the mountain.  I’d seen them hang around for a while, and at first thought they were taking photos to mark the occasion, but when I arrived after they’d left, I realised they were actually just looking for the path, which seemed to disappear. I could see a track going in a different direction, and decided to follow that and drop onto the road further out, even though it would add a mile or so to my run. I didn’t want to stand around wasting time trying to find the right path, and as I could still see the others, figured that taking a diversion would allow them to get ahead and out of sight.  As it turned out, what I thought was the top of the mountain was actually the mine, and from the track I was on I could take a footpath over to the correct path. This little footpath was a few inches wide, and surrounded by heather, but as my legs had been cut to bits from all the thistles etc during the week, the scratchy heather against my itchy legs felt fabulous.  The path from the moor dropped me onto a winding road, and from here I turned north west onto the Offa’s Dyke Path. This was lovely to walk along, as it has springy duckboards, which were so comfortable to walk on after all the rocky or hard or soggy terrain of the rest of the week.  Offa's Dyke Path to Llandegla Forest This led us into the Llandegla Forest, which although I was only in there for a mile or so, was my favourite part of the week. I really love running in forests, and this reminded me so much of running on parts of the WHW, and I really felt as if I was nearly home.  Llandegla Forest Just outside the forest was the day’s checkpoint, and although they had run out of my favourite fruit cake, someone had managed to get some hobnobs. Lovely.  Back onto a footpath on the Clwydian Way, and then through Llandegla, where I heard a screech of tyres and someone shouting my name. It was the crew, who had raced to meet me with my water bottle, which I had carelessly left in the van at the last checkpoint. You don’t get that sort of service in most races...  Onto the Offa’s Dyke Path from Llandegla, and navigation was very easy, as path was well waymarked. It was clearly well used, as I saw a large number of walkers, and a lot of groups of teenagers, presumably on a school excursion.  The path led onto a steep road that climbed upwards, and then to the side of a plantation and finally to the ascent of Moel y Plas. After the climbs in the Lakes that I’d done this week, this was nothing, a mere 440m high, but it there was still a magnificent view waiting at the top, and the weather today was glorious, and it really felt like the climax of the trip. From here, I knew, it was a long descent of a few miles, and the finish at the castle, so I took my time to look around me, and reflect on what I’d achieved over the last few days.   Ascent of Moel y Plas  Ascent of Moel y Plas View from Moel y Plas The descent was actually quite tough, and I again found myself getting a little frustrated. It was down a long rocky track, which was very uneven underfoot, meaning my blistered heels took a bashing, and having worn Roclites all week, they now offered zero cushioning or protection from the ground, and each step jarred and ached.  Moel Lanfair from Moel y Plas The sun was low and in my eyes, there track was covered in flies which I kept inhaling, and everything hurt. But nothing mattered, as I was nearly home.  I was spat out onto the road, and knew it was a mile or so from here to the castle. I kept seeing fluorescent arrow signs pointing me closer and closer, and it was only when I saw two arrows, pointing in different directions, that I realised the ones I had been following earlier were for a different event. Never mind, they took me the right way.  And I rounded the corner, and saw the arch of the castle entrance, and all of the crew and my fellow runners waiting under it. I managed to run to the finish, and amidst all the cheers and shouts, I grinned. I had done it.  Only lady to complete the week, I won a trophy saying ‘1st LADY’. I’ll treasure that, as I’m unlikely to ever match it!  Six days, 156 miles, 52 hours. 8 Wainwrights. Two tantrums. Hundreds of stiles. Thousands of soggy steps. Numerous cow pats stepped in. One paddle in a lake. One terrifying climb. Unlimited smiles.

Day 5

26.44 miles

9 hours 42 minutes

High Laning Campsite, Dent to Rugby Club, Settle  So, two easy days left.  That was the plan in my head anyway. It’s funny how quickly you get accustomed to silly distances, as although this route was marathon distance, over tough terrain, including climbing Pen-y-ghent, my head allowed it to be considered easy. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be out, but my longest off road marathon had taken 5.45, so I figured 6 hours would probably do. How laughable this seemed later in the day (after I’d reached ‘home’ of course, as I wasn’t laughing much until then).  We ran through the postcard pretty village of Dent, and picked up the Dales Way again, heading towards the iconic Ribblehead Viaduct. I was raring to go this morning, and kept up with the other four for a while, even overtaking Karen for a couple of miles. But as we climbed up along Deepdale Side next to Whernside, I slowed and let them run on. Running alone is what I do best, and I didn’t want to share today with anyone, easy day or not.  Deepdale In fact by now I wasn’t finding it quite so easy, and the next few miles to the viaduct, though nothing particularly challenging underfoot, were difficult for me. The going was never quite flat, it was more of a gentle climb up, followed by a steep descent down – my least favourite type of going. The desolate moor got to me today, usually I revel in the remoteness of such places, but today I felt very alone and didn’t seem to be making any progress on the route.  Ribblehead Viaduct I reached the viaduct and shortly after that was CP1. Karen was leaving just as I arrived there, and we exchanged grim smiles. It seemed she was having a tough day too.  Fuelled by fruit cake, and with an undulating road ahead of me, I managed to do some running – my first for about 6 miles that day. It warmed me and lifted my mood, and I began to think that the day would be better than I had though an hour previously.  But then the route picked up the Ribble Way, and although I’m sure on any other day it would be a delightful walk, today I just hated it. I learned today that I cannot navigate in a straight line as, as simple as it sounds, I need landmarks or curves or *anything* to work out where I am. On the Ribble Way, where the path went straight on, and there it was just surrounded by rocks and sheep, with not even walls or fences to gauge my progress by, I lost track of where I was very quickly, and soon had no idea where on the 2 mile stretch I was. I didn’t even know how long I’d been on there – whether it had been 5 minutes or 3 hours. I completely lost track of time and distance, and so had no idea where to turn off.  At some point, I must have gone through a bubble of phone reception, as I received a flurry of text messages that had been sent the previous evening. But after I’d replied to the first, the reception had gone again. The path continued on, and on, and on.  Eventually I reached a sign pointing left to Sell Gill. But I didn’t want to go there, so I continued in a straight line, and although there was no clear path, headed down the hill. After a while things began to feel wrong, and checking on my compass, saw that the contour lines that should represent where I was now did not match up with where I should be on the map.  It then dawned on me that although I hadn’t wanted to go to Sell Gill, that didn’t mean that my path didn’t head that way. I couldn’t bear the thought of trudging back up the hill, but the alternative was to go down and up the other side of the valley, and with a farmer working on the fences, I didn’t want to trespass again. Back up the hill it was.  I was furious with myself for being so stupid. I had been so tired that I had missed the obvious. I was battling my head, as I had hardly slept for the last few nights due to the cold, and the lack of sleep was now taking its toll on my concentration. Normally a little diversion wouldn’t bother me, but by now it was clear to me that this was far from an easy day, and any extra mileage was most unwelcome, especially as I still had to climb Pen-y-ghent.  Now began my second bad patch of the week (although I consider myself lucky to have only had two, given that I was out running for over 52 hours during the whole week) and I began to desperately battle tears. I knew the second checkpoint was nearby, and my stupid pride meant I didn’t want to turn up there with a tearstained face. I’d get past them, then I’d have hours to myself in which to cry as much as I wanted. I pushed on, knowing that I couldn’t hold back the tears for long.  At the second checkpoint were just Andy M and one of the film crew, two other crew were waiting on the ascent to Pen-y-ghent to take photos and do some filming. I learnt that Karen had gone back to the last checkpoint and dropped out. I was now fourth overall and the only lady left.  Andy M then gave me a pep talk that transformed my day. I left that checkpoint feeling strong and able, and ready to face the rest of the day, whatever it threw at me. I’d said to him that I kept looking and my Garmin and getting worried by the slow pace it showed. His answer – cover it up. So simple, yet it hadn’t occurred to me. I duly covered up the Garmin and didn’t look at it for the rest of the day.   Horseshoe approach to Pen-y-ghent from the west Pen-y-ghent from the west From Horton in Ribblesdale, I headed north before turning east on the Pennine Way and the south again on the final ascent of Pen-y-ghent. I loved this climb. After Fairfield, I had been nervous about this, but I had nothing to worry about, there was a clear path, it was very walkable, and I felt that if I fell, I’d get a bruise, whereas on Fairfield I felt that if I fell, I’d die.  Ascent of Pen-y-ghent  Ascent of Pen-y-ghent  Summit of Pen-y-ghent, 694m I reached the top, and having acquired some phone reception, wrote a quick blog and ate a banana to fuel myself for the descent. The descent was a little hairy, as it was basically climbing down boulders, but I took my time, and picked my way down at a comfortable pace.  Descent down Pen-y-ghent From the bottom of the rocky descent the path headed south along the moors of Overdale and although it was again a straight path, there was enough by way of fences and walls for me to be able to track my progress, and work out easily on where I was on the map.  Pen-y-ghent from Overdale Down through Stainforth, and once again we finished the day by following a path next to a river for the last few miles, and I entered Settle though the market square, then through the car park and I arrived at the Rugby Club, our home for the evening. Luckily it was a training evening, so we had some entertainment...  As I approached the camp, I looked at my Garmin. I had taken almost 10 hours for marathon distance – my personal worst by almost 4 hours. But instead of disappointment, I felt a great sense of achievement at how my day had changed around, and that I hadn’t given up on the Ribble Way.

Day 4

37.1 miles

11 hours 24 minutes

Rydal Hall Campsite, Rydal to High Laning Campsite, Dent  This was supposed to be the toughest day mentally and probably physically. The route included nothing like the climbs of the previous day in the tops, but there were still plenty of ups and downs, and the route stretched out for 37 miles, taking us out of the Lake District and into the Yorkshire Dales.  We started by running along Rydal Park and dropped down into Ambleside. A had a flash of recognition here, as I’d come here last year with other fetchies for a post Windermere Marathon dinner and drinks. Today we ran past the beer garden we’d sat in then, and I could picture everyone sat around the table.  From Ambleside we headed up to Skelghyll Wood (via a car park, oh the glamour) and had a pretty section up to and along Skelghyll Lane. Then there were some road section – into and out of Troutbeck Bridge, and taking the back way around to skirt the side of Windermere.  Skelghyll Wood Far from finding it a slog, I was really enjoying the day. My attitude at the start was that it was a day to ‘get through’ and then I could relax and enjoy the easy last two days – ‘only’ a marathon and an 18 miler. But this run was lovely. The navigation was challenging without being frustrating, the terrain was reasonable and I was happy to walk where it was tricky, and the views were lovely, even without the wow factor of the previous day.  The morning passed in a pleasant assortment of country lanes, footpaths and bridleways, and I reached CP2 at Kendal after 18 miles. I was grinning from ear to ear, and declared that I was loving it so much that I could run all day. Good job too – it was already early afternoon and I wasn’t even half way through the route...  From Kendal the route had to cross another housing estate and I once more had to navigate a series of alleyways. This time however, the footpath that I was certain was the correct one had barrier tape across it and a big sign saying it was closed. A few days earlier, I might have panicked and phoned Steve to ask what I should do. This time however, I just picked a new route to get me to the same place. Simples.  More quiet roads and footpaths and then crossing a few farmers’ fields, where I again managed to unintentionally do some creative navigation. I must have missed a path and taken a path on a similar bearing instead as the compass was adamant I was going the correct way, but the land and the map disagreed.  The exit to the field was not where it should have been, and I’m ashamed to say I lost patience with the map and continued on that bearing, requiring me to climb over gates that were clearly not intended for public access. Sorry to the farmer(s) but I’d had enough over the last few days of missing paths and unmaintained stiles and I didn’t wish to spend another hour or two looking for more.  I got where I wanted anyway, but the diversion had cost me time. Unlike the other days, when the other 4 runners disappeared out of sight within the first few miles, I’d caught sight of Andy and Karen quite a few times today, and was closing the gap. But after going wrong, I lost them and never made up the time.  Andy M was at CP3 and said that I was about 30 minutes behind them. My heart sank a little. Not because I was competing for a place, but because of the amount of time I’d wasted, and that I’d be on my feet for that much longer as a result. Shortly before I got lost I’d been 1-2 minutes behind.  The route from here was fairly straightforward and mostly followed the Dales Way along roads and footpaths. At CP4 I was told Andy and Karen were only 20 minutes ahead, so I’d managed to make up a bit of time. With just 4 miles until the end though, I figured they’d be nearly home.  I got a second (or by now third? Fourth? Fifth?) wind and managed to run most of the last few miles, and as the last mile ran along the River Dee, I saw the top of the Trans Britain flag waving in the distance, signalling home for the evening. I arrived in the campsite just 4 minutes after Andy and Karen, completely unexpected, so that no-one was there to welcome me in, as they were busy giving Andy and Karen their dinner!  Far from being the toughest day, I had found it to be the easiest, and most enjoyable. The route was lovely, my running was as smooth as could be under the circumstances, and I now had two easy days left to complete my challenge.

Day 3

18.52 miles

8 hours 16 minutes

The Quiet Site, Mell Fell to Rydal Hall Campsite, Rydal  This was the jewel in the crown day. The day in the tops. 8 Wainwrights bagged – Raise 883m, White Side 868m, Helvellyn 950m, Nethermost Pike 891m, Dollywaggon Pike 830m, Fairfield 873m, Great Rigg 766m, Heron Pike 612m.  The day started with a climb alongside Little Mell Fell, and along the road to Ulcat Row, then a bit of footpath navigation, and onto the first checkpoint of the day at Dockray. Because of the remoteness of the route, this was to be the only checkpoint of the day, although the crew would try and meet us in the tops with supplies.  I expected to be about 6 hours for the day, and although they had only said ‘try’, fully expected to see the crew, thus I didn’t worry about only having 2 water bottles. I was strongly to regret this later, as I didn’t see any of the crew until the last half mile, and ran out of water before I even reached Helvellyn, halfway through the day, plus I was a couple of hours over my 6 hour estimation.  Road to Ulcat Row From the CP the map book had a missing section, so it was a case of heading in ‘that direction, staying to the left of the peak’. I thought the missing section was about 100 yds long, but as it turned out, it was more like 1.5 miles. But despite thinking I’d gone off course, I found myself back on the map, exactly where I should be, and was using the shape of the shoreline of Ullswater to work out exactly where on the path I was. This was mainly an upwards slog, with a couple of steep descents to give the legs a change.  View over Ullswater View over Ullswater I loved the scenery. Although we had been in the Lake District yesterday, this was when I really felt it, as I had Ullswater on my left and mountain after mountain all around me. It was simply stunning.  View over Ullswater The path followed the side of the Brown Hills, and with a steep drop to my left, and no-one around to notice me fall, I mainly walked along the rocky trail. The path turned at Glencoyne Head, and I was rewarded with the stunning views over the valley that are in my photos.  Looking back over Ullswater from below Glencoyne Head Path below Glencoyne Head From Green Side we joined the path that gradually climbed up to the Sticks Pass, stepping over the huge bags of boulders that had been dropped to lay on the path. Garburn Pass? Pfft. Try Sticks Pass if you want a proper challenge (so I was told by someone who’s done both…)  Sticks Pass Sticks Pass Reaching the top of Sticks pass felt as if I was on top of the world, were it not for the paths to my left and right, both of which climbed further still. I took the left and bagged the first of the 8 Wainwrights for the day by ascending to the peak of Raise.  Climb to the summit of Raise Climb to the summit of Raise The summit of Raise, 883m From here, it was mostly a series of gentle (but still rock strewn) descents along the tops until the descent to Grisedale Tarn. It was also where I picked up the tourist trail, and the peace and quiet I had thus far been revelling in was shattered by numerous walkers.  The descent from Raise towards Helvellyn But nothing could detract from the views, and as I descended White Side, the steep ridge of Lower Man loomed ahead of me, ready to be climbed in order to reach Helvellyn. This was actually great fun. The exposed ridge was extremely windy, but it added to my exhilaration as I gradually got higher and higher up the range.  Looking up at the climb of Lower Man to Helvellyn Eventually I reached the top, and it was an easy walk from there along to the peak of Helvellyn, where apart from taking the obligatory photos, I didn’t hang around as it was reminiscent of Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon.  From the top of Helvellyn, 950m From the top of Helvellyn, 950m From the top of Helvellyn, 950m Easy, albeit breezy, walking along the tops along Nethermost Pike and Dollywaggon Pike and it was the a long descent down to about 500m to Grisedale Tarn.  Looking down at Grisedale Tarn from Dollywaggon Pike, 858m   Looking south from Dollywaggon Pike Grisdale Tarn and Dollywaggon Pike The path here was in a v shape, and not being able to see the tip of the v, I cut across. In front of me was a bank about 2ft high, so in order to get the height required to step up, I threw down my right foot onto the ground. Only to realise it wasn’t ground, it was a bog, and I was now stuck in it up to my knee. As I lost my balance, the other leg fell in too. Meh.  At first I couldn’t move, but somehow managed to free my left leg, then using as much force as I could muster, pulled my right leg out too. For a change I had done my laces up quite tightly, and my feet were freed with both shoes thankfully still attached.  However I had half of the bog still attached to me, so I decided to sit myself on the bank of the tarn, took my socks and shoes off, and went for a lovely paddle to clean up. Given the warmth of the day, and my increasing thirst, it was heavenly. In fact, if I’d known what was coming up, I may just have stayed there.  The ascent to Fairfield Having wasted enough time paddling (it was supposed to be a race!) I moved on and found the crosstracks which marked the ascent to Fairfield. Except the path disappeared halfway up, so clearly this was the wrong way and there must be another path somewhere.  The ascent to Fairfield Except there wasn’t. The extremely close-together contour lines on the map confirmed that this was indeed the required ascent, and in lieu of a walkable path, I’d just have to do some rock climbing. Eek.  It was about halfway up that I realised just why I was scared of heights. It’s not an irrational fear – I was clinging to the side of a mountain, hanging on to rocks, and trying to deal with the fact that almost every time I grabbed a rock to cling onto it moved away from the side. Being scared was an entirely natural response, I think. And I was so scared. I think it was the most terrifying thing I have ever done. I certainly can’t remember being that scared before.  But if I thought it was bad going up, I could not bear the thought of going down – each time I looked down it seemed to be a vertical drop to the water at the bottom, 300 odd metres below me. I know people do descend down there, I just don’t know how they do it.  I reached the top, and almost burst into tears at the sheer relief of not being dead. I felt a surge of confidence. If I could do that, surely I could do anything?  Looking down from the ascent to Fairfield, 873m. The most terrifying thing I have ever done. From the top of Fairfield was the gradual descent (with a few more ascents thrown in) down to home for the evening at Rydal Hall. The lack of water was making running a struggle, even on the runnable bits, and I made very slow progress, but progress is progress.   Heading south from Fairfield  Rydal Head & Rydal Fell Heading south from Fairfield I saw some of the crew about half a mile out from the finish, and gratefully accepted some water, before legging it down the hill. Windermere and Rydal Water from Heron Pike, 612m

Day 2

19.65 miles

6 hours 47 minutes

Robert Mouncey’s Farm, Caldbeck to The Quiet Site, Mell Fell  The day started with the long ascent of the fell that had provided us with such fabulous views the night before, reaching the top of High Pike at 658m. This was my first real experience of running in the Lakes, and the weather was very damp and foggy, which seemed entirely appropriate for the remoteness of the route.  High Pike, Caldbeck Fells - 658m I loved the navigation, as it was my feel real time of using compass bearings to work out my location and I was starting to use more of the map than just the path I was following. Matching up contour lines, wooded areas, rivers and, later in the day, walls, fences and boundaries with my surroundings.  Descent from High Pike, Caldbeck Fells The track seemed quite runnable and easy, but as we headed east down the side of Grainsgill Beck, the path became an mish mash of heather, bog and rocks. Once again, my feet were soaked through as I slid my way down.  Looking east down Grainsgill Beck The path descending alongside Grainsgill Beck CP1 awaited at the bottom of the valley, and having declined the fruit cake the day before for fear of it being to rich to run on, I tried some day and it was fabulous. It soon became my staple running fuel for the week.  The road from CP1 ran along the bottom of the valley to Mosedale, and made for easy running amidst the most glorious views.  Road to Mosedale I had been hearing calls from a farmer whilst herding his sheep along the hills on the other side of the valley, and as I turned south from Bowscale, the flock emerged onto the road just ahead of me. About 4-500 of them. Thus followed a very slow hour, during which I was stuck behind them, at flock pace (shuffle forward a bit, stop, wait for the dogs get the flock back in shape, shuffle forward a bit). However it was quite fascinating to watch, and a welcome change from the usual Monday morning experience of being in the office.  Stuck behind sheep for an hour from Bowscale to Mungrisdale After a mile or so, the farm was reached in Mungrisdale, the sheep turned off, and I was left with a clear road ahead of me. I forced myself into a bit of a run after my extended walk break.  From Mungrisdale, the route went away from the road, and the first of a few incidents of ‘creative navigation’ took place.  This is when the map says there is a footpath, the compass agrees that you want to go that way, but the land says no way. And so I passed a frustrating hour or two crossing marshy fields, picking my way over waist high reed beds, stumbling over boggy patches and having to climb over barbed wire fences where the map was certain there should be a stile.  Looking back over Redmire & Bowscale Fell Eventually I hit a wide grassy farm track, and although it appeared not to lead me out to CP2, decided to follow it and then turn back along the road to the CP. It may mean added mileage, but at that stage I just wanted to be able to walk for more than 3 paces without having to clamber over something.  Are you getting an idea of why my pace was so slow?  As it turned out, the boys had spotted me, and the CP was moved to where I exited onto the Roman road, a hundred yards or so east of the correct point. From here it was a couple of miles along the course of the Roman road, which, as I discovered, may have been fairly straight, but that didn’t mean it was fairly flat.  Over the road crossing of the A66, and I again went wrong. Not looking at the map carefully enough, I followed the track down a steep hill, and found myself at a delightful, fairy-stream like stepping stone crossing, only to be faced on the other side with a gate very angrily wrapped in barbed wire and most definitely not a public right of way.  I then lost my senses for a bit, and headed along the stream looking for another crossing and a footpath, only to discover when I checked the compass and rechecked the map that I should have taken a footpath immediately after the road crossing, and I had just wasted half an hour. I headed back up the steep hill.  From the correct footpath it really was an easy route, around Thackthwaite and then along the extremely runnable track down to home for the evening, the Quiet Site, at the bottom of Mell Fell.