Day 5: Farewell to The Lakes

From the B&B this morning I could clearly see the path up to Boredale Hause. This is a thoroughfare from Patterdale onto the far eastern fells. There was nobody on it all morning. There is nobody on the fells today. And that includes me.

No regrets. With conditions much as yesterday and snow starting to fall, I woke up feeling the same way I felt last night. It's not worth the risk. Today will be a rest day.

The Lakes phase of my walk has not been what I planned or expected. I thought it would be the hardest working phase, with the steepest and greatest climbs, but I was really looking forward to seeing it and walking it in a different way to my usual, climb up early - do a few summits - and head down. In the end it didn't get to do this, but I got to do something different instead.

When the weather first closed in a few days ago I was frustrated and irritated, particularly when it caused a break in my progress. Then recognising that I couldn't change it I became more philosophical and learned to play with the hand I'd been dealt. I am satisfied I did everything I reasonably could to get through on Friday and Saturday and in the end enjoyed excellent, and very different, winter walks on those days. The successful crossing yesterday was important for me. At least I got to win once.

I've seen aspects of the Lakes I'd never seen before, and contrasts from valley to valley too. The terrain and landscape changes, and each seems to have it's own weather system. And it was good to get just a glimpse of life in each of the villages.

In the end I am pleased with this phase. I put at least as much into it as I would if it had been straightforward, and I feel I know the mountains better now after my multi-day wrestle with them. I also feel pretty good in myself. I am feeling the effects of yesterday at the moment, but not much in the way of deep down fatigue, and my legs and feet are fine with no aches or pains worth mentioning.

Tomorrow I begin a new phase, running through to half way at the end of day 8. What I want to do now is put some miles on the clock. I'll seek the quick but attractive routes rather than the risky. I'll explore a part of the country I know little about, and I'll do it in the company of good friends.

This has been one of the great bonuses for me over the first five days: The appreciation and enjoyment of my family and friends (given that I'm the grumpy, solitary type).

Those first few days with Sherpa Dave, Mum and Ali were very special, and the experience was heightened because we had a common mission rather than just spending time. The way they helped me make difficult decisions as if they were for themselves, whilst trying to put themselves in my shoes, just illustrated how much they care for me. If I didn't know already.

Juliet and Douglas picked up the baton next. I had to talk them out of my Greenup Edge attempt they were so keen to join in (so I am capable of good decisions). I could have easily felt down that evening, having failed to get through to Grasmere; Sherpa Dave, Mum and Ali having left for home; and the disappointment of Carol not coming up, but they made sure I was OK. As for yesterday (read the Day 4 post), they demonstrated that they have the hearts of lions (as well as gold).

Ash arrives tonight for a two day stint over the Pennines. It will be good to spend some decent time together. Our lives have taken us in different directions lately and we haven't done this enough. Juliet and Douglas will be back for more on Day 8. I have promised them a more straightforward day, and it will be nice celebrating half way with them. Then the cavalry arrives. Dave & Rob ride into town (in my car!). Fresh legs and fresh spirits for the second half.

One of the things I've really come to appreciate at the end of a long cold day in the hills is somewhere warm and comfortable to stay, good food, and a friendly welcome. I've been very lucky in this respect. All of the places I've stayed have been excellent and I'd recommend them all.

The Shepherds Arms in Ennerdale Bridge is one of a surprisingly small number of places to stay there. The place is comfortable enough. Keith, the owner, was extremely helpful, in particularly in contributing his local knowledge to our Day 2 decision making. Indeed, the B&Bs on my schedule formed a network to check my progress, share weather reports, road conditions and so on.

Yew Crags in Rosthwaite is a lovely B&B. It is a fine house just outside the village with large comfortable rooms. The whole family shares in serving breakfast. A really nice feeling place.

Town Head Farm is a couple of miles to the north of Grasmere, at the foot of Helm Crag, although this splendid location isn't ideal for those wanting to see the bright lights of the village. It's like being at home. It's very small with a cosy sitting room. Jackie is just great. Straight talking and you get the feeling she really cares.

Last night I stayed at Crookabeck, down a track from Patterdale. I didn't particularly enjoy the extra mile or so at the end of my walk yesterday, but it was worth it. The accommodation is an annex to Adam and Charlene's family home, and you get a bedroom, a bathroom and a living room / kitchen. Warm, cosy and stylish all at the same time, and they have Sky Sports! Adam also helped transport my big yellow bag to and from the main road, the track to Crookabeck being impassable for normal cars.

Tonight we're at the Crown & Mitre at Bampton Grange. This is the late substitution I had to do when the Mardale Inn fell through. So far so good.





Finally, I enjoyed my rest day by taking a walk!

Day 4: Unnecessary Risk

Stage: Grasmere to Patterdale
Distance: 11 miles
Ascent: 3,550 feet
Time: 8 hours
Weather: Cold and bright. Strong wind on higher ground with vicious gusts, whipping up lying snow.
Conditions: Deep drifting snow. Ice.
Having already determined that this was going to be the day when I would make it through, if nothing else just to prove I could, I awoke to bright sunshine. Valley conditions were beautiful, although it was still exceptionally cold and even at this low level there was a cutting wind.



[photo: Helm Crag from Town Head Farm]

Having battled through the snow to drive north on Friday, and then to be confined to low level walking yesterday, Juliet and Douglas were determined to accompany me for at least some of the way today. On the basis that they were due to return home today their initial plan was to walk with me for an hour and then turn round and head back. In fact they did far more than this, and ended up having their own epic day. So much so in fact that they were still around in the evening, a bonus for me as we were able to have dinner together.



[photo: Douglas & Juliet - The calm before the storm]

The walk-in and initial stages of the ascent to Grisdeale Hause were uneventful, with Juliet & I trying to predict how long it would take Douglas to peel off some of his six layers of clothing. The moment never came.
Just short of Great Tongue the conditions started to turn. The wind whipped up the snow and for the first time of many we were forced to turn our backs to the squall. We also encountered our first deep snow drift. Caught unawares Douglas attempted to wade through a virgin stretch and sank into his thighs, taking several moments to manoeuvre himself free.



[photo: First drift of the day]

This set the pattern for the rest of our day, which was to be dominated by steep slopes, high winds and deep drifts. We fell into a repeating pattern of stopping to steady ourselves against gusts; turning to avoid snow squalls being blown into our faces; and picking our way through drifts. The cycle seemed to repeat every few minutes, with the intensity ratcheting up with each few metres of ascent. Progress was painfully slow. It was easier when others had preceded us as we could use their foot prints. There were very few others out in the hills though (and in the end none) and in no time any prints that were made were wiped clean by the drifting snow.




[photo: Picking a route through the snow, near the mid point]

As we approached the top of Great Tongue conditions deteriorated quickly, and we became alone on the hill. The ascent steepened, the wind strength increased, and the drifts were deeper me more frequent. Each of us at one time or other sank to the waist in snow, and each of us at some point was forced to crawl on hands and knees to make progress. In normal circumstances this would be straightforward climb up a well marked path. Today it was back-breaking work through a featureless landscape. The marked paths no longer existed, cairns were covered, and even streams disappeared.










[photos: Juliet fighting her way through. This sequence tells a story]

High up on the fell we painstakingly traversed Gavel Crag, with frozen snow and ice an added hazard by this point. Crampons would have been handy (if only I'd planned properly!). Instead I had to kick steps in the steeper, more treacherous sections, trying to make use of frozen snow rather than hard ice. This slowed progress further, although by now we sensed the top and were spurred on by the prospect of overcoming the conditions to achieve our objective.



[photo: Douglas & Juliet picking a route through an icy section]

Past Gavel Crag we were able to shelter behind a large rock, taking stock and refuelling. This rock had been Douglas's objective, reached after three hours of toil in an extreme environment. For the first time we had some respite from the ceaseless gale, and in the calm of the moment we were able to appreciate the beauty of these mountains, as well as the brutality.




This was our parting point. I would now go on the final few hundred metres to Grisedale Hause and then down towards Patterdale. Juliet & Douglas would begin their return journey. This must have been difficult for them. We were all pretty exhausted, and they knew exactly what they had to face. I could at least imagine a simpler journey ahead.

They are great friends, and on this climb supported me far beyond the call of duty. I don't know very many who would have had the nerve and strength to have done what they did today. What they'd also done was got me far enough up the hill that I could go forwards rather than retreating again. Maybe I wouldn't have come this far on my own? We'll never know. What I can say is that it is only when you've experienced it that you can properly understand how exposing being alone in these mountains really is. It disorientates and tires you. It erodes your confidence and will to succeed. It nags you to give up.



[photo: Parting point]

After saying goodbye to the others I continued my journey uphill. By now I could see the top of the pass, maybe 200 feet vertically and not far away. For this final part of the climb however there would be no protection from the elements at all. There were no rocks or even bumps or hollows, just unbroken, untrodden snow. I waded, tip-towed, crawled and slithered on my belly through it taking a bee line for my target point on the ridge. Visibility at times was virtually zero as snow was whipped up by fierce gusts. When this happened I had no option but to hold my position and wait for it to pass.



[photo: Grisedale Hause]

Over the top Grisedale Tarn came quickly into view. It is a high mountain tarn that on another occasion might make a good location for a wild camp. Picking up off the water the wind was now constant and in my face, and colder and stronger than before. It was a brutal scene.



[photo: Grisedale Tarn towards the outflow]

I know Grisedale Tarn, although this scene was virtually unrecognisable. All the reference points had gone. Just a field of snow between me and my target at the outflow at the far end of the tarn. I saw that the tarn was partly frozen, and that around the edge the ice had been covered by snow making it indistinguishable from land. Conscious of this I improvise a route through the snow at a safe distance although this a meant a difficult partial re-ascent.
In normal conditions this would be a 15 minute walk. I toiled for an hour to reach the outlet. By now I was starting to read the snow, and could sometimes pick a route over firm snow (for example, sculptured snow equals firm, usually). I sometimes got it wrong and ended up swimming in the stuff.



[photo: Approaching the outflow]

The outflow at Grisedale Tarn is a network of fine streams around a wider central flow. I needed to cross over from south to north to get on my path down the valley. Ordinarily this is a trivial task requiring little thought. Now it was at eye level and an undulating landscape of snow and ice route finding was not so straightforward.

I started to make my way across, looking out for hard ice indicating water below and poking through with my walking poles to check for solid footholds. Some way over, with my objective close, I stood and pondered my next move. In the howling gale decision making required concentration. I felt the ice beneath the snow I was standing on start to crack. I had stopped on one of the outflows.

Before I could react the ice gave way. Instinctively I threw myself forward to maximise my surface area above the ice. In a moment I was able to scramble free and across to the other side. The water probably wasn't very deep, but for a split second I had imagined I was over the tarn itself. It was an uncomfortable moment.



[photo: Looking back to Grisedale Tarn]

The walk down was long and hard, and conditions only slowly improved, with gusts and smaller drifts in evidence right down into the valley. After my experience by the tarn however it was a relief and I enjoyed the walk out despite by now being pretty tired.



[photo: Frozen waterfall on the walk down]

So, I had succeeded in battling through extreme conditions to cross a Lake District pass and break through to my destination the other side. I have shown myself that I can do it and I am proud of myself. These eight hours of hard labour represent one of the high points in my mountain career so far.

The incident by the tarn however has unnerved me. I was perhaps lucky to have escaped with wet feet and a bruised knee. It could have been much worse. Indeed there are hazards with almost every step in these conditions. A slip or fall could result in a broken bone or sprained ankle. Some of the drifts are deep enough to swallow you up to your shoulders, and in an exhausted state escape may be tricky. The snow conceals streams, rocks and holes underneath that too could lead to injury.

In a group an accident or injury can be managed, and at least someone can be dispatched to get help. It may also be OK when other walkers are around. When walking alone however, with nobody around, a disabling injury would be a real problem.

I think I'll learn from my near miss. I don't need to take this sort of risk. Or maybe I'm just a bit spooked and I'll be ready for more of the same tomorrow?!



[photo: Exhausted and Sporting an ice-beard in Patterdale]

Juliet & Douglas made it back to Grasmere safely. Their descent was long and arduous but they managed it with certainty, and without their mountain guide! Great job.

Day 3: Footprints in the snow

Stage: Rosthwaite to Grasmere
Distance: 7 miles (walked)
Ascent: 1,600 feet
Time: 4 hours 10
Weather: A little snowfall, but more blown up in gusts. Wind cold but slightly eased from yesterday.
Conditions: Trecherous. Deep snow drifts and hidden hazards underfoot.

This should've been one of the most pleasant days of the walk, enjoyed in the company of friends. Juliet and Douglas had made it to their base in Grasmere Friday evening, but after postponing their journey until Saturday morning Simon, Austin and Carol decided not to risk the journey.

After hugs and goodbyes with Sherpa Dave, Ali and Mum I waved them off from our B&B. I've had a cracking weekend with them, and if anything the unexpected challenges we've had cemented us as a group. I could not have wished for a better send-off.

Based on another poor weather forecast and the visibly difficult local conditions I urged Juliet and Douglas not to join me today, and they did some lower level walking around their Grasmere base. We agreed to meet up later in the day. I set out solo from Rosthwaite with a clear safety plan to pull out if I felt it was becoming dangerous. I was sure that if I could get up to Greenup Edge I would be able to make it because my knowledge of the descent into Grasmere is good, including in poor visibility.




The first part of the walk, south out of Rosthwaite alongside the beck, was promising. There was still a light snowfall, but conditions were benign and the tops of some of the surrounding fells could be clearly seen. As I turned east towards the foot of Eagle Crag though the wind whipped up and some drifting was in evidence, even though this was still at the valley floor.

I was comforted that the path had been trodden by others this morning, and the foot prints plotted a route through the increasingly deep drifts. Gradually the prints drifted away until eventually, as the hill steepened, I was kept company by a single set. I continued this way for some time, stepping in my predecessors footmarks to avoid sinking in the deeper snow.




Ultimately I lost my friend, as the footprints veered right and curved back down the hill. Now I was alone. The knowledge that I was the first to tread this way today weighed heavily. I felt more exposed and conscious of the danger of my situation.

The practicalities of climbing upwards also become more difficult, exponentially. Now I had to plot my own route, keeping a steady uphill direction, navigating through the drifts, and avoiding dangerous rocks and hollows. It was painstaking work as I used my poles to survey the snow depths ahead of my steps. I made frequent mistakes, and slipped waist deep into drifts a couple of times. Later I frightened myself by missing the side of a concealed rock, scraping my shin down it. This could easily have been a sprain or worse.




Several times I stopped and considered my situation, each time coming closer to turning back. Near Lining Crag, not so far from the top of the pass, I approached a deep drift across a gully. I think I knew the game was up before I reached it. As I came up close the lip of the drift came above my shoulders. I couldn't see a feasible route round, and after taking a moment to process the reality of defeat I turned and headed downhill.




OK, so I'm no explorer. However, it's worth noting that I have a pretty fair chance of making it to my 50th birthday. Something Scott and Mallory didn't achieve!

Soon after turning back I bumped into a solo walker following my footprints in the opposite direction. We discussed his prospects for a few minutes. I think he considered retreating with me, and for my part I wondered if I might give it another try. Walking together would be safer, and we could share be route finding. In the end we both decided to stick with our current plan. We shook hands, wished each other good luck, and moved off in our different directions.

As I approached the end of my retreat I could see a figure coming down the mountain. I wasn't sure at the time but it turned out to be the walker who passed me. He pulled over at the bus-stop I was waiting at for my ride over the Keswick and offered me a lift all the way to Grasmere. He'd continued until my footprints finished and then for a further few hundred metres, but became unnerved by the exposure of his situation and exhausted by the difficulty of cutting his own path through the snow.




I was a little down as I made my decision to turn back today, wondering if I could have pushed on further. It is a selfish thought but the fact the other walker also turned around after extending my farthest point by only a little helped me be satisfied that I has pushed far enough. Given the time of day I suspect nobody went over that pass today.

Since arriving at my B&B this evening I've been contacted by several concerned friends and also seen the weather related carnage across the country. Maybe it's something just to be giving it a go in these conditions. I hear this is the coldest March in 50 years. How symmetrical!

The weather looks like it will further deplete my walking party. Jo hasn't been able to make it, and Ash is flagging a concern for his arrival on Monday. We'll confirm plans tomorrow. Juliet and Douglas plan to return for the Kirkby Stephen to Keld leg and this will be a real bonus. They are always great company and we've had a really enjoyable dinner together this evening.

As for my journey east the next two days are key. In this part of the world there is no feasible low level walking route from west to east and it is necessary to cross the mountain passes. My plan is to do what it takes to get myself and my big yellow bag across to Patterdale tomorrow and then Bampton on Monday. My first choice will be to walk but if this becomes dangerous or infeasible I will use alternative means. Suzi starts her work tomorrow, and hopefully the roads will be sufficiently open to allow her through.

After Bampton the situation should ease. The terrain is a little more forgiving and there are more escape options. This means if the fells are too difficult I should still be able to continue on foot, even if it means using the roads.

Day 2: Something about discretion and valour

Stage: Ennerdale Bridge to Rosthwaite
Distance: 8 miles (walked)
Ascent: 1,200 feet
Time: 3 hours 40
Weather: Strong winds, heavy snow, blizzard conditions higher up. Very cold.
Conditions: Lying snow and drifts. Footpaths and roads indistinguishable in places.


Well, it's been an interesting day. I guess the main thing I have to report is that the dream is over, at least in its purest form. I am no longer able to cross the country under my own steam.


Oddly enough I feel OK about it. I don't feel my coast to coast is broken. I've had a thoroughly worthwhile walking day, and I'm ready for more.


I thought cumulative fatigue would be the most likely cause of failure. It hadn't occurred to me (despite Juliet's warning) that I would be stopped in my tracks, at the end of March, by a blizzard! I guess it's been coming. There have been national and local forecasts warning of severe weather, and as we walked into Ennerdale Bridge yesterday afternoon local man pointed skywards proclaiming "it's coming" as if foretelling of some impending doom.


This morning we awoke to just a sprinkling of snow, although the wind was howling against the building. By the time I joined the others for breakfast the owner of the B&B we were due to walk to today had already phoned around the accommodation in Ennerdale to locate us and deliver a plea that we should not attempt to cross the mountains to her, adding that we should drive there early before the roads were closed by drifting snow.


Four well-prepared and experienced looking guys sporting the right gear finished breakfast hurriedly and left, declaring they were heading home and wouldn't been risking the hills today. Another couple, here to do the first five days of coast to coast, were planning to use public transport to get to Rosthwaite and were agog that we hadn't yet ruled out walking.


Perhaps anticipating my attitude to the decision at hand Ali, Mum and Sherpa Dave had enlisted the help of the owner of the hotel to advise against doing something foolhardy. I recall that last night the three of them were busy convincing me that I was invincible. Mind you, I was a bit down and very much in need of some encouragement.


We opted for a compromise. I would start to walk, accompanied by Ali initially, and we would meet with Sherpa Dave and Mum in the car at pre-arranged points to make a decision whether or not to go on at each one. We could keep this up for maybe an hour, after which the road would end and I would be committed, and they would need to head to Rosthwaite whilst they still could.


At first the wind was strong and cold, but not a show-stopper. It was snowing but the strength of the wind swept it from the path and collected it in the hedgerows. As we approached the lake the ferocity of the wind increased such that walking became difficult. By the time we reached the lake it was difficult to stand. And this was at the valley floor. At the top of the pass I was aiming for it would be far more severe and almost certainly a white-out. Whilst it was a hard thing to accept, it was an easy decision to make.


Shakespeare: Henry IV part 1.
Falstaff: 'The better part of valour is discretion; in the which better part I have saved my life'.


After attempting a couple of direct routes over passes, each time being turned back by drifts, we drove the long way round via Keswick and into Borrowdale. Here it was as if we'd entered a different climate system. The snow was thick on the ground but the wind had almost gone. It was a winter wonderland.




I was keen to walk. These were cracking conditions and I wanted to minimise the distance lost against my original route. The last thing on my mind was a rest-day. I decided to walk out to Honister Pass, which was on my itinerary for today, turn about and follow my planned route back down into Rothswaite.


Mum had intended this to be her part of walk from the outset and she undertook to walk with me, even though the out and back approach I was taking would double the distance and add 1,000 feet of ascent. It turned out to be a challenging but excellent few hours.




At first the conditions were idyllic (to some of us!). Falling snow and stillness all around. We took our time climbing the hill, taking it in stages. As we neared the top the wind picked up, ultimately to the point where I had to stand and brace myself against the gusts in order to stay on my feet. I held onto Mum to stop her blowing away!


The wind here had scoured the path of snow and deposited it in deep drifts. It was vicious. And this was the point I would have come to after coming off the high fells. As I peered up into the murk it was clear that I had made a very good decision indeed.


As we turned back down the hill we turned into the teeth of the gale, the wind and snow stinging our faces. I'm really impressed by the way Mum handled it. It was quite unsettling at times and I know strong men who would have struggled with it. I was concerned for a time as she lost the feeling in her fingers through the cold, and visions of Rannulf Fiennes taking a hacksaw to his own frostbitten fingers momentarily popped into my head. I thought it best not to mention it (!) and we were able to deal with it quickly.


As we descended the conditions eased and when the calm of the valley was restored Mum expressed her regret that our adventure was over and that the easy valley walking was an anti-climax!








So how do I feel. It's odd really. I feel I should be down, but I feel good. I've had a thoroughly enjoyable day walking in the snow, I'm feeling good in myself and I'm ready for more tomorrow.




The forecast for tomorrow remains bad. I have already decided to go unless conditions make it impossible. The walk is shorter, although the pass at Greenup Edge will be exposed and difficult to navigate if visibility is poor. I'm not familiar with the walk up, but I do know the route down into Grasmere and I have done both the ridge route and valley path in difficult conditions.


Juliet and Douglas arrived in Grasmere this evening. They plan to join me in the morning for the walk. We'll compare notes at breakfast time and make our decision based on road and walking conditions. Communication might be an interesting challenge as they have mobile phone reception but no wireless, and I have the opposite. Simon, Austin and Carol decided to stay put tonight and plan to drive up from the midlands early in the morning. Selfishly I would prefer not to have this extra unscheduled night away from Carol but it is the right call.


Let's see what the morning brings. I hope the conditions will ease but the forecast suggests otherwise. They are all keen to walk with me. After all it's what they came for. However, walking for enjoyment, soaking up the views from the high places, is natural pleasure that most could appreciate. Battling through a white-out in a gale is quite another thing, and is only enjoyed by the unhinged.

Day 1: Wind at our backs?

Stage: St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge
Distance: 9 miles
Ascent: 1,400 feet
Time: 3 hours 20
Weather: Cool & mainly bright. Strong wind at times.
Conditions: Initial section across muddy fields. Then on road.

After several days spent convincing myself that I'm not up to the challenge it is good to get started. At least now we'll find out for sure. After the long drive north, tea and a rather substantial scone in the beach cafe, we went through the time honoured start of Coast to Coast ceremony. I collected pebbles from the beach and dipped my feet in the sea.









Ali and I then headed east on foot whilst Sherpa Dave and Mum drove across to the B&B at Ennerdale Bridge before walking back to meet us. In fact they walked close to 3 miles back to us making for a considerable round-trip.




I'd opted for a direct route for this first stage, although this meant scaling a bigger than expected hill in the first two miles. Surely a taste of things to come. As we walked across the highest part of the hill into a cutting easterly wind I mentioned to Ali that one of the reasons most people walk from west to east is to have the prevailing wind (westerly) at their backs! Spring is late this year and the wind is coming from Siberia rather than the Atlantic.




It may be ominous that during our final mile or two into Ennerdale the warmth of the sun, such as it was, faded and the breeze picked up noticeably. Blizzards are forecast for tomorrow. Is this the weatherman being over-cautious or are we in for an interesting day?



I'm glad to to be on my way, although a couple of hours after finishing I feel more tired than I should after what wasn't an especially challenging section by the Coast to Coast standards. This is a bit of a worry because tomorrow is one of the very toughest stages. It is also the most remote and I will be on my own for most of it.

Maybe the lack of training over the last month or my slow recovery from man-flu is affecting me? Maybe I will wake up in the morning feeling fit and ready to go?

15 March: That Man's Eaten Haile Gebrselassie

Sunday 16th October 2005. Olympic Stadium, Amsterdam.  

Tension as the Athletes Arrive, Amsterdam 2005

11.00am. The gun goes for the start of the marathon. The field is headed by the great Ethiopian distance runner Halie Gebrselassie, who is attempting to set a new world best marathon time. I am also in this starting line-up and so can claim to be in that elite group of athletes who has raced against arguably the greatest long distance runner in history, and lost. One lap of the track and out into the streets of Amsterdam.

HG Out in Front, Amsterdam 2005

11.15am. The 10km race starts. In this field is Walking Dave in his debut long distance race. Having been enthused by my marathon preparations Dave decided initially that he'd like to come along, and then as there was a 10km event on offer saw it as a good opportunity to join in. Despite my recommendation that he should follow a proven training regime of gradual mileage build-up and a generally healthy lifestyle Dave decided to devise and trial his own, which he named the Beer and Rugby Method. He explained that the secret of his philispophy was simplicity: Play a lot of rugby and drink a lot of beer. Basically it meant he didn't have to change his routine at all.

 

The Amsterdam marathon is a really nice event. It's based out of the Olympic Stadium in a leafy district outside the city, although the course does wind through parts of the city centre. By modern standards the stadium is small and old fashioned, but it is a proper seated amphitheatre with a proper red running track. It is a wonderful place to start and finish. The marathon is the focal point of the event, but there is a coordinated schedule of events throughout the day designed to provide ahtletes with plenty of choice and onlookers with a fairly continual stream of entertainment. There is a half marathon timed to finish at a similar time to the slower marathon runners, shorter fun-runs for children, and a 10km race timed to warm-up the stadium crowd for the climax of the marathon.

 

During the course of the 10km race a large crowd gathered in the stadium in anticipation of the appearance of Haile Gebrselassie and the witnessing of a new world marathon record. The arrival of the 10km runners ahead of this served as a warm up to the main event, stoking up the sense of excitement. At the back of the 10km field and detached from the pack, Walking Dave approached the stadium only a few minutes ahead of the leading marathoners. From the road leading to the stadium he entered the stadium gates, then thorough the shadow of the tunnel and out onto the track.

 

The crowd stood and cheered in unison, expectation having been set that next athlete to appear would be the svelte African. It took a few moments for it to register that a stockier figure had arrived instead. Could it be that against the odds the great man had been outpaced by a prop forward? Or maybe Walking Dave had eaten Haile Gebrselassie?

 

Before long the stadium announcer restored calm by explaining that this was the tail of the 10km race and the marathon leaders would be along presently. Walking Dave completed his lap to warm applause, finishing in a personal best time. Soon after Haile Gebrselassie won the marathon race, but narrowly missed breaking the world record.

 

After eating lunch near the stadium Walking Dave and Carol travelled back into the city by tram, did a little shopping then rested at the hotel for a while. After freshening up they then returned to the stadium to take their seats to see the tail-end of the marathon, and waited.

Done It, Amsterdam 2005

After some more time I appeared through the tunnel to complete an emotional and exhausted final few hundred metres around the track. It had taken me a very long time, but I had done it. I was a marathon runner. 

Hard Won Medals, Amsterdam 2005

Queue celebration. I spent the next few hours eating, then took a shower and changed. We set out into the evening with the full intention of celebrating in some style, but peaked early and overtaken by the exertions of the day retired to bed well before closing time.

Warm-Down at Basjoe's, Amsterdam 2005

This was a triumph of mind over matter. Proof that with good preparation and effective management of my imitations I can achieve things I'm not supposed to be able to. I suspect more of the same is about to be required. After 2005 I know it can be done and I also know the sense of elation and satisfaction of achieving something hard won. It is a powerful motivator. I want that feeling again.

At Home in the Hills, Tongue 2010

There is also something about the hills that changes me, in a good way. I feel I am at my best there. And whilst my training hasn't been all I wanted it to be I think I am in a good place.

The practical preparations are now complete. My big yellow holdall is packed bar one or two last minute items; I may do one more walk but my training is done and that will just be to stretch out. Pretty much everything on my plan is ticked off as complete. There are 51 versions of this, each one tracking progress or amendments to future tasks. Soon I will have no further use for it. I will miss it.

I think my key job now is to prepare myself mentally. I must discipline myself to savour the journey and not to be too impatient to finish. I am driven by getting a result and quite often I only derive my satisfaction by looking back. I want to get the satisfaction whilst I'm doing it as well as at the end. This might be harder to manage when fatigue sets in, but manage it I must.

This is it then. All being well I will write my next post from somewhere in Cumbria. This is the end of the beginning. So how do I feel?

I'm not sure how I feel actually. For now there is still some business as usual to take care of. I still have a few important days at work, we will spend a normal family weekend together, and the routine for the first part of next week will be the same. It's also the case that until very recently I have been preoccupied with preparations and not really thought hard about the walk itself.

There is no doubt though that the anticipation is starting to build, and this will surely grow and accelerate over the final few days. Perhaps the main change I have seen is in those around me. People are starting to mobilise. Jo confirmed her plans this week in an exited email and will meet us in Grasmere. In a frenzy of phone calls Juliet and Douglas have already booked for a couple of stints, and will be regular visitors to the walk. Even Carol has started to put a few things to one side in preparation. Rob alone is maintaining the order of things. He is still to get the additional gear he'll need for his 100 mile stint. Why rush Rob?

 

I am very fortunate to have such a close circle of family and friends who support me in every way, to the point of volunteering their time to join me in my adventure. Just in case though I am careful not to mention too often the likelihood of rain and snow, of blisters and aching bones, of the fatigue and breathlessness to be expected during the climbs. I'm sure they would come anyway (?). Sharing this journey with them will be a special thing.

 

I'm also receiving increasingly regular messages of encouragement and good wishes at the office. Some like-minded colleagues (we have quite a strong hill-walking community) are secretly envious of my expedition, yet others consider it a very strange way to spend a holiday. They are a very human bunch.

 

So I may not yet be exited like it was Christmas, but I am apparently becoming overcome by sentimentality. Humbug. I really need to get started.

Finally, I know for sure that when I leave home in a few days the realisation of what I'm doing will hit me in a wave of exitement and trepidation. I won't sleep on the first night and I will be delighted to be heading north at last. I will have rehearsed the start on the beach and St Bees, and quite possibly the triumphant march into Robin Hood's Bay. I wll be ready.

Summit Satisfaction, Ben Hope 2010









9 March: Beginning of the End

 

We're well into the last two weeks now. Not long to go. The countdown is on.

 

Ben Loyal from Ben Hope, 2010

 

I was reminded the other day by a former good friend that I have a birthday coming up. It came as a bit of a shock actually. I'd really not thought about it for some time, such has been my focus on Coast to Coast. It's ironic that this is the very reason for doing the walk. As a distraction tactic it almost worked!

 

Having been reminded of this momentus event it also occurred to me that I've not made any plans for after Coast to Coast. Sure, in general terms I've had some thoughts and conversations about projects at home, forthcoming events, and goals at work. But nothing is planned. I've paid little detailed attention to anything beyond the walk for some time. I feel a little uncomfortable, like there is a void in my near future. It's a stark comparison to the last few months of detailed concentration and focussed activity.

 

It's also the case that I have thoroughly enjoyed the build-up and been increasingly inspired and galvanised by the growing anticipation. Now that's almost over and all that's left is the execution. I'm a bit disappointed it's almost over. This is the beginning of the end.

 

I mustn't allow this maliase to take anything at all away from the experience of the next few weeks. This is what I've planned and worked for, what I've wanted for a long time. Maybe if I start to set out some post coast to coast thoughts this will allow me to relax into it.
 

Angle Tarn, 2012

 

I've done some walking since getting back from Lanzarote, but not at same level or intensity as before. Looking back I was in pretty good shape then. I tell myself that things have conspired against me in the last few weeks. Somehow I've found it harder to carve time out from work and home commitments; I've not been quite as motivated to train, maybe because I don't see a benefit; and I've struggled to get completely clear of my man-flu. These are all excuses rather than reasons. I guess it means success will require a bit more bloody minded determination. Thankfully I have more of this than I do ability.

 

Crybyn, 2011

 

This is a strange time, waiting for it all to start. Time seems to move slower. In marathon parlance it is the "taper". A period of rest and recovery designed to ensure you go into your event fresh and keen, whilst not losing the conditioning built up through training. The routine of many weeks is broken and the time previously taken up with training and planning is freed up, but you are not ready to fill it. I always imagine it will be a time of relaxation and anticipation, but it never is, so why should this time be any different. I'm impatient to start. 
 

Small Water & Haweswater, 2011

 

I'm really looking forward to getting back into the hills, and this is the theme for the photo collection accompanying this post. It's a selfish thing - therapy for myself, to help me through the final week or so of waiting.

 

So,  the planning is all but done; my team is briefed and ready to go; I've confirmed final arrangements with most of the places I'll be staying; booked packed lunches and dinners where needed; and confirmed final baggage transfer arrangements with Suzi.
 

Helvellyn from Whiteside, 2012

 

Actually, a project management technique I've picked up over the years came in handy this week. Because it's on the plan and someone has agreed to do it, don't assume it's going to happen. Look for what is most likely to let you down and what you cannot afford to go wrong and check it. If it's really important check it within an inch of it's life. Make sure you get positive confirmation before moving on.
 

I booked my accommodation back in the autumn, several months ago. It is a kind of critical item on my plan and there has been a window of time for something go wrong. So I emailed them all this week to let them know I was coming as planned, and asking them each a question. The purpose is to get them to reply, confirming they are still there and still have my booking.

 

 Sure enough one of them has gone wrong. Sadly it's the Mardale Inn at Bampton (remember - this was one of the two "must stay" places on my route). I received an email back from the property owner advising me that the tenants at the time of my booking disappeared a few months ago along with details of bookings taken and my deposit. The owner had no idea that I'd booked and would have been surprised if I'd just turned up. I've been able to make alternative arrangements in the same village so the plan is in tact.

 

Scafell Pike from Great Moss Wild Camp, 2011

 

The main thing left to do now is assemble my gear and pack it into my large yellow holdall. I have lists. I live by lists. The interesting thing is that I rarely need to refer to a list I've written. But, if I don't write a list I invariably forget something. How does that work?

 

My packing list for Coast to Coast is comprehensive and well ordered. I am confident I will remember what to pack whether I need to refer to the list or not, and I will diligently tick off the items as they go in the bag. Maybe I am some sort of planning freak after all.
 

Ullswater, 2012