I started this little blogging journey to report my preperation for the Atlantic Coast Challenge nearly a year ago. Back then three trail marathons in three days seemed a massive challenge. Since the ACC I've surfed a wave of momentum which has brought me through a 50miler and the Fellsman and deposited me at the mercy of another awesome challenge. All in much less than 12 months, which seems fast, but maybe it was just the kick up the arse I needed after about ten years of running incorporating lots of road racing from 5k to marathons which was starting to feel a bit "same old....".
Moving along, following the reality check at the Wasdale race I basically spent the next 2 weeks trying to be as innactive as possible barring a short run every few days to keep the legs turning over. I also ate well, but not irresponsibly and drank plenty of non-dehydrating fluids and a reduction in the dehyrdrating kind.
I perhaps had my least stressful organisation, packing and journey. I'd done a trial run with my backpack fully-loaded the week before and was happy with the weight and comfort. So the rest got packed fairly stress-lessly the day before. I had a good sleep the night before but still woke at 7:30 and took a leisurely breakfast and drive to Coniston. Arriving at just after midday I could now take a leisurely 5 hours to kit check, eat and prepare for the start.
Mark was already in the field of Coniston school and I was just in time to help complete putting up the tent. We were soon able to head up to the school and get our "weigh in" and kit check out of the way before the possibility of queues. I left the hall after a succesful kit check. Now with two tyvex strips on my right wrist, one with my weight printed on, another to strap the dibber on. I also had my Montane Lakeland 100 running top, waterproof map and roadbook. It all felt very organised and thought out. Exactly the reassurance you need before such a long event.
There was now plenty of time to take a leisurely lunch in Coniston with mark and Claire. Claire taunted me and Mark having a beer, as her event started tomorrow. But I was happy not to and enjoyed a healthy but filling jacket potato with cheese. I pointed out that we might look rather odd to others sat outside the pub. The three of us sat here with tags around our wrists with the dibber device may look like we were out on day release from the asylum.
The next few hours consisted of a few toilet visits, a bit more hydration and some last minute snacking to try and get as comfortable as possible before the start. There was also the compulsary briefing with a guest appearence by no less than Joss Naylor, fell-running legend.
Fast forward to just a few minutes to go before the start and the sun comes out for about the first time today and the heat is raised just a notch. I could do without this. but at least I know its now early evening and it won't last.
Coniston to Seathwaite - 6.4m, 2106ft asc, 1949 desc, 1h30m
5:30 and we were off, up the slight hill to the main road into Coniston. No question of walking this small slope. We then disturbed the traffic on the main road for a moment and gave the people outside the pubs something to talk about - "Thats the slowest race I've ever seen", "Whats with the backpacks?". We were soon off the main road and heading up the first real hill. I was sweating and walking halfway up this one due to the recently reappeared sun and the need to get rid of some excess heat via sweat quickly. It was then off roads altogether onto a trail and a half loop around the grand Old Man of Coniston with great views up on the right and down to the lake left.
The good path then steadily undulated for a few miles before the big climb of the stage over Walna Scar pass. It was a walker, but didn't last long and we soon topped out for a long descent. The descent was tricky as for most of the way down it was sufficiently steep to let go and not try and hold back, but on the other hand it was so early in a such a long event. We then hit a road to run down to the first CP in the village hall what seemed like no time at all.
Seathwaite to Boot - 6.7m, 1165ft asc, 1345 desc, 1h47m
On paper this could have been another 1:30 section. Little further than the last and a lot less climb. In reality, after some woodland trail running on a slightly boggy path we were running valley bottom trails, farmland and plantations - all of which were pretty boggy going with the recent rains.The plantation section took quite a while on very liquid footpaths and a slight upward gradient. A descent followed and a shock as I nearly ran over the body of a recently deceased sheep! My mind was telling me we were near the section end.
In reality the section dragged on quite a bit longer. Through a stream valley, around a farm on permissive paths before another woodland trail. The run into Boot was downhill on a track and then road. Its a shame the name of this place is likely to be blighted forever by recent events as it looks a cracking small village. A scattering of pubs with atmospheric beer gardens, the pleasent low, green valley backdrop. The unusual CP location at the corn mill on the north flank of Eskdale was like a trip back in time inside with dim lighting and bygone era decoration and tools scattered around. It was cooling a bit now as the light dimmed, but the end of day weather was a sign of the night to come.
Boot to Wasdale Head - 5.4m, 906ft asc, 817 desc, 1h24m
In planning I'd regarded this section and the previous as "money in the bank", not much climb and quite short. The last section hadn't quite panned out that way, at first this one didn't seem to be either. An initial uphil trudge led us onto Eskdale Moor, whish saw a low gradient climb on sometimes wet and technical path/trail so we didn't run much here. Onto the moor and it flattened out a bit. Quite a green grass, good going sort of moor comapaired to some of the tussocky swamps I've run. In the failing light mountains loomed in the distance. Despite the clear skies one or two were even shrowded in cloud..... yep, that would be Wasdale then.
A slight descent to the tarn and then some wet foot crossings stream crossings and boggy grass near the tarn head. We undulated slighty uphill before appearing in the gap between Illgill head and the foot-slopes of Scafell. Navigation suddenly became very easy as we descended the rocky path towards the NT campsite in the opposite direction of the start of the Wasdale race. Even in the near darkness the views of Wasdale's menacing peaks were as good as any we'd seen on the race day two weeks ago. The lack of wind and rain also saw the lake millpond-esque.
We had a good jog down the road through Wasdale head where the pub was seeing good trade from its captive audience of campers and the odd local (there can't be many). In a barn behind the pub the busy CP saw numerous people pulling out headtorches - myself included, filling water carriers and enjoying the extra-bonus of soup on offer from this CP. I was already appreciating any change I could get from sugary carbs that were making me nauseous.
Wasdale Head to Buttermere - 6.8m, 2437ft asc, 2306 desc, 2h43m
After the challenging climb of section 1 we'd had a comparitive lack of climb. This was our escalation. Two stages I hadn't recce'd that on paper looked to be the toughest back-to-back, it was also now dark. I felt quite good on the lower slope paths heading towards Black Sail pass, a bit of a buzz to have got to at least Wasdale without headtorch and in good time against my rough plan of 4mph Friday PM daytime sections. The same rough plan just required 3mph overnight. My only slight irritation was my headtorch pressing against my forehead giving me slight discomfort. I'd never noticed this previously as I'd only worn it in in more wintry conditions over a hat.
As we rounded Kirk Fell the only way was up and it was time for hard walking again. Ahead we could see lights gradually climbing the blackened hillside in a spread out pattern. So no issues with directions around here? But then after crossing the rampaging Gatherstone Beck the path seemed to disappear. The GPS track and slight recollection from descending here during our aborted Wasdale Fell race meant we headed up the steep grass bank, tempting as it was to follow a few people just ahead who kept low to the the beck assuming a steep climb later. Just as the calves started to moan the path crossed me and I shouted down to Mark. The aforementioned people just in front would rejoin the path near us 5-minutes or so later after a much longer ascent up the steep bank.
Much climbing later we found the reassuring broken metal gate at the top of Black Sail pass and moved onto the stoney zig-zag down the slope. The lights up ahead had now disappeared from view, probably somewhere on this descent obscurred from our view my ridges and undulations. After a brief detour we got our navigational heads on and tracked back to stick close to the on-off trail alongside the fast-falling waters of Sail beck. Though only about twenty miles in this kind of descent was feeling hard on the quads and knees as they were forced to break momentum skipping over large rocks that halted the flow of the trail.
Across the River Liza, passed the remote Black Sail hut YHA and it was up again. Seemingly our first double whammy of big climbs in a single stage. Through Scarth Gap at the top and we emerged onto whatbvthe raod book describes as "very rocky, rocky, cairned path". Any doubling of a word like rocky - or steep - in this book means not to be taken lightly. The descent went on for what felt like miles of picking our way through jagged, loose, large rocks contouring around High Crag down towards Buttermere. Again we navigated better than some as we saw lights well down below who had dropped too far too early and had to run a path along a river bank. We joined this large group at the true bottom of the descent. The relief was not exaggerated as we finally got to Buttermere Village hall CP via a forested lakeside path. I reckon this section would have been stunning in daylight and must revisit the past two valleys north of Wasdale.
TBC.....
Showing posts with label Wasdale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wasdale. Show all posts
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
D. N. F.
After plucking my waterproof smock and gloves from my backpack and packing away the now out-of-its-depth thin windstopper at the top of Scafell pike I danced awkwardly over the rocks and boulders that litter this summit. I got my bearings in the whiteout of the all-consuming cloud and left the throng of hikers "milling" around the top intending to get down the hill and away from the strong cold wind as soon as I could. Starting the final descent of the Wasdale Fell race route I skipped down the rocky summit approach as quickly as I could on overworked legs. Passing the conveyor belt of those about to summit and those that had and now seeked the same lower-level more clement conditions that I did. I stopped for a quick chat with the one group of passers-by - who I genuinely believed didn't think I was insane - and was asked with curiousity how long it had took me to get up here as they'd seen me pushing hard up.
As I set off again the cloud around seemed to lift by a few hundred feet and all of a sudden I had stunning views around from 2500ft+ Something I thought I was destined to be without today. neighouring valleys and lakes were visible and down beyond Wastwater the flatter coastal land, the sea and at the limits of sight the outline of large mountains. Could this be Snowdonia!? I'd heard it was visible from up here. Whatever it was it was big and a long way off - I don't think I've ever gazed so far. I descended steadily and then steadily ventured off the rocky "tourist" path navigating from map and GPS to get over to the route of the Fell run descent.
On a much more pleasant, grassy and often springy, damp, little trod I bounced down the hill with a gaining momentum, checking left around the south of Lingmell Fell, beneath the rocks to join the ridge down to Wasdale Head. The ridge rose high above the tourist path up Brown Tongue on my left and a deep drop to my right. It rose perfectly up and was crowned by the path I was now on which dropped down with the ridge. I stopped briefly after Lingmell fell to take the pictures below. Then I was off, initially steady as the the slightly sunken dust path twisted around a few ruts and stones. But then it was brakes off time, the path pretty much dropping straight and at fairly consist angle down the crown of the ridge all the way back down to lake-level.
It was that most marvellous of things, over 2000ft of totally runnable descent. As I sped down, leaning forward as much as I dared to make use of gravity, I had to wonder if my legs could actually handle such a long descent at speed. As I gained momentum I warmed up as my leg turnover rate hit maximum trying to keep up with my fall to earth. I was working hard, but it was the most increadible thing, I was totally alive, endorphin overload and being worked out on every level. My eyes and brain having to work at a fast pace and in harmony to make sure my footfalls kept me upright and away from danger.
Towards the bottom I could see a couple of walkers up ahead joining the path from Brown Tongue. They scoped me and made sure they were well out of my way on the wide path, obviously sensing I wasn't going to stop or slow down. I managed a hello between breaths as I stampeded past.
Then, in almost no time it was over, it felt like less than five minutes since I started the last hair-raising descent, but I suspect it had been longer. Either way, it had been a truly excellent five minutes or more. Getting up Scafell pike is a decent achievement, but this descent was the real highlight. As I rejoined the main tourist path and crossed the bridge the end of the fell race was in sight I entered the field, but was not cheered by race finishers and spectators. I didn't cross a marked finishing line, get my number checked or "dib" to register my completion. Why you ask? Well because the race had finished yesterday. Today was Sunday and due to yesterdays unusual turn of events I'd decided to climb and descend Scafell Pike in isolation a day late.
rewind..... to Saturday - race day
I was glad to have my OMM Kamelieka smock on as I queud to collect my number and was buffeted with rain coming in from the clouds hanging close above. Safety was obviously a major consideration as I was given not just a number, but a dibber and a plastic ring with numbered bread tags on to give in at CP. I kept the smock on for the race start as the rain blew into the assemled racers faces. At the off I assumed a position near the back of the field with Mark. We were quite content just to get around, no heroics today. However, I soon realised being near the back would have been a reality either way as the field ran or walked hard up the first hill.
This first climb was to the two lowest peaks on route, but from lake level it certainly wasn't childsplay. Robbed of any views by the whiteout of the cloud we were enveloped in, we just pushed up and up for at least a couple of miles. This first peak was Illgill head - 609m - (pictured left) and I honestly couldn't tell you the route over, I had no idea how close we were to the steep drop down to the southern edge of Wast Water.
Descending off here I was having to push quite hard just to keep the runner ahead in view. Sorry to say, but I wasn't really navigating up here in the unfamiliar lanscape and whiteout. So keeping in touch with a few others gave me some comfort that somebody else may know exactly where they were going. I did recall from the studying the map that I should be going downhill here, so that also offered reassurance. We climbed again and passed the first CP, number check, dib, bread tag in bucket and off - no LDWA challenge-style foodpoints today!
The descent from Whin Rigg wasn't exactly fun, steep, and the grass and rocks were slippy from the downpour. I'd opted to run in Roclites, the competition being my Mudclaws. Comfort had won over grip, due to the length of the event and what I'd heard about hard ground. But it was so wet, the ground had plenty of give and Mudclaws would have been ideal - first lesson learned for next time. Mark and I were down safely though and on the rare flat section as we crossed Greendale my thoughts turned to regaining a few positions we'd lost through our tentative descent. The rain had now stopped and at lower level and current effort rate it was plenty warm enough for the Somck to come off. Below it I was soaked, not from the rain, but from my own perspiration. It seems no matter how good a sports waterproof you always sacrifice breathability at high exertion.
There was an unexpected drinks stop at a road crossing. Then somebody caught my eye.... is it?..... could it be? Star-struck I didn't ask the identity of the man I believed to be Joss Naylor. A lovely and very much down-to-earth guy I'm sure, but what would I say to a true legend, where is composure when you need it.
We were soon returning to the hills. Competitive fell run style we ate on the ascent. Or maybe it isn't fell run style as I'm sure most of the runners had far too small a pack to be carrying food surely! The GPS also came out here as I suspected we'd end up alone in the murk at some point very soon. We climbed past the raging torrent of a Gill on our left, how long had it been raining here? Though I suspect this may not be abnormal. Back into clouds, the trudge up Seatallan was pretty much all walked. I tried to keep other competitors in sight ahead with limited success. Slightly worrying was that Mark had almost disappeared from sight behind me. Something must be up as this was a role reversal on the usual state of things. I found out at the top that Mark was struggling a bit and had been ever since the first climb. No particular reason for it, perhaps he was suffering a bit with the effects of heavy training like I had been a fortnight ago when we'd had to shorten our 3rd Lakeland 100 recce.
We checked in at the wind blasted 693m summit and were off again, a few runners who had been ahead came past us the other way having missed the peak CP. I think we'd only found it through following the route line on GPS, there weren't many features to navigate from in the white-grey murk and it was mostly unpathed up here. I was soon to learn that even GPS didn't help much if the "plank" using it wasn't constantly vigilant.
Down steeply to the Pots of Ashness and then it was the hard slog up and up to a few intermediate higher peaks and CP3 at Pillar (892m). We weren't far along the way before we were too far down a slope and had to eventually scramble up a loose rocky scree. On higher ground we found quite a substantial boulder field in our path. We pushed though it for awhile but then tried to seek ways around as many of the rocks were sharp edged and some quite slippy in our trail shoes. We found a wall and a path, bliss, after stopping for a quick bite we pushed on along this path which followed the GPS route nicely. After around a mile of good, if windblown, progress the route took us off down the hill and we soon lost any semblence of path as we came to a fast-flowing gill. We found a path close to route and pushed onwards, contouring around a muddy hillside.
Looking at the GPS mileage left to go, I was starting to feel something wasn't right. Not long after this I zoomed the GPS route out figuring we must be somewhere near Pillar by now. My route had CP's named along the bread-trail line we were trying to follow. A named CP came onto the route screen about 1m ahead, but it wasn't Pillar......
"Damn, bugger, I don't believe it........ were going the wrong way!!"
....or something to that effect was what I uttered. We'd somehow started heading back the wrong way along the route - the CP up ahead was Seatallan. It took me the entire backtrack to the boulder field... probably 2.5 to 3m to figure out my error. We'd approached the boulder-field after being a few hundred yards off-route, disorientated by trying to pick through rocks and the blasting wind. When we stopped in the shelter of the wall to eat we'd set off again after following the path in the wrong direction. As we were now on route - which we hadn't been the other way - I hadn't noticed the error. It wasn't obvious how to get across the boulder field either, we picked a route down the ridge off this peak which eventually became an obvious path leading us to the rocky scramble up the last few hundred feet of Pillar.
There was nobody manning a CP up there and a hiker who must have been up there a while - probably seeking solitude in such a wild and desolate place as it was today - said he'd seen no other people up there barring runners as recently as about 20 mins ago. This suprised us a bit as we were well over an hour - maybe two - over the cut-off after our detour and we'd figured everybody would have been through a long time ago. We'd already decided to call it a day before Pillar as Mark had his family waiting back at the finish for the tent to be put up. We were also a bit concerned that we didn't want to worry the organisers too much and would feel bad if Mountain Rescue were to be called out for us. Without these concerns I was feeling good enough to complete the course, if a bit miffed by the idiocy of my navving error, even with the benefit of a map and GPS technology.
We peeled off the hills at a path that joined the main path from Black Sail pass (the way back into Wasdale pictured right). No Great Gable or Scafell Pike for us. I felt a bit gutted about this, but to balance this I felt I'd learned an important lesson. Maybe one that could assist me in the upcoming Lakeland 100 (UTLD). The recce days for UTLD had been in such glorious weather that I'd probably established an irrational belief that navigation wouldn't be an issue. Now I was all too aware I needed to be more careful, for all its obvious tourist paths, UTLD does have a few high-level moorland crossings which could be tricky in conditions like these.
Coming out of the cloud down the hill was awesome, my vision filled with greens and browns and other non-grey shades I'd not set eye's upon in hours! We got back to the start via Wasdale Head village about six and a half hours after the race had started. There was no fuss about our withdrawal, we just dibbed in and placed our bread tags in a "withdrawals" bucket. We learned later that there had been over 40 in our gang of non-completers. 121 had finished, a few way after our arrival back. This race really was living up to its credentials. Other statistics that bouyed me a bit were that the winners time was well down on last year (45mins, a lot, even though 2009 had been a championship year) and we had still managed nearly the same distance as the 21m race during our outing. We'd missed the two biggest peaks but still recorded well over 7000" ascent and descent.
The rest of the weekend was far more relaxed and enjoyable (in a deifferent, less challenging way).... I didn't wake during the night screaming so it can't have bothered me that much. After getting the tents up on Saturday I enjoyed Pasta, tomato sauce and parmesan with Mark, Joanne and Lucas. Then a few beers and relaxing in to the evening. It rained all night.....
Back to Sunday..... and the bit before the start
Conveniently the rain had pretty much stopped by time I awoke. A walk after breakfast to look around the hills and mountains of the valley presented the prospect of a better day, if still a little windy. Once the breakfast had digested I put to action my plan I'd hatched for the evening before. I was in Wasdale so just had to do take on the biggest beast in view... well partially at least. So I put the backpack back on, donned the mudclaws I wish I'd used yesterday and I was off.
Up the stoney path behind the campsite and I joined the rocky step path which lead me up into the gloom where England's tallest peak lurked. I passed a steady stream of peiople as I headed up. Not exactly running up, but I put in a hard effort whether walking or clambering. Things got interesting at a plateau about 2000ft up where the path splits. There was the popular walk up route - longer, but easier - and "route 1", up into a cloud-shrowded approach to a notch in the skyline between Scafell and Scafell Pike. The picture - left - of the "notch" in the skyline was taken on the way down when the cloud had lifted just a bit. The two peaks are off-picture and still in cloud.
I took route 1 up jagged, wet and often loose rocks. Much closer to climbing due to the steepness and pace. At the top of this intimidating rock-face was Mickeldore, a pass between Eskdale and Wasdale and also a narrow ridge between Scafell Pike and Scafell. I turned left to head up to Scafell Pike, following the crowd I suppose, but it had to be done. After tramping over rocks and boulders littering the summit trying to find the peak in whiteout I soon heard hikers from the main path up and headed the way they were going. I soon summited. Though to be honest I felt a little unfulfilled. So many people were up here, even in todays wind and murk, that I couldn't even find good shelter from the wind to sit a minute. Thankfully, as you read at the start, I soon found the joy was in the descent from this one. The day finished with good grub and micro-brewery beer in a pub in Nether Wasdale. Overall, another great lakes weekend.
As I set off again the cloud around seemed to lift by a few hundred feet and all of a sudden I had stunning views around from 2500ft+ Something I thought I was destined to be without today. neighouring valleys and lakes were visible and down beyond Wastwater the flatter coastal land, the sea and at the limits of sight the outline of large mountains. Could this be Snowdonia!? I'd heard it was visible from up here. Whatever it was it was big and a long way off - I don't think I've ever gazed so far. I descended steadily and then steadily ventured off the rocky "tourist" path navigating from map and GPS to get over to the route of the Fell run descent.
On a much more pleasant, grassy and often springy, damp, little trod I bounced down the hill with a gaining momentum, checking left around the south of Lingmell Fell, beneath the rocks to join the ridge down to Wasdale Head. The ridge rose high above the tourist path up Brown Tongue on my left and a deep drop to my right. It rose perfectly up and was crowned by the path I was now on which dropped down with the ridge. I stopped briefly after Lingmell fell to take the pictures below. Then I was off, initially steady as the the slightly sunken dust path twisted around a few ruts and stones. But then it was brakes off time, the path pretty much dropping straight and at fairly consist angle down the crown of the ridge all the way back down to lake-level.
Towards the bottom I could see a couple of walkers up ahead joining the path from Brown Tongue. They scoped me and made sure they were well out of my way on the wide path, obviously sensing I wasn't going to stop or slow down. I managed a hello between breaths as I stampeded past.
Then, in almost no time it was over, it felt like less than five minutes since I started the last hair-raising descent, but I suspect it had been longer. Either way, it had been a truly excellent five minutes or more. Getting up Scafell pike is a decent achievement, but this descent was the real highlight. As I rejoined the main tourist path and crossed the bridge the end of the fell race was in sight I entered the field, but was not cheered by race finishers and spectators. I didn't cross a marked finishing line, get my number checked or "dib" to register my completion. Why you ask? Well because the race had finished yesterday. Today was Sunday and due to yesterdays unusual turn of events I'd decided to climb and descend Scafell Pike in isolation a day late.
rewind..... to Saturday - race day
I was up with the larks to begin my long drive to Wasdale. Less than six hours sleep meant a caffiene stop at the A1 services was both desired and necessary. Otherwise though, I felt fine and ready to take on what I'd built up in my mind as the toughest race..... ney challenge, I'd ever taken on. The pleasent sunny 21c of 7am in East Yorkshire, degraded back into the teens as I approached greyer skies near to Manchester. As I headed up the M6 the windscreen wipers came on. As I turned off and navigated around the south of the Lakes and onto the narrow roads into Wasdale, todays conditions were very apparent. The cloud hung low over the lake, and rain showers and wind turned the air cool. As I got to the race I saw Mark was already there and making good use of the full body waterproof cover the race regs required. His lad Lucas was making it know he was less than thrilled with the weather.
I was glad to have my OMM Kamelieka smock on as I queud to collect my number and was buffeted with rain coming in from the clouds hanging close above. Safety was obviously a major consideration as I was given not just a number, but a dibber and a plastic ring with numbered bread tags on to give in at CP. I kept the smock on for the race start as the rain blew into the assemled racers faces. At the off I assumed a position near the back of the field with Mark. We were quite content just to get around, no heroics today. However, I soon realised being near the back would have been a reality either way as the field ran or walked hard up the first hill.
Descending off here I was having to push quite hard just to keep the runner ahead in view. Sorry to say, but I wasn't really navigating up here in the unfamiliar lanscape and whiteout. So keeping in touch with a few others gave me some comfort that somebody else may know exactly where they were going. I did recall from the studying the map that I should be going downhill here, so that also offered reassurance. We climbed again and passed the first CP, number check, dib, bread tag in bucket and off - no LDWA challenge-style foodpoints today!
The descent from Whin Rigg wasn't exactly fun, steep, and the grass and rocks were slippy from the downpour. I'd opted to run in Roclites, the competition being my Mudclaws. Comfort had won over grip, due to the length of the event and what I'd heard about hard ground. But it was so wet, the ground had plenty of give and Mudclaws would have been ideal - first lesson learned for next time. Mark and I were down safely though and on the rare flat section as we crossed Greendale my thoughts turned to regaining a few positions we'd lost through our tentative descent. The rain had now stopped and at lower level and current effort rate it was plenty warm enough for the Somck to come off. Below it I was soaked, not from the rain, but from my own perspiration. It seems no matter how good a sports waterproof you always sacrifice breathability at high exertion.
There was an unexpected drinks stop at a road crossing. Then somebody caught my eye.... is it?..... could it be? Star-struck I didn't ask the identity of the man I believed to be Joss Naylor. A lovely and very much down-to-earth guy I'm sure, but what would I say to a true legend, where is composure when you need it.
We were soon returning to the hills. Competitive fell run style we ate on the ascent. Or maybe it isn't fell run style as I'm sure most of the runners had far too small a pack to be carrying food surely! The GPS also came out here as I suspected we'd end up alone in the murk at some point very soon. We climbed past the raging torrent of a Gill on our left, how long had it been raining here? Though I suspect this may not be abnormal. Back into clouds, the trudge up Seatallan was pretty much all walked. I tried to keep other competitors in sight ahead with limited success. Slightly worrying was that Mark had almost disappeared from sight behind me. Something must be up as this was a role reversal on the usual state of things. I found out at the top that Mark was struggling a bit and had been ever since the first climb. No particular reason for it, perhaps he was suffering a bit with the effects of heavy training like I had been a fortnight ago when we'd had to shorten our 3rd Lakeland 100 recce.
We checked in at the wind blasted 693m summit and were off again, a few runners who had been ahead came past us the other way having missed the peak CP. I think we'd only found it through following the route line on GPS, there weren't many features to navigate from in the white-grey murk and it was mostly unpathed up here. I was soon to learn that even GPS didn't help much if the "plank" using it wasn't constantly vigilant.
Down steeply to the Pots of Ashness and then it was the hard slog up and up to a few intermediate higher peaks and CP3 at Pillar (892m). We weren't far along the way before we were too far down a slope and had to eventually scramble up a loose rocky scree. On higher ground we found quite a substantial boulder field in our path. We pushed though it for awhile but then tried to seek ways around as many of the rocks were sharp edged and some quite slippy in our trail shoes. We found a wall and a path, bliss, after stopping for a quick bite we pushed on along this path which followed the GPS route nicely. After around a mile of good, if windblown, progress the route took us off down the hill and we soon lost any semblence of path as we came to a fast-flowing gill. We found a path close to route and pushed onwards, contouring around a muddy hillside.
Looking at the GPS mileage left to go, I was starting to feel something wasn't right. Not long after this I zoomed the GPS route out figuring we must be somewhere near Pillar by now. My route had CP's named along the bread-trail line we were trying to follow. A named CP came onto the route screen about 1m ahead, but it wasn't Pillar......
"Damn, bugger, I don't believe it........ were going the wrong way!!"
....or something to that effect was what I uttered. We'd somehow started heading back the wrong way along the route - the CP up ahead was Seatallan. It took me the entire backtrack to the boulder field... probably 2.5 to 3m to figure out my error. We'd approached the boulder-field after being a few hundred yards off-route, disorientated by trying to pick through rocks and the blasting wind. When we stopped in the shelter of the wall to eat we'd set off again after following the path in the wrong direction. As we were now on route - which we hadn't been the other way - I hadn't noticed the error. It wasn't obvious how to get across the boulder field either, we picked a route down the ridge off this peak which eventually became an obvious path leading us to the rocky scramble up the last few hundred feet of Pillar.
There was nobody manning a CP up there and a hiker who must have been up there a while - probably seeking solitude in such a wild and desolate place as it was today - said he'd seen no other people up there barring runners as recently as about 20 mins ago. This suprised us a bit as we were well over an hour - maybe two - over the cut-off after our detour and we'd figured everybody would have been through a long time ago. We'd already decided to call it a day before Pillar as Mark had his family waiting back at the finish for the tent to be put up. We were also a bit concerned that we didn't want to worry the organisers too much and would feel bad if Mountain Rescue were to be called out for us. Without these concerns I was feeling good enough to complete the course, if a bit miffed by the idiocy of my navving error, even with the benefit of a map and GPS technology.
We peeled off the hills at a path that joined the main path from Black Sail pass (the way back into Wasdale pictured right). No Great Gable or Scafell Pike for us. I felt a bit gutted about this, but to balance this I felt I'd learned an important lesson. Maybe one that could assist me in the upcoming Lakeland 100 (UTLD). The recce days for UTLD had been in such glorious weather that I'd probably established an irrational belief that navigation wouldn't be an issue. Now I was all too aware I needed to be more careful, for all its obvious tourist paths, UTLD does have a few high-level moorland crossings which could be tricky in conditions like these.
The rest of the weekend was far more relaxed and enjoyable (in a deifferent, less challenging way).... I didn't wake during the night screaming so it can't have bothered me that much. After getting the tents up on Saturday I enjoyed Pasta, tomato sauce and parmesan with Mark, Joanne and Lucas. Then a few beers and relaxing in to the evening. It rained all night.....
Back to Sunday..... and the bit before the start
Conveniently the rain had pretty much stopped by time I awoke. A walk after breakfast to look around the hills and mountains of the valley presented the prospect of a better day, if still a little windy. Once the breakfast had digested I put to action my plan I'd hatched for the evening before. I was in Wasdale so just had to do take on the biggest beast in view... well partially at least. So I put the backpack back on, donned the mudclaws I wish I'd used yesterday and I was off.
I took route 1 up jagged, wet and often loose rocks. Much closer to climbing due to the steepness and pace. At the top of this intimidating rock-face was Mickeldore, a pass between Eskdale and Wasdale and also a narrow ridge between Scafell Pike and Scafell. I turned left to head up to Scafell Pike, following the crowd I suppose, but it had to be done. After tramping over rocks and boulders littering the summit trying to find the peak in whiteout I soon heard hikers from the main path up and headed the way they were going. I soon summited. Though to be honest I felt a little unfulfilled. So many people were up here, even in todays wind and murk, that I couldn't even find good shelter from the wind to sit a minute. Thankfully, as you read at the start, I soon found the joy was in the descent from this one. The day finished with good grub and micro-brewery beer in a pub in Nether Wasdale. Overall, another great lakes weekend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)