No County for Old Men?

Good afternoon folks

I hope you are in fine spring form and enjoying the bank holiday weather (sunshine, at last!)

Potentially the shortest blog ever.
If I wrote this twaddle a bit more frequently, it might be a bit less of a sprawling waffle-on-a-thon!

Since the last episode, only one thing has been on my mind…

Cold Bounty Chops

2025 heatwave.

2026 (weekend before the heatwave!)

Never before have I had a single race event stress/worry/keep me awake/be on my thoughts constantly, than the Old County Tops.

The OCT is a 35-37 mile/58km in new money (depending on route choice) fell race run in pairs, scaling the 3 highest points in the old/new/current in Cumbria as was/as is. (Don’t get me started on my Cumbria rant!)

The jaunt commences in Great Langdale at 8am, the OCT trots over Red Bank to Grasmere, up to Helvellyn (Westmorland), down to Thirlmere and up Wythburn (pronounced Wye-burn), up to an all important cut-off checkpoint at Angle Tarn, which has to be reached by 1:30pm. Providing you get under that cut-off, you can carry on up to Esk Hause and teeter along the rocky ridge to Scafell Pike (summit of Cumberland sausages and wrestling), also the highest point in England, then plummets down to Great Moss and another all important cut-off (4:30pm) at Cockley Beck, which is an unusual checkpoint for a fell race as there is a veritable banquet to be had, as a prelude to a slog up the back side of Grey Friar, resisting the temptation to mount/steal the fell pony on the out and back to Coniston Old Man (Lancashire highpoint, NOT Furness). Thank you Raych 🙂

Then it’s a simple case of floating down to the Three Shires Stone, down the Wrynose Pass road towards Little Langdale and then cutting round the back of Blea Tarn and finally, back to the start in Great Langdale.
If you get in under 12hrs, you get a t-shirt and a cup of soup for your efforts!

Bizarre that I overthought this race so much, as I ran it last year without problem on a glorious sunny day, off my nut on excessive carbs and gels and basically don’t remember much about it, so it is a good job I made this amateur video .

This year the main reason I felt distinctly underarmed was the fact that the wheels fell off my 2025 season with injury in August, illness followed all November and a brief comeback before my snout operation in February.
I only had one Lakes race (Teenager with Altitude) which put me firmly in the bin 4 weeks before OCT.

On top of all those woes, my partner John, had trained and raced like a Trojan all winter and spring. No pressure!

As the foundations of my season were built on quicksand, I was rather apprehensive going into the race.

The major plus point was my partner, John, a mate who I have run a lot with. We are similar levels, he is a very funny guy, is unoffendable and is ex-army and an A&E nurse, so if I did fall and split my head into pieces, he wouldn’t flap and would be able to patch me up.
As the race is in pairs, (unless you are chasing for podium), I think partner choice is paramount, as you both need to get round supporting each other and look after each other, whether that is with a stick, a carrot or light heated pi$$ taking, whatever works for you.

The A66 is normally a fast track route to the North Lakes and a longer but quicker route to central/south Lakes, but on the Friday lunchtime it was basically a limping chaos resembling a car park. 4.5 hours door to door was not a good start!

Home for 2 nights.

I won’t bore you with a blow-by-blow-step-by-step account, but the weather started fine and turned iffy later on.
John and I talked absolute nonsense all the way round 🙂

My most overused quote of the day was “I don’t remember this bit John!”
All was going well until Cockley Beck, in time, beating the cut offs, eating and drinking, then GREY FRIAR…

Cockley Beck is a kind of last chance saloon.
If you have burnt all your candles and matches by this point (or you are timed out), you turn left and after a lot of yomping (or a lucky thumb catching the eye of a motorist not bothered about ther car interior) you’re back at the start.

The temptation is to eat your bodyweight in sarnies and tea, delaying the inevitable, but the show must go on…

I made the mistake of thinking we were homeward bound but CB is about 15 miles from the end and you are going away from the finish.
The rain started, we were heading into the clag and the wind was rising as quickly as the temperature was dropping. In fell races one needs to carry enough kit to survive (full body cover waterproofs, hat, gloves, map, compass, whistle and some food). As someone who loves the heat and is absolutely pathetic in the cold, I always have a fear of having all my kit on, then having a fall/crash/injury. Keeping warm is a marginal thing in crappy weather, keeping moving quickly enough to generate heat.
Communication was hindered as we headed into the wind and rain.
I kept thinking to myself, “Don’t trip up, don’t get split up and don’t mess up!”

Visibility was down to about 20 yards, and other teams were coming and going and appearing and vanishing in the fog.

John had the “lines” absolutely dialled in, so that we actually leapfrogged some teams when we dropped out of the clag down to the Three Shires Stone. We passed a few cars and must have been a pretty poor advert for fellrunning as we hobbled down the road to the Blea Tarn turn off 🙂
Time pressure was off, the rain had stopped, so it was just a case of plummeting down to the finish and then being grateful to stop running!