But training for BG brings you into the world of arithmetic. There’s algebra for example: “If Y is the amount of calories a Bob Graham runner needs to consume, mark on the map with an X where he is desperate enough to eat the mouldy flapjack that’s been lying at the bottom of his rucsac for the past three months.”
There is also probability: “What is the likelihood, expressed as a ratio, of a runner being sick after eating mouldy flapjack?”
And of course there’s fractions – the stuff that slows you down when descending. Though that may actually be friction.
Nevertheless, this weekend was one full of geometry. Armed with map and compass (the magnetic variety, not the circle-drawing, pointy type – see blog posting of 20 March for going around in circles), Helen and I set off to do part of Leg 1 and crucially find some easier routes off 1) Great Calva and 2) Blencathra.
Leaving Threlkeld, we passed exactly 20 parascenders (see, a bit of counting there) floating above Blease Fell in a clear blue sky. Now from a distance this looks hugely serene as they float on the thermals; but when you’re up on the summits and they’re metres above your head, the image is shattered as all can you hear is “Aaaargh, look out, f**k, f**k, f**k!”
Back on the path, we followed the track around to Skiddaw House youth hostel, across the bridge, and started climbing Great Calva from the usual descent side. The aim was to find a direct line through shorter heather. We found what looked like a good one – but whether we’ll find it again I’m not so sure.
Across the stream (ankle deep – not like Martin’s chest deep excursions of the week before – though I’m actually taller than him), and up to Mungrisdale Common. Somebody had thankfully replaced the cairn after removing it on 20 March (see previous blog), so in good visibility we hacked up to Blencathra.
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| Helen above the Gategill Fell route from Blencathra |
The usual choice is down Hall’s Fell Ridge – not my favourite, or expressed as an equation: r + d – t = cd, where r equals rain, d equals distance, t equals time, and cd means certain death.
I’ve also seen, but not tried, the ‘Parachute Route,’ but I wanted this time to have a go at Gategill Fell. The top part is pretty straight-forward, but the end of the ridge needs a bit of brain-disengaging descent. I think it’s worth a go though with a bit more work on finding the right line. Helen opted for Blease Fell and met me back at the car.
Sunday was a shorter day. Accumulated tiredness and an impending day out with Helen’s family meant I had a two-hour window to join the others as they traversed the Grasmere skyline. Assembled at Rydal at 8am were Stuart, Mike M, and Jarv. Not forgetting Milli. A climb along the western arm of the Fairfield Horseshoe took us to the summit of Fairfield.
Brilliant weather meant I couldn’t miss the drop down to Grizedale Tarn with the others – so my two hour window had been left slightly ajar to become a three-hour window (with an excuse to Helen that I’m sure I hadn’t already used).
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Stu, Jarv and Milli on the descent from Fairfield to Grisedale Tarn |
Before being a square and leaving my circle of friends to make my way back to Rydal, there was one last chance for a look around. “What’s that tarn over near High Street?” “Angle Tarn.” “And the name of the one near Rossett Pike.” “Also Angle Tarn.” “Ah, but which one’s the right Angle Tarn?”
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