9 Mountains & a Volcano (3×3 Peaks)
Sunday, May 2nd, 2010A few months ago Steve Fry and myself were out for a Sunday morning run when we hit upon a plan.
What started as a crazy idea turned into reality and on the 24th April 2010 we both ran the 3 Peaks of the Yorkshire Dales 3 times within 24 hours.
Last year we were both indirectly affected by cancer. I had a friend and work colleague pass away at a relatively young age, then my brother in law’s mum lost her long term battle with the disease and then, shortly after becoming the first ever vet 60 lady to complete the 3 Peaks Fell Race, our Bingley Harriers club mate and my GP Jenny Vesey discovered she had Leukaemia and passed away within just a few months.
The idea was simple – to try and complete 3 laps of the famous 24 mile 3 Peaks walk / race within 24 hours and in the process raise a few quid for a cancer charity. To make it a little more fun and to raise the profile of the challenge we decided to do it on the day of the 3 Peaks Fell Race and make the race our 2nd lap.
For those that are interested, the distance / climb statistics are a total of 72 miles of running with around 13500 feet of climbing over 9 mountain summits.
Steve and I were always impressed by Jane Tomlinson’s strength of character and willingness to push herself beyond the physical boundaries imposed upon us all by modern society. To me Jane was one of the few individuals in this world that consistently proved that we are all capable of far more than convention would have us believe. So, when it came to selecting a charity, it was an easy choice - The Jane Tomlinson Appeal would be the beneficiary of our blood, sweat and tears.
Formal permission was sought and thankfully granted from the 3 Peaks Fell Race committee, a Justgiving page was knocked together and once the sponsorship started to roll in we were well and truly committed. There was now no turning back – folk (many from Yorkshire) had donated their brass!
Training went well and a 50 mile tour of the Calderdale Way at the end of March proved that Steve and I were in decent shape and more importantly we confirmed we could spend a long time together without resorting to physical violence despite the sights, sounds and smells associated with long distance running.
All I had to do then was to disappear off to Majorca for a week’s family holiday where I could enjoy a nice rest in some Mediterranean sunshine and carbo load on paella and San Miguel. The holiday was fantastic and I even managed to sneak in my last long run before the event, a lovely 3 hour trot through the Tramuntana mountains. We were due back home on the 15th April and as we loaded the cases into the hire car to head back to the airport I heard someone mention an Icelandic Volcano on Sky news – Iceland, Majorca, England – no problem…..
When we got to the airport it was like stepping into a live edition of Airline. There were huge queues of miserable passengers everywhere with red faced airline staff trying their best to sound genuine and apologetic as they told the same tale hundreds of times to increasingly desperate customers. We waited in line for 6 hours to hear the news that the rumour mill had already delivered – our flight was cancelled and we would be booked on the next available flight – 21st April. This was not funny – we had nowhere to stay, we had no car and, like most chaps, I travel light so I’d already used my week’s supply of undies and socks!
We considered staying the night at the airport to see if anything had changed by morning but as we were told this was most unlikely we took some advise from a friendly travel rep and called a hotel quite near to the airport. The rumour mill had also reported that all hotels within striking distance of the airport were fully booked so when they told us they had a family room we should have smelled a rat. When they then told us it would be 51 Euros a night for all four of us to stay bed, breakfast and evening meal we should have smelt a dead and decomposing rat – but we were desperate so off we went. The hotel was as bad as its price suggested, comfortably the worst place I’ve ever actually paid to stay, and within seconds of entering the room Carolyn declared that we’d be leaving first thing in the morning. As we hadn’t eaten anything other than peanuts all day, we did venture to the dining room to try the meal which I have to admit was not that bad. As we ate we met a couple we’d queued with earlier in the day who said they’d been out for a quick walk and determined that the hotel lay on the border of the Bronx and Blackpool front – nice.
The next day things improved as we managed to find a really cool apartment in the centre of old Palma which could act as our base while we waited to be rescued. Time ticked by and by Monday I was pretty sure the challenge was off and by the power of wi-fi and iPhone posted my frustrations on the Bingley Harriers forum.
The volcano was obviously enjoying its turn in the limelight and as it showed no signs of slumber or even being slightly tired rescue eventually came not by air but by boat and bus. When Jet 2 offered us the overland option leaving Majorca on Tuesday morning suddenly it seemed we might be back on. The 47 hours from 7am on Tuesday 20th to 6am on Thursday 22nd were all a bit of a blur but basically they involved hauling our huge quantities of baggage onto and off of ferries and buses and sitting on our backsides as thousands of miles of land and sea were driven over and sailed across. Let me tell you there’s a lot to be said for air travel!!
As the ferry left the port of Calais late on Wednesday night I sent a text to Steve saying ‘assuming this thing stays afloat and the driver knows where he’s going I’m pretty sure we’ll be home on Thursday – so we’re on!’ I pressed send and fell asleep on the floor.
We got back to Leeds Bradford airport at 6am on Thursday, we were home for 7 and in bed for 10 past. I slept till midday and was at work by 1. Although I was glad to be in my own bed that night it wasn’t for long enough and after working until 4pm on Friday it was time to head North to the dales – not the best week’s preparation for an ultra run I’m sure you’d agree.
The adventure began at 5pm on the 23rd when Steve and I loaded the car with enough running kit to sink a ship and more food than some African countries consume in a year. First stop was the chippy in Settle and as we sat on the bench overlooking the square we pondered what lay ahead. It was then off to Horton where we met up with a few pals, introduced ourselves to the organisers, pitched the tent and headed inside to try and get a few hours shut-eye. Despite being tired from the previous week, sleep was hard to come by as the generators powering the race tents droned away until 10.30 pm. Once they’d stopped I drifted into a broken sleep and it seemed about 10 minutes before I was rudely awakened by the alarm.
We planned to depart for lap 1 at 2.00am and Steve’s alarm buzzed us to life at 1.40am (he needs a lot of time to do his make-up). A quick peek outside revealed a still, dry, mild and very dark night – perfect!
On the deserted Horton playing fields surrounded by snoozing race organisers we checked Steve’s watch and at 2am I pressed the start button on my stopwatch / heart rate monitor (HRM) and we trotted off into the night – the adventure had begun.
As we neared the top of Pen-Y-Ghent (PYG) for the first time, well wishing text messages from earlier in the day found a window of opportunity to reach my phone and the still night was pierced by my honking horn ring tone.
A quick shake of hands, 1 down 8 to go, and off we went back down. At the top of PYG lane we stopped to put on our windproof tops as the temperature was falling fast. Not wanting to stand around and get cold I marched off up Whitber Hill assuming Steve was right behind me. A minute or so later I looked around and saw nothing. I shouted Steve and got no response and then saw to my horror a distant head-torch glow way over by Hull Pot – what was he doing over there?! I heard Steve call ‘Andy – where are you?’ and at this point I began to think that things could have been going slightly better…We’d only reached one summit, and done about 5 miles and we’d already managed to lose each other. Eventually, after much bellowing Steve’s torch beam re-appeared and we were back on track – although not for long.
Just after Whitber there’s a sneaky left turn that takes you down to a stream then round to the Pennine Way track but not having the benefit of light and flags that usually mark the route at this point we missed it, went too far and were soon lost. Through some cunning navigation using the moon setting over Ingleborough and a dollop of good fortune we soon found ourselves on the Pennine Way and making good progress towards Ribblehead and Whernside.
The evening before we’d driven round to Ribblehead and the Hill Inn to plant some supplies and as we lifted up the first road cone after the cattle grid we were pleased to see our secret stash was still there. At this point it was VERY cold, my Lucosade sport drink was almost frozen, my brunch bar snapped and my fingers were too cold to feel my peanuts in my nappy bag (and no that’s not a euphemism), so we pressed on to Whernside looking forward to the climb where we could generate some heat.
Our first ascent of Whernside was uneventful although we did slide a little too far right and scrambled over the lip around 100 meters East of the summit cairn. After leaving our laminated charity poster in the summit shelter we switched off our head-torches and turned to see a magnificent dawn of the new day – Ingleborough was ahead of us looking truly awesome like a mini Kilimanjaro silhouetted against a clear morning sky and as we trotted off the summit Steve said wistfully ‘this is why I run……’
At the Hill Inn I’d stashed some more provisions in another nappy bag (unscented of course) underneath a water bowser that was to be used later in the day for the race. When we got there we found the tattered remains of my bag and a half eaten Marmite butty. Thankfully the thieving critter that munched my Marmite obviously didn’t like malt loaf and couldn’t get the lid off my Lucosade so all was not lost.
At the foot of Ingleborough we saw our first human of the day, a ‘wild camper’ who passed comment about how keen we were as he filled his kettle from a stream – we decided to refrain from telling him our plan as it would have only strengthened his already well formed opinion that we were barking mad.
We made good progress up the rocky staircase and as we topped out onto the plateau the trig point was clearly visible in the bright morning sunshine – 3 down 6 to go. After taping another poster around the summit cairn we headed off down the track back towards Horton to complete our first lap. At Sulber Nick we met a fox out looking for his breakfast and as he skipped off into the distance I’m sure I got a faint whiff of Marmite!!!
Back in the race field just after 7.30am and folk were starting to arrive for the race. It felt quite surreal to have already done a lap just as others were starting to think about setting off. Both Steve and I felt quite fresh at this point and our spirits were raised even further when our friend Barbara Carney started thrusting freshly grilled bacon butties and pots of tea in our hands – Barbara I cannot thank you enough for this act of kindness 
We now had a couple of hours to kill which with the benefit of hindsight was perhaps not the best bit of planning. It might have been better to have had more sleep, set off a little later and had less time back on the field as both of us felt we were starting to stiffen up a bit before the race got underway.
10 o’clock eventually came and there we were on the start line with 800 other runners ready for lap 2. By this time the sun was climbing in the sky and the temperature was rising – it was going to be a hot one! Setting off near the back of the field was an interesting experience as by the time we had left the field and turned the corner to run down to the bridge in Horton, the whole field of runners were laid out before us stretching in to the distance.
As we climbed PYG it wasn’t long before the leaders started to come past in the other direction and being so far back meant that Steve and I had plenty of chance to cheer on all our mates as they came thundering past. One thing struck me as we made our way up – for what is regarded by many as a relatively solitary sport it’s amazing how many people we know and most of them we’d class as friends. It seemed to me that between Steve and I we knew just about everyone on the hill that morning, the runners, the marshals and the spectators all of them were familiar faces and most of them we could put a name to!
We soon reached the summit to clock up peak number 4 and turned to descend but it wasn’t long before I started to feel there was something not quite right. My legs just weren’t working properly and my knees were starting to hurt – it was too early to feel like this I was thinking as I asked our official event Doctor Phil Helliwell if he had any Ibuprofen. No was the cry so I had no option but to grin and bear it. I felt rough as I passed our other marshalling friends Denise and Simon just before Whitber Hill and Simon later admitted to me that he doubted our chances of success based on the pained expression on my face so early into the challenge.
My pains eased as we jogged along the flat section of the Pennine Way but the heat was making things tough and I wasn’t looking forward to the long farm track to Nether Lodge or the road section to Ribblehead.
At Ribblehead we met Ady Netherwood and Martin Teale who very kindly offered us some foul looking and equally foul tasting energy drinks – thankfully just around the corner I was given a lovely bottle of plain old water – just the ticket! Some of it found its way down my neck but most of it went over my over-heating head as we trotted along the road to Ribblehead (which always seems longer than it actually is).
The checkpoint was a welcome sight and I quickly found my wine bottle of energy drink kindly donated by Barbara and Dave. I re-filled my running bottle and swigged the rest from the wine bottle much to the amusement of Steve’s son Tom. Here we found Jamie Robinson who’d gone off like a rocket up PYG but then fizzled out (like a rocket) and pulled up at Ribblehead in fear that Steve and I might have beaten him….Despite his bad day in the hills Jamie was his usual cheery self and wished us well as we trogged off to the viaduct where I was delighted to see my mum and dad who’d come down from Kirkbymoorside for the weekend to watch our attempt.
As we started our second climb of Whernside I could sense Steve was having a bad patch and this was confirmed as we climbed as each time I looked round he was getting further and further behind. I actually felt quite good here and around half way up caught up with Bruce who despite being tired was still overflowing with words. The final climb to the summit was as brutal as ever and as I dibbed at the top I was glad I’d got a lead on Steve as it meant I could take a breather.
My friend Anna Marie joined me, introduced me to her husband Ian and told me she was packing at the Hill Inn. Despite my insistence that she could still make the cut she decided that this year it just wasn’t for her but that she’d be back next year to finish the job. My breather turned out to be a bit longer than expected and after 15 minutes Steve eventually appeared over the summit lip. I expected him to be blowing hard but instead he looked quite fresh and as soon as he’d dibbed he set off along the summit ridge like a scalded cat with Anna Marie and me with my now seized up legs in hot pursuit. Just off the summit there was a poor chap lying in the track looking very unwell and being attended to by paramedics from the air ambulance that had landed on the summit whilst I was waiting for Steve. It turned out to be Dave Stephenson’s mate who had clipped a stone with his toe and taken a nasty tumble straight on to his face – I’ve since learned that he’s fine apart from a few cracks in his cheek bone, a bit of bark missing from his arm and a 3 peaks banning order from his wife.
We battled our way off Whernside and arrived at the Hill Inn checkpoint just after the cut off time. I didn’t think this was a problem as we’d anticipated this and cleared the way with the event organiser the day before but unfortunately the message had not got through to the CP marshal who was all for sending Steve and I back to Horton in bus!!! Despite my aches and pains, after my experience with buses the week before I’m afraid this was simply not an option. After a somewhat lengthy debate and a radio conversation with HQ we were eventually allowed to proceed and we set off for Ingleborough.
As we climbed the rocky staircase we caught up with the sweepers and the race back marker who had left the Hill Inn checkpoint about 10 minutes before us. The sweepers knew about our plans and wished us well as we passed and headed off for the summit. I dibbed at the top and set off back across the plateau where I met a competitor walking like the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and saying that both his legs were cramped solid – it was going to be a long way back for this poor chap.
The jog back off the top was pretty steady and we managed to mop up a number of other back markers as we made our way off the hill (at least this justified the organisers decision to let us continue after the Hill Inn). Just before Sulber Nick we met up with an old friend of Steve’s who was heading down to finish his 40th race (respect!).
As we climbed the stiles just before the finish field we met a group of young scouts all carrying the world’s biggest rucksacks – Steve asked how long they’d been out and we were sure they’d say they were walking from John O’Groats to Lands End and they’d been out at least 3 weeks. ‘Oh from 8 O’clock this morning’ one of them said – wow they were travelling light we thought….
As we entered the finish field we were met with cheers from our hordes of adoring fans (well our families and my dog anyway) and we trotted over the line with kids and hound in tow to finish lap 2. It was great to see so many of our pals at the finish and as the cameras started clicking Steve and I felt like minor celebrities – I’m convinced I saw a pap’ from Hello sneaking about behind the marquee with a long lens…or maybe it was just the sun starting to get to me.
At 5pm after a lovely big greasy burger and a change of clothes and shoes, there was an announcement made over the microphone that the two nutters who were doing three laps of the peaks for charity were about to set off again. This was it, the final round.
The sun was still beating down and the runners, marshals and hardcore spectators were now all outside the marquee relaxing and enjoying good food and fine Copper Dragon beer. Steve and I would of course have liked to join them but instead we headed off for another 24 miles of ups, downs and pain.
As we skipped off out of the field for the last time to cheers and claps from the crowd I felt great and said to Steve ‘we’re going to do this’. Until this point I’d had my doubts as I’d not felt 100% all day and the race lap in the heat had really taken its toll. This lap would be different, no pressure, very few people around, just Steve and I, a few of our friends and the beautiful quiet countryside.
We trudged back up PYG knowing that this time every step we took would not have to be repeated. Just before the summit we met four mountain bikers coming down the other way enjoying the cool, still evening sunlight and the quiet tracks. At the top we met a couple who were reading the poster we’d taped to the signpost and we introduced ourselves. As we peeled off the poster and stashed it away, they bid us good luck, Steve and I shook hands and we headed off down PYG for the final time. Back at Whitber Hill we now knew exactly where the race route went but decided to use the path we’d found by mistake earlier in the day and we were soon on the Pennine Way track heading toward Ribblehead.
As we neared the stile that takes us off the track we could see a lone figure way in the distance and a few minutes later could see a runner jogging towards us. Running styles vary so much that it’s often possible to identify certain people long before you see their faces just by their gait and Steve and I both recognised this distant form as Adrian Netherwood. Ady was soon with us and told us that Robin and Aly Raw were up ahead preparing a brew and some grub for us – top service. Sure enough as we hopped over a style there was Rob’s car, tailgate up, with a kettle singing away on the stove. It’s amazing what a slurp of tea and a bite to eat can do to weary bones.
Ady then carried on with us all the way to Ribblehead where we were met by Steve’s wife Anglea and two kids Vicky and Tom. Our Bingley Harriers team-mate Robert Adamson was also there videoing the two of us hauling our sorry asses along the trail – I haven’t seen the final cut yet but I’m sure it won’t be pretty.
Ady tailed off at this point and was replaced by our good friend James Senior who, with fresh legs, would be our chaperone over the last two hills. Having James along meant a lot to us and Steve and I were very glad of his company as both of us had now been awake a long time, were very tired and at serious risk of injury / exhaustion at any time. Should this have happened James would have been our life-line.
We put on some extra gear at Ribblehead and headed off up Whernside as the light began to fade. This last climb of Whernside was an absolute stinker and the top never seemed to get any closer. The final scramble up the scree slope took an awful lot out of me and even with the trekking poles that I’d borrowed from my pal Gordon, progress was painfully slow. Eventually we made the summit and after stashing our charity poster in my bag and donning our head-torches we were off.
Darkness seemed to draw in very quickly and we were soon totally reliant on our head-torch beams to pick out a safe line down the steep, rocky path off the mountain. As we neared the bottom we saw another torch beam in the distance coming towards us – Ady was here again and at the farm track was Robin in his car with a much needed drink.
By this time I was fading fast and progress up the track to the Hill Inn was slow but we eventually managed it and outside the welcoming pub we met Steve’s family and a car boot full of provisions. Here I knew I needed to eat but I also knew I couldn’t. These are dangerous times in endurance events as your mind begins to work in a very strange way and almost seems to conspire against your body. I forced myself to eat a brunch bar knowing I needed more but being unable to overcome the urge not to eat. All I could think was ‘one more hill and we’ve done it’.
I didn’t want to hang around and knew that if I did sit down I’d probably nod off so I headed off towards the stile and the final climb. I cranked up the iPod and concentrated on choking down the last of the brunch bar. Steve and James soon caught me up and we marched over the grass then onto the stone slabs to the foot of the rocky staircase. Earlier that day Steve and I had powered up here never stopping, never slowing, now we knew things would be different. I led the charge, each step laboured but each step being one nearer the top. I could feel my body working really hard but checked my HRM and could see that I was struggling to rev much higher than 80% - another strange ultra distance phenomenon. This time the steps seemed to go on forever and as we neared the top I had to take a couple of stops to recuperate before plodding on again. Finally we reached the stile and I flopped on the floor saying to the other two than I needed two minutes. Once on my feet again we ground our way up onto the summit plateau for the third time that day. This time it was very dark and a bit mirky making visibility poor. Steve took off his head torch, set it to flashing mode and left it at the plateau entry / exit point – a very smart move.
We found the summit shelter and I put on an extra layer while James stripped our poster from the cairn. Steve and I shook hands again knowing we’d done it but also knowing it wasn’t quite over yet, then we turned and headed for home following the flashing beacon in the distance.
By now I was done, my legs didn’t feel too bad but I was insanely tired. All I could think about was finishing and crawling into my sleeping bag. The two nights missed sleep as we trekked home across sea and land from Majorca earlier in the week were certainly beginning to take their toll. Poor old James was an absolute star as he kept his eye on us and me in particular – it can’t have been much fun for him as I was certainly in no mood for chatting. Earlier in the day Steve and I had talked about how we were using a method known as chunking to chip away at the challenge. The theory is that on a long event instead of thinking about how far the whole route is, it’s better to split it up into chunks and simply work from one defined end point to the next – eating the elephant in small bites instead of trying to swallow it whole…..
My chunks were now becoming very small and where on our first lap the summit of Ingleborough to the finishing field may have been a single chunk, I was now looking ahead no more than a few hundred meters before selecting the end of my sector. As we neared Sulber Nick for the final time I could physically feel myself starting to fall asleep on my feet. I had the devil on one shoulder telling me to lie down and take a nap and the angel on the other telling me that was dangerous and to keep going.
Eventually we started to see the lights of Horton in the distance but frustratingly they seemed to hang there in the darkness and never get any closer. The finger post after Sulber was a very welcome sight - just 1 mile to go - and as we passed it I actually rallied for a few seconds knowing that it was finally in the bag.
Over the final brow and civilization appeared at the other side of the railway. It was just after midnight and in the distance from out of the deathly still night we could hear voices, laughter, shouts and cheers. We had a welcoming committee!
As we hit the road and marched towards the pub we could see our friends on the bridge shouting heckling and cheering, ‘sprint finish’ someone shouted – ‘this is a sprint’ replied Steve – he wasn’t joking! With a hundred meters to go we broke into a jog and were soon surrounded by our friends and family. I was absolutely delighted to see them and couldn’t believe there were so many there including folk we’d never even met before. Ady thrust a bottle of beer in my hand and I took a swig to mark the end of a very long day.
So here I am one week on writing this and asking myself if it was all worth it – OF COURSE IT WAS. It was a great adventure and it’s given Steve and I memories we’ll keep forever. We were also amazed by how it seemed to grab the interest and imagination of so many others and we’ve been genuinely humbled by the generosity of those that have donated to our Justgiving page.
We endured a bit of pain during the day but to be honest is was nothing more than a bit of mild discomfort – nothing compared to that suffered by our friends and their families as they waged and lost their battles with cancer. Our efforts, or more specifically the generosity of our friends, have raised over 2 grand for cancer charities – let’s hope we never need it!!
For the record, we ran for about 18 ½ hours, we were on the go for around 22 and a bit hours and when I checked my HRM the next day I found I’d burnt 13362 calories – glad I ate those fish and chips!
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