Spine 2020 Part II: Robbit the hobbit
The final quest to reach Kirk Yetholm; but first Bellingham!
Day 4 Tan Hill Inn to Middleton CP4
As soon as I stepped outside the cold dark air hit me, yet it wasn’t even raining! Yet. Robbit was waiting for me so I made my way over to him and we both meandered slowly away from the pub, neither of us taking the lead, but neither of us stopping. I realised we were taking the wrong approach onto the moor but for some reason, we both continued. Until I stopped.
“It’s this way” I said.
“I know” said Robbit.
“Silly human should pay attention, Robbit not here to navigate.” And off he fucked to the road; what had I let myself in for?
So I took the lead and darted off across the moor with every intention of dropping him, hoping he’d fall in a bog and go home to Bob and leave me to get on with it alone. Navigation across Sleightholme Moor can be very wet, very boggy and very hard or sometimes, as it was today, it was all straightforward and we were through it in less than an hour with Robbit still close behind. Once on the track, I decided to run as I actually find running a good way of relaxing my tired walking legs. And on this occasion, there was a strong tailwind and a few descents that made it even easier. Not a fast run, just a decent speed that was easy to maintain without getting too hot. I was soon at God’s Bridge and then at the tunnel that goes under the A66 which was my planned stop point to take off my headtorch, check feet, reload food stocks etc. As I’d been so focused on getting here I’d kind of forgotten about Robbit and felt guilty at leaving behind yet I had no need, before I had finished he came scurrying through the tunnel.
“Catch me up silly human” he said as he sped past me.
I was somewhat lost for words that even at my warp-speed pace he’d had no problem keeping up. I quickly got going but in my haste to catch him I veered off the Pennine Way to the East, albeit only for maybe 200 metres or so, but it did leave me about 500m off the PW which was time and effort wasted. I eventually caught up with my fast-moving friend just before we dropped down to Blackton Reservoir. I know this spot quite well as there’s a lovely farm that I’ve looked at longingly so many times wanting food and water but nothing has ever been forthcoming. Robbit told me there was a camping barn awaiting our arrival (I was not convinced) so imagine my surprise when I realised he was right.
Not only was the barn there, but it was open for Spiners! The wood burner was loaded, the sofa oh so comfortable, and my new manservant was making me tea. It was a dream come true; 15 minutes of solitude would be ours before we made the final push into Middleton CP4.
Steak and ale pies ahoy
As my stomach was clearly back in play I was thinking about what food I’d buy in Middleton to supplement the CP food, and a visit to the butchers was planned. But first, a bit more mud, slop and bog before the final descent into Middleton. I was pleased that we were doing this part in daylight as last time here I’d had a bit of nightmare navigation in the summer fog but today, it was all nice and simple and we were in Middleton just after midday. I told Robbit about the pie I was going to buy but he wanted to go in the other direction looking for HAND CREAM. Steak and ale pie vs. hand cream?! I let Robbit go off on his shopping quest whilst I stuffed my stomach with hot pie.
We’d agreed in advance our turnaround plan. Eat, shower, admin, go; all within 2hrs 15 mins, leaving at 15:15 to make the most of the daylight. I quickly got down to business and was focused on eating etc. as quick as I could. Luckily I’d been given a nice big space to sort out my kit so I was able to be nice and efficient and was very much on plan. Robbit was also nicely focused so cometh the hour I was ready. But Robbit wasn’t and the more I said I’d wait, the more he growled and hissed, maybe at his kit, maybe at me. Eventually, he banished me back to the trail saying he’d catch me up and chaperone me through Cauldron Snout. “Cheeky little fucker” I thought to myself, I’ve managed to get through four times on my own before, I was pretty sure I could do it again!
Middleton to Dufton
There was a long diversion out of Middleton taking us along a road that ran parallel with the Pennine Way that did make for fast-moving and no doubt saved a bit of time, bringing you onto the trail near Low Force Waterfall. As I soon got to High Force Waterfall it was headtorch time and with it came some shitty weather which didn’t bode well for Cauldron Snout.
About 5km before the Snout I joined up with 258 Richard Whitaker and 137 Canadian Kevin Crowe (the Canadian). I didn’t like to get to close as there we two other people in their group (of 4) and I’m always mindful of not becoming a limpet and letting someone else do all the navigating. However, we soon dropped the other two and I realised that Kevin WAS the limpet and letting Richard do all the navigating, so I took the lead with Richard so that we could both share point duty. The Canadian just followed close by. Richard was feeling good but was worried about sleep-deprivation so we had a chat about the plan I had with Robbit (if I ever saw him again), and how we were hoping to avoid it as it had killed both of our races in 2017.
As we started clambering over the rocks I started to build up a gap which gave me ample time to fall flat on my face, twice, and still get to the final death climb all on my own. I’d already shortened my poles to Robbit length and started to follow the “track” up the side of the Snout. As I reached the first plateau I felt the urge to contour left even though I was sure I normally went higher.
Before I knew it I was in sight of the angry raging water and whilst I could see I was on a “track” I also knew this was not my normal route. It was a strange feeling; I wasn’t worried at all and stayed focused on climbing higher, making sure I didn’t contour too much, and without any slips, I scaled the rocks and was past the Snout and out. Only then did I have a little shudder at what I’d just accomplished. The river felt far higher than usual, there was far more rock clambering at river level than I remembered, and the final ascent was a bit hairier than usual (almost as hairy as Robbit), and I’d never slipped like that on the rocks before. Maybe I did need my Robbit with me after all!? I shook the thoughts out of my head, took a bite of a Mars Bar, and got on my way, jogging down the track to “relax my legs” a bit.
But still no sign of Robbit though :-(As it was now dark the hike into Dufton was not at all picturesque and all I could focus on was Post Box Pantry Cafe at Dufton that stays open 24/7, tracks the Spine racers in and feeds them a full (and I mean full) English breakfast at any time of the day! Unfortunately I DNF’d on the breakfast and wobbled my overfull stomach down to the village hall arriving just before 23:30. I was planning to sleep until 04:00 and leave by 05:00 ideally with my Robbit.
Dufton Village Hall
Considering there were quite a few racers trying to sleep here, I was slightly agitated that the SST team were basically fucking around, making a lot of noise, and not acting in a way that I would have expected; more like kids out for their first-ever overnighter!
Agitation aside and most likely due to being very tired, I found myself a suitable spot and started to prepare my bed for the night which is when Robbit turned up. Whilst we were talking and letting the staff know our plan to stay until 04:00, Lindalf the Average advised us that anyone who had left Dufton AFTER 04:00 had NEVER reached Kirk Yetholm and that we should all leave sooner than that. The Orcs would be in Dufton by 04:00 and our race would be over. FACT!
Robbit wasn’t having any of it and neither was I but other racers were getting themselves into a bit of a pickle; leave or stay, stay or leave, to sleep or not to sleep?
Robbit found himself an underground spot somewhere at the back of the hall that felt more like his home, and I got down to sleep as best I could in the hall, although I did spend a sleepless hour wondering if 4 hours was too much after all and maybe Lindalf and his stats were valid on this occasion? But before long I was asleep until 128 Mike Churchyard arrived just after 02:30. I’m not exactly sure why, but he must have stated his race number and name 10 times, over and over, as he kept on asking the same question about how much sleep should he take and when should he leave; the Spine clearly eats those that do not sleep! The hypnotic nature of his repetitive questions soon sent me back to sleep though until, as planned, it was 04:00 or thereabouts, and 128 was snoozing and was no longer repeating his race number.
Day 5 Dufton to Alston CP4
Robbit was ready to leave at the same time and we held back for 153 Paolo Girolami, but unfortunately, we dropped him within the first mile. We wanted to get to the weather station by daylight so we were moving at a reasonable pace in the relatively warm weather. We were both chuntering about having our sleep affected by Lindalf when Robbit explained who Lindalf actually is.
According to local folklore, Gimli the dwarf met a human shepherdess, they procreated and Lindalf was the result. But, there was a DNA throwback and Lindalf ended up outgrowing the underground caves of the Durin’s Folk so had no option but to take his cat and leave, learning to integrate with humans that live in the hills far away from the Pennine Way.
Lindalf the Average likes to tell humans that his father is Gandalf the Grey, the wise old wizard, which in turn makes him also very wise, which is why he can be heard making grand statements and prognostications to prove his stature, yet in reality he is a cuddly bear that is more noise than substance, just like his father Gimli of whom he bears such an obvious resemblance. But each year Lindalf returns, Gimli takes steps to keep him away, even kidnapping his cat to make a point. But still, he returns.
Greg’s Hut
As per what was now becoming our militaristic race plan, we surfaced at the weather station just as dark became less dark, and as we reached the other side of Cross Fell, we were suddenly hit by massive gusts of wind and sleet, with decent snowdrifts, up to my knees but up to Robbit’s chest, covering the track. Where we could see the slabs they were iced up, where we couldn’t, they were covered in snow. We “geared up” for the ensuing storm and headed off to the noodle bar.
Although it was epic Spine weather, it was “daylight” so all in all we had a ball. Hard going, ice, snow, wind, what’s not to like. By the time we got to Greg’s we grinning like kids and ready for noodles.
As we were noshing our noodles 128 rocked up, also with a big smile on his face. He’d clearly not had much sleep and was going like a train, having left Paolo behind who was questioning his/their navigation. Maybe Paolo should have stuck with Mike after all!
We were on a mission so with noodles noshed, we wanted to make the most of the daylight and the newly graded track down to Garrigill, which as we found was VERY runnable with no comedy rocks at all. When we got to the village we made our way to the public toilets, much to the disappointment to the local Garrigill ladies who like to entertain passing Spine runners, and were calling us back to come and see them. Unfortunately, we were already 300m past them and on a mission. As Robbit did his stuff in the toilet, one of the locals briefed me on the village hall that had been booked and paid for by the Spine Race; village hall, heating on, tea/coffee and BEDS! We knew nothing about it and could see how valuable that would be to anyone coming off Cross Fell at night, but Alston was calling and we had to get on our way.
Muddy fields 1–20 conquered and we were at Alston by 14:00, my favourite CP but alas, there was no sleeping to be had; bet there was lasagne! We had agreed the next phase of our plan and 2 hours was all we had allowed at Alston, with our next sleep stop being the Greenhead Visitor Centre public toilets; I was so excited. Not.
Alston to Greenhead
From Alston to Slaggyford is the soul-destroying mud fest trail known as Isaac’s Tea Trail, where comedy rocks are replaced by comedy mud. Why use a perfectly graded old railway line from Alston to Slaggyford when you can subject tourists and Spine racers to mud after mud after mud. WTAF. By the time we came up to breathe at Slaggyford I was ready for a sit down on the park bench, the one I always sit on to adjust my shoes/socks.
Imagine my surprise, as I turned off the A689 towards the green, bench in site, and a beautiful fairy jumps out in front of me offering me hot coffee and fresh pizza if I enter her corner cottage.
Now, many of us have had hallucinations on the Spine race and I did actually ask her if she was real. Don’t laugh, you would have done the same, it was so fucking surreal. It’s the stuff Spine racers dream of but don’t expect to have happen.
So I tentatively said yes, and followed her into her lounge.
“Don’t worry about the mud. Just look how dirty my dogs are.” she tittered.
I looked at her puppies, they didn’t look that dirty to me but who was I to argue. So I sat down and did as I was told, and started to remove my boots while she passed me a hot coffee. I told her my Robbit was not far behind but she could tell him to carry on and I’d catch him. Obviously I was only joking but she was quick to catch-on and I heard her shout.
“Hi Robbit, Peter’s in here having coffee and pizza with me, he says he’ll catch you up.”
Robbit burst his way through the door and helped himself to coffee and pizza, not amused at our hilarious human humour so early in the evening. And then 3 more Spine racers joined us and we all debated the reality of the situation whilst we ate all of the pizza made available to us, before thanking the beautiful Natasha profusely for her hospitality.
It’s amazing how the Spine race has become part of the local community.The next big “challenge” was the bogs and boardwalks of Hartleyburn Common which can either be a navigational nightmare or a walk in the park! I knew that if we could find the main “path” up to the fence line it would be piss easy.
But before we climbed the stile there was a local dot watcher who had decided that as it was such a miserable night, rather than sit in his warm house watching our dots, he would come out to meet racers on the route with hot drinks and snacks,
What a fucking hero!!
We did tell him how much the racers appreciated this kind of support from the locals, enjoyed a quick coffee and snack, and then we were off again. Luckily and without to much fuss, we found the “path” and before long we were in Greenhead and heading for our bed. Once again we had a plan of 4 hours total stoppage time which meant our 01:15 arrival would see us back on the trail and on Hadrian's Wall well before daybreak.
What time is it Mr Robbit?
When we got to the Visitor Centre, Robbit immediately made his way to the back of the toilets and found his perfect spot and started to make his bed for the night. I was a bit slack so ended up with not such a good position and then messed up the most important job of being able to find my headtorch easily in the dark. So when I woke up at who knows what time, I was all of a dither looking for my headtorch, also waking Robbit, who growled and hissed at me, pointed his headtorch at me so I could find mine, then quickly turned over and went back to sleep while I twatted about with kit when I should have been asleep.
Waking up in the freezing cold
Way too soon it was time to go and we both got out of our bags and shivered our way into packing and getting going. Our plan was coming together nicely though. Allow a 4-hour sleep/admin stop between 00:00 and 07:00 (night/dark) depending on where we were plus a 2-hour admin only stop at CP’s to maximise daylight travelling. Our next destination was Bellingham by 16:00, aiming to leave by 18:00 and then get to the public toilets just before Byrness, that we hoped would be open, by 01:00. We reckoned 17 miles @2.5mph would get us there in just under 7 hours i.e. 01:00 hrs. But first, we had a wall to climb…..
As most will know, Hadrian’s Wall goes up and Hadrian’s Wall goes down, then up then down, on and on.
Robbit was storming ahead whilst I was having a bit of a stumbling stage and managed to fall down one of the rocky descents and ended up flat on my face. Robbit heard the moans and groans and turned around with his most sympathetic look.
“Get up stupid human, we don’t have time for games. Catch me up.”
And off Robbit fucked without me. Such a pleasant creature.
I eventually caught the unpleasant creature as we turned off Hadrian's Wall and as he was sat on his haunches, or maybe he was stood up (hard to tell really), I went past him at warp speed just to show who’s race this was and that he was simply a hired hand to make sure I never returned. The day continued at a decent pace as the weather God’s played nicely and after not too long we arrived at yet another oasis, Horneystead Farm. As we entered, there was a sleeping Spine racer who rather than sit in one of the chairs, was sprawled out across the entire floor area, blocking our entrance to the toilets. Robbit doesn’t take “inconsiderate” prisoners so simply stood on the sleeping body as he then opened the toilet door, smashing it against their head, twice, just for good measure, before entering the toilet. Not surprisingly, this woke him up.
The sprawling runner was 137 Canadian Kevin Crowe (the Canadian) [remember him?].
As we made tea and took 15 minutes to rest The Canadian responded like he was in a fast dressing competition, transforming from sleeping lump to race limpet in seconds.
“You mind if I tag along with you guys?” he asked.
“Yes” I replied. Fully aware of how he’d been at Cauldron Snout and not wanting the responsibility of a limpet with us.
“Yes, that’s fine” said Robbit.
I gave Robbit my angriest, blood-curdling icy stare and raised my hands in the air. WTF Robbit. But to no avail, the die had been cast and now we were 3.
To Bellingham
With limpet tagging along we made our way to the final CP and took the opportunity to warn The Candian about the drop bears that hide in the forests ahead. Robbit was safe as he was too small and furry but the bears liked the softer skin of humans, and as all Canadian’s tasted of sweet maple syrup, he would be at most risk. We advised him to always look up when going through the forest but if he actually saw one, then it was likely too late as it would drop like a stone, and that would be that. The Canadian laughed nervously, not sure who he should be most afraid of, and once at Bellingham he quickly disappeared for the next stage.
Peter and Robbit had been to Bellingham before, but never beyond. So close, but so far, would the friends make it or would the drop bears take them first? Read it here.
