Showing posts for Outdoors

• Monday, 16 Jun 2025 8:50 pm

  David's Bob Graham

  When we get out of the car at Honister the windows of the shop are all boarded up and the gates are closed. It’s a little before 7 am. It’s not raining, per se; but there’s water hanging in the air getting everything sort of damp in a way that really suggests rain.

  We head up towards Dubs Quarry and cut around on Moses Trod towards the shoulder of Great Gable. Kirk Fell peeks out from between curtains of mist; the rain waxes and then wanes again. I think about David on the moraines around Bow Fell. He’s half an hour behind his schedule, which isn’t too worrying since he’s aiming for a 23-hour Bob.

  We descend from the clouds amid the din of Gable Beck, much fuller now than it was earlier this summer. Wasdale gleams through the mist with reflected sunlight.

  

  At Wasdale Head, we meet a man with a “I drive a Jaguar” accent asking for the route up to Scafell Pike. He balks when he’s told that the best trailhead is the National Trust car park, three-quarters of a mile up the road. I wonder dimly how his blue jeans and fancy boots will fare on the sodden climb. I wonder if he’ll get that far.

  We hunker down in the National Trust car park with plenty of time to spare, watching David’s dot move across the crags on the tracking app he’s provided us. He loses a bit more time; it’s enough that we start to get nervous. We take turns in Nina & Adrian’s warm van and chain-drink decaf coffee. We visit the drop toilet with its smooth plastic seat. We try not to look down.

  Before long, Nina spots David through her binoculars coming down the screes below Scafell Pike. They round a wall and disappear out of sight. Minutes later they emerge from the woods and into the car park. I notice that all four runners have big brown mud streaks up their backs.

  David doesn’t look much worse for wear. He inhales some rice pudding, takes a couple of painkillers, and launches out of the car park and onto the road with Tamsin, Nick, and I in tow. He’s about an hour behind schedule; we’ll need to find some time on the leg 4 tops.

  Soon we’re climbing Yewbarrow. The rain forbears; it is a small mercy. Wasdale shrinks below us. It occurs to me that Nina is probably watching our climb through her binoculars. I look back, but I can’t see her.

  We crest the shoulder of Yewbarrow and reach the summit. Nick marks down the time and we scurry off towards Red Pike. I try to keep up conversation; David seems in decent spirits. I don’t know how much of our job as supporters is to try and keep up morale. Probably a good deal of the job.

  The climb to Red Pike is nowhere steep, but its length makes it a slog. On the Bob Graham timing chart it proves the equal of Yewbarrow for time. We crest the summit, then a brief interlude before the wall at the top of Scoat Fell comes into view.

  Steeple comes and goes, then the traverse across the flank of Black Crag and the steep screes up Pillar. From the summit of Pillar we can see the sun shining on the Irish Sea.

  Then the long descent towards Kirk Fell, rocky in places but generally joggable. We pass a runner wearing a number coming up the other way, first place (by a long shot) in the Ennerdale Horseshoe fell race. His competitors are so far behind that we think at first that he’d lost the route and was scrambling back into position. It turns out that he’s just famous.

  We dodge more runners on the climb up Kirk Fell Crags and then start the descent. Halfway down, David loses his balance on a wet boulder and topples backwards onto an excessively sharp rock. He lies in shock for a minute; we wonder how long before we should call Mountain Rescue. He wiggles his fingers and toes, and then miraculously, gets back up and continues the descent. He’s clearly shaken but is moving well. By the time we get to the pass at the foot of Gable, the only evidence of his fall is a scuffmark on the back of his jacket.

  

  He powers up Gable, then over Green Gable and on to Brandreth and Grey Knotts. There’s a bit of confusion about which summit of Grey Knotts we’re meant to visit, but our proximity to Honister highlights the time crunch: David is now 20 minutes or so behind 24-hour pace. The mood is resigned as we descend to Honister; David says that he’s going to see it through regardless of time.

  He spends less than a minute at Honister, swapping out water and handing off poles. Tamsin and I decide to accompany him on leg 5. No one mentions David’s pace or expected finish time until halfway up Dale Head, when Geoff (on nav) announces that from the top onwards we’re going to pick up the pace.

  He’s not joking.

  Geoff pulling us all on, we fly down Dale Head as if we’re at a fell race and then run full-tilt all the way up to Hindscarth. The wind picks up and the clouds blot out the fading sun. Keswick lurks somewhere in the murk off to the right. David has a fixated look in his eye.

  The climb to Robinson is the hardest of the day. Far ahead, there’s a Herdwick sitting in the middle of the path just below the crest of the hill and it somehow never seems to get any closer. My chest heaves and my legs burn. But then I see the characteristic craggy crest at the summit and know we’ve made it.

  Over the driving wind at the top of Robinson, Geoff says that we have an hour and a half to get to Keswick. If we can make Newlands Church in half an hour, that gives David an hour to run the 5 miles back to Keswick. It’s on.

  We fly down the side of Robinson, Geoff picking out grassy trods around the crags to keep the pace up. Soon we’re on the trail out through the gorse and the gates and the holiday cottage with the funny name and charging down the road. David runs at a 4:30/km pace down to the church. I don’t know how he does this with more than 90 km in his legs already.

  I try to keep up, but run out of steam around Swinside. David charges on with his leg 5 supporters and I hobble the remaining 3km back to Keswick. When I arrive at the Moot Hall, I find David in a crowd of friends, a beer in his hand, and a massive smile on his face.

  Running Outdoors Lake District Bob Graham Round Race report

• ---

  Monday, 16 Jun 2025 5:49 pm

  Swaledale Marathon

  

  4 hours and 15 minutes at the Swaledale Marathon, split into thirds.

  The first third was run under threatening clouds. I paced myself and checked my heart rate probably too often. But I felt good over Fremington and up Arkengarthdale.

  Ran up into the clouds for the middle third. Stomach started to turn on me up on the moor past Punchard Head. Still running well, keeping up with folks around me.

  Bathroom break at Gunnerside before the final third. On the climb up onto the moor the sun came out and my body responded like Superman. Felt great (if thirsty) for the jaunt back to Reeth.

  Running Outdoors Race report

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  Monday, 17 Feb 2025 9:22 pm

  Now: 10 February - 16 February 2025

  The week started out slow but ramped up in a major way. Tuesday we were at Scouts for the second half of my lesson on space. I was pretty nervous about it but it went well.

  Thursday I was down in Leeds for an all-hands at work. I really like going down to the office and seeing folks face to face. I just know that if I lived within cycling distance I’d be down there multiple times per week. I think I’m going to have to come to terms with being an In-Person Work Guy.

  On the weekend Sam and I went out to the Pennines: she started walking the Teesdale Way and I did a big loop over Cross Fell.

  

  Spent Sunday recovering; I spent a while on the computer doing Administrative Tasks and then drank three beers and signed up for a 50k in the Lake District in May.

  Reading

  I liked this article on Dialectics of Decline, I feel it’s probably being shared around left-learning circles with nods and approval but there’s a lot of soul-searching that needs to be done on Our Side as well:

  On some level we are all too comfortable. We in the heart of the empire have grown so accustomed to our endless flow of treats that it feels almost impossible to imagine the steadfastness of belief in higher principles, risking life and limb for a greater cause, that led to the American Revolution, to the abolition of slavery, to the militancy of the Black Panthers with their rifles and shotguns.

  Still, a perverse voyeurism in “soy right” pictures shared by Max Read on the same topic.

  In other widely-shared news, Kevin Kelly’s list of 50 years of travel tips got me wanting to get back on a plane and go somewhere:

  Sketchy travel plans and travel to sketchy places are ok. Take a chance. If things fall apart, your vacation has just turned into an adventure. Perfection is for watches. Trips should be imperfect. There are no stories if nothing goes amiss.

  [...]

  Here in brief is the method I’ve honed to optimize a two-week vacation: When you arrive in a new country, immediately proceed to the farthest, most remote, most distant place you intend to reach during the trip. If there is a small village, remote spa, a friend’s farm, or a wild place you plan on seeing on the trip, go there immediately. Do not stop near the airport. Do not rest overnight in the arrival city. Do not pause to acclimate. If at all possible proceed by plane, bus, jeep, car directly to the furthest point without interruption. Make it an overnight journey if you have to. Then once you reach your furthest point, unpack, explore, and work your way slowly back to the big city, wherever your international departure airport is.

  Gina Trapani’s Life in Weeks is a terrific high-level visualisation of life (that doesn’t make you go “oh my god I’m basically dead already”). This, along with the question on the citizenship application about tell us every time you left the country in the past five years, makes me want to build something like this for myself. See also Buster Benson’s Life in Weeks.

  

  Running Outdoors Pennines Leeds Politics Web

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  Saturday, 4 Jan 2025 10:41 pm

  Flittingford bothy

  Nice midweek trip up to Kielder with Sam and Ghyll to spend a night in Flittingford bothy to celebrate the new year. Parked at Black Middens and took the long way round, rather than starting in Falstone as it seems most people do (at least, based on the bothy book).

  Walked in with plenty of fuel (kiln-dried from Aldi, truly the lap of luxury) so we stayed nice and toasty overnight. Wandered outside to relieve myself at the late hour of 6pm and found a stunning aurora in full glory. Stood around taking pictures of the sky until our fingers started to numb with cold, then retreated inside and learned how to play rummy with the well-worn deck of cards someone'd left behind in ages past. Popped a couple of coals on the fire to keep us going overnight; asleep by 9pm.

  

  

  

  

  The walk back out was in glorious clear weather (if a tad nippy). Stopped by the Sidwood Romano-Saxon settlement on the way out; little more than some earthworks to see, and a moss-overgrown plaque. Then popped up to Black Middens to ogle The Way the Other Half Lived (the Other Half are Border farmers from the Tudor period).

  Bothies Outdoors

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  Sunday, 7 Jul 2024 1:30 pm

  Durham Coastal Half Marathon

  Two races in one week! Sunday morning found me with a couple hundred other runners at Nose's Point in Seaham for the Durham Coastal Half Marathon, a trail-ish half following the line of the coast from Seaham down to Crimdon Dene, just outside of Hartlepool. We take Ghyll walking along these trails pretty often, so a lot of it is familiar territory to me.

  

  

  We started out under sunny skies but dark clouds in the distance forebode. I started near the back so for the first half hour or so I focused on trying to squeeze past folks and avoid stepping on any heels. Soon we were heading deep into Hawthorne Dene for a bit of a loop—slower going on the climb to the top of the dene but easy miles on the way out and along the relatively even clifftops heading towards Easington.

  At a small aid station I scarfed a handful of jellybeans and a cup of water and continued on my way. A short spell behind a slower runner on an overgrown path gave me a chance to catch my breath, and then it was into the up/down/up at the mouths of Warren House, Blackhills, and Limekiln Gill. This last is familiar territory, being Ghyll's favourite beach—today packed with dogwalkers trying to beat the ominously advancing bad weather.

  At Blue House Gill I'm passed by a man from Billingham Running Club who asks whether I was part of the group that got lost and ran down the beach instead of following the trail along the clifftops. I tell him no, and boil with secret envy at his avoidance of the awful overgrown climbs I've been navigating for the last half hour. A little while later, I'm overtaken by a European guy—Italian, I think—who seems to be taking at least twice as many steps as me. He encourages me vigorously and I run with him for a little while. I overtake him again just before we enter the holiday park above Crimdon but he keeps with me all the way to the end.

  The descent through the Crimdon Dene car park makes me feel like a movie star. People double-take and leap out of their way with strollers and pint-sized dogs; cars yield. (This is, I think, how people react to movie stars.) I hurtle down the final hill towards the finish line and cross at what feels to me like great speed but which, on viewing the footage that Sam takes of the moment, turns out only to be average speed. I come to an abrupt stop and collect a medal, three cups of red cream soda, and a lukewarm bottle of Staropramen lager. It tastes like victory.

  Durham Coastal Half Marathon on Strava

  Running Outdoors

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