Evening light

Tonight's run made me realise how lucky I am to be able to run, and walk, and breath, and live my life to the full.

Thornton Reservoir

Windmills

Sunset

Easter adventures on the moor

The sun shone into my east facing bedroom this morning and I knew I had to get up, get out and do something worthwhile. Without an available climbing partner and after an evening making an Easter egg (and eating the leftovers), I felt the need to run. I had already scoped out a nice 11.5 km route over my local moor and was keen to give it a try.

My route

I set off along the usual route to the reservoir, passing a number of cyclists and walkers as I puffed up the hill and along the track. As the terrain flattened out a little, the sun shone brighter, the wind was imperceptible and I settled into my stride. Reaching the gate where I normally turn round, I was less clear of the way, but after a quick look at the map and a brief unscheduled diversion, I found my way back onto a substantial, but very peaty track, running across the top of the escarpment. As I traversed the landscape, more and more industrial features were evident and I shall have to return some time soon, with my professional hat on, for a proper look around.  

As it neared Cold Edge Road, the path turned and the rolling Pennine moors came into view. Looking towards Bronte Country to the north and Lancashire to the west, I was struck by how lucky I was to have these moors only a mile or so from my front door. Big mountains they may not be, but in many ways, these featureless, bleak expanses of peat are more wild than many of their bigger and better known counterparts. I turned left at the end of the path and continued along the road, climbing gently up hill, for a few kilometres. Since I lived her before, the section of the road that was unadopted now seems to have been fully tarmacked and it is now possible to cross the hill, unlike the time when I tried (unsuccessfully), 11 year previously.

Not a bad place to have on your door step

At the transmitter, I turned left onto an old cobbled bridleway, before taking another left and striking out back out across the moor. The track was rough, wet and peaty, my feet were soaked and my legs were filthy, but it was great fun. After about 9.5 km, I reached a sheltered and interesting cleugh, accessed and left via two sets of steep steps and here I met lots of families out enjoying the Easter sunshine.

Soon I reached the end of the bridleway that runs back to where the car was parked. As I descended, the quality of the track improved, with the last 500 m providing a good chance to stretch the legs on solid ground.

Today's leg shot!

Back at the car I was tired, dirty and very, very sweaty but unlike 11.5 km on tarmac, this run never felt like a chore. I am not fast, I still have to walk up some of the hills, but nothing seems to make me happier than being ankle deep in a peat bog, looking out over the landscape and breathing it all in.

Perhaps I have earned a little of that Easter egg now?

Moments

There are moments, amongst the hours, weeks and days, that we may spend doing all these activities that we do, that stick out. Those brief instances that for some reason you remember for years to come. I had such a moment today.  Having puffed up a very steep hill, I reached an inviting stream, where I paused to take a drink. It was early, before 8am, and I was alone on the edge of a cleugh, looking down over the woods and the river.  As the chilled Drum and Bass played through the one earphone that still works, the sun began to shine through the mist clinging to the top of the moors. In that moment, I wanted to be no where else.  It was perfection.

Not as flat as it might appear!

New to trail running and not yet wholly au fait with the local area, I had requested off-road suggestions from The One Who Runs.  He directed me to Harcastle Crags near Hebden Bridge. Setting off before most people had even got out of bed, every corner I turned was met with anticipation, an opportunity to discover something new with each passing kilometre. The rocky, undulating riverside path giving way to a solid track, into a muddy path through the woods, a steep drop across the moor and back to the river, an old tramway high above the water, the steep climb to the edge of the cleugh, a muddy track, slipping and sliding through the beech wood.  As I toiled uphill and bounced downwards, completely alone in the woods, my joy at the experience grew with every stride.

As recommendations go, I think it was a pretty good one! 

Happy feet