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?
It was a gorgeous sunny morning, with blue skies. I started thinking about a Wainwright run for this afternoon, after work. I packed my running gear and left home for another adventure. The distant fells were white, bright with snow.
First stop, Staveley. I wanted to see what state the bridge was in by the Eagle & Child after December’s Storm Desmond. It’s in a sorry state. Completely knackered, with a big hole in one end and visibly collapsing in the middle. What’s surprising is that the river Gowan is a tributary of the Kent. It seemed inconceivable that the small stream today could have been the raging torrent that could wreck a bridge and spill over the walls flooding the nearby homes.
I wondered why as I walked over the footbridge and into the More? Bakery in the Mill Yard, for an early lunch of haloumi, jalapeno, hummous and rocket ciabatta, with a flat white coffee. The bakery seemed quiet and there wasn’t a lot of stock on the shelves. Sitting on a stool by the big window, I watched a pied wagtail paddling in circles in a small puddle outside. After lunch, I drove to Troutbeck for the start of my run, parking next to the church.
The first person I met was Phil Clarke. He’d just been for a run on Sallows and Sour Howes.
“It’s magical up there”, he said, “but hard work. The snow’s hard on top, then collapses into dinner plates”.
I had a short climb out of the valley floor, then a gradual descent along the bridleway going towards Troutbeck Tongue. There’s a lot of new tree planting either side of the trail, and I’d not been down this path before. As I got nearer to the Tongue, there were a few small land slides, and a farmer on a quad bike gathering his sheep from the fell with his dogs. I enjoyed the scramble climb up the rocky spur, and made the summit in good time.
There was soft snow along the path towards Thornthwaite Beacon, and this quickly became hard work on the climb itself out of the valley. Deep, “post holing” snow, where the sun had softened it. Harder in other places, so there was a mixture of easy steps, not so easy steps when the snow gave way, and really hard steps when my foot went down through the snow to my knee. It was fun, but slow work, and very, very tiring.
I thought back to last year and how these snowy runs really toughened me up during my Bob Graham training. It took an age to get to Thornthwaite Crag. It was impossible to get any momentum going. I tried to run properly a few times. Once, my foot went down so far, I fell forward, then my arms disappeared into the snow too. I was lying flat, my face pressed against the cold snow and I could hardly push myself out!
I decided at Thornthwaite Crag that it would make the most sense to return via Froswick rather than head on to Gray Crag (and High Street, then Mardale Ill Bell) as I’d originally planned. I was taking probably twice as long as I thought I’d be, just to get here. The huge cairn on the summit was a spectacular display of ice sculpture, and someone had built an igloo next to it for shelter.
More fun and games on the way down towards Froswick, more face plants in the snow when I tried running too fast. It was easier going on the main path, where other people had compressed the snow. So I made good time to the summit at Froswick, and then Ill Bell and Yoke.
The views all around were tremendous. White, snowy summits. Blue sky, with clouds of every shade of grey, and shadows of each contour. My achilles were now getting sore. I was wearing Walsh PB’s with a number 3 written in magic marker on the heel tab. The last time I wore these shoes was on Leg 3 of my BG round in May last year! It probably wasn’t the best idea to try and run in them after so long in these conditions whilst still under the effects of jet lag with swollen ankles from the long haul flights.
The sun was now sinking, with the light becoming even more wonderful, sparkling off the snow. It was very hard going on the ascent of Sallows from Garburn Pass, no-one else had been up here so I was making new steps in the deep snow, and I was really tired.
By the time I reached Sour Howes, the skies turned into a spectacular red, orange and pink sunset. I jogged back down the lovely rocky ridge towards Troutbeck, satisfied with 7 more Wainwrights.
A couple of years ago, in 2016, I came up with an idea for a personal challenge. To run all 214 Wainwright summits in the Lake District within 214 days, that’s by 1st August.
It would become my third successive year completing all the Wainwrights and since then, I ran the lot again last year, to make it four years on the trot.
Looking back, one of the real pleasures I took from the year was in writing short reports about my Wainwright journeys and posting these on my Facebook page. I got a lot of encouragement from fellow running and walking enthusiasts who seemed to enjoy my writing and photo memories.
Now I’ve started this trail running blog, I thought it would help bring these articles to life, especially the photos. They may also help inspire others to get out into the beautiful hills and mountains of the Lake District. So I intend to republish each and every one, throughout this year, and try to match the actual dates from 2016.
This was my first piece, published on 20th January 2016. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy remembering each one of these magical journeys.
What’s the point?
So, what is the point?
I’ve asked myself this question a number of times. It all boils down to the sheer enjoyment the whole enterprise gives me. I love planning new routes, linking Wainwright summits up in different ways. It entices me to visit places in the Lake District that I just wouldn’t go to otherwise. Trying to fit these mini adventures in with family and work life often means either early morning starts running with a head torch, or late afternoon / evening runs after work or a family day out.
Of course, this also means I’m often high in the hills for spectacular sunrises or sunsets. Venturing out bagging Wainwrights also helps me to get hill fit, and as I’m planning an attempt at the Joss Naylor Challenge in May later this year, I’ll need plenty of miles in the bank to succeed.
My first Wainwright of the year was Wansfell late yesterday afternoon. It only took around 20 minutes to run through the snow from Troutbeck village to the summit. Yet the views from the top simply took my breath away. The sun was setting in the west behind the Coniston fells, and the light, with the cloud and snow capped peaks, was totally captivating. I spent over twenty minutes at the summit, mesmerised by the views and taking photos. On the run back down, slipping in the soft snow, I smiled to myself for deciding to run all the Wainwrights again this year. This is the first of many, many fantastic experiences I’ll enjoy over the coming months. One down, 213 to go …
So, the whole point is really explained by this photo!
Over the last fourteen years, I have had the good fortune to hear some incredible life stories from ordinary people taking part in the Lakeland Trails events. This one was right under my nose. Nicky has been helping with the Lakeland Trails for the last few years, progressing from marshalling, to event crew, even running in most of them. Recently, I came across some old photos that Nicky had posted on her Facebook page. They made my jaw drop. It was hard to believe this was the same woman I had come to know. I wanted to find out more about her life story, leading to this interview with Nicky.
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Nicky : My name is Nicky Ridley, I am 39 years old and live in Milnthorpe, Cumbria. I am a Support Worker for elderly adults and those with dementia
Nicky, I first met you (and husband Chris) as volunteers at the Lakeland Trails in Staveley – was it really only two years ago? What brought you there?
Nicky : Yes it was two years ago. How time has flown!! We were introduced to Lakeland Trails by Laura Ruxton, who told us they needed marshals and what fantastic events they were. We were not up to the distance of running them yet, but we thought if we could help out it would give us an insight into what trail running is all about. Laura introduced us to the other marshals, explained where we would be and off we went. I was inspired by all the runners there, coming in at different speeds, how muddy they were. It made me smile. All the cheering that went on and how all the runners thanked all the marshals. It was just such an amazing atmosphere. I knew then I wanted to be on the trails. I felt part of the Lakeland Trails team
So, at the time, you’d just started running?
Nicky : Yes. We had just completed the Couch to 5K, so we were moving up to 10K distance. Our running had all been on the road unfortunately. I had never ventured on to the trails as the thought never entered my head that I could do it. I watched videos of all these fit people running marathons and running in the fells but always said to myself I could never do it. These people were my heroes
Nicky – ‘before’
Why did you start running?
Nicky : I had lost 8 stones in weight and I’d tried all sorts of different fitness activities, like going to the gym, Pilates Zumba and many other things. However, I was getting bored as it was being stuck inside. One day my husband Chris said he wanted to run a marathon before he was 40. So that is when the Couch to 5K training programme came in. At first I hated it. I don’t know why, I just did! But now I can say I love running it’s my stress reliever from my job.
I’d never really appreciated what you’d achieved already by just running until I saw some photos of a bigger version of you a week or so ago. Could you tell me what you and your life was like then and how long ago this was?
Nicky : Well my life back then, a whole nine years ago, was so different. I was never small, I was about a size 16. Then I started to exercise. I used to go for walks but not as much as I do now! I lost a little weight for my wedding in 2005, only to gain it all again, and some more, pushing me to 18 1/2 stone and a size 20/22. But the worst was yet to come!
Nicky eight years ago
I was driving back from Lancaster and had what we thought was a blackout at the wheel of the car. After many test and scans I was diagnosed with epilepsy and my world fell apart. I struggled to deal with this, and had many seizures. After a while and talking to the right people things started to change. I began to gain a positive attitude. I decided epilepsy wasn’t going to beat me.
How difficult was all of this lifestyle change at first?
Nicky : If I am honest, it was very difficult. I had to change what I ate and drank due to the medication I was on. I had to introduce gentle exercise and meditation to relax me. I still had lots of seizures, but I was determined not to give in to IT.
What or who helped you?
Nicky : I have a fantastic GP who is a runner and he also runs the Lakeland Trails. He has been a great support, although I get the odd telling off every now and then, if I overdo things. My Neurologist is in Blackpool and he told me everything I needed to do to get my epilepsy under control. So I did what I was told and he has backed me 110% with my running and is amazed with what I have achieved. I did join Weight Watchers and I would totally recommend it if you are someone who needs help and support with weight loss. I am not ashamed to say I did and I would definitely go back should I need to. I actually help out sometimes too, because some people think if you exercise you shouldn’t eat. Of course, you can and you should! Then there’s my husband Chris, who has been fantastic. He has helped me through everything – epileptic seizures, running races with me and generally in life.
Did you have any relapses on your journey to getting fitter?
Nicky : The only relapse I had was when we went on one holiday where there was nowhere to exercise. It was an “all you can eat and drink” holiday. As soon as I returned home I was back running again. Now I always try to make sure there are places I can go running before we book (crazy I know)
Nicky running in the Lakeland Trails in Staveley
Any funny moments?
Nicky : Many times when I have ended up sliding down grass bankings on my bum or falling in bogs up to my knees. I think my best moment was when I did my first Lakeland Trails with the ‘Sting in the Tail’ and I lost my shoe in the mud. A really nice man helped me get it out, but as I got mine back on, he got stuck and lost his. Then two marshals had to help him get out. It was only when he saw me marshalling at the next event he said he won’t be helping another woman stuck in the mud again, bless him.
Did getting fitter have any other positive impacts on your life?
Nicky : Most definitely, since losing all the weight and starting running it has certainly helped to get my seizures under control. I have a much more positive outlook on life. I have met so many new friends who I now run with and I love it, I would never have done this eight years ago. Trail running has opened up a whole new world for me
After volunteering at Staveley back in 2015, what happened next?
Nicky : I started looking for trail races to train for as I wanted to increase my mileage. I also wanted to do the Lakeland Trails in Staveley as that was the first one I had been to. I ran it and got the T-shirt !
Running the Lakeland Trails Marathon with husband Chris
Last year, in 2016, you first completed the Lakeland Trails Marathon. Then a month later the Ultimate Trails 55km Ultra Marathon. What did you think during and after these experiences?
Nicky : The Lakeland Trails Marathon in 2016 was my first ever marathon. I chose that one because it’s Lakeland Trails and it’s a stunning route in the lakes. If I’m honest, I was terrified. I was running for the Alzheimer’s charity, so I didn’t want to fail. On the day it was 30’C heat, and I’d never run that far before, yet I felt determined. Seeing happy marshals all the way round was brilliant.
Nicky nearing the finish of the UT55 ultra marathon in 2016
Then came my biggest challenge ever – the Ultimate Trails 55K Ultra Marathon, a month after the Marathon. Everything was going through my head! Would I start? Could I finish? Would I even get to Glenridding? Will I have enough water? Enough food? Will my legs make it? Yet what an experience! Every runner on that course was cheering everyone else on, asking if they were OK. The Marshals were fantastic and couldn’t do enough to help me.
I ran my first marathon in 5 hours 20 minutes, I think, and the UT55 in 9hours 1minute. Now I say to myself – girl just enjoy it! I have learned a lot from running them both. I am never going to be first, I just want to get round and enjoy the experience of running with amazing people.
And your next challenges?
Nicky : I have a few races booked for next year, the Grizedale marathon and then I am doing the Lakeland 50 again. I am really looking forward to running Lakeland Trails Coniston Marathon with my friend Emma Atkinson as she does a lot of the Lakeland Trails, although she has never completed the marathon. She is so nervous and we are running it together.
What advice would you give to someone in your shoes from eight years ago?
Nicky : You don’t have to do a massive number of miles all at once. A mile is a mile and you’re moving more than the person on the couch. Just believe in yourself and don’t let people sabotage your dreams. My mantra is “Be Strong – I Am Strong”. Make the right choices in life and you will succeed
Nicky nowadays
Thanks Nicky, I am sure your story will help inspire many others!
Have you got a story to share? If you have and think it may help others, please drop me a line and I thank you in advance.
Recently I returned from a run in the woods in a state of high euphoria. I was buzzing. The light was perfect with intense late autumn colours. I captured some of these images with my camera. I wondered if others experience this heightened sense of self that comes after a brush with nature? What is it that makes a run in the woods so special?
As I thought about it, there was a sudden realisation that this is where my own running journey really started. Maybe that’s the reason I always feel this way. Is it as simple as that?
The spark that ignited my love of running hit me when I was fifteen years old.
Memories of cycling along quiet back lanes with a couple of school friends from my family home in Clitheroe, nestled in the damp, yet beautiful Ribble Valley. Half an hour and a handful of miles to the north, to a small mixed woodland, called Bashal Eaves. A low key orienteering event was taking place there, and my mates Gary and Mike were keen to come along too. It was the first time I’d gone to an event under my own steam, although I had been orienteering a few times before with my dad. Almost all of these events took place on dreary open moorland or in dense man-made plantation forest. Neither were that inspiring.
Now I clearly remember that special moment. Even thirty years later, I’m smiling at the memory of it. I was running through dense, dark conifer trees, concentrating hard, trying to read my map. Almost impossible to keep any momentum on the rough ground underfoot. Staggering around, fighting over rotten tree trunks, stepping knee deep into hidden ditches full of black stinking mud.
Then I came out into an area of mixed deciduous trees. Shafts of sunlight streaming through the leaf canopy. My feet felt lighter, I had a spring in my step. I could run more quickly. Moving through the trees gave a real sensation of speed, perceived or otherwise.
That was it. I was hooked. That was the moment I suddenly appreciated the sheer, exhilarating joy of running. I’d fallen in love and I’ve been under it’s spell ever since.
Without fail, every time I run in the woods, I come back gushing with enthusiasm and inspiration. If I’m feeling in good shape and want to run really hard and test myself, I’ll go to run in the woods. Nothing beats a tough fartlek session through the forest, playing at speed, a return to being human.
On the other end of the scale, whenever I feel jaded and in need of a pick-me-up, I go and find some trees to run through.
Once I ran barefoot in a pine forest in Norway, where the ground was covered in deep moss.
Another memory of my first orienteering international in Sweden, when I saw a huge moose antler lying amongst the bilberry bushes. I stopped in my tracks and carried the thing nearly a kilometre to the next checkpoint, hiding it close by. It weighed two or three kilos. As soon as I finished the course, I doubled back into the forest to retrieve my trophy. I can’t remember my result from the event.
Standing mesmerised for a few minutes during another big event in Scotland, my first encounter with a Hawfinch.
In late summer, or autumn, I’ll often come back from a run in the woods with a bag full of wild mushrooms. Apricot yellow chanterelles perhaps, or a big, slug eaten cep. Occasionally I’ll discover something exotic, like a cauliflower fungus or the delicate purple of an amethyst deceiver. Year after year, I return to these ‘hot spots’ when the time feels right, my running turning into foraging missions.
I never tire of taking photos of all the simple things. Leaves against the sky. Light and shade. Or the graceful shape of a tree trunk. I get inspired by winding trails just inviting you to run and explore.
Silent, secret places
Woods are silent places. Full of secrets.
Stepping off the trails, you can soon be in another, primeval world. All your senses become razor sharp, attuned to every nuance. A loud, rustling amongst the leaves turns out to be simply a blackbird. An angry bark from a stray dog, a roe deer buck, calling out a warning.
A strong, almost sweet, musky smell of a fox in spring. Heavy, earthy aromas of organic matter slowly decomposing in the rains of late summer.
Often I’ll stop and stand completely still for a few minutes. Letting the woodland life slowly return back to normal. The deathly quiet starts to change. Animals and birds busy themselves again. So much can happen. The distant incessant chittering call from woodpecker chicks in a rotten old silver birch tree. The rounded silhouette of a tawny owl, big black vacant eyes following you, then silently taking off.
Before you know it, the minutes have flown by and an equilibrium has been restored, a nature cure.
For inspiration, I just go for a run in the woods.
Sign up before 22nd December and have a chance to win one of three FREE places along the beautiful woodland trails of the 2018 Hawkshead Trail (10K or 17K). These free places are for you or a friend. Think Beatrix Potter country, red squirrels, spring leaves on the oak trees and bluebells everywhere.
