PLIGHT OF THE NAVIGATORS
BRITISH FELL RELAY CHAMPIONSHIPS
The main reason for joining Ribble Valley Harriers was to be involved in competitions like this again. It's the ultimate showpiece of team fell racing where everybody who is somebody, and even everybody who isn't, all descend on one venue for the day and put their club before themselves.
With all due respect to some runners of a decent standard that I have been paired with in this competition over the years - Stuart Edmondson and Dominic Raby at Chorley, Lee Passco, Matt Nuttall, Shaun Livesey Jnr and Jason Harbour at Blackburn - an honour and privilege is how I would describe being teamed up with my partner this time around.
Never in a million years did I think I would ever run a Fell Relays leg with this twice English Fell Champion and racing legend. But here I was at Grasmere teaming up with the original Shaun Livesey. An athlete who I'd only heard about and read about prior to meeting him earlier this year, a name that has cropped up regularly in the history books of race winners and results that I have geekishly perused over time. A fierce competitor who rubbed shoulders with - and occasionally beat - the very biggest and best names in the sport such as Billy Bland, Kenny Stuart and John Wild to name but a few.
Shaun walked away from it all in his early forties. That he has made a recent comeback to racing in itself was quite unlikely, that we ended up at the same club, that he partnered me at these relays... well I could never have written the script.
Team boss Barnes handed us the task of the dreaded navigation leg. Previous experience for me on this leg has been with the other Shaun Livesey when we were both at Blackburn. He knew what he was doing, I just followed - and that was tough enough with Livesey Junior. More recent navigational activity hasn't been that promising either after Ben Walmsley and I had run around in circles trying to retrace the Calderdale Way on a beautiful clear Spring day. So the clag down in the Lake District mountains wasn't boding particularly well. But then I thought the vastly experienced Livesey Senior will know his stuff, he's done and won every race worth doing in Lakeland and even dabbled in some orienteering races too. But Shaun tells me his eyes aren't great for map reading these days and, like myself, was only familiar with the walkers route from Rydal up to the summit of Fairfield in these parts. The Western slopes and valleys from the Grasmere end were unchartered territory for the pair of us. A reccie run of the area would have been ideal, but I for one never found the opportunity and race day crept up on us with only hopes of good visibilty to cling on to.
Leaving behind sunny spells in Lancashire that morning, the crossed fingers for more of the same in Cumbria uncrossed themselves at M6 Junction 36 as it became clear - or in fact not clear at all - that the county had descended in to a thick mist of fine drizzle. Just north of Kendal, I certainly can't make out any of the tops. In fact I can't see so damn much at all. It was going to be interesting. I'd crashed in a bit of hapless homework by studying the OS maps and envisaging the lie of the land. But nothing other than local knowledge, a recent reccie or excellent navigational guile is going to get you out of a hole up there when visibility is poor.
From our team, the two Matt's of Lalor and Perry come in to sight off the hillside just as I was starting to feel a bit of a chill in the waiting pen. The pen doesn't allow room for much more than ten yard sprints and sporadic random body movements to stay warm. We tag our Leg 2 boys and head for the great unknown. The Matt's, who strayed off course for a spell, along with Ste Hall who took a nasty tumble in Leg 1, had nevertheless combined to set us off on our leg in a decent position.
A quarter of a mile up the road, beside a gateway to the fell, we are handed our maps and get a first glimpse of our checkpoints to find. Shaun sets off with intent and I tuck in behind. For a 55 year old who has been out of the racing game a while, he doesn't do too bad. Following his moves, I can't help but wonder about what this pocket machine was like in his prime. It would certainly have made this the biggest mismatched pairing in fell relays history, that's for sure.
The first climb up to Checkpoint 1 wasn't a problem as we had plenty of company ahead and behind us. Checkpoint 2 proved problematic though. All teams seemed to be going in the same direction again, but more stretched out. I was distracted about not being able to find this small tarn on the map which we were all skirting around before heading upwards again. Meanwhile Shaun pressed on but we lost sight of those ahead and soon enough realised we had run out of sight or sound of anybody behind as well. Between us, Shaun and I didn't have the remotest idea where the hell we were. Visibility was rubbish, we decided to turn back on ourselves and minutes later a couple of walkers appeared from out of the mist and my usual hang up of shyness and reluctance to ask strangers for information were not even considered in this situation. It was a case of any help we could get. Thankfully this kind chap pinpointed our position - a position I think the pair of us would have recognised on a clear day - on the main drag between Nab Scar and Heron Pike. I looked at our map and we just had to drop off there at a particular angle to eventually stumble across the remote sheepfold where this elusive checkpoint lay. The nearer we get, other teams come in and out of the murk from all directions so we were certainly not alone in going for a wander. We finally dib in at that Checkpoint 2 and then I seem to take a lead on what you might very loosely describe as navigation from here because Shaun thought we were at Checkpoint 3! Bloody hell, he's a bit rusty at this!
We had both agreed in advance that if in doubt, we would just follow a straight line and not try and be too clever devising routes. The latter was certainly beyond my remit, anyway. As checkpoint 3 was pretty much directly North from here, we just followed the compass but found ourselves all alone again and through a load of rough stuff. Eventually we merged with runners to the right who had dropped to pick up a clear path much earlier. A few hundred metres later and Checkpoint 3 was boxed off. Climbing up from 3, this was a really steep slog that seemed to go on and on but there must have been another twenty or so pairings around us at this point, so what could possibly go wrong now? A couple of hundred yards along the ridge top, other teams started splintering off or stopping to get their bearings. Shaun seemed interested in following a couple of Carnethy lads who had their own ideas and began a diagonal descent. My hesitation trying to make sense of my map was possibly a reason why we lost them. I was regretting not speaking up a bit earlier because I thought we should have sat in amongst the majority and stalked the most popular line. Instead we continued contouring over slippy rocks and rough ground for another twenty minutes wondering where the bloody hell the red vests of those two Jock runners had gone. We just couldn't see or hear another soul. It felt wrong to both of us I think, yet we stubbornly forged onward for some reason, still searching for a much slighter than realised leftward contour that we had actually long ago passed. I'd been hearing a rush of water for some time and assumed it to be Greenhead Gill, but the rush was getting louder without dropping height so I stop again and try to work out exactly where we were. Disorientation casts all sorts of doubts and I wasn't even sure which flipping valley we were in to be perfectly honest. Then a slight clearing for thirty seconds down the valley gave the opportunity to strain my eyes in to the distance for signs of other runners, or just any signs of life in general - there was nothing. But the penny did drop at long last. I can just make out a well worn walkers path in the base of the valley and in which case the water must be the Hause waterfalls I can hear. We've overrun by half a mile at the very least. It's been a needless, time consuming plunder on a horrible camber a few hundred feet beneath Fairfield's summit where we shouldn't have been anywhere near. Shaun agrees it's time to just drop now and hit that path to go back South on ourselves, from where some order was finally restored. A double check we were in the right valley with a hiker confirmed our right to be joyful for a moment in the comfort of knowing where we were and also knowing (roughly) where to go next. It was a big relief. I'd been getting a bit cold up there so it was just good to get a bit of a wriggle on again over some much more runable terrain as well. If we'd have carried on much further skirting along the higher reaches of the valley, we would have ended up doing Bear Grylls stuff across those waterfalls.
Running back along the valley bed, soon enough to the left we catch the sight of other teams descending where we should have been coming down probably half an hour earlier. To the right, a line of vests up the hillside to follow towards checkpoint 4.
Upon that final climb through a thick die-back of bracken, we are closest to two other pairings. Two chaps are strangely veering right, but two Keswick lasses seem to know what they are doing so we drift leftward with them and they take us directly to the dibbing station. Cheers girls, we needed that!
Plane sailing then over the last mile and a half or so and after the fifth and final unmissable (even for us) checkpoint, it's the luxury of course markings until the finishing fields.
We've cocked up and sent the team spiralling down the rankings. Competitively, we didn't last that long at all before the stark reality of just finding the checkpoints kicked in. Our leg time ranked 193rd from 230-odd finishing teams and so if not a worst ever result for me, then absolutely undoubtedly for Shaun! But in fairness, we did do an extra couple of miles and a bit more climbing. It turned out pre-tournament favourites in the men's race, Keswick AC, blew it on this very same leg, so if those boys from just up the road could get it wrong then Shaun and I were always up against it.
Club boss Chris Barnes awaits us at the handover. His face said it all. I think it's fair to say Shaun and I didn't really care at that moment in time, we were just glad to finish after over two hours of messing around up there. Barnes himself then went astray on a partially marked course, so it all got rather calamitous after that early promise.
Success for our main team though in the Mixed category as the club's very best lads and lasses managed to stay on course and combined their almighty talents to take a much deserved win.

Saturday 20th October 2018
BRITISH FELL RELAY CHAMPIONSHIPS Grasmere, Cumbria
1st Men's Team - PUDSEY & BRAMLEY
1st Ladies Team - HELM HILL
1st Mixed Team - RIBBLE VALLEY HARRIERS
My Stats - Leg 3 (RVH Men's) Paired with Shaun Livesey Snr   8.3m/2500ft (should've been more like 6.8m!)   2.10:50   193/239

STILL IN GOOD NIC 
WITHINS SKYLINE
Withins had a slightly different feel to it this year. The absence of retired hosts, Dave and Eileen Woodhead, was always going to change the ambience to some degree. The legendary couple promised nowt would change and aside from Dave's unmistakable vocal presence, it was pretty much business as usual. The new organisers from Wharfedale Harriers set their stall out with inherent detail. The Woodhead's were still out and about on the Bronte Moors though, capturing the action through their camera lens. The main thing is that these great races continue and they'll always be a bit special to me, Woodentops or not. They were one of my earliest tastes of fell racing.
With many club fell runners engaged in the Hodgson Brothers relays at Patterdale that same day, there was a distinct lack of usual suspects lining up inside the quarry of Penistone Hill. The only thing certain, other than perfect Autumnal racing conditions, was a new name on the men's trophy.
Ribble Valley Harriers didn't get a place at the Hodgson relays. Politics may have come in to it, I don't know for sure. But news that the Chair of the Fell Runners Association, Charmian Heaton, has been lobbying at least one club Chairman to forward a complaint against Ribble Valley for being a ''racing club'' (whatever she deems that to be) certainly points towards our club being treated unfavourably in some quarters. Heaton's behaviour is ridiculous and brings her reputable position in to undoubted disrepute. Now that's a whole catering sized can of worms to be spilled in due course, but for now I'll try and stay with the topic in hand and what really matters, the race. Without those relays to compete at, Withins was given the nod as a counter in our club champs and eleven of us turned out to put the club on the map in West Yorkshire.
Although a few weeks since my last blast of competitive action, I went in to this knowing - not guessing, hoping, or deluding myself - actually knowing I was going to make a decent account of myself. For those few hardy souls who have bothered to dissect my previous ramblings over the past few years, they would easily vouch for the fact that this feeling of genuine pre-race confidence is a very rare entity indeed.
Pre-race thoughts were about getting nearer to Nichola Jackson at one of these Woodentops races where she always seems to put in a top end performance. That's if she had booked this one in of course, but sure enough I clocked our ladies skipper when jogging over to registration and my preconceived racing benchmark was confirmed. Game on.
Sexists, chauvinist, testosterone induced man's men, folk of no athletic aspiration or all three of the above could pour scorn over my ambition to beat a girl here. But I feel no shame whatsoever. Fell racing is what it is. Boy or girl, fast or slow, it's a test of all round running endurance that hard nuts, gym bunnies, Joseph or Josephine Bloggs just wouldn't last five minutes at. So when I, pushing 45 and a nobody in particular, eyes up the runner-up of the 2018 English Fell Running Championships as a potential benchmark to compete against, denomination of sex is completely inconsequential. A race is a race and Nichola Jackson's standard happens to be a very decent one to try and match.
We had a close battle in the Summer at the Whaley Waltz in which I don't think either of us were operating on full power. The lack of technicality under foot at that one probably worked to my benefit and I just managed to beat her for the first time, or at least certainly for the first time since she has come to prominence as a senior. At the Woodentops races, Jacko is old hat. She knows the courses, has won here many a time and generally turns up for them with nothing other than victory in mind and a potential ladies course record to chase down.
A mile or so in to the race and I'd actually completely forgotten about Nichola Jackson. I was making good progress on the main climb to Oxenholme Stoop when a flash of florescent pink blurred to the left of my periphery, maybe two hundred yards shy of the trig point. It was Jacko. By the summit she had created a gap of around ten seconds and expanded that over the bog hoppy plateau and tussocky traverse towards Withins Ruins. She's good on the rough stuff and was in fact starting to get close to our nearest team mate ahead, Ste Hall. But then it's good running again from the ruins on sheep trods and well worn paths and by the time we dropped down to the Bronte Bridge, I had caught Nicola up. There was a decent chase going on here with a couple of other guys in the mix as well and as it turned out, an overall top ten place at stake.
Up from the bridge though, I couldn't quite latch on to this trio for long and the gap began to reopen. Just before the path broadens to bridleway status, I receive a message from behind and it's one of my bug bares. "To the left.. ", forewarns a Keighley & Craven runner, sat on me since climbing up from Bronte Bridge. When deciding to make his move, it came with a verbal warning for some reason. No please or thanks either. I hate that. I tell him it's not etiquette, but no response. Etiquette it most certainly isn't though. Find your time, find your own space and just overtake. It's simple really. This has happened to me twice recently, I think next time I'm just going to barge the feckers off the path! It really pisses me off. With heckles up I went about trying to stay with him, but there was no turn of pace in my legs at this point. To be fair, this Keighley man Ian Willis had put in a tremendous surge and had even nudged ahead of Nichola. But some consolation for me, as I catch the last sighting of them coming off the moor and crossing the road towards the finish, was that spirited Jacko was leading the pack again and indeed that's how it finished as she took 10th overall and smashed the ladies course record.
Over the road myself and with two hundred yards remaining, I'm under the cosh again as club mate Ben Walmsley has been grinding down the gap between us. Ribble Valley race winner Callum Davidson has trotted back to cheer the rest of us on and Ben makes his move on the upward drag back to the cricket pavillion. I wouldn't get near Ben in a road race, but fell racing isn't his forte. With the advantage of knowing all to well where the finish is, I put in a timely sprint to snatch my place back.
Arguably I've run as well for a slower time in much sloppier and windier conditions here, but this eighth run at Withins Skyline was nevertheless my fastest which suggests I must be doing something right at last. A course or personal best of some description has been long overdue and at my age I question whether there could be many more left in the tank. So I didn't quite catch pre-race target Nichola, but I can't complain. She was super strong and showed her class.
A bit of a Ribble Valley domination was had, Nic heading a ladies top three from Helen Glover and Caitlin Rice. Youthful Callum doesn't need recovery (yet) and fresh from the Smarna Gora mountain race in Slovenia the day before, became that new name on the men's trophy and one of three Ribblers in the top five, five in the top ten and eight in the top twenty. No wonder the ''racing team'' is so popular!

Sunday 7th October 2018
WITHINS SKYLINE   7m/1000ft   Penistone Hill, Haworth. West Yorks.
1st Man - Callum Davidson (Ribble Valley Harriers) 41:51
1st Lady - Nichola Jackson (Ribble Valley Harriers) 45:44
My Stats - 46:07   14/246