After quite the break from short fell races, I returned to the fold a few weeks ago at the Hathersage Night Race. Alex cajoled me into entering last year but I was ill, so it was nice to be able to make it this time.

We set off from the middle of town and settled straight into the single constant climb that takes you all the way up to Stanage. Unbeknownst to Alex, I dropped in behind him and tailed him from the start, knowing full well that if I passed him then his competitive streak would lead to us both speeding up and ending the race in dire need of a paramedic. I was reasonably happy with his pace – I said later that I probably had enough in the tank to pass him at any point, but never enough left to then actually pull away. The top of Stanage was – as several people familiar with the race had promised me – sat firmly in a pile of clag, and I resorted to a torch in each hand, keeping the light low to avoid the worst of the reflection from the droplets just hanging in the air. Nevertheless, Alex pulled away and after a concerted push I caught him just as we dropped down off the edge. Unfortunately at that point he disengaged his brain to descend, and it was all I could do to keep him even in sight. A small climb after the road afforded an opportunity to catch him and make my presence known, before another downhill and again he stretched his lead. A level piece of tarmac, usually my nemesis, found me actually feeling like I still had something left in my legs so I powered along to catch Mr Hyde again. The cat-and-mouse finished shortly after, as we turned downhill again and the now-familiar pattern repeated itself. This was compounded somewhat by the last 800m being on a steep tarmac hill. Apparently I’m now ‘that guy’ because I throttled back here (giving up eight places in the process) to avoid trashing my legs and jeopardising my training over the next few days. I know, weak.

Anyway, I had a thoroughly good time, and this was aided to a great extent by the decision to go straight for a curry after crossing the finish line. At 50 minutes the race was 0.6% of the duration of my last race, but involved a lot less suffering.

The following Sunday I travelled to Edale for another race, sort of. The Peak Raid is a three-hour score format mini mountain marathon. Everyone sets off a different times, and each competitor has the same three-hour time limit in which to visit controls marked on the map, racking up as many points as possible. Each control has its own points score so you could try and bag loads of easy low-scoring ones, or just visit a few more difficult high-scoring ones. ‘Difficult’ in this context means slightly harder to navigate to (but not as nasty as some MMs I’ve done), or miles away from the rest of the controls so taking ages to get to, or down a huge hill and then straight back up again to get back on course. I’m going to shamelessly copy Tim Budd’s blog format here, because I like it.

I had an 08:00 start time, meaning I was the second person to set off. After the usual three minutes of sheer blind panic I came up with a plan to travel west along the valley floor, then gain height and turn east again to return to Edale. This meant I would stay out of the worst of the forecast very-strong and very-cold wind. I therefore set off along the Pennine Way to Upper Booth before turning south to Dalehead. After picking up an extra control because I was making reasonable time, it was some fun nav to a cairn I didn’t know existed but which, on reflection, is actually marked quite clearly on the OS map. Pick up the slabs to Brown Knoll, then due south 250 m to control no. 18. Except it’s not due south, it’s about 6 degrees west of south, so I overshoot and lose the cushion I’ve built up with a good exit from the previous control. It was 60 points though, so worth the faff, and a good reminder to pay proper attention. Some indecision about no. 8, and I seem to be the only person deciding to pick it up. On the way out, though, I pass a chap who’d clearly decided to go the longer way around, so I’ll take that as a win. Up to Kinder Low, where the control is found in a little cave-type affair, then straight off towards the Woolpacks. Number 15 is another high-scorer – 50 points – at the foot of a crag. Coming at it clockwise I can see it from a long way away, the only excitement being an unexpected somersault through vegetation during the descending traverse on steep heather and tussocks.

Time is marching on now, and it’s decision time. I can pick up a 40-pointer and have a safe return in plenty of time, or I can go for another with the same points value, but with the option of also collecting another 30 if there’s time. The latter seems the sensible option, although I file the exact approach under “things to worry about when I’m closer”. The clag which has been present since Brown Knoll clears a little as I get get nearer, and it’s obvious that the only real approach is a steep descent from the south. I do this while commiserating myself that I won’t be able to get the second control as well, because it’d be a big climb back out and I’m tired now and there isn’t much time left. Unfortunately the descent is over very quickly and the control isn’t hard to find, so I can’t really justify not climbing back up again. Fuss-free over to some ponds, then along trods in broadly the right direction until I can see the edge of the village, then a straight line (albeit steep enough to need hands) to the main path. Another assumption as I head to the control described as ‘Bridge’ for a final ten points – yep, I turn towards the wrong bridge. I realise very quickly and trot off to the correct bridge. Just the slog down through the village then, with no excuse to slack off – if two people have the same number of points, whoever collected them in the shortest time prevails. I get back reasonably pooped but quite pleased, and with 13 minutes to spare. This was more time than I thought I’d have, and what I should really have done is taken ten minutes to head south and pick up another 10-pointer just outside the village. But I’m rusty, so I didn’t even spot it until later that evening.

Finally, I returned to Edale on Friday with Becs. The objective was ‘play in the snow’, and in the face of more Westerlies I once again implemented the ‘stay low to go West, then turn around for the high bit’ strategy from the previous weekend. The footbridge at the bottom of Jacob’s Ladder looked amazing plastered with snow and we had the place to ourselves, which was lovely. We entered the cloud about halfway up to Kinder Low, but the joy of clomping around in the snow couldn’t be sapped by the lack of visibility.

We retraced my steps of the previous weekend as far as the top of Grindsbrook Clough, but I couldn’t face the awkward descent in snow so we carried on to Ringing Roger as the snowflakes got bigger and fell more thickly. Having seen four groups between Kinder Low and Grindsbrook (two of whom had asked the way to Jacob’s Ladder!) we were very much on our own for the final hour as we navigated the zig-zags, and the precipitation accompanying us changed from big fluffy snowflakes to big wet raindrops. Naturally we needed to take refuge in a cafe to recover from the toils of the day, even if that meant neither of us were particularly keen to leave and complete the walk back down to the car park. Overall, a lovely day out.