Gone Fishwickin' - Part 1
There is a word in the fell running community that can bring a smile ,and a grimace, to the face of those who know it:
Fishwicking: (verb) To run more fell races than most people deem sensible over a short period.
Named for one of the best known faces in the fell running community, Darren Fishwick has “bagged” well over 400 different fell races, many of which he has done more than once. Darren has been seen at races in every corner of Britain, his distinctive black and white Chorley vest and trademark smile a welcome sight at any registration desk. Muddy runners gathered in the corner of lakeland pubs discuss in an awed whisper whether it’s true he once did 13 races in 12 days.
My weekend was barely a patch on what the great man has done, and as he becomes known as much for his side splitting race write ups as his dedication to the sport I hope I can continue to follow in his wake and entertain you with my own write up. I’m going to call my weekend a “mini Fishwick”
For this particular weekend I originally had other plans. I was originally scheduled to be supporting John as he attempted the Joss Naylor Lakeland Challenge. We were all prepped and looking forward to the weekend when we got the sad news that he was having to postpone through injury. I was gutted for him having to delay; John is largely responsible for me racing more off road than on it in recent years and I was looking forward to helping him as he took on this great challenge. (John would go on to have a successful attempt in June that I was unable to support)
I was booked into a campsite near Wast Water and, not wanting to let an evening under canvas in the lakes go to waste, I had a look about for other options. I came up with two fell races; the first, Saturday, being a return to the Fairfield Horseshoe, to date my only Lake District fell race, followed by Glaramara on Sunday. Remembering how tough Fairfield was, and with Glaramara being entry on the day, I gave myself the option of a steady hike up Scafell Pike if I didn’t feel like I had another race in me.
I was gutted for John but as plan B’s go, this one was shaping up well.
Climb: 3,200ft
Results here
With the race not starting until midday and all my gear packed and ready the night before I was treated to a leisurely morning and got on the road at 9. Even so I was slightly regretting the previous nights red wine. “Hangover” is probably too strong a word but I was definitely not in peak condition.
A couple of hours later I swung into the car park and immediately spotted some purple and green vests of Northumberland Fell Runners. Like me they had all been due for Joss pacing duties but were getting their lakeland fix courtesy of Ambleside AC instead. Sign up for the race was online via ResultsBase, a rarity for fell racing, and even more unusual there was chip timing! Fell racing is loved for its simplicity, having chip timing, for me, is like spotting a disposable coffee cup in a scene of Game of Thrones. It feels like it was inevitably going to happen, doesn’t ultimately make much difference, but somehow just doesn't feel right. But, hey if it makes the race organisers life a bit easier, who am I to complain.
As an “AM” category race the mandatory FRA kit cannot be waived, even in the best weather so with my waterproof full body cover; hat; gloves; map; compass; and emergency food checked, I entered registration with a very official looking pen mark on the back of my hand to say I was cleared to race. The map I was using was made specifically for the race by Harvey, helpfully printed on waterproof paper with the race route marked on. The map can usually be bought from the Pete Bland Sports mobile shop on the day along with any gear you might have forgotten to bring (I bought mine from the PBS website here before doing the race in 2018).
Because my entry had been done late (the previous afternoon) I hadn't made the printed list and was added as an “entry on the day”. They seemed to take it on trust that I really had entered, although I assume if they checked and found out I hadn’t there would have been a pair of Cumberland wrestlers waiting for me at the finish! “That’s him, number 288! Grapple him lads!”
The car park was ¾ of a mile from the start area and I covered it a few times before I joined the huddled mass on the start line. The race briefing was fairly typical for a fell race; some instructions about flagged sections to protect the ecology from the runners (and another to protect the runners from some cattle), a vague description of the route such as: “keep the wall on your left”, and “your left is probably not the hand you write with”. With a few “thank you”s for Rydal Hall and the timing company we were set off under the hooter.
The route initially winds past Rydall hall and the campsite facilities before a steep climbs takes you up to a rough farm track. The route was crowded at this point with the usual ducking and diving between and around people. A marshall directed us off the track to follow a line of flags across the grass through the area of delicate ecology. Most races I have done, when they say sections are flagged, you might spot the occasional piece of red and white tape tied to a tree or bush. In the lake district they always seem to use small red or yellow flags that stand a foot or so from the floor on near invisible metal stakes, giving the feeling that you are being guided by a line of floating plastic squares.
It was these floating waymarkers that took us in almost single file to the base of the first proper climb. Nab Scar has an imposing craggy facade overlooking Rydal Water but our route took us up the much greener eastern face. As my hands went onto my knees to help drive my power walk I stole a glance to my left. We had already climbed to around 300 meters and the view of Windermere took my breath away! Or was that the climb; it was now getting so steep at points that beyond being reduced to a power walk, the only option is to haul yourself up the grassy slope with whatever limbs you happen to have with you at the time.
The summit eventually came 150 meters higher with the first checkpoint, each runners number being jotted down by the marshalls as they ran past. It’s always bitter sweet reaching a summit in a fell race. The sweet relief that the climbing, at least for now, is over with but the need to persuade your burning legs to start running again. From here the route follows the rocky path popular with hikers doing the horseshoe. The ridgeline gradually climbs to the high point at the eponymous Fairfield but on the way are some minor summits. The astute racers in the field take out a bit of unnecessary elevation by following what is little more than a sheep trod to the west of Heron Pike, the first summit on the way up. When Great Rigg arrives around a mile later and 150 meters higher, no such option exists. This was another chance to drop to a walk to save some effort without losing pace. I am always surprised to find myself power walking next to someone still determined to run while I keep up, or even catch them. The trick that comes with experience and knowing your fitness is spotting the point at which walking is your best option.
The summit of Fairfield is barren, rocky and, apart from the cairn, feels almost flat, at least relatively speaking. Just because it doesn’t have the most exciting topography though don’t write it off for a visit. On a clear day, the view down the glacier carved U shaped valley to Windermere and beyond in the south; the dramatic view of Great Gable and the Langdale Pikes to the west; the famous Helvellyn ridge to the north and biscuit tin view to the East are all worthy reward for a hard slog up the path.
Enjoying this view though, was not the reason I was there! After reaching the summit cairn marshall the route almost doubles back on itself. I set off after the two runners in front of me, catching them both before the next summit. The path from Fairfield drops nicely, granting a sense of easy speed, a blessing after the hour of toil it took to get there. The respite doesn't last long though. It goes quickly into the scramble up Hart Crag, picking through razor sharp loose rocks as this smaller summit is crested. It is also the start of the cautious downhill and I exchange paces a few times with my competition from the summit but ultimately watch them disappear over the brow as the technical terrain gets the better of me.
I had left my confident striding somewhere on the other side of Hart Crag, I was picking my way down between the boulders and over the rocks, trying to walk the fine line between speed and ability. I made it to the saddle before Dove Crag with only one or two foot slides and having mostly just used my feet. Maybe I wasn’t pushing hard enough.
After Dove Crag all of the significant climbing is done and it’s about flying downhill as fast as your lungs, legs and head will allow. The route is a mix of grass, barely covered rock and scrambling down miniature cliffs. At one point I saw a competitor in front of me lowering himself between two rocks and followed suit. This was a bigger drop than I thought! My hands were almost at my shoulders and my legs still dangled free in the air! The drop must have been 10 feet! Nothing else for it, jump and hope!
Running downhill over rough terrain is all about momentum. You can't be sure of good footing for each step but it doesn’t matter, you just have to trust that you will keep moving and stay upright. Most of the time it works out; when it doesn’t you just have to pray for a soft landing!
What I love about the descent of the fairfield race is that after Low Pike you lose sight of anyone more than a few seconds in front of you. If, like me, you don’t know the fastest line, you have to make it up as you go along, general direction and gut feel the only tools available (short of getting out the map and compass, but sometimes guessing is quicker, and almost always more fun). When you can see the runners in front, it's all too easy to mindlessly follow them, with no rabbit to chase, well it’s all on you. Gamble that the looming edge hides a grassy slope not a rocky face asking for a decent rope, or the less direct but safe looking trod? Sometimes you are rewarded with a glimpse of a competitor suddenly a lot closer or dismayed to see someone crash down the hill and overtake while you pick your way over a boulder field. It’s all part of the extra challenge and appeal of fell running.
On two separate occasions, in full flight down the mountain ridge path, my left heel landed on what felt like a carelessly discarded caltrop. Searing pain even through the tough rubber soles of my Inov8s! The second time it happened left me limping for the next few paces, trying gingerly not to plant my heel. Luckily the pain eased and I was able to settle in and really enjoy the final part of the descent.
As I was about to start the last greuling ¾ mile on the gravel road back to Rydal Hall and the waiting cup of tea and Flapjack, I passed Carl Bell, the race winner in a stunning 1 hour 20! He was standing by the trail, encouraging the runners home. I was only slightly miffed that the race winner was changed, looking fresh and almost a mile from the finish and I was still slogging it out!
After the finish line the NFR lads and I swapped a few tales of the day over copious amounts of squash and the magical powers of tea and the most moist flapjack I had ever eaten, worth the run just for that!
With my bad race prep and “take it steady and enjoy yourself” mental approach I wasn’t expecting to be close to my time from 2018, where I had been determined to do my best in my first bonafide Lake District fell race. Imagine my surprise to find that I was 30 seconds faster. Time for an ice cream in Ambleside to celebrate then onto the campsite!
Fishwicking: (verb) To run more fell races than most people deem sensible over a short period.
Named for one of the best known faces in the fell running community, Darren Fishwick has “bagged” well over 400 different fell races, many of which he has done more than once. Darren has been seen at races in every corner of Britain, his distinctive black and white Chorley vest and trademark smile a welcome sight at any registration desk. Muddy runners gathered in the corner of lakeland pubs discuss in an awed whisper whether it’s true he once did 13 races in 12 days.
See opportunities, not problems
For this particular weekend I originally had other plans. I was originally scheduled to be supporting John as he attempted the Joss Naylor Lakeland Challenge. We were all prepped and looking forward to the weekend when we got the sad news that he was having to postpone through injury. I was gutted for him having to delay; John is largely responsible for me racing more off road than on it in recent years and I was looking forward to helping him as he took on this great challenge. (John would go on to have a successful attempt in June that I was unable to support)
I was booked into a campsite near Wast Water and, not wanting to let an evening under canvas in the lakes go to waste, I had a look about for other options. I came up with two fell races; the first, Saturday, being a return to the Fairfield Horseshoe, to date my only Lake District fell race, followed by Glaramara on Sunday. Remembering how tough Fairfield was, and with Glaramara being entry on the day, I gave myself the option of a steady hike up Scafell Pike if I didn’t feel like I had another race in me.
I was gutted for John but as plan B’s go, this one was shaping up well.
Fairfield Horseshoe - wine and dash
Distance: 10.1 milesClimb: 3,200ft
Results here
With the race not starting until midday and all my gear packed and ready the night before I was treated to a leisurely morning and got on the road at 9. Even so I was slightly regretting the previous nights red wine. “Hangover” is probably too strong a word but I was definitely not in peak condition.
A couple of hours later I swung into the car park and immediately spotted some purple and green vests of Northumberland Fell Runners. Like me they had all been due for Joss pacing duties but were getting their lakeland fix courtesy of Ambleside AC instead. Sign up for the race was online via ResultsBase, a rarity for fell racing, and even more unusual there was chip timing! Fell racing is loved for its simplicity, having chip timing, for me, is like spotting a disposable coffee cup in a scene of Game of Thrones. It feels like it was inevitably going to happen, doesn’t ultimately make much difference, but somehow just doesn't feel right. But, hey if it makes the race organisers life a bit easier, who am I to complain.
As an “AM” category race the mandatory FRA kit cannot be waived, even in the best weather so with my waterproof full body cover; hat; gloves; map; compass; and emergency food checked, I entered registration with a very official looking pen mark on the back of my hand to say I was cleared to race. The map I was using was made specifically for the race by Harvey, helpfully printed on waterproof paper with the race route marked on. The map can usually be bought from the Pete Bland Sports mobile shop on the day along with any gear you might have forgotten to bring (I bought mine from the PBS website here before doing the race in 2018).
Because my entry had been done late (the previous afternoon) I hadn't made the printed list and was added as an “entry on the day”. They seemed to take it on trust that I really had entered, although I assume if they checked and found out I hadn’t there would have been a pair of Cumberland wrestlers waiting for me at the finish! “That’s him, number 288! Grapple him lads!”
The car park was ¾ of a mile from the start area and I covered it a few times before I joined the huddled mass on the start line. The race briefing was fairly typical for a fell race; some instructions about flagged sections to protect the ecology from the runners (and another to protect the runners from some cattle), a vague description of the route such as: “keep the wall on your left”, and “your left is probably not the hand you write with”. With a few “thank you”s for Rydal Hall and the timing company we were set off under the hooter.
 |
| The view of Nab Scar from the car park gets the adrenaline started |
The route initially winds past Rydall hall and the campsite facilities before a steep climbs takes you up to a rough farm track. The route was crowded at this point with the usual ducking and diving between and around people. A marshall directed us off the track to follow a line of flags across the grass through the area of delicate ecology. Most races I have done, when they say sections are flagged, you might spot the occasional piece of red and white tape tied to a tree or bush. In the lake district they always seem to use small red or yellow flags that stand a foot or so from the floor on near invisible metal stakes, giving the feeling that you are being guided by a line of floating plastic squares.
It was these floating waymarkers that took us in almost single file to the base of the first proper climb. Nab Scar has an imposing craggy facade overlooking Rydal Water but our route took us up the much greener eastern face. As my hands went onto my knees to help drive my power walk I stole a glance to my left. We had already climbed to around 300 meters and the view of Windermere took my breath away! Or was that the climb; it was now getting so steep at points that beyond being reduced to a power walk, the only option is to haul yourself up the grassy slope with whatever limbs you happen to have with you at the time.
The summit eventually came 150 meters higher with the first checkpoint, each runners number being jotted down by the marshalls as they ran past. It’s always bitter sweet reaching a summit in a fell race. The sweet relief that the climbing, at least for now, is over with but the need to persuade your burning legs to start running again. From here the route follows the rocky path popular with hikers doing the horseshoe. The ridgeline gradually climbs to the high point at the eponymous Fairfield but on the way are some minor summits. The astute racers in the field take out a bit of unnecessary elevation by following what is little more than a sheep trod to the west of Heron Pike, the first summit on the way up. When Great Rigg arrives around a mile later and 150 meters higher, no such option exists. This was another chance to drop to a walk to save some effort without losing pace. I am always surprised to find myself power walking next to someone still determined to run while I keep up, or even catch them. The trick that comes with experience and knowing your fitness is spotting the point at which walking is your best option.
The summit of Fairfield is barren, rocky and, apart from the cairn, feels almost flat, at least relatively speaking. Just because it doesn’t have the most exciting topography though don’t write it off for a visit. On a clear day, the view down the glacier carved U shaped valley to Windermere and beyond in the south; the dramatic view of Great Gable and the Langdale Pikes to the west; the famous Helvellyn ridge to the north and biscuit tin view to the East are all worthy reward for a hard slog up the path.
 |
| I was having more fun that it looks like in this picture, honest!(source https://www.granddayoutphotography.co.uk/) |
Enjoying this view though, was not the reason I was there! After reaching the summit cairn marshall the route almost doubles back on itself. I set off after the two runners in front of me, catching them both before the next summit. The path from Fairfield drops nicely, granting a sense of easy speed, a blessing after the hour of toil it took to get there. The respite doesn't last long though. It goes quickly into the scramble up Hart Crag, picking through razor sharp loose rocks as this smaller summit is crested. It is also the start of the cautious downhill and I exchange paces a few times with my competition from the summit but ultimately watch them disappear over the brow as the technical terrain gets the better of me.
I had left my confident striding somewhere on the other side of Hart Crag, I was picking my way down between the boulders and over the rocks, trying to walk the fine line between speed and ability. I made it to the saddle before Dove Crag with only one or two foot slides and having mostly just used my feet. Maybe I wasn’t pushing hard enough.
After Dove Crag all of the significant climbing is done and it’s about flying downhill as fast as your lungs, legs and head will allow. The route is a mix of grass, barely covered rock and scrambling down miniature cliffs. At one point I saw a competitor in front of me lowering himself between two rocks and followed suit. This was a bigger drop than I thought! My hands were almost at my shoulders and my legs still dangled free in the air! The drop must have been 10 feet! Nothing else for it, jump and hope!
Running downhill over rough terrain is all about momentum. You can't be sure of good footing for each step but it doesn’t matter, you just have to trust that you will keep moving and stay upright. Most of the time it works out; when it doesn’t you just have to pray for a soft landing!
What I love about the descent of the fairfield race is that after Low Pike you lose sight of anyone more than a few seconds in front of you. If, like me, you don’t know the fastest line, you have to make it up as you go along, general direction and gut feel the only tools available (short of getting out the map and compass, but sometimes guessing is quicker, and almost always more fun). When you can see the runners in front, it's all too easy to mindlessly follow them, with no rabbit to chase, well it’s all on you. Gamble that the looming edge hides a grassy slope not a rocky face asking for a decent rope, or the less direct but safe looking trod? Sometimes you are rewarded with a glimpse of a competitor suddenly a lot closer or dismayed to see someone crash down the hill and overtake while you pick your way over a boulder field. It’s all part of the extra challenge and appeal of fell running.
On two separate occasions, in full flight down the mountain ridge path, my left heel landed on what felt like a carelessly discarded caltrop. Searing pain even through the tough rubber soles of my Inov8s! The second time it happened left me limping for the next few paces, trying gingerly not to plant my heel. Luckily the pain eased and I was able to settle in and really enjoy the final part of the descent.
As I was about to start the last greuling ¾ mile on the gravel road back to Rydal Hall and the waiting cup of tea and Flapjack, I passed Carl Bell, the race winner in a stunning 1 hour 20! He was standing by the trail, encouraging the runners home. I was only slightly miffed that the race winner was changed, looking fresh and almost a mile from the finish and I was still slogging it out!
 |
| The glorious, welcoming finish arch! |
After the finish line the NFR lads and I swapped a few tales of the day over copious amounts of squash and the magical powers of tea and the most moist flapjack I had ever eaten, worth the run just for that!
With my bad race prep and “take it steady and enjoy yourself” mental approach I wasn’t expecting to be close to my time from 2018, where I had been determined to do my best in my first bonafide Lake District fell race. Imagine my surprise to find that I was 30 seconds faster. Time for an ice cream in Ambleside to celebrate then onto the campsite!
 |
| Shall we start a petition to get "dipped ice creams" mandatory? |
....To be continued
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