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"I wish you’d been born in the summer," they said. It was understandable, really. After weeks of warmer-than-average weather, albeit rather wet, the temperature had plummeted and the east wind was winding itself up. The amazing thing was that 15 good lasses and lads had made the journey from North of the border to Kirkby Stephen, in Cumbria, to celebrate an old fogey’s birthday. One carload had been delayed by a diversion to get Jane’s ‘lifted’ vehicle from the police car-pound. An expensive start to the weekend. At least this time no one had put diesel in a petrol car, as I recalled happened on a previous occasion, at the FRA relays. There’s a YHA hostel in the middle of the town; a converted chapel and very well done, too. Off-season, anyone can use the "rent-a-hostel" scheme to take over the place for the weekend. It has plenty of rooms, showers and ‘facilities’. It’s warm, with a fabulous drying room. The plan was to cover three score kilometres and ten in the weekend. Day 1, travel on the Settle to Carlisle railway from KS to Ribblehead, the location of the famous viaduct. From Ribblehead, run 32 km round The Three Peaks of Yorkshire - Whernside, Ingleborough and Pen-y-Ghent - to Horton-in-Ribblesdale. Arrive in time to catch a return train about six and a half hours later. When I used to run the 3 Peaks Race, years ago, there were long stretches of glutinous bog and man-eating moor. No longer. The pressure on this traditional route is so high, it had to be paved in some way. This makes it very runnable and 6 hours should be adequate, I hoped. |
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The first crisis was that there is a railway museum at Ribblehead Station. We’ll never get Andy out of there. A mile up Whernside, no Andy. I’ll catch you up, he had said, and so he did. Good job he is a lot faster than average. Whernside was climbed ok on the flagstones lifted from the cotton mills of Lancashire, which have closed down in their hundreds over the last couple of decades. More than 2000 feet achieved and the white stuff was definitely crunchy in places – the cold was not only down to wind-chill. A fast run down to Chapel-le-Dale and across to Ingleborough. "Are we on schedule" they kept asking. I’m a fan of Naismith and his rule for scheduling outings. This one was on a 1.5 Naismith plan. Yes, we are about 15 minutes ahead, we’ll catch the return train ok. On Ingleborough there were loads of walkers and not much room on the down-wind side of the shelter, so Willie deployed the ten-man bothy. Wonderful. Get ten bodies in there and it becomes tropical. That is, very warm and smelly. Bill had developed a cold on the Friday and decided running was a bit unwise, so had walked from Ribblehead by a shorter route. There he was, quietly eating his sandwiches, with his golf umbrella. Why did you bring that umbrella, Bill? Because my little one has been pinched. | |
| The run down Sulber Nick to Horton-in Ribblesdale from Ingleborough is fabulous. Eight miles of gentle descent but needing serious concentration on smooth wet limestone. I suppose I was a bit of a misery vetoing Keith’s suggestion of a diversion to Gaping Gill. We had to catch the train. Always leave something to come back for, they say. Here we are at Horton. Hi, Barbel. She had driven from KS with warm, dry clothes for us to change into before the return train journey. On to Pen-y-Ghent. For Yorkshire, some of the names (Chapel-le-Dale, P-y-G) are distinctly non-English. The steep south route to the summit looks great from below but how to get there? Luckily Jack remembered the route wrinkles and Jane had done the short race a few years ago. No problem. |
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At the top, it’s like a set of steps. The gritstone weathers to a natural staircase. Not really a scramble but nearly. Another lovely, long, gently-sloped bomb down was the reward. Plenty of time to change and visit the caff for pint mugs of tea and home-made cake before the train departs at 1554. Back to the hostel, glorious showers, and out for a pub dinner. What more can one ask? All the crises I had lain awake considering (I don’t worry now I’m 70) had been negotiated. No one missed the train. The out train wasn’t an hour late. The trains turned up. There weren’t several feet of snow on the tops. The wind was reasonable. | |
| And so to Day 2, Sunday. Out from KS at 9am – Carnethy are getting remarkably disciplined about prompt starts to the day – and make for Nine Standards Rigg. The schedule called for a one-hour ascent but the wind decided to intervene. It must have been at least 20 mph and head on. A battle to the top took 1.5 hours, into a white-covered, winter wonderland scene. No time to examine the nine Nine-Foot Standards (large, upright cairns built by the lead miners a couple of centuries ago), just turn right and get down to the road crossing asap. In weather like this it only takes a short run down wind, lose a bit of altitude and it’s a different world. The strong, cold wind had made me think that completing the 70km would not be on today. Glad I didn’t voice any doubts, because everyone confessed later that if just one person had broken ranks the façade would be down and a quick return to KS inevitable. Not a lot of margin. |
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So on, on, across the bog. Mallerstang Edge is a series of tops with very little descent between them and we spent another hour and a half in the bitter wind above 2000 feet. Everyone dug into their reserves and eventually we were dropping off the ridge towards Hell Gill Bridge. Once again a short drop and the perceived temperature rose to acceptable levels. "What do you think, guys? Not as spectacular as the Highlands but not bad?" On looking back at Mallerstang, the Edge looked wonderful, picked out in winter sunshine which broke through after we had passed. Once again, here was Barbel supporting with a car, in case anyone wished to call it a day. The hot drinks and cake were just right. Those with colds were wise to stop here and go back to the Hostel to warm through and have a well-earned kip. How’s the schedule? We’re on for another 3 hours back to Kirkby Stephen. Right, then. Tackle the climb up Swarth Fell. It will take a bit of bottle after 53 km so far this weekend, thought I, but in fact with a pleasant conversation about pre-historic man it was ok. The wind got up again on Wildboar Fell. At one point I had adopt the technique of running at 45 degrees to the path, which gave a resultant force along the path. You see, applied maths does work. |
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| Re-group at another road crossing, with about 10km to go. I can’t see Kirkby Stephen, says Willie, you are leading us astray, we’re lost. Have faith, my friend, it’s there behind those little hills. Now we’re on green roads, bridle paths and farm tracks. Wharton Hall was interesting. Very much like a Scottish fortified house; must look into the history of the place. Over the river, past a big log. Corney joke to the fore – that must be Andy’s. Why? It’s the Captain’s Log. Why do we laugh at such stuff? There was one very original joke earlier in the day, connecting the marital and the martial arts but I didn’t understand it. Now the questions about how far to go are becoming more frequent. Just over a mile. Surge on along a very narrow path totally squidged by motorbikes and very difficult to control the feet. How far is it now? About a mile. Look, there’s KS church. And so an ordered, restrained return to KS over Frank’s Bridge. The jumping up and down and shouting for joy occurred only inside myself. 38km for the day in difficult conditions. Another wonderful day completed. | ) |
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Tell me, what can be better than this? You can’t can you? Two superb days in the company of friends, old and new. The next day I felt invigorated and renewed, both physically and mentally. I’ve been on a high for days. How can one convey to those who don’t ever do this how wonderful it is? How do you explain the feeling of closeness to the companions on such an enterprise? I regret now that poetry has eluded me. I don’t have the skill with words to convey it all. During one evening conversation, we noted that (so far) hill running has not had an author comparable to W.H.Murray in the climbing world. Mike Cudahy is the nearest, Keith thought. I must read him. Someone suggested we had one or two newsletter contributors who were capable of expressing these feelings. Can they be persuaded to write a book about the elation and the pain of great hill runs, I wondered? |
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