Back in the comfort of the Derbyshire
countryside with an open agenda for the day and 1500m tomorrow that I wanted to
keep my legs fresh for, I decided that it would be fun to don my Structure
Triax and head out into the National Forest not worrying about time or pace. And what better time to investigate the old adage:
is it possible to circumnavigate the entire shore of Foremark Reservoir??? The answer to this is not known by anyone
that I know (sample of 2).
A 4 mile route for cheaters, but shows the useful landmarks.
Foremark Reservoir is a 0.93km2
manmade body of water approximately 1.5 miles from my house. Internet folktales/rumours suggest that it is
4 miles to navigate the public paths, but my goal was to hug the water’s
edge. There’s lots of fisherman who use
it, there’s lots of trails and a bit of beach which I know from previous runs,
and then there’s a 1km stretch of road in the north-west corner which is
privately owned by the water company and not public accessible. Which I read to mean ‘to anyone who isn’t
running very quickly across it with the aim of not being seen.’
Enjoying the lovely sunny morning, I
took a slightly longer route to get there, enjoying some different grass
route/trails, passing other horses, and finally joining Foremark at the North,
marked ‘64’ on the map. Like a true
pioneer I was excited to immediately find a route that I had not previously
known, which avoided the forbidden area, with grass so squishy I had to wonder
if anyone had ever been here before.
Given though that it was mown recently, my sense of pioneering was
curtailed somewhat.
Quickly, I reached the west of the water
body, the sailing club, past which no one (meaning I) had ever tried to
run. Committed, I darted between the
parked boats, and looking eagerly around, I spotted a grass path between some
trees. I followed this undulating
terrain, with my lust for adrenaline not letting me drop the pace to a sensible
level. But while the paths weren’t anywhere
near being described as ‘well worn’, I excitingly soon made it out onto the
edge of the centre most tip.
This was not the time to admire views,
so I continued anti-clockwise around the periphery of Foremark. Were these were actual paths, or just wishful
thinking was a dilemma that I didn’t have to ponder for long: I was soon
running on angled banks, and I had to wonder why, when the ground disappeared
beneath me and I went sliding down the bank toward the water on my side, my
first instinct was to try and stop my watch.
Luckily I was experienced from dramatic cross country falls, and managed
to bounce back to my feet without breaking stride.
But a minute or so later, this was the
end of the running. I was on the west side of the southernmost
part, ducking under trees, fighting my way under branches, between dense foliage. But I could still see the shore, and I could
see a fishing boat. It didn’t pass me by
that I was now crouching in a great hiding spot, were I a spy, and the
individuals on the boat my targets.
I could see the opposite shore and
considered taking off my shoes and wading across. But now I was so far into the woods that I
couldn’t get near to the bank which was also a long way below. I knew that was probably going to have to
admit defeat and turn back.
At 40 minutes in, I’d only covered 5.5
miles despite the early pace. Foremark Reservoir was
un-circum-navigatable. But part of me didn’t
want to turn around, part of me couldn’t be bothered, and the other part knew
that without a sense of direction, and now no sign of the water, I was well and
truly lost.
Attempting to retrace my steps, I came
across a crushed metal wire fence; one that I hadn’t crossed previously - a
good sign surely? But my mental state
seemed to have deteriorated, and I was seemingly believing that I was deep in
the Amazon or something.
I was going in loops. By now I was stung to buggery by
nettles. I was using a stick that I must
have obtained at some point, presumably to make myself feel like an experienced
woodsman. And indeed I found myself
shouting out to see if anyone else was nearby.
No one responded. I could no
longer retrace my steps If I wanted to.
It dawned on me that I may die here.
I’d lost all sense of reality.
Crossing another fence, or possibly the
same one, I caught sight of a boundary.
It was tall dense foliage, surrounded by nettles, and completely impassable. But it gave me hope, and following the line I
soon found myself crossing into a field.
I now discovered that I was smack in the middle of Bondwood Farm.
The route of my extradinary adventure.
Bondwood Farm is massive. I could only pick a direction to go, and I
ended up following the tractor tracks around the farm in the hip-height
crop. Eventually I found a public
footpath and jumped the style to escape into Carvers Rocks, a big complicated
trail which luckily I was very familiar with, but unfortunately was drowned in
Thursday’s monsoon. After sliding down
another slop, I traced my way back to the main bridle path, which I vowed to
stick to for the rest of the run, and with the elation at having survived the
adventure, launched myself through the vertical style, missing the upright with
my hand and literally spilling out of the reservoir grounds in the most
dramatic way possible.
I have now declared a direct
circumnavigation of Foremark Reservoir to be impossible, but it made for quite
an unorthodox and refreshing morning – well afternoon by the time I got home –
run.
