The Four Peaks race used to be held in the Lake District on a weekend as near to the longest day as is possible. I don’t think it is held any longer because when I tried to look it up on the Internet it was not mentioned. Instead, there is now something called the Lake District 4 Peaks challenge which is an 18 mile event held over three days. I suspect this new challenge is not as tough as the old one when all four peaks had to be climbed in one day and comprised running or walking 60 plus miles and climbing the equivalent of Everest but without the altitude. The four mountains needing to be navigated in the challenge were the four Lake District peaks that are over 3,000 feet. These are Skidaw, Scarfell, Scarfell Pike and Helvellyn.

In fact, you didn’t have to be a fell runner to take the challenge. When I did it, there was a field of perhaps 350 taking part of which probably only thirty or forty of which were fell runners. The rest were walkers. I was betwixt and between.

I was working in Lancaster University at the time and was living with my wife, two small children and a dog in a small village called Burton-in-Kendal 14 miles north of Lancaster. Burton is mentioned in the Doomsday book so it has been around for a long time. It was once the most important village in the area and even had a corn exchange. At that stage it was more important than nearby Kendal but the new canal between Lancaster and Kendal built to transport corn and coal bypassed Burton which lost its importance. It was only rejuvenated when Lancaster University was built in the 1960’s. Burton is now an attractive little village in easy commuting distance of the Lancaster University and many members of staff lived and, I’m sure, still live there. The area is rich in natural beauty with two fells (mountains) of outstanding natural interest immediately next to Burton. I used to take my dog to walk and run for hours over the fells.

After work on the Friday immediately before the fateful weekend, I went home where I had a meal and a rest before setting out at about 10 pm to drive the 50 or so miles to Keswick where the the start of the race was due to start to start. It was actually scheduled to start at or 2 am in the early hours of of Saturday morning. It was high summer but it was drizzling rain and was cold. Around me fell runners stripped down to shorts, running shoes and light day sacs for the race while walkers checked that they were carrying the obligatory water, warm clothing and emergency life support aids, which were all loaded into large rucksacks. We also had on big, heavy boots for the expected tough terrain. For reasons of safety, we all had to show we were carrying the various essential food, drink and equipment when we checked in at the Moot Hall in the centre of Keswick.

We started on time at 2 am as scheduled. It was very dark because of a heavy cloud cover and it was still raining. The fell runners immediately raced off leaving the walkers lagging far behind. I used to be a very fast walker and I quickly found I was in no man’s land. I could not run under all the equipment I was carrying but I was faster than the other walkers. As I mentioned, it was very dark and I was without a torch. It was also the first time I had attempted the challenge; I was not very familiar with the Geography of Keswick; and I was in danger of getting lost before I had hardly started. I didn’t know which way to go and if it hadn’t been for the occasional glimpse of a flashing torch from the fell runners, by now a long way ahead of me, I would have been lost. I followed those lights as best I could and gradually I left Keswick behind.

I began to feel more confident that I was going the right way when I could feel I was beginning to climb. Soon, there was no doubt about it. I was definitely on the steep, wide, deeply eroded path up Skidaw and the lights of the fell runners were now plain to see. It is about five miles from the centre of Keswick to the top of Skidaw and, of course, it’s all steeply uphill. I was an excellent climber and even though I was far more heavily laden than they were, I was gradually beginning to reel in the fell runners. Indeed, I had actually caught and passed most of them just before we reached the summit where we had to check-in to prove we had actually climbed Skidaw. To my surprise, I discovered I was in 7th place.

I had spent a great deal of effort getting to where I was and I was sweating profusely. Nevertheless, my arms and hands were absolutely frozen. My heavy rucksack was restricting blood flow to them. Also, there was only a very thin layer of the fabric of my light-weight waterproof top protecting me from the wind and rain and because the fabric was soaked on the outside from rain but was also soaked on the inside from my sweat, most apparently on that area that was trying to give protection to my bare arms, it was as if I was climbing with no arm protection whatsoever. So, despite the freezing cold, the driving wind and the rain, at the summit I had to take my waterproof off – a slow, difficult task with frozen hands and arms – in order to put my sweater on to make a small barrier between my arms and the outside elements . While I was occupied with my clothing change, quite a few runners passed me. Eventually, satisfied I was better protected from the elements, I started on the long descent.

At that stage, I found myself in the company of two friendly fell runners who, compared with me, seemed remarkable lightly weighted down . ‘Where are your rucksacks?’ I inquired. They just smiled and tapped the side of their noses wisely. Quite clearly, I had just made the climb carrying at least 40 lbs more than they were carrying, if you included my heavily laden rucksack, my boots, my heavy outdoor clothing and my water, etc. I wondered how they had managed to fool the race officials who were supposed to check on these things. I found out at the base of the climb.

On our descent we overtook no one but also, no one overtook us. The climbed and then the descent of Skidaw is a distance of some ten miles but eventually we found ourselves on the road back into Keswick. Then, just as we were on the outskirts of the town, my fell running friends stopped and climbed over the wall that guards the town’s cemetery. There, snuggled against the wall, next to a small water tap used by visitors to water the plants and flowers they had brought for deceased friend and family, were their two small daysacks. ‘We always check in with all the regulation gear but once we’ve completed the check we give everything to our wives to hide here in the cemetery. It makes no sense to carry everything up Skidaw and then bring it all back down again,’ they told me. I wondered if I was the only idiot who was obeying the rules.

As you might imagine, after Skidaw, the jog into Keswick was relatively easy and when we checked-in at the Moot Hall again I found I was now in 12th position. I had lost five positions while changing into my sweater.

After checking-in, we were faced with the 15 mile trek along Borrowdale where we were heading for a small settlement called Seatoller, reputedly the place with the highest rainfall in the whole of England. That morning, it was already light at 4 am ish and, thankfully, it was no longer raining.

It was quite a long slog to Seatoller along the road and my fell running friends were able to outdistance me as, with all the kit I was carrying, I could only jog and walk whereas they couild jog all the way. I probably reached the large barn at Seatoller where we were next supposed to check-in about 5 or 10 minutes behind them. And this is where I made my first and biggest mistake.

I didn’t want to get stiff by resting for too long so, after accepting the hot drink the organisers provided, I set off again to climb Scarfell while my fell running friends were still resting. I realized my over-confidence had caused me to make a big mistake when, after travelling a further mile or so, I found myself in a dense mist. I had never before climbed Scarfell and I knew if I kept blundering about in the mist, I was in serious danger of getting lost. Fortunately, another competitor caught me up as I was contemplating my next course of action and I tagged along with him. Sadly, he proved to be a really miserable, uncommunicative fellow but at least he knew where he was going. He clearly resented me walking along with him so I fell back and just tagged along behind him.

All went well until we reached the Summit of Scarfell. There is what looks like a large cairn on the summit but as I walked to one side of the cairn and my ‘companion’ walked passed on the other side, I didn’t see anywhere to check-in. When we had gone a further twenty metres I said to my companion, ‘I thought there would be a check-in post back there.’

‘There was,’ he replied.

He had checked in without even breaking his stride while, I, on the wrong side of the cairn, had failed to check in. I had to return to the cairn, which was more of a small shelter open on one side, but not the side I had passed it. After I had checked- in, my ‘friend’ had completely disappeared into the mist. I suppose it takes all sorts but I know I would never have done that to anyone. In my opinion, it was a mean thing to have done. Unfortunately, I really was lost now. I knew Scarfell Pike was comparatively close but I had no idea in which direction it was and the thick mist shrouded everything.

I now realize I was operating on automatic and my brain had become disconnected from my body. The obvious and sensible thing for me to have done was to have taken shelter and to have waited quietly for the next man to come up and to have teamed up with him. But I wasn’t thinking straight. Instead, I panicked and went racing off like a headless chicken and immediately got well and truly lost. I then spent the next 30 minutes racing up and down Scarfell trying to find my way. Eventually, I met up with a group of competitors who were on their way up Scarfell for the first time that day. Not so me, I had been up and up and down three or four times and was now completely knackered. At last common sense prevailed and I fell in behind the group and climbed Scarfell for possibly the fifth time that morning. Gradually I regained my composure and my strength and I stayed with the group until we had also climbed Scarfell Pike.

The sun was now shining, which had caused the mist to disappear and knowing I now had to strike off north east towards Great End and then High White Stones, mountains that are not quite 3,000 feet high but are not far off it, I said goodbye to the group that had helped me through the difficult mist covered bit and set off towards Great End. I was now trying to regain some of my lost time and I again missed the track and descended too far. So, instead of a decent track along the side of the mountain, I found myself wading through bogs, which was hard work. But at least I knew I was going in approximately the right direction. Also, because I was desperately trying to make up lost ground, I was going much quicker than my body could sustain and eventually I passed out jon the side of High White Stones. Fortunately, the sun was shining brightly so I came to no harm. I was probably unconscious and semi-conscious for some time. and a group of my friends who had come to High White Stones to watch the event found me. I was on the point of giving up at that stage. One of them gave me a life-saving drink of hot Ribena. As well as being hot, it was also full of sugar and was exactly what I needed. Somewhat restored, I set off again to climb Helvellyn which was then about 6 miles ahead of me.

The climb was long and hard but the weather was clear and I managed it fine. Nevertheless, when I was on Helvellyn’s summit, I made my next big mistake. Instead of taking the clearly marked White Stones path down to the road below, stupidly, I reckoned it would be quicker and would enable me to catch up some of the time I had lost if I went straight down. Somehow I thought that taking a straight line down to the road far below would be quicker than jogging down the well established White Stones route that I knew so well. Of course, I was not exactly thinking clearly by this time. Indeed, nothing could have been more wrong. Not only was it a much slower way to get to the road, I was also a much more dangerous way to do so.

The descent was tricky in the extreme and my toes inside my boots were hit black and blue with every step I took. So much so, by the time I reached the road, after my legs and feet had taken such a sustained pounding, I was in a very bad way again. I could now only limp slowly along the long road back to Keswick where I was passed by another friend who was also in the event. He had given his rucksack and boots to another spectating friend who was driving a car, and had then changed into his running shoes. I had spoken to the car owning friend earlier when she had warned me that Mike was by that time about half a mile behind me. She wanted me to give her my rucksack as well because she could see I was in a pretty bad state but I was determined to complete the entire event legally. Of course, I was eventually overtaken by Mike.

I finished in 35 place in just a smidgen over 15 hours. I reckoned I would have been at least an hour, possibly 2 hours quicker had I not made so many silly mistakes that not only had cost me time but also masses amounts of energy as I had tried to rectify them. I had also probably run five miles more than I should have. It had been quite an experience and one I had no intention of ever repeating.

I then had the job of driving 50 miles home. I was dead beat, I ached all over and I didn’t know if I would make it. Fortunately, I did. My dear wife was waiting anxiously for me and carefully helped me out of my boots and clothes while I moaned and groaned at each and every movement. When my feet were revealed, we were both shocked; they really were quite literally, black and blue. Strangely, although they were sore, they were not as sore as their looks suggested they should be. Then I realized what I was looking at. My feet from my ankles down had been dyed a dark blue by all the peat bogs I had walked through. They really weren’t as bad as they looked. That said, they really were in a sorry state and over the next couple of days I lost about 6 nails from my toes. Fortunately, they did eventually grow back. I had been operating at a high physical level all that day and even though I had been continually sipping water, my water loss was at a much higher rate than I could replace it. The fact was, I was severely dehydrated. I had weighed about 11 stone at the start of the race and was very fit without an ounce of fat on me, or so I thought. When I weighed that evening, I was shocked to discover I weighed a mere 9 stone. I had lost two stones in weight in 15 hours. The truth was, medically speaking, I was actually in a critical state. Bodies switch off when they lose as much water as I had lost and it was surprising my body had not shut down again as it had done on the side of High White Stones. I kept drinking glasses of water every hour throughout the night and I never once needed to urinate. After 24 hours I had regained a stone of that lost weight and after a week I had regained another half stone but it took me another month before I was back to 11 stone. I swore I would never do the race again.

They say time heals and a year later I was once again seriously considering attempting the race for a second time. I was confident that, armed with the experience I had gained from the year before, I would easily better my last time. Indeed, I was hoping for a time of better than 13 hours. But, because I had lost so much water the previous year I decided to let my doctor make the final decision for me. I explained to him about losing 2 lbs of weight while doing the challenge the previous year and was surprised that he seemed quite sanguine about it. ‘You can lose that much weight while sleeping,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. If you want to do it, go ahead and do it.’ It was only when I was driving away from the surgery that I realized I had said pounds, not stones. No wonder he was not surprised. In the end I decided that because I was someone who sweats quite profusely when indulging in high effort activities, it would be unwise to repeat the experience, which I never did.

Bernard Gallivan

February 2019