The Fellsman

Race: The Fellsman (61m/12000ft)
Peaks: Ingleborough (724), Whernside (736), Gragareth (627), Green Hill (632), Great Coum (687), Blea Moor (535), Great Knoutberry (672), Dodd Fell (668), Buckden Pike (702), Great Whernside (704)
Area: Yorkshire Dales
Time/Position: 17.30 (89th from 322 starters [221 finishers])
Words like 'legendary' and 'unique' are overused, but tempting in the case of The Fellsman. A memorable outing which takes a beautiful line traversing all the main Yorkshire Dales peaks, most of which were entirely new to me - and with a sense of occasion, place, and history too (first run in 1962). So, very much my cup of tea, and I'd heard a lot about it from Peter and Dave who had both run it in 2015 (the year I ran the Yorkshire Three Peaks on the same day, another 'break' from the London marathon). Perfect timing, given the nature of this year and the fact I failed to qualify for what would have been my 9th London. After a meal at the pub in Threshfield, I slept in the car and we got the last bus to Ingleton at 6.30am after breakfast. The forecast was poor, after a baking-hot Easter weekend, although it was just light drizzle as we set off from Ingleton at 8.30am, up Fell Lane to the claggy top of Ingleborough, perhaps the shapeliest of all the Dales peaks. From here, the route descends the Three Peaks 'staircase', steeply down to Hill Inn via nice limestone scenery. Having done the Three Peaks twice (once on the race four years ago, once as a walker in 1988!) I knew this section in reverse, and I enjoyed the climb up to the day's highpoint of Whernside via Broadrake and a contouring shortcut, still feeling very fresh after a relaxed week saving as much energy as possible for this journey into the unknown. A lovely descent all the way down the ridge of Whernside to High Pike, all the way to West Fell, although the weather closed in with painful hail giving way to rain as we descended down to Kingsdale for the first proper feeding station. After a flapjack, the rain was hammering down for the steep climb up to Gragareth. I felt it might be set in for the day, a dismal prospect, but actually it cleared on top of Gragareth to give wonderful conditions for the next section, which was one of the day's highlights - north along Blakemaye, a broad ridge to climb over Green Hill and then Great Coum. This was tremendous, in shifting mist and strong winds, with wonderful views in all directions: black clouds over some hills, bright sunshine over others. We could see across to the Lancashire coast, and over the Howgills, with Whernside and the rest of the Dales emerging from the clag. Dramatic skies. We were both feeling good, and took the long descent from the hills towards beautiful Dentdale in our stride, even the rocky and awkward Flinter Gill which leads to the cobbled streets of Dent and the end of the first section. It hammered down as we sheltered under the cooking tent, wolfing down cheese pasties, sausages, melons and biscuits. The rain continued for the first of the day's two road sections, which doesn't last long, heading east up Dentdale to Rigg End before joining a steep track round the shoulder of Whernside to gain a beautiful contouring soft grassy track suspended above Dentdale - relaxation and respite - before a tussocky, awkward descent to Little Dale Beck in a tremendous sunburst as the weather began to clear from the west. Things were looking good; we were around halfway, both Peter and I felt good, and we ran off the top of Blea Moor in good spirits. This section had looked arbitrary on the map, but it is actually a brilliant way of taking in all the main summits. A steam train emerged from the tunnel as we dropped down the Dales Way towards Stonehouse: the famous Settle-Carlisle line hugs the hillside here. A long descent, hard running, down the road to Stonehouse and a grand feed including pasta! It was still sunny, but we began to hear rumours of approaching bad weather: a blow to morale, as things looked so promising. The rumours proved correct: it clouded over for the next climb up Hengill Beck to Cross Pits and the steep out-and-back climb to the summit of Great Knoutberry. The cloudbase stayed mercifully high for the tricky section over the featureless moor and bog of Arten Gill down to the road at Redshaw, another famous Fellsman checkpoint. Another big feed, ballast for the bogs of Snaizeholme - deep and cloying - which came next. Above, a gentler section, more respite, as the Ribble Way is joined. Behind, approaching weather - a big black cloud with the wind picking up as we reached Cam High road and the Pennine Way. A violent hailstorm hit - unpleasant at this stage of affairs - and the temperature dropped. We were now in a group of 7 or 8, which was fortunate, as the climb up Dodd Fell is not at all obvious, above the Widdale Valley to the north. A bleak, featureless, hostile summit and a remarkable feat of marshalling in these conditions. The hail eased to sleet, then rain as we made our way down to the road and the legendary Fleet Moss checkpoint. This is 600 metres up, and the weather was at its worst: torrential rain and sleet as we sheltered and put on the rest of our clothes. Everybody was soaking, taking in litres of tea, bean stew and lots more with the tent battered from all sides: memorable stuff. I'd been so optimistic at Stonehouse, but leaving Fleet Moss I was furious: thinking my appalling 2019 weather luck had struck again. I felt fine physically, but knew that the triple combination of rain, wind and darkness would make life very hard for the final section - Peter was not in the best of spirits either. That said, the next section was re-routed down the valley for access reasons, and although it extended things and added a long road section, it had one great benefit today in that we lost height rapidly and gained the shelter of Langstrothdale, where the rain got lighter and the temperatures warmer. Cue improved morale! We passed the hamlet of Oughtershaw then gained the top section of Wharfedale, psychologically crucial as it feels like you're heading home (probably nearly 20 miles away over several peaks, but no matter). Two goosander took flight from the Wharfe. Finally, we gained the new checkpoint at Yockenthwaite (wonderful Norse name), then climbed up towards Middle Tongue, savage at this stage in proceedings but enlivened by a truly wonderful clearance: shafts of sunshine to the west, a rainbow over Hell's Gap. My pleasure at this was short-lived, however, as I'd been following a northerly bearing to the next CP but there was no sign as we emerged onto Yockenthwaite moor, a bleak spot indeed. This was a problem, the biggest navigational issue of the day, and not ideal this far into the race under darkening skies with night approaching. Buckden Pike was clear of cloud across the valley - we still had a very long way to go. Another runner joined us, and thought the CP was hidden in a trough much further left: this was indeed where we eventually found it, more like a mountain marathon CP and a function of the diversion. Peter fell back at this point, as the light faded for the long traverse over the awkward terrain of Cray Moss to Hells Gate, then down the track to Cray as darkness fell. This, for me, is where the event really takes on its special character: it was cold as I dined on soup and coffee, waiting to form a group of four, which is a Fellsman requirement as soon as night falls. It took around 20 minutes for this to happen, and then our group left: it was a good one. I'd run with Saul from Middle Tongue, and we were joined by Sharon and Richard, who both had detailed local knowledge, so we took an excellent weaving path that eventually joined the main route up Buckden Pike. I loved this section: it was magical, with the lights of other teams twinkling distantly in front, and a frieze of stars emerging above as the weather cleared and the temperature dropped. Very fortunate timing. Great views to the lights of Darlington and Teeside to the north from the summit of Buckden. Then good running, still feeling good, down to Starbotton Road, then around and up to Park Rash and the final big feeding checkpoint. Another great climb up Great Whernside, the final peak, via Blackfell top, which was short and sharp. Although I'd enjoyed nearly all of it, I was ready to finish at times during the final descent, which is very long and tussocky in places (and the mist came down unexpectedly again for a while, making life difficult). It was now after midnight, with a hard frost forming in the pools of light from our torches, breath condensing in long plumes. Red beacons mark the checkpoints but it is impossible to judge distance as they appear then disappear depending on terrain. One of our quartet started to suffer, and slowed considerably on the long trek south to Capplestone Gate, and the run for home took on a surreal feel as fatigue sets in. Eventually, we reached the road at Yarnbury, after which the group is allowed to break up; I ran the final section, pushed on by another group of five who caught us up as we slowed, down Moor Lane road to the silent sleeping streets of Grassington and through to the finish at Threshfield school. An excellent chilli, eating staring into space, then a bus trip to the quarry car park and a somewhat uncomfortable second car boot bivouac. Next day dawned clear and sunny, inevitably.