Valentine daunders...

The thermometer on the dashboard read 0ºC as we drove back to the Dales and it was snowing heavily at Keelham where we stopped to buy our weekend meat.. But after morning coffee the sun came out so no excuse for staying indoors. "Where would you like to go?" my wonderful partner asked. "Somewhere short and vicious" I replied. So it had to be Hebden Crag. The idea was to get my old legs synchronised with my new eye, to get them co-ordinated and singing from the same hymn sheet again, something I'd been finding a bit tricky over rough ground sans glasses.

Saturday's daunder - setting off to Hebden Crag    (Click to enlarge)

Things went better on this occasion as we climbed steeply to the top of the crag, past Patrick Stewart's old house at Scar Top, across a short section of moor to Hedgehog House, then veered right to descend back to the village through tussocky rough pasture and part of the fell race route. Success. OK, it was only a short walk but I was happy to have done it without tripping or falling.

Half way up...and OK so far

Cards and boxes of chocolates adorned our breakfast table on Sunday. It was Valentines Day, in case anyone forgot, and we like to keep up with tradition. It keeps us young at heart - if nothing else.

Ooh yummy, chocolates..

 It was another clear, sunny day but bitterly cold. My wonderful partner wore as many layers as an onion as we set off up the ghyll on a longer walk than the previous day - around six miles farther. I was dressed in lightweight running gear but was very soon dragging a jacket from my bumbag to counter the wind chill.

Approaching the flagged area - and motor cycle trials

 As we crossed the stepping stones below Bolton Ghyll we noticed scores, nay, hundreds, of little flags positioned all over the place. We'd hit upon the day of the annual motor cycle trials that take place every February. Very soon the silence was shattered by the revving of two stroke engines as brightly clad riders surmounted obstacles no-one would dream possible.

Making the impossible possible...

Ice crystals and the odd sprinkling of snow sparkled in the grassy turf as we left the bikers behind and rose higher onto the moor. Instead of the whirr of engines only the call of an odd cock grouse broke the silence as it broke cover from its heathery home. At around 1,400ft we were walking into an Arctic wind that lowered the temperature to below freezing point and I'd to draw my buff down to protect my new eye.

Dressed for the Arctic weather up the long wall

We made our way towards the site of Ghyll House where only a few stones remain after builders have utilised the rest for new properties - one appropriately named Ghyll Stones. A few tall trees mark the area where kestrels might be seen hovering against the blue in search of prey. The whole area once teemed with rabbits - until the lurcher men discovered it. In Springtime it resounds to the plaintive calls of curlews and wheeling pewits.  It's a place I love to run and feel part of.

Feeling the cold at 1,400ft, but happy to be there.

We paused for a while to soak up the atmosphere and photograph a distant Great Whernside topped with snow. Nostalgia occasionally distances me from the present as I'm transported back to marathon training days when Great Whernside was a regular run, both on balmy summer days or winter blizzards when farmers were rounding up sheep to get them down to safer pastures.

Trees marking site of Ghyll House and snow capped Great Whernside

A couple of new fences across the ghyll gave us problems to work out but we were soon down to the rocks and craggy ramparts of ring ouzel country and, soon after, the ever increasing sound of motor cycle engines as scores of trialists performed their set routines. We watched for a wee while, amazed at their skills, and chatted to a knowledgeable bystander who told us one of the riders who'd just negotiated a tricky section in the stream bed was only 11 or 12 tears old.

11 years old? A very brave lad....

But it was too cold to linger. We descended quickly to escape the nithering wind and boy, it was sheer bliss to step back into a warm kitchen with, soon, the wonderful aroma and luxury of a good strong coffee.
I like Valentines  Day. It should come more often.

I can see clearly now......

......if I take my specs off. My new eye is as good, or perhaps better, without specs as my other eye is with them. But things wont be entirely right until both eyes have been operated on and I've new prescription lenses in my spectacles.
My only fear before last Thursday's operation was that my blood pressure would be sky high, though I'd taken a ton of medication, Lercanidipine and Indoramin, in an attempt to lower it. It worked before - but not this time. I'd been told they wouldn't operate if the diastolic bit was above 90. It was 106. "Don't worry, it will come down" the nurse said. In the two hour interval before plodding off to the theatre Nightwish - a Finnish symphonic metal band - kept me relaxed and entertained with their 'End of an Era' album.
I hope it wasn't a portent!

From my window - the Hospital where I'm spending too much time. (Click pictures to enlarge)

   I was first on the afternoon theatre list, scheduled for 2 o'clock but running a few minutes late, as they do. Karen, the anaesthetist, was instantly reassuring and I'd every faith in the surgeon, Mr Musa, so no fears as I shuffled my head into a comfortable position on the operating table. Until nurse said "I'll just wrap this round your arm to monitor your blood pressure". But it was OK, Nightwind had done their job. Nurse later told me it was down to 85 which was quite acceptable. The last thing I remember was chatting to Karen about running....

Then a voice said "You've had your operation Mr Booth".

 "What time is it?" I asked. 

"Quarter to five" the voice answered. 

Gosh, had I been out all that time? 15 minutes later I was wheeled back to the ward where my wonderful partner came to join me, somewhat agitated and wondering why things had taken so long. I'd a sore throat. "Perhaps you're starting with a cold" some dumb male nurse had opined in Recovery. Sorry, but he should have known about cuffed tubes...

Looking across the valley to the wilds of West Nab

"Get dressed when you're ready, but we can't let you out until you've been to the bathroom" nurse said.  I'd had nothing to drink since 7.30 in the morning, so nothing to go to the bathroom for. What's more, my legs felt to be buckling whenever I tried to stand, let alone walk. I eventually managed to shuffle across the ward and back singing a chorus of Summer Wine (honestly) but not quite as elegantly as Lana del Rey dancing on that beach. By 6.15 I was on my way home - but far from rejoicing. I felt absolutely terrible.

I can see clearly now, the rain has gone

 My sore throat wouldn't let me eat anything so I'd three glasses of chocolate milk, then off to bed. I'd to be up at 7am next morning for another appointment with Mr Musa who was dumbstruck to learn I'd been discharged from Hospital with no drops or medication. He shot out of the consulting room like Usain Bolt starting a 100m race and hurtled up to the ward to give Sister a severe reprimand. Due to lack of medication, pressure had built up overnight in my eye and had to be released.

Alright for some - my physio out for a run

  Anyway, things are looking up, so to speak, and I've managed to type all this without wearing specs, which would have been impossible before. I met my physio, Ian Sinicki, while out for a walk today. "Where's your glasses?" he asked. I told him I could see more clearly without them, albeit a little disorientated, "The ground seems to be in a different place" I said, "and my feet have difficulty finding it". It was frosty too and I went crashing to the ground in one spot, going back down the hill. For the life in me, I daren't run....

But I will, one of these fine days!

Three books...

Over 30 years of running and racing I've amassed a great many books on the subject, more than fifty, most of which I'd periodically dip into in a constant search for more speed, more endurance, more ways to outfox the opposition, strategies to ensure a place on the podium. Never content to just run, or race, my brain was always programmed to win. If there were doubts, due to recent illness or injury, I wouldn't run if I couldn;t give my best.

While racing seriously 'Daniels' Running Formula' was the book that most influenced me to train mainly injury-free, to run sub 3 hour marathons in my 60's, regularly top the British Rankings in various age categories and set the odd course record. Some of those records have stood the test of time and remain intact, notably the 1996 M60 Coniston 14 miles (87.42), 1996 M60 Mallerstang Yomp 23 miles (3hrs 42mins) and Northern Veteran's M65 10,000 track record (39.31). I rate Jack Daniels the most athlete friendly coach of all time. But I don't train any more, so have no need of all that technical data.The days of VDOT's and scientific training are long gone.

My redundant library   (Click to emlarge)

Now, well into my 80's, the urge to outrun contemporaries is no longer there. I'd rather run leisurely with them than battle against them. All I want now is to stay fit enough to enjoy running until the day I can no longer put one foot in front of the other, to embrace the great outdoors, flowers and birdsong, magical sunrises and sunsets, and that exhilerating feeling of exposing limbs and torso to wind and sun by sea breeze shorelines, rocky trails, riverside paths, grouse haunted moors and chattering mountain streams. Not much to ask in my dotage, is it?

Most of my running library has become redundant. Preference now is for biographical books written mainly by runners who share my passion for the great outdoors. Lizzie Hawker, author of the book 'Runner', has a natural affinity with mountains that lured her to run the Ultra Tour du Mont Blanc race in 2005 with little or no experience of such things but merely as 'a last bit of fun' to conclude a two week climbing holiday in the Alps. With none of the usual technical clothing or equipment, she borrowed a wee rucksack from a friend, stuck a couple of bottles of juice in it and set off to run the 158km with its 8,600m of ascent - scared witless. She finished 1st lady - and subsequently won it a further four times. Read her book and be totally gobsmacked, particularly by her 320km run from Everest base camp to Katmandu with 10,000m ascent and 14,000m descent.
Non-stop.

Books past and present

Kilian Jornet seems more at home in mountains than most of the animals that live there, and could probably outrun them. He too is a three time winner of the prestigious UTMB, the first time in 2008 at the tender age of 20 years, and has since set himself a quest of setting records over the highest peaks of every continent. Presumably that includes Everest. His book 'Run or Die' reveals much of his Catalan character, his deep love of nature, his appreciation of all things beautiful, his affinity with the mountain environment that enables him to run tirelessly and fearlessly over frozen snow or knife-edge ridges whose exposure would frighten the life out of most mortals. His Matterhorn run from the Italian village of Cervinia to the summit and back in 2 hours 52 minutes, is truly mind-blowing.

Prior to her visiting the UK in 2011, to take part in a 24 hour Commonwealth Championship road race (in which she set a new women's world record of 247.07 kms), a message from Lizzie Hawker said it would be nice to meet up for a chat. I let that opportunity pass, frightened I'd be way out of my depth in the presence of such a high profilke athlete and possibly scared more witless than she was on the start line of her first UTMB! 

 I know when I'm beat!

All my eye.....

I'm counting down the hours to the next operation, on February 4th, when a new lens will be fitted to restore sight in my Rt eye. Mr Fayyaz Musa, a Consultant Ophthalmologist who will perform the operation, assures me sight in that eye will be better than it was before. I can't wait. The last six weeks that included Christmas and New Year have been a little indistinct.

Getting back into my stride.....(Click pictures to enlarge)

  Unable to read properly, or drive, or focus clearly on anything, life has been very much 'on hold'. I've become accident prone, bumping into people and objects, knocking things over (even spilling wine!) and breaking things - but luckily nothing of value, yet!  Religious activities have been suspended too, mainly due to inability to read Service or hymn books, or read lessons, especially in our dimly lit village Church.

Running the empty trail.....

Running also went on the back burner due to feeling wobbly on uneven terrain, off balance and unco-ordinated, which knocked my confidence a bit.  Normally I love running alone in wild and lonely places but there was an air of vulnerability about my solo plod along the fringe of Grassington Moor in last weeks snow and ice. My form has definitely deteriorated since 'seeing through a glass darkly' but will hopefully return with the coming of Spring when 'flowers appear on the earth and the time of the singing of birds has come'.

I recognized this visitor - eventually

And speaking of birds, neither have I been able to identify birds at the feeding station by my kitchen window. Goldfinches, long tailed tits, thrushes, robins and cheeky sparrows were a joy to watch and added another dimension to my own meal time rituals. For the past few weeks they've just been blurry little brown things but they're gradually becoming clearer. I didn't immediately recognize the pheasant eyeing me from the barn roof, thinking at first it had rather a long tail for a wood pigeon!  Hopefully, all will return to their proper perspective, and colours, after next wek's operation.

Crossing the bridge over Gateup Ghyll

This week's running pictures were taken on a Saturday morning circuit of Grimwith Reservoir where I sensed a little speed coming back into my legs. Although scores of cars filled the parking area we'd the 4½ mile trail almost to ourselves. We got the impression drivers just sit in their cars and gaze across the water.

Which is probably more sensible than some of the antics we get up to in our dotage!

Love it.......

An elderly lady on the bus was relating how children she'd seen in Ilkley were ever so excited, shrieking with delight and snowballing, at sight of winter's first significant snowfall. Her implication was that only children can enjoy such conditions and lamented the fact we were getting old. Well, I didn't do any shrieking but must admit to being quite excited on waking up Sunday morning and gazing out the window onto a white wonderland. After breakfast it didn't take very long to don my neglected running clothes, fix Yaktrax to my trail shoes and set off up the ghyll, wallowing in virgin snow.

Up the ghyll   (Click pictures to enlarge)

Although sub zero it was sunny at first so was able to run comfortably with a couple of thin layers, gloves and headband. But as I trundled up onto the moor it clouded over with a threat of further snow. At 1,100ft in a light wind my Garmin registered 28ºF, but felt more like 23º, so time to drag out a windproof jacket to counter the chill.

Enjoying this....

Meanwhile my wonderful partner, a National Park Volunteer Ranger, was scheduled to patrol Grassington Moor. However, due to accumulations of snow and ice, her car launched into a skater's waltz on the approach road and refused to go uphill to the parking area at Yarnbury. It was fortunate we'd put a bag of sand, and a shovel, into the boot before she set off so was able to extricate herself and return to Grassington for a much needed cup of coffee.

Hebden Beck shining like quicksilver

I'd had the moor to myself as I trundled upwards early morning but met a few brave hikers advancing carefully over the ice and snow on my way down. Yaktrax generate a sense of smug satisfaction, enabling one to cope easily with slippery conditions whilst others are teetering steadily along with concerned looks on their faces. I believe some take umbrage, regarding me as a 'show off' as I confidently tootle past, and are loathe to return my cheerful greetings.

About to meet the first walkers of the day

Unfortunately, my trusty camera doesn't share its owner's  enthusiasm for winter landscapes and is quite unable to cope with a combination of matt blacks and dazzling whites. It managed OK when blue sky and sunshine highlighted the few remaining landscape colours but as the sky clouded the camera lens cast a dense blue haze over everything. Disappointingly, none of the photos reached the required standard and 90% were deleted. Roll on the next big snow when I can experiment with different settings. Or a different camera.

Happy New Year everyone.......

Well, the festive season was certainly good while it lasted. All the little demons that plagued me throughout the last three months of 2015 sulked and hid their faces in the light of all that peace and good will from Christmas Eve onwards. From the gastronomic excesses of Christmas to the haggis, warming malt and scintillating firework displays that welcomed the dawn of 2016, Old Runningfox and his wonderful partner had much to be thankful for. Most of all, for the gift of each other, kindred spirits whose togetherness makes the world a better place to live.

Muffled up on a freezing New Year's Day run by Loup Scar

While thousands of noisy revellers thronged the streets of London to welcome the New Year we spent the evening quietly in front of our TV.  Then, around 10.30, came our traditional Hogmanay meal of tatties, haggis and neeps leading to the midnight chimes, a toast to the New Year before watching the incredible firework display centred around the London Eye.

After scraping ice from the car windscreen on New Year's morning we drove back to the Dales on surprisingly quiet roads. We'd the same thought in mind, to get home, get changed into running gear and record a few miles to open our 2016 account. And that's exactly what we did.

Keeping to the flat stuff along the Skuff

 After one or two tentative runs I'm getting used to running with only one eye, but still felt happier keeping to ground that was reasonably flat - two miles along tarmac and two miles along the riverbank. It seemed all the cars missing from the roads were parked en masse in Dales villages. Hebden, Grassington and Burnsall were heaving with nary a parking space to be found. Maybe something to do with New Year resolutions and keeping fit?

Next day it was time to exercise our minds, with various cryptic crosswords, as the heavens opened once again, livened up the beck and turned fields into a muddy morass.We've discovered that at times when no newspapers are printed we can download Guardian crosswords from the internet to keep our brains active. Or semi-active in my deteriorating state!

Yay, back among the rougher stuff two days later

There was another brief weather window on Sunday morning that had us donning our studs and, for a change, setting off up the ghyll to test my blurred sight on the rougher terrain. Beyond the old Miner's Bridge the track becomes rockier and I'd to concentrate on lifting my feet to avoid tripping. But all went well, we'd a good run and back home to beat the rain - just.

Running for home down the ghyll - to beat the rain

At my next hospital appointment, possibly in the next seven days, I should be given a date for the operation I'm told will restore sight to my Rt eye. For me, that will make for a Very Happy New Year.

For everyone else, regardless of circumstances, may 2016 be a year to remember - for all the best reasons.

A very blurry Christmas and fuzzy New Year......

Christmas activities flashed by in a blur - literally. Neither are things looking good for the first few weeks of the New year. But hopefully, by the end of January, I'll have my Rt eye back and functioning properly so I can resume normal activities. Until then, life is restricted to 4 hour slots between squeezing drops into my fuzzy eye. The Consultant ophthalmologist, Mr Musa, seemed rather non-committal when first asked if I could run, but the word 'running' didn't appear on the list of things I couldn't do so I assumed it would be alright!

Setting off by the river - Christmas Day  (Click pictures to enlarge)

Since we met a quarter of a century ago it's become traditional for my wonderful partner and I to run on Christmas Day morning as a prelude to the day's indulgences. These begin with bubbly and nibbles in a neighbour's house at 11am, then continue unabated until bedtime with never an empty glass. I'm glad Christmas comes but once a year. I'm getting too old for such things!

Returning by the quiet beck in Hebden Ghyll - Christmas Day

The riverbank was surprisingly quiet as we made our way towards Burnsall under a blue sky with glorious sunshine, the only sounds being the chattering river and a storm cock singing loudly from a tree top, perhaps presaging the following Boxing Day gales.

Running on Christmas Day - because no-one said I shouldn't

Running along a rocky path where I'd previously fallen and fractured ribs I'd to be ultra careful picking my way along in a blurred semi-blind state. Intense concentration was beginning to hurt by the time we reached Loup Scar. I'd had quite enough and turned for home.

Pouring the 2nd bottle of bubbly (amazingly without spilling) - Christmas Day

Touch wood, my temperamental nether regions have so far survived their onslaught of festive fare. On Christmas Eve I'd staggered across to the car with our regular meat order in a bag I wouldn't have wanted to carry very far.  Perhaps all the wine and bubbly is making it more palatable?

Then relaxing beside a pile of presents. Cheers everyone...

Boxing Day was a bit of a stinker but I was told "We can't just sit here all day doing crosswords" so I'd to don boots and waterproofs to combat lashing rain, flooded landscape and impassable riverbank.

Down by the fish farm - bridge over Hebden beck on Boxing Day

Down the ghyll the ground was like a sponge, oozing water at each step, and it wasn't long before I was flat on my back down a slippery slope. Bang - courtesy of a very old pair of boots with no tread. Why wasn't I wearing more sensible studs?

A raging Hebden beck on its way to the Wharfe - Boxing Day

Another glorious day followed, too good to resist a 4 mile run into Burnsall and back along the Skuff. The temperamental and noisy River Wharfe had dropped sufficiently for us to once again use the path along its bank - just. Farther downstream the build-up of water later demolished an 18th century bridge, cutting off gas and electricity while splitting the market town of Tadcaster into two halves.

Path by the Wharfe as floods receded

Apart from a local lady with her dogs and an elderly neighbour sweeping away storm debris, we'd the circuit to ourselves. Not a mallard on the river, a rook in their treetop village or any bird in the sky. Even the storm cock was silent, presumably resting  until time to shout warnings of the next oncoming holocaust - Storm Frank.

The benign looking River Wharfe between Loup Scar and Burnsall Bridge

Away from the river an ominous silence brooded over the sunlit Dales landscape as we jogged gently home along the Skuff. Viewed from above through a camera lens the Wharfe between Loup Scar and Burnsall Bridge seemed peaceful and benign. Little did we know what devastation was about to be executed in its lower reaches......

......oh, my bleeper's going, time for more of those stinging drops.

Happy New Year everyone
......but until then, here's a little something to amuse.

Cyclops.......

Dunno what sins I committed to deserve such retribution but currently I'm battling a gang of little demons conspiring to stop me running and cut me down to size. "Let's give him a good dose of flu for starters, that'll zap him" the little blighters had said back in October. And it worked, possibly because I missed having a flu jab this year. It sent me to bed for a wee while, feeling weak as a kitten. As it does.

It's not quite this bad, but bordering on it......

Then they said "Let's make sure he's totally zapped. How about activating his diverticulitis. Oh, and let's stir up his IBS for good measure. That ought to drain the goodness from his system and stop him doing all that silly running he seems to enjoy". And they were right, it did stop me. I was reduced to walking streets of my home town like a zombie while becoming quite knowledgeable of all the best loos and refusing to venture into unknown territory.

Who wants to run in weather like this anyway? A November view from my study

Then the crafty sods must have noticed I'd started working out in the gym, pumping iron and using a treadmill in an attempt to get fit again. It wasn't long before they came up with their Coup de grâce. "There's only one way to stop him, let's blind the b-gger, he can't run if he can't see".  And they very nearly succeeded. In spite of having one of the best eye surgeons in the world (Mr Fayyaz Musa) to perform a cataract operation, the demons somehow sneaked into the theatre to make jolly sure things didn't quite go according to plan. I left the theatre with only one functioning eye, my left, the weakest of the two, and strict instructions to neither bend down, lift anything heavy, go swimming or get soap in my eyes. A disaster.
 "So far, so good eh, one down and one to go" I can imagine my nasty little demons bragging in a cackle of ecstatic glee.

Drops that govern my comings and goings......possibly for months ahead

So life is currently confined to 4 hour slots between 4 sets of drops - with a 5 minute rest between each drop. Patience is not one of my virtues, and my memory isn't too good either. I've bought a timer and set it to ping every 4½ hours throughout the day. Not that I always hear it over the loud music, radio or occasional TV. And it's the farthest thing from my mind when I'm sat in my friend Abdul's chippy down town, or dreaming of warm faraway places over a cappuccino in Caffe Venezia. I've to be careful. Buses past my home in the sticks run only every two hours.

Victoria Tower beckoned me upwards on Sunday - glad my camera can still see clearly!

It was a beautiful day yesterday, though bitterly cold, and Castle Hill was beckoning through my kitchen window. I donned my running shoes, just to enjoy the feel of them again, and set off with a camera to enjoy the day as best I could.  It's a strange sensation walking with only one eye. Unless I cover my right eye its blurriness affects the clarity of my left eye which is a bit disorienting. I'm a little nervous crossing roads in traffic and frightened of bumping into people walking the pavement. Of course, I'd always blame them!

Gorse flowering on the slopes......

I'd no such problems walking through open fields and strolling gently uphill to a favourite viewpoint. The sun shone bountifully. Little brown birdies (couldn't see what they were) chirruped among the flowering gorse, possibly sheltering from the icy wind that stung my face. It was a delicious wind that prompted a feeling bordering on ecstasy as I wandered around the perimeter of the hill I've circuited on scores of occasions during morning runs. Even as I walked plans began to form in my mind. Half of me was endeavouring to bring panoramas and misty horizons into focus. My running half was taking measurements, working out sensible distances in suitable open places for strides or repetitions.
While walking home I stopped to take a photograph of a herd of sheep. A friend caught up and predictably asked the stock question. "Why aren't you running?"

 I had to laugh...

'But those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint' (Isaiah 40, v31)    Photo from the Internet.

Words of inspiration and power at times like these.  They roll around in my head while putting drops in my eyes, before going to sleep, or while 'lifting my eyes to the hills'.

Talking of hills I've been reminiscing (again) about Munro-bagging experiences with Stuart Scott while pondering over his excellent photographs. Here's another of them.

A winter jog over Bidein a'Choire Sheasgaich and Lurg Mhor (Photo courtesy Stuart Scott)

To shorten the distance to those remote Munros we'd spent a wild sub zero night in Bhearnais bothy after being wind-blasted off our feet during the approach over the bealach from Gerry's Hostel at Craig. I remember waking to find a starving mouse picking crumbs, or something, from my beard. I flicked it away and it went skidding across the floor to collide with Stuart! Then, while washing up after breakfast, Stuart's plate got caught by the wind, blown into the swollen river and washed away at great speed never to be seen again. I remember it as if it were yesterday - yet often have difficulty recalling what I was doing a couple of days ago!
Oh dear, Heston Blumenthal is pinging to say it's time for more drops, so enough of my ramblings until the next installment.
Meanwhile, I'm looking forward to the time when I can Run, run, run...
Have a wonderful Christmas everyone....Cheers!

70 years young.....

   Friday 6th dawned dreich and miserable with a threat of heavier rain before the day was much older. In fact, the weather was not in a very pleasant mood at all. But we were. It's become traditional for us to begin each birthday with a celebratory run, or even race if there happens to be one on the day, so hell or high water wasn't going to stop us on the occasion of my wonderful partner's 70th.

A hug for my wonderful birthday girl   (Click to enlarge pictures)

With 153 accumulated years between us, we set off at a rather sedate pace round a 4½ circuit we'd sussed out 5 days earlier - on a sunny day when the temperature was around 70ºF (See my previous blog entry).  Shame it wasn't the same for her birthday.

Enjoying a 70th birthday run.......

After parking the car at Skirethorns we climbed steeply for 600ft around the lip of Threshfield quarry onto a hilltop overlooking Malham Moor. Not that we could see much of the moor through thickening clag and increasingly heavy rain.

On the stony track round the quarry

 Over wet grass and rocks we descended carefully down to join the track that links Mastiles Lane with Malham Moor Lane where we turned left at the latter. Sheep grazed with their backs to the wind. Beef cattle, seemingly replete, sheltered under the wall or blocked our gateway until we shoo-ed them away.

.......and skipping down from the high point to Malham Moor

From thereon it was a pleasant 1½ miles back to the car, mainly downhill through autumn leaves and russet bracken that lifted our spirits again after the eerie emptyness of the open moor.

Downhill in the rain - back to the car after 4½ miles

In the afternoon, before our evening celebrations began, we were joined by an old mountaineering and Munro bagging friend, Dr Stuart Scott who, with his wife Maria, had driven from Crapstone in glorious Devon to join in the fun.

Dr Stuart Scott - on Angel's Peak, above the Lairig Ghru, during a 38 mile Munro-bagging run in the Cairngorms. We were fit in those dim distant days....

I hadn't seen Stuart for many years so it was good to chat and reminisce about long days in the hills together - prior to his marriage to Maria in 2002. Sadly, there have been no such days since!

Yours truly on a run over Ben Hope - looking across to Ben Loyal  (Picture courtesy Stuart Scott)

Stuart is a wonderful photographer whose pictures have graced front covers of climbing magazines, illustrated climbing articles and even placed one of yours truly soloing Tower Gap on Ben Nevis in Ken Wilson's iconic book 'Classic Rock'.

Winter mountaineering - on a climb over Ben More Assynt and Conival (Picture courtesy Stuart Scott)

He handed me a bundle of photographs (three of them featured here) he'd taken of me over the years, all taken in Scotland, in all seasons of the year, running the Munros, winter mountaineering in Knoydart and some serious climbing in the Cuillins of Skye.

On Blaven, Isle of Skye "Just climb down to that chockstone, should make a good shot" he said.  (Picture courtesy Stuart Scott)

Come evening, thirty friends and neighbours gathered with us in Hebden's Old School Tearoom for a convivial get together that went on well into the night. Our thanks to Martyn, Margaret and Ann who served up such a delicious treat, never let our glasses run dry and made it an occasion to remember.

Quite a few members of the over 70's club at the birthday celebrations

Most appropriate was a birthday cake shaped like a snowy mountain that had a wee tent with a climber peeping out, and a lady running round the perimeter. Well done to whoever thought of that.

Some close friends. Lt to Rt - Maralyn, Barbara, Sue, Helen (seated) talking to Margaret

All in all, it had been a wonderful day and rather different, I'd imagine, to the average person's 70th birthday celebrations. 

Roll on her 80th!
STOP PRESS. Four days after her birthday my wonderful partner flew to Australia visiting relatives. An email, four days after her arrival, said she'd just run a Parkrun in Brisbane and set a new LV70 course record.  Yay, she's an International star!