Gerry Charnley Round A Real Blinder

Gerry Charnley Round A Real Blinder I was just 20 years old and at University in Cardiff when my dad told me the sad news that Gerry Charnley had died. Gerry was leading a group of police cadets on a winter mountaineering course on Helvellyn, and his dog had disappeared over the edge of the summit cornice. Edging nearer to see if he could locate his dog, the entire cornice collapsed, avalanching down the cliffs, taking Gerry's life with it. The dog's body was never found. At the time I had no real understandings of the dangers of cornices, avalanches or winter mountaineering. I was just shocked that someone like Gerry was gone. He was only 53 years old. Gerry was one of my dad's friends, he was tall, angular, fit looking, with a perpetual smile and twinkling enthusiastic eyes. He had a way of talking that would make light of life's challenges, creating adventures out of them all. As a pioneer, he started the sport of Orienteering in England, organising the very first event near my Clitheroe home in the year I was born, an event my dad was involved with too. He also created the 2 day Mountain Marathon event, and was a founding member of the Fell Runners Association. He attended every orienteering event for miles around, taking a mobile shop with him, and as a young boy he certainly made a deep impression on me. When I started orienteering seriously myself in my teenage years, Gerry always gave me great advice at events, and he was one of the few people I actually listened to. Now with a lifetime of orienteering, fell running and mountain marathons the time felt right for me to run the Gerry Charnley Round in his memory, being the same age now as Gerry was when he died in 1982. The 38 mile GC Round, includes 11,000ft of ascent and descent, was devised by friends of Gerry, my dad amongst them, as a way of remembering this remarkable man. My original plan was to run the GCR on or near the longest day, setting off at midnight under the light of a full moon, yet the weather had other ideas and I had to postpone. Now I had just one window left, Sunday 17th July, and I was going to set off early tomorrow morning regardless of the weather. After a mixed night's sleep, I woke at 2am, then again at 4am, this time forcing myself out of bed. A strong coffee and breakfast of bacon and eggs, making up a bacon sandwich cut into triangles, along with a brie sandwich cut into rectangles, wrapping them up in foil, so I'd know which was which. I was out of the door by 4.30am, driving in the half light to Elterwater, surprised by the amount of cloud on the hills. Setting off from Elterwater

I set off just after 5am, jogging along the quiet lane past the Britannia pub, then opened my map to start planning the day's adventure. I couldn't see it. I stopped and tried to focus. No good I couldn't make out any of the detail at all. The map was a special one I'd bought from Harvey's with all the Gerry Charnley Round checkpoints on it. I was planning to run the round like an orienteering event, running it blind without knowing the route beforehand. I'd not paid any attention to the map scale when the map had arrived in the post. I've done a lot of hill running and navigating over the last few months, using Harvey 1:25,000 maps which I can read easily without my glasses, this one was at a scale of 1:40,000. I carried on running, smiling at my predicament, thinking about solutions to the problem. I knew where the first checkpoint was, we use exactly the same junction as a check point for our Ultra Marathon event. As I ran along I remembered there was a small magnifying lens on my compass which may help with detail, I got it out and found it would come in useful for the more vague checkpoints, although I had to stop to use it. I also had some emergency money with me, so maybe I could buy a 1:25,000 map from one of the youth hostels? Well, it was going to be a slightly different adventure from the one I thought, and no doubt become more memorable because of it. I was confident about all the check points on the major summits, it was the route choices that would prove tricky, now that I couldn't see any detail on the map no paths, no tracks, no streams, no fine contours. All I could make out were the red circles marking the checkpoints, the general contours, large lakes and woods. I'd not run up Lingmoor from the Elterwater side before, and as I jogged along I decided what I had to do was get to the highest point on the path, then take a compass bearing to the summit, working out the best line from the ground features as I went. Immediately I realised there was going to be some tough work ahead. From the path in the forest, looking along the route of my bearing, there was head high bracken, a deer fence, rough ground, more bracken leading to a big looking crag. I strained my eyes to try and make out some detail on the map, knowing there must be a path to the summit, but it was no good, without my reading glasses, it was all just a blur. Gerry would have loved this. I decided to start enjoying the adventure, first climbing the deer fence, then ploughing my way through the bracken, falling over hidden logs and rocks. Another deer fence, some trees growing close together at the base of the crag, I wriggled on hands and knees under the low lying branches, then started climbing up the rock face, finding a line of vegetation, using small saplings to balance my weight as I pulled myself up. More head high bracken above the crags and I pushed on, keeping to my compass bearing, knowing at some point I'd come out onto open moorland. Deep heather replaced the bracken, then I followed a wall, and in the distance I could see a path. I couldn't believe how much easier it was on the path, and enjoyed the feeling of running again after 20 or 30 minutes of struggling through the undergrowth. I was soon on Lingmoor summit and I looked across the valley towards the climb to Pike O Blisco considering my options. I didn't want another battle through all the bracken, and without being able to read the map I needed visual clues to help. I could make out what looked like a good line culminating in a trod or path, so set off down the steep path towards Blea Tarn, crossing wet bog that would take me to the start of the line I'd seen. There was a short section of waist high bracken to get through before it petered out on the rocky ridge, and I was soon near the trod climbing upwards. Another head high patch of bracken that I needed to contour through, stumbling on hidden rocks until reaching the narrow path maybe the hidden path from the Three Shires Race that I'd never found before?

Climbing Pike O Blisco There was a small wooden stile taking me across the intake fence and crumbling dry stone wall, then I was out on open fell, following the obvious trod, still on a compass bearing as the summit was swirling with thermal cloud. Someone else was in shorts and a black vest walking up the main path at this early hour, I kept to the trod and must have overtaken him as I didn't see him again. Suddenly I'm at the first summit cairn, then jog to the second as I never know which is the true summit, so always go to them both. I didn't need a map for the next section as it's so familiar, although thick cloud was blanketing Crinkle Crags, so I made sure I took a bearing before entering the gloom. The wind was pretty strong too and for the first time I started to feel a bit cold, wondering if I should put my cagoule on. A wheatear fledgling was on the path looking startled, at first I thought it was some kind of animal, small tufts of grey down were sticking up from it's feathers, it was only when it fluttered off that I could see the white flash of it's tail. From the summit I got dragged the wrong way at first. I stopped and took another bearing, again surprised by the change in direction I needed to make to get back on the proper ridge, loving the orienteering exercise of trusting my compass. With visibility down to a few metres, I kept losing the path, and the bearing helped, although I was crossing some very rough underfoot terrain, boulders slick with condensation from the low cloud, knolls and small hills that I'd never been on before, remembering this ridge as a nice run when the weather's good. A gap in the cloud and the reassuring sight of Three Tarns a hundred metres ahead, and soon I'm descending and coming out of the cloud, the whole valley clearly visible, basking in sunshine.

Thick thermal cloud enveloping Crinkle Crags I stop to drink at a bubbling beck and eat my triangles of bacon butties, then run across the rough grassland, avoiding the worn out rock of the path, preferring softer ground. Ahead I recognised the stream I'd crossed on a recent Wainwright run, and a look at the checkpoint description that told me the next one was a bridge. Easy then, I'll just follow the stream, keeping left as it started to cut into a deep gorge, a dad and his son enjoying breakfast outside their tent, a lovely place for a wild camp. We shout greetings across the bright splashings of the stream. Soon I'm looking ahead at another new valley, steep, dark cliffs on one side, the bulk of Hard Knott on the other. There's now a path and I follow it, reaching a beautiful narrow pack horse bridge, my check point. I stand on it looking down at the stream below, reading the next control description, sheep fold. I took a bearing and follow a well used path, jumping puddles and wet patches, taking me all the way to the sheepfold, hidden behind a dry stone wall, being discovered as I climb a big wooden stile. Ahead, an obvious path taking me to the Eskdale valley, crossing the river over a wooden bridge, dogs barking in a farm yard, a stone track joining up with a tarmac lane and a few hundred metres further the sign for the Eskdale YHA, tents in the garden, the hostel empty, deserted, locked up. I'd now been going for around 3 hours, it was Sunday, still early. I crossed the stream by the tents, climbed a big wall and picked my way through some gorse to reach woodland. I'd already decided to use this square patch of green on the map, then follow a compass bearing to a big tarn I could see, my attack point for the Large Boulder, the next checkpoint. No doubt there were better options available, but as I couldn't see any detail on the map, this would have to suffice, although I must admit I was now thoroughly enjoying the whole experience of running blind. Green on an orienteering map is the symbol for woodland that is classed as fight. Normally, you'd avoid it. Today, I just had to find my way through it, then follow my bearing across the open higher ground. As I climbed the deer fence to get into the wood I realised it was going to be another battle, the steeply sloped, tightly packed pine and birch trees were entangled with thickets of brambles, green new growth and brown dried up lengths, all armed with barbed thorns. I got torn to pieces pushing through it all. Climbing the deer fence out and into head high bracken into sunlight, I was shocked at the bright red blood glistening all over my deeply scratched forearms, my legs bleeding, my head sore from more cuts, my shorts shredded and flapping with a four inch tear.

Shredded by the brambles I pushed on, up through the bracken, flies settling on my open wounds. I washed most of the blood off at a small stream and had another long drink and some millionaire's shortbread. It felt very, very hot now out of the wind and in full sun. I was in luck though, a sheep trod followed the stream and was going more or less in the right direction. This was heather country, so my progress was good although I was soon being pulled slightly off my bearing. There were some big mounds of hills ahead with cliffs to one side, and I left the trod to contour my way through the wilderness, finding a red deer trod, marked by bigger hoof prints and bigger droppings. I passed above Stony Tarn, my attack point for the Big Boulder, weaving around the hills and feeling very much like a wild animal myself. Underfoot was now wet bog, my feet sinking a few inches on every step, although I was now speeding up as the climb had levelled out. Looking ahead, way in the distance, bang on my bearing, was a big boulder, and ten minutes later I crossed a path and touched it's warm, hard surface.

Big boulder The path took me up Slight Side and back into cloud, a hands on knees effort and a scramble to first one cairned summit, then the other with a piece of aluminium aircraft wreckage. Although I knew the route to Scafell summit, I didn't take any chances, taking a compass bearing as visibility was down to five metres. The final climb over wet mossy boulders felt endless, heavy, thick cloud distorting distance. Feet now sore on the rocky cairned path marking the descent down to Foxes Tarn, leaving the cloud behind, back into warm sunshine. I stop by the stream for a long cool drink, eat my brie sandwiches, then scramble down the steep gill, the rocks wet and treacherous. I climb the rocky path of scree, stumbling a few times on the loose stones, contouring round to the main drag to the Mountain Rescue safety box at Mickledore the climb getting easier on the final ascent of Scafell Pike, a small Swedish flag at the summit. Running across the jumble of boulders I catch up with two mountain bikers pushing their bikes downhill. It's become very warm again, and I find a cool stream for another drink, the mountain bikers overtaking me just before Esk Hause.

Descending Scafell Pike Thermal cloud was building up over Esk Pike and I pushed on. I'd not been to the Gerry Charnley Cairn before and wanted good visibility to work out where it was. I stopped and used the small magnifying lens on my compass, working out from the contours the flat area on the ridge, marrying that up with what I could see on the ground. I'd usually be doing all of this whilst I'm running, at least taking so much time would minimise any navigational mistakes. Cloud engulfed me on the way to Ore Gap, I left it behind whilst dropping steeply down towards Angle Tarn, picking my route through bog grass, jumping streams, reaching the outlet by the main path. A trudge up the stone path, preferring the grass by the side as my feet are sore, then I contour round Allen Crags, rough country all the way to the next checkpoint at High House Tarn. My progress slowed on the way to Glaramara. I was getting depleted, having eaten all my food except a handful of jelly babies, some cashew nuts, raisins and one small square of millionaire's shortbread. I was still running, although it probably would have been just as quick to walk. I was in my own world of pain, exercising mind over matter, knowing these patches seldom last long, perversely enjoying my own suffering. A respite during the tricky rock scramble down off Glaramara summit, and suddenly I'm refreshed and running strongly again, a grassy gradual downhill, my bearing taking me straight to the summit cairn of Capell Crag Borrowdale looked inviting way down below, I wondered if I'd pass any tea shops on my route, trying to remember if I'd seen any before. I needn't have worried, the Borrowdale YHA had people sitting on the picnic benches outside in the sun, enjoying food and drink. I was inside in seconds, piling the counter with a big slice of cake, flapjack, a mars bar oh, and a sweet coffee please. I sat outside for 10-15 minutes, refuelling, wondering if my legs would seize up once I tried to run again afterwards.

Refuelling at Borrowdale YHA The rest and food had done me good, and I started moving quickly along the tarmac lane, through Stonethwaite and onto the rough track around the campsite. I was soon on familiar territory, our 110K ultra route, and made good time to the next check point at Blackmoss Pot surprising an almost naked couple hidden amongst the rocks, making a quick turnaround. The footbridge at Tray Dub, the base of Stake Pass was the next check point and it was hot work up the zig zags, making the tarn at Stake Pass less than an hour after setting off from the YHA. On up through rough tussock grass to Thunacar Knott, then picking my way down the steep grass and rock by Pavey Ark, taking another compass line all the way to the summit of Blea Rigg. I'd been enjoying running with just the compass to guide me, so thought why stop now I'm on familiar territory? Another bearing to the small tarn choked with weed, then along the final ridge line, finding a path through the bracken to the road, padding along over the cattle grid to touch the wall of the High Close YHA, wetsuits drying in the sunshine in the garden.

View back towards the Langdale valley A final descent back to my van, the satisfaction of a great day out in the hills, all 11 hours, 17 minutes, 49 seconds of it. I take off my wet studs and socks, no blisters this time round, just a few minor scratches. I sent a message to Claire and Ash, they were having the day at the Morecambe Kite Festival, then I changed into dry clothes and celebrated with a pint and a packet of peanuts at the Britannia pub, sitting barefoot outside in the sun. On the way home, I stopped off to pick some chanterelle mushrooms from one of my hot spots, they'll go nicely with the white wine we've got in the fridge to celebrate. For all sorts of reasons, this adventure was a real blinder, and one I will never forget. Graham Patten Sunday 17th July 2016 Feeling inspired? So far, over 1,800 has been raised for my charity Multiple Sclerosis Society. To everyone who has supported me, thank you, this is a fantastic total. If you haven't already done so and could afford a small donation, my JustGiving page is : https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/graham-patten1?