Hot on the heels of my adventure on the Isle of Rum, legs still sore and mind still buzzing, I found myself, just days later, gearing up for another epic outing: the YHA Peak Marathon. It was great to revisit my diary notes from all those years ago, and I’ve written them up here.
Organised by the Peak Regional Group of the Youth Hostels Association (YHA), this event drew a small army of volunteers and an enthusiastic mix of walkers and runners from across the country. Some braved all 50 miles from Crowden to Ilam, while my father and I opted for the shorter (but still challenging) route from Edale to Ilam: about 51 km (31+ miles) in total, winding through the limestone dales and valleys of the Peak District.
4th April – Friday Night: Gathering the Threads
I’d stayed with a friend after returning from Rum. His mother cooked an “experimental dish” for dinner, unsurprisingly excellent, given her usual high standards, and we caught up on life while his father, sporting some rather quirky glasses, recovered from a spell of double vision following an accident.
Afterwards, it was time to head to Edale YHA, where my father and I would start the marathon early the next morning.
5th April – Saturday
I woke at 6:30 a.m. and had breakfast at 7:30, trying not to dwell on how stiff my joints still felt from my previous escapade on Rum’s Cuillin Ridge. The morning was damp and drizzly, classic Peak District weather, but we soon gathered at the start line near Edale YHA.
About fifty participants huddled in the rain, each with a different approach to the day: some wore full boots and hefty packs, others just a bumbag and trainers. I stuck with the tried-and-true kit I’d taken to Rum:
- Rucksack (Karrimor Hot Ice 30 L) carrying waterproofs, a duvet jacket, food, and water.
- Walshes (my trusty fell-running shoes) + Gore-Tex socks.
- Troll trousers (multi-coloured, very ’90s!).
- Buffalo mountain shirt over a thermal top.
At 9:30 a.m., our starter signaled the off, not with a gun, but with a foghorn, and we set out into the wet day with a sense of camaraderie.
Checkpoint to Checkpoint
1. Castleton YH (10:30 a.m., 5 km)
I’m guessing we crossed Hollins Cross and headed down into Castleton. It was still early in the day, so we just grabbed some cold drinks and pressed on.
2. Peak Forest (11:45 a.m., 11 km)
Another short pit stop for cold drinks. We were making good time.
3. Ravenstor YH (1:40 p.m., 19 km)
We had our checkpoint card stamped here and then took refuge in what looked like a rather posh dining room. The volunteers treated us to tea, soup, and a mountain of sandwiches.
4. Monsal Dale (3:30 p.m., 25 km)
A quick “cold-drink-and-go” checkpoint. Spirits remained high, but the miles were starting to add up.
5. Monyash (4:45 p.m., 30 km)
I’d visited this village before on a summer walk with the same friend I’d stayed with the night before, and it felt nostalgic to be back. As we left, a group of faster walkers, apparently tackling the full 50 miles, overtook us. We’d see them again soon enough.
6. Hartington YH (6:30 p.m., 37 km)
Another checkpoint, another feast: soup, tea, and (you guessed it) more sandwiches.
Here, we discovered an interesting twist: there was no preset route between checkpoints. The speedy group that overtook us at Monyash arrived at the same time we did, despite their faster pace, because they’d stuck to roads while we navigated cross-country footpaths. They were less than delighted by our “shortcut.”
Fast walking: 0, Good navigation: 1
7. Mill Dale (8:40 p.m., 45 km)
After Hartington, we left via a footpath clearly signposted for Milldale. By the time we reached Mill Dale, it was twilight, and my father’s feet were protesting loudly. My own knee twinged, a painful reminder of last week’s all-day ridge traverse.
It was at this point, often recalled by my father in the years afterward, that we discovered I had forgotten to pack a spare headtorch battery. I suspect the hard-to-find Petzl Zoom batteries had been used up on Rum. It’s funny to remember how little light they provided and how quickly they drained all those years ago. I’ll be sure to double-check my teenager’s kit if we do something similar!
The last few miles through Dovedale, done in near-darkness, felt surreal, like walking through a dreamscape of limestone outcrops and the soft rush of the River Dove. I noted in my diary that I questioned my sanity: Why, exactly, am I doing this? But there’s a certain thrill in pushing on when your body says “enough.” Soon enough, we found ourselves picking our way into Ilam Hall YHA.
8. Ilam YH (10:28 p.m., 51 km)
We arrived with weary relief, finishing in about 13 hours, including our leisurely checkpoint stops. It might have been a mile over or under a “true” marathon distance, but it felt every bit as challenging as an ultra.
That night we learned a wise truth:
“The amount of pleasure you get from stopping is directly proportional to how far (and how painfully) you’ve traveled.”
After devouring dinner and a celebratory beer, I all but collapsed into bed, buoyed by the knowledge that I’d survived another mountainous challenge so soon after Rum.
6th April – Sunday: Recovery and Bacon Butties
I woke up surprisingly mobile, though my knee throbbed more than it had the night before. Two weeks of rest lay ahead while I tried to revise for my A-levels. We had breakfast at 8:30 a.m., then caught an 11:00 a.m. coach back to Edale to retrieve our car.
Hunger soon led us to the Hitch and Hike outdoor store and then a nearby café, but they’d “gone upmarket” and no longer served bacon butties! We made do with a quick sandwich, then relocated to the café by Grindleford station for a huge mug of tea. That place has been a legendary stop for generations of hungry walkers.
Before finally heading home, we dropped by Stancliffe Hall (where I’d prepped for Rum) to return a stray Karrimat. Our last stop was Scarthin Books in Cromford, best described as “a bookshop for the majority of minorities,” crammed with the odd, obscure titles you never knew you needed. It was a perfect place to wind down after an epic weekend.
Reflections
What stands out most about the YHA Peak Marathon is how it blends so many elements of classic British hill-walking culture: warm hostel welcomes, endless tea and sandwiches, route-finding decisions that can make or break your day, and the camaraderie of sharing both the highs and lows on the trail.
Doing it just a day after a demanding mountain trip on Rum was a testament to the resilience (and occasional madness) that fuels all who fall in love with the hills and wild spaces.
Sadly, these specific YHA events are no longer happening, although plenty of others still exist, most notably the Fellsman, which celebrated its 50th anniversary in 2012 and remains going strong today.
There’s a little part of me that wonders about doing a self-supported version of the Crowden to Ilam route. With the flagstone paths now laid across many of the boggy tops, it’s probably much less of a quagmire than it was 30 years ago. The sense of accomplishment upon staggering into the finish at day’s end, rain-soaked, footsore, and thoroughly euphoric, is something you won’t soon forget.