Iron Man. Iron Man. Iron Man. All thoughts lead to Iron Man and the reason why it takes up so much time is not so much what I know about the event but more what I don’t know.
So here’s what I do know. There will be no need for a bike and hopefully no swimming. This is not a triathlon but a Special Forces march. It will take place in the Brecon Beacons, I have a rough idea where, to within about 50 square kilometres or so, and I know it will be tough. Really tough. What I don’t know is simpler. I don’t know where it starts; that I will find out the night before. I don’t know where the check points or RV’s will be, I don’t know how long the march is, and I don’t know what the cut-off time is. The key will be to go flat out until you are told to stop.
Over the past few months I have paid a few trips to the area. The thinking behind it has been to get an idea of the terrain and to ‘get eyes on’ locations that could possibly make for RV points, be they cairns, rivers, tracks or spot heights. Last weekend I found myself with a bit of spare time so there was only one place to head for.
As usual I’d given the Pit Bull my route for safety, although I knew he was in the Beacons teaching some guys to navigate. I arrived about 4 p.m. on Saturday and with two hours of daylight I made the most and recce’d a route up onto the hill. I’d decided to take my spaniel Sonny along for the journey, it’s nice to have a friend along even he’s a four legged one. The previous day had seen a dusting of snow over the peaks and although there was nothing at the car park it didn’t take long before my boots were crunching through snow. No time to stop and play, bar a tiny snowman.
Daylight was limited and I wanted to be down before dark, and the wind was incredibly cold on the top. Skirting around a fence that guarded a sheer cliff I started to drop down and I could see by the contours on my map that this was the steepest section I’d done all day.
Stopping to take a quick photo there was a voice to my left, ‘Thought I’d find you here!’ My friend had completed a tough day in the hills navigation training, driven miles and climbed again to find me. No time for a brew on the hill, light was soon to fade and it was getting colder so we made it down in double fast time using some unconventional techniques and headed straight to the nearest pub. There is not much the Pit Bull can’t do, and I discovered eating is his forte, oh boy can he shovel it away. Two full meals and two puddings before he declared himself content, the man is an eating machine.
After dinner I showed him the route I planned for Sunday and true to form I got no response. Pit Bull knows the route, he’s done it for real and he knows the satisfaction that comes from using your own skills to get around the route. There was no way he was going to let anything slip. We bid farewell and I headed to a secluded lay-by to get a few hours sleep in the car. It was cold but the stars were amazing, reminding me why I love the wild places.
Sunday morning dawned cloudy but dry, with good visibility bar the very highest peaks. I reached my first location in no time, marked as some cairns on the map. But when I got there all I could see were some sinkholes. Then on towards a high point passing a small farmstead in the middle of nowhere. I nicknamed this place Roukes Drift and it’s just this kind of location that I can use to confirm my position should I come this way on Iron Man.
The lowland was snow free but very wet and all intentions of keeping my feet dry went with the first river crossing. All along I made visual notes in my mind of rocky outcrops and other features. Soon it was time to hit the high ground but first there was a boggy area to cross. Experience helps on selecting spots to place your feet so as not to sink too deep. At one point I could hear a fast flowing stream but couldn’t see it anywhere. It turned into a gamble of trusting my ears and taking a leap of faith, a leap which saw me safely over the hidden water course.
Pushing onwards and upwards it wasn’t long before I was in the snow again. After a really tough climb I made to the highest point of the day. The snow was feet deep in places but I was well aware that this was not the place to stop. The warmth from the climb would soon disappear to be replaced by chills from wet clothes and feet so after a few quick photos it was back to the car for a change of kit before another visit to the pub for a large round of sandwiches and a bowl of chips.
The pub staff were still talking about the Pit Bull’s eating ability from the night before.
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