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!

On the mend........

Well, I'm 'sort of' back running inasmuch as I managed almost 5 miles round Grimwith reservoir on Saturday.

Starting our run round Grimwith reservoir    (Click to enlarge pictures)

 The local shoot were out in force, some quite close to the path, but we managed to run the gauntlet with no mis-haps from stray shot or falling pheasants.Thousands of birds are reared annually on the Grimwith estate specifically for the fun of blasting them out of the sky when they're fully grown.  A pair of peregrine falcons that nest locally must feed quite well off them too and a feral ferret we once saw was the fattest we'd ever seen.

Easy running on the wheelchair path

We'd been tempted to run there by an article in the Craven Herald, a local newspaper, which said the rough track at the far side of the reservoir, over a narrow bridge followed by a steep, muddy climb, has now been bypassed and made suitable for wheelchairs. This had to be investigated in case we should ever find ourselves in need of such a commodity. Well, with more than one and a half centuries between the two of us, who knows?

Thatched building at Grimwith where kestrels nested

It was a glorious day for running, not too warm with the gentlest of breezes ruffling the water and keeping us cool. Only distraction was the constant sound of gunfire which one couple found rather intimidating, so turned back. Or maybe it was their dog that got frightened. We ran past, through the collection of vehicles that resembled Tesco's car park, stopping only once to photograph one proud hunter's trophies displayed over the sides of his pick-up truck.

A good day's shoot - if you're into such things

Being the first run for three weeks I kept to a very easy pace, but with 10 - 12 short bursts of around 6min/mile pace to hopefully raise my cruising threshold to something like it used to be.  All went well and a crispy bacon sandwich, by way of a reward, never tasted better..

A misty Sunday morning in Hebden

We awoke to thick mist on Sunday morning but it thinned as we ate breakfast, then gave way to a cloudless sky by morning coffee time. Autumn colours around the village never looked more spectacular, as if that great artist in the sky had somewhat gone a bit mad with the saturation levels.

Our pleasant Sunday stroll

After Saturday's run my geriatric bones were feeling a bit stiff so wisely, I think, opted to take them for a walk instead. We parked and locked the car on Skirethorns Lane before striking upwards in the direction of Malham Moor.

Waterfall in Threshfield quarry

A waterfall we'd never seen before ran prisms of rainbow light through the autumn foliage invoking the first of many photo shoots along the 5 mile circuit.

Path round the rim of the vast disused quarry

Our path steepened round the lip of the quarry where tiny little pink flowers kept a low profile among the limestone clints.

Rest stop to view the tints

We passed through a gate at the head of the quarry and turned left to follow a drystone wall even more steeply towards Malham Moor. The sun blazed down and the temperature rose into the low 70's, the highest ever recorded in Britain in November. Had we known it was going to be so hot we'd have dressed accordingly, in shorts and T-shirts, rather than tracksters and thermal tops. We envied a lady runner in more sensible attire crossing the moor with her dog.

Runner - dressed for the weather over Malham Moor

After crossing Moor Lane we veered left at Height Laithe, following Rowley Beck through Cow Close Wood to the caravan park at Wood Nook.

Approaching Height Laithe

A young couple passed us, swinging their trekking poles as they went along. Noting my disgust at such needless gimmicks, my wonderful partner suggested I might well need some in the none too distant future and thought they might make a good present for my 90th birthday!

Trees by Wood Nook. That 'Artist in the sky' may have gone a bit OTT this year

Colours of dying bracken and changing leaves against the boundless blue sky were a sight to behold resulting in countless pictures being taken in hopes of one good one that might implant the memory of the day forever in our minds. We got more than one and yes, they came vividly to mind as I commuted back to Windhover today through dense fog to ramp up the heating and thaw my chilled bones.

Weekly totals:

Running: 5 miles/261ft ascent

Walking: 5miles/758ft ascent

Zilch......

Runningwise it's been a fruitless week, or 10 days to be more precise, so the animal is not very happy.  Not one scraggy little mile to record in my log book.  A half mile walk as far as the river to view the autumn tints was as much as I could manage on Sunday. Church was out of the question too (it's not the same when I can't sing!) though it's only a couple hundred yards away.

Autumn tints by the river - farthest I walked last week  (Click to enlarge pictures)

Today, whilst my wonderful partner was enjoying a 10 mile circuit around Nidderdale with her U3A walking group, I ventured into the garden to pull up a load of weeds and generally tidy the place up. Being north facing, and mainly sunless at this time of year, my lawns have never dried sufficiently for me to mow them, but yesterday I made them have it. Scarified them too, so they look a right mess!

Did you say something?  Coal tit at the feeding station

My bird feeding station has attracted some colourful visitors, long-tailed tits, goldfinches and a great spotted woodpecker the other day, but the little blighters fly away as soon as they spot a camera!  A vain little day flying moth was more accommodating and stayed on the same flower for a whole 10 minutes - posing. Or maybe it was tired....

Silver Y moth posing on late flowering phlox

My big holly tree and cotoneaster hedge are dripping with berries which some would say portends a harsh winter. Bring it on. I love running in snow, or even ice, so long as I have the right footwear. Read Yaktrax Pro.

Food for the winter thrushes

Oh, and because I forgot to post it at the time, here is one of the pictures I took of that lunar eclipse in September. I took a series of shots, at various stages, and this was the last one before mist came in and shrouded everything out.

Eclipse - September 28th (I think!)

So that's all I can think of to keep my blog running for another week. Hope everyone likes the pictures - if nothing else! Next week's will be even sparser, or non-existent, for I've no intentions to run until after the clocks have gone back.
Total Mileage: Zilch

Alive, but not much kicking.....

Inscribed across Spike Milligan's gravestone, in Gaelic, are the words "See, I told you I was ill".  I haven't reached that stage but I'll refrain from using Spike's words so as not to tempt fate.  Let's just say I'm a little under the weather, confined to barracks, heating thermostat switched to Max, gazing at the beautiful weather and birds feeding outside my window - but quite incapable of running.

Through my window - that beckoning hill.......   (Click pictures to enlarge)

I did try. On Saturday some lunatic inside my head was urging "Go on, get out there and run it out of your system". I wont describe the disgusting details of what followed during that eventful six miles in case anyone should to be eating! Until then things weren't going too badly, although I'd admitted to a fellow runner I was 'struggling a bit, probably starting with a cold, or something'.

Autumn tints at Linton Falls on Saturday's 'eventful' run

Friday had been a funny morning, far busier than I've known it at that early hour. Running round the rim of Castle Hill as dawn was breaking I was conscious of a figure pointing a camera at me with a long telephoto lens.  It introduced itself as a Times photographer and took a few more shots of me silhouetted against the sky before allowing me to go my way.  Another professional photographer had positioned herself ready to 'shoot' the imminent sunrise, though I told her she'd chosen the wrong morning and should have been there on Thursday when the sky had been almost cloudless.

Last Thursday's spectacular sunrise......

Two more people had a blanket spread on the grass and were practicing Thai Chi, or something like that. And no, that's not a euphemism!  There were other runners too, three besides me, and a few dog walkers. Three large dogs, one an Alsatian, got quite excited when they saw me and came hurtling towards me - just to say 'Hello'. I hadn't seen them for some months but, according to their owner, they still recognized me. It was a pleasure to meet them.

....and Friday's pastel shades with mist and cloud

Well, that was the week that was. I'm afraid it's back into quarantine, otherwise known as bed. Or until that obsessive running lunatic sneaks into my head with enticing words of how much I'm missing those breaking dawns with all their gorgeous sunrises.
Oh, just one thing before I go, I'd better put my kit to wash. Gotta look respectable in case I meet that Times person again.....

Totals for week: 16 miles, 1,434ft ascent

Indian summer......

During his record breaking attempt on the 165 mile Tahoe Rim Trail, Kilian Jornet  (of Matterhorn fame) writes in his book, 'Run or Die' of feeling really good, as if his feet preferred not to touch the ground as he swerved through the trees at top speed, flying on silent strides, breathing in the fresh air, alert to everything around. Sometimes he imagined himself as an Indian brave in pursuit of an elk that was running away, or carrying an urgent message to a neighbouring tribe. Initially his watch was recording a pace of around 10mph whilst latterly he was virtually running in his sleep. His narrative of that 38 hour run is utterly compelling. He broke the record by about 7 hours.

Kilian, with pacers, running the Tahoe Rim trail  (Click pictures to enlarge)

My fertile brain associated Kilian's mention of Indian braves with something my mother said shortly before she died. "I suppose you know there's Indian blood in the family?" she said casually. I didn't, but said I wasn't all that surprised given that some of our Scottish forebears sailed with the East India Company. Who knows what or who they might have brought back from Far Eastern shores in those dim distant days. "Not that sort of Indian" she said, "I mean Red Indian".

She couldn't elaborate further and I couldn't help laughing at such an outlandish idea. It was one of those snippets passed down through the generations and mother firmly believed it was true. I jokingly suggested it might have been one of 'Buffalo' Bill Cody's Red Indian troupe that went on the rampage, raping and pillaging, when  his fabulous Wild West show came over to tour England and entertain Queen Victoria. Might even have been the great Sitting Bull himself. Anyway, it's something to amuse me next time I'm tripping through the woods in the half light of dawn, except it might not be an elk I'm pursuing but some dusky maiden who, unbeknown to her, is destined to become the stuff of legend!

On the Bare House trail

In the meantime we've been enjoying the glorious Indian summer that warmed Britain through most of September. It's a good job we made the most of it for it disappeared as we stepped into October. To round off September we ran a delectable 7 miles together around the Bare House circuit - a steady 700ft climb over the first 3 miles then some fast sprints, airplaning downhill over springy turf into Grassington with sheep looking somewhat bemused at our antics!

Blea Ghyll

To open my October account I ran another 7 miles with similar ups and downs over Grassington Moor returning by some wonderfully wild country alongside Blea Beck with its newly planted trees and extensive views over Grimwith reservoir to the heights of Simon's Seat and Nussey Knott. Apart from just running, I have something else in common with Kilian in that we both sing - he when he's getting tired and me on the rare occasions when I'm 'in the zone'. Also like Kilian, I can never remember all the words and repeat certain phrases, mostly in Italian, over and over again. Last Thursday was one of those days when the closing stanzas of Rapsodia kept breaking the silence of the lonely landscape. Fortunately, there was no-one else there!

Hebden Suspension Bridge and Autumn tints

To keep my legs loose in the afternoon I walked to the newly refurbished suspension bridge that spans the River Wharfe below Hebden Village. Leaves of Horse Chestnut are turning russet while various other trees are beginning to display their Autumn tints. The bridge had only re-opened five minutes prior to my arrival so I was able to cross the river and mount the hill for a bird's eye view, and photograph, of that enchanted corner.

Smoothing out the rough bits over Bycliffe Hill

"I'm struggling a bit today" I rasped to two walkers while jogging up onto the moor on Sunday morning. Their presence ensured I kept moving, uphill, with little respite for 4 miles until it eventually dawned I'd got into a nice rhythm and was actually enjoying it! The rough, uneven terrain over the final steep part of Bycliffe Hill could have been a bowling green as I ran unfaltering across it as if to the beat of a metronome. I was growled and snarled at by a very unfriendly collie on reaching the Mossdale track but it's owner thankfully kept it in check. A raven cronked 'Hello' down the long wall but didn't follow me like its predecessors used to do.

Bent tree at descent to Hebden Ghyll

Pretty soon I was passing the bent tree that welcomed me back to the friendly confines of Hebden Ghyll.

'Burning Bush' - Cotoneaster up the ghyll

The sun came out. The path beneath my feet felt smooth as a treadmill as I slid past the 'burning bush' and back into the village feeling rather smug in having transitioned from morning struggles into a reasonably well oiled machine. It's amazing what can happen if only we're prepared to take that first step.......
Weeks totals: 22 miles, 1,549ft ascent

Autumn of my life......

 Isn't Autumn wonderful? Not just a feast for the eyes or the soul but for the inner man too with all its wild fruits, flavour filled treats picked straight from the field, the bush or the tree. I could make myself ill!

Not wild, but one or two overhanging the fence could still end up in a pie!  (Click to enlarge)

This last week has been glorious with contrasting seasonal colours of clear sunny days and pastel shades of mild, misty mornings. I couldn't get out of bed quick enough to don my vest, shorts and studs before running out into the dawn to have my fill of the unfolding pageant.

'Good morning world' - the red ball peeping over the horizon

There is something intensely satisfying about seeing that first tiny red spot peeping over the eastern horizon before the whole sky bursts into flame. Inevitably, it stops me in my tracks, to watch it spread, to photograph it (for at least the hundredth time) and to revel in the experience of just being there to witness that amazing sight. Then to run, run for home, my inner batteries primed with elemental energy to sustain me throughout the unfolding day.

......and setting the sky on fire

Becoming a runner was one of the better decisions I made in life, one I wish I'd made years earlier. On that fateful day - April 9th, 1986 and over 38,000 miles ago - the world became a richer place, akin to what religious folk would call a born again experience. It added more life to my days and, I believe, more days to my life.

Misty morning. Reminds me of Susan Boyle's 'WILD HORSES' (click to play)

Without various changes running brought about, in social, eating, drinking, and sleeping habits, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't be sat here compiling this at 83 years old. Nor stepping out into misty dawns to run the hills and woods and fields to enjoy the company of all the wild creatures of this wonderful world.
Weekly total: 21 miles/2,059ft ascent

A twinge of Autumn......

It was wonderful to run the commons and coast paths in warm Cornish sunshine with the constant croon of the ocean, refreshing salt laden sea air and white gulls gliding across the blue sky. It's funny how we remember good things and obliterate the bad. Looking back over many holidays, I remember little of cold, discomfort or lashing rain, even while backpacking throughout the Highlands bagging all the Scottish Munros, some of the more favoured ones several times. Likewise the sound of storms buffetting our tent in Cornwall will soon fade from our brains.

Everything in the garden is beautiful..... (Click pictures to enlarge)

But back to normality, whatever that might be. My garden was a truly colourful sight when I got home, the lush grass of my handkerchief size lawn 6" taller than when I left. Scented pink phlox, fuschia, marguerites and crocosmia were all at their flowering best but so, unfortunately, were the weeds! Bird feeders were all completely empty. So I'd a bit of work to do before I could think about running.

.....and things happening over the garden wall

Mornings are getting darker now so I've reset the alarm to waken me half an hour later - 6am instead of 5.30 - but reckon it wont be long before I've to reset it again. This morning's jaunt in semi-darkness, down a steep path into Mollicar Wood with wet uneven steps and tree roots criss-crossing it, slowed me to a wary walk. That, and the equally steep climb out the other side, upset my rhythm to an extent from which I never really recovered.

Early morning sun lighting up windows across the stubble field

While I was away vast acres of corn have been cut and as I ran through the stubble fields clouds of wood pigeons rose into the air at my approach. Pheasants too were filling their crops with the excess of corn littering the ground. Do farmers only harvest it for the straw? Sometimes I wish I still had my old 12 bore shotgun. I'd love one of those corn fed pheasants.

Struggling uphill at sunrise....

Making my way onto Castle Hill to complete a planned six miles the rising sun highlighted clusters of luscious ripe blackberries - a handful of which just had to be eaten. Then two terriers came hurtling towards me, barking and growling, but as I greeted them and bent to sooth them they decided to be friendly and offered their backs so I could smooth their bristling hackles.

.....onto this lovely running path, already showing tints of autumn

Uneven terrain, frightened horses, cows blocking a stile, ripe blackberries and loose dogs all combined to make a mockery of my run today. Stopping, starting, walking and eating made it a very slow jaunt. But the sun shone (eventually), there was a twinge of autumn in the air and I enjoyed every minute of it. Blackberries were so good I've been out to fill a polythene container with enough to make a couple of crumbles that should last the week. The first will be in the oven any minute now. 

Bon appetit!
Week's total: 21 miles: 2,200ft ascent

A Southern jaunt.......

For the past umpteen years (I'm sorry, I've lost count) we've been visiting Crantock in the month of June when sea pinks light up the coastal fringes, when Cubert Common is adorned with yellow rattle and wonderful purple orchids, and a myriad skylarks serenade our morning runs. Alas, there are no such treats in the month of September. Neither is there much daylight, especially on cold, overcast evenings such as one when I recall sliding into my sleeping bag at 7.38pm!

The beach at Polly Joke   (Click pictures to enlarge)

Not that I'm complaing for in my dotage I need all the sleep I can get. There were two stormy nights but there is something wonderfully satisfying about being cosy, snug and warm when the wind is thundering in from the sea and rain is hammering the canvas. Indeed, those sounds are far more preferable than various other campsite noises that often go on well into the night.

Running on the Cornish Coast Path

People could be forgiven for thinking that all we do while on holiday is run, and in fact our various destinations are facetiously referred to by friends as 'warm weather training camps'. Wherever we go, home or abroad, on coasts or in the mountains, we invariably run between four and seven miles each morning - which can't be bad for a couple currently boasting 152 years between us.  Over nine mornings on this occasion we ran a total of 48 miles with 3,560ft of ascent - but I wont divulge how long it took us.

Wandering by Vugga Cove on a braw afternoon

So far as running goes, Crantock is one of our favourite places. The Cornish Coast Path undulates along its fringes providing turquoise seascapes, crashing waves, gulls crying, seals basking on the rocks and kestrels hunting over the lush grassland.

'The Chick' - an island beloved by basking seals, six near centre of picture

"Just look at that" I said to an otherwise engaged girl walking blindly behind her friends past Holywell Bay as windblown waves curled in one after the other, "It's a scene to feast your eyes on - and all you can do is gaze into that bloomin' phone".

Waves rolling into Holywell Bay

 Paths around Cubert Common are popular with horse riders, dog walkers, butterfly hunters - and runners. Rarely do we walk or run these lovely places without passing other runners, often with their dogs, and usually galloping along quite a bit faster than us!

Butterfly - of some sort. (A Gatekeeper, I'm told)

Back home in Yorkshire we can put names to the majority of butterflies we encounter but there appears to be an entirely different set of colourful species in Cornwall. I recognized the Red Admiral that kissed my cheek as I ran by the golf course, but most of the others were unfamiliar to me. A lady we met had seen a bright yellow one which she identified by seeing a picture of it on a bottle of beer that went by the name of  'Clouded Yellow'.

Sarah, the Canicross lady, setting out for a run with Bess.

 That same lady, a seasoned camper with a tent pitched adjacent to ours at Higher Moor, had two trail hounds, Archie and Bess, the latter of which she harnessed and used for Canicross activities around the Common. Being considerably younger than me I couldn't help thinking it was she who should be free running whilst I had that powerful looking dog to help me along. Or maybe not....

Male Sparrowhawk devouring pigeon on campsite

Another couple alongside our tent were relaxing quietly under their gazebo when a terrified wood pigeon flew past their very noses towards the open field hotly pursued by a hungry sparrowhawk that snapped up its prey amid a cloud of feathers and tore it to pieces only yards away from surrounding tents and gobstruck campers.

Damselfly - a male Banded Demoiselle

All in all we'd a very pleasant holiday. In spite of the lack of June flowers and Spring songbirds there were other colourful compensations. Not just butterflies but purple loosestrife, lingering water lilies, fleabane, some luscious blackberries that frequently stopped my gallop for a free feast, and startling green/black damselflies we think were male Banded Demoiselles.

Crow on his treetop perch -- our alarm clock each morning

 But most of all we missed the birds. Blackbirds, robins, thrushes, pheasant and patrolling mallard were all missing from the campsite, ousted, we suspect, by growing numbers of carrion crows, thieving magpies and noisy wood pigeons that called and called and made sure we never overslept in the morning. I don't know where larks disappear to after the nesting season but we never heard one. Next year, we've decided, we'll revert to our June dates...
48 miles run with 3,560ft ascent