North York Moors 100 Recce Weekend: Trilogy Part 2 - The Two Holes

Based on feedback from the first instalment of the 100 recce weekend blog, I have re-branded this series as a 'Trilogy', and the second instalment is named 'The Two Holes'. My understanding of the Lord of the Rings is fairly scarce, and was obtained mainly through watching the films (a mere 15 years ago), and attempting to read the books - but this was abandoned by the end of page one, when I got Gandalf confused with the Gimili, then Gollum, followed by Galadrial, and then becoming totally lost in Gondor. Where Gloin turned up, along with Gamgee, and who is Grima? So any similarities with the actual Lord of the Rings will be by accident. Although, I suppose there are some obvious parallels; I'm thinking along the lines of the Misty Mountains, Mount Doom, Shires, the Old Forest, and Boggles (an addition from North Yorkshire; more on those later).

Fascinating though all this is, we must continue our journey through Middle Earth/North Yorkshire. The first Hole in our tale, was Hutton-le-Hole, where we had spent the night (in luxury, see part 1, now renamed 'The Fellowship of the Luxury Item'). Breakfast was vastly improved from yesterday, and I managed to finish the whole delicious plate of scrambled eggs, mushrooms and toast without fear of it cementing my insides together. The same praise could not be heaped upon my trainers, which were as cold and wet as the moment that I had flung them from my feet last night.

We were quickly reminded that we were in fact in a hole, as the start of the route began (as it would indeed go on) with a hill, which Tara fell up, in shock, as it had been a full 12 hours since we had come across such a hill. Any concerns that I was going too slowly were quickly calmed, as a sign instructed us, quite clearly, that we were to slow down as to not frighten the lambs.

It's always dreadful the first few miles on the second day of a multi-day challenge, especially after a nice breakfast, and I felt quite unhappy for the first few miles.  This was followed by our first recce moment (which is my new name for ‘lost’) not long into the run. One of those moments came up, where the exact same line of instructions quite clearly meant three very different things to three different people; and upon explaining to each other, each alternative explanation also made sense to the others, and so everyone ended up confused. After a considerable debate, involving much turning upside-down of maps (and route descriptions) a decision was reached, and turned out to be right. Hurrah! The trick now is, I guess, to remember what the right decision was, for the real thing. 

Moving on, we arrived at a more straightforward instruction, which directed us to continue along a path in a straight line for 5.5 km. I quite enjoyed that part. Even I can manage these type of directions. Plus, my breakfast had gone down, I felt a bit warmed up, the scenery was nice, and it was quite sunny. All in all, I felt quite good.

And the trick with ultras, I've learned, is that feelings never last for long. I hold this thought firmly in mind in those moments when I feel terrible, after all, it won’t last forever (although it may seem so, at the time). But the flip side is, it's a sobering thought when you’re feeling quite good, but are aware of a little shadow hovering somewhere close by. Around the next corner, up the next hill, behind a tree, in a bog...a shadow ready to sap your energy and your spirit, ready to whisk you in a quick moment straight from the sunny Shire right back to the gloom of Mordor. Beware.

My shadow was waiting for me in Rosedale, the end of the first stage for today. There was even an air ambulance there when we arrived, which was an ominous sign. Team Luxury convened in the centre of the village green, along with the rain, which is good at choosing it’s moments to coincide with other low points. In the moments where we all scrambled about for waterproofs, my shadow appeared from behind a nearby tree, and quickly enveloped itself around my soul. Right in time for decision time - due to the route, this was the last point in the day where any sort of shortening to the route could be negotiated. 

Paris and Jen decided to take a slightly shorter route, right across the top of the moor. I ran the Lyke Wake race here a few years ago, with my old running club. In the middle of July on a sunny day, it had been delightful, and I even managed a light tan in Yorkshire. Today, in the driving wind and rain, I wasn't so sure of the desirability of a route right over the top of the moor. Plus, I'd come to recce the 100 route, so recce the 100 route I would do. Shadow or no shadow, decision made.

Approximately one half of a second after we went our separate ways, I had second thoughts. Who was I kidding? We hadn't even done 7 miles yet, and there was at least 30 more to go. Everyone else on this weekend was so much better and experienced at this than me. I was already tired – physically, but mostly mentally from a day and a bit of trying to convince myself I could do this along with everyone else. And now I'd just chosen to run 30 more miles up and down and around the moors, in the driving rain and wind, and I was probably just going to slow everyone down, and ruin the whole thing for everyone.

I was an idiot.

And spent the next few miles reminding myself so, as my shadow danced around, laughing at me, and the rain beat down. The route writers also joined in, and turned up the gradient. The hill went on and on. 

Then the wind joined the party. I referred to the A to Z of swear words, but none were really a match for my current mood.

Instead, I tried to channel my discontent into moving forwards, which was requiring increasing effort, as the wind had different ideas as to which way we should be going. As we continued up the hill, The Lion Inn came in to view. This had been the scene of a most pleasing checkpoint on the Lyke Wake race; a welcome break after a long uphill drag in the beating sunshine, and a car park full of family and friends. Those scenes seemed very far away today. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be too hot, for a start. Instead, we continued up road for a mile, which felt much more like the whole 100 miles, all concentrated into one little section of road.

Finally, finally! The 1.6 km of hell finished, and we turned right off the ghastly road, and up across the moor, where we headed for Fat Betty. If, like me, for you this conjours up images of a lovely warm tea room, with hot tea and scones, you will, also like me, be bitterly disappointed. Fat Betty is a wayside cross, a Christian Cross constructed in the 10^th or 11^th century, serving the dual purpose of reinforcing the Christian faith to those who passed and reassuring them, and also pointing travellers the right way at points where the way could easily be lost (helped by the dashing Young Ralph cross, which is found nearby). In addition to all this, the Fat Betty cross also marks the meeting point of the three original parishes of Danby, Westerdale and Rosedale. So she’s quite busy, but continues to be helpful, guiding tired runners in the right direction. We continued across the top of the moors for a while, running along the narrow paths through the heather, and dodging bogs. The rain had eased off, and even the wind had chilled out a bit, and there were some great views from up there.

After a while, we headed down off the moor, down a valley so steep and rocky it was hard to stay upright. Quite an abrupt change from the last few miles through soft bog and scratchy heather, but that's what I love about trail running, things are constantly changing, no few steps are ever the same. 

We arrived at Botton for our next break, welcomed by the smell of wood-smoke. Botton, as well as having a delightful name, also has great purpose; it’s part of the Camphill Community, initially based in Scotland, which supports adults with learning disabilities. We stopped in a little circular shelter and munched an array of goodies. A man holding a packet of smoked sausage walked across the bridge, I imagined in the direction of the source of the wood-smoke. Sigh….a fire, and sausages…….

My daydreaming was interrupted by the departure of Team Luxury from our shelter for the next stage of the run. We were headed to Glaisdale next. I had given up counting how many stages were left, as there seemed to be loads, and they were all really long today.

In hindsight, that was exactly the right thing to do. 100 miles is a pretty long way, and I find it best not to think about it all at once, which I found on my first few self-navigated ultras I was pretty good at, but lately I seem to have lost the knack. Maybe it’s time to get back in the habit. So, instead of seventeen stages, it’s best to think of just one at a time. In fact, even better is breaking it down to only one line of the route description at a time (e.g. turn right at the third telegraph pole whilst going diagonally....). It is very mindful really I suppose, living (or, running) in the moment. Not thinking of what’s ahead, or what you’ve left behind, focusing on the moment, and experiencing the here and now. I was trying hard to do this, and getting on quite well, until we got to the very last point on the instructions of this stage, which turned out to be almost 4 miles long. 4 miles. In one line! I guess that was the ultimate test of mindfulness, which I quickly failed at, and reverted to thinking too far ahead again, and panicking that it was too much to tackle.

Fortunately, we arrived at Glasidale (about 4 miles later, mind you), where I was able to sit on the grass for a while and collect my thoughts, while Tara and Fabrice went in search of water (and I realised I’d drunk less than a litre all day, which was probably part of the problem).

After some chocolate coated coffee beans (which had turned out to be an exciting new discovery on this trip, in terms of new options for rocket fuel), we headed off towards a place called (Dire) Straights on the last long leg (8 miles) for the day. A pretty couple of miles along a river took us to Egton, where there is a big posh house, so posh it has a toll cottage. Those of you with keen (very keen/ superhuman) eyesight, will note the cost of a hearse was much cheaper than any other form of transport (and if you can't see it, you will need to trust me on this one). Team Luxury’s sense of humour, which might be questioned by some at the best of times, was compounded due to our increasing fatigue, and several jokes were made in poor taste, as to which the best way we could continue our journey may be. 

Hearse or no hearse, no one seemed to be collecting tolls, and so we made it to Straights with our finances intact. Fabrice had to abandon us to return home for work, and to send him off, we had a quick refueling stop at the local shop. I was becoming concerned at my current level of crisp consumption, which had risen from occasional crisp usage to 2 bags a day over the recce weekend. But, no time to fret, as there were now just two short sections left! The sea soon came into view, followed by Whitby Abbey. Suddenly, all the anxieties of the day melted away, as I looked out to sea in the fading light, and finally had a mindful moment. 

We arrived at Hawsker, our last stop of the day, and took our last break in a field, opposite a group of cows. A conversation about burgers ensued, between the carnivores in the groups, and Tara, who was on the side of the cows. The general demeanour of the cows suggested they didn’t particularly require any support, as they glowered across the fence at us, and stamped their feet.

Moving swiftly on, we headed for Fyling Hall. On the way we encountered my favourite part of the instructions which warned ‘Beware! Friendly Alsation dog loose!’. Sure enough, the Alsation was indeed loose, and was joined by two horses. Not having been warned in the instructions as to whether these additional creatures were friendly or otherwise, I approached with apprehension, but following the brave lead of Alan and Tara, soon found that all creatures were happy for us to cross their farm yard.

In the fading daylight, we made it to Fyling Hall, the end of the official route for the day, without needing head torches! On the real event, this will be the breakfast stop. Through Tara’s retelling of previous 100s, I was shocked/ enlightened to discover that whisky porridge is a menu option for breakfast, and by the revelation that several hardened members of the LDWA 100 club are half-cut for the second half of the walk.

Unbelievable. And there I had been with my bacon sandwich. No wonder I’d found the second half harder. This must be the missing piece of my training, and I am busy sourcing a hip flask to fit in the front pocket of my running pack, so it will be accessible at all times.

Back to reality, it was now just one (or two, ish) short miles to our Youth Hostel for the night, in the second hole of the tale, Boggle Hole. Head torches to the ready! The last part was not without its own drama, we ended up in a (another) farmyard, where a barn full of cows, their eyes glinting in our torches, followed our progress with 100 reproachful glances. Then we mistakenly ended up in the wrong valley, and to correct our detour needed to climb literally the steepest hill of the day, while a bat tried to drive bomb us from above. Thankfully, we made it to our place of rest and relaxation, and enjoyed a wonderful evening in the bright and welcoming Boggle Hole YHA, with Jen and Paris. Boggle Hole YHA has recently been renovated, and in a final punch from the day, just in case we had been getting cocky that we’d nailed things, our rooms were 70 steps up the cliff to the new building. I conceded it was worth it though, brand new rooms, hot showers, a drying room….Team Luxury are well at home!

At the end of this epic, I will finish with a quote, lifted straight from the mighty tomes of JRR Tolkein:

“The World is changing. Who now has the strength to stand against the armies of The Hills and The Yorkshire Weather? To stand against the might of Boggle and Bog ... and the union of the Two Holes? Together, my Lord Boggle ... we shall rule this Moor."