Seek and you will find.......

   The exertions of last Sunday's hilly 10K race left me feeling a bit shattered so I didn't venture out for

Our route.... 9 miles/1,200ft

another run until Wednesday. But that couple of days rest must have done me good for I sailed up Castle Hill with the greatest of ease for the start of an enjoyable five mile circuit through shady woods and fields of ripening corn. Then I'd two more days rest before the weekend activities when, once again, things didn't quite go according to plan. Saturday was yet another of those occasions when my wonderful partner wanted to refresh her memory about a route over which she'll be leading her intrepid (and very brave) U3A walkers in ten days time. She was anxious to re-acquaint herself with the lie of the land, check compass bearings in case of mist or stormy conditions, and to check cellphone reception from various points in case of emergency. Not relishing the idea of her traversing such remote and mainly trackless country on her own, I volunteered to jog round with her. After all, it was only 9 miles, though there was also a little matter of 1,200ft of ascent to make it more 'interesting'.

Memorial cairn with Great Whernside beyond...

Saturday was a beautiful day, sunny and warm with clear views as we left Yarnbury to jog up Old Moor Lane, past the sheepfold where our local shepherd was shearing his flock, and in half a mile had reached the access gate onto open moorland. From here on our route would be trackless for the next five miles though there are some navigational aids in the form of walls and fences leading to the wild interior. We followed one of these walls for a mile before climbing more steeply into Howgill Nick where a ruined shooting hut overlooks a wide sinkhole that swallows the water from Black Edge Dyke. After our recent heatwave there wasn't the slightest trickle. Beyond the ruined hut was a faint dusty track that quad bikes will soon be using to transport the shooting aristocracy to allotted stances for their annual slaughter of the grouse population. 

   We followed the tyre marks until they ended at a narrow bridge over a dried up ditch from which point we

Running up the long fence to the boundary...

roughly guessed a compass bearing to a memorial cairn marking the spot where six cavers are entombed hundreds of feet below in Mossdale Caverns. This was a bearing my wonderful partner was anxious to get right because the cairn remains hidden over the horizon until almost within spitting distance of it, but after half a mile at 15º the top of the cairn loomed out of the heather immediately ahead. Spot on. We veered left to a long fence leading past Priest's Tarn, then upwards for another half mile to the Nidderdale boundary. I'd one foot on the fence, about to climb over into Nidderdale, when there was a plaintive cry from behind me. "I've lost my camera" she said. Like me, she'd had it slotted onto the belt of her waist pouch but it must have slipped off unnoticed when she'd taken off the pouch to check her phone. 

  

"There's Meugher"......rising out of the bog.

We'd a rough idea where she'd done this, so jogged back down to Priest's Tarn and began our search. Backwards and forwards and sideways we scoured the ground over a 50m stretch of heather and grass and a boggy ditch, but to no avail. After much wasted time and fruitless searching we had to admit defeat and continue on our way, retracing our steps to the boundary fence and climbing over into the obstacle course that marked the next stage of our route. We were making for a high cone shaped hill called Meugher (pronounced Moofer) which, in normal conditions, is totally surrounded by watery groughs and slimy peat hags. It has a reputation of being one of the most unvisited hills in northern England and, true enough, on all my flying visits I've yet to encounter another stranger on its windswept summit, or anywhere in its immediate vicinity.     

   Other than my wonderful partner and a late fell running friend I know of only one other person who's been

At Meugher's windswept trig point...

there - the shepherd/farmer who waved to us as we ran past at the beginning of our jaunt earlier in the day. Usually, the way ahead is akin to a watery version of Hampton Court maze, with ditches instead of hedges, but after the semi drought it was reasonably dry, making it more accessible and allowing us to take a more direct line, though it involved climbing in and out of several deep groughs. The final slopes are a mixture of tussocky grass and feathery bog cotton crossed by half hidden drainage ditches. Gaining the summit we'd a bite to eat and a quick drink by the redundant Trig point before following a 155º bearing across Meugher Dike and up to Henstone Band, a high point along the boundary fence ¾ mile away where we'd climb back into Wharfedale to run down the long straight wall that divides Hebden Moor from Grassington Moor. 

  

At Henstone Band, climbing back into Wharfedale...

Near the bottom of this wall we diverted west onto Sleet Moor where, in the ankle twisting tussocks, my left adductors decided they'd had enough of the rough stuff and cramped up solid. Fortunately, we discovered another of those faint quad bike tracks that had flattened the ground a little and made it more runnable. We followed it to a bridge over the beck, from which point we could follow good gravel tracks all the way back to Yarnbury. On a steepish hill just before the finish my right adductors decided that anything the left ones could do, they could do better. I strutted stiff legged to the top of the hill like the tin man in the Wizard of Oz, making all sorts of funny noises, before easing back into a run for the last ½ mile back to our car.  Boy, was I glad it was over!
   Come Sunday morning, I'd have really enjoyed an extra hour in bed to aid recovery, but my presence had

Our Chapel - where God works in mysterious ways.......

been requested to read a lesson for Rev Janet Clasper at a joint communion service for Anglicans and Methodists in our village Chapel.  My wonderful partner was scheduled to spend the day on National Park duty, roaming around Barden Moor, so no chance of a lie in for her either. I wandered wearily along to Chapel at 9am, my Bible tucked under my arm, feeling only half awake. I'm a bit naughty when it comes to reading lessons. Methodists traditionally use the Good News version of the Bible which I like but don't always use. In fact, I seldom use it. My iPad has around 36 different versions, all slightly differently worded, and I choose the one I like best, or which better suits my voice. Sometimes (nay, often) I'll further tweak the wording so it flows a little better and is easier to read. The finished result is my own personal interpretation which doesn't always contain the exact text on which the Minister has based his/her sermon!
  

That fence post, one among thousands...

Such was the case on Sunday when I read a slightly tweaked rendering of Luke 11, v 1 - 13 from the New International Version, all about prayer and being persistent in our requests.  I'd to stifle a little laugh at my version's reference to 'shameless audacity' but when I sat down and got to thinking about it I became so engrossed in its meaning that I've really no recollection of what the sermon was all about. Sorry Janet! My mind and my prayers were totally focused on a camera lying in the bog somewhere up on the moor and the sadness on my wonderful partner's face on yesterday's realisation of its loss. It hurt, I wanted that camera back and only God knew where it was. I went home, made myself a mug of strong coffee and went on the computer to study the photographs I'd taken the previous day. I remembered taking a shot of Great Whernside, looking across the boundary close to where my wonderful partner had taken out her cellphone to check if there was any reception. My attention focused on a particular fence post, near to where she'd stood, one of a long line leading to the Nidderdale boundary. Zooming in to get a clearer view of it, I noted two black markings and felt sure I'd recognize that particular wooden post again, though in other respects it differed little from the hundreds of others. I printed off the zoomed version onto A4 paper, stuck it into my waist pouch and, after another mug of coffee, set off in search of it.
   After heavy overnight rain the landscape had changed dramatically. Everywhere was oozing water. Black

Up Old Moor Lane, there'd been a drop of rain overnight...

Edge Dike had filled and was roaring noisily down the sinkhole at Howgill Nick. Saturday's dusty quad bike track was a dank ribbon of dark peat through which I left a line of stud marks that would no doubt tell our hawk-eyed gamekeeper old Runningfox had passed that way. The memorial cairn had a little moat of water surrounding it whilst remote Priest's Tarn had increased threefold in size overnight. I jogged happily along, feeling as refreshed as my surroundings, to the line of fence posts where I took out the folded A4 picture and began my search for the particular post I wanted. It didn't take long to find it, whereupon I dropped to hands and knees and began a fingertip search of the rough ground. Eureka! Within minutes my hand alighted on the sodden black case perfectly camouflaged in a peaty hollow beneath overhanging grass only feet away from the fence. 

Cotton grass - cleaning my legs on the way home...

Inside its case, the camera was still perfectly dry and unharmed. I let out an exultant cry that would have had any nearby grouse quaking in their feathery boots. Gone was the morning lethargy. I never felt more alive as I jogged triumphantly back across the moor in a shower of cooling rain with wet cotton grass brushing my bare legs, then up the old lane to where I'd parked the car.  Mission accomplished - as they say - albeit with quite a large dose of divine help!  Needless to say my wonderful partner was absolutely ecstatic when I phoned the good news to her on Barden Moor. I reckon I've scored enough brownie points to last the remainder of the year!

2013 Bentham Beagles Bash....

Temperatures in the high 70's had me struggling a bit last week so I didn't quite get in all the planned training

Swallows on the line in Wednesday's 79º - too hot to fly?

for the weekend's 10K race. An eight mile circuit to Howgill on Monday, and back along the river, went really well. The last four miles were an absolute breeze, so much so that the last steepish hill into the village felt like I was running on the flat. Not so Wednesday's session that should have been a set of fastish repetitions on Castle Hill, but I never got there.  High humidity and 79º really knocked the stuffing out of me and I crawled home, drenched in sweat, after only 3½ miles. I went out earlier on Friday, in a slightly cooler 72º, for a hard earned 4 miles that included just 6 x 200m reps @ 46 secs - which was better than nothing.

Warming up for the Bash...

Then came Sunday's 10K race, the 2nd running of the Bentham Beagles Bash, through beautiful countryside with extensive views to some of North Yorkshire's finest peaks. With 615ft of ascent it's by no means a PB course, probably the reason for the low turnout as most Yorkshire and Lancashire runners preferred to compete a few miles away in Blackpool's flatter and faster 10K Summer Run on the same day. Each to his own, but I strongly preferred the streamlined efficiency, friendliness and facilities of this wonderful little club that has come on leaps and bounds since its formation less than two years ago. If only I lived closer, I'd be proud to be a member.

We left Hebden shrouded in mist and drizzle at 9am to set off north en route for the race venue. The

The feared Mike Walsh....

weather had cooled to a more bearable 60º and I prayed it wouldn't get above 70º. I was feeling a little apprehensive having been informed that my chief rival in the race, a chap called Mike Walsh of Wesham Road Runners, was bang on form after lifting the MV80 title in this year's London Marathon, a win that must surely have boosted his confidence and morale. London attracts runners from all corners of the earth so anyone who wins there is virtually a world champion - which is why I was considering Mike such a formidable opponent. A change of tactics was called for. There would be no hanging about today.

Pacemaker - Jill Noble...with that bottle...

Unlike the Kilburn race, where I started at the back, I lined up just behind the leaders to get a decent start up the initial steep climb into High Bentham and hopefully steal away from any opposition. Then I'd use the flat bit through the town to quickly recover and settle into a pace I could hopefully maintain over the hills ahead. All went according to plan and I felt reasonably comfortable as I ran alongside a local lady through Low Bentham and across the River Wenning towards the second of the many climbs of this undulating course.  Little did I know at that point that this lady, Jill Noble of Bentham Beagles, would become my pace maker for almost the whole of the race for she was running at a pace that suited me ideally. Just what the old man needed!

However, she managed to open up a gap as we passed the water station at just

Old Runningfox - all smiles at the Finish...

over three miles. I was desperate for water and slowed to a walk to ensure I got ¾ of a cup down my throat before pouring the rest over my head.  I gasped as it took my breath away and it took a while to get back into my stride. Meanwhile Jill had ignored the water station and was striding away up the hill 30 or 40 yards ahead. It took another mile or so to catch her and noted she had one of those hand held water bottles which had enabled her to keep going past the water station and gain an advantage. I made a mental note to buy one of those. The climbs carried on relentlessly to the high point at 528ft, just after the 5 mile marker, after which there was a steep downhill mile before the flat run in to the finish.

My wonderful partner - finishing strong..

From here on I really expected the younger Jill to leave me standing but the reverse was the case and I felt a bit rotten about leaving her after she'd pulled me over all the hard bits. But there was still lots of running left in my legs as I set off to overhaul another runner ahead of me who turned out to be Jill's club mate, Ann Butcher, later to be announced winner of the LV65 category.  Approaching the final straight I was amazed to hear my name being called out over the public address system, encouraging me on to a sprint finish. I crossed the line in 57.29, about three minutes slower than last year but nearly 8 minutes ahead of my feared contemporary, Mike Walsh, who'd really posed no threat whatsoever over this shorter distance. I took a picture of him finishing so I'd recognize him if ever I came across him again!

In conclusion I'd like to thank all the wonderful people who made this event the success it turned out to be,

The spoils....

the race committee, marshalls and volunteers, those who baked all the mouthwatering cakes and goodies (especially that yummy coffee cream cake) - and not least that almighty 'someone up there' who kept the temperature below 70º and provided such a refreshing breeze where we needed it most.
Full results here

Preparing for another 10K....

   With another 10K race looming on the horizon next Sunday, at Bentham in North Yorkshire, I'd every intention of taking things easy last week to

Sun worshippers by the River Wharfe

conserve the old energy levels and hopefully be rarin' to go when lining up for the Start. The week began steadily enough with a 4 mile riverbank run to ease any stiffness out of my legs from the previous day's race at Kilburn. Three days later I enjoyed an undulating circuit through fields and woods culminating with a few fast repetitions across my local cricket field to round things up to 6 miles. With temperatures hovering between 22 and 24º Celsius, conditions were absolutely ideal so I was able to run topless and feel the welcome sun caressing my body. Love it!

Undulating trail to Middleton Moor

Then came Saturday. My wonderful partner was anxious to suss out a nine mile route through some unknown terrain in the Ilkley area where she'll be leading a party of walkers in the not too distant future. We decided to jog/walk the route together and memorise the details. I'd estimated it would take no more than a couple of hours - so no need to take any food or water; we'd be back home in time for a late lunch. Ha ha! 'Best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley' - as that other bard said. And he was right. We actually made very good time running up onto Middleton Moor from Ilkley Lido where we'd parked the car. So good, in fact, that we hadn't realised we'd overshot our planned left turn and reached a remarkably similar left turn that mysteriously disappeared into the bog cotton after a few hundred yards. We knew for a fact our planned route continued over the moor on a perfectly good trail, so where had it gone? Even more confusing, the wrong turning we'd arrived at had exactly the same compass bearing as the one we were looking for. After much wasted time, and several failed attempts to locate a path, we agreed to retrace our steps - if necessary straight back to Ilkley and call it a day. We ran downhill, scattering the sheep and a few young grouse that had hardly learnt to fly and weren't quite sure what to do until, lo and behold, after half a mile, there was the trail we wanted, running exactly where it was supposed to do, across Long Ridge to Moor End Farm.
   My wonderful partner, a very wise lady, had sneaked half a dozen jelly babies and 350ml of juice into her

Maybe this will point us in the right direction........

bumbag - and that's what we had for lunch! Except it was already well past lunchtime, the sun had climbed to its zenith, there was absolutely no shade across the moor and the temperature had soared to around 29º.  I love running in the sun but in these blazing conditions, with little or no nourishment, it became a bit too much and I'm afraid I got a little bit ratty. (On hearing about this, our good neighbour remarked "You'll be having a heart attack doing things like that at your age, then what will you do?". I joked that having long since passed my three score years and ten I'm living on bonus years, so what does it matter?).
  

Count me out.....

After leaving the moor we fortuitously reached a well worn trail alongside sheltering trees which we followed into the valley to pick up a signed footpath, the Dales Way, running by the River Wharfe into Ilkley. The soaring temperature had brought out thousands of sun worshippers, men, women and children, who lounged along the river bank or splashed around in the cooling water. It would be interesting to know how many years it is since they were last able to do this? We drove home. I hammered on the back door of our village shop, risking the wrath of very protective dogs, and explained my thirsty predicament to 'our Linda'. After a short lecture about the stupidity of what we'd done I was allowed into the shop to raid her fridge for two wonderful cans of ice cold Stella. I took them into the garden for some blissful relaxation, watching the flowers grow, listening to summer swallows twittering on the telephone wires, swifts screaming around the roof tops at great speed and obese bumble bees buzzing in and out of the foxgloves.  Utter contentment - and hopefully ideal preparation for next Sunday's race. Watch this space!

Kilburn Feast 7 mile road race......

    Typical isn't it, we get back from a cold, windy holiday in the supposedly warmer climes of the south west

Turning the hay - over my garden wall...

coastal region to find some of the best weather is right here in our own back yard. Yorkshire boasted some of the highest temperatures in Britain last week which, at times, reduced me to a crawl. Farmers were making the most of the perfect conditions to cut and harvest their hay whilst the garden was humming with bees as I set out for last Tuesday's intervals - 18 x 200m - high on Castle Hill where I'd hoped for a little breeze.  They were the slowest for some time, 47's as opposed to my usual 44's, but it was important to get them done before the weekend race. My only other session was a bumbly five miles mainly in the shade of local woods. 

    

Busy bee on the Astrantia...

All this was in preparation for Sunday's Kilburn Feast 7 mile road race. If I said I enjoyed it I'd be a liar, it was one of the hardest races I've ever done. To be fair, the organisers had no idea it was going to be the hottest day of the year when they scheduled the Start for 2pm - when temperatures would just about reach their highest. I stayed in the shade until minutes before the 'Off' then positioned myself at the very back of the line-up. I was willing folk to get out of the way as the hooter sounded in case the sweeper vehicle ran over my heels!
    As the crowd thinned I dodged through widening gaps while at the same time keeping to the right side of the road where leafy hedges and occasional trees offered some scant shade. Such was the intense heat that several runners called it a day after the first mile or so, and walked back to the Start. I determined to run until the first water station at around 3½ miles, then take a short walk break up the steepish hill that followed. I grabbed two cups of water, one to drink and another to pour over my head and shoulders whilst endeavouring to keep up with others whose running pace was little faster than my walk. Shortly afterwards a car cruised alongside: "Anyone need water?" a kindly gentleman asked. Affirmative. I took a huge swig from a large bottle whilst others preferred to pour it over their heads. 

    In another mile a sympathetic gardener had attached a sprinkler to a hosepipe and invited runners to take a

Poised (or posed) for the 'Off'...

refreshing shower. I saw a wonderful rainbow as I ran through it. Like many others, I was in survival mode through the next water station and on towards the Finish. Time and placings had become irrelevant. A lady runner I passed was uttering moans and cries more appropriate to a bedroom scene in a steamy erotic film than a sweltering Sunday afternoon road race - though her expression didn't quite match the former!  The lady from a house beside the road, ladling icy water over runner's heads, could have cooled her down.
    The cheering crowd was a most welcome sound as we approached the Finish and I was mighty glad of the water bottle thrust into my hand as I crossed the line. But best of all was a slightly sadistic lady with a vicious hosepipe in the pub yard. "Go on, soak me" I said. And she certainly did!  I ran to the car, towelled down and changed into dry shoes and clothes before setting off down the road to photograph my wonderful partner as she struggled to the Finish. A runner was flat out on the grass verge with a St John's ambulance crew attending to him. Earlier, a lady runner had collapsed in the road around the 3 mile mark and needed urgent attention from knowledgeable medics. She got it as an ambulance quickly arrived on the scene.
   

Receiving my £20 voucher and bottle of wine.....

Meanwhile, back at the Finish, the local Women's Institute had put on a wonderful post race spread in the Village Hall - a variety of free sandwiches, fruit cake and flapjacks with lashings of hot sweet tea to counteract the shock! I munched my way through thick tuna sandwiches to get some protein into the system to repair the damage - though I'm not sure it worked!  The car thermometer read 30º as we left Kilburn but dropped to 27º on the way home. It had been a brute of a race so I was quite chuffed to come away with a £20 voucher and bottle of wine for winning the M80 category and working my way forward to 176th of 247 finishers. It just goes to show, there's life in the old dog yet - though one might not have thought so if they'd seen a somewhat crumpled figure dozing in his rocking chair - wishing it was time for bed.  Zzzzzzzzzz.....

The Lanhydrock shambles....

   We've been off the radar for a while, camping in a beautiful little corner of Cornwall with no wi-fi or mobile

Polly Joke, a beach we ran past each day....

phone reception. We did buy a newspaper one day - but mainly for the crossword! We call it our warm weather training camp but in all honesty it wasn't very warm at all, though the sun shone on a sufficient number of days to change the colour of our skins from a lardy white to a slightly more healthy looking tan. Or maybe it was wind burn? In total we ran 55 miles, much of it along undulating coast paths fringed with late flowering sea pinks. For music we'd the crying of gulls and the constant sound of the sea. Gray seals lumbered back and forth in the seething surf or hauled themselves out to bask on the rocks. A particularly nosy one at Polly Joke kept surfacing only yards from a group of surf boarders and seemed intent on joining in their fun. We ran across grassy commons and sandy dunes, through crowded caravan parks, up ploughed fields and even ran the gauntlet through a popular golf course. On other occasions we ran 200m repetitions along a grassy path through an overgrown valley rich with purple orchids, yellow rattle and flag irises. Running tracks don't come better than that!

Running above Crantock Bay......

  We'd also entered a race, the Lanhydrock 10 mile Run, which was a complete shambles. We ran the inaugural race three years ago and it was such a well organized event we decided to run it again. Big mistake. It's an off-road race that takes place among hundreds of acres of wooded grounds around the beautiful Lanhydrock House, a late Victorian structure now owned and run by the National Trust. If only the Trust could organize a race to the same high standards used to maintain Lanhydrock estate its popularity would be a byword among runners.  This year things went horribly wrong.
   In 2010 car parking was closer to registration. There were ample Portaloos adjacent to registration. The Start/Finish area was also close to registration. This year car parking was half a mile away. There were no Portaloos. Toilets were some way beyond registration, the same ones used by visitors to Lanhydrock House - and they arrived by the coach load - so there was considerable queueing before an anxious run to the Start which, because of alterations to the course, had been moved a few hundred yards farther away. 

   It got worse. We were assured the course had been well marked and all we had to do was follow the arrows. Unfortunately, at an important junction, one of these arrows pointed right instead of left and, in the absence of a marshall, front runners did as they'd been told and as a result came storming through the Finish after only 7.38 miles. The time-keepers of course were unprepared for these early finishers and were nowhere to be seen. A cry went up and they jogged into position as the tenth finisher came through.
   For some, including my wonderful partner, things got worse still. The entry form asked us to "Please

Finish at Lanhydrock...but no goodie bag and no T-shirt...

circle your T-shirt size for your goodie bag! S. M. L." Many ladies had circled S for Small.  Well, for starters there was no goodie bag, and neither were there any small T-shirts.  No-one was in charge of T-shirt distribution. Boxes had been dumped beyond the Finish and everyone helped themselves. We suspect that children who'd taken part in the Fun Run an hour or so before our race had sneaked off with all the small shirts. Indeed, we heard one parent admitting taking a shirt for his child. Some people took two. It was a free for all. All in all it was a race that's best forgotten - and never to be repeated!  Oh, and there was no MV80 category either!
  

Lily pond by the gate of our campsite...

Anyhow, we're back home, refreshed and fitter for all we've done. We can forget about Lanhydrock and happily remember all the good things - our morning runs, Cornish cream teas in the afternoon, orchids in the valley, thrift trembling in the breeze, larksong, sunsets and sun rises, seals singing moanie songs on their skerries, fields red with poppies, the morning chorus of birdsong, kestrels hovering in the breeze, a robin that befriended us and perched on our wing mirror as if to say goodbye when we were about to leave, white and red lily pads floating on a pool teeming with fish, moorhens and a shy heron that swooped in silently when the fishermen had gone home. I love herons and was surprised to discover one had flown into one of my pictures. Many regard them as a symbol of good luck, a good omen, and since arriving home I've had reason to believe it's true. But that's another story....