25-30 July - Torver, Coniston & Clapham

Where was Bertie? Thursday: Church House Inn campsite, Torver (£20 without Electricity); Friday/Saturday: A field on Lake Road, Coniston (included in Lakeland entry fee); Sunday/Monday: Temporary Holiday Site at Clapham (£7.50/night)

It was Lakeland 100 weekend, and whilst neither of us was taking part, Mick had paid for a place, so it seemed reasonable to attend for the weekend and use the camping element of his entry fee. (I should clarify that Mick would have loved to have been taking part, but had done some serious damage to his Achilles tendon a couple of months ago and only this last week has he started walking consistently without limping. In that time multiple physio sessions and four sessions of shock wave therapy have taken place.)

The same as last year, we spent Thursday night at Church House Inn in Torver, opting for a spot in their car park rather than in the camping field. We left there later on the Friday morning than last year, in the hope that the early rush to get onto the camping field for the Lakeland weekend would have passed. Our ploy didn’t quite work, in that there was still a queue to access Lake Road, but it wasn’t too long a wait.

The marshall at the first field looked so apologetic when he directed us to the overflow field that I fear that too many people in large vehicles argue for access to the school field. We had no expectation or desire to access that field, so happily continued around the corner.

Had the QR code scanning device being used by the volunteer car park marshall been working properly, then a queue wouldn’t have built up behind us. If a queue hadn’t built up, then the vehicle behind us wouldn’t have had a lapse of concentration (“Sorry. I was looking at my phone!”) and run into the back of Bertie. Damage was minimal such that it certainly wouldn’t be worth an insurance claim (a small scuff that will likely buff out, and a bent bracket underneath the bumper: indeed, had it happened when Bertie had been parked we wouldn’t have even noticed it). 

The next car park marshall then tried to direct us to the far side of the field, involving going over a few bumps. That’s where Bertie was located in 2021, but it was dry that year. This year has not been dry, and the field was already muddy even though only a few vehicles had entered before us. After a little negotiation, he allowed us to stay on the road side of the field.

Leaving Mick to his own devices, I was soon off for an overnight backpacking trip. Within seven hours I was back, wincing at the pain in my lower left back every time I bent or twisted. My back did not, however, stop me from walking back over to the event marquee just before 8pm to attend the evening talks.

That all finished before 9pm, giving us time to make it back to Bertie to see the end of that night’s Hundred cricket match (of which we’d seen the first innings over tea).

It rained heavily at times overnight on Friday and it was still going on Saturday morning. Last year I’d packed walking boots to keep my feet dry for the walk across the long grass of the field. This year I’d forgotten, but at least I had multiple pairs of trainers and some waterproof socks. Mick had neither of those things.

Our first walk across the field was just before 10am, on our way to the Green Housekeeper café, where we’d had a rather good breakfast last year. We weren’t the only people with that idea and as we arrived, Mick looked through the window and saw it was full. I looked through the window and saw that there was, in fact, one small table free in the back corner. However, there was another couple who had stopped just ahead of us. They had a dog with them and whilst they dithered about whether the dog would be allowed inside, I walked past them and claimed the table. A little impolite? Mick reckoned not. You snooze, you lose.

Breakfast was excellent (although I arguably didn’t need the caffeine of quite so many cups of tea)…

…and we couldn’t resist a piece of lemon and blueberry cake to take away for later. 

The photo doesn’t give the sense of scale. This cake was huge.  

The rain had stopped by the time we left and the forecast of an increasingly sunny day came true, but it was a little concerning how wet the fields were. Far more so than after 24 hours of rain last year. We could only hope the next day and a half of sunshine would dry them out, and in the meantime no new vehicles were being allowed onto the fields and if anyone left, they weren’t allowed back on.

The only person we personally knew (using the term loosely) who was doing the L100 this year was a chap we met a few weeks ago, with whom we chatted for around an hour over a post-parkrun breakfast. We kept tabs on him, and on a few other people that I know virtually. I also kept my eye on the front of the race, where, as time went on, it became apparent that the course record was going to be broken.

Mark Darbyshire came pelting down the road at 1245, taking a few seconds shy of 25 minutes off the previous course record (his own course record, set in a dry year). He looked incredibly lively for a chap who had just run 105 miles, with 6000m of ascent, off-road, in 18 hours and 45 minutes. That lasted until he’d spent five or ten minutes chatting to friends and family. By the time he made a move to go and be presented in the marquee, he looked decidedly less fresh and free-moving. A little later he described his state to Mick as "feel like I've been hit by a bus".

Second place was sufficiently close behind that we stood and waited opposite the finish line for him to come in too (he was moving even faster than Mark had been); he also broke the previous course record. Third place was sufficiently far behind for us to take a little walk into Coniston and back, just for something to do rather than just standing still at a roadside. Then we had time to nip into the marquee and buy me two new pairs of Injinji socks.

The first three men, having a chat about how their days had gone

First woman was around four hours behind them, giving us time to return to Bertie for most of the afternoon’s women’s Hundred cricket match before returning to see Robyn Cassidy come over the line looking and sounding like she’d just been for a local jog. By this time, Mick had a beer in his hand, and the marquee was pretty quiet, so we went and took a seat at a table. A few minutes later, Robyn and her friends and family asked if we minded if they joined us, and thus we got to enjoy hearing her immediate thoughts on how her race had gone.

Lucy Gossage was second lady, and she was the one I particularly wanted to see come in. She came third in the Spine Race in January (her first Ultra, because if you’re going to run a long way, then why not start with 268 miles?*). This was her second ultra and as she finished she declared that she wasn’t sure if she liked these long running races, although she was happy at having met her sub-24 hour target.

There’s nowt else to report from Saturday (more cricket was the evening’s entertainment).

On Sunday morning the first thing I did was to check the competitor tracking page and the event’s Facebook page. There I discovered that people were stuck in the mud in the car park. I took a walk out to take a look at the ground conditions.

I’d really wanted to stay until late afternoon, so that we could go to the awards ceremony at lunchtime, but as per 2022, I came to the conclusion that whilst the mud situation was such that we would be able to exit the field right then, there was a risk that if we stayed until lots of other vehicles had moved (and there were a lot of vans in this field, one of which we’d watched get thoroughly bogged down the previous afternoon), then the field would be churned up so much that we wouldn’t be able to get out. Or maybe the warm sunny day would dry it out enough by 4pm? Was it a risk worth taking?

Ten minutes later, everything was packed away and we were on the move.

A car park on Torver Common allowed us to stop for first breakfast, and we had the Goat Gap café on the A65 earmarked for second breakfast. Then it occurred to us that we were passing close to Conrad’s house, and we had the whole day at our disposal, so we diverted.

Conrad was apparently unfazed by such a short notice visit, and it was lunchtime by the time we said farewell.

We did still stop at the Goat Gap, but for a late lunch. From there we checked that our chosen campsite had space for us and told them that we wouldn’t be long – we were, after all, only 2 miles up the road.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this temporary holiday site is busy. Why wouldn’t you want to come and park in a field in such a nice location at £7.50 per night? There’s water and waste disposal, and that’s all that we need.

Finding ourselves in Clapham, I felt the need to nip up Ingleborough on Monday morning, and Mick went and extended our stay for another night. We were supposed to be going to Ma-in-Law’s that day, but a quick phone call postponed our visit by 24 hours and we enjoyed sitting in a sunny field instead (if only we’d taken our deckchairs with us!). The afternoon saw us walk through Clapham to the Sawmill café, back on the far side of the village, for ice cream. Good ice cream it was too.

This wasn’t our first visit to Clapham. We stayed at a campsite there in Bertie’s predecessor, Colin, in March 2014. Neither Mick nor I have any recollection of Clapham village, even though we know that we walked through it at least twice on that trip.

After two gloriously quiet nights, I went for another little trot on Tuesday morning before we headed a couple of miles in the wrong direction for (second) breakfast at the Goat Gap cafe. 

Good quality breakfast. 

By early afternoon we were with Ma-in-Law and by bedtime we were home.

 

(*Perhaps I should also mention that she used to be a full-time ironman triathlete, so she’s no stranger to long, hard efforts.)