Pushing limits in the snow....

A wild track down from the moor on Sunday's run

    Needless to say, the shorts I'd been swanning around in last week flew back into the drawer pretty smartish as the temperature in Hebden took a nose dive to -5ºC. And that was just in the village. I can't imagine to what depths it plummeted in that nithering north easterly that roared across Grassington Moor. One thing I do know - I was absolutely perished! It numbed the muscles of my face and almost froze me to a standstill. I dread to think what might have happened if I'd slipped on the ice and turned an ankle - or worse. There was no phone signal or anyone around to hear my six blasts on a whistle if I'd had need to blow it.  Not that they'd have heard it anyway in that freezing holocaust. The only time I could hear anything else was when I crossed the floor of the ghyll where lapwings were wheeling and whirling in their aerial dance routines - peeeee wit...pweewit...pweewit. As soon as I climbed the other side I was back into that roaring wind.
     

Calmer and less windy back in Hebden ghyll - to my great relief!

    Snow had drifted along the wall sides, half blocking gateways and creating wonderful rippling effects among the grass and reeds.  I'd to climb over gates where fasteners were too frozen for my fumbling fingers to operate. It didn't snow, thank goodness, but the black, angry sky looked absolutely full of it. I'd set off to run ten miles into the wilds of Mossdale, in search of illusive curlews, but my body temperature was dropping dramatically, forcing me to cut it short and drop back into the ghyll sooner than I really wanted. Unlike last week when I almost felt I could have run forever, I found myself in the painful situation of having to force my stiffening old legs to perform their natural duty. That eight miles had taken nearly two hours to run (if you could call it that) and was never so hard won.
     

St Peter's Church, Hebden

    My hot shower never felt better as I languished in its blissful warmth for longer than usual. Not that it managed to thaw out my befuddled brain. An hour later I wandered along to the Chapel to read my lesson, only to discover the service was actually being held in St Peter's Church. I diverted and eventually got my bum parked in a pew that felt so cold I was afraid it might trigger a visit to the loo before I strolled up to the lectern to deliver my bit of the service. That would have been very unfortunate seeing how St Peters doesn't have a loo!  I was reading Psalm 32..'when a great flood of trouble comes rushing in it will not reach them' (v6). Well, thank goodness for that!  I'd also forgotten my weekly offering so I hope the Church doesn't go into liquidation before we're back from Scotland.

A bit nippy by Woodhouse Farm

    Monday dawned fine and dry, though a light covering of snow had fallen overnight. Once again, the temperature was hovering on -5ºC so I dawdled around, drinking cups of coffee, checking emails and messages while waiting for the sun to warm the flags. Huh! By 10.20 we'd blizzard conditions and hardly able to see across the road. I decided I might need another layer, three thermals instead of two underneath my jacket, for a planned six mile run. There was no way I was going up onto the moor again until my brain had had chance to thaw out. For this run I'd stay low. As I trundled along the riverbank towards Appletreewick in yet another particularly heavy shower I couldn't help thinking how all those early lambs would be feeling a bit sorry for themselves. As if to confirm this a local farmer happened to be taking one into his barn as I passed, dangling it by its hind legs. I'm not sure whether it was alive or dead, though I suspect the latter as the farmer wasn't his usual cheerful self.
"It's a bit nippy" I shouted.
"It's moor na' bloody nippy" he replied as he disappeared into the barn.  End of conversation!

Still snowing by the river

    I hurried on, passing occasional walkers most of whom only had eyes showing from a welter of winter clothing and woolly balaclavas. Unlike the previous day I was feeling good again, dressed in just the right amount of gear and plodding along at just the right pace. With virtually no wind chill factor it felt comparatively mild, even when it was snowing so hard I could hardly see across the river - a matter of 40 or 50 metres. My 12 min/mile pace must have looked a bit slow to a jovial gentleman on Burnsall Bridge who suggested I might benefit from a pace-maker. He was the only one I met who seemed to be enjoying the conditions as much as me. 'Exhilarating' was the word we agreed upon to describe the weather before continuing our different ways, me along the river path where a pair of Mallard were wiggling their rear ends rapidly in a sandy basin, creating circles while apparently enjoying a freezing cold jacuzzi. I'm not sure about the purpose of these ablutions, but I can guess!

Clean yourself up, ducky!

    In mixed weather I've only managed to run 25 miles in the last eight days. Most of it was enjoyable though I'll admit to getting a little worried during those savage conditions on Sunday. It's not often I allow my brain to ruminate on the 'What if' factor. I have the utmost faith in the strength of my bones, the capabilities of my body and my strong survival instincts. I'm aware of my limits but on occasions I get very close to crossing the border. I well remember an occasion last year, also on Grassington Moor, when due to a slight injury I couldn't maintain sufficient speed to generate enough body heat in the arctic conditions. I reckon I only just got back down in time - but I was ever so pleased with myself when I did!
    In a few days time we'll be travelling to Scotland again for a holiday on the west coast of Islay, one of our favourite islands, so not sure when this Blog will spring to life again. Don't go away!