Spine 2020 Part I: The Final Frontier
After saying “never again” I was back for one final attempt!
Descending into Horton I was already calculating that my arrival at Hawes was going to be totally out of kilter with my plan of sleeping at checkpoints (CP’s) at night, so as to maximise travel in the day. But there was an unexpected opportunity that was to be the turning point so early on in my race. The school at Horton was not only available for runners for food and warmth, but also unlimited sleep, which gave me the opportunity to avoid the High Cam Road in the middle of a dark, wet, windy night so it was an opportunity to be exploited, even if it was still very early in the race.
But how the fuck was I out of kilter so early on?
My 4-hour sleep stop at Horton school determined the outcome of my race!Day One: Edale to Hebden CP1
The morning of the race came early. I’d slept in my campervan and had showered the night before to save time in the morning, so my 06:00 alarm saw me ready an hour before we started. My biggest “fear” was starting in the rain, it’s just such a mental challenge (for me) when it’s raining before we even start. But I’d accepted it was likely to be the case, that the race was going to be shit pretty much all the way, so anything better than shit was a bonus.
As already pre-determined by the Spine weather gods it was rainyish by the time we started and ascending Jacobs Ladder was a bit breezy, foggy and drizzly. Nothing significant, nothing to worry about. Same old same old shit.
The first day was quite uneventful really as I trudged through a few bits of mud, a few more bits of mud, then a few more bits of mud, and slop, and cow shit trying to pretend to be mud. Even the secret path down into CP1 was muddier than usual. It was by far the muddiest, wettest day one of the Spine race that I had endured and I was glad to see CP1. I was only an hour behind schedule (although a fair bit slower than I’d really hoped for on day one) so I’d still be taking my 1-hour sleep/rest break as usual. My stomach struggles in the first couple of days so I didn’t eat that much food at CP1 but forced down what I could, knowing every bit would be needed later on!
So I ate what I could, showered, slept, then did my feet and got ready to leave. I was using a foot “cream” that had been given to me to test; it was in a handy little canister that was a bit like a roll-on deodorant type affair, and I put it on nice and thick and rubbed it between my toes. It is designed to keep water out as much as possible and after a very wet day one, it seemed to be working quite well. My feet were still wrinkled, but they appeared to dry really quickly which I assumed was due to less water being absorbed by my skin. So far so good, but there was a loooong way to go.
Day Two: Hebden to Malham CP1.5
I feel this section makes or breaks my race and I always aim to be over Malham Cove in greylight rather than get lost in the limestone maze at the top. After plenty more mud trudging, and a few diversions, Gargrave was upon me and the pub beckoned. I “always” stop at The Mason’s Arms as they are very supportive of Spine Racers and don’t seem to notice the mud-caked boots or the stripped off homeless people warming themselves in front of their fire. Unfortunately, I was still struggling to eat, so crisps and coke were all I managed before heading off to Malham.
After the muddy fields of Malham, I was now well past greylight, and behind schedule, as I ascended head-on into some kind of intergalactic storm; wind and rain battering me from every angle. The Spine weather gods were out for some DNF’s and I was directly in their sights, but the Paramo angels were literally on my back protecting me as I eventually passed the storm and arrived at the sanctuary of The Buck Inn, another Spine friendly pub that was giving Spine racers a free bowl of soup and warm bread. Yet still, my stomach protested and refused half of the soup and all of the warm bread roll. WTAF. Even the suggestion that sandwiches are made from bread, so surely this was a soup sandwich and therefore must be eaten, did not work. I left Malham with an empty stomach and a heavy heart, and made my way up over Malham Cove and on towards Malham Visitor Centre, in the dark. Maybe a short sleep would be a good decision but arriving at 19:45, 3 hours behind schedule, I wasn’t at all tired. Plus, I got confirmation that Pen-y-ghent was being diverted due to gusting 70mph winds, and we could have unlimited sleep at Horton school.
Are you still out there Bob?By now my stomach had decided to join in and be a bit more supportive of my endeavours so in celebration, I cracked open a freeze-dried meal of Chicken Tikka and rice, which was a tad spicier than expected, yet I still managed to wolf it all down in one sitting. Me and the stomach were back in the game, all we needed to now was to hunt down Bob for our one last adventure.
Malham to Hawes CP2
So the plan had been set; rather than push on to Hawes and arrive in the middle of the day, then sleep during the daylight, I’d sleep at Horton school at night, then push on again before daylight, to make sure I was maximising what little daylight we had. Plus, it would mean the Cam High Road in daylight, assuming the Cam High Road even existed in daylight, which I feared was an urban myth as this part of the Pennine Way only existed in perpetual rain and darkness, with comedy fucking rocks designed to piss you off and smash your feet to smithereens.
But first, there was sleep, and sleep I did, more than most, but was it too much?
Sleep deprivation is one of my key enemies on the Spine, there was only one way to defeat it, and defeat it I would; sleep would be my friend, no matter what utterances from others of “too much sleep”. Comedy rocks
The Cam High Road in daylight is pretty much the same as the Cam High Road in dark. I have to admit though, it was drier than expected, firmer than expected, and faster than expected, but it was still full of comedy rocks. I think these rocks are purchased especially for the PW just to add to the experience and can be found strategically placed in many parts just in case you are not doing the full route. I do think the comedy rocks are placed by the farmers to stop walkers/runners getting to their slop infested fields and clambering through their spring-loaded human catapult gates, but in case the rocks don’t get you the first time, and you manage to work out the various escape-room type gate systems, and not get sucked into the quagmires of cow/sheep shit, there will be plenty more comedy rocks to come.
Having trudged through yet more muddy fields I finally arrived at Hawes, one of my favourite CP’s, with lovely warm comfortable beds, soft pillows and warm duvets. But my plan had changed and Hawes was admin only, my next sleep stop was the Tan Hill Inn, hopefully. The new barn at the back had been prepared for the Spine and I was hopeful of a banquet meal, maybe a dance and a very long sleep.
Great Shunner Fell
I’ve been tricked by this hill before. I once did a recce from Hawes to Thwaite in summer/daylight and found out much to my annoyance the following winter that the route is stretched for the winter, so this time I was ready, or so I thought. Yet again, the winter route was far, far longer than the summer route and my plan of being in Thwaite for 17:00 and headtorch time, was thwarted (Thwaited). As I headed higher, someone added snow, and bogs, and mud, and lots of water so by the time I’d got to the top it had become 8/10 Spine trail shitness and time for my headtorch. After about 5 minutes of descending, I also realised it was spike time.
The path of pisstakes awaits…..The descent took far longer than I would have liked, going a bit off-piste in the last sections due to the nice thick fog sat at the bottom but eventually, I reached the track. Oh yes, the farmers have also now extended this last part as well having so much fun covering the track with comedy rocks, so fucking funny. On and on the track now goes, trying to stop you reaching the safety of Thwaite. I don’t know why though because the only thing that awaits beyond Thwaite is the “path of pisstakes” to Keld.
Seriously, who the actual fuck plots the route of the Pennine Way?
Why oh why would anyone take you up into what feels like the crags of doom in the dark, when I’m pretty sure there is a path low down that follows the river, meandering nicely through tranquil meadows, full of bluebells and butterflies, allowing runners a worthy rest as they head towards Keld.
Having eventually kicked and cursed my way forwards and not fell to my death down into the crags of doom, I was at a crossroads and not sure if I should visit the new Keld refuge or head straight over the river to the Tan Hill Inn. But the warmth of Keld was alluring and I needed to adjust my boots, so Keld it was. As fucking ever though, this supposedly obvious place of refuse was hidden right in front of me, lights on, sign at the front door. But I was not to be fooled by such trivia and walked right past cursing the people of Keld for tricking me into visiting their village of nothing yet again. Me and Kevin Otto made that mistake a few years ago, only to leave empty-handed and downbeat, I could not believe I had allowed myself to be fooled yet again.
Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.As I gave up my search I turned around and headed back down to the track only to find the lights and sign from only a few moments ago still there, clearly the secret was to make sure the hall was on your LHS rather than RHS. Clearly, when on your RHS said lights and sign are cunningly camouflaged, sinking into the warm world of Keld looking like a normal house with people slumbering quietly in their lounge chair in front of the fire, whereas approaching with it on your left, the slumbering people are fully clothed Spine racers, the sign so obvious a blind person could read it, and the lights so bright there is zero requirement for a headtorch. What sourcery goes on in Keld I do not know, but I was easily sucked into this refuge before I could continue on my way. But I could smell trickery, it was not as warm as expected, the best chairs were fully occupied, and there was no one to pander to my needs. So I fixed my feet, shit in their toilet (I contemplated their garden), had a coffee and got on my way.
After a small bit of navigation numpty time just over the river, I found the beautiful track to the Tan Hill Inn. But what a shit part of the trail this is. You can’t really tell me this National Trail of ours is the best we have. It is such a joke of a trail, and the only people that really benefit from the shitfullness is the Spine Race because the last thing they want is a trail that is in any way pleasurable. But I always had the last laugh. As I stepped through yet another shitty bog, or a stupid comedy rock, or got sucked into a farmer sludge fest, I would remind the ugly track:
“Never, ever, ever again will I see you. Ever. So go fuck yourself, you are dead to me.”
I’m not for one second convinced that the track was in any way offended by my words, to be honest, I really don’t care, but it worked for me. I was never coming back, ever.
And then I was there. The Tan Hill Inn, always appearing out of nowhere, but getting further away the closer you get. Like an oasis in the desert, you begin to think that maybe you have imagined it. Until you realise you haven’t. Warm, welcoming, and somewhere to sleep. A long sleep. A warm, naked sleep. No need for clothes and a bivi bag. The roaring fire would roar all night as I enjoyed my long slumber. Middleton could wait.
Every time I saw you, you were either about to sleep, asleep, or waking up. (164 Martin Hill)
The long sleep of Tan Hill Inn
My long sleep at Tan Hill Inn may be remembered for many years as I slumbered like sleeping beauty, waiting for my prince to awaken me with a kiss. But as princes came and princes went I could wait no longer, I did not have 100 years or even 100 hours available to me so had to awake alone; no kiss, no food, no hot sugary tea at my side.
I gathered my gear, dressed, and was eventually proffered hot tea but still no food. I wondered if Bob was waiting for me outside.
As I rose to leave, across the smoky room, our eyes met, transfixed, ignorant to all others in the room. Sat in the far corner, no, stood in the far corner, son of Bob, my friendly little hobbit, 237 Robbit Spalton. He had been sent by Bob to accompany me across the wet boglands of Sleightholme Moor and beyond.
We did lunges and mutual Spine chest thumps as we greeted each other; he looked me up and down, I looked him down.
“But surely the bogs of Sleightholme Moor are far too deep for such a small creature?” I enquired.
“Fear not” said Robbit.
“Our feet are wide and furry, designed for bogs, and rivers, and mud and comedy rocks all other types of shit that can be found on this trail. We live in the hills and see you silly humans come back year after year to trample across our sacred lands, we work with the farmers to fuck you up, but still, you come.
We tell you, winter is coming, but still, you come.
So, my father, Bob has sent me to hold your hand and show you the way to fame and glory. So that you will then fuck off and never come back ever again.”
And then he was gone, back to the trail, awaiting my exit from the Tan Hill to join him on my final quest. To boldy go where I’d never boldy gone before, it was time to make it so and claim my medal.
Find out how the intrepid pair survive in Spine 2020 Part II: Robbit the Hobbit. Read it here!
