BLENCATHRA BLISS BLOWS AWAY HARROCK HELL 
BLENCATHRA
Blencathra has always been one I wanted to tick off and despite the 168 mile round trip on a Wednesday evening, sometimes you've just got to go and do these things. I wasn't to be disappointed. What a midweek beauty this is. I thought nothing could better the Tebay race for a proper middle distance fell race on a midweek evening, but I think this one may just top it. This post-race euphoria is sugar coated by what I considered to be another encouraging performance, but even if I had completely bombed and ran a stinker, this tough course rewarded with some magical views would have still pinched at my heart strings and guaranteed some satisfaction regardless.
So I opted for discovering something new again as this week's choice of race. I also decided to raise the bar of the challenge, despite some reservations that the carry-over feel-good factor from Ingleton could be mind over matter. But another consistent week of varied running sessions had left me feeling even stronger and confident I had more to offer.
Blencathra, at 2847 feet is the most northerly Lakeland fell of prominence. From my first peek that evening of it's distinctive saddleback skyline approaching Penrith on the M6, I couldn't wait to get there and crack on with scaling a summit that I had last trodden over a quarter of a century ago.
Even the starting point of this race is impressive. Ever so slightly off the beaten track through tiny Mungrisdale, the aptly named Fellgate reveals a valley that suddenly opens up like a vast and wonderful theatre for the evening's performance. It is from here that one hundred and sixty odd runners lined up silently as the race organiser remembered fell runners no longer with us and then recited some choice words of the great Alfred Wainwright over the loud speaker. Blencathra was one of the fells AW enjoyed with the most affection. Hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and had they not, I had no right to be there.
Then for a few seconds the only sound was that of race numbers flapping in the strong breeze before we were off. After a brief boggy squelch with diagonal intentions across the valley base, the course picks up a steep single file trod through the thick bracken up on to the immediate skyline from where a strong headwind accompanied an arduous but runable sequence of false summits which finally reaches Bowscale Fell. I got caught in traffic up that initial climb so it felt, dare I say it, a little bit too easy. I thought that not to be a bad thing however at this early stage and so only until the hillside opened up did I begin to pick off a few places and realise pretty quickly that my positive mentality was being partnered by positive physicality. The old legs were feeling lightweight and pliable, so I knew I could be on for quite a decent run despite having done no serious fell work for some time.
From the summit of Bowscale, a spectacular view of the main event comes in to the frame. From a north eastern aspect, Blencathra's dark jagged ridges leaned almost obtusely. From here I can see the leaders scaling the north ridge and there was a descent to come first, however I found myself still gradually picking away through the field and climbing Blencathra itself quite fluently and really able to put in a good rate of effort. I was racing. Not just surviving, but racing again and up here where it's at. I was a touch disappointed that the route didn't scale the northerly tip of the mountain and run along the saddle, instead we approached the southerly tip and Blencathra summit by a lesser spectacular traverse behind it, but what an incredible view to the West opened up as sunlight bled through pockets of hefty cloud upon the valley between Great Calva and Skiddaw.
I think the endorphines got to me at this point when initially descending Blencathra as if the finish was in sight. I shot past one of the leading ladies from Howgill Harriers and an Ellenborough guy, both of whom had been just ahead of me for some time. I was starting to wonder if I was getting a little giddy and whether or not there was an uphill sting in the tail to come and sure enough I could see it way down in the distance. The descent veers off in to the rougher stuff of bilberry bushes and longer grasses before a climb up and along Souther Fell ensues and it was on this next section of descent that I squeezed on the breaks realising there was still some work to be done. Some damage was already done as I'd smacked my quads up quite a bit and when that relatively short climb began, the black and yellow vests of Howgill and Ellenborough came back at me. However, I had the reserves to dig in and grit my teeth through a few more little undulations before the big drop down to the valley where it all began and managed to keep tabs on that Howgill runner, Heidi Dent. As the steep drop to the finish begins, an Ambleside veteran comes bounding along making light weight of both the terrain and of gravity itself to pick up probably ten places or more in this section. I may have picked back a place or two but my quad muscles were really numbing now. I hit the valley floor just behind Heidi and after two knee deep bogs followed by a paddle across the River Glenderamackin, I was still just hanging on to her shadow. A twelve yard but nevertheless killer incline from river bed to the farm track sees the finish in sight and probably less than two hundred yards to the line, but I just couldn't reel her in and in fairness I think the Howgill lass had a bit more left in the tank than I did. I just missed out on a top forty finish but was well satisfied with the manner in which I had run it more than times or positions. I enjoyed every single minute of it and this felt like a major breakthrough. Who was that plodder wondering why the the bloody hell he bothers at Harrock Hill just a couple of weeks ago? What a difference a fortnight can make.

Wednesday 7th June 2017
BLENCATHRA   8.1m/2707ft   Fellgate, Mungrisdale, Cumbria 
1st Man - Ben Mounsey (Calder Valley) 1.04:28
1st Lady - Lou Roberts (Ambleside) 1.16;19
My Stats - 1.18:44   41/164

''This is a mountain that compels attention, even from those dull people who are not habitually lifted to the hills. To artists and photographers it is an obvious subject for their craft; to sightseers passing along the road or railway at it's base, between Keswick and Penrith, it's influence is magnetic; to the dalesfolk it is the eternal background to their lives, there at birth, there at death. But most of all it is a mountaineers' mountain. - Alfred Wainwright