Jim's Fellsman Experience

What can you say about the Fellsman? The event's home page pretty much sums it up really…

"The Fellsman is a high level traverse covering around 62 miles over very hard rugged moorland. The event climbs over 11,000 feet in its path from Ingleton to Threshfield in the Yorkshire Dales. Most of the route is over privately owned land, the use of which is secured by the organisers for the weekend only. This being the case, the route does not follow well defined footpaths, so the entrants' navigational skills with a map and compass are tested as well as their physical fitness. Because of this, only fit and experienced walkers or runners should enter."

My apologies for the length of this report but there are a few additions to the above :-)

It's nine o'clock…it's Fellsman time. That was the good luck and godspeed signal from the organisers that the 50th running of this epic event was underway. There was no panic, no nerves, no sense of haste, after all...what was the point? With the weather having been horrendous in the three weeks prior to the event it was with immense relief that, at least for now, it was dry and the skies were clear.

The Fellsman tally is a real collector’s item. Basically it’s the size of a CD with the names of all 24 checkpoints around its circumference. In a digital world this may seem a little antiquated but it is all that’s required, a very simple yet effective way of quickly accounting for every runner’s progress.

Ingleborough: Pete was slightly in front of me, Tony and Paul as we stretched our legs with a brisk walk to the summit. On any other day Ingleborough is a tough though very manageable run but with a whole day ahead, why burn energy to make it to the trig ten minutes quicker? Big thanks to Diddy Dave for the support at the trig. Up and over and heading for Hill Inn and the second CP. No problem, Tony and I were moving freely and everything was in check. Pete had pulled away slightly with Paul dropping off a bit, each of us with our own agenda for the day but united in the fact we were most definitely a team out there, and fingers crossed our individual pacing would merge in to one collective group in the later stages.

A great big smile and a spot of ‘illegal’ pacing greeted us at Hill Inn in the form of my three beautiful ladies who were a welcome sight even so early on. We passed Hill Inn (also the last feed station on the Three Peaks) and made our way towards the climb to Whernside CP3, again walking the vast majority of the ascent to preserve every bit of strength possible. I'd started on my Fellsman picnic by this time and had already enjoyed a handful of Jelly Babies and a packet of Shot Blocks.

As you approach Whernside summit you’re passed by runners who have already clipped coming in the other direction. This is where we spotted Pete for the first time about five minutes’ ahead; he looked happy and was moving well. Descending Whernside, we passed the main Three Peaks trail where it swings round to the left, and carried straight on following the wall before cutting down to the right to Kingsdale CP4 at 12.4 miles in.

Gragareth - what a scramble! A real all fours job ascending to the trig and CP5. Between Gragareth and Great Coum the wind was absolutely savage and very changeable. Just as you adjusted and ran leaning into the wind, it would switch 180 degrees and blow you off your feet! I wasn't alone in my discomfort though as Tony was doing a fine impression of Mutley from Whacky Races.

Flinters Gill CP7 felt like it took an eternity but finally we were heading down a very rocky track to the welcome sight of Dent. A few people were handing out goodies at the bottom but as Pete said later on: “I didn’t want to take owt in case it was a cunning trick to have us disqualified.”

Dent CP8 was the first of the proper feed stations, and what an array of food we had to choose from. Fruit, bread, cheese, hot dogs, tea, coffee, scones, flapjacks, biscuits but most importantly sausage rolls. I was a happy lad! Dent was a significant marker for two reasons: firstly it was around 20 miles in (good, I'm a third of the way and no real problems), and secondly we'd caught Pete. Team TAC almost united.

Next stop was Blea Moor. For anyone who is unfamiliar with Blea Moor the OS map shows an abundance of gills, tarns, becks and crags. If you throw the three weeks’ of rain we'd had into that mix, what you have is six miles of really nasty, knee-deep, rugged and exposed moorland that sees your average pace drop well below 4 mph. Pete recommended we skirt around the slight dip and instead keep on higher ground to avoid the worst of it but to be honest it was all as bad.

By Blea Moor CP9 it was obvious that Tony was having issues. Physically T was fine having raced 50-milers last season no problem, but he just didn't look comfortable. It turned out he'd suffered severe cramp since as far back as Great Coum and was still trying to run it off. Personally I blame his new Pulse Pants. As amazing as the human body is there is no way a heart can circulate blood round a grown man wearing pants that tight. Freddy Mercury would have loved a pair!

Leaving Blea Moor my pace increased briefly to sub 5 min/mile as I was chased through a farmyard by a rabid goose. "Don't worry lad, he's 'armless!” shouted a farmer with an unfeasibly large moustache. Did he mean I was in no danger or run otherwise you'll be armless?! I wasn't taking any chances and for a spell I would have given Usain Bolt a good run.

Stonehouse CP10 where they served tomato soup and pasta - brilliant, it went down a treat. Food intake was one of my concerns beforehand but so far so good. Pete joined me shortly after with Tony limping in 10 mins later: “That's it guys, I'm out!” Usually at this point a pep talk or words of encouragement are all that are needed, but Tony is a vastly experienced ultra runner and we all knew it just wasn't his day.

Fully refuelled we were off heading for Great Knoutberry Hill. At a little over 2000 ft it’s a good pull on fresh legs but at almost 28 miles in it felt like double that. Pete, Tony and I had recce'd the next section to Redshaw in training so we knew it well and made good time to CP12.

Redshaw-Snaizeholme-Dodd Fell-Fleet Moss all rolled into one and what I thought was tough earlier over Blea Moor had nothing on those sections. Runners stuck like sheep up to their groin and no sign of a track of any sort, not even a quad bike track.

Middle Tongue I will now always refer to as Tussock Land! Lifting your legs high enough to run quickly over this section was proving very difficult and with 38 miles done we had good news and bad news. The good news was, brilliant we were two-thirds of the way in to it. The bad news was...err...the same, we were ONLY two-thirds of the way in to it!

Eventually we made it safely over Middle Tongue thanks to Pete's nav skills. If I'm honest I was beginning to lose the will to reach for my map and compass and was more than happy to let Pete lead. For those of us who have run with Pete you probably know what I mean and (maybe he doesn't know this) I’ve discovered he has a little habit. Suddenly and without warning Pete stops, stares down at his map, takes a bearing, looks at the land then takes a second bearing before saying, “Mmmm...interesting."

Hell Gap CP17 and my tally card was finally looking like I was getting somewhere. I asked Pete how he was doing to which he replied, “I don't even like running you know Jim." I’m not sure if he was trying to boost morale or simply stating a fact but it made me chuckle all the way to Cray CP18.

Fooooood! A very small tent for 20-ish runners to squeeze into but the body heat was more than welcome as my hands were frozen following the small blizzard we’d encountered over Middle Tongue. We’d sat at Redshaw for 20 minutes and again at Cray for 15 and I knew if Paul was still out surely he was just behind us. We suspected he’d tried to help Tony at Stonehouse before pushing on (which turned out to be the case).

The marshals were asking for grouping at Cray which meant a minimum of four people with head torches and full leggings on. We had 30 minutes to get up Buckden Pike before we needed lumins so decided now was the time to push on. Just as we were about to leave I spotted Paul. Fantastic! He’d had a great run over Middle Tongue and was going strong. Paul was as pleased to see us and after a very brief stop (sorry Paul) we were off with another runner grouped with us.

The most noticeable thing about the tent at Cray was just how many runners were going in with very few looking like they fancied coming out! There was enough space blanket out to build a satellite. Maybe the thought of another 18 miles in the dark and cold was simply too much for some folk. I'll be interested to see the drop out stats at Cray.

Buckden Pike CP19 of 24 and for the first time I thought fingers crossed I might actually finish this. We made great progress from Buckden along to Top Mere and on to Park Rash.

At this point I would like to mention something that has over the last 15 months made me and Jenny feel more than just members of a running club but part of a bigger extended family and one we are both proud to race for. It's at least 11.30pm, very windy and cold, and at CP21 (which really is in the middle of nowhere) yet who was there to clap and welcome us in but Tony and Andrea! Andrea was well wrapped though surely still cold, but smiling and cheering us in with Tony, who was just as happy that we looked like finishing as if he’d still been running with us. Absolutely amazing team spirit! Thanks guys, you really picked me up.

Fifty miles done and just one more summit to go: Great Whernside. Snow covered parts of the top and a boggy scramble was required to reach the well trodden summit footpath and CP22. Only three more to clip in - almost there! Not quite... I had a major shut down physically at Great Whernside summit. Horrible sickness, I was cold to the bone and suffering from a strange foggy sensation in my left eye (that turned out to be a spot of wind blindness) plus I couldn't hold fluids down. I cursed myself for assuming I was home free at Cray and was desperately searching my pack for something I liked the look of. Saved by chocolate covered Kendal Mint Cake that went down and stayed down. Thank god for that! Thinking back now I can't actually remember taking it out of the packet.

The last couple of checkpoints from Capplestone Gate to Yarnbury are under normal conditions boggy but manageable, but nothing seemed normal by this point. We had caught a few other groups who decided that they were more than happy to follow us, though when I say us what I really mean is Pete.

Finally we reached Yarnbury, where we were de-grouped and faced the final run in to Thershfield. The last three miles is on road and I’d been looking forward to it all day. In reality it was torture. My feet and ankles were cut and in agony from multiple back-to-back ankle rolls over previous sections and it felt like I was running barefoot. Paul and Pete could have easily pushed on but I’m guessing that thought never entered their minds.

We clipped in for the final time at Grassington after 16 hours of the most amazing yet brutal running that I personally have done. We were greeted with clapping and cheering from the scouts and marshals who were amazing all day. When I refer to checkpoints, these were all fully manned even at the summits and trigs by happy marshals. It beggars belief really. Tony, Andrea, Jenny and my visiting parents were all there to see us back which was fantastic.

In summary (and if you're still reading by this point) the Fellsman is epic! But more than that, it’s an adventure. I thanked the “Fell Gods” for allowing us safe passage, after all, the fells are ALWAYS in charge, aren't they? And I’ll finish by saying have a go! If the Fellsman is lurking about somewhere in the back of your mind - as I suspect for a few it might - then go for it! You'll love it (but don't quote me on that)...