A family day. Swimming at Holgates near Silverdale in the morning, Claire watching from the pool side, full of cold. We’d had our fancy coffee and lunch together. Now we were back home. It was still early. The consensus was to get the wood burner fired up, then watch the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory video again this afternoon. We’d all watched it together only yesterday.
Spring sunlight and shadows highlighting the snowy mountain tops. I decided to skip the video re-run and nip out for a couple of hours or so. Enjoy this remarkable weather. I changed into my running gear, put my bike in the back of the van, and drove towards Ambleside.
One of the great things about living in the Lakes is that everything is on your doorstep. Afternoons on a sunny weekend are a great time to head out into the honey pots. Most of the tourists are down off the hills, enjoying a well earned cream tea or a pint or two.
I parked up in a little lay by on the back road to Red Bank, just beyond Loughrigg Tarn, jumped on my bike, and free wheeled down to Elterwater. Up the pot holed back road towards the Drunken Duck pub, leaving my bike behind a big stone wall, next to the start of the footpath up Black Fell.
The trail first winds through lovely old oak trees, up into dark plantation conifers. Then clubs a rough, rocky path, more like a stream bed, through open bracken, juniper and larch trees. It’s one of the smallest of the Wainwrights. My son Ash climbed it when he was just four years old. Yet the views as you reach the summit are tremendous.
On a day like today, I was lost for words. Taking photo after photo. Every direction was a perfect spring Lakeland scene, with snow capped summits, blue sky, fluffy cumulus clouds and pristine light.
Within half an hour I was back at my bike, stepping on the pedals, climbing to the Drunken Duck pub. I counted seven personal registration plates amongst all the flash cars parked haphazardly on the verge outside.
Memories flooded back. I first cycled this back road just after I’d moved to Kendal, when foot and mouth disease closed down all the footpaths. I’d recently joined Ambleside AC, and as we couldn’t run on the hills, we all simply got on our bikes instead. Great rides exploring these little known lanes that wind their way all over the Lake District.
Today, I wanted to ride past Tarn Hows. I knew the views from there would be stunning. I left my bike near the disabled car park and jogged round to a favourite rocky ridge to take some photos.
From Coniston village, I cycled along the main road back towards Ambleside, leaving my bike behind a wall at the far end of Yew Tree Tarn. Another scenic woodland start to the climb of another “toddler” peak, Holme Fell, already ticked off by my son Ash. It took less than fifteen minutes to run to the summit, including all the stops for photos.
The reward for such a small amount of effort?
Views to rival anything in the Alps, with a backdrop of the Coniston and Langdale fells.
Now it was late afternoon and if anything, the light was getting even better, the views totally inspiring. Full of energy from the amazing scenery I was soon making the final climb on the road to my van. I put the bike in the back, jogging up the road, before turning right. Up the steep path that follows the most direct line to the summit of Loughrigg.
Half way up I stopped to look behind me. Everything was picture postcard perfect. I reached for my camera in my jacket pocket. It wasn’t there! I must have left it behind in my haste to get going. I thought about going back down to the van to get it, then decided the clouds were over developing, and the views at the top wouldn’t be up to much anyway.
At the summit, the views were the most fabulous I’d ever seen. Ever. The clouds had subsided in the cooling air. Light was filtering through to all the peaks, picking out the contours. Lakes and tarns shining silver.
They say the best photographs are the ones you never take, and this was one of those. A magical end to an afternoon that wasn’t planned. I jogged back down and drove home to Kendal for tea, stopping to pick some daffodils for Claire which were growing wild by the side of the road.
3 Wainwright summits today, that’s 63 down, 151 to go.
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It’s tough. Nearly vertical. A mile long killer punch, a body blow when you least need it.
Many will be brought to a faltering, grimacing walk. Bent over double, pushing on thighs, fear in their eyes. Only a few will be running.
So how do they do it? How can you join them and nail the Coffin Trail too?
Here I’ll share some of my own personal secrets. Along with the intimate knowledge gained from many jaunts up this iconic climb over more than a decade. If you’re totally new to the Lakeland Trails, you may also want to read my blog about what lies in store for you at the events – ‘New to the Lakeland Trails’
History
First though, I want to tell you a bit about the history of the “Coffin Trail”. Many people think we named it ourselves, when in fact, it IS a Coffin Trail, and there are many all over the Lake District. Back in the Middle Ages, when someone died they would have taken the body in a coffin to be buried in the nearest church cemetery. For those living in and around the west shore of Lake Windermere, this was in the village of Hawkshead.
Claife Heights may not be the highest of hills, but it is very steep. So you have to try and imagine what it would have been like climbing that hill, sharing the weight of a heavy coffin with three or more others. Or a pack horse may have been used to pull the coffin along. It’s for this reason the Coffin Trail is cobbled with rough stone, graded and zig zags up through the woods. Any steeper and it would be an impossible task.
In both the 10km and 17km events, the Coffin Trail hits you when you have been running effortlessly along the lake shore. Although a welcome relief after some gruelling terrain beforehand. It is very easy to run too fast here and this is what does the damage when it comes to the climb.
Our 10km competitors have had to negotiate leg sapping, wet, muddy fields, then the trail drops down to the lake, pancake flat for the next 2km. 17km runners have already climbed Claife Heights once already!
Pace yourself
Pacing is an art. It takes a lot of practice to run within yourself and not to get carried away. This is especially so with others around you. The pace suddenly speeds up. The views across the lake are picture postcard perfect. It seems easy, so you join in.
You know there’s the Coffin Trail still to come. Yet you tell yourself, it can’t be that bad. Can it?
Remember too, that the ones right at the front in the 17K race do an awful lot of training. Some of them will be running around 100 miles per week. People like Tom Adams and Chris Holdsworth, first and second respectively at Cartmel this year, are in peak fitness. They run for Great Britain in the World Mountain Running Championships. Annie Conway, who won at Cartmel, is a World Champion. They all know how to pace themselves.
The Coffin Trail can be run from bottom to top in less than 8 minutes by keeping up a steady rhythm – I myself have run this many, many times. However, it’s a completely different story if I’ve been running too quickly beforehand. This sort of time seems impossibly fast.
It very much depends on getting the pacing right beforehand.
We try and help by having props along the Coffin Trail to make you smile. Look out for the 1/4 way, 1/2 way, 3/4 way and summit coffin signs too.
If you get it wrong and your legs are full of lactic acid, then you won’t be able to enjoy the fruits of your labour on the downhill either. There’s at least 3km of gorgeous descent with views to die for, down rocky, boulder strewn trails. Easy and fast when your legs are fresh. Painful and slow when they aren’t.
At the bottom of the hill, there’s another kilometre or so of rolling fields and pretty Lakeland cottages before the glory of the finish in Hawkshead.
You’re going to nail it this year.
Aren’t you?
Graham Patten
2nd April 2018
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My eyes were watering from the strong, bitterly cold, easterly wind coming straight off the Baltic, bringing Siberian wind chill temperatures to the Lakeland Trails season opener in Cartmel. I don’t think I’ve ever been as cold at sea level. Everything I’d brought with me I had on before the start. And I was still freezing.
Everyone else was well wrapped up too. Balaclavas and buffs covering exposed faces, making us a motley looking crew of bandits.
One or two hardy souls in shorts. A mass of humanity grouped at the start, like a mob of Antarctic penguins, shuffling around to keep warm, waiting for the off. Flurries of driving snow, then sunshine. Almost spring. What do they say about March? In like a lion, out like a lamb?
At last, there’s movement at the front. Soon we’re moving too, over the timing mat and away. A migration of trail runners. Relief to finally be moving, already the leaders of the 10K are out of sight.
Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves now, chatting to each other, running in two’s and three’s. Some are in cosy warm looking puffer jackets, making me wish I’d thought of wearing mine. I had on tights, a thermal top, last year’s green Helvellyn tee shirt in honour of the Irish and Paddy’s Day. A warm hat, buff round my neck and thermal green gloves. I still wasn’t warm though.
Big puddles as we near the woods and there’s a bottle neck in front. People are stopping to pick their way around to avoid the icy waters. I egg people on to splash straight through, to keep up our momentum. When the trail starts to climb gradually, I’m pleased, my muscles finally warming up. Some are already walking. Maybe they set off a bit quick?
Everyone was encouraging and I joined in too, knowing every step of the route ahead. Glimpses of Morecambe Bay and then we double back. Into the teeth of the wind. The ground is hard and dry. A combination of frozen soil and the recent dry easterly winds. This is the driest it’s ever been in the nine years of the Cartmel Trail.
Across fields and the usual mud bath has been reduced to a few puddles. Last year it was a knee deep quagmire, the reason we call this course “The Beauty and the Beast”. Shelter from the wind along the tarmac single track lane. An easy downhill to the water station.
With the wind behind and sun in our faces, it starts to feel warm. Hard work through a tough, boggy section. Bedraggled ponies watch us run up their hoof-marked field, churned up and rutted like it’s been ploughed. It must have been a long, hard, wet winter for them.
Miniature wild daffodils on the verges bring a welcome dash of yellow, hint of spring. Two girls marshalling at a lane junction, playing music, cheering us on. Dancing to keep warm and making me smile. The spirit of our volunteer marshals is amazing. It must be extremely cold to be standing still in this wind all day long.
Now some 5K runners join us, making a splash through the stream.
Uphill through the woods and many are walking, looking spent. It’s not over yet though. Across tree roots and rocks, we can hear the band and the MC tantalisingly close.
Then agony when we reach the Racecourse and start running away from the finish. The course re-routed at the last minute to avoid damaging the hallowed turf.
An endless, long run for home, spectators cheering, cowbells ringing out their welcome.
I finish with lots of others, many of them new to the Lakeland Trails. Everyone beaming with pride at having finished the course and braving the elements. The steel band is playing away, despite the cold and wind.
We collect our well deserved finisher’s T shirt. Then for me, it’s into lots of warm clothing. A hot coffee, some good food, catching up with other runners I’d not seen since last year.
I can’t wait until the Hawkshead Trail in April. Surely it will be warmer by then?
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The Lakeland Trails season opener takes place in the pretty village of Cartmel this Saturday. For many, it will be their first trail running event. You may have completed other trail runs, yet may be new to the Lakeland Trails in Cartmel.
This short piece tells you what to expect on the day. How the Lakeland Trails may be a bit different from what you’re used to. What the courses will be like at Cartmel and how best to run them, that sort of thing.
This will be the fifteenth year for the Lakeland Trails – the very first event had just 80 competitors and at Cartmel this year there will be over 1800! We like to keep the size of the events manageable – big enough to feel a part of something inspiring, small enough to feel like one large sporting family.
Pick up your number and timing chip
When you arrive, you’ll be directed by car parking stewards and will see the Cartmel Racecourse main tower building and stands. This is where you’ll find Registration, within the huge marquee. You’ll need to look at the start list boards inside to find your name, then pop along to the Registration team. Tell them your number, and you’ll be given a race number, safety pins, a reusable timing chip and a velcro strap for attaching it to your ankle.
All the events during the day have different coloured numbers, so if you’re running in the 10K, your number will be blue. 5K numbers are pink, 18K challenge numbers are yellow and 18K race numbers are white.
Time to grab a coffee or a late breakfast
Once you’ve got your number and timing chip, you can chill out. Lakeland Trails are much more than a trail run. They are a complete family day out, with something for everyone throughout the day. Live music, MC commentary, children’s bouncy castle and face painting. Now is a good time to chat with friends old and new, maybe get a caffeine fix or a late breakfast. There are plenty of good food and coffee vendors, vegetarian options too, a trail running kit shop, even trail running shoes that you can ‘test run’.
Lots to do in the event village
Meet & Greet
Come and say hello to me and other experienced Lakeland Trailers at the blue ‘Meet & Greet’ gazebo. There will be a couple of flying banners to guide you, with Lakeland Trails hoodies, T shirts and headwear to tempt you once you’ve finished.
Keep your eye on your watch though – all the events will start on time. If you’re planning on warming up, a slow 15-20 minute jog half an hour before your start time will loosen up your muscles. If you need to leave any spare kit, bring a small bag or backpack. You can then leave it at the baggage store within the marquee, within sight of the start line.
What to wear?
Knowing what to wear for your first trail run is very much dependent on your own experience, and the weather. My advice would be to wear something comfortable, clothing and shoes you’re used to. For the 5K you could wear any running shoes, although the more grip, the better. On the 10K and 18K, you’re better off with trail running shoes. Bring along a cagoule, tights, gloves, a hat and small pack to put them in too. The Lake District is a mountainous region, famed for it’s temperamental weather. Even snow can fall here at any time of year!
Which course?
There are maps and profiles of all the courses on notice boards in the marquee. What they don’t tell you is what the underfoot conditions will be like. How best to run them. All the courses are very well signed, with flags, race route arrows and lots and lots of friendly marshals. It’s helpful to wear your number on the front, so they know which course to direct you along.
Our friendly marshals will look after you and make sure you’re safe and stay on course
10K Cartmel Trail Run – Blue numbers
The first event, the 10K, sets off at 11am. This is the one that I’m going to run this year. The first kilometre is flat, fast and furious, on a good solid trail, so don’t get carried away. Find your own rhythm. You’re better off starting off slowly and speeding up. It’s good for your morale. Passing people is always better than being overtaken! After 1K, you reach some huge pine trees. Now deep puddles will appear in the track. Enjoy splashing right through them. You’re going to get wet and muddy on this course, it’s all part of the fun.
After a couple of hundred metres in the woods, the trail starts to wind gradually uphill. This is where your patience at the start will pay off. The faster starters will have legs quickly turning to jelly. The climb goes onto a single track tarmac lane with great views to Morecambe Bay as it levels out.
Pat yourself on the back as you’ve done most of the climbing on the course. A level section on hard trail*, then into the first section of mud with hedges either side. Try and keep your momentum and plough through the mire. Some will be trying to avoid the wetter sections, picking their way around. Pass them and splash them! Soon you’re out onto rolling green grassy trails**, past a small caravan park and some pretty Lakeland cottages.
Straight down the middle
A slight downhill and you’ll see what looks like a man eating marsh up ahead. It’s a favoured spot too for one of the event photographers. Whatever you do, don’t try and go around this one. It’s an old sunken track. The water may be brown and knee deep, yet underneath is hard gravel. Plough through the middle as though you were ten years old with a big smile on your face. It’s what life’s about! The edges of this track are where the trouble lies. This is where the deep, sticky mud lies in waiting.
Stay clear of the edges of the trail
Once through the mire, it’s good running along a short section of tarmac lane*** to the water station. From here, some soggy, boggy trails which are just hard work. Relentless going. Once you hit a slight incline, the worst is behind you. Wordsworth daffodils will be watching you from the banks of the trail. Through a farmyard****, then across a small stream, another favourite photography spot. Make a splash. You’ll have a photo memento you can treasure in the future!
Finish with a smile
The hardest section is at the end, the last one and a half kilometres or so. There’s a climb in the woods, and it’s soft underfoot. The trail winds through the trees and you’ll probably hear the PA and band, tantalisingly close. Yet the end seems to elude you. Suddenly you burst out of the trees and you have a final couple of hundred metres of glory. With luck, your name will be announced as you cross the line.
Moving along at a walk, you’ll be ushered into a section of the marquee to have your timing chip taken from you. Then awarded your well-earned finisher’s T shirt that you can wear with pride.
Now you can change out of your muddy, sweaty gear. Treat yourself to some goodies. Chat with your new friends and enjoy the atmosphere.
Tuck into something nice after your run
5K Cartmel Sport Trail – Pink numbers
The second event, the 5K, sets off at 11.15am. There are a lot of youngsters taking part in this event and they haven’t learnt the art of pace judgement yet. They will set a suicidal pace. Keep up with them at your peril!. You follow exactly the same route as the 10K course as far as the level section of hard trail*, after around 3km. From here, you take a ‘short cut’ along a forest road, gently downhill to the farmyard described above****. You have the stream to cross and the hard section back through the woods, so save some energy for yourself.
Kid’s Fun Trails
Bringing the family along? Children under the age of 12 can take part in the Fun Trails. Short, exciting trails for the Under 10’s and Under 12’s. Any age can take part, even mums and dads can run with the children too. They will set off when everyone is back from the 10K and 5K events, the younger children setting off first. Gerry the Giraffe joins them and keeps them on course. Everyone gets a medal for taking part. The buzz and excitement of the kids is worth experiencing first hand.
18km Cartmel Trail Challenge – Yellow numbers
The third senior event, the 18K Challenge, sets off at 1pm. It follows exactly the same route as the 18K Race an hour later. The Challenge is the relaxed version of the 18K event. The one for taking part and enjoying the views and friendly banter along the trail.
Both 18K courses follow the 10K route as far as the rolling green grassy trails**, so you can read as far as this in the 10K route to know what’s in store for you. Then a stunning 8K extra loop first takes you along good, fast grassy trails with views in all directions. Lakeland snow capped peaks ahead of you in the distance, the shining levels of Morecambe Bay over to your left.
Strike a pose when you see one of our photographers
After crossing a single track lane, there’s a short climb through mature oak woodland, then comes the gorgeous Bigland Tarn. You skirt round this and along a track to the first water station at around the 9K mark. More tarns to circumnavigate, along a lovely, muddy single track cutting through heather. It’s difficult to overtake here, much better to wait, take it easy and a few hundred metres later the trail opens up and there’s lots of room to pass.
A section of rolling single track tarmac lane, then into rough felled woodland, the trails cut up from heavy machinery. This section of the course tends to be the toughest. It’s wet, muddy and there’s a devilish incline. One of those that’s not steep enough for everyone to walk, yet very tough to run.
You’ll be soon through this and onto another short section of tarmac lane***, picking up the 10K route from here, all the way back to the finish.
The fastest in the 18K Race, which set off at 2pm with white numbers, are GB International athletes who will be home within 70 minutes. This leads to an exciting finish as everyone arrives back from both 18K courses at similar times.
By 3.30pm, singer/songwriter Pete Lashley, who would have already run in the 18K Challenge, takes to the stage. Pete plays for an hour, many of the songs he’s written himself, as well as requested cover songs.
Then it’s the Prize Giving for all those who have earned them, followed straight afterwards by the Spot Prize draw. Anyone can win one of the spot prizes, although you will need to fill out a spot prize form and put your name and number on it, then just post it in the podium.
By 5pm everything is over for another day. If you’re staying in the Lake District, you’ll meet lots of Lakeland Trailers in the pubs and restaurants, proudly wearing their finisher’s T shirt.
Welcome to the Lakeland Trails family.
See you on Saturday!
If you’ve got any questions, please leave them in the comments below and I’ll do my best to answer them.
Sign up to my blog to have a chance to win FREE trail running goodies. There are some great gifts on offer, such as trail running product, entries to the Lakeland Trails events and lots of other items too. On the 15th of each month, everyone on my subscribers list will go into a prize draw and the winner announced on the Lakeland Trails Facebook page, as well as by email.
Knowing I was going to be getting up and away in the pre dawn darkness brought back childhood memories of Christmas. I got an early night, full of excitement about what the day would bring.
There was ice on the windscreen, bright stars up above. The forecast looked reasonable, maybe it was going to be better than expected? On the drive to Grasmere, I could see the outline of the hills, white against the dark sky. I parked up in the lay-by opposite the sports ground, and set off in the early light. It was exactly 6.30am, so I was bang on schedule. An ambitious day was planned, and I hoped to be back in time for lunch with Claire, before some work related meetings in the afternoon.
I’d only been going a few minutes when the clear morning sky suddenly hazed over. At first I thought it was mist, yet as I ran through the quiet streets of Grasmere, snowflakes were falling. A roe deer stag, with superb antlers covered in velvet, looked up through the light snow flurry. I was most of the way up the first climb to Helm Crag, the “Lion and the Lamb”, the sunrise an orange glow on the far side of Grasmere Water. Higher up, hard patches of snow, the rocky scramble to the summit crag made more difficult with a veneer of ice.
I suddenly remembered once getting stuck coming off this crag. It was one of those embarrassing moments and I had an audience of three Swedish women, not, I hasten to add, svelte Scandinavian beauties, although maybe they once were. I’d climbed up the rock and must have taken a slightly different route down. I just couldn’t reach a ledge with my foot, and was clinging on by my fingertips, draped over the smooth rock with my audience offering words of encouragement. It felt like it took an age to get down, and the three of them “clapped”. The shame of it.
Another snow shower, making the easy ridge run a lot more exciting, snowflakes covering up both grass and ice, making my footing a lottery. It was easier to avoid the path altogether, as this was where most of the icy sections lay hidden, first to Gibson Knott, then Calf Crag. The cloud was lifting and the day’s first shaft of sunlight lit up the stream in the valley.
Deeper snow on the traverse round to Tarn Crag, two Red Deer, standing stock still, watching my progress. I couldn’t resist a quick jog down to the cairn and the splendid view overlooking Easedale Tarn, made even more special as the sun was now trying to come out.
On up the climb to Sergeant Man, through ever deeper snow, even some knee deep snow drifts. As I climbed, the clouds built up, until everywhere was white. The ground, the sky, even the air. Visibility had suddenly reduced to a few metres, and now there were sections of rock hard snow underfoot, interspersed with calf deep soft snow. I couldn’t find Sergeant Man.
I looked everywhere, ran up every lump that loomed out of the whiteness. Eventually I gave up, got my map and compass out and took a bearing to High Raise, which I knew had a distinctive trig point on the summit. From here, I set the compass back to Sergeant Man, finding it just a few metres beyond my old footprints.
From Thunacar Knott, another bearing through the clag, to Pike of Stickle, which had disappeared too. I wondered about my compass bearing, nothing on the ground made any sense with the map, then suddenly the black wall reared up out of the gloom.
I needed micro spikes for the final rocky ascent on snow and ice. The Langdale Pikes are clustered in a tight group, a Wainwright bagger’s dream. Through snow sculptures and deep snow drifts to Loft Crag, Harrison Stickle then Pavey Ark, every footfall a possible broken ankle.
Dropping down to Bright Beck, the dense cloud broke up and gave misty views of Stickle Tarn. Now I could actually see the landscape ahead, it was warmer too, so I took my cagoule off, and stuck it in my pack along with the map and compass. It’s all easy and familiar from here.
And then before I knew it, I was lost. Thick white cloud had enveloped me again. I hadn’t bothered to take a bearing, and just ran in the direction of Blea Rigg, knowing exactly where it was. Yet a very brief glimpse in a gap in the cloud revealed the distant rocky weir of Stickle Tarn. I’d somehow veered way off route, heading towards Langdale! Out with the map and compass again, trusting the bearing, not my instinct.
I got very tired on the long drag to Silver Howe. This is usually a favourite ridge run, although the wet snow and zero visibility made it very hard work, and it was a relief to finally reach the summit.
Coming out of the cloud on the descent felt like coming back down to earth. It was a relief to see colours again after the incessant whiteness. I sent a message home, saying I’d be a bit late for lunch.
13 Wainwright summits today, that’s 60 down, 154 to go.
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It took an age to get to Grasmere. I kept on having to stop and get out to take photos of the sunrise, the sky lit up red, not a breath of wind on the lakes.
My pack was reassuringly heavy as I jogged up the verge by the deserted road to Dunmail Raise. today I’d remembered my micro spikes. I took a vertical line up Seat Sandal, marvelling at the changing view, the sun casting shadows on the surrounding snow capped peaks. It was going to be an amazing morning and I was going to make the most of it.
Hard snow patches surrounded the rocky summit cairn. I headed north east, knowing this was where any lingering snow would be. Micro spikes are a great invention, although they probably encourage people like me to take more unnecessary risk. I was looking for a steep snow slope to have some fun, and came up trumps. A ribbon of white dropped down towards frozen Grisedale Tarn. My technique is simply to lean forward and take big strides and go as fast as possible, making a lot of whooping noise. Absolutely exhilarating, especially at this early hour with no one else around.
Climbing the steep, frozen, grassy slope of Dollywagon Pike, I made it more difficult for myself by stopping to take photos every few minutes. The views were stunning. At the top, a huge spectacular cornice meandered it’s way to Helvellyn in the distance.
I ran along the ridge, over Nethermost Pike and soon I was standing at the summit cairn, marvelling at the criss crosses of ice on Red Tarn way down below. I was going well and my ankle was holding up, so decided to extend my planned run and make the most of the good weather and being up so high.
Dark cloud was building up in the east, and the wind seemed to be getting a bit stronger, or maybe it was just more exposed here. The next three summits were a roller coaster of joy. Hard snow with patchy ice in the shade on the way down, then frozen grassy ground in the sunshine on the way up. I’d taken the spikes off after Seat Sandal, and enjoyed the skittering and sliding in my studs on some of the snowy sections.
In quick succession, I ticked off White Side, Raise, then Stybarrow Dodd. The ski tow on Raise was working, although I could only see two people using the slope, then again, it’s still quite early in the morning, especially as the skiers need to hike in to use this particular ski resort.
Wainwright must have had some time to kill when he included the next summit, Hart Side. It’s some way off the main Helvellyn ridge, although an easy run on a well defined trod around the steep upper reaches of Deep Dale.
Further on, contouring round Green Side, a pair of Ravens were waiting for me on a rocky outcrop, as though willing me to take their photo. They gave me a deep croak as a pre flight warning and took off, tumbling in the air like show offs, even coming back for another fly past.
This is most likely their territory. They probably have eggs in a nest on one of the nearby crags, and I remember they’re one of our earliest nesting birds. Their eggs hatch just in time to feed their young the protein rich afterbirth from new born lambs.
Sheffield Pike is one of my favourite hills. The views towards Ullswater and back to Helvellyn are sensational, although it’s the ridge line I love the most. The narrow path winds down steeply through the heather inviting you to hop around tight cambers and skip over rocks, a balancing act between watching where you’re putting your feet and getting in a quick glance at the views.
Finally Glenridding Dodd really is a doddle when you’ve made this descent, being a short climb through heather to the summit cairn, perched on the edge of the ridge overlooking the lake.
Max the van was waiting in the main car park of Glenridding village, where I’d left it two days ago. I changed into my freezing cold, spare clothes and drove back to Kendal for a well deserved lunch.
10 Wainwright summits today, that’s 47 down, 167 to go.
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It was a stupid idea really. I’d badly sprained my ankle only a few days ago, and hadn’t even managed a run since. The forecast looked great for a day in the hills though. After a bout of man flu, then half term family holiday, three weeks have gone by and I’d not done any Wainwright bagging. I was getting way behind my schedule. So, in a way, I’d no choice really. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Going over on my ankle again? OK – then I’ll strap it up.
Driving over Kirkstone Pass to Glenridding after lunch, I could see grey clouds building up, the early morning blue sky and sunshine had disappeared. I was a bit surprised by how much snow there was on the tops after I’d gone over Kirkstone Pass.
I parked the van in the National Park car park, signs telling me it’s free. Maybe an attempt to encourage people to the deserted village that took such a battering from the floods? First I strapped up my ankle with gaffa tape. I tried to remember who it was that put me onto gaffa tape for ankle strapping.
Definitely someone from my old fell running club Pudsey and Bramley. Rupert maybe? Or was that the Super Glue for blisters, or Araldite for cracked skin? Anyway, I remember strapping my ankle before a fell race with some expensive, zinc oxide tape when someone said gaffa tape would do the job just as well. A few weeks later I tried it and haven’t used anything else for almost twenty years.
Setting off along the road to Patterdale, I cut across the football pitch to start the climb to Arnison Crag. The ground was frozen, and I was wary about my foot plant. Soon I found a rhythm up the climb, using my poles and making good progress. From the summit, I took a contouring trod around the spur and then a big, steep climb to the summit of Birks.
All around the views were impressive. A big cornice snaked along the whole length of the Helvellyn ridge. Higher up on my route, St Sunday Crag was white. I started up the slope, picking my way along frozen snow to the top.
Ahead lay Fairfield, and as I started the climb up the arete in the snow, I remembered I’d taken my micro spikes out of my running pack before going on holiday. Ah well, I probably won’t need them. Higher up, the snow became hard and frozen. Fortunately there were some snow steps filled with spindrift and it was easy to kick steps into the holes. Nearing the summit, above me there was a bank of 50-60m of flattened cornice. I started up the steep slope, first kicking into old steps. The snow now became as hard as iron, frozen solid.
There were only the imprints from crampons, and now I was half way up and committed. I couldn’t kick steps into the rock hard snow, so instead I used my poles, picking away at the snow until I had a small ledge. As it got steeper, I found a small hole in the snow, obviously from an ice axe. By taking my glove off, I found I could insert the forefinger of my right hand into the hole – it was even curved down slightly. It gave me some reassurance in case I lost my footing.
Working my way upwards, I kept chipping away with my poles, and finding the small hole from the ice axe with my finger. The most difficult bit was just after the steepest section of the cornice. Suddenly, the hole from the ice axe had disappeared. Whoever had been up before me had simply used crampons on this flatter section having no further need of their ice axe. Yet I had nothing to hold on to anymore, and felt foolish for getting into such a situation and extremely vulnerable. One slip, and I was a gonna.
On the frozen, iced up, rock before the summit, I realised I’d made it and let out a whoop of delight. I was amazed to find it had taken me more than 45 minutes to overcome the snow slope. Running off the summit of Fairfield was interesting. The snow had thawed and refrozen, and the descent was treacherous with ice. Up Great Rigg, then dropping out of the snow line to Stone Arthur, before contouring round the valley and climbing to Heron Pike. The final easy descent to Nab Scar, trying to be as careful as possible on the frozen rock.
Reaching the bus stop, I found I’d missed the bus by just 3 minutes. I had a cup of tea and a date slice at the Rydal Hall Cafe, then walked the last section along the bridleway to Ambleside to catch the 555 bus home to Kendal. Fabulous!
8 Wainwright summits today, that’s 37 down, 177 to go.
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I knew it was going to be my lucky day when the front seats were free on the top of the double decker 555. I’d left home in darkness, dressed in yesterday’s smelly, damp running gear. Jogging down the slippery cobbled lanes, bright with rain, to catch the early morning bus to Ambleside.
As dawn approached, I could make out snow on the tops in the distance. Shafts of sunlight greeted us at Ambleside, and I hopped off the bus, looking up at the white hills and huge dark clouds.
First stop, Esquires Cafe in town, for a perfectly presented flat white coffee, a ten out of ten, a great start to my day. It was still early, there were only two other people in the cafe, a tourist couple, I think. They were eyeing me suspiciously. I got my map and compass out and took a safety bearing off Hart Crag. If it’s thick with cloud up there, finding the ridge off would be difficult. “Enjoy your run” said Mr Barista on my way out.
Leaving Ambleside behind, I ran along to Lower Sweden Bridge, the sun was up now, with clear blue sky above, and I soon reached the snow line. The sight ahead simply took my breath away. The fells white with fresh snow, untouched by footsteps. I was the first.
This kind of snow was perfect for running, only a few inches deep, already melting in the sunshine, with no ice underneath. There was hardly any wind and I could feel a spring in my step, the climb to my first Wainwright summit, Low Pike, was effortless.
Every few minutes I had to stop and take in the views, capturing the memories with my camera. On up to High Pike, and then to Dove Crag.
It felt surreal. I seemed to be floating over the snowy ground, totally immersed in the environment. Thermal cloud built up and subsided, constantly changing the shadows and contours. Every step a different view.
Hart Crag was next. The cloud seemed to disperse as I neared, as though opening her curtains just for my benefit. When I reached the summit, it was basked in sunshine.
Running down the snowy ridge to Hartsop above Howe, feeling dwarfed by the bulk of St Sunday’s Crag. From here, a steep descent through melting snow to the valley floor, at Dovedale, the battered remains of a washed out footbridge jammed between rocks in the beck below.
Across flat, green fields feeling the heat of the sunshine on my face. A wade across Hartsop Beck, then a steep climb back up to the snow line, and the summit cairn of High Hartsop Dodd. The views everywhere were simply stupendous.
I always follow a clear route when I’m in the hills. I hate “dog legs”, the out and backs to summits from the main ridge line.
I much prefer my running journeys to embrace vertical descents, river crossings and steep climbs over rough terrain.
For me, it makes for a more fulfilling journey. There’s more of a sense of adventure, a brush with running on the wild side.
Deeper, soft snow on Little Hart Crag, and at Scandale Pass I pick out a lovely contouring line, gradually climbing to the summit of Middle Dodd.
Hoof prints of Herdwick sheep in the snow confirming this as the best route.
Before I knew it, I was almost at my final summit, Red Screes.
I stopped, and spent some minutes taking it all in, genuinely saddened that I was coming to the end of my run on this special, special day. What a great day to be alive!
I picked my way down the steep rock, slippery with ice and melting snow, streams in the distant valley sparkling white with sunshine, down to the Kirkstone Pass car park.
“Patch” the van was where I’d left it yesterday afternoon. I jumped in, turned on the radio, and joined Gary Barlow singing one of his cheesy songs, getting home in time for lunch with Claire.
I just love it when a plan comes together.
Another 9 Wainwright summits today, that’s 29 down, 185 to go.
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I’ve got Joss Naylor to thank for the inspiration. I was flicking through his biography “Joss” and came across a piece about his acute back pain that gnawed away at me all day on Sunday. I suddenly felt pathetic. Reading about Joss and his own severe back troubles made me make some decisions about my own recent shoulder injury. Sod it, I’ll just have to live with the pain.
We still had our old van “Max” parked up in the Kentmere valley, after I’d abandoned a planned run over the tops from Ambleside. I checked the mountain forecast for the next day : 70mph gales, wind chill -20’C, white out snow showers. Perfect! Tomorrow afternoon I’d go and fetch it.
An early morning start, getting up at 5am to get some work done, making time for a long run later. Walking Ash to school, I was surprised that it was now cold and dry after so much rain. I had an early lunch, and Claire came back from a run on the Scars – “it’s looking very black where you’re going!”
I changed into my running gear, leaving my poles behind for once. I’ll wait until the soreness in my shoulder has gone before using them again. At the car park on Kirkstone Pass, I had some doubts about what I was planning to do. There were no other cars in the car park. As I stepped outside the wind nearly took the door off our “new” van Patch, so named, as it’s a 5 yr old Citroen Dispatch. It was freezing cold, and hail stung my face. I set off up the climb above the Inn, the ground soaked, some patches white with hailstones. My shoulder was sore but bearable, although I couldn’t push down on my knees, fell runner style.
Reaching the ridge brought a change underfoot, with frozen ground and ice. A red deer looked up, startled by my presence, and loped gracefully off. I was enjoying myself. I realised I would much rather be up here with a sore shoulder, in the freezing cold, than back home in a warm living room.
The wind was strengthening. With no poles I realised I could run with a map, so stopped to get it out of my bag. I then found I’d already slightly over shot the first summit, Caudale Moor. I doubled back into wind, my first Wainwright summit down in 28mins. The westerly wind was gale force by the second summit, Hartsop Middle Dodd, reached in 43mins. In the distance, the bulk of Helvellyn loomed white with snow against a backdrop of soot black cloud. I fought against the wind along the ridge before veering into the lee side and shelter. My route took me vertically down the steep, grassy slope, sodden with rain water. I took it very easy, not wanting to slip and fall.
In the valley, I waded through the river, then climbed steeply up, past a small stone barn with it’s new corrugated iron roof ripped off on the windward side, a single bent sheet flapping wildly. I had a bit of trouble pulling myself up onto a large boulder to climb the main intake wall. Then it was a steep climb up the ridge itself, back into the strong wind. The path was in the compression zone, the wind too strong for me. I took shelter off the path in the leeward side, putting up with long tussock grass and an awkward camber. Strangely, the wind was much less on the summit of Gray Crag, my third, reached in 1hr 20mins. A break in the clouds, shafts of sunlight and superb views in the distance to the shining levels of Lake Windermere.
I contoured round Thornthwaite Crag. Behind me, dark, menacing looking storm clouds were brewing in the west. I could see big, recent landslides on the steep western slope of High Street. The ground was now frozen again, all the rocks had a veneer of hard black ice. It was impossible to run on the main path. Then it came. I heard it first, and seconds later the gust front nearly bowled me over. Suddenly it was a white out. Hailstones hammering on the left side of my face, buffeting me with ice cold wind. It was a relief to see High Street cairn, my fourth summit, reached in 1hr 59mins. Now the wind was more from behind as I ran down to Mardale Ill Bell, the tarns frozen near the summit. As suddenly as it came, the storm had passed on, and sunshine gave spectacular views towards Ill Bell and Froswick.
Another dark storm was coming my way, enveloping Ill Bell. A pair of Ravens wheeled overhead in the turbulence. My fifth summit reached in 2hr 10mins. I had to avoid the treacherous, icy rock down to Nan Bield pass, with hailstones for company again on the climb to Harter Fell. By the time I’d reached this windswept sixth summit, in 2hrs 23mins, the sun was coming out again, and the views all around were spectacular.
Now I’m on very familiar territory, my “backyard”. The ground wasn’t quite frozen on the descent to Kentmere Pike, my shoulder painful as I pulled my leg out of a deep peat bog. Another hail shower, then the sun coming out as I climbed the stone wall to the cairn, my seventh summit, in 2hrs 40mins. Downhill now towards Shipman Knotts, another white out hail storm. The final summit, my eighth, in 2hr 59mins. I celebrated by eating one of the two muesli bars I’d brought with me.
Tired legs now on the final descent to the valley, running past the church, Kentmere Hall, then along the Kentmere Trail bridleway to the Hollingworth and Vose factory. It was now just going dark. My old van started first time, and I drove the short distance back home to Kendal.
8 Wainwrights today, 194 to go.
Graham Patten
Tuesday 2nd February 2016
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Here in the Lake District, the weather has been absolutely shit for the last week. Heavy rain, gales and even more rain. Last night the weather maps suddenly looked a bit more promising. Maybe even a window of good weather for late morning. I made plans to make good use of it.
The great thing about working for yourself is being able to work when you want. So this morning I was up at 5am. I did question my faith in the forecast. It was lashing down. Then as if by magic, walking my son Ash to school, it started to look a bit more promising. By 10.30am, I was changed into my running gear and heading off to Longsleddale.
My run started by the bridge at Sadgill, and then up the ancient, rocky drover’s road to Gatesgarth Pass. The sun had now come out and grey clouds were streaking across the sky. I was getting buffeted by strong gusts of wind. At the pass, I branched off right towards Branstree, the ground frozen solid. Except for the top couple of centimetres, which were as greasy as crude oil. Nearing the summit, the wind was phenomenal. I could hardly stand up and took refuge crouching behind a dry stone wall. I put on my cagoule, as I was freezing cold, the wind whistling through gaps between the stones. Feeling better equipped, I left my shelter and battled to the summit.
From here the wind was more or less behind me. Yet it was so strong it made me feel like I was running like a drunk, totally out of control, pushing me this way and that. It only took 10 minutes to get to the next summit, Selside Pike, and I rested in the stone shelter at the summit.
Returning back the way I’d just run was a battle of perseverance, right into the teeth of the wind. The noise from my cagoule and hat was incredible. When I bent into the wind, some of my steps didn’t even penetrate, I was running on the spot. It was exhausting work, and half an hour later, I made the stone wall near the summit of Branstree and shelter. I ran down along the wall, in the lee of the wind, with old snow drifts for company. To think that last year I ran these hills in the height of summer and struggled with heat and dehydration…
Another battering on the summit of Tarn Crag, then a reprieve on the downhill towards Grey Crag. A moment of doubt at the bottom of the hill crossing a bog. It was only as I was half way across and committed, that I recognised danger. The moss a vivid pea green colour. It sucked at my legs like a man eater, the moss visibly sinking a metre around me. Making myself as light as possible, I somehow managed to get across.
If anything, the wind was picking up. As I left my final summit, Grey Crag, I was literally crouching down with my hands on the ground trying to pull myself along through the compression zone. Further down, the wind eased for a second, then came at me in a powerful gust that lifted me off my feet, blowing my legs sideways. I landed awkwardly, bending my fingers of my right hand backwards and skidding downhill on the sodden grass. As I picked myself up, I shouted out “YES!”
Isn’t it a humbling experience to be reminded of nature’s power?
