Jim's Seconded Fellsman

I've got to admit, a small part of me was thinking "What the hell are you doing Jim?" Somehow I'd ended up sat in the club house at Ingleton again this year waiting for 09:00 - Fellsman time.

Pete was wandering around like Snoopy dragging his leggings about, undecided as to wether he should set off in shorts or tights. T looked cool and collected as usual but no doubt the ghost of last year's attempt was lurking. There's very few events T has entered and not finished; I'd no doubt he would put that right this year.

After the well documented weather we ran through last year, the kit check this time was ticked off very differently. Clothes; spare thermals, spare gloves, extra buff...check. Food; never mind how many grams I need to pack to pass kit checks, what can I actually get down and keep down when I'm tired? Bivy bag: let's get this thing out and have a proper look, how do I actually use it? The only real change to this year's event was a digital chip stuck to the back side of our tally. This would hopefully enable the marshals to get a real-time account of where we all were. The organisation committee take runners' safety very seriously and they felt this system was worth a go. 

So after a 24-hour weather report and a very well observed 30 second silence for a long standing member of the volunteering committee (sorry I didn't catch his name) we were off heading for Ingleborough. The steps off were like Piccadilly Circus with walkers unwilling to give way to us descending. Passing through Hill Inn and up and over Whernside without incident, I picked up a personal "minesweeper" on the descent to Kingsdale, who took it upon himself to point out every bog he ran through "Ey up chief, watch out for that one, it's up to your shin!" I couldn't help but chuckle to myself thinking how he'd get on over Middle Earth, sorry, Fleet Moss.

Paul Brown was with me in spirt as I scoffed down the best flapjack in the Dales (which he'll vouch for) as I started the long ascent of Gragareth. Clipping in at the summit the climbing continues passing Great Coum on the long run on to Flinters Gill and finally Dent. At 20.5 miles this is the first proper feed station which I took full advantage of before setting off on the 1500-foot climb to Blea Moor. The section from Blea Moor to Stonehouse has a bit of a reputation but I passed through without problem and was soon sat eating pasta and tinned tomatoes at Stonehouse (27.8 miles). Here I offered my bag for random kit check which was just as thorough as the previous day's at Grassington.

Great Knountberry was the next clip and at 2203 feet is a real climb. Once over that it's great running to Redshaw (32.1 miles) and it felt great to be on a bit of cross country. Heading off to Dodd Fell passing Snaizeholme Fell the views are truly amazing. I stopped for a minute to admire the valley below and stretch my legs before scrambling up Dodd Fell. Ouch! It's only two miles from the summit to Fleet Moss but I really struggled over this section, stopping to throw up a few times - bad news with only 37.7 miles complete. My morale was massively boosted to see T arrive 5 minutes after me at Fleet Moss.

As Peter and Paul know, if there's a stretch of fell you don't want to be alone on its the next 8 miles. The reason the Fellsman is considered one of the toughest ultras in the UK is typified in the section from Fleet Moss - Middle Tongue - Hell Gap and Cray. The very best you can hope for is a bit of a quad bike track. It's tough. Really, really tough. Navigation is bad, the terrain is boggy and, as one fellow runner commented last year "How can you get 60 miles of tussocks into 8 miles of fell?!"

After a few wrong lines and far too much ground to the left gained we made it to Hell Gap. "Jesus, that section is sole destroying!" I said, to which T aptly replied "My god, it's like the end of the world!" Perfect description.

Chasing shadows in the moonlight. The last 20 miles...

The track down from Hell Gap to Cray is a rocky winding bridleway and it's so good to finally be free of the tussocks of Middle Tongue. The last of the evening light was drawing to a close and Buckden Pike was plunged into darkness. Reality hits that these last few thousand feet and miles are going to be very different from the previous 45. Up until that point, it had been relatively straight forward in comparison to navigating the remaining ones. Even with 1000 lumens on my headtorch the once familiar paths fade to nothing. Your world becomes a concentrated 20ft cone of light.

Grouping is the end of your "race" as you are teamed with at least three other runners. You find yourself relying or directing runners you've only known the length of time it's taken you to put your tights on and finish your tomato soup. During daylight runners ahead lead the way and you can make adjustments to their route while following to make your line easier. In the dark this luxury goes - you can not assume the lights in front are on the right track. If you're lucky your group is a strong one with experience, knowledge, common sense and (fingers crossed) a GPS. If not, you're following a bearing or a wall while desperately trying not to turn your ankle. My mind briefly turns to my kit.

To me Hell Gap (checkpoint 45) feels like the halfway point. With the exception of Buckden Pike and Great Whernside the trail fades to nothing. Fitness amounts to most of your success, yes, but mentally this section is so draining.

As soon as you leave Hell Gap you're on the ascent to Buckden Pike and it's quite a scramble. We kept right of the ravine and joined the footpath three-quarters of the way up before pushing on to the trig. Once clipped and our grouping card was checked we were off. Tony and I started running but almost immediately the group split with one runner dropping way off the pace. He was a fit chap with nine Ironman events under his belt but he was honest enough to say that he'd COMPLETELY underestimated the Fellsman. He intended using it as a training event for his Ironman series. I'm guessing it's earned his respect now.

We decided that a good walking pace was the best strategy as it was getting cold and I was becoming a little concerned about our group. We made a good walking pace to Park Rash where we stopped to refuel. The tent was wet and windy and had a few groups sat down and leaving. Cue Tony! With ACDC blasting out of a CD player, T started kicking his heels across the tent whilst playing air guitar. It was hilarious! 

Even if our group had been in better shape we'd have walked to the summit of Great Whernside. It's a boggy mess and sucks the rest of the life out of your legs, but when you clip in at the trig you're into single figures. Our new Ironman friend asked me how far to go to which I replied about nine miles. He let out an OMG like he'd stepped straight out of a shoe shop fashioning his new shoes and stood straight in a fresh lump of dog crap. 

The previous seven miles of run/walk hadn't been kind on my ankles. They were cut and bruised and felt swollen. I'd had enough now and my lack of endurance training this year was showing. This year's event was all about finishing for me and, oh boy, was I ready to finish. With only Capplestone Gate and Yarnbury checkpoints to go I knew that baring injury I'd finish.

We eventually arrived at Yarnbury, de-grouped and split up immediately! Mmmmmm! As painful as those last road miles are you do them with a smile because you are now officially a Fellsman. It's an amazing event that deserves its reputation. Every now and again we do events so hard that it kind of feels like you leave a bit of yourself up there on the moors! The Fellsman Hike for me is one of those races.

Waiting for us at the finish was the ever-present Andrea, who doesn't have to be a runner to be as big part of TAC as anyone, and my wife Jenny still beaming from her Three Peaks run. Home, shower, compression socks on, feet up in the air (cheers Pete!), ibruprofen and sleep. 

Will I do it next year? Absolutely not...Never...Maybe...Probably...Can't wait!