Sadly yes - thought we might get Wagner's March of Valkyries playing us out instead this year....Quote:
Originally Posted by joeyd
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Sadly yes - thought we might get Wagner's March of Valkyries playing us out instead this year....Quote:
Originally Posted by joeyd
was ist das??? there may now be plans for more Teutonic thrills....sauerkraut, frankfurters, strudel, and steigel on draught.....Quote:
Originally Posted by Trig
RECCE.....TUESDAY 25th JUNE.....MEET AT WHITE LION PUB HEPTONSTALL....18.45 for 19.00 start.....30 CVFR AND GUESTS WILL BE RUNNING.....CURRY AND BEER BACK AT THE PUB AFTERWARDS.....MESSAGE ENDS........
Wondering what it's like to run a Heptonstall Festival? Let Francis Maude of Canterbury Harriers be your guide......
ADRENALINE SPORT: FELL RUNNING........Francis Maude
The inaugural Heptonstall Festival Fell Race was held on Saturday 9th July this year. TheCategory A race1 was held over a six mile (approx) course, thus qualifying as “short”.Climb: 1500ft. Entry (£4) on the day only, at the race HQ in the White Lion inHeptonstall, a convenient three-quarters of a mile from where we were staying, nearthe Blue Pig at the bottom of the valley.
Carrie forwarded me to the organisers’ website, which offered a tempting description:
The 6 mile course should be an instant hit with fell runners, featuring some of the bestscenery in the area on little known paths and rights of way; the unusual double-descentformat starts at the White Lion Pub with a quick run up the cobbles, followed by a 500 ftdescent to the Blue Pig. After the 1000 ft ascent to High Brown Knoll runners turn tailand head back to Heptonstall the way they came.
Set against the iconic backdrop of Hardcastle Craggs, Heptonstall, and Stoodley Pike,Peckett Well War Memorial is a real highlight. As the race progresses from Peckett Wellto the summit of High Brown Knoll runners will be clearly visible from Heptonstall.Standing at 1453 feet, and 120 feet higher than Stoodley Pike, High Brown Knoll and itsmoorland flanks provide classic fell running, whilst offering festival-goers withbinoculars the unique opportunity to monitor the race from the comfort of the finishingfield in Town Field Lane. (weather permitting!). The return ascent to Heptonstall shouldbe a real test of runner’s endurance on the final, and steepest climb from Midgehole toLee Bank.
Who was I to know better what it would be like: classic fell running, best scenery in thearea, Timothy Taylor’s Landlord on draft at the finish. I decided to enter.
I squelched up a muddy track in the pouring rain to the start in my nice new roadshoes. As I passed the entrance to the car park a cheery marshal spotted my Harriersvest and apologised for the weather, which secretly I was disappointed by, as I hadbeen hoping for the proper “it’s grim up north” misery of a hailstorm at the very least.
At the White Lion, I poured the water out of my shoes before going into the bar andhanding over a distinctly soggy fiver, in exchange for my race number and an instructionto look at the map to see where the course went (the contour lines were suspiciouslyclose together), and the race rules (No Dogs Allowed...). An old man with a flat cap anda whippet shook his head at me and asked if I had really come all the way fromCanterbury just for the race.
Actually, I made that last bit up. Heptonstall and the adjoining town of Hebden Bridgelie at the centre of West Yorkshire’s muesli belt, on the commuter line betweenManchester and Leeds, and there are coffee shops and organic cafes full of mums without-of-control toddlers every few yards. The runners were comprised of members of thelocal clubs (Calderdale Harriers, Todmorden Harriers, Burnley Harriers etc) in their clubkit, looking forward to exercising away the frustrations of a week spent at a desk.
A little before eleven, the rain stopped and we went out into the cobbled street for thestart. I hovered at the back, and asked the man standing next to me if he knew thecourse. He didn’t: it was the inaugural race (i.e. What a stupid question you have justasked); but he did advise that it was quite in order to walk up the steepest parts of thehills, and the race was won by those who dared fly downhill the fastest. Good Luck!
The horn blared, and we were off, up the cobbles to the top of town, then right into afield of long wet grass, up some more, over the top and then slide down to the road,across another field, across the road again and into a wood. Total hills so far, about thesame as the Stelling Minnis 10k, total distance, half a mile. The leaders were about 50yards ahead, may be not even that far. We were now following a scramblers trail down tothe Blue Pig. I wanted to walk to avoid the risks of tripping over exposed roots, breakinga knee on a rock, sliding on some wet leaves or colliding with a tree. But No, this is themoment when you must up the pace, or be left further behind. Already in the firstfifteen yards two competitors had skipped deftly past, judging perfectly a four inch widerabbit track at the edge of a precipice. I leapt to the other side of a narrow ravine tosome better ground, then dodged some boulders half the size of a car, skidded onanother rock, twisted down , sideways, round, and caught them both up just as wejoined an old pack-horse track, with half the cobbles missing: keep your eyes open anddon’t trip up. Lengthen stride, try not to loose control in the race to the bottom, out ofbreath, exhilarated. Overtook a lady in a stripy Calderdale top. Note to self: buy trailshoes next time. I’ve reached the bottom, level ground past the Blue Pig (WMC)(Closed). I can run faster now, all those nice flat fields in the south have beenpreparation for this. And Elliot Hills. Thanks Gerry! Turn right over the river, past thehouse we’re staying in, Carrie is shouting “Come on”. I am not last. There are a lot ofbemused weekend yompers staring at us. It is starting to rain again.
Now for the 1000ft climb. No idea how to pace myself for something like this. I set offup a steady one-in-ten climb along a track running between a pair of stone walls. This isfine for a couple of minutes. We then leave the track for a somewhat steeper path. I amstill keeping up, indeed have caught up another runner. The path steepens further, I goround a bend and can see another ten runners, all walking up what now approximates toa disintegrating flight of stairs. I will keep pushing, I will catch them up, I tell myself. Ipush on, choosing the clean boulders to put my road-shoe clad feet on. I gain slightly, Ipush more. Gasp, gasp, gasp, I do not believe this is really good for me. I would havebeen nicer to come on a dry day just walking along to enjoy the view. Presently, weleave the path by climbing up some boulders, then rise almost vertically through thetrees. I pull on low hanging branches and shrubs to increase speed, and wonderwhether crampons would have been useful.
I catch up another runner who is leaning against a tree, holding one foot off the groundat an uncomfortable angle. He has lost his shoe, which is caught between two rocksnearby. I press on, and after about six or seven minutes climbing emerge from the treesto pass the Peckett Well War Memorial, where a marshal is shivering under an umbrella.There are some fields rising in front of me, then some houses, then more fields before leading to an isolated farm, and above that open moorland leading to the summit of High BrownKnoll about a mile away. The leading runners must be a third of a mile ahead, on theupper fields. The ground is level enough to run on, and the rain is easing off. It wasonly a brief shower. I make it across the first set of fields to the road past the houses,where there is a short downhill stretch, then turn up to the second set of fields. Thereare various narrow gaps between the fields where the path runs, and we must go insingle file. It is bad form to push past through. Another five minutes later, and thingsare going quite well. I have caught up a group of half a dozen runners and overtakenthem running through a farmyard by leaping a cattle grid and putting on some speed,to reach the next gap in a wall ahead of them. It’s now open moorland up to the top.The ground is not so steep, and the main difficulty is the tussocky grass, which makesit impossible to judge what angle your feet will land at. A good breeze chases theclouds away and the sun comes out, and presently the wet ground starts steaming. Ikeep position and after a further five minutes I reach the top, where a marshal directsme to a track which runs along the ridge.
It has taken twenty-five minutes to climb a thousand feet, and to travel about twomiles. This is the halfway point. I enjoy the immense views across the moors, down
the valley and across to Heptonstall, some 500 feet below. I stop concentrating onrunning and as a result am overtaken by the lady in the Calder Valley top I caughtearlier. I try to stretch out my legs after the climb, but it’s hard, and it takes a while togain any momentum. I lose about 50 yards in about quarter of a mile, at which point Ipass another marshal and begin the descent. The slope is gentle enough to enjoy therun at this point, and we race across the hillside, picking up more speed as thegradient increases. The route follows one side of a drainage gulley, but the ground isclearer on the other so I jump across and get to the stile into the top field first, wherewe rejoin the route we took on the way up. I see a lot of exhausted runners are stillon the way up, whereas I had seen none of the leaders on the way back when I wasgoing out. This thought cheers me. There are no other runners visible in front of menow, and I keep up a good pace to keep gaining on Ms Calder Valley behind. It seems totake no time at all to return to the road at Peckett Well (short uphill stretch here...),and then to cross the lower fields.
At the war memorial I can’t find the path down; the Calder Valley runner catches up inabout ten seconds and I see where she is heading so I can push on just keeping infront, to enter the trees where I now loose all self control and jump from rock to rockand dive between trees grabbing branches to keep my balance. Now, a five foot jumpdown to the path, which is clearer. I try to focus on where my feet will be three or foursteps ahead and go as fast as I dare, almost skipping now, and sometime hopping,with each pace a different length to take advantage of the most level and driestlooking rocks. It is strangely exhilarating to know that a misjudgement will mean a twisted ankle at best, and broken bones at worst. In what seems like moments I am atthe bottom running along the track past the cottage we are staying in, across the bridgeover the river, past the Blue Pig (still closed), and am at the bottom of the 500ft climbback up.
I run up the cobbles of the old pack-horse track, and after less than a hundred yards amreduced to walking. Come on! Come on! It makes no difference. I find that I have noenergy left. I can only walk, turning up the steeper trail we came down before, throughthe trees. I am not racing any more. I am just putting one foot in front of the other. MsCalderdale comes past. She is walking too, but energetically, purposefully, looking aheadup the hill to where she can resume running. I have been overtaken by a pedestrian! Inwhat is supposed to be a race! I am only looking one step ahead, plodding. I havestopped caring about anything other than getting to the finish. By the time I come out ofthe trees, she is already out of sight. I wave at the marshals in fancy dress on the roadand summon up the reserves to chug up the fields over the last half mile of the course. Iseem to be on my own. What happened to the other runners?
At length, I reach the top of the hill, and see the finish a couple of hundred yards away atthe bottom of the next field. I embrace the attractions of gravity and hurl myself downthe slope and into the finishers funnel. I have survived to reach the end.
I came 49th out of a field of 93, in a time of 1.07.35. This is not very quick for a distanceof less than 10k. The Calder Valley runner was at least a minute faster, all gained in notmuch more than the last half a mile. The winning time was 53.01, achieved by aseventeen year old with young knees.
The key question, though, is Would I do it again? Absolutely Yes, but I think I should getsome trail shoes and spend time training on the cliffs at Dover.
I don't remember marshalls in fancy dress? was he hallucinating after the last climb??? or maybe they were just locals?Quote:
Originally Posted by Trig
It was quite literally a bunch of clowns...Quote:
Originally Posted by richsund
The frankfurters and sauerkraut might inspire some equally interesting costumes
Lets hope it does nt get out of hand like last year
Attachment 7077
HEPTOSTEIN FESTIVAL RACE PARKING.
Great news. the road around Heptonstall (Draper Lane) is still closed, so you if your planning to drive to Heptonstall from the A646 you will be diverted up the picturesque Mytholm Steeps and on via Blackshawhead and Colden to approach from the North.
It takes an extra 10 minutes so please allow a bit more time. Its the same arrangement as we had for the March race.
I took a hilariously uncontrolled charge down the first pack horse trail finishing in a heap at the bottom by the Blue Pig so lesson learned and this year will be wearing shoes better able to cope with these cobbles!
Hi Trig - are we going to be able to park on the closed road again as we did for the last race? Or is it parking on the field nearish the school?
As a result of the good weather we booked for this race, the field is being mowed right now......so yes - parking in the field.