The ankle-turning story is worrying. As one who has definitively turned both ankles (during separate matches) playing five-a-side - you know, when the foot rolls right over and the bottom of your leg hits the deck - I shudder at the mere mention. I do occasionally part-roll my ankles on the downs, but somehow I feel them starting to go and sort of jump-hop onto the other leg. A horribly ungainly and probably (for the casual observer) extremely funny manoeuver.
Great stuff mate.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
stillwaddler Wrote:I loved the piccies, but please, please be careful,
This turned out to be very, very good advice.
The warning signs were all there. The long range weather forecast had predicted snow over 1600m. By Friday a disturbing, yellow flash had appeared on the forecaster’s map in the vicinity of Truchillas. The rocks of Vizcodillo were going to be very slippery.
Decided to do the sensible thing. I offered my services as a freelance “corredor escoba” (the broom runner). No, I wasn’t going to benevolently sweep up afterwards. My job would be to lurk at the back of the field and make sure nobody got lost. Two people had done just that last year and mountain rescue had been called out so despite the course being well marked, accidents can and will happen.
I’ve described this route a couple of times before. It’s a straight up and straight down affair with a lot of loose stone and rock and waist high, gorse-like vegetation. Today conditions were particularly treacherous. By Lake Truchillas (two thirds of the way up) half of the field had packed it in and turned back early. That included my own travelling companions from El Bierzo mad dog Jorge, Isaac the train driver and Tombrio the coal miner with the yellow mop top. In fact I’d reached the point where I had nobody left to sweep up. The people I was with weren’t going any further and I’d lost sight of the new “last runner”. I was stuck in no-man’s land.
Delved into my rucksack for rainwear, hat and gloves and set off in hot pursuit of the tail-ender but by this point things were turning increasingly nasty. A vicious wind stung my face and flurries of snow and hail coated the vegetation and rocks like icing sugar. An apocalyptical scene commenced as a merry procession of ashen faced runners emerged one by one from the mist and stumbled across chaotic streams of boulders sometimes on their hands and knees. Some of them only wore singlet and shorts and there were a lot of contorted faces and few smiles. Seen from afar it all looked very disturbing. I had to remind myself that I too sometimes do this for fun.
Took my gloves off to take a couple of photos and then couldn’t get the things back on again. Spent the next hour blowing on my hands as my fingers turned numb.
Met a couple of marshals shivering at some undefined point below the peak of Vizcodillo and they told me that I couldn’t go any further.
“It doesn’t matter,” I answered cheerfully “I’m the man with the broom.”
They seemed unimpressed and I waited with them silently for the last two runners who had passed earlier in search of the summit in the midst of a blizzard.
There were a few nervous moments as we waited for the two guys to emerge. My debut as “corredor escoba” was in danger of ending in disastrous failure and their morning in hypothermia. Then the first fellow appeared in the distance, a 50-something head-banger with froth around his mouth. I let him find his own way home. A little later and much to our relief the last man came into view and in mighty fine shape he was too. Joined the guy run-walking back to the safety and relative warmth of the path beyond the lake and to a decent round of applause from the good folk who had stayed to the very end at the finish line.
Maybe in the UK this sort of scenario is a regular feature of fell running events where a certain degree of self sufficiency is taken for granted but here it generally takes people by surprise. Out of 100 plus starters only about 50 made it to the summit and back. Even the great Salvador Calvo, “the bald saviour” and winner of the Great Wall of China marathon turned back when a couple of bolts of lightning shook the skyline. Wimp. In fact the only person in our little party of six (me included) who actually completed this year’s race was a girl called Susana who was awarded a large cup for her efforts. Well done Susana!
Back on dry land we enjoyed large dollops of paella and free beer on tap in the nearby village of Truchas (trout) before the long haul back to El Bierzo.
These are scenes out of something like Extreme Prison Break or Last Survivor
Good on you for sticking to your Cinderella duties and hats off to the remarkable Susana who is a woman I would love to meet some time.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
And I always thought Spain was one of those, y'know, hot places...
Incredible stuff. This is the no-mans land between running and survival, where endurance is all. A reminder that some of these mountain events can literally be life-threatening.
I echo Sweder's commendation -- sounds like it would have been easier and much safer to have turned back but you stuck to your duty, so well done.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Ive paid my 36 euros to take part in Picos and now its less than 5 weeks away. Always leave these things to the last minute as theres always the possibility that I wont be able to go for some reason or other. It looks like Ill be doing this one though
In the days before marriage, fatherhood and runningcommentary.net I used go walking or mountain biking more and for longer. The Gistredo mountains north of the town of Bembibre were a favourite haunt. My current-day escapades are now of the blitzkrieg variety and this area is suitably accessible and an excellent alternative to the Aquilianos. The gradients are steep and long enough for it compare favourably with Picos as a training ground.
A 45 minute drive early on Sunday morning took me to Colinas del Campo de Martin Moro Toledano, a very long name for a very small village. Colinas is a pleasant, well tended place which smells of wood burning stoves and dampness. It lies sheltered in the shadowy chill of a tight valley where the river Susano flows, swollen and angry after a rainier than usual month of May. The plan was to leave the valley after a couple of kilometres and climb steeply to a ridge at about 2000m which gives access to the peak of Catoute. This is the highest in El Bierzo, a proper mountain, inaccessible for motor vehicles and with a nice, pointy top. Then, Id turn around and come back down again as fast and as carefully as possible.
But there were just too many distractions. When I did finally get into a downhill running groove, the manic dance steps and more importantly the massive concentration levels necessary to descend safely and elegantly soon became unbearable.
One interesting distraction was a cute littlefire salamander who posed for me on a rock. I guess he was just relieved I didnt step on him. Ive seen this handsome beastie a few times before always in the vicinity of mountain streams. Unfortunately the photo came out a bit blurred.
Then, whilst slipping and sliding my way through an inundated alpine meadow I noticed some strange species of mushroom growing out of the cowpats. They were all over the place. I wonder if this is what ends up in those chicken and mushroom pies. It was a pity my good friend Miguel Mushroom wasnt around to identify this none too fussy fungi.
Such encounters with fire salamanders and shit dwelling mushrooms probably explain why I will never become even a half decent mountain runner.
At the top of Catoute it was misty, cold and gently coated with recent snow just like a mountain should be. Here I was especially careful as I wasnt wearing boots but the late spring snow was soft, crunchy and safe.
The descent was great. Ive never particularly enjoyed descents but I think Ive gained confidence this year and my ankles seem stronger. I hope Im not tempting fate.
Got back to the car by 11:30. It had taken two hours going up and an hour and a half going down of which half an hour had been used up farting around, taking photos and looking for the right path in the snow. I was walking most of the time but where it was safe to do so I made up time by running or run-walking. The height gain had been about 1000m. At Picos Ill have to do this five times which is a bit daunting
These Sunday morning jaunts form the bulk of my training. Im concentrating on walking quickly and on nimble descents but my staple diet of a couple of midweek runs hasnt changed so the running mileage remains pretty low. I hope its going to be enough to get me around
5 years dont sound much but its already a world away.
Time for the last Sunday morning excursion before the Aquilianos and I decided to revisit Los Ancares. The peaks of Los Ancares are at the tail end of the Cordillera Cantabria, the mountainous spine which runs across the north of Spain and which reaches its maximum splendour in the Picos de Europa, my destination at the end of June. So it seemed appropriate that I should at least pay a visit.
Our starting point would be the village of Burbia and the destination would be the splendid peak of Mostellar (1924m).
I last came here on March 13th 2003. I know this from my route notes which at that time were scribbled down in a notebook and stashed away in a shoebox. I didnt even take any photos. In fact if I hadnt found the shoebox Id probably have nowt more than a few vague recollections of passing this way.
How times have changed..etc..etc..(at least in my chosen method of note taking).
My scribblings briefly described the route taken, the names of my walking companions and a potpourri of random comments and observations such as
Burbia was full of widows with sticks and old men with axes and wheel barrows.
Bought a jar of honey.
Thawing snow and the muddy trail of a minor avalanche below Mostellar.
Windy at the top.
Improvised a couple of walking sticks from a hazel bush.
Wild daffs, holly trees and the occasional yew.
This time I returned to Burbia in training mode and with a camera. And unlike last week I had company. Oscar, one of the Villamanín four, rang up late on Saturday and he was up for the early start; unlike anybody else in a sane state of mind.
Most of the above comments could be re-applied to yesterdays little excursion. I even bought another jar of the local honey. The weather was probably worse though. It was very slippery underfoot with water gushing from every nook and cranny so that even sections of the path had transformed into little streams so it was impossible not to get your feet wet.
Some comments to update the 2003 ones:
Running was mainly confined to 3 or 4 kms of track at the beginning (and at the end) of the route. As the valley steepened and the weather worsened we spent most of the time walking.
About halfway up, a dense wood of oak and holly trees opened out into a grassy meadow occupied by whats locally known as a braña, a collection of buildings used by shepherds in spring or summer but now reduced to a pile of stones. This is the ideal place for a sandwich.
Near the top of Mostellar a chamois (Rupicapra rupicapra) leapt out and we watched enviously as it hurtled down-valley in a matter of seconds.
It was misty and cold up there but not as cold as last week and with barely enough snow remaining to make a couple of snowballs. Donned gloves and cagool for a while but it was warmer once we were out of the mist.
A pile of stones marked the summit into which somebody had inserted a miniature nativity scene complete with Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus and a couple of donkeys. This is far from being the strangest piece of mountain top paraphernalia as that honour must belong to the grand piano found buried just below the summit of Ben Nevis.
Occasionally the light intensified and the mist threatened to lift its veil, tantalisingly revealing split second glimpses of rocky walls and deep green valleys. But it was not to be and the marvellous views were left to our own imagination.
A few minor falls on the way back down leads me to reconsider my footwear. At present Im using some New Balance off road shoes that Riazor Blue sold me from his shop but I might have to find something thatll keep me a little more anchored to the floor. Like moon-boots perhaps.
Hope the weather improves for next week.
Burbia to Mostellar.
About 1000m ascent.
2:30 up 1:45 down.
I'm in awe of this survival stuff - seems technique is everything unless you fancy dying cold and lonely on a distant peak or spending a few weeks looking like an extra from The Mummy. Makes me realise how many levels of running there are out there and, like the wonderful Feet In The Clouds, wish I were able to shed a few stone. Sad to say I'll probably never taste adventure like this, but it sure is great reading about it. Bravo.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sweder Wrote:I'm in awe of this survival stuff - seems technique is everything unless you fancy dying cold and lonely on a distant peak or spending a few weeks looking like an extra from The Mummy. Makes me realise how many levels of running there are out there and, like the wonderful Feet In The Clouds, wish I were able to shed a few stone. Sad to say I'll probably never taste adventure like this, but it sure is great reading about it. Bravo.
Survival stuff? Not sure if I know what you mean. Nobody has died around here (with the exception of one poor bear who was shot near Burbia last year by a short sighted hunter).
If you're familiar with the terrain and have a reasonable level of fitness, which after all is what running gives us, these mountain hikes are accessible to all of us.
I loved "feet in the clouds". If you access the fellrunner forum you'll find that some of the hardcore didn't like it though.
Bierzo Baggie Wrote:Survival stuff? Not sure if I know what you mean.
The terrain sounds like it's to be survived rather than casually galloped over - in relation to the modest goosebumps we negotiate here. We do have a couple of descents (they're always worse than the climbs no?) that you need to keep an eye on. Perhaps your trails aren't so bad when you've tried them out - they sound pretty daunting to me, but then so did running a half marathon a few short years ago.
I'm not surprised at the reaction amongst the hardcore to FITC. I'm sure many see it as an exposé, others as misrepresentative and yet others (if you accept northern stereotypes) just southern softies sticking their nose into a private/ local affair.
What impressed me was the author didn't just roll up in his motor, puff on his tabs and swig from a hip-flask whilst jotting down anecdotes to make a few bob; he took it all on, thrashed himself as hard as he dared and beyond. As much as he could he lived the life; I think that deserves credit, even from the most gnarled and grisled fellrunner. There again perhaps they don't consider writing much of a way to make a living :o
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
This was my main test before Picos. Ive described this route at length before and needless to say its my favourite event of all.
Same time, same place, a pre-dawn rendez-vous in front of the baroque town hall and a record breaking field of 500. As always there were a lot of familiar faces. I spotted the legendary Domingo mountain goat, El Chepas, the big man from Ozuela, Susana the heroine of Truchillas and many more.
At 6am sharp we were given the off and I walked and ran the first hour or so with Miguel Mushroom who was doing the short route. In the past Ive often tried to attack the hills and suffered the consequences later on. This year I was more conservative. At any vague semblance of an incline I reverted into fast walking mode, losing some ground to the people around me but then regaining it as they tired or on the descent. This technique worked very well, especially on the more difficult terrain. I struggled most on the wide tracks and trails which Id classify as ultra-running territory (the route totalled more than 60km). Here I just couldnt keep running, even downhill. No worries, from what I hear Picos is totally unsuitable for running over most of its course.
In fact by the top of the terrible Silla de la Yegua (the mares seat) Id all but given up on even setting off for Picos. The climb comes after 25 sometimes gruelling kilometres and familiarity doesnt seem to make it any less horrifying than the first time when you clasp eyes on the gruesome 1100m wall of ascent. At times I felt as if I was barely moving and when you look back its as if youre hanging in space. Only when I looked at the split times on my route card later on did I realize that I hadnt actually done that badly.
Got back for early afternoon and met the tall thin man from La Bañeza. Id been wanting to talk to him again as he had done Picos last year. He reassured me that a good walking pace and climbing ability is enough to get you round and forget about running. Oh, and theres no rock climbing involved which came as a relief.
What an event. Caused me to return to your more detailed accounts and once again - as before - left me yearning to test myself on this terrain. I feel there's a maturity in your running - not to be confused with age or decrepitude! - that I'll need to adopt if I'm to reach my TOM goals and go beyond that, perhaps even to the Aquilianos.
A big part of this is learning that it's OK to walk when the going gets tough - I'm starting to get that into my thick head - and to See The Big Picture. Picos has obviously focused you to the point that Aquilianos, whilst a big challenge in itself, is a means to an end. I'd be keen to know how far off your best time you were. Many people have said that when they've gone easy early on they've come pretty close to their PB; it was certainly the case for me at Seaford this year.
Well done, and thanks again for the brilliant photos.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Amazing work, BB. You said this was your main test - so how do you think you fared? Better or worse than hoped? What sort of state were you in after this 9.5 hour jaunt? (I note, from your previous monster travelogue, that in the past you've run-walked the event some two hours slower.)
The Aquilianos test went better than expected and it was by far the fastest I’d ever done the long route. In any case, the only time I ever really did this event with an eye on the clock was 2 years ago when I knackered my ankle (and that was down to bad luck more than anything). I’m a very low mileage runner and many of the people around me were heavy duty trainers so setting off slowly was a survival strategy rather than a cunning plan. To my advantage I suppose I knew the route better than most, but an ultra runner I’m definitely not.
OK at the end although we went out for a tex-mex in the evening and I nearly fell asleep..:oThe recovery time for these events is surprisingly short. Maybe it’s because the battering is distributed all over your body and not just concentrated on one set of muscles in particular. I was back running on Tuesday (9kms on Monte Pajariel) and that wouldn’t have been the case after a road marathon.
By the end of the big, big climb I’d actually convinced myself that my chances of finishing Picos (same distance, twice as much climbing, “three” mare’s seats to negotiate!!) were zero but the tall, thin man from La Bañeza talked me back into it. Now I’ve got the sense of anticipation and uncertainty (and fear?) that I haven’t felt since the first time I signed up for a marathon.
I’d love to be able to do the Aquilianos with some of you guys one day. I’m sure you’d all enjoy it whether you take the long option or the shorter one. Any year you fancy it just let me know in good time.
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