The grand arrival:
A massive thanks to Tom as always for his fab leadership in organising the brilliant fell weekend for us all in Coniston. Once again this is no mean feat with 3 groups of people running green, light blue and dark blue routes and then a hardy contingent running the Muncaster Luck fell race on Sunday. We were very grateful to our brilliant run leaders, Tom, Rob and Martin for leading us on these stunning routes :).
Rachel very kindly drove Gill and I up there and I certainly felt in the presence of 2 wise and humble running leg-ends. We enjoyed chatting about running plans for the year and discussing the usual niggles past, present and avoidance of any futures.
Arriving in the peaceful roads of the lakes was as always very exciting – a dark and windy road, spiralling us into the unknown.
Arriving at the hostel, the first thing I noticed was the beautiful air – tinged with fresh, growing grass and a mere suggestion of Herdwick dung.
We hit the local pub for our inaugural meal, getting a sense of our lovely running mates for the next couple of days. The discussions proceeded in the usual way, with tales of running endeavours and an air of excitable expectation for the days ahead.
The air proceeded to envelope us in a hot and heady way during the night in our respective hostel boudoirs.
The main course:
After a hearty breakfast, it was time to gather to listen to Tom’s briefing for the day. The setting was beguiling – a large drawing room, where I know many have begun their forays into these beautiful hills and rested their Soles thereafter.
Off we went in our 2 big groups of lovely Harriers, winding past a Copper Mine and up the stony track – there was a suggestion of an extension due to the beautiful weather and the desire to see one Goat Tarn. Who could come all this way and not behold it with its bedevilled horns and hooves.
We had some lovely gatherings along the way, one at a crystal tarn, midnight blue in the March Hare Spring, another atop a beautiful viewing mount. The weather could not have been more delightful – we could see for miles – you could not help but think of what could have been, a howling wind, driving rain, but I think that would only have slightly dampened our smiles.
After quite a long ascent, the people spoke – our leaders turned round, happily bemused, to see that we had all sat down and started to unpack all manner of gourmet lunches. We weren’t at the top of the hill yet but it looked and felt like it and no words were said when we started to unpack our wares – these ranged from sopping, greasy jam sandwiches proffered from breakfast, still with bits of kitchen roll stuck on, to finest Staffordshire Oatcakes.
We arrived at Swirl How, the only name of any landmark or hillock that I recalled, due to its importance in being a cut off point for those carrying on for dark blue pursuits, while others would turn back down to Coniston.
The descent to Coniston for me, was like a rocky funnel, where every jolt required the utmost of concentration – brain telling Sole what was required, muscle telling sinew it was fired.
Rob expertly led us down, bumping, clumping, banging – I speak for myself here and a few other Compadres who said they found it tough and indeed in Macc, we do not have any descent quite as rough. No matter the terrain, our joy continued at being in such a stunning place, all in it together, birds of many feathers.
Back to the peaceful hostel where we did ourselves up to the 9s at 6s and 7s with the loo.
We gathered at the pub in town, happy chatter, recounting our 3 routes – it was lovely to hear what stood out for people – we talked for some time about Martin’s prowess in skimming. Rowan and Ellie enjoyed hanging out with us and I liked that Ellie handed us shoes again and again, which I think was a sign that she thought we were fast and cool and that she’d follow in our hardy footsteps and those of her lovely parents, Fi and Nathanael in years to come .
Carrying on to the meal, the pub had sat us like a grand wedding table and this suited the occasion – more recounting, sharing of pictures, moments etc – it is always lovely to look round at the happy faces of those who accompany us in life at special pursuits like these – I’m sure Tom could have done an excellent debrief,with a fine best man’s tone.
I enjoyed musing with those who would have a crack at Muncaster fell race the next the next day. Martin kindly showed me a route which looked to me like a pelican’s beak with a series of protruding whiskers. All mentioned it was set to be navigationally tricky – I’m not great with Cross Pelicans at the best of times so this was a first warning. It was said there were 2 river crossings, one of which ran so deep that it would be better to swim. I mentioned that there had better be a pelican crossing at this point, particularly for keeping phone cameras aloft.
Off to bed, where sinews twitched, tossed and turned through the night – rewiring themselves for carrying onto the breech.
Our just desserts:
Another lovely breakfast, buttering toast, making holes, drinking coffee, dunking bowls.
We parted our ways now – bags strewn at all corners of our temporary kingdom. It was nice to see people striking off to enjoy their own moments – taking the opportunity to be in this beautiful place for some more hours.
At this point I found the thought of racing quite hilarious – I really couldn’t stop laughing at the thought of what was to come – I was really proud of our band of contenders – ready to give it our all after the day before. The setting for the race was stunning – a beautiful castle with I believe Rooks calling to each other among the spring flowers and trees. I imagined the Knight himself trolling his grounds with his pawns, hare and hounds and hearing these same sounds, seeing these same sights.
Steve discovered that the name of the race came from the Muncaster family having a lucky bowl that has stayed with them for generations – when it broke, their luck would be out – it was intact and so were we the morning after our day before – just about . A great sign of what was to come.
I asked the Race Director if there was a Sweeper and if we indeed had to butterfly across the river. Non Madame.
A stunning race route proceeded, that looked once again so different to the day before – beautiful rolling hills, ditches (I believe only I crossed such a thing), cairns, mounds, daffodil flooded byways.
Gill and Rachel went on to win 1st and 2nd ladies and Jon to win third gent – serious achievements after the day before – how proud to be part of a club that can turn up after doing that the day before and sweep up – I on the other hand got swept up, thankfully by a lovely couple and dog who directed me down to a happy DNF by a lovely reservoir where I was very kindly picked up by Rachel, Gill, Josh and Jon – a self fulfilling prophecy – had I not asked if there was a sweeper, I too could have been a Lord and Leaper.
Thanks very much to Tom for organising this fabulously motley crew and to our brilliant leaders, Tom, Rob and Martin for leading us high and low, be ye fast or slow . Feet up to next year .
Fell Section Roving Reporter