Moab in the off season

This is poorly written, but sometimes we go on trips and never write anything down. For the benefit of our future selves I added some notes on our recent trip to Moab. Thank you for coming out to Colorado <3

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I signed up for the Moab "Ultra" under the pretense of upholding a challenge: run one trail race every month of 2018.  Trail races in January are scarce, you almost have to go to the desert to find a decent course. Moab offered not only a quirky half marathon but the opportunity to see an endangered monument and climb some of the most renowned routes in southern Utah. Plus I had a pretty good feeling it wouldn't take much to get the WCAC women out here for the ride.

Three women, from three different states flew to Denver for this trip. I cannot tell you how awesome it is to have friends willing to fly to my home state and drive 12+ hours to run, hike, climb to the point of exhaustion. Who can say that??? You ladies are the best.

We drove from DIA to Grand Junction for a shake out (cough-6mi-cough) run before piling into the car for 90 more minutes to Moab.  All told the trip out was ~6.5 hours. FDK's article on the benefits of tripping on acid was greatly appreciated entertainment.

Utah only serves 3.2% alcohol on tap - weak beer, burgers, and bed were in order. We got up at 7a for the race the next day. Much to my delight the weather warmed significantly before the start. If you run the Arches Half Marathon know that pacing yourself is a poor strategy. 5 miles in you'll hit 6 miles of slick rock, and unless you are CR this surface demands a slackening in the pace. Note to 2019 Kelsey: go out hard, recover on the rock, then bring it home the last two miles.

Once the race was over we headed home for real breakfast and an 8 mile hike through the canyons and arches of Arches National Park called Devil's Garden. The "most strenuous hike in the park" is not as daunting as it sounds. Four women who ran 20+ miles in the morning completed the 8 mile loop in a little over 3 hours. 

Crack climbing in Indian Creek was on the agenda for Sunday. We're lucky to have resident climbing expert in CR. Her patience and expertise are unmatched and I wouldn't have been able to berate crack climbing sufficiently without her.

Cracks are not my game. It doesn't make much sense to shove my hands and feet into a tiny crack and pull myself up repeatedly. I have a lot to learn in this technique, give me crimp-y holds and open slabs any day (in 2018 I vow to learn proper slab climbing outside and invite you ladies back to Eldorado Canyon). Regardless, Nat and I, shepherd by CR and FDK, were able to complete a few beautiful cracks. The view didn't suck either and left me wishing we had another day to explore Indian Creek.

CR got to live the dream in the desert for a few more days, so we dropped her at a random house in Moab and drove away, back home to catch God-early flights on Monday morning. (Instagram suggests CR met up with GG and had a grand time in the canyon lands).

Layers of discomfort and magic

FDK and CR started a day ahead of me so I will have to ask them to append a preface to this trip report 

TL;DR the Eastern Sierra proved to me once more its ability to kick my ass, blow my mind, and fill my heart. We hit up Whitney and some hot springs, then hogged through Yosemite before driving back to reality. 

You can see all of my pictures from the trip here. 

Saturday
fdk &CR, preface:

CR: After picking up FDK in Reno we drove the whole length of the eastern sierra down to bishop, with FDK trying to keep up some sort of 'clean living' initiative where she tried to sleep the right amount and eat not-garbage, while I tried to drive all night and also had a car full of pie and pizza. Health is all about who you hang out with, I guess. 

fdk: I'm training for a marathon, unfortunately, so I kept sneaking in extra running, and CR and Kelz were very nice to accommodate it.  When CR and I woke up Saturday morning, ostensibly eager to go find some nice rocks for climbing, it was COLD, like 20˚F cold, like I am not getting my feet into climbing shoes with no socks cold.  That's fantastic because running is great in a wide variety of temps!  So we went for a quick (2h) jog up Bishop Creek Canyon (I think), and I quickly remembered that running at 9000ft always sucks when you live at sea level. Still, if you're in the neighborhood it's a nice run over Piute Pass (11,423ft)for a view of Summit Lake, and you'll catch your breath on the way back down.

CR: We wheezed and coughed up to Mt Emerson, where we met a lady wearing old school glacier goggles who encouraged us to keep going to get views of the Humphrey Basin, which turned this short run into rather a long one. 

One of the lakes headed up to Puite Pass

CR: We then hustled back down to get to Cardinal Pinnacle, which is home to some of the greatest moderate crack climbing I have ever done. My goal always in climbing is to complete climbs WITHOUT DRAMA (this means no screaming at your partner, no truly fearing for your life, no peeing on your partner, minimal loss of skin, etc etc you get the picture). FDK says I should get a hat that says ___ days since last climbing drama. Fortunately we can add one more tick to the hat, since this was a pretty drama free climb. This was also the first climb where FDK and I did a double-rope rappel together which means we both got to spend >30 minutes trying to untangle my demonically-possessed pink rappel rope (damn it, pinky!). Also FDK got to look  and comment "Really?" when I tied  the two ropes together with the uninspiring-looking "European Death Knot"

(http://blog.alpineinstitute.com/2009/03/euro-death-knot.html)

Fortunately the EDK did not live up to its name and we lived to climb another day and more importantly, meet up with KD in Lone Pine!

fdk: There are two reasons to do this climb: lovely hand jams and a stunning belay station. I really hope to get to come back and convince CR to lead the whole thing for me. 

The view while belaying.  Who can be expected to mind the rope with those aspens?!

Back to Kelz:

I started God-early in Redwood City and drove 7 short hours down to the lovely mountain town of Lone Pine to meet up with FDK and CR. We drove a short way to the Alabama Hills to climb The Fin and recreate the image below at sunset with Whitney in the background. 

We wanted to be as cool as this chick in the tie dye

fdk: It is a pretty sweet spot. 

CR on the fin

For me this ascent began in tennis shoes because despite bringing my life in a 60L pack I lacked several key pieces of gear. We climbed a couple of 5.8/5.10 routes on the face and much to my benefit CR switched out shoes with me. Then it was up to Whitney Portal for dinner and an early bedtime. 

Sunday

The line between God-early and middle of the night is a thin one. Up at 330, we started our 22mi day by 430. Carrying an average of 8lbs each we hit the summit around 10am.

Harvest moon over Whitney and the Needles

The thing about 14k+ feet is it hits you gradually. The altitude effect layers the discomfort slowly. It can start as a nagging pain somewhere between the temple and the back of the head and grow to a lightheadedness, inducing (sometimes severe) nausea, and an odd emptiness, that leaves me sure there is nothing left to give the mountain. The effects for me were moderate but I still began to feel more as if I were floating than trudging, full of emptiness with a head weighing about 100lbs. Water and food are never less appealing than in the throws of altitude sickness. I am told whiskey and sour worms are a great remedy to this discomfort.

Mt. Whitney summit!

After a toast and an endearing chat with a through hiker Giggles we headed down from the summit. To the dismay of several older gentleman on the trail we were moving fast!  (fdk: turns out running is a faster way to descend than walking, and gets you some extra mileage) Their great consternation led them to mansplain to us that under no uncertain terms "hikers going up the mountain have the right of way!" being young, female yahoos we were not respecting this internationally recognized rule and needed to rein it in. Needless to say we continued to run down the mountain. In all fairness I don't think we were really disturbing anyone, often hoping off trail to bypass people and greeting everyone coming up the opposite way. Nonetheless their multiple reminders were evidence that radical feminism in this world is still a worthy pursuit. 

Looking over the giant basin that leads to Kings Canyon and beyond

Once back at the car with La Croix in hand we booked it to the Frosty Chalet for soft serve and gear division. CR is a good kid and had to go back to work. I am less committed and convinced FDK to stay out another day. 

sorta-secret hot springs somewhere past Bishop airport

This extra evening led us to some secret hot springs with a magical view and a night at the Mobil which has my eternal admiration for its cuisine and free camping accommodations over looking Mono Lake. 

Campsite above the Mobile looking out at Mono Lake

Monday 

The morning started at a reasonable hour with pancakes from the Mobil and then a short hike/jog to Lake Elizabeth out of Tuolumne Meadows campground. 
fdk: Hahaha, more surprise running!

We ended up back in Bay around 230, enough time for a run (painfully slow jog) through Huddart and dinner on CalAve. 
fdk: we were back early, so we might as well run a little more, right?

Lake Elizabeth from Tuolumne Meadows Campground

Good pie will last for days in nothing other than the cardboard box you buy it in. We polished off a boysenberry masterpiece purchased somewhere near Bishop that night with CR and stayed up too late  drinking whiskey sours, talking about biology, global warming, workplace drama, running, men, politics...the gamut. Before setting alarms for our god early start to the airport. 
fdk: I'm starting to get used to waking up before 5, it's bizarre. 

Whitney is best done in a day. Apply for permits in April and be sure to reserve a spot at Whitney Portal for the night before the ascent as well. This being my second trip up Whitney I don't think I will summit next year. But the Eastern Sierras are a uniquely beautiful place, I wouldn't say no to a trip up one of the neighboring peaks next fall. 

Alpine lake somewhere on the descent from Whitney

As far as company, I love these women. It is rare to find people of such similar mindset and willingness to trade sleep for adventure. Never am I more alive and exhausted at the same time than when I am with CR and FDK. 
fdk: hear, hear! definitely exhausted.

Thank you for the trip ladies. 
fdk: Thanks for planning, encouraging, and running some extra miles. Are you available to plan the rest of my life?  

<3 kelzzz

The Promised Land (in the summer)

Summer is coming at me a mile a minute, so I will keep this mini-report brief. BG hates making personal decisions, and so he hates presents, both giving them and receiving them. To relieve him of that stress and to save us both the embarrassment of eventually forgetting we decided that we would go on fun little trips for our anniversary each year. This year we wrangled tickets for Hamilton in SF before realizing that our anniversary coincided with the meeting of the National Association of Attorneys and Solicitors General (s?) in Big Sky, MT.  We figured that the OR SG had best attend this meeting where plans would be made, especially in the era of Trump, so we found some takers for our Hamilton tickets and headed to Montana!

The trip was brief-- 1.5 days in and around Big Sky and one day in Yellowstone-- but at the end I was checking to see if there were any vacancies at MSU! Montana is stunning and rural, and Yellowstone is like five great parks in one. High expectations tend to result in disappointment so I am going to try not to sell the area too hard, and instead I will tell you about the logistics and then JUST GO!  But first I’ll tell you just a little bit about why you should go.  

The area around Big Sky, MT is beautiful and has great trail running.  Big Sky is a ski town in the winter, and I really like these one-purpose towns in the off-season when they are quiet and peaceful with lots of cheap vacancies!  We did a few fun things in Big Sky that I recommend if you are in the neighborhood.

1. Trail run by Ousel Falls and on First Yellow Mule and Second Yellow Mule trails.

BG at Ousel Falls

2. Take the ski lift up and scramble around above treeline.  It would be possible to get to the top of Lone Peak, but we didn’t.

BG headed up the ridge

3. Hike Beehive Basin.

Us in Beehive Basin

4. Eat a frickin amazing meal at Bucks-T4 (a little expensive, but DANG!).
5. Run the Porcupine Creek Trail while singing and clapping your hands so you don't sneak up on any bears. If you had more time I think there is a real cool ~20-mile loop you could do here.

The sort of trail that dreams are made from

In Yellowstone there is so much to see it’s a little overwhelming.  Here are the essential parts of the park:

1. The wildlife.  Get there early, bring binoculars, and go to Hayden or Lamar Valleys. There are so many bison and elk that it is almost annoying.

2. The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.  OK, Artist’s Point is touristy, but it’s so pretty!  Think of it like Tunnel View in Yosemite.

3. The thermal features. The earth is boiling, bubbling, and sulfurous. Pictures really don't do it justice-- you have to see it!

One of many boiling pits

4. The mountains.  The park contains parts of four different mountain ranges, and they are little used-- I think there’s a lot of opportunity for exploration.
5. The huge backcountry.  You can get further from a road than you can anywhere else in the lower 48.  I think that Yellowstone is a backpacker’s park and I am looking forward to getting back out there and exploring it.  One big downside is that the rangers really discouraged me from running due to the large grizzly population. Apparently grizzlies have a chase instinct and will run down runners? This does sound terrifying, but I wonder if it's true?

Which brings us to the logistics. I'm sure there are many ways to approach the park, but here is one easy way to do it:

There are direct flights to Bozeman from SFO, DEN, PDX, PHX, SLC, and SEA at least.  You pick up your rental car right outside the terminal and then it’s a 1.5 hour drive from Bozeman to the West Yellowstone entrance.  On this drive you will go through Big Sky, if you are inclined to sample any of its pleasures. It can be tough to get camping reservations in Yellowstone, but as you drive Hwy 191 from Bozeman to West Yellowstone you will pass ~10 different Forest Service campgrounds as well as driving through a lot of forest service land where you can camp wherever!  You might like having a home base outside the park anyway.

Get up early and get in the park early if you want to see anything that you can drive to, like a lot of the thermal features.  People are lazy, and the only parts of the park that were annoying were parking lots where you could drive up, walk less than a mile, and see a notable feature, and they really didn’t get busy until after 11AM.  I think that we are snobby and are turned off by the idea that Yellowstone is full of buses of tourists feeding Yogi Bear. There are a lot of people that visit the park but they are mostly very very lazy and easy to avoid, and once you get up early or hike more than a mile you are in a wild paradise. Wait, I wasn’t supposed to oversell it.  Yellowstone sucks, but you should visit anyway.  Maybe you’ll be able to meet me there once I move to Bozeman, which is also a terrible place.

PS. I wrote this before a friend of mine warned me that the winters here are no joke. She described it as, "the absolute nastiest of winter climates you will ever experience." And she is from Vermont and loves snow!  So I might need to hold off on buying a ranch just yet. 

The 'Gunks (OR: The Rock Climbing Mecca of the East Coast)

This is, I believe, a 5.3 with a roof on it.

I first learned the word "historicity" while reading Philip K Dick's Man in the High Castle. In the book, a dealer in antiquities holds two identical Zippo lighters, one of which supposedly belonged to FDR, and says "One has historicity, a hell of a lot of it. As much as any object has ever had. And one has nothing. Can you feel it?... You can't. You can't tell which is which. There's no 'mystical plasmic presence,' no 'aura' around it." I thought, while reading that, that maybe while we can't reliably detect historicity in objects, we certainly seem to be able to detect it in places. 

And if any climbing place has historicity then it's the 'Gunks (Shawangunks) outside of New Paltz, New York. Old iron pitons left by early climbers jut out of cracks; we clip them out of habit but hold no illusions about their integrity. Bolts and rappel rings omitted at the tops of routes, in homage to the tree-slinging first ascencionists. The rope-burned trees look worse for this practice. Short, wandering pitches accommodate old-fashioned 50 meter ropes; our 70 m rope removes some of the adventure as 3 pitch routes become a single push to the top of the cliff. The rating system is a dinosaur; while climbs in the western states seem to start at 5.6, Gunks climbers took to heart the 5. system as being constrained on the left by 5.0 and on the right by 5.9 and so use all the digits in between. I climb my first 5.3 and find my hands sweating and my heart racing as much as they would on any tahoe 5.8. 

can we feel the history of the place while we climb? Probably yes. On Shockley's Ceiling, a 5.6 with a formidable roof (the 'ceiling') I imagine william shockley, nobel prize winning physicist, struggling under the 3 foot roof on his first ascent (reputedly done naked?). There are 4 iron pins and pitons below the roof- I have to imagine Shockley and his compatriots in their clumsy mountaineering boots fearing the roof and trying to hammer in an insurance policy. Both G and I scurry up quickly in our sticky rock slippers, using taped-hands to jam the crack that stumped many climbers before invention of this modern technique. But I have to admit, at the menacing roof I added my own gear, bringing the total number of protective pieces up to 5.

Later, feeling smug on a 5.6 called Frog's Head, I skip clipping the old pitons entirely and use my own medium-sized stopper at the crux. I pull hard on a greasy finger-lock but in that weightless moment before I grasp the next hold I look down to see my stopper sliding uselessly down our rope, my only barrier between me and the boulder-strewn ground. The deep  brain takes over and I find myself moments later atop the crux, breathing hard. I almost laugh to think of the old gunks climbers shaking their heads at my unreliable modern equipment. There's an argument to be made that we're no safer than they were, at least if you take into account accident statistics. 

But for the most part, with a few exceptions, modern gear and techniques have taken much of the teeth from the gunks. Committing routes now can be climbed with a single rope; places of sparse protection can be protected with modern small camming units; crack technique has softened the difficulty of some of the old classic test pieces. 

Our first day at the gunks, I couldn't help comparing the place to Yosemite. The Valley has its own historicity: its walls are scarred by the marks of first ascensionists and a complex set of rules ('ethics') govern how to climb and protect its most famous routes.  I think the miracle is that despite climbing's technical advances, Yosemite resists softening. The routes are too big for the extra 20 meters of rope in a 70 meter cord to make much of a difference; long runs of polished slab remain impossible to protect; the cracks are too varied and slick to accept sloppy crack technique. I wonder if in some future a mediocre climber (like myself) will walk into Yosemite Valley with a rack of futuristic gear and find the old trade-routes to be charming rather than formidable and awe-inspiring. I hope not. 

Microadventures

We have been experimenting with microadventures of late.

“A microadventure is an adventure that is short, simple, local, cheap – yet still fun, exciting, challenging, refreshing and rewarding.” -- Alastair Humphries

Our ‘take’ on the definition:

• Short: Saturday - Sunday
• Simple: No planning allowed
• Local: Leaving and returning from front door
• Cheap: As there is no expenditure for transport or accommodation, feel free to splurge on 5 for $1 avocados or gas station tacos

We have summarized our research results in this handy table and look forward to participating and hearing about more from fellow WCACers...

	TRIP #1	TRIP #2
Moment of inspiration		Scene: Katie telling hilarious stories about the trials and tribulations of her day. Iain staring off into space. Katie: “Do you not get my joke?” Iain: “No I was just thinking about the weekend.” Katie: “You mean where we will camp?” Iain: chuckles Katie: We do now own a camp stove… Iain: It’s not going to use itself...
Original “plan”	Set no alarm for Saturday morning. Aim to leave approximately 7 minutes after consuming flatmate’s day-old baguette for breakfast and stuffing layers, head torches and sleeping bags into rucksacks.	Set no alarm for Saturday morning. Aim to leave approximately 7 minutes after consuming leftover shakshuka for breakfast and stuffing layers, head torches, *camp stove* and sleeping bags into rucksacks.
Leave time on Saturday	12:00pm	12:00pm
First detour	Flat tyre (Katie) two miles in. Detour 1 mile to bike shop. $7.	No gas cannister for camp stove. First detour Big 5, no dice, then Dicks. $5.
Route Day 1	Map Hugging the coast all the way through Pescadero, to Davenport. 70 miles, 3900 feet up ’n’ down.	Map Daly City, onto Skyline, along the reservoirs, Cañada to Woodside, up King’s Mountain Road to Skyline (5 mile climb, 2k ft), down Tunitas Creek road (8 mile descent) to the coast and the along the (surprisingly hilly!) final 10 miles of coast to Pescadero. 60.7 miles, 5,800 ft up ’n’ down.
Pit Stops	Half Moon Bay. $1 Hot cross bun at HMB bakery and a tea next door. Midway between Pescadero and Davenport. Duped by promise of cheap avocados. They were tiny and not ripe :( Probably for the best as our rucksacks were already bursting at the seams.	Woodside. Robert’s Market for some overpriced German bread twists and soup. (Mile 36, 2.5 hours) The Bike Hut on Tunitas Creek Road east of Half Moon Bay. Snack (incl. Chocolate malted ball found on floor), tea, and return of circulation to Iain’s hands in a little red barn at the bottom of an 8 mile descent - payment on the honor system.
Dinner	Shrimp tacos a la diabla from the place next to Whale City Bakery that doesn’t have a name on Google Maps. Followed by ice cream and pie from the WCB.	We packed fixings for a meal to pop our stove’s cherry, but we thought we’d stop in town for an “appetiser.” The bakery with infamous artichoke bread closes at 6pm, so we “settled” for fish tacos, bottomless chips and pico, and horchata. The face says it all.
Evening	Walking to our chosen bivvy spot, the inviting sounds of some jazz standards wafted out from Davenport’s third and final eatery. It would have been rude not to pop in...	To get us in the mood for cherry-popping, we nipped to the pub for a quick beer, striking up conversation with fellow cyclist Todd, who was waiting on a pick-up from his brother after missing his original turn-off. Aside from telling us about a mystical norwegian community on Skyline (where he lives with his step-brother), buying us beer, and providing a bowl of fries to cram into any gap left by fish tacos, he intrigued us enough to arrange to meet for drinks in the city a few weeks later. That turned out to be at a construction industry networking event, but that’s another story... For those worried that the stove didn’t get the love it deserved... We burnt a ton of homemade popcorn (complete with innovative sports-bra-lid) and then made some burnt-popcorn flavored tea!
Night abode	Shark Fin Cove - a hidden gem!	Pescadero State Beach
Middle of the night visitors	This little critter emerged from our towel/pillow approx 2 seconds after we woke up.	A large group of mexicans spent several hours attempting to make a camp fire on the beach, before disappearing as mysteriously as they appeared.
Breakfast	Cauliflower soup alongside the hippies in Santa Cruz.	Pan Dulce (good ol’ Pescadero Gas Station) and as much day-old challah bread as we could face.
Route Day 2	Map Along the coast, cheering half marathon racers, to breakfast in Santa Cruz. Over the hills on Mountain Charlie Road (a real beauty is Charlie), then down through the reservoir at Los Gatos (not recommended road bike surface!) to the wrong Caltrain station in San Jose. Then mile sprint to correct Caltrain. Leisurely cycle to Lee’s after we missing the hourly train. Sprint back to Caltrain after forgetting the time (see below…). 45 miles, 3200 feet up ‘n’ down.	Map Back into Pescadero for breakfast and putting on our ‘rain gear’. Along Pescadero creek road to La Honda, where the rain started. Down Old La Honda in pouring rain with a grim haul to Peet’s Coffee in Menlo Park. 35 miles, 3000 feet up ‘n’ down.
Pit Stops	Lee’s Sandwiches for Iain’s first and one of Katie’s best Banh Mi, when we missed our first Caltrain.	Peet’s in Menlo Park to raise core body temperature above hypothermia with tea and two egg and cheese sandwiches.

Agony Ankle

I’d like to share two thoughts that I had at midnight, on top of a mountain, a few weeks ago with you all:

Fuck, I came all the way from SF for this? Thanks for ruining it, Alex.

Instantly followed by...

Shit, poor Alex, this looks bad; how will we get him off this mountain...

“Are you okay? Can you put any weight on it?”

“I’ll be fine, I think I can go on...*insert blood curdling scream*”

Not my own work, obvs

Somewhere along this ridge between Hollins Cross and Lose Hill (in the Peak District National Park, in the middle of England), in the middle of a winter night, my friend Alex hurt his ankle real bad. It made weird noises.

Rewind.

Less than an hour earlier, we were posing for photos.

Me, Jasmin, Konrad, Alex

Defending co-ed champions, Team Haggis On Tour, about to start a 42 mile, overnight, navigation-very-much-required-to-finish fell race, ran in teams of four. Our good friend and long-time rival, Jim, had a crack team and we had the prospect of an epic 8-9 hour battle, punctuated with some riddles I had prepared:

Well, what is the name of the stepson of Simkins?

Everything had been going well: Hollins Cross, the first checkpoint, arrived before I could even bring Mrs Watkins into the equation, and we were setting a blistering pace along the ridge to the second hill. One of my favourite features of the race was Alex’s undoing: teams start at one-minute intervals: fastest teams starting last. As a result, while running along this narrow, muddy ridge, we were having to dive off the track to overtake other teams, chasing Jim who had started a few minutes before us.

I watched Alex try to convince us (himself?) he was fine. After the second scream, the crushing realisation on his face that this was the end of our race -- the thought that he was letting us down -- was worse than the cries of agony it temporarily put aside.

Despite my first emotional reaction (human nature or I’m an asshole), the only person aware that there was a race happening around us was Alex. We'd quickly moved well beyond caring about anything other than Alex: we were on top of a mountain in the winter wearing nothing but lycra. Additional layers on immediately; Jasmin was going to run back to the start, get our car and meet us at the nearest road; Konrad and I would provide shoulders for Alex, and point the compass straight down the hill.

It was slow going, punctuated by yelps from Alex, but I provided an easy subject for mockery (“look how american Iain sounds”, Trump, “When will you get deported”,...) and the prospect of being first team back for the legendary post-race stew kept his mind off the pain.

We got Alex off the hill in around two hours. It had taken 20 minutes to get up. We were sadly disappointed on the stew front:

Six hours too early for anyone except Katie Williams

But we did get to spend the next four hours in the ER:

You might notice that we replaced Konrad with an alcoholic called Paul in the post-race photo. That’s another story.

The NHS finally determined that it was not broken, and sent us on our merry way. At 6am we toasted ourselves for surviving our ordeal, and then headed to bed.

I'd like to propose a toast...

Jim’s team? Well, they won. But there was none of the usual mockery and jocularity: they were gutted for us, and for Alex: the prospect of 6 months off running sends a chill down any runner’s spine.

Why am I sharing this? It’s not a terribly exciting story. Not really as a reminder of the dangers of mountain travel, not as an insight into the drinking culture of middle england, and certainly not as a lesson on mountain rescue.

I think it’s mostly to point out the asymmetry(?) of human nature.

God, we are hard on ourselves.

Jasmin was kicking herself for being just in front and blocking Alex’s view.

Konrad was upset about being responsible for bringing Alex on the team at the last minute, and possibly ruining his season.

Alex blamed himself for ‘being clumsy’ and letting the team down.

I felt very guilty for making Alex feel worse because I’d travelled so far.

Go figure.

Postscript. There are benefits to not running 42 miles. You are able to run the rest of the weekend.

A view of Glencorse reservoir and the Pentland Hills, Edinburgh

Looking towards Bleaklow in the Peak District

Eóin and Stewart showing and my first Allermuir Summit of the year