Bob Graham write-up Part 2. 50 Minutes!

………………..I caught the big group on the lane into Threlkeld. They were a fantastic bunch of guys from Dallam running club near Lancaster, all supporting their team mate Martin Gardiner, who was making a BG attempt. As I jogged with them I explained my predicament regarding verification and asked if they might be willing to verify some of my summits should they see me on them. I made it clear that I didn’t want any help or assistance, just the nod that I had reached each top. They were more than willing to help. I was determined not to interfere or trespass on Martin’s attempt.

I reached the first checkpoint at 9:35pm Bondy and Mrs RTS greeted me with the inevitable question, “Where’s Vin?” While I told them what had happened Mrs RTS did a fine job in refilling my backpack with the food and drink needed to get me to the top of Helvellyn, where DaftB and Adam were making their way. Surprisingly I had arrived only five minutes behind schedule. Another five minutes later I was away again, leaving the crew to wait for Vin. I jogged through Martin’s crew on the lane-side on route to the first mountain of leg 2, and heard them set off only a minute behind.

The second leg starts with a tough, steep climb to the top of Clough Head. I chose a straight line to the top and hit the summit at around 10:40pm. I wanted to get there before the Dallam team. I felt that if I could stay just a little in front of them I wouldn’t interfere with their attempt, and they wouldn’t feel like I was simply following and hanging on to their coat tails. While I waited for them to come into view I prepared myself for the night, zipping up, getting my gloves and hat out of my pack and putting my head torch on.

A moment before Martin arrived I was away, and stayed a little in front of them over the summits of Great Dodd, Watson’s Dodd and Stybarrow Dodd. I had to document the exact time I reached every top, and getting my pen and paper out slowed me slightly. It was becoming a fantastic clear night. The light had faded so gradually that colour slowly but surely leached away from vision, to be replaced by shades of grey.  A half-moon shone so bright that it was almost possible to run without a torch. The surrounding mountains loomed more like shadows in the sky than massive lumps of immovable rock.

The bunch were right behind me as we crossed Sticks Pass. At that point more Dallam runners were waiting for Martin, and they kindly offered me some Jelly Babies. I had been suffering from a painful headache for the last hour and couldn’t seem to shift it, but the jelly babies did the trick.

Apart from the headache my body was holding up well. During reccie runs I had recurrent trouble with blisters on my right heel, but thanks to Westie’s recommendation of a certain type of zinc oxide tape my feet were doing wonderfully.

By now it was 11:30 pm and the Dallam runners were beginning to look out for me. Apparently they were very impressed with my determination to continue alone after having lost my partner, and also that I was carrying all my own supplies.  A guy called Andrew McCracken ran to catch me up and chat. He gave me some jelly sweets, and we talked on the rocky climb up Raise.

The next mountain was Whiteside, and after that I was among the Dallam runners for the push up the 950metre high Helvellyn. Team Dallam had noticed lights on Helvellyn summit, and I explained that they would be my crazy mule train friends.

Around midnight we ran along the high summit plateau. I could see DaftB and Adam by the cross-shaped wind shelter. They seemed in fine spirits, but a little cold as I pulled up and sat by them. The Dallam train, consisting of maybe ten runners, sped onwards without me.

Mal helped refill my water while Adam fumbled behind the wall. Then both of them gestured for me to look behind, where Adam lifted a cup cake with a candle in it….that the wind immediately blew out. Poor guys! They had obviously practiced this moment several times, and looked dejected at the candle failure. 950metre mountains have a tendency to blow out the candles before you finish singing ‘Happy Birthday’. Adam looked even more dejected when the cake rolled off the wall and into the dirt. Still, it was an entertaining moment that kept me amused as I set off quickly for the next summits of Nethermost Pike and Dollywagon Pike.

I wanted to get back with Martin’s team, and that required a ‘caution-to-the-wind’ descent to Grizedale Tarn. When I had previously run with RichS he described my downhill technique as like a hummingbird. The feet were really humming as I flew down to the tarn and around the technical trail on the waterside.

The Dallam team were well organised and kept rotating and repositioning support runners. I saw a couple peel off to the right and head down Raise Beck towards the next checkpoint. Then another couple headed up Seat Sandal to wait, while the rest marched up the lower slopes of Fairfield. I caught them as the climb steepened.

The tops of Fairfield and Seat Sandal were taken with minimal fuss, barring some difficult sliding on the loose scree slopes.

I wasn’t quite prepared for the sight as we looked over the final steep slope to the road at Dunmail Raise. It looked like the Bob Graham Circus had come to town. Many cars were lined up on either side of the pass. Lights shone into the night, tiny dots of luminescence moved around as people wearing head torches milled about. It looked like there should be a carousel and a hamburger stall; like a fairground seen from an aeroplane.

At 2:00am I reached the roadside, a minute or so behind Dallam as I had stopped for another wee. DaftB and Adam got there at the same time after their long walk down from Helvellyn. I sat in a beer chair and, rather inefficiently, tried to refill my pack, eat a sandwich, drink some tea and chat all at the same time. I was told I was now 50 minutes behind schedule, but I couldn’t work out why. I thought things were going well, but 50 minutes behind! This was disconcerting.

50 minutes?

I was bothered by this, and as a result took longer than I wanted to get going again. Martin’s team had set off on leg three several minutes before. I could see their lights in the distance half way up the ludicrously steep side of Steel fell, where I had to go next.

I worked my way through the cars and across the road to the stile. Many people clapped and encouraged me onwards – such is the communal support within the Bob Graham fraternity – one for all and all for one. One guy asked me if I was ‘the solo runner’. I said I was and he slapped me on the back as I passed and said, “Go on, you’re doing great”. I was going on, but doing great? I wasn’t so sure. It was 2:00 am and very dark. I had been running for eight hours, done 15 mountains and had a string of tops to conquer before getting to the really BIG ones. I was now alone, and 50 minutes behind schedule. But what the hell! Let’s go and see what happens……………………..

…………….The climb took around fifteen minutes before I crested the steeper slopes and the activity on the road was finally out of sight. Then the sense of peace and isolation was massive. And fantastic! I love night hill running, and to do it alone is liberating. I get a feeling of being part of the natural world around me, part of the mountains. There is something deeply spiritual about it, and the isolation, the knowledge that nobody can affect me, or for help me should I need it makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

Although I wasn’t completely alone. One of Martin’s team had stopped close to the summit of Steel Fell, and was adjusting his gear. We greeted each other as I passed, and I could intermittently see from the small light that he was roughly following my route from several minutes behind.

And I wasn’t alone due to the sheep, whose eyes reflected back at me in my torch beam, sometimes just spookily staring, sometimes darting about.

The reccie runs had been a massive help. I had navigated so far entirely on memory, and continued to do so. I could remember the compass bearing I needed to take to get to the summit of Calf Crag, and had the compass ready in my hand. But I didn’t need it. Even in the dark I recognised the way. From the top of Calf Crag I looked north and saw a tiny light on the flatter ground below. Martin’s colleague knew I was on the summit, and I knew he was there, avoiding the highest ground and heading towards his next rendezvous point with his team.

Looking towards Sargeant Man I could see a few lights climbing up what I knew was the sides of a steep beck. They were about 20 minutes in front. Still alone, I set off towards them.

Sargeant man is a long steep climb through a mix of boggy and rocky ground. By now there were the first impressions that the light was increasing; the sun had nearly finished racing around the far side of the earth and was hurrying to join us again. But then patchy hill fog started to blow in and descend to where I was climbing. As I moved above 650 metres I was immersed, and the foggy air chilled my bare skin as it blew past. This mist disorientated me on the final approach to the summit. I didn’t know which direction to run in. There was no choice but to sit down and consult the map and compass. But as soon as I had calculated my bearing and raised my head to move on again, the patch of cloud blew over and the summit was clearly visible a few hundred metres away.

I stood on the summit for a minute and stared in every direction. Dawn was breaking, and radiant beauty greeted me from all points of the compass. To the west rose the Scafell Massif, a gathering of the highest mountains in the country. Between me and them I could see the Langdale Pikes, where I would be shortly heading, and to the north was High Raise, my next peak.

My feet were soaking but not hurting. My legs were weary but not complaining. My thinking seemed lucid, and I was happy, but I kept beating myself up about ‘50 minutes’, and Martin was nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nobody anywhere. I had the Lake District dawn to myself. Splendid isolation!

One thing was beginning to trouble – my buttocks were starting to chafe.

The running was fairly easy to High Raise, and then the same as I touched the cairn and doubled back to Thurnacar Knott, on the lower slopes of which I picked up a lost (and very expensive) head torch. (I have since traced the owner and am returning it).

Strange things began happening when approaching Harrison Stickle. I was running between small crags, and kept hearing voices; friendly sounding conversations between two or three people that sounded to be coming from just around the next set of rocks. I couldn’t make out specific words, just mumblings. But every time I stopped and looked there was nobody there. Occasionally there were sheep, but no people. This happened several times. I think harmless minor hallucinations had begun.

The all-fours scramble up Harrison Stickle confirmed that I needed to do something about my buttock chafing. It felt like someone had wiped my bum with sandpaper and then poured vinegar down my shorts. But I couldn’t do anything just there as I had heard voices, so assumed people were around. I decided to get my Vaseline out on top of Pike of Stickle.

The steep descent between Harrison and Pike caused the first twinges of knee pain and some quad tightness. That wasn’t good. I tried not to focus on it, but mashed knees would surely end my BG.

I looked a hundred metres ahead and saw three people standing on the path, looking at me. I assumed they must be someone else’s support team. But when I got there, there was no-one, in fact there was nobody for miles in any direction. Another hallucination! Maybe my thinking wasn’t so lucid after all.

I scrambled to the top of Pike of Stickle and immediately got out the Vaseline. (I only do this at points of outstanding beauty. The last time was in front of Whitby Abbey on a lovely sunny Saturday) There was no non-crude way of doing what I had to. A big dollop was applied to the offending area. It felt better immediately, but then I thought about my fingers. I had used the hand I needed to get my snacks from my waist belt. I made a note to self – be very careful when eating my chewy bars, chocolate and sweets!

Alas, I have to admit that I forgot about that within a couple of minutes. :-/

From Pike of Stickle came a long, good running section to Rossett Pike, where Rich and I had got lost. Getting lost this time wasn’t an option, but I was going through a dark patch mentally. I hadn’t seen anyone for nearly three hours. Martin must have been way in front, and I must surely have slipped further behind. My knees hurt on downhill sections and my thighs were tiring. Completing the round seemed impossible.

I clawed my way up Rossett Pike, peered over the other side and could see DaftB and Adam waiting for me. Two other men were with them. With my round seemingly unfeasible in my mind, I knew what I needed to do. I’d get re-fuelled from the mule train, tell them I’d head to Wasdale and then throw in the towel. That would be thirty mountains done. Not a bad effort by any standards! But I couldn’t see progress beyond there.

I set off down the slope towards my team to break the bad news……………….