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Two Pins
at Widdop (The Widdop
Fell Race) Wednesday,
18th July 2007 |
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If you’ve ever been out to the wilds of West Yorkshire then this area, about 8
miles from
The race started from a pub called The Packhorse Inn at the top of a very
steep road. To get to it you turn off before Hebden Bridge up through the cobbled streets of Heptonstall, which are lined with
buntings strung between the 
moorlands and expanse. The weather was unusually nice for
the time of year - it being summer! Even though there was a cool wind.
Registration was outside the pub. It was
£3.50 to enter - a bargain at any cost. The pub is a painted white, stone
building that entices you in if only to shelter from the bleakness of its
location. Inside the door there were homemade flapjacks and 
oatcakes and the like and liquorice allsorts all sitting on
a wooden shelf; priced up to purchase at the bar. There were various real ales
on offer and an amazingly infinite selection of whiskies all lined up on show
behind the bar glistening golden as the sun caught the bottles as it shone
through the window. The smell of roast beef was overwhelming and even the
strictest of vegetarians would be watering at the mouth! There were a few
locals in who were totally un-phased by the runners coming in and out as if
they were in a constantly moving revolving door.
As usual, I was the only roadrunner, but
this didn’t put me off. It’d taken two hours to get there so I was determined I
was going to enjoy this! At the side of the road there were a few children in
running vests, darting about chasing a mother sheep and her lambs. The whole
atmosphere was just so and I counted about 80 people there lining the road
outside the pub, in anticipation of the start.
The race is 7 miles with 1200ft of climbing. I should’ve
known what it would be like underfoot, because of all the rain we’d had, but I
was in trail shoes! It was an unusual start in that it was downhill just for a
short time on the road and then up onto the fell. In short, it was a peaty,
boggy quagmire the whole way round, with a few rocks thrown in for good
measure! The views were stunning, if you got a chance to look up from your
feet, especially that of the Widdop
Reservoir that we circled during the race.
After the initial climb, we reached a field
of long, wiry grass. What you didn’t realise at first was that there were
hidden tussocks between the long blades and it was impossible to put your feet
down without hitting one at an awkward angle and consequently hitting the deck!
You were literally running blind! This field went on forever and then, once
through it, it was back to the sucking, sopping wet peat and the rocks. It was
a real challenge and a half!
There were some fantastic mountain
goat-esque runners there and I could see then all in the distance and I was
thinking just how do they do it! I had a bit of a battle with a Clayton lady who I was itching to get
past at one point. I asked her if I could, to which she replied, “Yes.”
And when I didn’t do it as quickly as she expected said, “Hurry up. You’ve got to take a
few risks you know!” She then proceeded to tell me she’d turned her
ankle a few days earlier on Kentmere
and was taking it easy! She pussy footed down a slope later on so I returned
her retort and added, “Touché!” She passed me again and
this is how it was for the remainder of the race, (she got me in the end, but
there’s always next year).
I must’ve fallen over a dozen times during
the race. My legs, arms, hands and now face were peat black! I looked like I’d
been dragged through a hedge backwards, forwards and then backwards again. What
a workout this was, putting the effort in if only to keep upright!
The end of the race approached not before
time even though I was masochistically quite enjoying this! As we climbed the
penultimate stile after climbing up a steep, steep drag, you turned and bang!
The sun hit your eyes like the glaring light emissing from a giant U.F.O. You still had the rocks and the
bogginess, but you also couldn’t see, so down I went again!
The clapping was getting louder and the finish was up a
steep, grassy field with a few nettles and thistles dotted about to stagger
into. Ouch! As I came through the
finish, marked with the familiar red and white tape, the timekeeper said, “I
can’t see your number.” I looked down and it was all ripped and ragged.
Well, I thought, I’ve had a grueller out there. I’ve really fought the cause
and that’s why it’s like that. It was like a battle wound amongst all the
other’s I’d accrued along the way. When I came to take it off however I
realised I’d only put two pins in it - one in each corner diagonally and that
was the real reason! It must’ve been the
After the race everyone sat outside the pub waiting for the
results. There was a chap with a laptop and it was like the 21st
Century meets the rest of history as nothing had surely changed around here
for centuries. I went inside and had a pint of Black Sheep, perched on a stool, propping the bar up. I had a bit
of banter and post-race analysis, (albeit not about times as fell-runners
aren’t as obsessed as we are about it), with a few fellow ‘nutcases’ and made
tracks to head off home.
The pale orange, watery sun had nearly set
behind the moors and I didn’t want to leave this little place.
It felt like home.
Written by: Michaela
Dempsey
Submitted: 21st
July 2007
Edited by: Brenda J
Earnshaw WRR Editor