There is a particular moment in a mountain navigation event when you turn away from the line everyone else seems to be following and head off on your own.
For a few seconds, doubt creeps in. Have they spotted something you missed? Would it be easier simply to follow?
Then you return to the map, trust your judgement and commit to the decision you have made.
That small act of choosing our own line became the theme of this year’s Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon: two days navigating across the Lake District fells with my teenage son, carrying everything we needed for the journey and the overnight camp.
Is your instinct always right? Not always although even an imperfect decision can teach you something, and the most interesting experiences often begin when you stop following the crowd and choose the route that feels right for you.
Friday: Arriving Before the Rain
The event fell during a weekend of wind and rain sandwiched between two heatwaves.
For weeks, I had been worrying that it might be too hot. Then the mountain forecast appeared and suddenly the concern was no longer sun cream and dehydration. Instead, we were reconsidering our clothing, packing extra layers and debating whether to carry the larger, more substantial tent.
After an evening of preparation and a half day at work on Friday, the car was finally loaded. I parked outside my son’s school, then slipped into a nearby café for a jacket potato while I waited for him to finish.
The plan was to make a quick dash north, arrive in time for dinner at the event centre, register that evening and hopefully catch up with a few familiar faces before the competition began.
For once, everything went almost exactly to plan.
We reached the event centre, pitched the tent before the rain arrived and headed into the marquee for food. Almost immediately, we began spotting people we knew.
Standing there, surrounded by tents and familiar faces, it already felt like the kind of weekend I had been looking forward to.
Other than the rookie mistake of wearing my belay jacket out in the rain where it could get wet, the evening passed smoothly. We were registered, fed and settled in.
All that remained was to get some sleep before heading onto the hills.
Then the marquee generator came on.
In the quiet of the campsite, there seemed to be no escaping its steady mechanical hum. Even so, some sleep had been achieved and it was soon time to get organised.
Saturday: Into the Mist
There was plenty to do before the start: prepare breakfast, sort the equipment and pack everything we would need for both the day and the overnight camp.
I had deliberately selected a late start. With the school year not quite over, I thought my teenage son might appreciate the extra sleep.
Soon enough, though, we were making the traditional brisk walk towards the start, pausing for brief conversations with old friends along the way.
We already knew we would be taking the Bedafell course at a leisurely pace. I was managing an injury and Ewan had not managed much training during the year.
My own preparation had also been fairly light. Work and parenting have absorbed much of my time and energy recently, leaving fewer opportunities for the mountains than I would like. That is high on my list of things to rectify.
We arrived at the start at almost exactly the right time. Within moments, we had our maps and control descriptions.
Rather than sitting down to mark the entire course, I decided to plot the first couple of controls and get moving. I expected to travel more quickly than Ewan over most of the terrain, leaving me time to add the remaining controls while he caught up.
That proved mostly true, except on the steeper climbs, where he increasingly began to pull ahead.
I may have been carrying a little more of the shared equipment but it was also a quiet reminder that the balance between us is changing.
As ever, the course began by sending us straight uphill.
We initially chose a direct line, followed by a mixture of footpaths and contouring as we moved around the slopes of Great Dodd. There seemed to be considerably more traversing across steep ground than we remembered from previous years on the Bedafell course.
The weather was better than it had been the year before and there was far less water underfoot. Even so, the day remained wet, windy and misty.
Those conditions can suit people who enjoy complicated navigation, particularly when the poor visibility slows down the faster runners. This time, however, the combination of the weather and my reduced fitness made the event feel less social than previous Bedafell weekends.
Not far from the start, we spotted a friend and his daughter arriving at a control just as we were leaving. After that, there were long stretches when it felt as though we were navigating very much on our own.
Looking back, our navigation was generally accurate although our route choices were less decisive.
Again and again, we selected a compromise somewhere between the alternatives later suggested by the course planners. We were rarely badly wrong but we did not always fully commit to the strongest option.
It was a useful reminder that navigation and route selection are related but different skills and that both are perishable.
As the wet, awkward contouring continued, I began adapting our approach. My lack of recent hill time was showing and our objective was completion rather than speed.
Near Birkett Fell, we deliberately chose established paths over a shorter but more tiring traverse. It was not necessarily the fastest line on paper but it reduced the amount of awkward ground and suited the way we were moving as day one came towards a close.
It also led to one of those unexpected encounters that makes the Saunders special. We met an old friend from my mountaineering adventures in the 1990s, who was sweeping one of the longer courses. We slowed down for a brief conversation before continuing at our own paces.
Even when you choose your own line, you still meet people who have shared parts of the journey.
The final few controls were relatively straightforward. Before long, the overnight camp appeared below us, with small tents beginning to spread across the field. Even from a distance, one thing was obvious; it did not look particularly flat.
Searching for Level Ground
We arrived at the overnight camp and immediately began looking for two things: our friends and a reasonably level patch where we could pitch together.
After almost an entire circuit of the campsite, we eventually found Jon and Jon, who had come down from the Scafell course. We chose the best nearby spot we could find and put up the Terra Nova Voyager.
It was not exactly level, but it would do. With the tent standing, we headed over to the marquee to collect the milk and drinks we had preordered. That was when we noticed a board showing the different camping zones.
There was another field. Better still, the blue zone carried the almost unbelievable promise:
“Lots of space here and it’s flatter.”
After our near complete tour of the sloping main field, it sounded like mythical flat land.
Our main priority was to get the best night’s sleep possible, so we headed straight back to ask whether Jon and Jon fancied moving too. Then, as quickly as possible, we took our tent down and carried everything across to the second field before the rain arrived. The rain came later that evening, making the decision feel even better.
Jon and Jon joined us a little later, followed by Alistair and his daughter. The second field remained surprisingly quiet. Perhaps most people had not realised it was there or perhaps they preferred being close to the marquee, the results and the general activity.
For us, the extra space and flatter ground were worth the short walk.
The afternoon gradually slipped into evening, and it was time for our traditional three course mountain marathon meal.
We began with noodles and miso soup, followed by quinoa with stock, then finished with custard and flapjack.
It may not have earned any culinary awards but after a wet and windy day on the hills, it felt exactly right.
We spent some time catching up with friends near the results area while Ewan settled down with a magazine and a podcast. Eventually, after the essential trip to clean our teeth, we returned to the tent and prepared for the night.
Our sleeping arrangements had received a significant upgrade since previous years.
The balloon beds had been replaced by inflatable Decathlon mats. They took up more space and added some weight to our packs, although we were approaching the course at a leisurely pace rather than chasing every possible gram.
For the prospect of a better night’s sleep before day two, the extra comfort felt entirely worthwhile.
Sunday: A Stronger Line
Sunday morning came around sooner than expected.
Breakfast was Nutty Granola, half an M&S roasted red pepper and vegetable tortilla and a hot drink made on my new Simond MT900 ultralight gas stove.
The stove had replaced a much older model and worked brilliantly. It was small, light and efficient, precisely what was needed while trying to prepare breakfast and pack away a damp camp.
However early you wake on the second morning of a mountain marathon, time always seems to disappear.
There is food to prepare, sleeping equipment to compress, a tent to take down and two days’ worth of belongings to squeeze back into the same rucksacks. Suddenly, your start time is approaching and you are standing in a queue for the toilet.
Fortunately, the allocated times appeared to be more of a guide on the second day. Teams joined the start queue and left in roughly the order they arrived.
Before long, we were moving again.
We followed the road away from the camp near Dockray close to Ullswater, then began climbing back onto the slopes around Great Dodd. After crossing Rush Gill, there was inevitably more ascent.
There always seems to be more climbing than expected on these events, although I suppose the clue is there in the name: mountain marathon.
Despite tired legs, we made good progress.
Sunday remained cloudy and misty, but the weather felt slightly kinder than it had on Saturday. There were occasional views, and the wind was less of a constant obstacle.
Our route choices were better too. Rather than repeating some of the long, exhausting contours of day one, we selected a line towards Clough Head that made better use of the terrain and established paths. It may not always have been the most direct route on the map but it reduced the amount of awkward traversing and suited the way we were moving.
The navigation remained accurate although this time the wider decisions around it felt more confident.
Along the way, the mist occasionally lifted enough to reveal the surrounding landscape. We also passed some curious rusting structures high on the fell, resembling the remains of old railway wagons.
I still do not know exactly what they were or how they came to be there, but they were another reminder of the industrial traces scattered through even apparently wild landscapes.
Eventually, the event centre came back into view.
There is always something satisfying about returning after two days on the hills, having carried everything you needed and successfully pieced together a route from one control to the next.
Before long, we were eating the post event meal and catching up with friends.
We also had the pleasure of watching Jon and Jon collect their prize for winning the veterans category on Scafell, the longest and most demanding of the linear courses.
For us, there was no podium, but that had never been the objective. We had navigated well, adjusted our plans when necessary and completed another Saunders together.
There was only one stage left: the journey home. We stopped at the lovely Café 66 before joining what turned out to be a remarkably smooth drive south. Perhaps everyone else was already at home preparing to watch England play later that evening.
Either way, after two days of wind, rain, mist, tussocks, contouring and carrying everything we needed across the fells, an uncomplicated journey home felt like a final small victory.
What the Kit List Revealed
Looking back at my preparation list, I realised it says quite a lot about how my approach to mountain marathons has changed.
I still try to keep weight under control. We used a lightweight rucksack liner, compact stove, titanium cooking equipment and carefully chosen clothing.
But I am no longer interested in cutting every possible gram.
We carried the Terra Nova Voyager rather than the lightest tent available. We replaced our balloon beds with more comfortable inflatable mats. I packed clean socks, spare underwear and a silk liner to protect my down sleeping bag.
None of those choices would help us move more quickly between controls.
They might, however, help us sleep better, stay warmer and begin the second day feeling slightly more human.
That balance mattered because we were not trying to win. I was managing an injury, Ewan had not had much opportunity to train and we had decided that completing the course together mattered more than chasing a time.
The rest of the equipment reflected years of refining small systems.
Water purification tablets gave us confidence with drinking water as we went. Long socks provided some protection against midges, while food bags worn inside our wet fell running shoes made moving around the overnight camp more tolerable.
A Pertex layer gave us another option as the forecast shifted from fears of excessive heat to wind and rain.
The first aid kit remained compact but was based on the problems I might realistically need to manage: bleeding, blisters, strapping, minor burns and damaged feet.
There were battery packs and headphones, because teenagers and adults sometimes appreciate a little personal space after a long day.
There were also two midge head nets and insect repellent. Some lessons do not need to be learned twice.
Even the cooking equipment carries its own history.
My much loved titanium MSR pan was lent to me by my dad for a trip to New Zealand many years ago. I am not sure whether he ever expected to get it back. It has travelled with me ever since, usually accompanied by a sheet of kitchen foil that serves as both lid and wind shield.
It may not be the newest or most elegant system, but it works. Every time I use it, the latest adventure feels connected to those that came before.
Taking Our Own Line
All in all, it had been another excellent Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon.
One of the things I value most about the event is the community that forms around it. Some friendships stretch back decades. Others exist largely through these annual encounters in a field somewhere in the Lake District.
Yet each time we meet, the conversation seems to begin again naturally.
In the end, taking our own line was not about finding the shortest route or carrying the lightest possible pack. It was about making decisions that suited the two of us, adapting when the terrain or our bodies demanded it, and accepting that Ewan is beginning to pull ahead on some of the climbs.
We did not stand on a podium, but that had never been our measure of success.
We navigated accurately, changed our plans when necessary, completed another Saunders together and added another shared adventure to the collection.