Written by Paul Orton - http://mrpaulorton.blogspot.co.uk
An Epic
These are just a few photos and thoughts about the Spine Race 2015 which I completed between 10th and 16th January 2015. The Spine Race is a continuous foot-race up the 268-mile Pennine Way. It's not really an ultra-run; most of the course is not runnable for mortals over extended periods. It challenges navigation, self-reliance and mountaincraft as much as running endurance.
The competitors are for the most part not elite athletes but fit and obdurate. They are some of the best people you'd wish to meet as well (and me)
I spent a huge amount of time on my own over the race but the time shared with fellow competitors and race volunteers on the hill, in the checkpoints and in bleak huts on god-forsaken moorland was golden.
I spent a huge amount of time on my own over the race but the time shared with fellow competitors and race volunteers on the hill, in the checkpoints and in bleak huts on god-forsaken moorland was golden.
How do you eat an elephant?
The Spine started to dominate my waking thoughts almost as soon as I'd entered in February 2014 and it was pretty much an obsession for the last 3 months. Strategy, training, kit and familiarity with the route went round and round as topics of conversation with anyone who'd listen. Fortunately, fellow Spiner, Phil Sturgeon was even more obsessed and happy to indulge me.
The strategy I fixed on was this. Try and go light and fast on the first day in the knowledge that I would reach the checkpoint at Hebdon 46 miles away on that day. Eat at the checkpoint and change into dry kit including walking boots in readiness for more steady progress over the next 24-30 hours hoping to get to CP2 at Hawes at a time when sleeping would be sensible. I had planned on 12-14 hour to Hebden, 26 - 30 hours to Hawes and 2 hours at the Checkpoint. This gave a range of 40 - 48 hours for the first two legs. With a 9.30 start time, this implied arriving at Hawes between 1.30 am and 9.30 am. The first of these would be an ideal time, allowing 5 hours to sleep, eat and faff without losing any precious daylight. Arriving at 9.30 would be less than ideal, implying either no sleep or sleeping in daylight. Sleeping in daylight is a criminal waste in this event with only 8 - 9 hours of good light per day. So, modifying the strategy to take account of progress would be key. We had scoped out barns and shelters in the miles leading up to Hawes in preparation for falling short.
This strategy was soon reduced to ashes. Before the race even started, the plans were thrown up in the air and blown on the wind.
Kit and the difference between packing and faffing
This is Phil and I at kit check where the organisers made sure that we were carrying all the compulsory kit; bivvy bag, sleeping bag, mat, stove, food, spare clothes, GPS, map, compass, first aid, etc. Essentially, we should be self-sufficient for up to 48 hours.
We were also issued with our numbers, red hats and beards.
You can get an awful lot of kit in a 20 kilo drop bag. And you can spend a lot of time deciding what to put in and what to leave out. This is the chaos at Edale village hall on the morning of the race.
Phil and I had spent the night in his campervan and we woke at 7.30 in readiness for our 9.30 start. We were immediately told that the start had been postponed and we would now be setting of at 11.30.
This was very frustrating, particularly as the weather in the valley at Edale at this point was bright and breezy. I'm told conditions on the tops were much more challenging!
This gave us two more hours to fret over choice of shoes, coats, food and where we might get to that day given the delayed start time. Once the faffing was over there was nothing to do but drink tea and wait.
Phil gave himself a chance of 10 minutes more snoozing. But don't be fooled We were both as excited as kittens.
Various revised start times were announced from 10,30 - 11.30 making eating difficult to schedule. Inevitably, we set off at 11.30 as first announced and I was hungry.
Ready, Steady, Go!
What pace do you set off at for a 268-mile race? Maybe tuck in behind Pavel Paloncy and use the shelter of his 6' 5" frame? We had 5 hours of daylight and I wanted to make best use of them and there was some runnable terrain over Kinder. I settled for a steady jog on the flat and downhill sections and a brisk walk on the rest.The opening miles across to Jacob's ladder were full of chat and nervous banter. Phil's excitement was getting the better of him and he stretched out ahead of me. He stopped after 5 minutes to faff with his kit some more and that would be the last I saw of him for 4 days and 190 miles.
As we climbed on to the Kinder plateau the wind started to gather and along Kinder edge the cross wind really started to unbalance me and slow me down. A competitor in front had his foam mat tied on the outside of rucksack bouncing around in a way that would have really annoyed me. Along Kinder edge a strong gust caught the mat and ripped in from his bag. Someone alerted him to what had happened and he started to go after his mat. I saved him the bother and told him that it had probably stopped somewhere around Hathersage.
Kinder Upfall
Kinder Downfall has a reputation as being a waterfall that falls upwards and this day we saw it at its spectacular best. The overnight rain meant there was a strong flow over the lip of the waterfall and the 40 mph westerly was catching the water and hurling it 400 metres back onto the Kinder plateau.
I find high winds can have an energising effect on me. The power of the weather excites me. The sight of the downfall at its best as well left me buzzing with excitement at the race I was in. This was what I'd come for.
As we swung over Mill Hill the wind came straight on our backs and so I took advantage of this and jogged on to Snake Summit. I probably pushed a little too hard here and suffered a bit in the crossing of Bleaklow and descent of Wildboar Clough. I was eating regularly and had been since the start; a consequence of being hungry on the start line. I was already starting to run low on bars. I had plenty of other grub but the bars were going down well.
I found a good steady pace going up Black Hill and started to settle in to the mind games. We were losing the light and I knew I had something like 8 hours of moving in the dark to cope with before I reached the first checkpoint at Hebden Bridge. I made my first mistake shortly after this, following Pennine Bridleway signs not the Pennine way one, along Standedge. A mistake that probably cost me 20 minutes or so but no great extra effort. It was a sharp reminder of the need to concentrate on the navigation when the sun goes down.
Once back on route, I continued along the high ground towards Blackstone edge. The continued high cross winds were punishing but I had stayed dry and the "big" coat I had chosen for the day was doing its job of keeping the wind from chilling me. I was feeling warm and moving well but the effect of the wind was to make progress slower than hoped. I fell in with a chap from the West Country (Matt - I think) and we chatted happily along Blackstone edge and past the reservoirs. As we headed towards Stoodley Pike the wind grew even stronger and the sleet began to fall.
I say the sleet began to fall. It wasn't really falling. It was screaming left to right across my field of view at 40 mph. I was wearing plain plastic cycling glasses to protect my eyes from the sleet and wind - a decision that may have saved my race. At least 2 people I heard of withdrew from the race at Hebden with eye damage caused by not having any protection against the sleet.
The effect of the sleet on visibility was dramatic. The view through the safety specs looked like the starry sky when Han Solo makes the jump to light speed in Star Wars. From three miles away we had picked out the outline of the Stoodley Pike monument, a 100 ft stone tower. Now, from 20 metres away, it was invisible. We didn't know it was there until we fell into the wind shadow. We took a moment to take a breather and Matt put on a layer before setting off again into the maelstrom.
The test at this point is not to believe you've reached the first checkpoint because there's 3 miles beyond Hebden to deal with including a pretty stiff climb. We trudged into the checkpoint at Hebden at around 2.30am, 15 hours after leaving Edale, and exhausted. Plans of pushing through were out my thoughts. I needed food and some rest. If I could get going again before first light then I would be happy. It had been a truly punishing day and I knew that I needed to recognise that.
46 Miles in 15 hours in that weather? Good. Do it again!
The checkpoint at Hebden was better than I was expecting. The food was great. It was warm and there were beds and it was quiet enough for me to sleep. Quiet enough for me to sleep is much the same as not actually on the runway at Heathrow.
If I can digress for a moment here. There are a number of abilities that are useful in a multi-day event like this.
Durability. You don't want an underlying knee complaint that you know will get worse and worse over a number of days.
Indefatigability. You need that personality that says "put your head down and push on" when things turn tough.
Positivity. I'm not sure anyone can remain positive after 15 hours of wading through ankle deep mud but we all have our different cracking points.
Fitness. Positive thinking can't make you fly.
Dealing with sleep. I am brilliant at sleeping. I can fall asleep quickly. I can wake up quickly. I seem to get good value out of the sleep I have. Over the course of this event I would have conversations with racers who had spent the same amount of time as me at places but had half the amount of sleep. (this would be 90 minutes instead of 3 hours...but this really matters). At Hebden I found a bed above a room where someone was playing loud dance music. (Really, they were! Why? Can't help you.) Thankfully, I was able to grab around 3 hours of good sleep.
I think I woke about 5.30. I set off at 7.05. The time in between just disappeared like sand between your fingers. Eat some porridge. Pack enough food to last until Hawes. Sort your feet out. Get dressed. Go! Where did the other hour go?
I trogged up the muddy slope out of the checkpoint behind a couple of racers and immediately felt that I should be moving quicker than them. Feeling the push of competition I tried to stretch out. Over the next 10 hours as Julie and Chris shouted me back when I went wrong and supported me through a long bad patch, I came to realise my hubris.
There are no photos of this day. It was grey and showery and extremely wet underfoot. There were long miles of muddy pasture that sapped the energy. I felt sluggish and tired for so much of the day. I felt thirsty from the outset and couldn't seem to drink enough. There are few hills on these miles between Hebden and Malham but the sodden, sticky pasture sucked the energy from my legs. I did no running on this day. I tried to hang on to other racers, Jesse Palmer and his support crew and Julie Gardner and Chris Armour were brilliant in stopping my pace drop below the plod level.
In my mind, I was hoping to be in Gargrave by mid-afternoon. In the end it was 5 pm and nearly dark by the time I arrived. I'd been helped into town by a spine challenger called Rob who had convinced me that a meal at the Masons Arms was what I needed. It had never tipped it down for long all day but I was starting to feel damp down into the core. It was good to take the coat off and allow the fresh air to circulate. The braised steak and mash was one of the best meals I've ever eaten.
I left the pub feeling fresher and well fed. The thoughts going through my mind were where would I get to that night. How long could I go on before I needed to stop and rest. The minimum in my mind was to get to Malham Tarn a further 10 miles on where I knew a halfway checkpoint would offer some facilities. I'd been in boots today and up until now my feet had felt fairly dry through a combination of waterproof leather boots and waterproof sealskinz socks. Sloshing through the inundated fields between Gargrave and Malham soaked my feet through.
Arrival in Malham at around 8 pm signalled a change in the countryside from pasture to a more rugged Yorkshire Dales countryside. The sharp rise up Malham cove followed by the complex ground over the limestone pavement was marvellously atmospheric. The mists swirled around the crags playing tricks on my tired mind but I was starting to enjoy myself again after what had been a really tough second day. We (Rob and I had stuck together through the night) reached checkpoint 1.5, as it is styled, at Malham Tarn at about 10.30 pm. I'd been moving for 35 hours at this point with only 3 hour sleep but it felt like I'd had two full days out already. In the plan, I'd thought of pushing on at this point. The sleeping barns and bivvy points that we had reccied were all beyond Horton in Ribblesdale another 10 miles on.
A storm was gathering. I took advantage of the facilities at Malham Tarn Outdoor centre. I ate some dried apple and custard and drank some tea and a hot chocolate. I sat indoors chatting and eating and drinking for over an hour. There was nowhere indoors to sleep at the Outdoor Centre but there were places to camp. I knew there was a bird hide by the lake about half a mile beyond the centre and thought this could offer good shelter. So, just before midnight, I left checkpoint 1.5 and headed down the road. The bird hide already had two occupants but there was plenty of room for me. As quietly as I could I got my head down. It was just a wind-tight wooden hut but the bird hide was a perfect bivvy site. Through the night at least 7 of us slept there.
Wet, wet, wet.
Five hours sleep in the world of Spine Racers is considered to be an early night followed by a long lie in. I woke at 5.15 to the sound of rain drilling on the tin roof and the wind howling under the hut. The bird hide is on stilts above the tarn and the wind was driving the water into white horses that we sloshing under the hut. But we were still dry. I dressed and packed and was under way by 5.30. It's much quicker when you have no choice of kit to make.
The night time crossing of Fountains fell was an epic traverse. The rain was being driven into us by 30 - 40 mph winds once more but this section runs more east to west and so the wind was much more into the face. I was wearing glasses again to stop the rain from stinging my eyes. I was expecting to start to see the dawn appearing at about 6 - 6.30 as the silhouettes of the hills emerge and gradually the details start to be filled in. By 7.30 there was still little evidence that the sun had risen at all. Thick mist and dark clouds blocked out most of the light. I was heavily reliant on my GPS to reassure me on this section particularly as I was on my own.
Curiously, I was enjoying myself again. The weather conditions were as foul as they could be but I felt strong and warm and was moving at what seemed like a good pace. It maybe that not having people to follow meant I naturally fell into the pace best suited to me. But I was having a good day.
I was me at the road by some of the Mountain Safety Team who advised me that the route was no longer going over the summit of Pen-y-gent but missing out the top 200 metres of climb and heading directly to Horton in Ribblesdale. The diversion was marked at a gate with glow sticks. This gate faced the wind directly and required both hands on and legs at 45 degree angle to push it open. Downhill into the wind had me leaning forward at a crazy angle and nearly pitched me head under heels every time the wind briefly dropped. I caught a few other spiners on the decent and we reached the intermediate checkpoint at Horton around 8.30 am. The cafe was open and it felt like we'd earned breakfast. I had bacon and beans on toast with a pint of tea. I could have stopped all day but I managed to get myself back on the trail again about 9.15.
The Cam High Road is an old drovers track leading to Hawes. It's broad and well made and generally offers fast going.
When its not under water anyway.
There were a number of sections like this (left) where the track was knee-deep in water. I was still trying to preserve the dryness of my feet as much as possible and so ended up taking 5 minute diversions to get around some of these obstacles
To the right is a section of the Cam road that runs alongside the river. (The river is the river on the left and the track is the river on the right)
The wind did not let up along this section but at last it seemed to be pushing us along.
I passed a good many Spine Challengers along this section who had their finish line at Hawes in sight. And around here I met up with Keri and Rob who I would see lots more of over the next few days.
Around the summit of Dodd Fell the wind was as high as we'd seen through the previous 48 hours. It was cross wind again and made walking in a straight line impossible. I stretched out as Rob and Keri stopped to attend to a blister and made it to Hawes at around 2 pm. I wanted to eat, change my wet kit, restock my food and get off as quickly as possible to not waste any daylight. This took a clumsy ponderous hour and a half. A number of Spine Challengers competed during this time and it's a mark of how fit I was feeling that I felt I was the lucky one because I still had several days of adventure left to go.
part 2, Hawes to Alston
Push
The Spine Challenger is the Spine Race's little brother. Teasingly called "The Fun Run" by some, it's 106 miles and finishes at checkpoint 2, Hawes. Catching the tail-end of the Challenger race had given me great encouragement through the morning from Horton to Hawes. I left Hawes at 3.30 pm and knew that there was probably no-one catchable in front of me and no-one I could see ready and about to leave. I was looking forward to a night alone on the fells. The temperature was dropping but the afternoon was clear and the visibility looked like it should last.
One of the glories of walking the fells at night is to watch the sun go down; to see the light fade and change slowly; to watch the colours come and go.
Climbing Great Shunner Fell this night was a treat. A red sky at night that hinted at a spell of more stable weather, a fantastic sunset over the Yorkshire Dales and steel blue sky out to sea kept me rapt.
As darkness fell, the temperature dropped and ice started to form on the slabs that marked the path. Picking out the dry from the wet from the icy was a test of eyesight and concentration.
Climbing Great Shunner Fell this night was a treat. A red sky at night that hinted at a spell of more stable weather, a fantastic sunset over the Yorkshire Dales and steel blue sky out to sea kept me rapt.
Once or twice I thought I saw a head-torch beaming behind me but it was always quickly lost in the undulations of the hill.
The questions facing me at this point were how long could I go on this evening, when and where could I eat, where was I going to sleep when I eventually did stop?
I was still feeling good despite having been on the move since 5.15 am - over 12 hours ago. I told myself that the reason for this was the good meal and good night's sleep I'd had in Gargrave and Malham the night before. These thoughts gave me sudden impression of how far I'd come and how well I was progressing. I'd been telling myself that I'd been going for three days (and should be further along) when in fact due to the late start on day 1, I still had most of my third day left to go.
I stopped trying to work out where I was against my original plans. Was I ahead? Was I a day behind? I started to focus on the practicalities of the night ahead. Could I get to Tan Hill Inn while they were still serving food? I knew another evening of pub grub by the fire would be a fantastic boost to body and spirits. Passing through Thwaite on the way to Keld, I tried to remember how long this section had taken on the recce. When would I arrive at the pub? What time will they serve food until?
Leaving Keld around 7.30 pm, I reckoned on getting to Tan Hill at about 9.30 - 10 pm. Too much of a gamble to arrive there tired and hungry and likely to find the kitchen closed. I knew there was a cosy barn just about with a hayloft for sleeping. I took 30 minutes out to cook tea. Chicken soup followed by pasta bolognese. Yum. The right choice to stop, I think.
Back on the trail, I was caught up by Neil Rutherford, a Scot from south of Edinburgh. The company was appreciated and Neil was great company. More of a talker than a listener, Neil told me of his training runs starting from Kirk Yetholm and working down the Pennine Way as he got more confident in his strength and navigation. Following Neil was tough. He had a head of steam up and was stopping for nothing. As I walked along I was trying to pick the easy lines and avoid the worst of the bogs and puddles. Neil relentlessly ploughed on, stopping for nothing with seeming no regard for the ground he was crossing. He set a cracking pace which took us to Tan Hill Inn for 10.45.
There were a number of comedy moment through the week and this was one of them. Neil met up with his partner who was supporting him - providing food, drink, clothes, emotional support and a car to escape from the weather. I went into the pub to grab a warm drink and have a sit down.
After getting a coffee, I sat down with Neil who'd come into the pub and started chatting about this and that. After a few minutes Neil says, "I'm sorry I didn't get your name"
I say, "It's Paul, I've been walking with you for the last 2 hours!"
"Oh Christ! I didn't recognise you with the lights on!"
So much for my distinctive northern accent.
I forgave him and we made a pact to cross Sleighthome moor to the A66 together. The first 5 miles of this crossed blank, indistinct, boggy moorland following the shallow contours of Frummington beck. We didn't quite pick the fastest lines through this but we were never far from the route.
Despite the pace Neil was setting, I was starting to feel the cold. It was past midnight and I was starting to fade. I knew it was time to get some rest and food. Neil tempted me with the prospect of a cup of coffee when we reached the A66 and I agreed imagining a his partner producing a hot flask as we arrived. In fact we woke her as we got to the A66 and she started to sleepily assemble her camping stove and look around for water. Already shivering, Neil kindly suggested I might be better moving on and I was quick to agree.
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| Keri and Rob arrive to disturb my night's sleep |
Now on my own I was looking for shelter; somewhere where I could get out of the weather for a while. It had steadily been deteriorating for the past 2 hours and now there was snow filling the air and the wind was gathering again. I knew about a shelter in a shooting hut about a mile or so north of the A66 but I had never been to it. Neil had assured me that I couldn't miss it. In the descending mist and swirling snow, I wasn't so sure. On top of that my head torch batteries were fading. I pressed on hoping I would find the shelter where I could sort out my kit in relative comfort.
The downside was that I was scared of missing the hut. I was moving slower and slower as I neared the river where the hut was marked on the map and consequently getting colder. Good sense eventually got the better of me and I changed the batteries. With a strong beam to re-assure me that I wasn't marching past the shelter, I upped pace a little and just as I was starting to feel a little desperate, I saw the hut.
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| My feet steaming when I took off my Sealskinz socks |
It was about 5.30 am. I decided to eat some more and get on my way before light, to push on the 10 miles or to Middleton and arrive in time for a second breakfast. I had some porridge. I had a hot chocolate. I fiddled with my feet. I had a couple of minor blisters but the blister plasters were in place and doing their job. I decided on another hot chocolate. During this time Keri and Rob had got into their sleeping bags, shivered for a while and decided to get up. I offered the shivering Keri a sup of my hot chocolate. A minute of so later, it was clear that I wasn't going to get any of it back as she and Rob drank the half-cupful. Good karma is better than calories, I hoped.
Fortunately, it was a morning to lift the spirits. There was a light dusting of snow, blue skies and a crisp, light breeze.
Progress was a slow plod. My feet were sore. Blisters weren't a problem, they just ached from being wet and battered for (nearly) 3 days.
Around 2 hours after leaving the shelter, I passed the next barn that I'd scoped out for an overnight shelter. I felt glad that I hadn't had to push onto here the night before.
The miles seemed to pass slowly but my progress was clarifying in my mind. I was over halfway in under 3 days. All was good. This was fine. I could do this.
The checkpoint in Middleton-in-Teesdale was a mile up the hill through town off the route of the Pennine Way. It was probably a mark of how tired I was becoming just how much I resented this diversion.
But this was Checkpoint three, 140 miles done in under 72 hours. I could take an hour off so to let my sore feet recover, eat lots and get some drier socks on.
The news on reaching Middleton was that the weather was closing in again. A storm was forecast to hit in the next 24 hours. A diversion avoiding the scramble up to Cauldron Spout was being enforced and a cut-off at Cow Green car park of 10 pm was being imposed. Anyone arriving after this time would have to take a short-cut to Alston avoiding the highest summits of the Pennines across Cross Fell. 10 pm was a generous allowance but I didn't want to risk being close to the cut-off, so I got myself moving as quickly as I could.
The miles along the upper Tees past Low Force and High Force waterfalls is gently rising and picturesque trek on a good path. Trying to push the pace along here with throbbing feet was a dull and painful task, lightened by fabulous view. As I gained height, I could feel the weather getting colder and the skies greyer. On the diversion route to Cow Green an outrider of the storm hit. The head wind made any progress difficult and the snow was thick in the air and settling fast on the ground. I reached the car park at dusk, around 5 pm. I was taken into the Mountain Safety team bus and offered a coffee and piece of Dundee cake. Hearing that Dave Dixon was only 5 minutes ahead of me and knowing how useful his footprints in the snow would be, and also how soon they would disappear in the snow and wind, I scoffed the cake and pushed on. Later I was to learn how lucky I was. Keri and Rob arrived at Cow Green less than an hour after me but were diverted onto the road to Alston.
After a bleak 15 minutes or so, the weather settled and I was treated to a glorious night-time traverse to High Cup Nick and down to Dufton. The stars were stunning and the snow-lit fells were spectacular. Frustratingly, I lost Dave's footprints in the middle of the crossing. The GPS told me I was close to the line of the Pennine Way but I knew I wasn't on the best line. Care was needed as I reached High Cup Nick, a point with some treacherous cliffs and a number of alternative paths.
As I dropped down towards Dufton, visibility returned and the lights of Cumbria came into sight; another beautiful view. I was unaware that there was an intermediate checkpoint in Dufton. My plan at this point was to push on over Cross Fell and sleep when I reached Greg's Hut after Cross Fell. On entering Dufton, however, I was signed down the road to an unannounced checkpoint in the village hall. It was 9.30 pm. I took the decision to get my tea at this point and made up a sachet of goulash and a mug of chicken soup whilst I had a supply of hot water and a warm place to sit. I took off my boots to allow my battered feet some respite. There were a couple of chaps asleep on the village hall floor and I decided that I would join them and have "just a couple of hours" sleep before pushing on.
I woke around 12.30 and made some "breakfast", porridge and hot chocolate (same mug / same time). As I was getting my kit together Dave Bamber, who was running the checkpoint, awoke and came over to tell me that I wasn't allowed to leave on my own. I must wait for the other chaps asleep in the hall and we could only travel across Cross Fell as a threesome. I was disappointed by this and frustrated knowing that if I had pushed on as planned after tea that I would not have been held. There was nothing to be done but go back to sleep.
Just after 1.30 am, I was woken by Dave Bamber and told that Dave Dixon was wanting to leave now and we would be allowed to proceed as a pair. So, up again, I took on some coffee and got on with sorting out my kit. Putting on my boots, I noticed that the insoles were missing. The cogs whirred round slowly. The last I remembered was taking them out of my boots to dry at Middleton. Had I walked the last 20 miles with no insoles? I checked the radiators in the hall but it seemed that I had. My feet had swollen so much that I hadn't even noticed when I put my boots back on without them at Middleton. "Oh well!", I thought, "I guess that means I can do another 20 miles without them too."
Dave and I set off to traverse Cross Fell at about 3 am.
Dave had set a cracking pace along the Tees that afternoon and had proved impossible to stay with over High Cup Nick but now was suffering with a sore leg and I found the pace we fell into together felt fairly steady. This was not something I was unhappy about.
We stayed on the road over Great Dunn Fell to avoid the possibly deep and drifting snow. We stopped briefly on Little Dunn Fell for photos.
I think the i-phone won the battle of the cameras. Or maybe Dave was just cleverer with the lighting.
We got dawn just before we reached Greg's Hut. We poked out heads round the door to find a couple of spiners asleep and pressed on.
Dave's Spine story of the previous year, where he stopped just three miles short of the finish, is now the stuff legend. It was a privilege to spend this time on the hill and be part of his successful attempt.
The wind was biting by now. I was wearing all my clothes and was none too warm but we were treated to another delightful sunrise.
Dave pulled ahead of me as I paused for a toilet break. I caught him up 10 minutes later and chatted on to him for ages about nothing of any consequence. Thinking he was a bit quiet, I looked around to discover that I'd been talking to my shadow for the last 5 minutes.
It was round about now that I kept thinking that I was being overtaken by cyclists. Maybe, I was getting a bit tired.
We were off the high ground and in good light and visibility, so there was no need to stay together. I stretched my legs as much as I could and hit out for Alston. It would be good to get beyond there and maybe get to Greenhead in the Tyne valley today, I thought.
I reached Alston shortly before 11 am to be told that we were being held until the next storm passed. The mixture of relief and disappointment is difficult to remember accurately. I remember thinking that the rest and food would be welcome but was frustrated to be held. The non-stop nature of the race was what made this event unique. I wasn't complaining. I had no doubt that the decision was right and was prepared to make the best of it and drink coffee and eat doughnuts until I exploded. It was also a great opportunity to get to the other competitors, staff and volunteers a bit better. No hardship, certainly.
Spine Race Part 3 - to the end.
The waiting game
The weather forecasts were for 100+ mph winds across the summits. I like to think that if I'd read that weather forecast for myself that I would have independently decided to stay put and sit out the storm in warmth and comfort. I was happy to have the decision taken out my hands, though.
So, I hung my socks up to dry. I ate, slept, drank tea, ate doughnuts, chatted to racers and organisers, flirted hopelessly with Jacqui and, all in all, the time disappeared very pleasantly. I caught up with Phil for the first time since we set off. We had chance to reset our strategies. We were going to be setting off early on Thursday which gave 36-38 hours to reach the finish and be in time for a pub meal, maybe even finish in daylight. That was my aim now. The break had given a complete confidence that I would finish. It was only 80 miles after all and I had three days. I would go as hard as I could tomorrow, get a couple of hours sleep and push for the finish. Oh, such overconfidence again. When would I ever learn.
We were told to be ready to go for 6.30 but it was likely to be a 7 am start. That implied a 6.15 am start to me but the companions in my dormitory thought that 5.15 am was when they needed to start clattering around. Even I couldn't sleep through it.
We were told to be ready to go for 6.30 but it was likely to be a 7 am start. That implied a 6.15 am start to me but the companions in my dormitory thought that 5.15 am was when they needed to start clattering around. Even I couldn't sleep through it.
Off Again
In my mind this was a short day; under 40 miles. So, I felt I would be able to keep a reasonably high pace, particularly as I was fed and rested. It was a mass start and I was happy to follow the head torches in front for the first few miles so as not to have to think about map-reading. But what with my stupid competitiveness and few of the advance party wandering off track, I found myself at the head of a bunch and feeling like I was doing all the hard work. Only Johnnie Watson seemed to have his map out and be sharing the load. Maybe everyone else knew where they were going and they would shout us back if we went off. Maybe I should just lighten up and enjoy the day and stop worrying about other people.
On this stretch I started to get stomach ache that would stay with me for the next two days. It was a persistent, bloated feeling of discomfort that put me off eating. I would go through a cycle of eating a small amount, being knotted with stomach cramps, trying to unsuccessfully bring up trapped wind, before feeling hungry again and repeating the process. The stomach cramps only went away when they were replaced by hunger pangs. This section along the Tyne valley was quite attractive but I didn't appreciate it. The group started to break up just before the intermediate checkpoint at Greenhead. They were serving fresh coffee and I stayed to enjoy a couple of cups while I faffed with my socks.
Leaving on my own I was resigned and almost looking forward to a section on my own when I ran into Richard Lendon and Simon Beasley who were just leaving the village cafe. We fell in together for a few miles until they started to stretch out in the section along Hadrian's Wall. This is a high and exposed section and once again the winds started to batter us. The freshness of the morning now seemed a long way away and I was back in plod mode. I could see Richard and Simon ahead, just a few hundred metres but the idea of catching them seemed absurd. The dragon's back hills along here that form the natural barrier that the Wall follows, are spectacular but I struggled to appreciate them.
It was a long and wearying section along the wall being bullied by the wind and dusk was falling when I turned north towards Bellingham. I could see Richard and Simon down the hill and off-route. The path took a diagonal route across a field and they had mistakenly followed the wall. The extra yards they had taken in were almost enough to help me catch them up and with the advantage of following, as they had a few more navigation decisions to make, meant that I caught up with them and Johnnie Watson as darkness fell.
The next 4 hours to Bellingham were the most miserable of the week. My feet were still sore. My stomach was stopping me eating almost anything and I was surviving on Shot Bloks (basically glorified fruit gums). The rain was lashing down again now. We were walking through managed forestry and the underfoot conditions varied from swamp to marsh with all the varieties of mud in between. Feet became soaked and started to feel cold. I had enough in my legs to stay with my new buddies but I was sat in and following. So much for my grumpiness of earlier that others were following me, I was more than happy to switch off and internalise my efforts into just keeping going for a few more hours and let others do the navigating.
Occasionally, I would get out my GPS and try and show willing. I don't know how much help I was. Johnnie was excellent through this time in staying close to the map which gives a much wider perspective than the GPS screen particularly when the paths were re-routed through the forest swamps. The last road miles were agony on the bruised feet. I squelched into the checkpoint just before 9 pm, another 14 hour day, to be told that we couldn't eat in our wet clothes, couldn't go into the hall, couldn't go in the drying room, arghh. We basically had to strip off on the spot and get changed before we could eat. I very nearly had a complete hissy fit. I was very hungry and needed to sit and eat. I just held it together long enough to get changed and get to the dining room.
I uploaded a slightly downbeat Facebook post as I settled into my sleeping bag and was truly gratified to see the stream of encouraging posts come back to me. The previous few hours had been a low point but I was through it and there was just one more day to go.
My place in the sun
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| Sun on the Cheviots |
Short of four hours sleep later I stirred. I rose quietly and tiptoed past Phil as he slept at my feet. I plugged in my phone for half an hour of juice before I set off. I was at my most useless in getting my kit together. I couldn't remember where my head torch was or find the gloves I'd taken off the night before. I had loads of dry clothes left but couldn't decide what to wear. Before I could get going Phil came past me on his way to breakfast. This was the impetus I needed to get moving and I left the checkpoint at about 3.30 am, leaving my phone plugged in behind me.
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| Blue skies on the Cheviots as a last day treat |
I left at the same time as Ian Bowles and it was quickly clear that we were moving at a similar pace and so we fell in together through the dark hours until dawn. There were some blank areas of moorland to cross and the extra eyes on the map helped keep the navigation errors to a minimum.
This last leg was 36 miles. If I could maintain 3 miles an hour I could finish in daylight. This was the aim I set off with. Sore feet and perpetual stomach cramps were not making it easy going though.
As dawn broke we caught up with Joao Colaco wearing high viz waterproof trousers that gave him the look of a fireman in search of a cat up a tree. The fire road in Redesdale Forest would normally have been regarded as runnable but the surface was too hard to contemplate beating my feet on, even if the legs had been willing. The sun was shining and the light through the woods was lovely. Ian and I caught up with Rob and Kerry and we passed a couple of miles in chatter.
Pleasant walking eventually brought us to Byrness and the last intermediate checkpoint before the end. Here the B&B owner heroically treated us to leek and potato soup followed by sausage and mash. A crowd of nearly a dozen spiners was squashed in but we were all fed in quick time. Despite feeling bloated, I stuffed down what I could knowing that it was easier to eat whilst seated than it would be whilst I was on the move. It didn't occur to me that it was odd to be eating sausage and mash at 10.30 in the morning.
Out of Byrness it was a stiff climb up onto the Cheviots. Not having walked any of the route for the last two days had been tough. Lack of familiarity had made it harder work and demanded higher concentration. This remained the case for the rest of the day and would cost me time later but, for now, being out on the high ridges of the Cheviots for the first time was a glorious cold, sharp, sunny, winter's day treat.
The ground was bone hard and ice was forming on the slabs. I decided to make use of my Yaktrax (other brands of lightweight ice grips are available). Putting on the rubbery contraptions took me 5 minutes but the extra grip meant that I soon caught up with and overtook the posse in front.
Once again I was feeling good. The sun was high, the path was clear, the going was fast and my pace felt strong and felt like I could keep it up all day. Home straight. Glory miles.
But careless mapwork cost me all this. Cutting a corner, I took the wrong path down the street rather than along Windy Gyle. On such a clear day, you don't need to check bearings! As long as you read the land right and the path is clear. A kilometre after I went off route the path started to descend unexpectedly. Getting out the compass, I realised my mistake. The detour cost me probably 20-30 minutes but more than that was slap to my morale. The zip went out of my pace. Instead of striding out and trying to stay ahead of my buddies, I fell into a plod. I wasn't going to finish in daylight. It was time to steady down, make no more mistakes and finish. Just finish.
Fatigue was making the feet hurt more and I had nearly eaten all the food that I could contemplate putting in my mouth. The wind was gathering too and the cold was starting to penetrate. I was wearing pretty much everything I was carrying.
I had on a thermal base layer, a stretch fleece, a windproof and my waterproof shell. Even with all this, I was struggling to keep enough of a pace to stay warm.
As dusk fell, I descended down from The Cheviot, the high point of the mountain range, to the second mountain refuge hut. I had a pair of dry socks in my bag and decided it was time to use them. I stopped in the hut where Spine volunteers were making a party atmosphere. I took 10 minutes off my feet, ate well and put on some fresh socks feeling that the extra spring would protect my feet and help me on the downhill to the finish.
One last push to the top of the Schil and I had 5 miles of downhill left. One of my Yaktrax was now in shreds but I was able to get a jog going and enjoy the benefits of gravity. Moving nicely, I saw a couple of head torch beams coming towards me. I was delighted to realise that it was Ian Haigh and Amanda Porter who come up to meet me and Phil and drive us back to Southwell.
I was less delighted that they shone their 200 lumen torches in my face and blinded me. I courteously let them know that they should be more considerate with how they use their lamps. I was expecting some company down to the finish but Ian and Amanda said that they were going on to the hut to wait for Phil, "who isn't far behind". I didn't need any encouragement but the thought that Phil might be catching me pushed me on again.
More downhill on good ground, softening as I descended below the frost line, helped me cover the ground quickly and soon I was down in valley on the road leading to Kirk Yetholm. I took off my Yaktrax and almost immediately stepped on to a finger of black ice and ended up on my back. In the six and a half days prior to this I had stumbled, been blown off balance, skidded on the mud, slipped on the ice, slid on the wet duck-boards and skied on the wet grass but I had only fallen over twice. The first time was within 1 mile of the start and the second within 1 mile of the finish.
The tarmac took all the wind from my sails. I got a good march going and started to think of the finish and the welcome and the pub and the beer and the food.
One more cruel and brutal hill on the road into town surprised me but soon I was walking down the village green towards where I thought the pub must be. I could see no lights or banners to guide me. There was a small crowd so I headed towards them. They gave me a polite ripple of applause which I tried to acknowledge while still looking faintly embarrassed.
Prompted by an onlooker, I touched the pub wall and turned to go inside. As I did Nici Griffin came out slightly flustered and insisted I go through my finish ritual again so that she could then present me with my medal. Actually, I just wanted my beer. Ok, I wanted my medal too. There are no pictures of my finish but I did do it, I promise.
I opened the door of the pub to a rapturous round of applause from racers, volunteers and general pub goers. I don't expect to ever again receive a welcome like that when I enter a pub.The photo above captures how I felt at that moment.
Amazingly, I was reunited with my phone and so could capture a moment of two of the evening before "exhaustion" set in. I caught up with fellow racers, some of whom I'd not seen since the start, and volunteers. The atmosphere as more and more finishers came into the pub was lovely, like a big extended family welcoming home sons and daughters at Christmas
My hurry to make sure that I finished ahead of Phil was somewhat misplaced and Ian and Amanda had a little wait for him at Hut 2. The pub had kicked out and I was wondering how long I was prepared to wait in the freezing evening when Phil, Amanda and Ian strolled down the hill.
In something of an anti-climax, Phil touched the pub wall and was given his medal. They had run out of finisher's t-shirts in any size other than XL and there was no finisher's half pint of beer to greet him.
We headed for Ian's camper van and he drove us to the village hall. I stayed up and ate and drank for as long as I could, wanting to savour the moment but soon was too tired to carry on and crawled into my sleeping bag.
I understand that the hall was very noisy that night and in particular one person was making a lot of drunken noise right next to me. Once again I proved that if nothing else that I could outsleep anyone.
Once again I was feeling good. The sun was high, the path was clear, the going was fast and my pace felt strong and felt like I could keep it up all day. Home straight. Glory miles.
But careless mapwork cost me all this. Cutting a corner, I took the wrong path down the street rather than along Windy Gyle. On such a clear day, you don't need to check bearings! As long as you read the land right and the path is clear. A kilometre after I went off route the path started to descend unexpectedly. Getting out the compass, I realised my mistake. The detour cost me probably 20-30 minutes but more than that was slap to my morale. The zip went out of my pace. Instead of striding out and trying to stay ahead of my buddies, I fell into a plod. I wasn't going to finish in daylight. It was time to steady down, make no more mistakes and finish. Just finish.
Fatigue was making the feet hurt more and I had nearly eaten all the food that I could contemplate putting in my mouth. The wind was gathering too and the cold was starting to penetrate. I was wearing pretty much everything I was carrying.I had on a thermal base layer, a stretch fleece, a windproof and my waterproof shell. Even with all this, I was struggling to keep enough of a pace to stay warm.
As dusk fell, I descended down from The Cheviot, the high point of the mountain range, to the second mountain refuge hut. I had a pair of dry socks in my bag and decided it was time to use them. I stopped in the hut where Spine volunteers were making a party atmosphere. I took 10 minutes off my feet, ate well and put on some fresh socks feeling that the extra spring would protect my feet and help me on the downhill to the finish.
One last push to the top of the Schil and I had 5 miles of downhill left. One of my Yaktrax was now in shreds but I was able to get a jog going and enjoy the benefits of gravity. Moving nicely, I saw a couple of head torch beams coming towards me. I was delighted to realise that it was Ian Haigh and Amanda Porter who come up to meet me and Phil and drive us back to Southwell.
I was less delighted that they shone their 200 lumen torches in my face and blinded me. I courteously let them know that they should be more considerate with how they use their lamps. I was expecting some company down to the finish but Ian and Amanda said that they were going on to the hut to wait for Phil, "who isn't far behind". I didn't need any encouragement but the thought that Phil might be catching me pushed me on again.
More downhill on good ground, softening as I descended below the frost line, helped me cover the ground quickly and soon I was down in valley on the road leading to Kirk Yetholm. I took off my Yaktrax and almost immediately stepped on to a finger of black ice and ended up on my back. In the six and a half days prior to this I had stumbled, been blown off balance, skidded on the mud, slipped on the ice, slid on the wet duck-boards and skied on the wet grass but I had only fallen over twice. The first time was within 1 mile of the start and the second within 1 mile of the finish.
The tarmac took all the wind from my sails. I got a good march going and started to think of the finish and the welcome and the pub and the beer and the food.
Prompted by an onlooker, I touched the pub wall and turned to go inside. As I did Nici Griffin came out slightly flustered and insisted I go through my finish ritual again so that she could then present me with my medal. Actually, I just wanted my beer. Ok, I wanted my medal too. There are no pictures of my finish but I did do it, I promise.
I opened the door of the pub to a rapturous round of applause from racers, volunteers and general pub goers. I don't expect to ever again receive a welcome like that when I enter a pub.The photo above captures how I felt at that moment.
Amazingly, I was reunited with my phone and so could capture a moment of two of the evening before "exhaustion" set in. I caught up with fellow racers, some of whom I'd not seen since the start, and volunteers. The atmosphere as more and more finishers came into the pub was lovely, like a big extended family welcoming home sons and daughters at Christmas
My hurry to make sure that I finished ahead of Phil was somewhat misplaced and Ian and Amanda had a little wait for him at Hut 2. The pub had kicked out and I was wondering how long I was prepared to wait in the freezing evening when Phil, Amanda and Ian strolled down the hill.In something of an anti-climax, Phil touched the pub wall and was given his medal. They had run out of finisher's t-shirts in any size other than XL and there was no finisher's half pint of beer to greet him.
We headed for Ian's camper van and he drove us to the village hall. I stayed up and ate and drank for as long as I could, wanting to savour the moment but soon was too tired to carry on and crawled into my sleeping bag.
I understand that the hall was very noisy that night and in particular one person was making a lot of drunken noise right next to me. Once again I proved that if nothing else that I could outsleep anyone.
Afterthoughts
For the last two days of the race, I could not imagine doing this race again. In fact I was slightly bemused by the people who had come back 2, 3 and 4 times. Now, a few weeks later, I know that come January 2016 I will feel a great sense of missing-out, if I am not on the start line. The Spine Race is a great adventure. The organisers, racers and volunteers form a community that is unique to this type of event. To have the opportunity to test myself in this way is a great privilege. The excitement of the unknown that faced me on the start line was thrilling. That excitement will not be the same for me, in future Spine Races and for that reason I may look to other adventures, if any at all.
For now, the curiosity about how far I can push myself and just what I can achieve, has dissipated. It's a good time to enjoy steady bike rides, tea-shops and cake; short walks in the country and a pint or two; and bimbly climbs on roadside crags in the sunshine.