Report by Helen Pickford
Mid August I participated in a new ultra marathon – The Dales Way Ultra and 82ish mile run depending if you are using a Garmin watch or a Suunto watch. It starts in Bowness in Windermere, in the Lake District and goes all the way to Ikley in West Yorkshire. It passes through the heart of my favourite landscape; the Yorkshire Dales National Park. It was put on to celebrate its 50th year. So lets give it a go.
An ultramarathon for those of you who are unsure is anything over a marathon distance and often involves lots of food, chatting, beautiful countryside and wild poos. It’s so glamorous, honest!
The days leading up to the event it had been raining cats and dogs, but the weather gods were kind to us on the day and we had lovely fluffy clouds with sunny intervals. Perfect running conditions.
Most ultramarathons require you to take certain ‘kit’, this involves a spare long sleeved top, survival blanket, whistle, map, your own food and drink. It was self navigation though the route being an established ‘walking’ route had sporadic signs. This particular ultra had 7 checkpoints along the way so there was no need to take too much food. The checkpoints resemble kids birthday parties, with lots of crisps, savoury snacks, sweets and the like.
Everyone got asked to show their map as part of the compulsory kit check at registration. I had the official ‘Harvey’s Dales Way map and my watch with the GPX on it.
At the start line
130 runners towed the start line as a briefing was given and my own cynical reservations were quickly forgotten as we were off. As usual people came spurting past, rushing headlong probably not quite realising there were another 81.6 miles to go. Each runner tearing past me faster than a Peregrine Falcon stooping catch its pray. I had placed myself around two thirds back, moving like a three-toed sloth. Yet I knew I had 80 plus miles ahead of me, and I was going to take it steady for the first few muddy miles. After around 2 miles the front runners had gone the wrong way and came hurtling back down the hill like they were in a National championship fell race.
With events like this every little thing just needs to be broken down into one step at a time. I never look ahead at how far the run is, otherwise I’d never begin. I just start running, slowly very slowly, that way I find there is a greater chance I will finish, I don’t overthink it I just try and love the magical journey and I run it.
The dales way although not really that hilly with around 7000ft of climb had a brobdingnagian amount of obstacles; from large metal farm gates to tiny springy wooden hobbit like gates, a million and one stiles, from the common step stiles to step-ladders rising to a point over the limestone dry stone walls characteristic particularly of the Yorkshire Dales and much more difficult to negotiate especially after 100km. Stone steps from the flanks of the dry-stone walls to the squeeze stiles and we would be very lucky if we’d just have a gap amongst the waterlogged meadows.
The first checkpoint was around 10 miles in, we had to leave the official Dales Way to reach this checkpoint. I had overtaken a few people already as some of them had gone out far too fast. I was straight in and out after I had registered my number, no point in hanging about this early on in the game.
About 10 of us had now formed a little cluster. Some of the guys were just following others and not reading their map. This became obvious at a number of junctions and through a number of fields when they would stop and pause. I was following my GPX file but always had my map handy as well, another guy was just using his map. The route had not been too strenuous yet, a few bumps here and there but nothing to get excited about.
Passing through more soggy fields, and over the M6, our little group had dispersed slightly. The next checkpoint was at 18 miles, an outdoor picnic table full of goodies. A quick fill up with water and I was off again, leaving some of the pack I had been running with to pack faff. I was good for fuel, with my energy drink, and muesli type bars chopped up I was feeling swift and my legs were flowing well.
What a beautiful feeling
I was running on my own a little and then whistled back a guy who had decided to deviate into someones back garden. Another guy caught me up and we ran on together for a while chatting a little and enjoying the picturesque sunny day. What a beautiful feeling.
There was plenty of riverbank running, with picture postcard viaducts and exquisiteness of some odd shaped buildings. Some of the paths were covered with dark mud other times we were on exposed moorland. Myself and the other guy caught up with a few others. There were now a group of about 5 of us. I found myself ‘leading’ the pack. I felt a bit guilty as I wasn’t going very fast and it was a narrow pathway but they were all following me with no attempt to break through and squeeze past me. We all kept together making little chit chat until we were stopped in our tracks – literally. Stopped in our tracks by a farmer with his tractor. Mr Farmer who was about 90 was not going to let us past, oh no. He instead drove at minus one mile an hour to our annoyance, and only just squeezed down the narrow path with his big red tractor and trailer on the back. Frustration on all our faces and in our legs as this was a nice downhill descent where we could have let the legs off the lead. It seemed like hours before Mr Farmer turned off although I guess it was only about 5 minutes. Once it turned off I was off, skipping and bounding down the track, a big springiness in my step and a smile on my face.
Streams of water, dirty rich, flowed along the official pathway. With a few nettles to add to the sting, I skipped over the rain washed ground, careless and free. Now running with just a couple of others on the country lane an unnecessary people carrier stopped us in our tracks, not another incident of the tractor man I hoped. We squeezed past it and picked up the pace on the flat-ish but winding tarmac for about half a mile.
There was a little turn away from the road which I had marked on my GPX file as I had been down on this part of the route before and previously missed the turning just as a guy in bright orange had done so in front. I whistled him back and gave him a wave as we swam our way across a very boggy field towards the riverside. It was flat-ish but not fast. The abundance of stiles and muddy pathways scattered with tree roots kept us on our toes along with a few cows glaring at us ‘what are you doing in our field’ they would say to us.
The next checkpoint at Dent village hall was another out and back, this bit was signposted with the standard yellow event signs, leaving the Dales Way for a few hundred metres or so to pick up supplies for the next section. Dent is one of the loveliest of Dales villages, white-walled cottages and ancient buildings make it a fascinating check point location. But no time to stop and marvel at the fascinating village, I was in and out before you could shout boo at a goose no time for faffing lets get on with this. Lets do it!
I had taken 3 mini scotch egg type things and a bit of some other random savoury picnic bite munchy thing and split my water all over the lovely floor (sorry!). I said my goodbyes with lots of ‘good lucks‘ thrown my way and off I went feeling good.
Bramble filled pathways meandered around the river path with cute bridges to cross. There was just me and one other guy now but I soon left the other guy maybe in a cow patt I am not sure, and got into my own ultra pace.
The next stretch was always going to be a little tiresome; flat tarmac. However this would not defeat me. I wasn’t the only one finding it a strain as I caught up with and passed a few guys walking. At the point where I began walking the Race Director van came past and gave us a wave – that is just typical. Just typical.
I got chatting to another guy who told me all about his ‘Spine’ adventures (The Spine and Spine Challenger races happen in January and June across the Pennine Way 108 miles and 268 miles so what I was doing today was baby compared to that)
One of my favourite sections was across rugged moorland on a place called Stoops Moss, with stunning views of the Three Yorkshire Peaks, absolutely idyllically picturesque. I was smiling to myself – even 38 miles in. Beautiful world.
Halfway checkpoint
The half way checkpoint was at a cute little cottage called Gearstones where dropbags would be waiting for us. Dropbags can contain extra gear and food to save you carrying it all but must not be any larger than a carrier bag. They were serving hot food (Shepards Pie, Stew, rice pudding and savoury and sweet pies) but it was a bit hectic inside with the amount of runners scoffing down their meals and I didn’t really fancy any of that. To be polite I asked for 2 slices of toast whilst that was toasting I faffed with my drop bag. As it was such a nice day I left my extra clothes (long trousers and extra top for the night time) and just took my bars and energy powder.
The next section was a 2 mile ish climb up the road of hell, Cam End – an old roman road incorporating the Pennine Way and the Dales Way. It was a good opportunity to eat my toast. A old rickety sign indicated the Dales Way across the moorland, boggy and bouncy and scrumptiously muddy, beautiful fun. With scattered homesteads in the distance the fell and valley floor shimmering in the early evening sun, I felt alive and content. Just me and a few metal gates and disintegrated stiles. I was in my element and no one know where I was literally, as this was where the trackers went on the blink due to the lack of mobile signal. Not a runner in sight, just me a bleak sense of beauty just running. Its so simple. Ultras do not come much nicer than this.
Once I was back down the valley following the River Whalf I could see a red runner and a blue runner down the valley heading towards the next checkpoint at Buckden around 63 miles in.
Another traffic jam as Mr Farmer was herding his sheep for the day, so I stopped to let that happen. So on this ultra I had been held back by a tractor, an unnecessary people carrier and then a Sheep herding – its a good job I wasn’t clock watching (or that it was a road race!)
If you are ever feeling good in an ultra – you’ll get over it. And yes, my tummy had decided to get angry with the amount of ultra sweetness I had consumed. I tried to eat half a Chia bar but it didn’t go down too well with sharp indigestion, gas and other discomforts I was now eager to get to Buckden to get some full fat coke down me – an ultra runners dream drink!
At the checkpoint they helped fill up my waterbottles, I’d caught Mr Red and Mr Blue runner up. I was at this point told I was first female. I downed a full cup of coke, smiled took extra coke for my journey along with a couple of pieces of millionaire’s shortcake and some water which I used for the remaining 25 miles of the journey. Coke and water. If you’d ask me to run a marathon on Coke and water I would have thrown coke in your face but on Ultras you do whatever it takes to keep going. It’s the real thing.
Ready for the darkness
The cool evening air and the last rays of sunlight were about to say goodnight. One of the guys from the last checkpoint caught me up, I was walking a little at this point and I began to feel deflated and defeated. I took a faff break and pull out my head torch and buff ready for the darkness.
Kettlewell, the next village I’d reached just in day light. If it had been in darkness I could have mistakenly had the best hallucinations ever, Kettlewell Scarecrow Festival was on and scarecrows of every sort of animal, person and celebratory could be spotted in every nook and cranny. Do you expect to see Elvis jumping out on you or or Willy Wonker hanging off a washing line or a giant lion, elephant or giraffe or weird and wonderful creations clambering up drainpipes and peaking over walls in such an idyllic Yorkshire Dales village?
The last of the big climbs onto some grassy moorland beckoned us. Some people went wrong on this section but I’d been up here before so I knew the best route to take, as there were a multitude of paths. The other guy was having a good patch and had gone in front but it wasn’t long before he went a little bit wrong and I shouted him back. Running together, we made polite ultra conversation with the ‘how you finding the hills’ which brought on ‘where are you from?’ type questions. Only to find out that we are practically neighbours living about half a mile away from each other in Sheffield. I then turned around and asked the inevitable ‘You’re not a b****y strider are you‘. Of course he was a bl**** strider! Right – mission on, I have to beat this guy. (Only Joking still 17 miles to go)
We made our way into the delightful village of Grassington I just filled up on – yes you guessed it – Coke and Water. I was asked if I wanted any pasta but not for me, my insides were still razor sharp. I wanted on my way and I had a mission. I had not even realised my position in the whole of the pack at this stage, of course I’d like to keep my 1st female position but as I rightly know anything can happen in an ultra even in the last few miles, so I was not home yet. However it did give me that little bit of a push to carry on and not take the chair of doom even for a few minutes. The other guy had taken the chair of doom.
It was now pitch black and my headtorch was guiding the way. Periodically there would be rabbits, hedgehogs, sheep and cows carelessly running through my path. The cows were possibly the most obstructive. At times I was possibly a little frightened but moved as swiftly as I could without upsetting their land.
I bounced over the rather quaint Hebden suspension bridge, laughing to myself at the madness of my adventure. Why do we do this? It was nearly midnight and I was bouncing over a suspension bridge….
Following the riverside the craggy pathway was not the easiest to negotiate even with a decent head torch. I was now running alongside a campsite, whispers of happy campers filled the air and then suddenly a voice boomed ‘Well done keep running’ and I went splat, face planted straight onto the hard concrete. I’d managed to stay vertical all this time for around 70ish miles. No harm was done as a little trickle of blood ran down my leg and I brushed off the graze from my hand. Pick yourself up Ms Pickford and get on with it.
I was now in the dark grounds of Bolton Abbey. It was here when my head torch decided to flash indicating that I only had 30 minutes left on emergency mode as I’d put it on the wrong setting to start with. Was I less than 2 miles away from the checkpoint? Could I get to the checkpoint before my light went? I did have an extra battery for my head torch it was just that I really needed light to change the battery. It never occurred to me that my mobile phone has a light on it and I could have changed it, but in the middle of dark woods it would probably be wiser just to run slower on the emergency setting. Stay calm and just run.
A friendly marshal pointed me across a bridge full of glow sticks and picnic table full of goodies. I had no concept of time at all it could have been around midnight all I wanted was a new battery in my head torch and some more Coke and Water to see me through the remaining 7 miles. My legs were reasonably OK for 75 miles of Dales Wayness, it was just the tummy that had decided to give in.
Through Bolton Abbey with my new battery I was back in happy land moving well through grassy fields and hoisting myself up many a ladder stiles. Only 5 or so miles to go. I am not sure where my strider friend went, I was certainly on my own at this point and was determined to push on. A floodlight startled me at a caravan park as I ran past it towards a sign that said ‘Footpath this way’. Double checking my map I nodded to myself and followed the signs.
Just 3 miles to go
Just 3 miles to go. I don’t do Parkrun but if I did it would be under a park run to go. But I don’t so that is irrelevant. A little further on, the official map makes a ‘U’ shape and shows the route running through someones back garden and lounge. As much as I would love a cup of tea I don’t think they’d be impressed with a smelly ultra runner climbing through their window at 1am in the morning, the joys of new housing estates along established walking routes.
I was nearly ‘home’, nearly there, a little further to go, a little more tarmac a little more woodland and then I could see the Tennis club roof in sight. The sheep moved slowly and randomly whilst I trotted alongside the field, their eyes poking fun at me and my legs, tired but full of determination to run that 1 more mile.
I reached the tennis club. a little gazebo with a ‘finish’ sign, glared at me but that was not the end. The Race Director – Ryk gave me instructions to run up to the end of the Dales Way another half mile ish where there would be a letter of the alphabet pinned to the lamppost next to the stone bench indicating the start / finish of the Dales Way. I ran up and into a dark alley way. I mean really would you run up a dark alley way in the middle of Ikley at 1.30am in the morning? Really? Why? Yes Why! so I got to the end of the Official Dales Way glanced at the post – why, Y, y, Why? Yes Why! So I had to run back and give the answer Y. What was the question I do not know. I just know the answer was Y.
I received a hand full of clapping from 3 or 4 hardy marshals as I ran back down the lane and into the finish. There Finished. Why? ‘Congratulations, 1st Female‘ announced the Race Director, ‘and 4th overall’ I was taken a back a little by the last comment, how could I have got through most of the pack like that? Not just Y but how?
The kind finish crew made me a cup of tea. I stopped my watch not caring what time it was, I’d mistakenly started it about half an hour early at the registration rather than the start so it was wrong anyway and quite frankly I didn’t care one bit. I wanted a cuppa tea and I kindly took some bean stew stuff which I managed to get down me. Ryk, the Race Director was chatting to me about his own Spine adventures at the same time as trying to organise people who were dropping out, who had got lost or who had felt like they had lost a foot or two. He described his events as ‘no frills’ and that’s what it was, a brilliant no-frills event. It was great to see the workings behind the scenes of 100 or so runners scattered about the Dales, the safety of the event, the logistics and the amount of organisation and patience that must go into something like this, and all we do is Run run run.
After a while, the Strider came marching in. I congratulated him and we had a little chat. It was then time for me to go but not before collecting my tee, medal, Dales Way booklet and a lovely plaque saying ‘First Female’ on it. Rather chuffed. A few days later I found out my official time was 16 hours 59 minutes and 22 seconds. First Male was around 14 hrs 30 minutes and last person came in around 34 hours.
Runner: ingredients: determination, humour, obstinance, strength, spirits, hopes, dreams