Merry Men's Muddy Monkish Mission.

Mr Wait started hatching the plan to run some of The St. Cuthbert's Way quite a while ago if I remember rightly, and I'd expressed an interest when the idea first sprang up but then the trail went cold, as it were, and nothing more was said until a couple of weeks ago. Both Karl and Bruce were in touch a few days before the planned date and eventually I declared myself 'in'.

A quick virtual recce via goodrunguide and its excellent route-planner facility showed a distance of about 17miles and modest climbs amounting to about 850ft. I knew we were in for some pleasant territory in the latter half as we would approximately bisect one of my favourite training loops out of Belford, but the first few miles were much less familiar to me. And even the best route-planners, sat-navs and whatever can't tell you what the going is like underfoot, so a bit of local knowledge came as a good fore-warning when my dear old Mum told of one section through Kyloe Woods: "A bloody quagmire!"

8am rendezvous at The Riverside in Wooler and we were underway. I was re- introduced to Dave Egan, experienced ultra-runner, who I'd met fleetingly at Borders Search & Rescue Run before I charged off to get myself lost. Dave had put in a few miles already having run down from home at Branxton as a warm up! Messers Crombie, Wait and Pringle, in addition to myself, made up the rest of the party. Mr. Crombie can also claim some ultra-running experience. He modestly mentioned that he'd met Mr. Egan whilst participating in The Lakeland 50 earlier this year. Bravo! Mr Wait, not to be outdone by Mr. Crombie, soon declared that he too was to join the ranks of The Ultras having entered the Highland Fling (53miles?) next April. It dawned on me that between them, over the course of 2 races, these mega-mileage headcases would probably clock up more miles than I had so far this year. Mr. Pringle, a man of fewer words than the others, declined to 'big-up' any of his past achievements/future plans and focused on the route ahead.

Away we went over Weetwood Moor taking in the steepest climb of the day within the first half mile! Weather was overcast with sporadic rays of sunshine and more sporadic showers. Nice views over Wooler to Cheviot as we dropped down to Weetwood Bridge but barely time to take them in before Mr.Wait took centre stage by 'slowing himself down grabbing some bracken fronds' and lacerated his finger in the process. An amplified heart rate and (so it seemed) haemophilia gave rise to quite an impressive amount of gore which he only partly staunched with some bog roll. Between us, first rate boy-scouts that we were, we had zero first-aid provision! Well- Dave had some ibuprofen and a plaster he'd used before on a blister...or something. We pressed on up the undulating road to the Hortons, Mr. Wait growing paler with every step, our sympathies flagging likewise. Over Wait's relentless demands for attention Mr. Crombie outlined a rather energetic pyramid session he'd run on the very same road just the other day... I was finding out just how Merry these Merry Men could be! At Hazelrigg Schoolhouse Wait, now paler than death itself and weaving about the road unsteadily due to lack of blood, took practical action and accosted the occupant with a request for a plaster for his poorly finger. And was met with a similar measure of sympathy there as from his fellow runners. The mangled stump was starting to scab over though and before long we had the distraction of Cuddy's Cove to marvel at. Had dutiful monks really traversed this path on their own ultra trek, loyally carrying the corpse of their mate? If Wait started bleeding again would we have to loyally carry the corpse of our mate the rest of the way to Holy Island? Doubtful. On both counts.

 

Above Cuddy's Cove the vistas of the coast and almost all of the remainder of the route were spread out before us. Apart from the near loss of Wait's arm, and some soreness which was troubling Mr.Pringle, we were all intact and ready to set about the slime which we soon encountered as we descended and got amidst Kyloe Woods and Dolly Parton's Lonnen. (Well- 'Dolly Somebody-or-Other's Lonnen' but, for some reason, Dolly Parton was the name that stuck.) Mr. Crombie pointed out an interesting feature of the landscape alongside the track, a higgledy-piggledy collapsed fence-line which he remembered erecting a few weeks before... The mud was good pre cross-country season experience and surprisingly little of it stuck. After the wooded section another brief stint on the road took us through Fenwick and across the A1 then our next little obstacle was the railway line. Messers Egan and Wait flagrantly disobeyed all safety warnings and sprinted across, probably without even looking! The much more safety conscious Mr. Crombie followed the correct procedure and phoned the signalman from a little telephone kiosk provided.... Three phone calls later we were eventually on our way again! (1st call: "No. Don't cross. A train is coming. Tell your mates who did cross that they're lucky to be alive. Especially the one who is bleeding. Phone again when train has passed!"/ 2nd call: "Ok. Cross now. Phone again from other side."/ 3rd call: "Right, if you're all safely across the Transport Police won't need to be informed.")

Onto the foreshore and the last lap was following the line of marker poles that show the most direct route across to Holy Island itself; The Pilgrim's Way. Since this is a pathway I've always wanted to walk or run, but never actually got around to doing,  it was the part of the route that I enjoyed most. (It being totally flat and the finish and pub within sniffing distance had nowt to do with it!) Feeling pretty lively I struck out a bit faster for this last couple of miles along with Mr.Crombie and we did our best to keep the quicker pace even where it got muddiest and slippiest, just before we were back to road again. Our arrival at the Chare Ends coincided almost perfectly with that of Mr. Murray-John who had very sportingly agreed to come and collect us all in Crombie's pick-up even though a knee injury had put him out of the day's running. Before leaving for home we enjoyed beers on the island in The Ship where the barman did look somewhat dubious at Mr.Egan's claim of having run all the St. Cuthbert's way from Melrose in his bid for a free pint. Despite my prior concern we weren't turned away at the door even though covered in mud and blood and sweat, and the crowds strangely dispersed to leave us the best seats by the fire! Jolly hospitable. And a great finish to the morning out.