On one of the inside walls of the Yorkshire Bridge Inn there is a tribute to the Dambusters, “Apres moi, c’est le deluge”, which, on the day of Storm Dudley, would be more fittingly, “Apres le deluge, c’est nous”. Needless to say, we were at the Inn contemplating our Warts’ outing from Westend. Somehow and with the greatest respect to any Dudleys, Dudley doesn’t sound a fierce enough name for a storm, maybe a breeze, but the actual experience of the Storm may have now changed my perception.
The experience of the recent Margery Hill race, a couple of weeks ago and, in particular, Pete G’s disorientation and hypothermia experience had rather coloured our view of the potential effects of stormy weather so we had dressed for the worst with waterproof leggings and tops and neoprene socks. Our decision was reinforced by the journey to Westend where Bob drove through some of the worst flooding we’d seen on the A57, most disturbingly when cars coming in the opposite direction caused an overwhelming car wash dousing. There was even talk of abandoning or shortening what was seeming to be a challenging expedition.
However, as we drove up the Derwent valley passing the overflowing dams, there was a hint of brightness which increased to a glow at the Westend where the rain had actually stopped. Nevertheless, we didn’t trust this possible mirage so we remained in our waterproofs which served to provide warmth climbing up near Green Clough towards the Alport ridge. On the way there and in the true Warting spirit, a small pond next to a crumbling wall had to be visited, a recce of a possible check point for a future club championship, perhaps? By now, any shelter from the westerly storm wind had disappeared but the sky was still bright, so no torches yet. Looking back, we saw a small arc of the moon rising, which compensated for the strong wind we were fighting against up Birchinlee Pasture and to the edge of Alport Castles.
Thanks to Russell for the photo
Here we descended into the valley in the Castles and torches were now very much in use to navigate through and over the boulders without being blown off them. Whilst there had been a sort of implicit agreement not to tackle the Tower in this wind, climbers Tom and Bob decided to do so. The rest of us continued slowly over the boulders to the accompaniment of a high-pitched cry later identified possibly as that of a peregrine falcon. Our experience in the wind tunnel between the Tower and the cliffs turned out to be worse than that of the climbers who surprisingly reported a relatively mild wind strength, they had it easy!!. For a short time, it was a relief to have reached some grassy ground after the boulders but the relief was short lived because of the hands and knees climb back to the edge, though aided by the following wind which enabled Tom to run (yes) the climb, all part of his training for the Jura race!
We were wind propelled at speed down the moor to join the shooters’ track and the cars where we could claim two miracles for the night, the clear, sunny and rain free weather, whilst Sheffield was under a dark rainy cloud, and the cry of a peregrine falcon.
We retreated to the Yorkshire Inn, now our favourite post-run analysis haunt where there was a discussion on whether to share our slow Wednesday night peregrinations more widely by including them on the DPFR calendar website rather than just on the Slow Warts email list. The qualifications for joining the Slow Warts were considered, “We don’t want young and fast people joining us”, but I wasn’t sure what the final decision was, as I was getting the next round in, so I’ll wait and see.
Whoever does join us however, can be guaranteed a glorious adventure like tonight’s.
Graha