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