Stegosaurus Dreams
Ultrarunners are never happy. It’s late afternoon on Friday and I’m heading along the forest track towards Byrness. I’m grumpy because this wide, well defined, boring track is far from the wild fells and moors that draw me to such races. However I’m begrudgingly admitting to myself that this bombproof track means not having to navigate or to watch my footing, and I can grind out some easy miles. Progress here is dull, but fast. I’m jogging bits and walking bits and generally feeling in control. I’m well ahead of any cut off, somewhere in the mid-pack and well set for a finish. All things considered, I’m grumpily happy.
Without needing to concentrate much on this simple track, by mind starts to wander. I notice an object by the side of the way. It’s Olaf, the sentient snowman from Frozen. He’s gormlessly, harmlessly waving at me. As I get closer, he shimmers away revealing his true form as a pile of logs. Within a few minutes, Popeye appears, doing squats and grinning inanely. He too morphs into another pile of logs as I pass him. I need some sleep.
Half an hour passes and I crest a small rise in the track. The summit of the crest is occupied by a purple stegosaurus. It’s a baby really, no bigger than a dog. Unlike Olaf and Popeye, it speaks. It tells me that it’s in the bag, but I need to sleep at Byrness, three miles distant. “Deal”, I say out loud. I was planning to push onto Hut 1 but there was no rush, no need. I was in control, I was feeling ok, moving well and a stegosaurus advised me to sleep soon. So after a date with Sharon and company at CP 5.5, I resolve to sleep in the church down the road.
I spent the rest of that section reflecting on how I came to be here, taking advice from imaginary dinosaurs and being on the verge of achieving something I thought was probably beyond me. I started this race having prepared hard and thoroughly, making sacrifices and asking my family to do the same. I couldn’t have done more and so it felt like shit or bust for me. Fail this and I can’t blame anything other than my own shortcomings. Standing on that start line in Edale was terrifying because despite all the preparation, I was far from convinced that I had what it took to finish this race. And yet, here I was, making it happen…
Start: Edale. 15th January
I roomed with five others in the YHA and got hardly any sleep. One of our number, a Spiner of some repute, snored like a warthog. I briefly contemplated smothering him with a pillow. Instead, I took my pillow and duvet and decanted to the lounge and tried to sleep on a sofa in there. I maybe got 2 hours? Not a good start, and not the last time snorers would plague my bid for much needed sleep in this race.
Breakfast in the YHA was tense. Nearly everyone was palpably nervous. I chewed the fat with Dougie Zinis whom I knew from when I paced a few legs of his colossal Wainwrights round last year. He was chipper as you’d expecta man of his ability and confidence to be (he went onto claim another podium finish). Food was not appealing to my knot of a stomach, but my rational brain commanded it. I forced some stuff in there and hoped it would be enough.
The YHA-Edale minibus duly took us to the start. It was pouring down. Trackers were attached, toilets used (hell of a queue) and the dance to stay dry began. Quite reasonably, the organisers wanted to keep the hall clear so once you were trackered-up, you were to leave and go outside into the darkness and rain. Despite being a roughty-toughty spiner, I wanted to stay inside for as long as possible. I found an obscure corner well away from the production line and fiddled with my pack (not a euphemism). This bought me about 20 mins until I was spotted, by which time it was pretty empty in there and the nervous parade to the start was underway. So I joined the herd, feeling desperate to start whilst not quite believing this time had come.
Kevin was warming us up, MC style, about the grim weather forecast. I walked away to a little spot on my own and asked myself if I felt this was something I could really do? The answer was genuinely, “I don’t know”. What I did know was that I couldn’t have done any more to prepare. Hours and hours of time with that pack, reccying this route and testing all the gear. More hours doing press-ups and planks and goodness knows what else. These hours, many as they were, were outweighed by the endless nights thinking about the Spine, the Pennine Way, the training schedule, contingency plans, travel arrangements….man, this thing needed to start.
And start it did. I walked through Edale as the fasties and the impatienties ran. The muscle memory of pack ‘n’ poles kicked in from the off – clack ,clack, clack. I was away, not running and not at the back. I felt like I was where I belonged and that this was on.
Blizzardy Kinder and mud to Hebden (CP1 – 47 miles)
The first few miles in the Spine are an exercise is trying to stay calm. It’s not always easy to focus internally on your oft practiced and drilled rhythms when there are people around you, passing you or sitting on your shoulder. You know all this will pass, but initially it feels like a race rather than the expedition that is really is for most of us. I tuned everyone else out and just walked.
I was calm when we were moving west along the valley but the climb onto Kinder Scout via Jacob’s Ladder was where it got exciting. The snow fell heavy in thick flakes and was whipped along by a chill crosswind. It was sticking to the black peat and as I glanced down at myself, to me too. ‘Beats rain’ I thought and just enjoyed the adventurous start to things. Kinder is a cracking place and I have always loved that western edge. It was great to see it looking wintry and I was pleased that my race head had been taken over by a genuine desire to enjoy these fine places.
I was knocking out 20 min miles and that felt ok. Wasn’t hard and wasn’t a stroll. I was thrilled that I’d just settled down. I’m never going to trouble any podiums, so it was all about being careful and efficient.
Kinder, Snake Pass and Bleaklow all came and went, with the descent from the latter being especially muddy. It was a bit of a bind going down there but I got to Torside in just over 4:30 which was 30 mins faster than I’d roughly planned. The mountain rescue folks topped up my water and took my food wrappers from me and I headed up towards Laddow Rocks and Black Hill. I caught a fit looking chap called Matt and we walked together for a while. He was a ultra running guide and coach and I was duly daunted. We climbed together and I did that thing where you assure the other person that they are much stronger than you and that pulling away would be fine. I hate the awkwardness around that. As it was, we both caught another Spiner and as we ascended Black Hill, it was I that slowly dropped them. Perhaps I was pushing too hard?
I enjoyed the next section to Standedge and found myself donning my head torch at the aid station there. Annoyingly, I’d dropped a soft flask somewhere but had a spare. This would have phased me a year ago but it was cool. I mooched on, starting now to dream of a hot snack and some shelter atNicky’s food bar near the M62 crossing a few miles ahead. I wasn’t long until I saw it. Perhaps focussing too much on its light and the prospect of tea, I pretty much went full length into a boggy puddle, emerging a delightful shade of brown. I arrived at Nicky’s covered in mud and used a huge amount of her blue roll to scrape the mud off me. Still, the tea and roll were blissful.
I saw two people I knew at Nicky’s, albeit not well: Richard and Rob. They are both part of a faster group of fellrunners in the north east that operate above my level. I was a bit frightened when I saw them to be honest as I shouldn’t be anywhere near them – had I overcooked things? They were really nice and probably very surprised to see me. I didn’t know what to think?
They left as I settled down with a brew and folks were coming and going. It was very narrow in there and space was at a premium. I downed my supplies and left, crossing the M62 on the surreal footbridge and then heading over the very misty and dark Blackstone Edge. The GPS was key here as the visibility was mere yards. Lowering the headtorch to waist level helped a bit but really, it was about diligently holding onto the track and not wandering off. This meant I’d slowed a bit but was delighted to pop out at the White House, where more MRT folks were on hand to top up water and encouragement.
The weather was getting colder and was breezy, but there was no rain or snow. The miles to Stoodley came and went. Before long the hideous climb up from Charlestown amongst houses and steep, surreal streets was upon me. I really do wonder how the people that live here get their cars in and out. It’s a weird place. The climb is broken into bits but it’s still no fun when the checkpoint beckons. I’m always glad to get it over with. There follows fields and then the road down to CP1. I arrived at 10:40, 20 minutes ahead of where I thought I would be, but feeling much more tired than I’d have liked.
CP1 – Hebden Hey
I DNFd here last year with a sickness bug. This time it would be different. I was shown to my drop bag in an upstairs room where Rob and Richard were preparing to go, having already been there an hour or so. I was really surprised to see them and I think they were similarly surprised to see me given my reputation as a bit of a plodder.
They soon departed and seemed full of energy. I felt tired. I sorted gear and charged things up as if I was set for a fast turnaround, but I wanted to sleep. My poor night’s sleep the night before was haunting me. So I grabbed some food and then had an hour on a bunk. I probably slept for 30 mins.
CP1 Hebden to CP2 Hawes: 65 miles of feeling rough
I got my gear together and eventually headed out at 0230. I think my CP efficiency was poor, despite being organised. Maybe I didn’t want to leave?
I did thought and felt immediately nauseous. I caught and passed two ladies on the moor but couldn’t bring myself to run or eat. The tiredness hit me in waves. Feeling this bad already was not a good sign. I decided to bivi at the bothy at Top Withins, about 8 miles from CP1. There was a roof and a raised platform wide enough for a tired runner. I blew up the mat, got the sleeping bag out and fitfully slept for an hour. Someone came in and made as brew before leaving again. I just about remember that.
I got up and left, hoping some more rest would revive me. It didn’t. I popped some flapjack in my mouth and was immediately retching. I could keep fluid down but that was it. So it was no fuel, a cold night and a worrying few hours ahead.
Black slowly rolled into grey as the day broke. I plodded on feeling awful and moving really slowly. I just kept telling myself that this would pass and fixed my hopes on getting to Gary Chapman and his Craven Tri Club aid station at Lothersdale.
I reached Ponden and a couple of the spine safety team (SST)were there checking on us all. I told them I was feeling iffy and they asked if I was drinking. I said yes and they were reassured. I think we all knew that this kinda happens and you just have to grind it out.
I caught a fellow runner, Johnny, on the climb at Ickonshaw Moor. We paired up to Lothersdale. He was such a friendly and distracting presence. I slowed down and just relaxed a bit as we chatted all things Bob Graham, ultras, family…it was really nice. The skies cleared and there was a distinct feeling of an upward turn as we walked into Lothersdale together for some food.
I was still nauseous but went for some rice pudding and jam. Johnny had two bacon rolls and was not playing games – down the hatch they went! I was jealous -if only I had an appetite. The rice pud stayed down though so things were looking up.
Gary and his club mates are spine experts and it’s no coincidence that they site their aid station here. This is where stomachs tend to be adjusting to the long distances and time awake and it’s where people often have a bad patch. Being able to rest, eat a little and chat started the turnaround for me. I’m very grateful.
Johnny had already left when I came out of the loo and I soon caught him. We climbed Pinhaw Beacon together but I felt like I wanted to move faster. Eventually, I pulled away not realising he was getting further behind. I turned to see he was 200 yards back and it seemed silly to wait as it was a race after all. I never got the chance to thank him for his company when I was at my lowest.
I pushed on towards Gargrave. Despite having kept some food down, I was still depleted and was starting to feel weak again. I couldn’t face any of the food I was carrying. I’d trained with it for months but the thought of a flapjack or plain chocolate Bounty was enough to make me gag again. I started to slow.
The detour into Gargrave via the roads was a pain and the icy tarmac was irritating. I was finding everything irritating. I was 5 hours behind where I hoped I would be and still feeling off. So I went into the pub and ordered some chips and a coffee. There were a few Spiners in there all doing the same. I picked through about half the chips and left just as Johnny came in. I felt guilty for having left him but he seemed in good spirits and was with a group so I felt better.
I left Gargrave still feeling rough. When would it end? As I walked though a small copse, I realised what was wrong with me: I really needed a crap. Annoyed that I’d just passed several public toilets, I got the poo shovel out, dug my hole and did what needed doing. I sanitised my hands to within an inch of their lives (no way I was getting ill again) and caught a small group. I felt instantly better. I even ate some of my own food. Might my bad patch be over?
The next target was the monitoring station at Malham Tarn, 9 miles distant. I could get hot water there and have the dehydrated meal I was carrying. It was a Firepot brand and I really like them, but it was a flavour I hadn’t tried (‘posh baked beans’). I hoped it would be ok and was starting to worry that I was putting a lot of stall on this meal turning around my fortunes and it being a flavour I hadn’t tried (you can see where this is going eh kids?)
I got to Malham Cove as darkness fell and the ice was really forming on the limestone. I climbed the cove’s steps and took the ‘back route’ away from the edge and picked my way through the awesome limestone dry valley which was really impressive and imposing even in the dark. I reached the tarn car park and was congratulating myself on getting this far. Then I stepped onto some sheet ice in the car park and was down on my back like a sack of spuds. I landed on my hip and was lucky not to have anything other than wounded pride. Classically, I looked to see if anyone witnessed my fall before I worked out if anything was broken.
A mile later and I arrived at the small monitoring checkpoint, staffed by fantastic volunteers including the terrific Sarah Fuller, artist and star of the recent Spine film on account of her tenacity in getting the damn thing done after a number of setbacks.
Out with the posh baked beans Firepot. It was like a vindaloo. There was no hint of this on the packet but basically, it was inedible. I was gutted. I ate gels and chocolate and drank tea but feared this would not be enough to get me to Hawes, 25 miles and three big climbs distant.
I set off into the freezing night, contemplating a sleep in the bird hide. I told the guys at the CP I would, but it was so cold and I decided to just keep moving. I moved really well up Fountains Fell and towards Penyghent. Maybe I’d gotten away with it? I hit the road and walked towards Penyghent and the wheels started coming off again. Shit. I started praying that the ice meant that Penyghent was subject to a diversion and short cut to Horton. Alas not, and it was perfectly serviceable. Halfway up, my headtorch went so i stopped and grabbed my spare. As I was swapping them over, I was caught by a group and so stayed with them. One of them kindly offered me some peanuts after I asked if they would swap some of my food, which I still couldn’t face. I had a handful but they didn’t hit the spot. I began to feel like I was in trouble here.
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| Sarah Fuller's terrific Penyghent painting |
Penyghent’s little scramble, something I’ve done dozens of times, started to daunt me. In truth though, having some committing terrain was a good distraction from wallowing in my bad patch, which had now lasted for 40 miles on and off. I scrambled up there led the group, none of whom knew it. This gave me a little confidence. We then moved over the icy summit and down towards Horton.
I remembered that the local pot holing club had posted something about a support point down in Horton where warm food and possibly even a chance to sleep were on offer. I dared not hope for too much, but decided I needed to stop there and have a reset. I didn’t feel capable of getting to Hawes, never mind Kirk Yetholm. The ‘spine second night’ phenomenon was totally gripping me. Somehow I made it to the small cottage with the potholers.
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| Craven Potholing Club's fantastic cottage in Horton |
They were magnificent. They helped me get my gear off, warmed me up, gave me hot food which was lovely and invited me to sleep in an adjacent room. I asked them to wake me after 90 mins which they duly did. I felt transformed. Tired, way behind where i’d hoped to be but still miles inside the cut offs. I was OK. I donated 20 quid to their pot and was on my way in the dark, bounding up the lane, passing a couple of spiners on the way.
The weather was clear and very cold, but this was fine. The Cam High Road did its thing in going on for bloody ever, but I was free of my bad patch and moving well again. I was keen to get to Hawes, and did so as the sun came up magnificently in the east, which a bright red sky and the snow flushed pink.
CP2 Hawes – 108 miles
First person I saw when I sat down was the utterly lovely Victoria Money. She’d seen me at various states of distress during the summer spine and came over and gave me a little cuddle. Seriously, these volunteers are the absolute best.
There followed toasties, scrambled eggs and beans, tea and more toasties before a sleep. I managed a solid 90 mins before a fellow spiner came in and snored so loudly that I instantly gave up hope of any more sleep. I went to see if another dorm had space but they were all populated with very loud snorers. I realised that smothering them all to death was unviable as people would see me, so I decided to get going. I think snorers should declare their status upon application and be grouped intheir own dorms with red crosses painted on the door. That’s totally proportionate and not an overreaction at all.
So I packed, ate some more and had my feet looked at (just two blisters on my little toes). I found myself feeling really nervous all of a sudden and just sat there. Victoria wondered over and just checked on me. It was the jolt I needed and I quickly got myself out.
Again, not the most efficient checkpoint stop but I got what I needed and was well inside the cutoffs. I’d also decided to ditch my 5 day plan and just focus on moving consistently, comfortably and in control. 5 days was way too ambitious for me, a lower mid packer and as such, this decision to focus perhaps on 6 days took the pressure right off. I felt so much better.
CP2 Hawes – CP3 Middleton, 34 miles
I zoomed up Shunner Fell. A lady making a film asked if she could film my feet as I climbed that track. Weird, but ok. I pushed on and met a fellrunner with a tiny pack as he zoomed past. I must confess to thinking how much I missed fell running and how I’d sacrificed it for the spine. I made a mental note that getting back into fellrunning was likely to be my post spine focus, presuming I got this out of the way. The idea of running up hills rather than hiking them seemed a world away despite it being the mainstay of the last 20 years for me.
He tagged the summit and passed me again on the way down, wishing me luck as he did so. That was nice and I felt at peace with the world for the first time in ages. I was moving well too, 3mph uphill. The sun went down and I put my headtorch on as I jogged into Thwaite. The next section to Keld is complex, with some steep ground and a long traverse in technical terrain, complicated further by ice. I liked it, again, the fellrunner in me handled it well and longed to be running with a light pack or bumbag. As it was, I fast hiked it and caught a German couple. We stayed together and detoured to the village hall in Keld.
God bless Keld. They left their much loved hall open 24/7 to spiners and provided hot water, cakes, crisps and comfort. It was 200 meters off the route but well worth it. There were a couple of lads in there was we three arrived and it was great to exchange stories.
Now that I’d dropped the idea of a schedule and was running on feel, I was relaxed about breaking here to drink tea, eat two huge pieces of cake and chew that fat with the Germans. They stayed and I pushed on to Tan Hill four miles up the hill, where I knew there would be a safety team and more food. I would have probably felt the pressure to push past it but this time, a good paced climb led me into the pub and I grabbed some pasta and tea. I was liking this no-pressure eatathon that had become my spine. It meant I was holding steady in the lower mid pack but it also meant that I was much more likely to finish and enjoy the race, which is the mission.
This was an important point for me. In recent years, I’ve struggled with my running confidence. I was recently part of a group of runners but I kind of got dropped for being slow/not fast. I suppose my Spine training meant I was slowing down and going longer and that didn’t cut it. Feeling cast out was really hurtful and I’ve spent the last three years trying to cope with that, with varying degrees of success. This came to a head at Tan Hill. There I was, happy, in control and doing the winter spine for Chrissakes. I had a choice, which was to a) feel down and worried about how it looked being nearer the back than the front or b) take some pride in my efforts to get this far, to be making good decisions and to be in control. I would normally have gone for a). It’s why I’ve been in and out of a running funk, maybe even a depression for the last few years. But I earnestly went for b). It’s hard to explain but a switch went on in my head at Tan Hill that had been a long time coming. I felt like I was doing well and that the faster folk could think what they liked. I’d said that before but this time I meant it. It felt like I’d turned a corner. I was very content with this and all of a sudden became very calm. For me, this was very important.
With that, I ventured out to Sleightholme Moor. It was frozen solid and as such, was far easier to negotiate than usual. It’s usually a three mile quagmire, made all the more torturous by the presence of a smooth tarmac road running alongside which serves to tease the floundering runner. This time though, sinkhole aside (a huge sinkhole had recently appeared but was cordoned off thankfully!), it was easy and I felt like things were finally going my way.
The next section to Middleton is deadly dull. Under the A66 through the world’s grimmest little tunnel and then nondescript moors and farmland for 12 more miles to the checkpoint. I got bored here so whacked on a podcast or two. I ate my food again and just mooched into Middleton where Gary Thwaites, he of the Tea and Trails podcast, was waiting on the freezing street to guide me in. It was @0300.
CP3 – Middleton in Teesdale
I loved CP3. Not least because my good friend Jonathan Jamison was volunteering there. He’d finished his shift but had waited up for me because that’s the sort of legendary friend he is. He waited on me hand and foot, fetching me more scrambled eggs and tea and telling me how the other volunteers had teased him because of his bland cooking! Bland carbohydrates were just what I wanted, and how good it was to be able to eat with a fervour that this endeavour required. The sickness was properly gone and i could look forward now to the second half of the race.
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| Feeling better than I looked, with JJ |
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| Scrambled eggs cure most ills |
I grabbed about 2 hours sleep and got sorted fairly efficiently. JJ and Gary both helped me get going, with Gary giving a knowing nod to my Old County Tops buff. I liked that.
CP3 to CP4 – …and so to Alston
This 40 mile section is very much one of two halves, with an easy 20 miles to Dufton via the Tees and High Cup followed by an arduous traverse of Cross Fell and its satellites, topping out at almost 3000 feet asl. It’s my favourite bit and what’s more, I was feeling mentally and physically great.
I set off into a clear blue sky along the Tees. There was a lot of ice about. My stomach was full and I didn’t feel like eating for a couple of hours. I just hiked, passing the odd spiner and feeling ok.
The scramble up Cauldron Snout was icy but fine without spikes. It was really enjoyable and the upper Tees looked sensational. Free of time pressure, I decided to stop and make a cup of tea at Birkdale Farm, just before I hit the tracker black spot. I texted race HQ who reminded me that I wasn’t allowed to stop in this section for more than 30 mins. I was done in 15 and set off, letting them know I was moving again.
The sun was starting to dip and I realised that I could probably get to High Cup at sunset – result! This duly happened, and I caught another spiner as the huge bathtub shaped valley revealed itself in what is one of the journey’s highlights.
I set off towards Dufton with a spring in my step. I realised Cross Fell would have to be done in the dark and cold, but that’s ok. It was clear, the stars were going to be incredible and there were noodles to be had shortly afterwards.
I was hungry though and Dufton held the promise of the Post Box Pantry café and I wanted more scrambled eggs.
I picked my way down the lane and saw a figure ahead of me waiting. “Mark?” I figured it was a member of the SST. I was totally dumbstruck to find it was my old friend Ian Lancaster, former running club mate from my days at Tattenhall Runners in Cheshire. Ian is a tremendous runner and mountaineer and helped me in my early running days on my summer and midwinter BGRs and countless other great days out. To be honest, he was always a bit of a role model for me and I was a bit starstruck. More than anything else, he’s a warm and kind human being and I was moved to find he’d taken time out to find me.
Ian hadn’t realised that we were not allowed pacers or external support, but I saw no reason why we couldn’t walk the two miles into Dufton together and grab a bite at the café. We caught up on things family and suchlike and wondered into the café. Three other spiners were there and we just slotted in, grabbed some great food and had a great chat. I felt really humbled and happy.
I sat with another spiner called Phil and we agreed to pair up for the Cross Fell section. Ian bade us farewell and I felt bad that he’d come all this way for a two mile walk and a café chat, but I remain hugely grateful to him.
Phil and I popped into the monitoring checkpoint in the village hall and then set off up Cross Fell. We were both similarly paced and made steady progress up Knock Fell, the biggest climb. Phil told me about his fundraising mission and how this was motivated by the tragic loss of his beloved niece to cancer whilst she was in her twenties. Phil was upset just recalling it and I admired his courage and determination to honour her memory. He told me that he wanted to have a moment at the top of Cross Fell to remember her and I said I was happy to wait for him whilst he did so. Phil was grieving and this was part of his way of managing it. It was the least I could do and I was glad of the company.
We climbed really well and caught a group of three at the summit of Cross Fell. It was very windy and bitterly cold, but clear as a bell. It was amazing to be up there and in control. Phil took a moment at the huge summit shelter and the three lads were curious as to what he was doing. I found myself almost shielding him from them and distracting them with inane chat just to give him a little time. I hope he was able to find some peace up there.
We hastened off the top as this was not a place to hang around. Our new group of five hit Greg’s Hut, the highest noodle bar in Britain. John Bamber was in residence along with some SST members. There were some others in there and it was very cosy. John was a man on a mission and clearly had a system. His cupasoup/noodle combo served with tea was easily in the top ten meals I’ve ever eaten. I wanted carbs and chemicals and that is what I got. That lovely stodgy fuel slipped down and my bad stomach seemed like another life ago. John was entertaining, kind and most of all, supportive. His mantra was very much about all this being done to get us to the finish safely. This guy was on our side and wanted us to thrive. I loved the noodles but I loved the whole setting and purposefulness of it more. It was the best pick-me-up since the potholers at Horton. To those people between the checkpoints that keep us all going, I salute you.
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| Noodles - Manna from Bamber |
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| A blurry brew at Greg's Hut |
Phil and I carried on down the long track to Garrigill and then the riverside section to Alston, 11 miles distant from the hut. We moved well and chatted nicely. It was a good section but we were dog tired when we landed at Alston at @0400.
As I expected, my friend and Alston volunteer Lindsy was waiting to walk us in. She got me sorted with lasagne and eggs and tea and all I could ask for. It was much needed.
I opted for a decent sleep here and got into my bunk. After an hour, a snorer was introduced to the room. Snorers are experts at getting to sleep quickly and getting into their art, and this one was no different.
I went downstairs and asked if I could swap rooms and got a nice small room with just one other occupant. I maybe got another hour? Not enough, but it would have to do.
My feet were starting to throb after 180 miles, which is fair enough! The medics drained and patched some new blisters, with my little toes being particularly troublesome. They resulting set up of tape and padding meant my feet were painful and so I downed painkillers for the first time in the race and hoped for the best.
CP4 Alston to CP5 Bellingham - @ 44 miles
Another cold, clear day. The section from Alston to Greenhead which covers the first 18 miles, is probably the least popular amongst Spiners. It’s short of highlights, invariably muddy and seems to go on forever. Today was different. The mud was frozen solid and the sky was that sort of blue that makes any landscape seem pleasant to move through. I was feeling groggy but was able to pick my way through this section, nibbling at food and listening to some music from time to time. Some sections are like that; boringand unremarkable, just some miles to chalk off.
As I approached the A69, I got a little excited. This, for me, is a landmark. It’s the 200 mile point, and it’s also the start of what I consider to be home territory (I live in the north east). I spied a pile of logs which were up to waist height, perfect to do a bit of admin and gear sorting upon as I wanted to change gloves and get my headtorch out in the impending darkness. So I stopped about 300 metres short of the A69 and got my faff on.
A figure approached from the direction of the road. “Mark?”
“Who’s that?” I asked, a bit grumpily as I was in mid faff.
“It’s Kathryn”.
Kathryn is a work colleague and part of the ‘dot watchers’ WhatsApp group that had been supporting me throughout. She’d popped over from Gateshead to see how I was doing. Rather like with Ian before, I did not expect this and was so touched.
We pottered down to the road and she took my photo before I left her and crossed the dual carriageway. She’d driven out to see me and did so for probably 10 mins. I feel great and happy and lucky. Thank you Kathryn.
A spring in my step, I went on towards Hadrian’s wall. It was dark now and I was kind of dreading this bit as I know it well and it goes on and on and on…
I was also hungry. At Walltown visitors centre, there are loos open 24hrs a day. I decided to dive in and cook myself a meal, this time a dehydrated chilli con carne I was carrying that i already knew i liked. I opened the door to find three people in there doing the same thing. Cooking food in a public toilet is fine dining for spiners and I absolutely wolfed down the chilli. Better still, one of the others had some cheese left over and so I nabbed that stirred it in. 800+ calories to the good, I was sated. I made a flask of hot chocolate to take with me for the next long section as my toilet buddies bade me farewell. 10 mins later, I set off hoping I might catch them. The temperature had dropped considerably, probably about minus 5.
The wall. It’s like a never ending rollercoaster. The climbs aren’t big and it’s not that far (10 miles) but it’s full value for that distance. There’s very little ‘along’, it’s either up or down. Much of it is rock steps which aren’t great when icy. It was good having some lights ten minutes ahead to try and gradually catch. After about 4 miles, I caught this group and we formed a little band heading eastwards until we eventually reached Rapishaw Gap where the Pennine Way leaves the wall.
There’s a mile or so of undulating and potentially confusing terrain after the wall. I’d reccied this section to within an inch of its life and took great pleasure in each twist and turn that I saw coming in the dark. The tracks were under snow and so I was feeling pretty smug that this potentially tricky stretch was banked in my head. It passed easily enough and was another confidence boost.
And then, the forest. The forest sections are monotonous tracks and this year, there was a 2 mile detour of such tracks to add to the fun. Given the cold temperature, the fact we’d done 215 miles already, the boring terrain…..it was inevitable that we were going to be feeling sleepy. My spine mates were all drifting across the path. Jonathan entertained us by reading out the list of DNF athletes from the tracker on his phone, anything to stay awake. I was sad to hear a few names of people I’d met and that I knew beforehand. It’s seemed like half the field had pulled out.
The relentless track started to torture my feet. The bottom of them felt tender and I was worried that my feet were wet and becoming macerated. All we could do was keep going, trying to stay awake and get to one of the spine race’s hallowed sites: Horneystead Farm.
Horneystead, and Helen who owns it, is seven miles shy of CP5 at Bellingham and is a beacon of warmth and luxury. Helen leaves it open for all Pennine Wayfarers throughout the year and is especially generous to the Spine Race. We could see its light in the distance, 2 miles before we reached it. The moorland section leading up to it seemed to be 100 miles long. Ups and downs, backs and fourths…but eventually we landed there.
A fellow spiner was asleep on the bed in the corner. There was a slow cooker filled with pasta and broth. Kettle, fridge, tea, coffee….manna from heaven. I snaffled a comfy looking chair and ate some broth. We all had a brew and then drifted off for a power nap. We so needed and deserved this.
After about 30 minutes, Chris burst in, Italian Job style and announced, “Lads, I’ve had a bit of an adventure”. Man he was wired! He sat down and told us of his travails. He’d downloaded last year’s gpx file which had a huge detour to the east within it. He’d duly followed this and was eventuallyhauled up by a safety team that directed him backwards. He decided to cut across to the actual route and make his way to Horneystead. He’d added about 10km. The dot watchers would have been screaming at their screens. I admired him. I’d have been properly grumpy if that had have been me but he was positive and rearing to get to Bellingham. Good on him!
Our group grew by two Chrises, picking up one that was sleeping and another that was astray. We headed into Bellingham feeling better, but we were still tired at what was the end of a very long section from Alston. But this was the final CP, 225 miles in and a landmark for sure.
CP5 Bellingham – 225 miles
We arrived at 0600 and I was grumpy. The checkpoint was one big room for drop bags and food and another freezing cold room for sleeping. There were showers across in another building and I decided to use them. The lovely volunteer walked me across, telling me that the showers were awesome. I was annoyed that I was walking in yet more coldness to get a shower and realised I was being totally unreasonable. The nice man showed me into the shower and left me to it. It was, as promised, lovely. I just stood there for 10 minutes and let the water wash over me. I waited until I was warm before washing myself and ended up feeling like a new man. I brushed my teeth for the first time in days and realised how minging I’d become. This was a very necessary pit stop.
It was about 0600 and I decided to sleep. The sleeping room was literally as cold as a fridge. It had within it four large indoor tents with room for three or four people in each. Richard Garland had texted me to warn me that it would be cold in there (he was most likely closing in on KY at this point) and he wasn’t kidding. I had my 0 degree rated sleeping bag and mat, but wore a buffalo smock for good measure. I was fearful that I would have another unsatisfactory sleep, but in fairness to Bellingham, the cold was conducive to a good deep sleep and I managed a decent three hours. Only my bladder prevented it from being more.
I got up, ate countless bowls of stew, drank endless tea and got ready to go. Despite trying really hard, my dropbag had become an explosion of kit. Thankfully, this was its last calling and so it was just a case of either carry it, wear it or stuff it in the dropbag.
Five of us were ready to go at around Midday on the Friday. It was cold and clear as we walked down the hill to the road into the town. Just one more section to go.
CP5 Bellingham to CP5.5 Byrness – a solo tilt
My legs felt really good. The pace was easy up the hill out of town and I felt this was sensible to get warmed up. After three miles or so, I noticed I was pulling away a little from the group. I waited a few times but then decided I was getting cold. So I decided to stop looking back. I found myself clear of the group before long and just kept going. I was kind of sad, but needed to do my own thing. I looked back on Padon Hill to see that the five behind had split to a three and a two. Ah well, the group was fun whilst it lasted.
I reached into my pocket to grab my hat when I approached the SST near Padon Hill and realised it must have fallen out. I was really pissed off. My lovely icebreaker beanie. Also, this meant I was a mandatory item of kit short. I improvised with a buff which did the job, but came clean to the two SST guys at the road crossing. One of them shook his head and texted this info to the race HQ. The other told me not to worry about it at all. I wanted to be honest rather than get shafted in a on course kit check. I knew I was safe and OK but I was worried I’d get a penalty or something. Alas, it came to nothing.
I hit the forest track and popped on the headtorch. I was moving really well and was anticipating a early hours of Saturday finish, but then a wave of hallucinations and tiredness hit me. Dancing snowmen, cartoon characters and the infamous dinosaur. I realised that the Cheviots in such a state in such bitter temperatures was risky and so decided to heed the stegosaurus’s advice and sleep in Byrness, thus making a Saturday lunchtime finish most likely. This was good as it made things easier for my wife and family to pick me up. So it was an easy decision, having already decided I didn’t care about the finishing time.
I landed at the Forest Hills Hotel to be walked in off the freezing street by a kindly volunteer. It was about 8pm. Inside, the indomitable Sharon Dyson was there with friends to greet me with her warmth and humour. She asked me if I’d seen anything strange and I told her about the dinosaur, which she loved and made me repeat the answer so she could film it! Then came the food – two servings of mash and mince. It was blissful. It was warm and the sofa was comfy. Dangerous for the spiner that wants to crack on.
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| Mince and tatties c/o Sharon Dyson et al at Byrness |
The church was cold and empty and so I chose my pews; one for laying out my gear and one for sleeping on. I blew up my mat, got set up and dived into the sleeping bag. Just then, the group all arrived. We all bedded down and agreed to leave at midnight for the last dart over the freezing Cheviots. Alarms were set and we all drifted off. No snorers, just a 2 hour final sleep before the 26 mile traverse of these exposed fells.
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| Our temporary home at Byrness church |
Despite having broken away earlier, it was nice to have the group back together. Our time in the church had a really special atmosphere of anticipation, excitement and mutual support. I wouldn’t have missed this to gain a few hours on my race time. It was magic.
Byrness church to Kirk Yetholm
It was bang on midnight as we stood outside the church waiting for the last man out to shut the door. We headed off into a freezing night with no wind at all. Very still and atmospheric with a sky packed full of stars.
The first climb out of Byrness is notoriously slippery and steep. This time though, the mud was frozen solid and it was as easy a climb up there that I’ve ever had. We moved slowly and steadily across the first few hills, not wanting to sweat and get cold but wanting to make progress. There were good footprints in the snow to follow and a few tricky quad bike tracks to avoid. We got suckered in to a few of those but realised and corrected quickly each time. Chris and I were at the front, setting a really steady pace.
It was uneventful. This is what you want up there. We reached hut one and had a brew. We filed out and pushed though the building wind on the well-named Windy Gyle and just kept on moving.
The sun slowly came up and flushed the sky a dazzling orange, with the snow lit a dusky pink. I;ve never seen the Cheviots looking so good. The wind dropped again and we made steady progress towards the Cheviot turn where the summit is forsaken for the route to Scotland.
We reached the corner.
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| Cheviots looking wintry and beautiful |
Three of the group, Chris, Jonathan and Cyrille, wanted to bag the Cheviot summit. It’s part of the Pennine Way but you don’t have to. They texted race HQ of their intentions. Other Chris had a sore knee and didn’t fancy it. I have been up there dozens of times and didn’t really want to now. I knew my family were waiting and I wanted to get to them. So the band finally did split. The three lunatics went and snagged their summit, Chris moved on at his pace and I jogged ahead to hut 2. I grabbed a quick coffee there from the SST and headed out as Chris got there. He seemed ok and thus I was guilt free in cracking on.
Truth is, I wanted to finish alone. 99% of the training and prep has been done alone. I wanted to use this last 2.5 hour section to reflect and celebrate this achievement. I’ve given everything to this. I stood on that start line not convinced I could do it, but went for it anyway. That’s courage and I was proud of that. It wasn’t a fast time. I know some of the faster runners will likely dismiss it as pedestrian. But I knew what went into it and how this race consumes you and tests your resolve as well as your athleticism. I spent those last few miles alone moving faster than I had all day feeling deeply content and at ease.
It was Saturday morning, and I had a day to spare inside the cutoffs. I wended my way down the Halterburn Valley and to that final steep road hill. I ventured that I could run up it. I managed about half of it. Not bad! I walked, maybe even skipped down the other side and felt the joy of the slope pulling me towards the finish.
I heard voices, saw my family, saw the inflatable finish hoops and saw that wall. I picked up a decent run and ran into the wall, misjudging it slightly and nutting it a bit. I muttered something profane and sat down in what turned out to be John Kelly’s flower pot. Rosie hung my medal round my neck and I sat there delirious. The subject of dinosaurs came up and people were laughing. I don’t remember much else other than someone said that it was ok to cry if I wanted to. What I remember more than anything is a feeling of profound contentment, gratitude and peace.
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