Paddy Buckley Winter Round – For Chris Smith

In the summer, for lack of races, I first contemplated the idea of the Paddy Buckley round. I remember thinking I was going to go and bash it out ‘on sight’, without any recce. I actually remember doing the sums; I have run 30 miles in 3hrs, 30 miles is halfway, that leaves me another 14.5hrs to finish the second half and still break the current record.

Then I thought, maybe I’ll do just one recce, in an area I don’t know that well. As I stumbled through the rocky, boggy, jumbled, messy terrain, wondering if anyone in the world could run through this, I recalculated my sums quickly.

I started to recce the course seriously. One morning, covered in cloud and rain, I had taken the wrong line up a crag. Rather than turn back, I stubbornly tried to climb through it. The rock was wet, I couldn’t see where I was going, my fingers were numb. I pulled a rock the size of an anvil directly down onto my knee cap. I swore at the sheep, those fucking sheep, as they looked on, disinterested.

That knee pain caused me to quit three attempts at the Paddy over the summer. I felt so sorry for myself.

I had been umming and ahhing about doing the Winter Paddy. I was disinclined to get out and do the mountain runs in the dark and cold. Also, there were no guarantees my knee was any better. What if I did all the training and had to abort again?

Then Chris died and it woke me up. I decided to stop being a coward and go and try.

Training went well, my confidence grew, as the big day approached. I dedicated the attempt to Chris’ life.

I didn’t set out that morning with some conscious agenda of running with Chris, or in Chris’ memory, or anything like that. The task was demanding enough that it required all my focus; Always visualising two mountains ahead. Remembering to fuel on the hour, every hour. Drinking to thirst. Always taking the easiest step.

And it went on like this. Until mile 34.

The sunshine begins to fade on the empty Glyderau plateau. As the otherworldly rocks, like kryptonite, draw long shadows across the moonscape, the sky and the stones all yawn in a deep yellow glow.

I’m all alone, running up to the summit of Glyder Fawr. A sunray breaks through the vanilla sky, finds my brain, and floods it, with a long forgotten memory, from decades ago…

I’m standing by a bar, buying a round, 4 or 5 pints. The barmaid informs me grumpily that my card has been declined, she presents the card machine a little too close to my face to prove it. Before I have time to say anything, Chris, who is standing to my right, flips his card to the barmaid with a huge smile on his face.

He says nothing, his smile is so wide and genuine, it makes everything ok for everyone, immediately. We are in our early 20s, just kids, I don’t even know if Chris was in the round. Such a precious fragment of memory, buried under so many years of life’s deadwood. The simplicity, which conveys the class and character of the young man. The kindness. Tears rise up out of my belly and burst from my eyes. My knees nearly collapse under me.

I didn’t go out looking for it, I wasn’t expecting it, but the memory is such a valuable gift, one which I can hold onto forever, that I suddenly realise I have already got what I came here for. It is hard to write that I felt Chris was with me at that moment. I’ve read similar lines so many times and have dismissed them incredulously. But maybe, people say this stuff because it actually happens.

If I had finished those summer attempts at the Paddy, I wouldn’t be up here now. If I had pacers with me, I wouldn’t have this memory. It felt like, for that moment, I was exactly where I needed to be, and the universe had conspired to put me here.

I still have to take the steep descent down the quarry into Llanberis, which did for my knee in the summer. But, somehow, from this point on, I know I’m going to finish. I know I’m going to be OK.

I would be quite happy to stop the report here, having already communicated as clearly as I can, how the whole adventure came down to mile 34.

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Briefly, up to that point, there was little to note of any consequence. I had realised I was carrying too much food, was never going to eat it all, so bundled some of it, along with my new headtorch, which lasted all of 2.5hrs, in the walls of a ruin to collect later (I have collected it now). Tryfan passed smoothly, I had operated well inside my comfort zone.

Reaching Llanberis, I am over 40 miles into the 62 mile challenge, and over an hour ahead of winter record pace. I am confident that, unless I fall, I will complete the round in a new record. I’m not tired, or achey, or in any pain whatsoever. The only problem I face is fuelling. I don’t feel like eating anything. When each hour mark comes, I stop, open two gels, get my water ready, psyche myself up, hold my breath, take them both in as quick as I can, big slug of water to wash it all down…yuck!

I have peanut butter wraps in my rucksack, never fancy them. I am swallowing wine gums down whole as I can’t bear to chew them. I like to think this makes them more ‘slow-release’. There is not a single item of food on God’s Green Earth that I feel like eating. But I also know that tingling sensation in my fingers means I have to keep eating.

This morning my OS Maps app decided to uninstall itself, I have a folded map but the app is a really useful tool in the dark. I can’t reinstall it. I waste 15 minutes in Llanberis on the phone to Nina as we manage to get all the verification codes and passwords done. It’s dark now.

The Eilio ridge is nice and calm, I even have company on the descent off Eilio. As I approach Snowdon, the weather gets worse. The cloud cover presents a new problem. My headtorch reflects off the cloud and creates a sheet of white. It feels like I am snow blind. I can hardly see five feet ahead. The wind whips up into a frenzy as I get nearer the summit. I pull on my extra jacket and my new running mittens. I’m very proud of my navigation to Garnedd Ugain, I’m going off muscle memory, reading the contours. I make sure I run up every step to Snowdon, because I know I have miles of descent to come. I actually enjoy this. Everything has felt so benign up to this point, now I’m experiencing some real mountain weather.

This descent should be great for me. I am good at this type of terrain. If I had to race for my life anywhere in the world, it would be running down Snowdon. But I can’t see anything. The simplest path is infuriatingly hard to find. In my frustration, I try to run anyway. I fall. I fall again. I’m lucky I don’t hurt myself. I am basically walking down the mountain, wasting so much time.

I’m also very thirsty. I can hear water trickling under the ground but can’t find any. I see a tiny drip coming off a stone step. I bend down and suck a few drops.

It is mentally taxing, trying to read the land underneath me. I’m praying to be released from this cloud. But it is dropping down with me. I can’t break free of it. I am feeling sorry for myself. How could I not have come across this problem before? I’ve done plenty of recces in the dark now. I’ve never heard of anyone mentioning the clag and headtorch problem. Is there some trick with my headtorch? I’m trying different angles, different lumen settings, nothing works.

Coming down to finish leg 4, with one leg remaining, I have 3hrs 30min to get the record. I have done this leg in 2hrs 42min on a previous attempt. Although it is tight and I can see there is cloud covering the ridge above, I might still have a shot here, I don’t know.

As I find my way onto the Nantlle ridge, it is every bit as bad as it can be. The rock is wet, visibility is still minimal. I have to be so deliberate and careful in my movements. The miles are progressing painstakingly slowly. I am relieved to get off that ridge, and far away from the white abyss on my right.

My headtorch starts flashing, so I sit on the summit of Mynydd-y-Ddwy-elor, (the most insignificant of the 47 peaks, almost as if it were included deliberately to catch you out) and change my batteries. I have to put my phone in my mouth, with the torch on, to do this. It is a complicated procedure.

I make painfully slow progress through this leg, never escaping the white sheets wrapped around my eyes. I have to really concentrate to hit the rocky summits, there are several false ones along the way. Coming up to Moel Hebog, the final real peak of the round, the cloud has become worse. I am clawing through candyfloss. I can hardly see my own feet. I fall into a bog field, panic, and stumble deeper into it, it is up to my waist. I wade back the way I came, slowly, until I am released.

I normally enjoy running up Hebog, firm underfoot and consistent gradient. I can’t do it. Feet keep slipping even though I am sure of my way. Just keep the wall to my right.

Coming down from Hebog, I have 15 minutes to get the record. Out of nowhere, I find myself standing on a dangerous precipice, staring down, I’ve gone the wrong way. There is no more record. I have to let go of my disappointment and quickly accept the new challenge: getting down this hill safely.

It is so steep, a slip could easily become a freefall. The tiny path has vanished, I have my compass in one hand and my phone in the other. I am painstakingly tracing around crags and boulder fields, trying to regain my line. I can usually run this mile in under 10 minutes. This time it takes me 40.

I find a beautiful trod that leads me to the last summit, Bryn Banog. I am in very familiar terrain now, past Robert’s house, Oerddwr Uchaf, the low cloud finally lifts. All the energy in me can finally be released. I storm through the woods that I know so well, I hit the road for the most glorious half mile of running I’ve ever felt. My body is booming, Nina has seen my headtorch and is cheering. I have finished in 22hrs 45. That last leg took me 4hrs 40min.

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Nina comes across as such a sweetheart, an unfailing supporter. But she had previously informed me, in no uncertain terms, that under no circumstances was I to crawl into the finish a broken man, an emaciated fawn, with my knees knocking. If I’m going to willingly put myself through these tests of endurance, then I had better achieve them with my head held high, and my body straight. Now here I am, finished, full of energy, I feel like doing the whole round again.

I phone my parents in the car while I am brushing my teeth. I’m so relieved never to have to touch a gel again (that’s what I promise myself anyway).

When I reach home I start shivering uncontrollably. Nina puts me in a warm bath with a cup of sweet tea. It is the only sweet thing I have consumed since. The mere idea of a chocolate bar still makes me want to throw up.

Over the following hours and days, I am increasingly aware of how imperfectly perfect it all was. Those fierce thoughts of the record that drove me on at times, were always only that; thoughts. I would have felt robbed of the experience if I had, mistakenly, declared that I had ‘bossed, conquered, owned it’. I wasn’t out there to beat anything or anyone in the end. I was a guest in nature. I was offered a pass through, no matter that it wasn’t the one I thought I could have. It’s a gift all the same. Not only is it futile and impossible to blame my misfortune, to feel hard done by, but it’s life-affirming to thank the world that spins, the atmosphere that blows storms round it, for the chance to run across.

More than pride or relief, I just feel grateful. It was brilliant to share the journey with everyone through the tracker. I wasn’t afraid of the dark at all with you all looking out for me. Thanks so much, diolch yn fawr iawn to those who came out to cheer me on, thanks to everyone for kind comments, and thank you especially to all those who donated to the Chris Smith Memorial Fund.

If you have enjoyed this journey, and have not done so yet, please consider donating just £1 to the link below. 5000 people read my last blog, if they all donated £1, that would amount to, I don’t know, you do the maths, I’ll do the running!

https://www.totalgiving.co.uk/appeal/chrissmith

You can see all my splits etc here:

http://live.opentracking.co.uk/pba2020/

If you want to read my build up to this round, you can do so here:

Week 1

Week 2

Week 3

Week 4