24 Ways to Die in the or

My Frog Graham Round

I’ve been coming to the Lake District with my family every summer since I was 3. We always stay in Keswick, and so I know all the North-Western like the back of my hand: when someone mentioned the FGR to me, it just sounded perfect.

The only person I knew who was mad enough to do this sort of thing was busy themselves running the Pennine Way, and so I duly pitched up to Keswick Moot Hall at 3:30AM. Before I could begin, however, the single greatest tragedy of modern times befell me: I realised I had forgotten my Kendal Mint Cake. It was too late to go back and get it so, fighting back the bitter tears, I set off alone into the night. Everything looked different in the dark and I was stopping to second-guess myself at every turning, but luckily my girlfriend had made me a stack of A bleary-eyed start Yorkshire puddings which I nibbled on to keep the doubts at bay. As I ascended I found to my utter amazement that visibility in a cloud in the dark was even worse than visibility outside a cloud in the dark, but I eventually found my way to the summit. Time for a well-earned drink says I, reaching into my rucksack side pocket. The zip was open. The water bottle was gone.

For a moment I considered going back to look for it, but quickly decided that this would be the worst idea since Napoleon had invaded Russia. I then contemplated giving up altogether, but figured I hadn’t climbed up Skiddaw at 4 in the morning just to go back to bed. And so (bravely or foolishly, depending on your valuing of human life) I forged on, ‘slaking my thirst at the brook’ like Frankenstein’s monster.

The next minor calamity was as I came down through Dodd Wood, when the strap on my headtorch decided to detach itself. ‘No matter’, I thought: ‘I’ll get all the bad bits out of the way in the first couple of hours, and everything else will go well’. Right…

In fairness, things did begin to pick up. I had been a little apprehensive about the first swim in the dark, but in fact it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable parts of the whole Round. As I was about to set off, dawn broke over Skiddaw and provided a beautiful backdrop. My luck kept improving, as I picked up a 250ml plastic bottle I found on the road and refilled it at each stream I passed. Probably because I was half-frozen, the climb up wasn’t as bad as I remembered from the Recce: I was 15 Sunrise on Barf minutes ahead of schedule, and feeling good through and up . Aside from a spot of rain on Eel Crag the next couple of hours were fairly uneventful, but then it was down to Crummock and the infamous Leg 3.

As with so many others before me, Mellbreak was the real heartbreaker. By the time I had dragged myself up the side and onto the dreary summit, my legs felt like they were each dragging a Mk I Matilda Tank behind them. The path down to Scale Beck and up again to Red Pike seemed to go on forever, and by the time I reached I was feeling rather worse A lovely view from Red for wear. Just at that moment, however, I bumped into Pike (despite the slog) Madeline and her husband, who were walking a Round in the opposite direction. We only chatted briefly, but it was just enough to raise my spirits when I badly needed it.

After the short swim across I was feeling refreshed, but this proved to be my undoing. I raced up like a rat up an aqueduct, an hour and twenty minutes ahead of schedule, but fatigue hit me like a tonne of bricks as I turned onto the ridge at the top. This was far worse than I’d been feeling before. The weather was closing in, the running wetsuit I’d borrowed and had been wearing all day was chafing dreadfully, my stomach was cramping and I was drowning in a wave of nausea. I’d also forgotten just how long it was to , and I earned a few concerned glances from passers-by as I staggered along. For the first time I regretted not having anyone to push me on, as my own motivation was vanishing at a rate of knots. must be the single longest in existence, and to this day I’m still convinced I somehow ended up on a treadmill. It was like a low-budget cartoon, with the same scenery reappearing after each ascent.

After forcing down a flapjack, I felt slightly better. Catbells is a family favourite, and it felt good to be on home ground as I came down to Derwent Water. The swim itself was fine, but dragging myself onto each of the three islands proved to be a nightmare. Each time I hauled myself over the slippery rocks, each time I lost my balance and fell back into the water, my tiredness increased and my shivering got more violent. After what seemed like several years, I finally made it to the other side where my Grandad had been watching for me. The path back to Keswick was mercifully short and I even managed to enjoy the last few moments, reflecting on the distance that now lay behind me. Up the steps to Moot Hall where my Mum and Nana were waiting, and a very tasty pint kindly offered by The Round pub. Final time: 14 hours, 41 minutes and 25 seconds. Edward Cator

My enormous and undying gratitude to: Vernon Long for lending me the wetsuit, tow float and Frog Graham map Mrs Rudkin for lending me the rucksack and Garmin Frogger No. 85 (Catriona Purdy) for helping out with one of my Recces My mother and grandparents for all their support And my long-suffering girlfriend Scarlet, for putting up with all my madcap ideas