Blog silence…and De-stressing, April 2018

A particularly stressful 7-8 months (just one cause of the recent silence here) demanded some very serious space and time to straighten my head and to come up with A Plan. …so that’s exactly what I did.

Firstly a trip with TH to Glaramara in Borrowdale, where there was much running up and down hilly stuff in the finest of company, eating far more than is good for a chap, then possibly over-rehydrating by way of lots of nice beer followed by more than one brain-straightening session with good mates, all helped set me on the road to recovery.

Next came a trip, perhaps a more spiritual trip than I expected, along a section of El Camino Via de La Plata in Northern Spain (should 'Northern' be written with a capital 'N'?). I was joined on this trip by Rob, who apart from being a chap made of The Right Stuff, proved to be an ideal walking companion: not once did he complain about my smelly feet, my whinging, or anything really.  Rob's one of The Good Guys. And he takes wonderful photographs.

Then there's a short backpacking trip to That Yorkshire... well,  the Yorkshire Dales atcherly. This hasn't happened yet, but it's going to happen, next week. I know this because I've now booked my train tickets to Clapham. No, not that one, the real one... in That Yorkshire. This has been arranged by Lucky the Dog and his kilted Dad, The Pieman. Also in attendance will be Dawn, Chrissie Dixie... and maybe a doggy or two.  There may be more attending, I don't know, I'm just very grateful to have been invited along.

Firstly, Glaramara…

I was most fortunate to be able to squeeze myself onto this little trip although I wasn't able to spend as much time there as I'd have liked.

Arriving on Friday evening I was greeted by the rain and the general greyness that only Cumbria can provide. The gloom was soon lifted: I was sharing a room with Rob (no that one, the one that runs up and down hills at lightning speed), and the bar in Glaramara served Coniston Bluebird and the seriously excellent Loweswater Gold (a new one on me). The usual suspects were already in residence, having arrived either early that morning or even the previous day. My late arrival only raised a few eyebrows,  but there you go.

A very convivial evening followed, excellent food, good conversation, and maybe a beer or two more than was wise.

Dinner at Glaramara

Next morning,  after a huge breakfast, I set off in the company of Ding Dong,  to follow the sawdust trail set by Doggy Burston. The trail was reputedly 10.5 miles, up Langstrath to Angle Tarn, over the tops of Allen Crags and Glaramara, then eventually back to our digs.

We came upon Big Ian who had, perhaps wisely, opted out of running and decided to walk the route.  Ian has long and powerful legs, he was round the route in quick time.

Approaching Angle Tarn we spotted Wells the Elder coming up behind us. He didn't fall into the beck once, unlike someone else who shall remain nameless (Ding Dong,  seeing as you asked). Paul stopped for a quick chat before powering off over Allen Crags and the glories of Glaramara's 783m top.

An un-named runner not quite falling into the beck

The next lot to catch us were the Fast Pack of McHarry, West-Samuel, Whitehead and Biker. A minute or so later Old Ruddock appeared and declared that he'd had enough of this nonsense and decided to join us on the descent by Grains Gill.... but we didn't see him again.

A fast(-ish) moving Wells the Elder

Next up was Potter, sporting his usual grin - he also trotted off in the direction of Glaramara.

Potter (unusually) in recovery mode

Posing by Angle Tarn

Jenkinson, Murray & Co were next on the scene - Murray sporting the latest hair style that has become so popular among high-speed fell runners. I don't know how he keeps it out of his eyes.... maybe he just runs so fast the problem doesn't arise.

Jenkinson leading the way

The arrival of McHarry & Co

The departure of McHarry & Co

Fast Taylor was next, running alone.  He tells me he's the strong and silent type.....well he's strong anyway.

Fast Taylor en-route to Allen Crags

David and I,  along with some others, had realised that the trail might be a tad longer than the stated mileage. We took the executive decision to bale out at Allen Crags and trot down Grains Gill to return to Chateaux Glaramara via Seatoller. This proved a good move, even with our short cut the route was still 12 miles, quite long enough.

The day was warm but there were still signs that the area had been very recently splattered with lots of the white stuff:

On our return to base we discovered that Burston had taken a tumble whilst laying trail. This necessitated a trip to Keswick's Minor Injuries clinic where he was treated by Nurse Whiplash.... and a satisfying outcome involving 4 stitches. Both nurse and patient appeared to have enjoyed the pain.

Post-op Burston

More good food, a damned quiz (I escaped to the bar, along with other quiz cowards), then lots of good conversation, laughs and a few tears for those recently lost, and maybe a little more of the Loweswater Gold, all conspired to keep us going until well past midnight.

Next morning, at 7.30am, and after overnight rain, those daft enough to feel competitive took part in The Fell Race. The trophy,  the Side Pike Bottle, has quite a history to it. Presented to The Club in 1930-something by the Bass Brewery, it has become the subject of some derision. It's hardly a thing of beauty, but everyone wants to win it.  Apart from me.

The Side Pike Bottle….and minder

The race is handicapped, I strongly suspect that the winner is chosen in advance and the appropriate handicaps are then dished out.

This year's worthy winner was Fast Taylor who's living room is now adorned with the winner's trophy.  His wife will be very pleased.  So he tells me.

Fast Taylor, first in on The Fell Race

Murray, sporting That Hairstyle

Fast Taylor in Pose Mode

After breakfast I left the guys to continue their Cumbrian Adventure whilst I scooted southwards and home. I'd managed a much needed quiet and stress-free break, but there was packing to be done for the next adventure.

Test

The Championship, Saturday 16th Dec 2017

The official, complete, honest, unexaggerated and totally truthful report of the Club Championship.              With added photographs.

The start time had been brought forward to 2 o’clock for our annual Championship from the Boars Head at Higher Poynton. So we turned up in good time with the exception of a couple who had missed the change of time.

The cloud was low and the temperature hovered above freezing making conditions underfoot far from ideal. It was a very good turnout, some 23 people of whom 20 competed.

We assembled at the start awaiting the starter, but were held back for a short while to accommodate the latecomers.

Pre-run pose

(Photo by D. Winterbone)

A photo was taken and then Ridings got us under orders and set us off. The reaction from the runners was almost instantaneous, but the front runners were off at a canter and the rest followed up the hill over the canal bridge and up into Lyme Park.

Doggie Burston and Old Markham had set off earlier to scatter sawdust to indicate the direction we should go in, but for most it was a familiar route, albeit with a couple of new wrinkles.

As we entered the Park, past a recently opened shop, we headed off across the fields but bypassed the usual run through the sharp gully, presumably due to the trees that had been planted in the way. At this point I could see the frontrunners silhouetted against the skyline and making fast progress. A line of lesser lights stretched back, and there were a few behind me.

Approaching the Trail-layers

Now it was down to a few groups competing against each other. In twos or threes we struggled to get the upper hand as we progressed round the course. A brief handshake as we passed the trail layers before entering the woods with the warning of ice at the exit ringing in our ears. It was slippy, but nearly all of us negotiated it safely.

We were headed home, each of us trying to pull on the runner ahead and afraid to look over our shoulder in case we saw someone catching up. The park was relatively quiet but occasionally we got encouragement from walkers as were struggled on. At last the top of the final track and the run down to the finish. The lucky ones had won, or lost, their individual battles but some had to fight to the end.

There was a small group still at the finish when I arrived, and we quickly set off for the shower. This was done in batches, with the water getting cooler with each batch. Some of us went back to the finish to welcome back the final competitors whilst others took shelter in the warmth of the pub. Eventually all got back, including the trail layers and we headed for the pub.

Of course the early start meant we were in the pub pretty early. The beer was good and we could relax and recover and tell each other why it all went right/wrong. And compare moustaches.

The food arrived in good time. Turkey, stuffing and trimmings followed by Christmas pud. But then it was time for the awards.

Silence fell and Whitworth announced the winner. Colin Goulder had raced round and pipped Shotgun for the title of Champion. President Park handed over the trophy and glassware.

The handicap was won by Wells, thanks to the generosity of the handicapping committee. President Park again did the duty.

Finally Biker Eastwood was declared to have produced the best moustache, with Old Markham runner up. They both received a bottle of something they kept to themselves. A goodly sum was raised for the charity.

A cheery group left in ones and twos, some headed home to shave and others to celebrate/commiserate with their mates.

More photographs of this momentous day:

Christmas 2017

At the risk of upsetting folk - something I seem to do with consummate ease (it's a talent), I won't be doing the Christmas card thingy.

Instead I've decided to donate a lump of dosh to the Manchester charity: The Booth Centre http://www.boothcentre.org.uk

There are too many disadvantaged folk out there who are REALLY struggling and our 'caring' government clearly don't give a damn, it's just not right.

Anyroadup, I just wanted to do a little something to help and I hope my donation helps.

Have a lovely Christmas folks!

A Right Royal Run .

Trotting around Tockholes

The day before Bonfire Night saw the Club’s annual gathering at the very fine Royal Arms at Tockholes near Darwen where 17(?) members met for a run over some of the lumpier bits of the West Pennine Moors.

(Photo: Hon Prez Park)

Rick Ridings and I set off from the pub at 11am to lay a sawdust & shredded paper trail along a route that had been (mostly) recced the previous day with another Rick – the Long Suffering one.

On the recce: Long Suffering Rick is NOT a fairy

We trotted north(ish) via the familiarly bovine excrement-perfumed Ryal Fold, splodging across fields to pick up The Witton Bloody Weavers Way….and some mud. Hours of persistent heavy rain the previous night had ensured we we would enjoy some rather squelchy ground.

Old Markham leading Eastwood and the Hon Sec through the fragrant Ryal Fold

(Photo: J. Wilson)

It was dry when we recced it. Honest.

Cobbles

(Photo: Ian Brown)

It was a slimy cobbled descent to Earnshaw Reservoir dam, although the dam-top path offered temporary respite from the slutch. The sun shone intermittently and was only a bit chilly.

Earnshaw Reservoir, the Jubilee Tower on the skyline.

Early starters Goulder & Lesser Ruddock

(Photo: Ian Brown)

A mix of uphill concrete tracks, diverted and concessionary paths led us south, up the eastern side of Darwen Hill and Darwen Moor, tantalisingly close to the Jubilee Tower.

Jubilee Tower. So near yet so far.

(Photo: J Wilson)

(Photo: Ian Brown)

The route so far had been generally runnable…..well some bits were generally runnable, the other bits were generally, er, interesting. And a bit wet.

Dramatic clouds scudded overhead whilst a couple of light showers kept the puddles and fetid bogs up to Lancashire’s usual high standard.

A footpath…or a stream

Rick Ridings at rest

The descent from Darwen Moor led us to a short section of uphill tarmac at Duckshaw Brook. This short dry bit provided only fleeting relief from the tough terrain of the previous couple of miles before once again returning us to the rough ground of the Witton Bloody Weavers Way. For a few hundred yards anyway.

Not So Fast Taylor going across the rough bit of path

(Photo: J Wilson)

Then the route became slightly more difficulter (that’s Timperley dialect is that) as we left the Witton Bloody Weavers Way. Turning right (SW) at a rotted signpost (the rot was probably down to the gound being slightly more moist than the surrounding terrain) we trotted cheerily and muddily across an incredibly lumpy footpath that was quite unrunnable in parts. Well actually it was completely unrunnably along quite a lot of it’s length. That length seemed to go on for miles but in reality it was less than a mile.

There’s a path there – somewhere

(Photo: J. Wilson)

The path was mostly obscured by waist-high rushes and sedge grasses, consequently some runners disappeared into hidden holes in the ground – one may still yet be lost, there was definitely one runner missing when we sat down to dinner later. 

Winter Hill

(Photo: Ian Brown)

The wind was getting up on this exposed section and care had to be taken laying trail. It wouldn’t do for the runners to lose trail and go astray….they might end up getting back too late to enjoy the delights of the tin bath. Worse still, they might miss their tea.

   Wells & Eastwood relieved to be back on the DWWW

(Photo: J. Wilson)

Suitably soaked, muddied and bruised we rejoined that Damned Witton Weavers Way – at least the ground became more runnable. Wislon J had tumbled a grand total of five times on the rough section – surely a Club record. There are rumours that he’s going to receive the award of the Club’s Official Fell Fall Runner.

We were now on the return leg although it would be a while before Darwen’s Jublilee Tower would become visible.

Only slight dampness on the WBWW

(Photo: J. Wilson)

What DID become visible were two of the Club’s runners coming up behind us. They were still a good distance away but they were moving quickly – obviously Fast Pack Runners. Rick and I, er, picked up speed to keep ahead of them for as long as we could. It’s frowned upon for Hounds to catch the Hares. Apart from anything else, the Hounds wouldn’t be able to follow the trail – because, as Trail Layers, we Hares hadn’t completed laying the trail.

On final approach to Jubilee Tower

(Photo: J. Wilson)

We managed to keep ahead of the Fast Pack until they caught us up on Darwen Moor, just to the south of the Jubilee Tower. It turned out that the fast guys, Goulder and Lesser Ruddock, had set out at 1pm – rather earlier than even the Slow Pack. In fairness to them they both had to beat a hasty retreat after the run – not even stopping for dinner.

The route zig-zagged a little, now on more familiar ground. The Tower came into full view and it was a quite straight-forward matter of following clearly marked paths across the heather moorland.

More runners, including the Hon Prez, hove into view. They knew the route back down to the pub so after pleasanties were exchanged they continued their way back to the warmth and comfort of the Royal Arms.

At Jubilee Tower we littered our way south-westish for half a mile or so on a very good and flat path. The views over Sunnyhurst Hey Reservoir out to Blackburn and Preston were excellent – on a clearer day you would be able to see THE tower, the one at Blackpool.

Then it began to rain, fortunately it didn’t last long. A steep and rocky descent was the last of the difficulties for the runners, in the wet it was a bit hairy. All survived and were back at the pub by around 4pm – in good time for tea.

Doggy Burston at the finish

(Photo: J. Wilson)

The pub, as always, really looked after us and made us very welcome. We were served with really excellent food: a very tasty lamb hotpot followed by apple crumble and custard. The beer, as ever, was superb.

The Apple Crumble Demolition Squad in action

The Royal at Tockholes.

(Photo: J Wilson)

The Royal is probably my favourite pub – anywhere. I feel very fortunate being able to lay trail from here every year. It’s a great venue set in really rugged running country.

Thanks to Long Suffering Rick for helping with the recce of the route, and to Rick Ridings for letting me have one of his bananas – and helping to lay trail so very well. Hardly anyone got really lost – and that can’t be bad. 

8.5 miles and 1300ft of ascent and wetness

More photographs are here

Most of the photographs were by Ian Brown or John Wislon Wilson.

Other photographs were taken by me using my old but very weatherproof Olympus mju410. This camera is okay but doesn’t perform at all well in anything like low light. It also takes a long time to boot-up from ‘switch-on’  - especially when the memory card has a couple of hundred images stored on it.