Written by Frances Britain - https://findhornfran.wordpress.com

When this race first appeared on the scene a few years ago, I’ll be honest, I was a little cynical – why pay to race along something you could follow any time you liked, it being a way-marked National Trail. Despite that, my curiosity was piqued and I tracked that inaugural race; I tracked the race the following year, I read the race reports and the cynicism started to wane. I dithered for a bit longer until eventually January 2014 arrived with a desire to be brave, the form was filled out and submitted, that very same afternoon it came back confirming that I did indeed have a place. I had no idea how I was going to juggle being away from the family for a whole week.

For at least six months I happily pushed all thought of it to the back of my mind, not that I was idle in that time, long distance trail training for other races, and I did line up my fabulous parents to travel up and cover the childcare for me as that was the most important concern. I hadn’t quite factored in destroying my knees on a blinding run in the Great Glen Way Ultra at the start of July, which in turn halted any plans for blasting into training once the kids were back at school after the summer break.

Finally, late autumn and niggle free I settled into some training, but I’d definitely abandoned any thoughts of running parts of the race as I didn’t feel I had enough time to get strong enough to run with a loaded pack on that kind of terrain. It was definitely going to be all about walking – not slow walking though, this was no leisurely amble! New kit was tested out on a couple of solo adventures; firstly Knoydart, and then the Cairngorms. Despite well over 20 years of exploring hills and mountains, I’d done very little of that on my own but the summer of 2014 had seen me doing long solo runs in the Cairngorms and on my local moors; and I realised the pleasure to be had of setting off alone, carrying everything I needed on my back.

January, the Christmas holidays finally over and the kids back to school leaving me the rest of the week to get in a complete panic locating kit and packing. We were allowed a 20kg kit bag that would be dropped at four indoor checkpoints along the route, allowing you to access clean dry kit, food supplies, new batteries and any other essentials.

The weather was already making itself known, with Scotland hit by massive winds on Thursday evening. I barely slept a wink between listening to garden furniture hurtling around the garden, and fretting flights from Inverness would be cancelled. The 4.30am alarm call came after checking the clock every hour anyway.

Predictably all flights from Inverness were delayed. Plenty of time to drink coffee, mark up my maps with route notes and almost miss my flight because they didn’t actually make any flight calls until the last minute. I also managed to drop my beloved phone, therefore cutting myself off from any social media for the next seven days!

The flight was bumpy but uneventful and soon landed at a rather drizzly, but definitely less windy Manchester airport. My drop bag for the race had been in the hold – weighing in at 20kg I can’t say I was delighted to retrieve it from the baggage area, let alone lug it 10 minutes down the way to the train station, to catch a train to Buxton. At Buxton I met my old climbing friend Suzy, stowed my kit in her car and we went on a ‘supermarket sweep’ of Waitrose finding treats to fuel me the length of the race. Shopping done – not sure whether the Peshawari naan really would have held any appeal 150+ miles into the race, but I was trying to be creative!

Next stop, Outside in Hathersage for a pint of tea, enormous piece of cake and catching up on long overdue girlie gossip. Here we waited for my friend Nick to arrive. He was to take over ‘care’ of me here-on-in. So despite some travel disruption, the plan was actually going like clockwork. Still not convinced it made for a great way to spend the day before the race though!

Nick and I set off for Edale: event registration, race brief and kit check. Registration was straightforward and quick. The race brief less so, we were booked into time slots for this, me being in the 5.00pm slot. 5.00pm came and went and still the briefing went on but eventually, about 5.30pm it was our turn. It started off covering race basics: the route and some safety aspects – all good; then followed a lengthy discussion about hypothermia. Now this is a real issue on races of this kind, but I’m not convinced that the depth of discussion we were having on the Friday evening just before the race was the best time for it. Certainly I was struggling to stay awake or concentrate having been on the go since 4.30am, knowing I had a load of kit to sort out before I got to my bed that night, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one in this state.

Finally, brief completed, we headed back down the road to collect our race number (and have our photo taken with it); have the GPS tracking device fitted to our packs – you all know about those devices because they allowed plenty of you to follow number 56 wherever she went and witness all her navigational ‘moments’! The final step was kit check. All my kit was randomly packed between the hold bag and my race pack in no logical order, it had been all about trying to make the hold bag as light as possible. Ultimately though, I passed the inspection and shoved everything haphazardly back in my bags. It was now about 7.00pm and we returned to Nicks place in Sheffield.

Here I exploded all of the kit and food across his lounge floor while dinner cooked, but gradually order appeared in the chaos. Dry clothes were packed into small bags and labelled in my drop bag, hoping to make access at checkpoint easier. Food was divided up amongst the shopping bags ready for loading in the back of Nick’s car. Nick had kindly volunteered to support me for the first couple of days of the race. He’d successfully completed the Challenger the previous year (this being the ‘shorter’ but by no means less challenging race, at 107 miles). Being supported meant he would meet me at various road crossing points on the route, giving me access to food and hot drinks and possible shelter from weather, rather than just relying on the race checkpoints which were placed some 40 miles apart. There is a view out there that this is taking the ‘lighter’ option of the race, but as a newbie to the race, and given the complications of even getting to the start line, frankly I was happy for the assistance and certainly don’t feel it ‘lessened’ the experience in any way.

Finally about 11.00pm I turned in for the night and actually had the best night sleep I’d had in ages, clearly so exhausted from the journey and the prep that there was no way I could stay awake.

7.00am Saturday morning the alarm went off, outside it was all about blue skies and sunshine, where were the signs of the evil MWIS forecast we’d been looking at the day before, the forecast that kept upgrading the weather from Severe to ultimately Acute!! Breakfast – muesli, toast and tea and then we loaded all the kit in the back of Nicks’ little red car and headed off to Edale again. I felt nervous, but in a detached kind of way. The enormity of this race was so huge I didn’t really know how to take it on board.

Arriving in Edale it was a bit breezy, but still no real sign of what was going on up on the tops. Heading to the start building I walked past a fellow competitor and overheard mutterings of a delayed start – delayed from 9.30am to 11.30am, could this really be true? I could have had another hour in bed, more importantly, two hours LESS daylight! In a race with limited hours of daylight, and knowing I would be nearer the back of the pack, this had a big impact on things, although I appreciated that with a race being held at this time of year, weather conditions were always going to be a key influencer of race logistics. Once inside it was soon clarified that yes, the start was delayed and very probably until 11.30am. I toyed with the idea of heading off to a café but even the vague possibility of them going earlier made me stay put. We had access to endless cups of tea in the small kitchen anyway. OK, plenty of time to sit and goggle at everyone else’s gear and chat to fellow competitors. The time passed quicker than I anticipated but it was still hard to imagine how windy it was up on Kinder and Bleaklow.

Well, that was until Marcus Scotney, a favourite to win the Challenger race, came limping back in with a bad sprain after being blown over multiple times. Rumours were also creeping in of some of the Challengers being held at Snake Pass for a weather window. With all this hanging around I nearly forgot to eat, something I would definitely had been doing if I’d been out on the trail already.

Finally, 11.15 am and the much-awaited cry to assemble for the start. The wind picked up lowering the temperature, and it started to drizzle. I was already wearing my heavy mountain waterproof jacket and a last-minute change had me putting on the heavyweight trousers too. I’m so glad I did, I wore them for my entire time out on the course.

I was under no illusions as to where to place myself at the start for this race, back of the middle, kind of near the back suited my expectations just fine! The countdown started and before we knew it we were piling out of the field and onto the road leading up to the turning for the Pennine Way, heading off to Upper Booth and ultimately Kinder Scout. I watched with amazement, envy and amusement as frontrunners set off RUNNING – as you do when you’ve got 268 miles ahead of you – ah if only.

We turned off the main road and on good tracks gained height heading up Jacobs Ladder. By now the wind really had started to pick up, gusting at us, tugging at us, the struggle began. Despite this I felt very comfortable striding out steadily. I chatted to a few guys and even jogged the odd stretch of downhill but mainly climbing up, beyond Jacobs Ladder and onto the Kinder plateau. Eating was a challenge; I found I had to virtually suck food out of its bag if it was to make into my mouth so it wasn’t whipped away by the wind. It was during one such food-sucking episode (whilst trying not to be blown over) that I almost made my first route error of the race – embarrassingly early to be going wrong but I only went a few metres before I realised my mistake. Back on track and now following the trail towards Kinder Downfall. The hammering from the wind was increasing with nowhere for us to hide although skies were actually quite clear and the views beautiful when you managed to look around and take it all in. I saw a few people blown off their feet but miraculously I managed to stay upright. All those hours spent running in Scottish weather paid off, I have clearly learnt to drift with the wind rather than fight it! I actually found my poles of little help, bracing yourself against the wind seemed to create a greater resistance for the wind to bounce off it, floating definitely seemed preferable!

You could see the spray from the Downfall blasting upwards, we were showered with water as we passed behind it and the water was starting to freeze where it landed on the turf. It was a spectacular sight. A couple of stream crossings gave opportunities to scoop up drinking water in the cup I always carry attached to my pack, ensuring I keep the water in my bottles for when there is no other water to be found. So I was across Kinder Downfall and on my way down to the Snake Pass, the going was good here, a bit of mud hopping but soon I hit the pass, crossed the road and gave my number to the race official there.

As I descended off Kinder I’d been starting to think about the next stretch, mainly about where my head torch was – I reckoned I’d be coming off Bleaklow at dusk. It wasn’t in my front pack where I usually carry it and I couldn’t picture what I’d done with it the night before – but clearly remembered the conversation about which torch had the brightest beam, but where the hell DID I pack it? Luckily there was a huge pile of those white bags they use for lifting in large piles of rocks, a perfect place to hunker down and dig around in my pack out of the wind, success, I found the torch; it was also the perfect place to take a pee – it’s not great being female on this kind of event when nature calls in a howling gale on an open hillside!

Upward from here terrain changed, it was a lot wetter and muddier underfoot with streams of water making it hard to decide what was path; but I was moving well. It was here that I started to walk a little with Richard Fish, exchanging a bit of chat and during this I learned that he had a heart condition and a pacemaker fitted (more on this later!). Sometimes I was ahead, sometimes he caught me; eventually we emerged onto Bleaklow itself. The weather had been relatively clear and dry until now, but mini blizzards started to whip up, enhanced by the ever-present howling gales. I knew I had to pay attention to route-finding here specifically. My dad, who has spent many many hours of his youth running across Kinder and Bleaklow as part of Four Inns races and recces, had reminded me more times than I can remember of how tricky it can be to get off Bleaklow in bad weather conditions, having been involved with a serious incident during one of the Four Inns events in the 1960s which ultimately resulted in the deaths of two competitors. A stark warning that you don’t need to be in far flung locations for tragedy to strike.

At the summit I paused to look at my map, and Richard caught me so we put our heads together to plan the descent. I think we probably did start off on the right bearing, but somewhere it all went a little bit wrong. Blizzards had dumped a covering of snow on the ground, obliterating any tracks that went before. We clearly drifted off course, but somehow did that age old trick of making the terrain fit the map. We crossed a fence via a stile and even crossed a river and celebrated our success??? We started to descend and I finally listened to that feeling in my gut that I’d been ignoring, stoped and looked at the map – about 1km off track, on the wrong side of Wild Boar Clough. I know many of you watching the tracker wondered why the hell we were going that way, or thought it was some tactic to avoid the wind – if only! We continued the descent with the terrain becoming steeper and rocky, the little path we were on disappeared, so we decided getting on the correct side of the river would be a good start. This involved a rather ‘interesting’ scramble down the side Wild Boar Clough, in the dark; very glad I found that torch!

Safely at the bottom of the section we found a safe point to cross over the river and Richard was quite anxious to inform HQ that although we were off-course we were fine. I didn’t realise he was actually experiencing something of a medical emergency with his heart at this point. I also picked up a worried text from my dad ‘note you’ve stopped in Wild Boar Clough, east of the Pennine Way love dad’ along with one from Nick asking if all was well? Climbing out, we found a small track heading downwards. I was very relieved to be away from the steep rocky ground and led the way down off the hill to the disused railway track at the bottom; an easy stomp to meet the Pennine Way, Nick and his little red car. Here awaited a mug of fantastic US style hot chocolate and I resupplied with food for the next leg (nuts, raisins, salted cashews, Battenburg cake and salami). Richard and I agreed that if we could move at similar paces we’d stick together otherwise we’d go our separate ways. We headed round the edge of the reservoir, turning just before Crowden to start the next climb up towards Black Hill.

Now Black Hill I had been warned about, Damian Hill mentions it in his fabulous guide to the Pennine Way, Alfred Wainwright has not a good word to say about it. But, do you know what, actually it wasn’t that bad. Richard and I set off together but it soon became clear that I was moving at a faster pace, he was having concerns about his heart rate and after double-checking that he was OK about this, and he insisted he was, I pushed on ahead. The trail rose steadily but the path didn’t seem especially challenging, it just went on and on, I guess I was ‘in the zone’ and just got on with it. I can’t remember what the wind was doing – perhaps it was temporarily behind me – more likely I’ve just blanked it from my mind as it was ever constant, never really letting up. I did at one point notice the rather severe drop off to the right as the path contoured above Bareholme Moss. Nothing would slow your passage if you took a slip there.

Finally six kilometres of steady climbing brought you to the summit and then the route descended off towards Wessenden Reservoir. I was feeling good, quite happy on my own, but the effect of the wind was desperate if you stopped, so continual forward motion was the only way unless the wind blew you somewhere else. The route picked up the infamous Pennine slabs, wonderful when dry but treacherous when covered in slime and moisture and the wind is gusting from behind, forcing you to brake and steady yourself with every step.

Finally I hit the road head on the A635. I’d written on my map that there was a possible snack van here – ha ha, not at 7pm on a windy night in January! But, there was a large camper-type van belonging to race support. My number was taken and I was offered shelter inside to eat, catch my breath, have my water bottle refilled and then sent on my way ensuring I knew where I was going. They were absolutely lovely and I was very grateful. Up the road and turning North onto a path that took me past Wessenden Reservoir. With decent terrain underfoot and temporarily clear skies, it was a joy to turn off the head torch and walk with only the moonlight to guide me. I was warm and I was headed in the right direction, life was good.

Past the reservoirs, the route headed out onto Black Moss. The trail was clear although occasionally boggy and, of course, the wind continued to batter and beat me. I successfully navigated across here with no map mishaps, meeting Nick at the road crossing of the A62 for more hot chocolate and the news that Richard had appeared to have stopped. I refilled my ‘nose bag’ (chest pouch) with supplies for the next stretch. And changed the socks on my left foot as my waterproof sock appeared to have sprung a leak, the foot was frozen and numb (and stayed numb for about a week after the race). I also put on another primaloft jacket as it was really chilling down outside and having not had a hot meal for 24 hours now, my body was vulnerable to cooling down very easily.

Buoyed with confidence from the last leg, I promptly went wrong! I set off just fine, taking the Pennine way along Millstone Edge. I even paused by a great big finger post to check my map, and then breezed on down the Pennine bridleway, I headed along this for a good kilometre before realising my mistake, there was no other option other than to back track and take the correct path, the one marked Pennine Way. Nick had even warned me against doing this before I set off too! Climbing onto the moors, it was rutted, muddy and wet; all very unpleasant. This joined with the Oldham Way – something that was not especially clear on my Harveys map but very clear on the OS map (knew I should have stuck with OS). I took my bearing at a significant path junction, but had been looking at the WRONG stretch of moor when I did it (we had been walking across several stretches of moor, all separated by small roads crossing. My error took me across an evil stretch of bog with several leg-sucking experiences in knee-deep mud, with several more blizzards to add to the fun. It was as the path started to turn West I finally listened to my gut instinct and back tracked. A text from Nick asking if I had my GPS on was not amusing; although he DID have a point, having watched me wander around a bit on the tracker! Up until now I had been trying to do this the ‘proper’ way with my map and compass, but I was carrying a GPS with the route uploaded on it with way points on it, so there really was not a viable reason to be blundering around in bogs on the wrong track at 10pm at night! It’s hard to relinquish the old ways!

With the help of my new friend GPS, I arrived back where I started to go wrong and met two head torches who shouted out to me. They had almost followed but luckily realised I was wrong. I was moving a little faster than these guys but my confidence had taken a bashing. The point when I was trying to work out where I was and the map wasn’t making sense (because I was looking at the wrong bit) and I was all on my own in the darkness and the blizzards was probably the only point when I wondered what the hell I was doing. Feeling stressed and muttering at myself to sort it out, there were tears before I got my act back together. So although I walked ahead I stayed with these guys for the next couple of sections. More moor, more bogs, more paving stones, constant wind blasting, sometimes a blizzard.

I met Nick was at the parking point on the A672 before you cross the M62, near the radio mast. Whilst sheltering in the car drinking hot chocolate, a race medic jumped into the car and asked if I was OK. I was a bit surprised by this, especially when she kept asking me – as if I might not be sure. I presume she was doing the same for all those still out on the course at the back of the pack. There had been so many drop-outs earlier in the day, and we were getting into the colder hours of the night but I seemed to convince her I was OK. While I was eating there was also a bang on the window, it was a guy called Steve I had chatted to on the way up Kinder Scout. He was just heading back out with a Czech lady called Alzabeta and we agreed to stick together for the next bit.

The snow on the ground had deepened as we set off up onto Blackstone Edge. This was another navigational ‘black spot’ – my map notes said ‘vague path, boulder hopping, use poles and cairns, worst = leaving crest ridge’. I attempted to keep us on track with the GPS and Steve had the map and compass. We were definitely all showing signs of tiredness at this point, getting tetchy and sniping if we seemed to be off the path at all. We descended off the edge with little incident though, joining the Old Packhorse Road and then picking up the trail across Blackstone Edge before heading down to the A58.

Here was the infamous White House Inn. Originally I had hoped to be here about 9.00-9.30pm and having a hot meal before pressing on, but sadly the two hour delay at the start meant it was now 11.30pm and well past last orders. So no hot food. Steve decided that he was going to pull out; he had a supporter meeting him at the pub so we said our farewells and then Alzebeta and I pushed on alone.

We made a good team, and it was easy flat terrain so we kept a good pace past Whiteholme Reservoir and on towards Warland Reservoir, although the signing was a bit random in places and we temporarily lost the route only to follow a narrow track making its way up onto what looked like the wall of the reservoir which revealed another great big track and another massive Pennine sign post. Alzebeta remembered this stretch from the one recce she’d managed to do, it was pretty flat but boggy if you happened to slither off the slabs at any point.

Heading across Withens Moor, Stoodley Pike started to come into view. This was the next big landmark and also a point of excitement because once you descended off, the next point of interest was Hebden Bridge and Checkpoint One! However Stoodley Pike took forever to arrive – it was probably only about three kilometres away but the wind was blowing at us head on and it was so cold, plus by now we’d been on the go for about 18 hours almost non-stop with the wind sapping extra calories as you fought onwards. I actually still felt OK, fuelled by a desperation to reach the monument and finally drop out of the godforsaken wind, maybe. Reaching the monument was a battle, but I spotted some doorways inset in the monument – perfect to grab 10 minutes of breathing space to get some food down and check the route again.

Heading off Stoodley Pike, we overtaken by a team of three or four who went steaming past. Joy of joy the sky started to lighten as well. Having been in almost total darkness for over 12 hours I was desperately craving daylight. The route was fairly straightforward here with just a few confusing field crossings, soon we were zig-zagging through the woods down to the road where we met Nick again. This was about 7am on Sunday morning.

We didn’t stop for food and hot chocolate, we knew the checkpoint was just six miles away, although it was a tough six miles that took us about 1.5 hours to cover as we had to climb up and over a couple more ridges. I was leading the way here, Alzebeta was virtually sleepwalking – an impressive feat! The route was a bit confusing but I just stuck the GPS on and followed the dot on the route, I’ll not even pretend I map-read my way through here!

Finally we picked up ‘Spine’ signs … OMG … finally the checkpoint … well once we’d negotiated steep switch backs down into a wooded valley where the centre was. I was ignoring all thoughts of the slog involved to get back out again later! As I descended I passed people in varying levels of sprightliness. Some were literally springing around, others were looking distinctly less than impressed and didn’t really need my morning smiley cheer I am sure! It was 10.00am at Checkpoint One. Hard to believe it had taken 22.5 hours to cover about 47 miles (including my little detours). Usually I can cover 50 miles in anything between 11 and 13 hours. I appreciate I was walking rather than running, but the impact of the wind was significant too.

Nick met us in the car park as he had my resupply bag in his car, and after a bit of wandering around we located the right place to check in. The place was pretty quiet as we really were at the back of the pack BUT, most importantly we hit the checkpoint within the deadlines (you needed to have left checkpoint one 24 hours after the start of the race, which was 11.30am). I found an outside tap and attempted to wash some of the mud from my ankle gaiters and shoes before I removed them – they were caked. I hung as much kit as I could up to dry in the sun and wind and then went inside to find food. Starving hungry, jacket potato and chilli, followed by bread and butter didn’t touch the sides, along with several mugs of tea. Another ‘team’ were about to head out – the guys that zoomed past us up on Stoodley Pike. They had grabbed some bivi sleep earlier in the night so were just eating here, not sleeping. I now had about 45 minutes before officially we needed to be out of the checkpoint. I decided 20-30 minute power nap was probably a good call, so I retrieved my sleeping bag from my drop bag and fairly quickly fell into a deep doze on a bunk in a dormitory. All too soon I became aware of a lady sitting beside me demanding what my plans were – I replied in sleepy confusion that I absolutely was planning to continue … ‘well, you’ve got 15 minutes to be out then, you had better get a move on’ was the encouraging reply.

In something of a panic I headed out to my kit bag and rucsac and grabbed dry spare socks and base layers along with fresh batteries. Shortly after this the checkpoint controller arrived (and what a lovely man he was). ‘What is all the panic?’ he asked and I explained. He basically said that the forecast for the evening was horrendous and we were to take the time we needed to ensure we had ALL the kit to make sure we were warm and safe out there, he would check us out on time. I relaxed and focussed on getting everything packed up properly.

Alzebeta was packing too and ready to go at the same time. There had also been another guy sitting in the dining room with us (Tom – Tom Jones) and we invited him to join us … he ummed and aaaahed saying he didn’t want to hold us up but we were extremely persuasive! So he joined our little gang and Nick headed off with an agreement to meet again at Ponden Reservoir.

We left not that long after 11.30am, and almost immediately went wrong on the zig-zag trail back up to the road. Alzebeta and I went one way and Tom another but we all arrived at the road and I picked up the pace, fuelled by the hot meal. Alzebeta fell behind but Tom soon caught me as I paused to check the map and it turned out that we had a pretty similar pace. He jogged a bit more on the flats, but I was faster at yomping the inclines. Of course, it was still windy, but the sun was shining a bit and it seemed warmer than Saturday. We made speedy progress over Clough Head Hill, past Gorple Lower Reservoir and across to the Walshaw Dean reservoirs, with only a minor detour when Tom attempted to take us on a little variation up Old Dike Hill, luckily I managed to persuade him this was not necessary and we were soon back on track. The miles passed quickly, easy inclines and good conversation make for fine travel companions.

We climbed up past Withins Heights, descended past the ruins so famous in Wuthering Heights; the wind seemed picked up another notch and the sky had darkened ominously so we pulled into the ruins for Tom could put another layer on. We shovelled some more food down and headed out on our way again quickly, standing still I found I got cold very quickly despite all the layers I was wearing. Heavy rain started to fall. Clearly it had all been going a little too well at this point and we relaxed, deep in conversation, jogging down the road off the moor, stopping to check the map, but managing to walk straight past the path across to Ponden Reservoir. Another classic ‘make the terrain fit the map’ moment, and then I noticed that we were approaching a village, and it was called Stanbury, nope we definitely didn’t need to be there. We’d probably gone about 800m off route, but when we tried to backtrack and find the correct path, we struggled to locate it in the dark and the rain, it should have been easy! Just as Tom went to check out an option (actually the right one) Alzebeta appeared over the brow of the hill and confirmed it was indeed where we were meant to be going. Another 40 minutes or so of time lost to silly mistakes – grrrrrr. It was the last one we were to make though so I guess we were learning our lesson.

Finally, we emerged by Ponden Reservoir. What followed felt like something out of a comedy; if only I’d been able to video. Nick’s car is very small, I think I’ve already mentioned this, and the back seats were down to fit all the food and kit in it. As we opened the doors to climb in, the wind whipped the doors out of our hands, and then we realised there was another person in the car. Another Spine Racer that Nick had rescued from the weather and let sit in his car to recover a bit. Nick was becoming something of a guardian angel for the back of the pack, but he is so very good at looking after people. So we had four soaking wet racers on the two front seats, with wet packs on their laps, and Nick curled up in the boot attempting to supply hot chocolate to the front. I was trying to change the batteries in the GPS and Alzebeta was trying to give Nick money for some batteries he’d bought for her, it was absolute bloody chaos, hilarious and annoying at the same time! Eventually we just had to eject ourselves back out into the weather, but oh my god, that weather – the doors were ripped out of our hands as we attempted to open them and we fell into the wind and rain, doors slamming behind us. It was pitch black and you could see very little even with the torch beam due to the horizontal rain. This weather went well beyond ‘invigorating’.

We set off as a group of four, the new addition being the other guy in the car, conveniently also named Tom, making life easy for me. Tom Jones clearly had a problem with names because as the evening progressed he started to call me Claire instead of Fran. I never did get to the bottom of why this was so and eventually gave up and just answered to Claire.

A little bit of confusion about the route as we set off – Tom J was convinced the route started off through a sailing club (I think that is what he said anyway), but even the people in a car that passed us by hadn’t heard of the sailing club, and I elected to follow the GPS blob, which brought us to a path conveniently labelled ‘Pennine Way’. A slightly confusing section through paths and road crossings followed, during which Alzebeta fell back from the rest of us, but soon we were on a path heading up onto Ickenshaw Moor. This was not pleasant, with the driving rain and wind, it became noticeable how much we were slowing on the climbs, we put this down to needing another decent hot meal in us and resolved that as soon as a suitable place appeared we would try and cook something up, not being anywhere near suitable hostelries. My map notes stated route finding was tricky here with a big climb at the beginning. I agree with all of that! The GPS backed up the map and with Tom J and I working in tandem we made good, accurate, progress. The descent was really horrible, with bogs, mud, and hidden ditches all making for an obstacle course by torchlight. At one point my foot went down a hidden water-filled ditch, I landed on my hand and felt the thumb make a definite noise it shouldn’t have, going fizzy and numb.

Finally off the moor we hit the road and had a bit of a debate about whether to look for some kind of shelter in Ickornshaw or press on. We eyed up a bus shelter, and even sat in it briefly to test it out, but it had no windows so decided it was no good. Onwards then, crossing muddy field after muddy field, none of which contained suitable spots for cooking or sleeping – they were just fields of slurry. I realised my water was pretty low and if I wanted to cook food I needed more, but all the water seemed to be flowing through cow shit! Eventually I found a stream I deemed clean but Tom J was not convinced, despite me pointing out it was going to be boiled, not drunk unboiled. We then hit a minor road with a few buildings and I found a corner of trees and undergrowth next to someone’s garden, it was quite sheltered and we were not actually IN the garden so agreed it was a good place to stop and cook up some hot food, but I couldn’t persuade the two Toms it would do for a power nap! Not sure what the time was, possibly about 11pm, but I texted HQ to advise that we were stopping for a cook-up. Amazingly we had a break in the rain at this point and sat comfortably in our hollow cooking up our own little feasts – I will concede I was definitely envious of Tom J’s meatballs, my drooling was clear and he is a very generous soul, and then also gave me a mug of delicious hot lemon and honey, AND some of his stash of chocolate … what a love! Not that I didn’t have food of my own … I did, and I was eating it, but his was so much more delicious!!

Time to hit the trail again with the village of Lothersdale being the next target. To reach it lay more miles of navigating across muddy fields in the pitch black. I’m sure it would all be a breeze in broad daylight. Crossing into each field involved either a metal gate that may or may not open, or a stile. The stiles were definitely the worst. They were hardly wide enough to get a body through, even my slim build struggled, and often had a sprung-loaded gate attached on the other side (which depending on the wind direction were often impossible to open). Teamwork was essential. On either side of the wall would be a massive pool of slurry. Sometimes it wasn’t that deep, but usually it was at least ankle deep. One benefit of the darkness was not being able to see this muck but you could smell it! We crossed about seven of these fields, and with each one we could feel ourselves getting grumpier. Sleep, we desperately needed sleep, I knew I was defnitely tired and irritable and by Lothersdale I announced that I was going to sleep, whatever. We then wandered around the streets a bit trying to find somewhere suitable, sadly there seemed to be no bus shelters, Tom J didn’t seem too keen on the corner by the wood pile – someone might wake up and see us, so we walked on up the road in the direction of the next stretch of field and there we found a nice grassy pull-in – slurry free – by the field gate; I spotted the most beautiful sight; a tractor – we could all fit under it! Luxury, a bivy with a roof.

The weather was taking another break from hurling its worst at us so we could at least unfurl sleeping kit and climb into bivy bags without getting wet. The Other Tom (not J) announced this was one of the most bizarre moments of his life – he probably had a point, but I was really quite excited about it all (or perhaps just a little delirious with tiredness), and just so relieved to be climbing into a warm dry sleeping bag, briefly out of the wind. I sent a text to race HQ to say we were stopping for a 2 hour nap (it was 1.00am) and settled down to at least doze if not sleep. I was very cosy and comfortable and remained warm, must have been the tractor shelter and three of us lined up like peas in pod!

3.00am the alarm went off, I’m warm, it’s raining again and nobody wants to move. Another 20 minutes we agree. 3.20am, alarm goes again, Tom J and I were clearly awake but we wondered whether the other Tom had perhaps died in his bivy bag due to the total lack of movement. We shouted several times before he eventually emerged! Reluctantly we climbed out and packed away kit. My liner socks had dried out a treat while I dozed. Thankfully being under the tractor gave us shelter to get sorted, but all too soon we were back out into The Weather.

3.45am I guess and we started to head off, am not sure I felt especially refreshed but the rest did us some good, however the weather is truly awful and daylight was still a long way off. At this point we were briefly caught by Alzebeta who tried and failed to sleep because she was so cold. We crossed a couple more fields; the next stretch was a bit more tricky. Tom J had a great plan involving contouring, which all sounded lovely but a bit complex for 4.00am when we are tired so I got the GPS fired up and with his bearing on both our compasses and the back-up of my GPS blob I reckoned we could keep random wandering to a minimum – well bogs tend to take you off track so easily as you try to dodge and extract. The plan paid off, we gave a little dance of jubilation as we hit the cairn on Pinhaw successfully. Somewhere on the way up onto here Alzebeta fell behind again but we tried to guide her onto the correct path with our torches. Reading her comments after the race, I think she thought she was hallucinating flashing lights, but they were real, they were us!

I had agreed to meet Nick at East Marton, some 5 miles North of Pinhaw. As we descended to the road off there we saw a torchlight and a red-jacketed person walking to meet us from the parking point. I thought it was Nick as I greeted him and then soon realised it was a member of the Mountain Safety Team. This was something of a rare breed by now, as since leaving CP1 on Sunday late morning, we had had no communication with anyone (apart from a brief reply to my text saying we were snoozing); in direct contrast to Saturday, where racers were being ticked off at crossing points and checked out for mental well-being by staff.

Bearing this in mind, I was completely unprepared for what followed: asking how we all were, and then telling us we were being pulled from the course. I was pretty stunned by this. When I asked why, we were told it was because we were not going to meet the checkpoint deadlines and the Mountain Safety Team could not cover the back of the pack. I can’t explain the feelings that went through me. I was too thrown at that moment to do the maths regarding checkpoint cut-offs, but was fairly sure we were within schedule. I couldn’t remember whether we were to leave CP2 60 hours or 66 hours after the race started. Despite my confusion, I knew I wasn’t happy. Yes, I was tired and my waterproofs were definitely wet through, but I was fine (as was Tom J), we also had a support car waiting just five miles away. Tom J was probably a bit more rational and polite to the MST guy, and I guess having completed the entire race a couple of years ago, was able to put better perspective on the moment. For me, I was thinking of all the complicated logistics I had got in place to get to the start line, and then, through no decision of my own, it was game over, despite me feeling fine.

The other Tom decided he was done in and was going to pull out anyway. We asked if they had pulled in Alzebeta yet, and so the MST guy phoned HQ to find out about her situation as he wasn’t aware of her presence. Alzebeta has her own tale to tell of that stretch of moorland and what happened to her, but ultimately she was picked up by the MST a while later.

I suggested that whilst the Safety guy was waiting for official confirmation from HQ, could he let us walk onto the next village as standing still in the rain I was getting incredibly cold. To be fair to the safety guy, he was the messenger, not the decision maker, never a nice task; and even he conceded that we did indeed look fine. However, I did need to get moving – I was wearing two merino wool thermals, a merino wool jumper, two primaloft tops, my mountaineering waterproof jacket, two pairs winter running leggings, waterproof trousers, hat, balaclava, buff, primaloft mitts (with liner gloves), ankle gaiters, knee-length gaiters, wool liner socks and waterproof socks (that I later discovered were full of mud!) and was staying warm providing I was moving, what I really needed was a decent fry-up!

Tom and I set off for the two-ish mile trudge to Thornton-in-Craven. We stomped and discussed, trying to work the maths for the checkpoint cut-offs. We agreed that there was no way we were bailing we would have to be pulled.

We came to the conclusion that we didn’t actually need to have left CP2 (Hawes) until 11.30am on Tuesday morning. Given it was 6.00am on Monday morning, and that CP was about 38 miles away, we had at least 27 hours to get into and leave Hawes. We fantasised about the hot breakfast we would buy in Gargrave and the hot pies we would buy in the Coop. Gargrave was only four miles from East Marton where we were meeting Nick, so we would be there by 9am definitely. Hot food was within touching distance.

We reached Thornton-in-Craven … no sign of the Mountain Safety car, we just started to head off up the track towards East Marton when damn, the guy came running round the corner. We nearly got away … should have turned off our torches!!

The show was over; HQ wanted us off the course. I didn’t really know what to do with myself. We got in the car, which I won’t deny, was lovely and warm, and the guy said he would take us up to CP2 at Hawes (where the Challenger race finished) where we could sort out our kit etc. Tom was going to head up there, get some rest and join the Mountain Safety Team for the rest of the week; he is a stronger braver person than me. I’d said to myself before the race that I would happily do that if I had to bail out. Being confronted with being pulled off despite being fine, I couldn’t face the thought of seeing the Challengers coming in joyful at completing, or seeing the racers still going coming through CP2 and continuing on their way. I asked instead if he could at least take me round to East Marton and drop me with Nick and I would decide then. We headed round there and thought about Tom, Nick and I at least going to get that hot breakfast and then realised we could only fit two people in Nick’s car.

It was such a shock and having to say goodbye so quickly to my fantastic companion for the last 18 hours (who I’m not sure I would recognise in broad daylight, minus layers of thermal and waterproof coverings!). I wasn’t too happy about that either. It was all very sudden and very horrible, and felt very wrong.

I climbed into Nick’s car, put my head in my hands and just cried – tears of anger and frustration. So much effort put into trying to get down to do the damn race and it felt like I couldn’t even prove I DID have the mettle to finish. Knowledge that there were people moving ahead of us, but not an awful lot faster didn’t help. I also felt, that given we were now in the valley, it was getting light, we were close to villages, we were not a million miles from Malham and CP1.5 and we definitely were still in time-scales for leaving CP2, and at no point had anyone even given us a hint that this was potentially on the cards – no text to say ‘keep your phone on, we are monitoring you, we have concerns about your speed’, nothing, and that bothers me.

I don’t want my race report to end on a sour note. I had a fantastic time out on the course, and that is even with some of the most extreme mountain weather I’ve been out in. The extremeness being emphasised by how sustained it was, no let up, ever. I travelled with some amazing people who I laughed with, got a little lost with, stayed on track with and shared memories with. That you can’t beat. But I’m not going to pretend I’m not a little antsy about how it panned out, disappointed. Countless people have talked to me about ‘unfinished business’, going back to prove myself, but I’m really not sure actually.

My kit worked – the only thing I’d like to source is a lighter sleeping bag but everything else worked really well for me.

I had some stupid dodgy navigational moments – which actually, now I’ve read some of the other race write-ups, I realise others also made. But overall my navigation was actually pretty OK, and I now know exactly how useful a GPS can be.

I felt fine in myself – that for me was a massive confidence boost. I actually ‘enjoy’ challenging myself like this – I kind of always knew it, but it’s good to have it reaffirmed after you’ve been on the go for 48 hours with no real sleep to speak of and are still able to make rational (well they seemed rational at the time!) decisions.