It's been a while since i felt the desire to run. Post Bob, all that focus ebbed away. Saturday mornings were an excuse to stay indoors. Drink coffee, read, chat with Em and rest. Long rides on the bike filled the gaps on Sunday's.
The lasting effects of the round are all there. I have a renewed confidence and belief in my abilities in every day life. It's had an effect at work, i talk with confidence and find i'm tackling issues and problems i would have avoided before.
At the BG dinner on the 10th October, I sat and listened to the words Mark Hartell had carefully prepared. What he said hit home and summed up perfectly the feelings inside. Suddenly realising that this was the very point of it all, that I wasn't alone in feeling like this. It was the perfect conclusion to the journey. The end chapter. I had come this way to hear Mark speak those words. From that the Bob Graham club and everything it stands for is worth preserving. It's so important to encourage and help others to tread the same path. When life is hard, here a light shines through. Our memories take us back to that special day. An early dawn trot across the Langdales, mist clearing the tops of Bowfell and the Crinkles. The sound of Skylarks, the scent of peat, sweet and fresh.
I think if we were all a bit more American there may have been some high fives and group hugging going on in that room. A nod from Karl, a wink from Dale was as far as we got. I chatted for an age with Jonathan about our night on the Dodds and leg 2. And then with the guys i helped back in 2008. I will never forget those hours of the 26th and 27th June and that evening of the 10th October.
I will continue to run from home in this corner of the Lakes, to the top of Heughscar fell of an evening. As i did last night, and watch the last of the dying sun sink behind a brooding Blencathra. I'll cast an eye to the south to Clough Head and trace the line across the Dodds and on and on. Then with fading light i'll turn for home and drop down into the darkness and the phosphorous glow of this life...
John assessing the damage from another bear visit to the camp 4 toilets
A bear in the woods. You can just make out it's terminator eyes. A real life killer on the loose!
I've been watching the short documentary on channel 4, Alone in the Wild. Having read the book Into the Wild a few years ago, the two tales share many similarities. Humans alone in the wild, trying to cope with survival, bears and generally being in places we have lost touch with. The whole bear encounter thing has brought back memories of my own experiences. Namely a trip to Chester zoo at the age of 9 when i saw a Polar bear in it's natural environment of concrete walls and double glazing glass. The sign said don't feed the bears, but it didn't specify what foods, so i gave it my cheesy Wotsits which it seemed to really like. And two trips to Yosemite in North America where i got to meet some really nice fluffy Black Bears. Here the bears really were in their natural environment. They get to smash up cars, eat all manner of food like burger and chips and scare the crap out of tourists. They can poo anywhere they like. In the woods, on the roads, it's just so beautiful seeing bears do the things what bears naturally do. On one particular trip to Yosemite the bears actually walked through the campground just yards from where i stood. The experience and stress of living in close proximity to such animals for 3 weeks took it's toll and we turned to heavy drinking and rock climbing to escape the daily dangers. I still have flashbacks to that trip. When i walk in the woods you just never know what it is crashing through the undergrowth.
We had to keep fires burning to scare the bears away.
The only safe place was to climb the sheer granite walls of El Capitain. Here John is in action with only a thin piece of rope stopping him from smashing into the rocks miles below.
The other danger was Mountain Lions. Here i managed to photograph one asleep on a duvet in the Sequoia forest.
What on earth has happened to me? When did i suddenly become so obsessed about getting a bit of shiny metal clean and free of mud splatters? I think i might have developed obsessive compulsive disorder since the purchase of the new machine. After each ride i'll inspect the paintwork for chips and scratches. I'll spin the wheels, "is there any grit in there? Yes! I can definitely hear a grinding sound. Oh, maybe not, but that scratch wasn't there before..."
I've even gone and bought a bike riding mankini. Emilie says i look like a bleached twiglet, posing for a twiglet porn shoot. When it comes to running i'm completely the opposite. The muddier the better. I have quite a few running gadgets, but only because i like the feedback while running. How far, how fast, how high. God, i am actually ill! Next time i'll leave the house, just me, the dog and the mankini. I'll leave the nick nacks at home and run. Where i don't know and for how long, who cares?
The thing is while in France, nothing got muddy. The bike, the dog, my precious shoes stayed clean. They don't have mud in France. And living in a county that has a lot of mud during the muddiest year since mud began is just bloody annoying...
Back home. It's always good to be back but more and more each time we visit, we long to be back in France. Emilie's home is Chamonix, her family are spread between there and the Haut Jura. The Jura is like a forested version of the Lake District, warmer obviously, with Lakes of turqoise blue water. Limestone crags line the hilltops with sport climbs and via feratta routes. Canyoning, mountain biking, kayaking, road biking, trail running, Comte cheese and fine wine, nordic skiing in winter. It has it all. But it's not slapped on a plate you have to go in search, dig out a map, explore a little.
Time and space a change of scene and plans abound. Managed a very soggy run on the fells yesterday, and blimey i have lost the fitness in just 2 months. Cally got so bored waiting for me she decided to catch up on some sheep spotting and bracken sniffing. Toe held up okay, I seem to be managing the ankle fine, with ankle strengthening exercises and lots of stretching. I fully intend to carry on with the bare footed running, building the miles slowly. I think i might just be able at long last to whittle my massive shoe collection down to just 2 pairs. Mudclaw 270's and Sportiva Crosslites. This is what i used on my BG and for a winter round i'm guessing these will do me fine. I know i can get my Yaktraks on these. So it's not quite the last post...
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Someone set fire to the forest below Planpraz. The French have a slightly different outlook on life, like how close can we get to the yellow helicopter?
Bit of an update. Since the big one I have enjoyed kicking back and not doing anything. A new bike purchase has enabled me to retain some fitness while the knees recover. In fact the biking has been so enjoyable some longer term plans have been hatched, namely the Grandes Alpes Traverse for June next year.
I have also been having physio on my right ankle which has not been right since the Jura fell race. I was almost in denial on the run up to my BG that there was anything wrong with it, so i blocked out the constant aches and pains. Turns out i probably fractured a bone during my fall on the paps and damaged the pereoneal tendons. But as i exlained to the physio, it can't have been that bad as i managed to trot 65 miles over the Lakeland fells on it.
The injury problems don't end there though. While playing football bare foot with the dog i managed to break a toe. Dog 1 : Me 0 So that put paid to any running plans i had while in Chamonix. As i write this though, slightly sun tanned and contemplating another bike ride over the Col de Montet and into Switzerland, it's not all that bad. Maybe slightly frustrating watching all the competitors arrive for the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc and the shorter ultra events that begin on Friday. I have the required points now to be accepted for next years UTMB and the encouragement from Emilie's family to enter has got me thinking.
Simon (Chris in miniature) playing with Cally, the flying dog
The first i heard about the Bob Graham Round was through reading an article in Trail Walker back in 1992. It gave details about a circular route starting and finishing in Keswick. A footnote at the bottom of the page said that it’s origin was as a 24 hour challenge, set in 1932 by a hotelier from Keswick, Mr Bob Graham no less. That article triggered something in my mind. One friend at the time said it was a ridiculous idea, that it was typical of me to even consider it. Always going too far with everything. In all honesty it was never a serious consideration until in 2004 we moved to Cumbria and the English Lake District.
The weather conditions favoured a development of a part time interest in fell running to something a little more serious. Runs up our local hill gradually became easier and the same friend stated with disbelief that you will never do a Bob Graham from running up and down The Beacon. This only spurred me on to finish my first marathon. Snowdon 2006, then Windermere 2007. Then followed okay performances in local fell races. 2007 saw my distances on the fells increase and my pace quicken. I completed all the Lakeland Superlongs (Duddon, Ennerdale, Wasdale) in 2008 placing high in the final league and thought I was ready.
In September 2008 I stood in a rain washed Keswick high street awaiting the stroke of midnight with another contender Peter Beer and our support pacers Rick Air and Morgan Williams. After just 13 miles and 3 peaks I dropped out, unable to continue. A staleness had replaced the desire to get around. If I were to stand a chance I was going to need to get tough in the head not just in the legs. Pete carried on alone and determined in the dark for 14 more miles before meeting with more pacers at Dunmail. He completed his round in a nail biting 23 hours 48 minutes. A fantastic achievement given the circumstances and conditions of those 23 or so hours.
A defining moment. Leaving Fleet Moss CP on the 47th Fellsman (photo; Karen)
I’d have to wait another 9 months for my next attempt. More training, more racing. Then in May 2009 i finished the 47th Fellsman feeling strong and confident. A significant day. Exactly seven weeks later, at 1900hrs on 26th June 2009 i stood outside the Moot Hall. Friends new and old snapped photos as i waited nervously in the warm evening air. With Pete Beer, Steve Angus and Chris Robinson we set off to a round of applause, down through the ginnel, across Fitz Park and onto Spooney Green Lane. We settled quickly, chat was easy, friends having a good laugh. As we rounded Mallen Dodd the sound of bagpipes drifted on the evening breeze. Jonathan Whilock was stood, a lone piper silhouetted against the sky. It was hard to conceal emotion as we passed by. We rose quickly up the steep slopes as the sky to the west reddened. Skiddaw summit was reached all too quickly, so i eased the pace not wanting to burn out too soon. Karl Taylor on his attempt flew past us on the descent to Hare Crag his pacers struggling to keep up.
Chris and Iain descending Skiddaw (photo; Pete Beer)
Ken Maynard met us at the Cumbria Way track with jelly babies and water and after a very brief stop we pushed on to Great Calva. Well up on time at the summit we descended the east ridge and made our way to the crossing of the Caldew and a wash in the cooling waters. On reaching Mungrisedale common hill fog was closing in and a stiff breeze was blowing. The Blencathra race route traverse through the screes proved useful and at Blencathra summit we enjoyed a few pieces of Pete’s luxury chocolate.
Poor visibility at the top of Hallsfell ridge (photo; Pete Beer)
All that remained was a quick descent of Halls Fell ridge almost dropping too far left at one point, i reached the road feeling great. I was met by the cheerful support team each one willing me to at least start leg 2 this time. There were no doubts. Emilie had arranged a fantastic spread of food.
The wait at Threlkeld (photo; Emilie)
With Jonathan Whilock and Ian Davies for leg 2, we trotted off into the night. Low cloud was now covering the tops but the breeze had eased. Clough Head loomed then care to find the path around Calfhow to Great Dodd. A quick bearing took us off the summit onto unfamiliar terrain. I shouted to Jonathan, “too steep, too steep”. We cut left then back right, the torch beams barely lighting 20 metres into the soup. We tracked back to the summit and started again. Great Dodd number 2. Another bearing but still not right. Karl’s group had joined us in the search for Watson’s Dodd. Six of us strung out on a hillside wondering where the hell they had put an entire Fell. Karl headed off on a GPS track but gut instinct told me not to follow. Remember Jura! We tracked back again to Great Dodd. Great Dodd number 3. Now I really like Great Dodd, it’s a bit like Mint Choc chip ice cream of the fell world, but this was getting a bit silly. We sat down and took another bearing found the lower track and followed this around to Watson’s no problem. The remainder of the leg went well and it became a summit push and a rush to the lights at Dunmail (John and Emilie) and food to much relief. Ian and Jonathan had been great night companions, a little shared excitement, but that’s what it’s all about. Thanks guys and I apologise if I was impatient.
Chicken soup, new potatoes in marmite, I struggled to eat, but i forced myself to do so. I ditched the torch and with George and Mark Nicholson and Steve Angus we set off up Steel Fell on Leg 3. It was now breaking light, a cloudy sky but cool on the summit and I was feeling nauseous. Skylarks called out their dawn chorus and we were lucky to see a few Red Deer. Mark and George like a solid dependable machine navigated with ease. Conferring occasionally about the route ahead, here were true local mountain men. Steve Angus never left my side, we didn't talk much, while i really struggled with sickness. This was a very low point. Keep going even when it all seems lost rang round my head!
A jam doughnut going up Rossett seemed to go down easily and by Bowfell I was starting to return. By the time we reached Great End I was enjoying it all again. It was at Scafell Pike that I saw some of the first hill goers since leaving Skiddaw, some 12 hours earlier. 3 Peakers!
All that was left was Broadstand. This had been roped by Steve Hardy and Jez Westgarth who were waiting with Riddley the dog, looking happy to be out on such a grand day. We pulled back a lot of time going this way. We were up on Scafell in 19 minutes.
George, Mark, Steve, Iain accompanied by Chris at Brackenclose (photo; Emilie)
By Wasdale i was feeling confident and happy. Emilie and my friends were here. The sun was shining we were up on schedule, the guys had done a great job. An Andy Newton handmade bacon sandwich with beans and fresh coffee, the road support were doing an amazing job too.
Ken, Karl and Dale at Brackenclose
An all too brief stop and so it was with Dale Colclough, Karl Edwards and Ken Maynard we set off again on Leg 4. Now i can’t explain it but I definitely heard Ken say “Stop horsing around you ponies”, and from that point I knew this leg was going to be a comical venture. Yewbarrow passed with ease, just steady away like all those training days before. Then Red Pike felt tough, and for the first time i thought about Kirk Fell and Gable. Focus on the hill you're on. Don't think ahead. Don't analyse too much how you feel. Keep pushing, stay positive. You like Steeple, that little out and back route. Pillar is where we ran on the Wasdale race. You felt so alive, so strong there. My father's words ran wild, "never give up, keep going, stay to the end." I wish he were here now. He would be so proud. He had shown me so much strength and courage in his last days. I imagined he was sitting by the summit cairn, waiting and watching, and what I would say to him after all these years. Would he recognise me?
Then memories in slow motion from childhood days, to days lazing with Emilie under a blue alpine sky. For a while i floated away. I fed the emotion. Then a voice called me back.
I thought at first when Ken said “do you want a rap?” that all three of them would whip out some goldie looking chains, baggy pants and some bad ass moves. But he actually meant Dale’s infamous cream cheese and avocado wrap. Which was a revelation even though i only managed one mouthful.
The guys took it in turns to relay stories and feed me rice pudding, always on the climbs, so that by Gable i had barely noticed Kirk Fell pass by. I stood on the summit with all the big ascents now behind us, I knew it was in the bag. With Denise now in our happy crew, I was having a great day. I let the others know of my troubles though, with a regular 35 second knee update on the run across to Grey Knotts. The descent was now taking it’s toll.
At Steeple, not too far to go now (photo; Karl Edwards)
Once at Honister, a kiss for Emilie, more food, first aid and a new team. Chris Ashton, Steve Angus, Catherine Evans and Kate Cheesewright joined me on the final leg with Dale and Ken not far behind. I was still drinking okay, but had probably not eaten enough on the ascent of Dalehead. Kate chose a fine moment to try out the Julia Bradbury wind-up and it worked a treat. I was delighted to see Ian and Pauline Charters on the track to Hindscarth, some photos and then a quick descent. The ascent to Robinson was like a final wall. I stopped 4 times. Feeling that it was nearly over I had stopped eating an hour earlier so there was nothing left in the tank for this ascent. I touched the final peak of Robinson, an encompassing tiredness masked any other feeling, so I turned and headed for the descent. A rapid pace took us to Little Town where the road support swept into action. With a quick change into road shoes we were off again.
Leaving Honister on the final leg (photo; Emilie)
Those final miles felt serene. Sunlight filtered through the shady lanes. John Seed joined us for the trot home, having acted as road support all day and we met Ian Davies a little further down the lane. I wanted to tell my story of seeing a flock of 200 plus pheasants about a year ago on the track to Swinside, but thankfully i was so shattered everyone was saved from the boredom of the pheasant convention tale.
The pub at Swinside came and went, then Portinscale, the footbridge over the river. Some folk were having a barbecue on the grass and the smell was out of this world. “Beer! Burger!”
All that remained was the track to Keswick. Once onto the main road I broke into a run of sorts up the crowded high street, Catherine out ahead trying to clear the way, and then one final obstacle. The fruit stall. I touched the Moot Hall door, the time 20 hours and 46 minutes. Friends that had been at my side and road crossings for the past hours cheered and hugged me. I thought i would have been emotional, but no tears, just a magnificent feeling of I can now sit down and stop running. It was all over. A personal journey had come to a successful conclusion. My support had helped me achieve this and for that i am eternally grateful. We had shared a day on the fells to remember. I hugged Emilie and we gathered some of the team together for a photo on the steps of the Moot Hall. We forged new friendships and re-visited old ones and we passed some beautiful places along the way. This is the Bob Graham Round. Thankyou all so very much for everything.
Some photos by Steve Angus
Some portraits taken by Emilie
A week on A week has passed since. Realisation has dawned that it is all over, that life has returned to normal. Talk is slowly reverting back to none BG related topics. My legs don't ache anymore, I even managed a short run this week. My diet has taken up beer and bacon butties with a vengeance. I have a satisfaction so deep so whole, that nothing upsets me. For those that know me well that is something very special. Emilie has not seen me so calm in almost two years. And Emilie i can't begin to explain how supportive she has been. Emilie has witnessed the tears and tantrums.
I have been touched by the comments of support along the way by fellow bloggers, you have seen the side I have wanted you to see. Behind this there has been a struggle. Things I wish I could have written but didn't. One of personal striving to prove something to myself and to the memory of a departed loved one. There have been times where i've wanted to give up. Give up the blog, give up the run. I've been injured and felt like the whole world has collapsed. I'm still trying to make sense of it all, what i have achieved. But maybe I'm just missing the point. What did i expect? There is no end, just the next path wherever that may lead.
Back at the Moot Hall, tired and happy after 20 hours 46 minutes.
Just a quick post to say a massive thankyou to all of my support both on and off the fells. Emilie, Andy, John and Denise did a great job keeping me fed, ferrying the pacers about and caring for my needs at all the road crossings. They got very little sleep throughout the day as i kept piling the time pressure on as the round progressed. The pacers were fantastic. Many many thanks to you all. A truly memorable day.
A big thanks also for all the photos taken during the day.
None of it has sunk in yet. Once all the kit has been sorted i will write the report. But for the moment..
Bob Graham set out with friends on June 13th 1932 at 1am, from the Moot hall, Keswick, England, to attempt to summit the most number of peaks or tops of the English Lake District within a 24 hour period. He returned after 23hrs and 39 minutes having visited 42 tops.
For a number of years it has been my quiet obsession to follow in his steps and to become a member of the 24 hour club. Here I hope to chronicle my build up and attempt at the round on 17-18th July 2009.
