After five days without running a single step guilt was setting in. By weekend I just had to get out the door and register a few miles regardless of what my bloodshot eye or stitched up hole in the head thought about it. The hills were calling.
|Bloodshot eye and a hole in the head (Click pictures to enlarge)|
Saturday was a nondescript day. No sunshine, no wind, no rain, lots of mud, a bit hazy, no flowers to cheer us on our way and, other than the call of an occasional cock grouse, not a sound to be heard as we toiled hundreds of feet up the ghyll to the high point in Moor Lane.
|Reaching the high point up Moor Lane|
Running towards Grassington we encountered signs of civilisation; first a lady with Jack Russells that seemed intent on tearing my leg off as I launched in to a fast half mile, then strains of music floating up from the Dickensian festival taking place in the village far below.
|Yay, it's downhill from here...|
The dogs maybe accounted for my 6.28 min/mile pace in that fast ½ mile but to be honest it was also downhill, steeply towards the end.
We arrived home muddied but thankfully not bloodied after a strenuous 6 miles with 644ft of ascent.
|Can't avoid uphills in the Yorkshire Dales|
|Dawn breaking over Grimwith|
My wonderful partner did not thank me for hauling her out of bed before dawn on Sunday to do the Grimwith run. But Saturday night had been beautiful as we walked home from a friend's house in glorious moonlight with lots of stars. We'd anticipated a clear sunrise to enhance our morning run but awoke to thick cloud and a slight drizzle. Not unexpectedly, the car park at Grimwith was deserted with not even an odd cock pheasant to greet us. We assumed their stock had been decimated by the Christmas shoot.
|Only wish that woman yesterday had kept her dogs on a lead!|
Greylags roosting on the rocky shore bugled to life as we ran past them into a cold westerly wind. By contrast my wonderful partner was singing a little moany song, clearly not liking the head on fight with the elements.
A lone roe deer darted across the track ahead of us, cleared the fence and disappeared into the wood by Gateup Ghyll.
|Waves crashing onto the shore at the eastern end|
The sky turned an angry yellow in the half light. The soughing wind tore across the water, creating waves that crashed onto the eastern shore by the old thatched hut. A little cloud of ducks, probably teal, flew low over the waves making no sound that could identify them.
|Early morning activity at the boatyard|
As we mounted the hill to complete our run cars were arriving at the boatyard and one chap was already pushing his dinghy towards the water.. His fun was just beginning as we headed home for porridge and coffee,
our mission accomplished.