Written by Tom Wright - http://life.tomwright.me.uk

There simply aren’t enough ultra relays in Cornwall! 

Beyond the Classic Quarter (done - twice thrice) and a brief appearance of UTSW (done once) you have to search much further afield for anything close to a relay format and most involve monotonous perambulations of short courses.

Adds up to nine - a lucky number perhaps…

Hence it took little effort to spark my interest in the Quest when it was first announced by MudCrew last year. Sandwiched between Great Lakeland 3 Day and Snowdon V3K the race seemed a good opportunity to get some training miles in on the one stretch of the North Cornish Coast I had not run. The challenge was finding a partner. Most of the long distance brigade at TRC were either already entered or otherwise engaged. Step up deputy chairman and fellow Bosvigo dad, Paul Middleton who was looking to up his training for the South Downs Way 100. Unfortunately Paul’s year had been afflicted by injury and as the event drew closer it became clear that rehabilitation was more important than forced training. Paul was out.

One of those previously occupied runners was newly appointed men’s team captain, Dave Cudby, who had a crazy idea to run 42 lakeland mountains in 24 hours instead of a gentle jaunt along the Cornish coast. Well it just so happened that Dave had postponed his Bob Graham Round until June so was now available. I cautiously planted the seed, knowing that were Dave to say yes, what had been intended as a social bimble from Tintagel to Crackington Haven could quite possibly become a competitive race.

So, it probably didn’t come as a surprise when I inadvertently visited Facebook the night prior and saw our names listed amidst six other teams that were expected to hotly contest the Quest relay. This hardly helped the nerves or my ability to sleep. I had been nursing tight calf muscles and a lingering cold all week. My body still feeling the labours of the Lake District. I buried any reference to my physical malaise not wanting excuses to play a part in our success or failure. As the wife calmly reminded me - “just go out and run your own race and you will be fine”. Sounds so easy!

Why The Quest? Playing on the mythology of King Arthur, MudCrew had devised a challenge to collect two relics located at far flung reaches south and north of a coastal hugging course. Not any stretch of coast either. Graded from strenuous to severe by the SWCP Association this 20 mile stretch of coast, with over 2000m of ascent, is some of the most arduous in the county. Dave would venture south (the severe bit), then I north. Other brave knights (a worthy accolade for anyone tackling this challenging section of coast path) would run the entire 40 mile course to collect both relics. Then as if by magic the Lady of the Lake (as played by Mud Crew’s Jane Stephens) would transform the unified relics into a finishers medal.

TRC were out in force with possibly the highest representation of any club.

The chevaliers (solo masochists) included Chris ‘The Rocket’ Barrett, Lee ‘Da Bull’ Treadgold, Colin ‘The Bloody’ Bathe and Donal ‘(Might) Be Home For Supper’ Breen.

There was a girls vs boys face off between Jo Staves/Claire Longman and Andy Boon/Dave Longman and Andy Goundry/James Davies and Caroline Chamborieux/Helen Dodwell also featured in the relay. Then there was Rob Chirgwin who learned at the last minute that his partner Pip couldn’t join him so decided to attempt all 40 miles himself. Surely deserving of a seat at the Round Table (sobriquet pending)!

Gathered in the Wootons Hotel in Tintagel at a sociable 10am James happened to drop in to conversation that Dave had recovered his relic a good 20 minutes ahead of his nearest rival. I wasn’t sure if rival meant the second placed runner or Andy G. but with the North Coast Challenge under his belt Dave appeared to be taking good advantage of his knowledge of this sharply undulating course. While the margin seemed somewhat incomprehensible over eight miles the time certainly did not. The previous night we had batted around projections of a ten minute pace and 1 hour 20 minutes to Port Gaverne was spot on. 

Despite the persistent rain I decided to head down to Tintagel Castle in preparation for his imminent arrival.

As close as I was going to get to the Island today.

My desire to finally visit the Island was unfulfilled as the changeover zone (and finish), which I had hoped would be amidst the ruins across the bridge, was in fact outside the Castle Café overlooking the Haven and Merlin’s Cave. A solitary Mud Crew flag fluttered in the strong breeze as the rain clouds briefly passed and a glimmer of sun pierced the drab skyline. Was Ferg in league with Merlin conjuring up some typically abject MudCrew weather for the day? Strong south-westerly winds were expected on High Cliff, Cornwall’s coastal pinnacle, and heavy rain looked set in for much of the day. Fortunately we could seek shelter in the café and observe any approaching runners from the window. A long thirty minutes of pacing and nervous conversation with relay rivals from across the Tamar ensued, interspersed with several visits to the toilet.

With little time to think, Dave arrived and I departed. Nothing changed hands. Just a tap. A misaligned sign had briefly sent Dave off course but he finished in just over three hours. Unbeknownst to me at the time he had indeed put over 20 minutes between us and the next relay team. But with such intel lacking, the pent up excitement sent me rocketing up the first set of granite steps and around Barras Nose. I had no idea how far ahead we were nor did I have a plan on how to handle the next 24 miles of rugged coastline.

The omnipresent, Charlie Whitton, was waiting around the first bend, to catch me on fresh legs. Photo copyright Charles Whitton Photography.

As the coast path levelled out and the initial panting subsided, I stripped off and stuffed away my Montane smock. The coast path wound out towards the sea and I cautiously glanced back to get an indication of my lead. No runners visible. Steep steps out of the picturesque Rocky Valley came easy on fresh legs as I side-stepped several wayward dogs. Nearly three miles in from atop Firebeacon Hill I looked back one last time. I had a good view of the coast path winding back around Bossiney Haven. Still no sign of another runner. 

Time to make a plan. I decided to run hard all the way to Crackington Haven and keep as much distance as possible between myself and the chasing pack. Perhaps a bigger gap would give me a psychological advantage as we crossed paths on my return to Tintagel?

The first navigational blunder occurred approaching Boscastle. Dave had mentioned something about taking the top path. So with a sharp right angle turn away from the coast I did just that. Dave was referring to several routes traversing Cambeak point into Crackington Haven much further up the course! I now found myself stuck in gorse on Forrabury Common high above Boscastle Harbour. There was no clear route down. I would have to backtrack and the detour had cost me several valuable minutes - how costly could that be?

It was a real treat to see David and Sally in the harbour bearing sweets. The intensity of my quest thus far dictated I take a handful and not worry myself with the potential gelatine content. I had received mainly confused expressions and occasional impoliteness from walkers so it was consolation to meet with a cheer from someone who understood why I was roaming the high cliffs in a string vest on a wild spring morning. Knowing their watchful eyes would be following me up the long drag to Penally hilltop I continued to run at a steady pace. At Boscastle Farm Shop there followed a brief diversion off the path into a pop-up tent manned by several of Cornwall’s ultra running glitterati. This was a Mud Crew event after all! The reception was one of confusion - I don’t think they were expecting any runners quite so soon as they busied themselves spreading out an impressive knight’s feast. On learning that my number did not need scanning I quickly bade farewell to Duncan, Rich and the rest and headed out to face the knee jerking steps descending into Pentagon Bay. I was entering Hardy country.

I see what you are doing: you are leading me on
To the spots we knew when we haunted here together,
The waterfall, above which the mist-bow shone
At the then fair hour in the then fair weather,
And the cave just under, with a voice still so hollow
That it seems to call out to me from forty years ago,
When you were all aglow,
And not the thin ghost that I now frailly follow!

After A Journey: Pentagon Bay. Thomas Hardy

There was little time to admire the waterfall that so inspired Hardy or seek out the Double Doors in the vast northern cliff face. Fire Beacon Point was approaching and that meant the first of two long climbs culminating in High Cliff at 223 metres.

As the path levelled out above Buckator I came face to face with a herd of cattle who seemed intent on joining me. The footpath was narrow with a 150m drop to the crashing ocean below and just a single wire fence between me and my bovine nemesēs. This was quite discomforting. Should they unpredictably bear down on me I would be over the edge! So a race ensued. As I accelerated the crazy eyed cattle followed suite until we were sprinting towards the far reaches of the field and my safety. A lesson in how fast cattle can actually run as I paused briefly atop a style to compose my breathing.

I picked a direct line down Rusey Cliff. Again I found myself stuck in gorse and was rewarded with numerous scratches and a steep scramble to reconnect with the coast path. More steep steps climbed into a thin fog that swirled around High Cliff. A narrow path bisecting the dense flora that clung to the near vertical cliff face. Ethereal perhaps but with just the sound of the crashing ocean far below a little foreboding. Having not sighted another person since leaving Boscastle Farm Shop I was briefly struck by the remoteness of this awe inspiring place.

What a delight to see Paul thrusting a plate of oranges in front of me. A long gradual descent through fields of long grass and no end of switchbacks had finally delivered me to Crackington Haven. Over the previous twelve miles I had neglected fluid and was, as usual, struggling to devour solid food. Oranges were the perfect remedy. Paul later told me that oranges were rationed after I devoured a whole plates worth! Had the relay been a four man affair and my exertion complete at this turnaround I could have retired a happy man. Sub 2 hours for 12 miles and 1000m ascent was a good performance. But my Quest was only half complete and now I had to return my relic to the castle. 

Ideally before anyone else!

“Whoso pulleth out this sword from this stone and anvil, is the true born King of all Britain.”

Sir Thomas Malory’s apocryphal lyric, altered and immortalised in the grand opening of Rick Wakeman’s Myths and Legends, rang in my ears as I departed the checkpoint, far less exuberantly. It was time to call upon my Arthurian inspired playlist to carry me over the long hills that lay in wait. The challenges flashed before my eyes. The long climb from sea level back to High Cliff; the countless steps; the buffeting south-wester; those convivial cattle; and significantly the eyes of the chasing pack.

Much to my surprise, first to pass was Shane (Nesbitt) leading the solo race, and every other relay runner, with yet another tour de force performance. He was closely followed by Cornwall AC’s Paul Sole, one of my relay rivals. I had clocked ten minutes out of Crackington but couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of this margin. I could only think how strong Paul looked as he flew down the Cambeak switchbacks while I struggled up them. Paul was closely followed by The Rocket looking strong and comfortable despite having only just stepped up to the ultra distance. Could he catch Shane? We high-fived. It was interesting seeing the solo race unfold as more runners passed and a brief distraction from my own undertaking. At some point, and oblivious to me, muskies Alex Payton-Jones went by. Did he see the fear in my eyes? Unbeknownst to me he was flying and eating into a huge 37 minute margin, Dave had created, with every mile.

Heading north High Cliff had been straight up but going south it was a gradual climb that rarely eased off. My exertions over the first half had drained my legs and the gradient felt far worse than it should have. Again I rallied to the sound of music as a live rendition of Wishbone Ash’s Throw Down the Sword guitar duel sent nostalgia and waves of emotion through my body. Mis-management of my nutrition was playing with my brain though and by the time I topped High Cliff my mind was awash with negativity. I had slumped. I forced down half a Chia charge bar, the other half falling limply from the wrapper into the undergrowth. It was dry and tasteless. I couldn’t swallow. I contemplated sitting down in the long grass and texting an apology to Dave for my failure to complete what he had started.

Fortunately, my race was saved by the camaraderie exhibited by every other runner I passed over the next hour. With relay and solo runners spread across the length of the course there was very little time alone with my thoughts. And with every word of rallying support I grew a little stronger. Even at the point searing cramp froze me to the spot in front of Helen, a shot of Elete and I was bounding down the vertiginous descent to Rusey. Lee was smiling, Colin blood free (so far) and Rob looked most comfortable and unperturbed by the magnitude of the challenge. I passed Dave L. sat on a bench organising kit. Safe to say the ladies were on course to win that challenge!

Back in Hardy country, 170 (counted) steps led me to the feed station at Boscastle Farm Shop. This time I was grateful for some much needed nourishment. Word had clearly not filtered down the ranks regarding my insatiable desire for oranges and I was quick to pocket a few handfuls and get straight back out on the coast path. There is a noticeable change in the landscape beyond Boscastle as the rolling coast path becomes more welcoming and a lot more runnable. The legs were still feeling the exertion from those big climbs and heady descents and pace was slow, occasionally broken up with a power walk. Tintagel was drawing closer, and the impending fear that I would be caught grew stronger as I dug deep to maintain some semblance of forward momentum. I glanced over my shoulder at every opportunity expecting to see runners bearing down on me. But no-one came.

Then I passed Donal - the final soloist out on the course. He looked happy but had an insurmountable task to reach Crackington Haven before the cut-off. We exchanged encouragement for our contrasting goals.

It was only as I reached the last step above Bossiney that I finally caught sight of a runner rounding Trevalga Cliff over a mile behind. Dressed in black I took him to be Shane. It was in fact Alex! I had less than a mile to go. He was too far distant. Finally I relaxed. For the first time in over four hours I knew that I could not be caught. In the five minutes it took me to round that final headland my mid-life running career flashed before me. When I took up trail running in 2010 I never contemplated finding myself at the front of a race let alone actually breaking the tape. If only the girls were there at the finish. Emotion hit me and I welled up. This was awesome!

Holy shit! Actually going to win something… Photo copyright Charles Whitton Photography

I sped down those same granite steps I had raced up earlier. Jane was waiting. We shook hands and I got a very welcome congratulatory hug. Not before remembering to stop my watch of course! I had bettered my expectations completing my leg in just under 4 hours 29 minutes. Our official time was 7:30:46. 

Alex arrived just under seven minutes later. He had given up the chase at Boscastle when he learned he was still ten minutes behind. Still a mighty impressive performance to run that coastline in 4 hours! 

The formal congratulations from Mud Crew’s Jane Stephens. Photo copyright Charles Whitton Photography

Half way through the third celebratory ale Dave revealed that he was quietly confident that we had it won. He had spent the last few miles of his leg, when he wasn’t going the wrong way around fields, applying statistical analysis to the race. The probability of me sustaining the massive lead he had established as I traversed that 24 miles of rugged, undulating Cornish coastline seemed high. Apparently! Another few miles and Alex might have proven that wrong?

Surprisingly, this was only the second MudCrew event I have taken part in and at times felt reminiscent of the RAT Plague. The out and back formula and the accompanying camaraderie it instills; the steep descents and countless steps; superbly stocked feed stations; spending a large part of the race looking over my shoulder! Yet the finish was a stark contrast to the RAT’s social gathering. A few revellers, probably relay runners or castle day trippers, hung at the finish line. I was starving. The café had stopped serving hot food! Big loss there then. Following a cup of tea that did little to combat a growing chill I found it necessary to jog, albeit awkwardly, up the hill back to my car before my lips froze blue.

Not before seeing Shane finish in an incredible 7:41! A course record that will be hard to better. He was followed 22 minutes later by the Rocket himself.

Let Dave do all the hard work and I collect the trophy! Good plan ;) Photo by Lee Treadgold.

Further into the day, much further in fact, a lonely figure sprinted into Crackington Haven making the cut off with seconds to spare. He then took a long slow journey back over High Cliff and the steep cut valleys to Tintagel castle. Donal arrived before night fall a very tired, but happy, man! 

Thanks MudCrew. And thanks Dave - couldn’t have done it without you… obviously! 

Full results on the Mud Crew website.

Cough. Did I mention we actually won! First first for both myself and Dave. Just need a glass cutter now to share the spoils…

Not the same hilly coastline! But a team shot all the same. Thanks Stuart!