The Red Rose 50

A big run in Lancashire had been on my to do list for some time, but my previous attempts had been thwarted by various obstacles. But finally things worked out for the The Red Rose 50! The route had been revamped from the previous year, and through looking at the route description, seemed by all accounts to be 50 splendid miles of running (but I’m from there, so I’m biased).

It was a family affair! My Mum and Dad were walking it, And so the night before was great fun, spent reviewing the route description, which was going well, until reaching the last section, which I realised I had left on my printer back in London. Helpful. Disaster averted by my Mum, who had a spare copy with a hand drawn map of a tricky bit, which was to be useful later…...

The start was at Jumbles sailing Club, which isn’t just the best name for a sailing club ever? Although in reality the start was anything but a jumble, and the organisation from East Lancs LDWA was ship shape. My parents set off at 08:00, and then I scuttled back inside to relax for a while, watching the rain beat off the window and bounce off the reservoir, to wait for the 09:00 running start. I got chatting to a guy called Patrick, who it turns out had run the last few miles of the NYM 100 last year with Andrew! As more runners checked in, bread was spread with jam, tea was brewed, and the sky got darker as the rain beat harder. The 08:00 starters…..what a start they must be having!

Turns out 09:00 wasn’t much better, but we are in Lancashire, and rain is the name of the game I guess. The first section sounded quite long really - Jumbles to San Marino. But on perusal of the map, San Marino turned out to be a pub near Belmont, not in northern Italy. The start was an uphill to Turton Tower, and then up to the trig point and across the moor. Then it was off the moor, down a gully, which the rain had turned into more of a stream, and I began to seriously regret my choice of shoe (I am fed up of getting blisters and was experimenting with a different pair of trainers, which is a stupid idea to try on a 50 miler). But I was distracted over the first few miles, as people were settling into their paces, and I met some fellow runners, and got chatting. CP1 in the San Marino pub car park was filled with friendly marshals, and a large bowl filled with liquorice all-sorts, which surprised me, as my Dad (aka the Liquorice King) had already passed through here.

The next section was a beast, mainly due to Winter Hill and Rivington Pike being between here and the next check point. The weather really was bobbins today, and it got worse the further up Winter Hill we went. But, I’ve been a regular on Winter Hill since the age of about 3, and I think I’ve been able to see a view from the top once, so this is no surprise, and I should stop harping on about it, and put the energy into getting to the top, wherever that was. An indistinct shadow of the mast was vaguely visible somewhere in the cloud, but it was so bad even the lights on the mast were shrouded. I had a moment of total clarity up there, the rain my face, the cold on my skin, the air in my lungs, the mud on, well, everywhere. The energy of the hill and my energy seemed to meet, and I felt totally as part of the earth. Blimey. It was probably the cold got to my head, or I’d had too many allsorts at the last checkpoint. Either way, extra energy of any type was useful for the next part, as the route came off Winter Hill across the moor, which was a never ending bog, down off the hill to a self clip (put there to avoid what would have been a cracking short cut) and then back up to Rivington Pike for another self clip (avoiding an even better short cut), and then running down off the Pike I spotted my parents ahead. Greetings and flapjack were exchanged, then it was on in an uncontrollable dash down through Rivington Gardens (I love flying down the winding paths and steep slopes of Rivington) and the Pinetum, and then along the flat to CP2 at Rivington Village Hall.

I was looking forward to the next 10 km section, from Rivington to Brinscall, as it was 1) part of my regular running route at home, and 2) a straight line and therefore difficult to get lost. Lots of nice long straight sections along the reservoirs and up the Nab (and along a footpath I had never been down, in all my years of running here), where it was safe to turn back and admire at the ominous looking Winter Hill from a distance...

....and views back along Anglezarke...

....then along the Goit past White Coppice and to Brinscall. I caught up with Patrick and we ran together to Brinscall, where cheesey crumpets were on the menu.

Fuelled up, I set off on the next section with Jim, who I ran the next few sections of the route with. A bit of a flatter section came next, with more downhill than up. Hurrah! Initially though fields, and then down to the canal, under the M65, then up back on to the road for a while, then fields and woods, headed towards Houghton Tower. I succeeded to take the worst picture of Houghton Tower ever.  

This is what it looks like, from it’s website…..

I shall stick to running, not photography. The CP4 at Houghton was filled with bananas and custard, and I ran into a chap who I’d met at the Herts Stroller (member number 21 of the LDWA), who has done an incredible number of 100s, and has an infectious way of talking you into saying that “yes, of course I’m going to do next years, what a splendid idea”.… but before we get ahead of ourselves, we must first tackle the next 29 miles… and thus Patrick, Jim and I set off towards the next checkpoint at Mellor Brook. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was definitely brightening up, the rain had eased off, and there were even views. Lancashire!!! I have missed you!

CP5 at Mellor Brook was a gem. We filled our pieholes with rice pudding and fruit salad, which was needed, as the next section was an even bigger beast than the earlier beast and was long, 8 and a half miles to the next CP at Tockholes, and 1361 feet of ascent. I’ll be jiggered. The first few miles started off quite gently, through fields and farms, then the up started. Initially though a bog (an over-the-top-of-the-trainers type of bog, which was mostly composed of cow poo), and past a farm with the two smallest, loudest and most affronted looking dogs I have ever met. Then, on past my old sixth form college; Westholme, which jogged (ha!) memories of cross country laps of the field, and I had another moment of realization that, erm, well, quite a lot of years later, and I was still running laps of fields (usually in the wrong direction). Nothing changes, eh (including my photography skills - another great photo of a gateway rather than the actual building)...

....then up into Witton Country Park for a good downhill section through woods and paths, out onto the playing fields (more memories of school cross country) and then a bit of urban running, and back on to the canal for a mile and a half stretch. Back under and along the M65, through fields and then the last few hundred metres up a steep road, and up to Tockholes CP6. I was sad to have been separated from Patrick on the last section, and Jim at CP6, but I was confident they would both be back in no time.

I set off on leg 7, another belter, just over 7 miles to Entwistle, starting off with a long downhill from Tockholes to Earnsdale Reservoir, before a long haul up to Darwin Tower....

I shall not dwell on the next section, as I did not enjoy it (despite the instruction)...

....but I do not wish to complain about the route, as it really is an excellent 50 miles and I highly recommend it. It’s just I don’t particularly like moors, and I don’t like this path across Darwin Moor in particular, and this is where the route went. I slipped and twisted, landed bum first in the bog, all the way across, cursing the moor first quietly, but becoming less quiet as the time went on. The next instruction on the route description “do not descend into gorge” which had seemed blindingly obvious reading it on the sofa the previous evening, suddenly seemed quite helpful, as I careered along the edge of it the gorge, trying not to make any sudden descents towards it’s boggy bottom. After what seemed like an age, I made it to the other side of the moor, and gratefully headed down to Entwistle Reservoir for a glorious 1 mile run along the waters edge, to CP 7, which was a fine CP if ever there was one.

Leg 8 was 5 miles to Hawkshaw, and the biggest question was, would I get there before dark. Being an idiot, I decided to try to race the sunset, and as an added incentive, left my headtorch deeply buried within my pack. Soon after setting off on my foolish quest, the route passed the Strawbury Duck Pub in Entwistle, which is a name so intriguing I had to try to find out what it means. I failed, but got as far as that Entwistle comes from the English ‘ened’ and ‘twisla’ which means a river fork frequented by ducks. So I guess that’s where the duck comes from, but Strawbury…no idea. Pondering on the idea, some road running followed, then it was back up to the moors...

...but this time on tracks. Phew. But just a temporary phew, as I hadn’t got lost yet, and this couldn’t last, and sure enough, I soon became temporarily (-ish) unsure of my position, and went downhill down the wrong track for a few minutes before realising my error and getting back on track, where things were starting to look decidely dusky....

.....I made it to about 1 mile from the next checkpoint, running through fields looking for small signposts, when I conceded that it was now too dark to see the signs. So I pulled off my pack in the middle of a field, put in a new set of batteries, and switched it on. Nothing! I switched to my spare pair of batteries, dropping the first set in the grass, and then faffed around as I couldn’t see them, as the torch was STILL not working! PANIC!!! I finally got it sort of working, by keeping hold of the batteries and keeping them in a certain position. After much scrambling around in the wet grass and flickering on and off of the headtorch, I located the fallen batteries, and set off through the fields towards the village of Hawkshaw where the checkpoint was. Coming into the village, I opened the pocket in my bag to get my tally card ready, forgetting the I’d put the spare batteries in there, and all three of them fell out, and rolled off in different directions underneath a car parked on the kerb. Crawling around under the car, with a flickering light, looking for black batteries on black tarmac was a low point, let me tell you.

Moving on, only the final section (just over 5 km from Hawkshaw to Jumbles) left to do now without messing anything else up. Right after leaving the checkpoint, I found myself in a wood which, referring back to my previous experiences of running in the dark, would have had me all in a tizz. But tonight, I don’t know why, I didn’t care as much. Maybe it was I really thought that by my age, I really shouldn’t be scared of the dark. Or maybe I had too much other things to be thinking about. Was my headtorch going to conk out? And where was I?? Deep in a wood! Too many paths! Which one?! But, section 9….the spare set of instructions….the hand-drawn map! Hallelujah! (and I owe you one, parents!!) I located the right path and climbed up out of the wood, a pond glittering to the right, in the flickering head torch. A Roman Cross appeared out of the darkness, but still I refused to think of ghosts. I followed some powerlines downhill for ¾ of a mile, where I had a little wobble when I thought the red glittering eyes of the devil were staring at me out of the darkness, but then I realised it was just a cow. Quite a lot of them actually. Yikes! But they seemed more disturbed by the encounter than I was, and I could hear them all mooing and tramping off in the darkness. A final wood, just to test my nerve, but no ghostly encounters tonight, just a detestable set of steps up and out of the trees. Steps! At 49.5 miles!!! I checked my phone for a time check, and had a message from my Mum to say my Dad had been unwell and they had retired and were on their way back to base. As it turns out, we made it back to the end at the same time (them having been given a lift back by LDWA number 21 – small world!). I could tell my Dad wasn’t right, as he refused food, Lancashire Hot Pot at that, which is most unusual. But he is now recovered, and he and my Mum completed 35 miles, which is excellent, I am super proud of them, and the most important thing is, they are both OK. Phew!

Good to catch up with fellow runners at the end, and pleased as punch to see Jim, Patrick, and Imtiaz make it back soon after. Big thanks to East Lancs LDWA for an absolutely top notch event, and for planning an excellent route to show off my local area to it's best! Great to meet and run with some great people out there; thanks for a great day and good company. And as always huge thanks to all the volunteers who give up their time to let us all have a good day out on the hills, and make it even better by being so lovely all of the time (and especially thanks to the lady doing first aid at the end, who made sure my Dad was alright, and was so kind to us all - and if you ever see this.... I promise I will be keeping  up with the Pilates and the yoga after hearing your inspiring story!)