Bullock Smithy 2019

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I just found this account of my attempt to try the Bullock Smithy Hike. I was meant to post it a while ago but lost it. Thankfully I have located the writing for your pleasure. It was a very difficult challenge. Hope you enjoy it x

Bullock Smithy Hike 2019:
Please note I’m not a writer and my grammar and spelling may at times baffle you but this is an honest account of my attempt to complete this endurance challenge.
Preface
1 kilometre in and I’m already in trouble. The start was fast with everyone around me in what appeared to be a mad scramble to leave the start line first. Now I understand this from the point of view of the runners.. but the hikers shouldn’t have been racing to get out of the gate first... should they? The answer to this conundrum came to me quite quickly as the first stile came into view and a queue of people were patiently waiting their turn to get over it. Those who had rushed in the first few minutes were happily on their way on the opposite side. Myself and several others still queuing. Little did I know that these few minutes would start to look important in almost a days time when I was struggling for time. Once over the stile I pushed to keep pace with all around me. They were pushing really fast (5.5-6kms an hour). But as everyone was pushing at the same pace I needed to keep up. Crossing a field just off towers road in Poynton my foot slipped and I got a sharp pain in my right calf, which felt very similar to pain during my recent Achilles tear recovery period. Every step I took shot a bolt of pain up my right leg. Well that’s just bloody great, I thought to myself, quitting after 1 kilometre with a seemingly impossible further 90kms in front of me. Well I could just stop now. I’ll just keep going until my Achilles goes again. Pushing back up to speed and keeping pace, I grimace with every footfall and try to ignore the realisation that I have made a terrible terrible mistake signing up to this challenge. How did I end up in this ridiculous position?
Beginnings of an idea:
It started several months earlier. My cousin Tristan asked me to take part in the Gritstone grind (a 56 kilometres run along Cheshire’s gritstone trail). This to me sounded insane. We were at the time camping in Macclesfield forest, we were 30 miles into a 2 day attempt of the aforementioned walk. The first day had been hard enough having walked well over marathon distance and climbed the height of snowdon. To do both of these days in one 12 hour run sounded insane and I didn’t fancy doing it. I suggested that I would support him through the challenge. I would meet him on several occasions through the challenge to replenish his water and carry supplies for him.
I had no other challenges planned. On previous years I had ensured I had a goal to keep my fitness in check throughout the year. I had done “Hell Up North” 3 years in a row, done the National Three Peaks, Tough Mudder twice. I had nothing planned this year. I had concentrated on some short distance hikes by myself, and with friends and family. Tristan, whom previously had been my wingman in terms of challenges had joined a local running club, The Bollington Harriers. Most of his challenges now revolved around running..... of which I hated and therefore couldn’t really join in with.
So my summer was spent doing some short distance walks. I did Kinder Scout, Scafell and Snowdon with my wife and kids. But I began yearning for a challenge to focus on which would push me to my limit. So dear reader why did I get involved in the Bullock Smithy? That was in part my sons fault. Jamie has joined the 3rd Hazel grove beaver lodge the previous September. Upon entering the lodge there is a wooden board with dozens of names on it. And on the top the words the Bullock Smithy Hike. I asked Jamie’s beaver leader what it was all about and she told me the tale of the Bullock Smithy. For 10 minutes she told be the basics. Walk 56miles in 24 hours through the rugged landscape of the Peak District. I couldn’t fathom it....That’s over the distance of over 2 marathons with no sleep and little rest whilst climbing over the height of snowdon... twice.

I went away from this conversation thinking under no circumstances would I be tempted to try something that monumental. However over the next few weeks, and with tightening waistband as a result in my growing semi sedentary lifestyle, the inklings of enthusiasm started to take over. I looked at the dates of the Bullock Smithy 2019 and realised with a sense of dread that it was on the same weekend as the Gritstone Grind. I didn’t want to let a Tristan down, we were growing further apart and I had made the promise to support him. I texted him and told him about my growing keenness for a challenge and the extreme Bullock Smithy. He thankfully assured me he would find a way to manage without me and I should go for it. Although he thought I was insane. ( it turned out that with numerous members of the Bollington Harriers taking part in the Gritstone they found a number of volunteers to man 3 refuelling check points... so it turned out for the best for him). I went online and booked onto the event before my brain realised the foolishness I was about to embark on.
Preparations:
So with only a few weeks until the challenge I felt seriously underprepared for it. I had never walked anything like the distance in one go and I was hoping to persuade one of my walking mates to join me. I know Tristan would possibly be persuaded to take part in the challenge but he had already signed up to the aforementioned Gritstone Grind and his focus appears now to be running. I can’t really see him doing any big walking challenges anymore which is a shame. So it would probably be a solo effort.
Focusing on a large walk I managed to persuade Tristan to attempt the Gritstone Trail with me. We had previously done it last October over two days, whilst drinking and wild camping in Macclesfield Forest to break it up. It had been really tough to be honest and with the impending task of walking the same distance plus an extra 35kms in one day I felt it would be an ideal practice. So we embarked on a single day attempt. Along with us came our old friend Maurice ( see the previous blog about the three peak challenge). It had been my intention that if Maurice managed the Gritstone without too much trouble then he would now be the ideal person to join me on the Bullock Smithy. Unfortunately this did not transpire to be the case. We completed the Gritstone trail in 14 hours with bruised legs and blistered toes, however Maurice had found it really tough to walk through the pain of the challenge. He had wanted to quit or skip sections of it throughout the second half of the journey. Now don’t get me wrong we all bitched and moaned about the pain, and it did really hurt, but the main part about a long distance challenge is to overcome your pain threshold and find a way to complete the task no matter what. I couldn’t see myself trying to focus on my own pain management with someone next to me wanting to stop because they were struggling with theirs and it would have resulted in me killing him or lead us both to quit.
The next long distance practices were in Belarus where I went to visit my wife’s family. I always did some walking over there when visiting but I felt I should push myself a little and completed a 50kms hike followed by a 25kms a few days later. I trialled a pair of trainers which seemed to absorb the impact pain considerably more than my walking shoes so I decided that for the Bullock this would be the correct shoe choice. Of course, inevitably, I put on several kilos of weight whilst on holiday which I would need to therefore carry with me in the Bullock upon my return to England.
One day to go:
So this is what led me to rifling through the cupboards in my house, a week after arriving back home, trying to locate all the equipment I would need for the following day. Checking the website it stated that you require several items in order to participate....

“each hiker must carry maps to cover the route (e.g. OS Explorer Maps 1:25000 268 Wilmslow/Macclesfield, OL1 Dark Peak, OL24 White Peak), compass, whistle, torch (inc. spare batteries & bulb), waterproof jacket & trousers, spare sweater and socks, emergency rations, mug, emergency rations, first aid kit and front and rear reflective patches for night walking”
Now most of these items were simple to find but the questions of the kit list did start to worry me. Firstly the map situation. I had all relevant maps albeit one of the white peak which was over 25 years old, however recently I had been using my OS Maps app on my iPhone for all my walking. Would I get to the sign in desk and not be able to start if I didn’t have the relevant paper copies required. I packed these just in case, also my phone and charger went in.. Spare clothing was an issue, was this on top of the clothes I would need for the night section of the route. The weather looked promising so I just packed the essential clothes plus waterproof gear if I should need it. Now they mention emergency rations twice so these must be important so I opt for nuts, snickers bars, bananas and several pouches of energy gels. Then there was the problem of fluids for the walk. How much is too much. I choose to carry a 2 litre camelpac (for easy access to fluids and cut down on stops to locate drinking bottles) and an additional 3 litres in case of emergencies. God knows how much fluid we would be able to take on at the checkpoints. Once all the equipment, including a first aid kit that an ambulance crew would have been jealous of, I stood on the scales and grabbed my bag. 8.5kgs. Bloody hell if it wasn’t bad enough already being 12kgs over weight I had to carry an additional 8.5kgs. This was going to be tough on the knees and my feet. I cringe at the thought of any veterans of the Bullock reading this. As you can guess this additional weight would come back and bite me in a little over 24 hours time.
Now my intention the night before, knowing that I would the next day be awake for well over 24 hours, was to get a decent sleep. So after a carb loading meal of pasta and meatballs I took myself up stairs shortly after the children had gone to bed to make sure I would be adequately refreshed for the morning. I slept terribly, I tossed and turned with apprehension and excitement. After 6-7 restless hours I went downstairs and repacked my rucksack, made several coffees and watched television waiting for my family to wake up and join me. I have always made videos of my walks so I sat on the sofa and made my first video entry for the film, and my wife joined me a little while later.
Registration and build up
At 10am after breakfast I bade the family farewell (they would join me at the start line later in the morning) and proceeded to the hazel grove park and ride (whom had kindly allowed participants to park on their property for the next couple of days). I took the familiar walk to the scout hut and saw that there were only a few participants there already. I had given myself a few hours to make sure I had signed in and got my bagged checked and not risking missing the start. Seeing Angela Massey (the section leader and of whom was partly responsible for me being here) at the sign in desk was a welcome sight. Her warm and dependable manner put me at ease as I checked in and was directed to the bag check. I was handed a checklist and asked if I had all the equipment on the list, I assured the volunteers that I had and I was given a card to hand in at the start to exchange for my checkpoint tally card. No actual check of my bag had taken place. For all they knew my rucksack could have been full of beer, oh well you live and learn.... Maybe next year... my rucksack would have been lighter.
I spent the next hour or so watching the throngs of participants arrive. The majority of the participants appeared to be seasoned long distance runners/ hikers with ritualistic routines. I watched and attempted to learn some of their pre event techniques (putting Vaseline on their feet, taping up different parts of their feet, and loading up on high calorie food). I had had plenty of issues with blisters over the course of my practice walks and sat there putting on several layers of compeed anti-blister protection to my toes, heel and sole of my feet. I attempted to make conversation with

several people in a hope of recognition when the night section of the challenge dawned. This was a big issue for me. The rules stated that at nightfall participants would not be allowed to walk alone and would have to form up into groups of 3 or more. I was concerned of my ability to complete the Bullock but if I indeed did make it far enough to be “put” into a group, I didn’t want to be in any way a hindrance. But this was several hours away and it was really pointless and unrealistic to think that the people I spoke with would be walking at the same pace as I would be. Feeling a little deflated I made my way across the road to the starting area on the playing field on Devonshire Park Road. There were several groups of people standing around and talking. I walked over to the organisers and exchanged my signed indemnity for my Checkpoint card (which you needed to get clipped at each). I made my way over to an empty corner and attempted to take my mind off the looming start time. My wife, Yuliya and kids arrived. Yuliya noted that most of the participants had tiny rucksacks. I knew that most of these were runners and would be happily asleep in bed before I even reached the halfway point, but I took her hint and removed some of my additional food.
Section 1- Hazel Grove to Bowstones (8.33kms)
The start of most events I have taken part in (Hell up North, tough Mudder) have been a choreographed display with music, fireworks, warm ups and over enthusiastic gym types giving aggressive motivational speeches. The Bullock Smithy start is an example of pure British eccentricity. A step ladder is produced, the main organiser climbs precariously up, gives some safety notices using a cheap megaphone. Then at 12noon exactly some invited guests strike a hammer onto an anvil. This signals the start.... No flair, no motivational speeches, just a pull your socks up this is going to hurt type speech and then you’re off. I kissed yuliya and the kids and joined the throngs of people heading towards the bottleneck at the exit to the park.
Prior to the event I tried to plan my strategy for a successful completion. The event is 56miles long which is around 91kms. I figured that if I took it easy and walked at 4-5kms an hour then this would give me a good buffer of a few hours to rest and slow down on the long uphill sections. However right from the start the hikers were almost jogging. I was quickly left behind by the majority of the participants. I gathered that most were experienced so I dug in and walked quickly trying to keep pace. This is why 1 km into the walk I was suffering cramps and pain in my leg. This was going to be a challenge.

Walking out onto Anson Road in Higher Poynton I was no longer getting overtaken by people and was keeping steady pace with several of the “slower” hikers. We occasionally exchanged pleasantries and I listened into some of the conversations figuring that a few had done the challenge before which boded well in terms of teaming up for the nighttime section. However they were all in small groups and not wanting to impose myself (just yet), I plugged in my earphones and trudged on whilst listening to the ashes. The relatively level walk started to rise in angle as we approached the perimeter of Lyme Park and walking at the heightened pace I quickly started to breath heavily. It was a relief to arrive at South Park Gate when entering Lyme Park where again there was a bottleneck of people coming both ways through which gave a brief but needed respite. Once through the pace remained fast, as the ground levelled out we made our way across fields, over a stile which Lyme had helpfully tried to block off with a fence, and then into the cool wooded area of Knightslow wood. Breaking out into the sunshine on the other side the rising shadow of Park Moor leads it’s way up to the summit where the first check point awaits. My pace significantly slows for this climb however it is a brief and well trodden path (of which I know very well) and within 15 minutes I see the sight of the Bowstones kennels and I climb the stile leading to the first checkpoint. I was greeted by a couple of volunteers brandishing clipboards. I handed my card to them and one clipped the Bowstones section and shouted “number 194” (my entry number) to which the clipboarded person repeated and wrote my number down next to a time. They pointed over to a table and said help yourself. Awaiting me was a collection of snacks and drinks. It was clearly apparent that I was carrying too much in terms of fluids and snacks. In reality I didn’t need most of what I had brought. I had only drank a litre of water in the first section. Maybe if the weather had been hot there would have been more of a need for additional fluids, but for this weekend it wasn’t necessary.
Section 2: Bowstones to Chinley Churn (10.13kms)
Leaving Bowstones behind I followed my fellow walkers dropping down towards the old Moorside Hotel. On the downhill section I was feeling very little in the way of pain or fatigue that I had felt on the way up to Bowstones. Having grabbed a banana at the refreshment station, I felt that not only was the walk doable but my concerns of my fitness where unfounded. I had managed the first 10kms in a little over an hour and a half. How this sense of enthusiasm would diminish with a crash in the coming miles wasn’t yet evident. The pace remained relentlessly high but I was just about hanging in there with the people around me. I had overtaken a fair number of people at Bowstones, as they stopped for a rest or to resupply so I was now walking within a new batch of participants whom to my horror were pushing at a faster pace. Once we had dropped down over the A6 and started walking up the long climb towards the summit of Chinley Churn everybody I was with disappeared

into the distance and I was left alone in a limbo of not being able to see anyone. My feet were increasingly starting to get more and more painful, my calf muscle was really hurting. In my mind, due to the fact that I couldn’t see anyone in front or behind I started to question whether I was going the right route, had those behind me taken a quicker route and was I in fact dead last of all the participants. I was regretting my decision to participate in this event, I was regretting my fitness levels and ruing the vodka, beer and meat I had consumed in Belarus leading to several kilos of weight gain. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by pulling out of the walk but I honestly couldn’t see myself completing it. I knew I was near the back, if not at the back, of all the participants so my in my mind I had Castleton as my goal ( as this would realistically be the last point before nightfall).
I trudge on with my calf muscle screaming in pain, and impact pain on the soles of my feet starting to come to the fore. I decided to broach my first aid kit and took some ibuprofen hoping it would kick in before the next big climb to Edale Cross. Reaching the top of Chinley Churn I look for the checkpoint, however it isn’t apparent where it is.. with no-one around to follow I head towards the ridge line and luckily notice a small sign with the Bullock Smithy symbol on it with an arrow pointing downwards over the other side. A very steep descent follows where a small tent comes into view. Indeed this was the checkpoint but no supplies (it turned out that the supply station was a few hundred metres down the path). “194” I tell the checkpoint volunteers as I hand over my tally card. 2 checkpoints down 13 to go. Not in a million years if I decide to listen to my body.
Section 3: Chinley Churn to Edale Cross (3.6kms)
Having researched the route a little, this section was going to be toughest. As the crow flies it is the shortest leg of the journey however it also has the biggest ascent (1050ft). From Chinley Churn the route drops you down to a farm near Hayfield Road where the next refuel station was located. Upon approaching the station there were dozens of people sat around drinking tea, resupplying their water and snacking. I grabbed a Kendal mint cake and refilled my camelpak. Again I chose (foolishly or not) to carry straight on with the hike without taking a break. Partly out of the fact that I was already pushing the limit for checkpoint cutoff but also to try and keep some of the walkers behind me in case I foolishly decided to carry on into the night section.

The route crosses Hayfield Road, I staggered across avoiding the fast moving traffic inches away, and was glad when after a few hundred feet the path towards Kinder came into view. The path ascends slightly toward the imposing view of Kinder Scout. Now I know this mountain well having climbed it several times a year but I had never been up this route but I was pleased to see that we were over a third of the way up at this point. It was quite demoralising therefore when cresting the ridge of mount Famine to realise that there was a huge and very steep descent into the valley near Coldwell Clough. This effectively brought you right to the base of Kinder, which meant that most of the ascent would take place over the distance of a couple of kilometres. In the distance I could see a steady stream of hikers snaking their way up the rocky path over the summit towards Edale Cross. There was only one thing for it. Ignore the pain in my feet and start walking. My pace once again slowed to a crawl as I steadily trudged upwards.... And upwards.... And upwards on a seemingly never ending climb. The going underfoot was really hard with loose tennis ball sized rocks making up the majority of the path. My feet slipped and ankles twisted up this ungodly climb. Surprisingly to me most of the walkers around me were also experiencing the same agonising ascent. The silence of the mountain was frequently broken by a cry of “bastard” or “f...ing rock tw@t”. As I neared the summit and the next checkpoint I had only been overtaken by a couple of walkers, both whom seemed to be three times my age and not at all bothered by this bump in the path. This checkpoint was the only one without supplies ( to be fair they would have had to be airlifted in) but as I got my card clipped I was offered a handful of jelly babies which was I took excitedly. Although I had gone through some serious pain on the ascent I knew that the path now lay downhill all the way to the next checkpoint in Edale. My spirits lifted by the sugar rush and the prospect of the infamous Bullock Smithy rice pudding and fruit cocktail combo which awaited down in the next valley.
Section 4: Edale Cross to Edale (5.6 kms)
It was strange descending down kinder. Throughout the previous 20 odd kilometres I met very few people, apart from being overtaken by a few bullock participants. However this being one of the most popular mountains in the Peak District there were literally hundreds of people descending with me. Dropping over from Edale Cross I was slowed by several parties of teenagers, whom I discovered were doing their Outdoor part of their Duke of Edinburgh Award. Some with head in their mobile phones meant it was difficult to manoeuvre around them on the narrow summit paths ( not wanting to stray to avoid the wet marshy peak either side of me). Eventually at the top of Jacobs Ladder the path widened enough to hobble past them. Jacobs ladder is an old pack horse route up from Edale, it zigs and zags to lessen the severity of the climb. On the route down it is a hard stepped descent dropping quickly into the valley below. As I descended I caught up with a couple of Bullock hikers one of whom was hobbling somewhat, I can’t recall their names but we walked together whilst navigating the Edale valley to the next check point. It was a relief to get on flat

ground and we chose to walk a longer route down the road. One of the 2 was complaining of a blister on his heel and said he would have to look at it when he got to Edale. The early autumn sun was casting gorgeous shadows of the trees as we walked up the valley. In the shadows the temperature dropped significantly and with the addition of my sweat covered clothes it became quite chilly. These moments were only brief as upon leaving the shadows the warming sun again brought us up to normal temperature... although I did think that the forecast clear skies might see a more problematic temperature drop later in the evening and into the night.
The valley passed us by in painful hobbling and eventually the checkpoint at Edale came into view and along with it a number of people whom like me had chosen this spot to have a well deserved (30kms in) rest. I almost forgot to have my checkpoint card clipped as I saw the hallowed rice pudding displayed on the table in front of me. “Help yourself” I was told. I helped myself to three portions and settled on a chair enjoying the serenity of the location. I looked around and started to recognise several people from previous checkpoints and it looked like we were all going at about the same pace. With only one hill until Castleton the decision to continue was close at hand, and with only a couple of hours until the nighttime closed in I would have to make friends at some point soon otherwise the decision would be taken out of my hands.
Section 5: Edale to Castleton (4.17kms)
The route to Castleton was simple. Ascend then descend Hollins Cross, crossing the valleys on either side. After taking some more pain relief I started out solo and after crossing the main road followed the pathway across the farm fields toward the base of the ridge line leading up to Hollins Cross. The climb was steep but short only taking 25 minutes from base to ridge line. I got chatting to a well spoken man, whom I discovered was conveniently called Steve. He was walking with his friends Julia and Helen. They were part of a rambling group based in the Peak District and this was Steve’s event. He had completed it over ten times, failed it a few times as well. But he knew the route like the back of his hand. This was a godsend. If I could keep pace by the time I got to Castleton and decided to carry on, Steve would take away all of my anxieties about route finding on unknown sections. On the way to the summit my legs started to spasm and I found myself suffering from unbelievably painful cramps. I started down the other side without waiting for anyone in a hope of getting to Castleton to have a rest and make myself a salt replacement drink (to hopefully counter the cramps). As I was walking along the floor of the valley towards the next checkpoint I uncontrollably started to get emotional about the whole situation, I fought to hold back tears. I knew it was hard, I knew I was in pain and I knew I had only just started the event but this was ridiculous. I couldn’t control it. My

surrounding were so beautiful, the warm evening sun was in my face and I was just overwhelmed. I am glad I was by myself and not appearing to be having a full-on breakdown in front of strangers. I needed some friendly chat. I called my wife, father and cousin. It was so lovely to hear their voices even though it had been only 7 hours since I had seen them (Yuliya anyway). I laughed uncontrollably when asked by Tristan how it was going , I replied “this is the most stupid f....ing thing I have ever done”. They all told me they were proud of me and to keep going, although Yuliya did offer to pick me up. Tristan told me that I was the one person he knew who would keep going no matter how much it hurt. And he was right but usually he would have been stood next to me giving me the courage and drive to carry on. At this point I felt the loneliest I had on the entire walk, although I was injected by a new drive to carry on, I felt so low.
The walk into Castleton did not help at all.... Passing several pubs and seeing the Saturday night bar full of drinking revellers it would have been very easily to accept Yuliya’s offer and wait for her with several pints of strong ale. I carried on to the next checkpoint on a disused garage forecourt on the outskirts of the village. I got my card clipped and got myself a large orange juice to put my salt tablet in. However I saw a tub of salt on the table. I don’t know what I was thinking but I grabbed a dessert spoon off the table, filled it with salt and popped it into my mouth and swallowed it down with a large glug of orange squash. I grabbed a jam butty and settled onto chair for short rest.
Section 5: Castleton to Peak Forest ((5.53kms)
When I was a “youth” (along time ago being 43 years old now) and I would partake in too much alcohol, the cure before getting home to unsuspecting parents was to make yourself sick by drinking a glass of salted water. The body has a knack of getting rid of poisonous substances and this, as a full time nurse, is something that I should have realised. I’m not sure whether it was the tiredness, the pain of the cramping or something more severe effecting my mental health but the salt I had just consumed was NOT what my body wanted. Looking around in panic there were 20 people sat happily chatting and I was on the verge of projectile vomiting all over them. I quickly stood up keeping my mouth closed and hurried far to fast for my weary legs. I just managed to get 25 metres down the road to a turning into a car park when I spilled my stomach contents onto the floor. The 2 pints of orange, jam sandwiches and salt consumed 10 minutes previously splattered my shoes and legs in several waves of vomit. I continued to dry retch for a few minutes with my legs collapsing underneath me. I was interrupted by the sound of laughing as a family walked the other way out of a

nearby restaurant. I stood up and tried to act as casual as possible as I walked towards them, holding back another wave of sickness. It would have been very unfortunate to splatter them with sick and luckily I managed to control the urge as I said “evening”. I carried on through the village and found a couple of Bullock walkers looking lost, I knew the route out of the village and they followed me for several hundred metres before they asked me if this was the way to the Castleton checkpoint (they had completely missed it). I directed them back down the road “turn left, through the car park, avoiding the several piles of liquified orangey jam sandwich sick on your way”. Again I was by myself. I was relieved as I felt incredibly nauseous and company was the last thing I needed right now. The route out of Castleton is a killer. A short near vertical (ok maybe I’m exaggerating a little) climb up the side of Cow Low. With the waves of nausea not subsiding I was going at snails pace, stopping every 10 metres for a drink of water. I was caught and over taken by Julia and Helen. Steve following closely behind, sympathetically stopped and encouraged me onwards and upwards. We together made the climb being joined by my 2 Edale friends (one of whom had discovered upon arrival in Edale that his entire heel was one huge blister, so he was struggling probably worse than I was).
Cresting over the summit and joining the Limestone Way we were greeted by the most stunning sunset imaginable. The stars above in the dusky twilight were breaking through as the horizon was ablaze with a deep red hue. It was moments like this I will remember about the Bullock Smithy Hike. It was the most earned sunset I had ever seen. The salt meal I had stupidly had, had had the desired effect and my cramping in my legs had stopped and although every step was painful, I was surprisingly healthy and energetic considering. We walked and bonded in the growing twilight and heard tales from Steve of the forthcoming night section and what to expect. We had done well over half the total ascent and for large portions of the coming miles we were told were relatively flat. It was going to be a case of managing pain and making sure that we continued at a reasonable pace throughout. Descending into peak forest off Ox low the twilight was overshadowed by the nighttime. We donned head-torches and were soon approaching the checkpoint in a church hall near the crossroads. The bright lights and friendly atmosphere was a welcomed respite before starting the proper night section. My 2 Edale friends decided to call it a day at peak forest, the blister on ones heal was having a serious effect and not wanting to cause serious injury they had both made the decision. To be fair he wasn’t walking very well dropping down from Kinder so to add an additional few kilometres had been a fair challenge. Steve, Julia and Helen has kindly said that I could join them and as I said before having someone in the group who knew the route and what to expect was invaluable beyond comprehension. I stocked up on a couple of bananas and had a cup of tea and waited for my comrades in arms to ready themselves for the off. I put on my walking trousers, jacket, gloves and hat as it had now turned bitterly cold outside especially wearing a sweaty t-shirt. Once we had rallied each other we stepped out in to the night.

Section 6: Peak Forest to Millers Dale (7.03kms)
We walked out and were instantly aware of the absolute darkness and the temperature drop. I am glad thatI had packed the additional clothes now. There was one chap from London whom we saw in every checkpoint until the end who was wearing the smallest red budgie smuggling shorts, I bet he was freezing for large portions. Madness but then again he was from London, they’re a weird breed lol.
We walked up the Chesterfield road and rather than taking the recommended route across several fields Steve suggested to carry on up the main road to join the path further along. Thus avoiding boggy fields, dodgy stiles and general hard work. We were the only ones whom went this route but after a couple of kilometres it became apparent that we were passing several groups who were battling through the aforementioned obstacles. Knowledge through trial and error was key to this being a successful challenge, and although the “shortcuts” added around 8kms to the eventual route I am glad to have taken them.
The walk towards Millers Dale was another never ending slog. The gravel road was pretty straight and flat only being broken by a short walk through the village of Wheston. The road became even more rugged following this as it turned into the Pennine Bridleway. Gravel turned into muddy paths. We talked occasionally but on the whole we concentrated on our own pain management. Occasionally daring to risk tripping on the uneven ground we found time to look up at the spectacular heavenly stars that were displayed above us. It was a magnificent evening and every so often I even thought that the beauty of the surroundings made the whole thing worthwhile. Dropping down into Millers dale we were greeted by fairy lights in the distance and a volunteer guiding us to the checkpoint. This checkpoint had a wonderfully hot soup on offer which was very much appreciated. We sat in a farmers barn and attempted to rest a little. We were only 45 minutes inside the cutoff time (the checkpoints close at certain times as it is unlikely that you will complete and therefore discourage people to continue after these pre determined times), so we decided after only a few minutes to carry on.

Section 7: Millers Dale to Chelmorton (5.88kms)
Steve has been talking about the Chelmorton Checkpoint since I had met him in Edale. As with most of the checkpoints it had a unique food stuff to look forward to.... Steve has fantasised about this one for the entirety of his hike... he was going to consume his body weight in Donuts. However there was the small issue of the climb out of Millers Dale to contend with first. After dropping into the valley from the checkpoint and a small walk up the now deserted road, you turn left and start a gradual climb towards Sough Top. Now the gradient isn’t too much of an issue, what is the issue is the length of this gradual climb. It feels never ending. We were all running on very low batteries in terms of our physical energy levels and this hill was absolutely energy sapping. It relentlessly kept going, one foot in front on the other, the continuous tapping of walking poles driving you not only forward but also slightly insane. This continues for about 4 kms before finally levelling our. Steve points out a light in the distance, “that’s it!!!”. “That’s what?” we all ask in unison. “The donuts!” He exclaimed. We all seems to move a little faster caught up in Steve’s excitement. After a brief walk up Toddington Moor road, and seeing several walkers who had taken an alternative route from Millersdale through the village of Blackwell, we arrived en mass at the very unique Chelmorton Checkpoint. Approaching the checkpoint an image of the map with 36miles scrawled on it is protected against the side of several roped together gazebos. Inside is the inviting supply station shrouded in fairy lights, playing in the back ground is inspiring tunes in a makeshift disco (ok it might just have been the radio but to me coming out of the still of the night it was like the hacienda in the early 90’s). It was not only mad but such a welcomed relief. After having our cards clipped we followed Steve to his ultimate Goal..... the plate of jam donuts. Now to most readers a plate of jam donuts might not sound too much like a prize, but to Steve and to most of the hikers it was the nectar of the gods. Settling down with a cup of tea, taking the weight off my agonisingly painful feet, I understood what Steve had been going on about for the last 20kms. It was bloody magnificent. The volunteers at the checkpoint were welcoming and bent over backwards to make the stop easy, bringing drinks over to you and giving advise on timings etc. What a great bunch you all are, and not just at Chelmorton. The enthusiasm that they all had on each stop was brilliant, they had been there for the majority of the day, some having to stay until later in the morning, but what I saw was kindness and encouragement for every runner, Walker and hiker. Hats off to you. I will talk more about the volunteers later but for now.... You are all amazing.

Section 8: Chelmorton to East Sterndale (5.66kms)
It’s amazing how your surrounding change on a night walk. I was walking areas that although I had never walked I knew from driving through the areas. Each road we crossed I had previously passed by whilst going about my business. However they were all now completely unrecognisable. The only thing I was looking at right now was the one metre of torchlight in front of my feet, either side of me was darkness. The countryside ahead was highlighted by the dark landscape blotting out the stars, with occasional pin points of light which indicated rural farmhouses. It was eerie to look out on what should be familiar surrounding and my inability to recognise any of it. This was highlighted on this section of the hike. Walking within a couple of metres of Sterndale Moor Quarry, if it hadn’t been on my map I would not have known that hopping the fence to my right hand side would have led to a plummet of several hundred feet.
It was well past midnight now and the countryside was silent apart from the occasional nocturnal rumbling of the local farm animals or wildlife. As I walked on painful feet it was becoming apparent that I was starting to suffer from blisters on my little toes. I was managing to keep this under control with a mix of paracetamol and ibuprofen. This made such a difference but only for around 2.5 hours. The following 1.5 hours when I was unable to take a further dose I was in agony. The only way through this was mind over matter. The pain was at times unbearable but due to the acuteness of the pain it was quite easy to separate this out and ignore it. This only worked for several minutes until a step on an enlarged rock or branch would push the pain through to the forefront of my mind again, and then the ignorance process began again.
On our approach to East Sterndale Julia started to suffer with severe leg pain which slowed her down considerably. Steve hung back with her whilst Helen and I continued the final kilometre to the checkpoint. Arriving at the checkpoint we were greeted by the usual faces. Everyone looked utterly shattered. Settling down with a jam butty and a cup of tea I gave Julia a couple of Solpadeines ( my emergency codeine. I was planning on having these myself but Julia wouldn’t have been able to go on without some proper pain relief). We settled in for the next 30 minutes to allow the pain killers to kick in. 2 older walkers handed in their checkpoint cards and declared they were withdrawing from the challenge. One had been having chest pains, the other looked very pale and very much like an extra from the walking dead.... but then again looking around the room we all could have had a walk on part. To be fair with the way I was walking at the moment I would’t have had to put on the zombie walk. Whilst we sat there an older gentleman got up and proceeded out of the door, stopped by one of the volunteers he was told he wasn’t allowed to walk at night by himself, he looked

outraged “don’t be ridiculous I’ve been walking by myself from the start” and stormed out of the door slamming it behind him. The rules are there for a reason, if anything had happened to him on his solo trek, not only would it have been dangerous for him but would have impacted on the future of the Bullock Smithy. Selfish bastard.
By the time we were ready to leave we were only 30 minutes outside the looming cutoff , Julie appeared to have had some relief from the pain killers. So we stepped out once again into the night.
Section 9: East Sterndale to Brand top (5.66kms)
Setting off from the last few checkpoints had been interesting. To sit down for several minutes and then standing up and heading out into the night, it took a couple of kilometres for my legs to start working. My hips clicked, my legs cramped and the relentless pain in my feet made life very difficult indeed. Once into the walk again the repetitive routine and management of pain took hold again and it was bearable for several kilometres. Until the last kilometre or so when the anticipation of a break distracts you from your mental battle and the pain and fatigue hit you like a sledge hammer. You then stagger through to the checkpoint, sit down and forget all the pain that you have just endured until you once again stand up and the process starts again.
Leaving East Sterndale the pain from the prolonged rest stop was the worst I had experienced up to now. My legs had completely seized, pain shot up my leg, though my bottom and into the core of my back. We started to walk when Helen said she needed to change her socks. We stopped by the side of the road and waited another 10 minutes whilst she attended to the change. I was starting to get worrying about our time now . We had already lost 30 minutes at East Sterndale and with this stop we had lost another chunk of time. If Julia’s pain hampered her, or indeed any of us slowed our pace slightly we would struggle to not only make the cutoff times, but more importantly the completion of the event in the 24hours. This section also contained the infamous “killing Fields”. Let me explain. The Bullock Smithy often times goes across public land but occasionally these public footpaths take you through farm land and very close to working farms. I won’t mention which farm (but if you look at the route it is quite evident which I am talking about), but the owners are quite put out by several hundred runners and hikers traipsing across their land at all hours of the day and night, disturbing cattle and the working dogs. In the past, so I have been told, although the route has been agreed by the organisers in advance and signage put up to ensure that the disturbance is minimised, the owners have set several traps in order to ensnare unprepared participants. From barb wire across the tracks, to electric fencing to the extreme of huge holes being dug on the paths ( to be fair if I had fallen into one of these and broken my leg right now I would have been happy, and probably be in

less pain). So we finally marched on in anticipation of what awaited us for the Bullock Smithy 2019 assault course.
Leaving East Sterndale with only a hand full of minutes to spare til cut off we climbed up the road before taking a path to the left which dropped us down below Upper Edge. The route was extremely steep and slippy underfoot, with the ever increasing dew. It also was cut up with the few hundred people having already descended this way. It was a relief to get down to the bottom unscathed.
The route took us up tracks until I was informed that we were approaching the “assault course”. I’m not sure if I was relieved or disappointed that it appeared to be obstacle free. The route laid out was the least direct to the next check point going across muddy fields and traversing over a stream but there were no man made death traps to speak of. Unless they had already been triggered or removed prior to our arrival.
We marched into the night and were relieved to get onto solid ground of the road up to Brand Top for the last few kilometres. The checkpoint was in a community hall and inside the numbers of weary hikers were increasing. As more and more people were suffering from fatigue and injury they were slowing to below our pace. We were greeted like old friends by the familiar faces and also the enthusiastic volunteers. I spotted a familiar face behind the supply station. One of the young helpers at my sons Beavers was a lad called James. He had told me that he was walking the Bullock this year but apart from a small glimpse at the start line I hadn’t seen him throughout. Last year he had made it to Castleton but due to his age (I think) he had to stop there. This year he had been walking with his mum. They had made it all the way to Millers Dale before injury had forced him to pull out. But rather than getting the “bus of shame” back to Hazel Grove he had got a lift to Brand Top where he was volunteering to help out and dish out the hotdogs on offer. What a bloody trooper, and an example of why so many people raise money for the 3rd Hazel Grove Scouts by taking part in this event. In today’s society to have a place to mould girls and boys with love and morality putting them on the right path to being better human beings.
Looking around the checkpoint the injuries were evident everywhere. Toe nails were being removed, blisters were being dressed, legs had slashes and cuts on them. It was a war of attrition but everyone was building a real camaraderie with all the faces that they came across, people were helping each other dress wounds or give pain killers or just make a brew. It was lovely to see. And I was really enjoying the hotdog I was handed.
Steve looked impatient and went outside to wait for us, and after downing our tea we headed out to join him.

Section 10: Brand top to Cumberland Cottage (6.68kms)
We stepped outside and found Steve, he looked very fatigued. We pushed on in to the night. We followed the road route rather than going up the footpaths after Dovehead. Steve dropped back as we made the accent up to the main road just outside of Flash. When he eventually caught up with us he said he was suffering from lightheadedness and was struggling to stay stood up. This started a 10 minute conversation about leaving him behind on a bench to sleep for half an hour at which point he would catch us up. I had my OS App so I would lead the next section until he caught up with us. This went against everything I was comfortable with. No matter what “ you don’t leave someone behind” especially when they could have been suffering from something that could perhaps be more severe than fatigue. Helen assured us that he has done this several times before on long distance hikes and was comfortable in leaving him. We relented and left him to lie on a bench outside the local pub. Now just the small matter of me not getting us completely lost.
The app luckily worked a treat and we followed the route down the dark lanes into Knotbury. Once through the village the path deviates and it starts to descend flood damaged paths below Cutthorne hill. The pain in my feet was now starting to become a real problem and maybe because of the fatigue I was struggling to use mind over matter to overcome the pain. And to make things 10 times worse on the one section that I was leading, was being slowly interrupted by me requiring the call of nature, and I’m not talking a watering of the plants moment. So as we started to slowly and painfully ascend the hill toward the crossing point of Congleton road, I told the girls to carry on and ducked behind a wall. Trousers down, arse out, enjoying a moment to myself, I was blinded by a spotlight of a fellow hiker who had taken a wrong turn and was coming back toward me. What a sight they had of me squatting next to a wall. I apologise to you if you are reading this. I quickly made myself decent and trudged back up to where the girls were waiting. The ascent was a struggle. The grass was long and sopping with the dew and my feet became absolutely drenched. As we approached the tall stile that leads up to the main road we heard a familiar voice leading some other hikers. Steve!! Not only had he had a half hour sleep but he had also caught up with us in the space of 4 kms. The man must be related to Bear Grylls.
After crossing the main road there is a steep descent down to Cumberland Cottage. The track which leads the way is the worst on the journey with uneven boulder size chunks of pain throughout. There is no way to ignore the pain as every step causes ankles to twist or toes to be stubbed. Cumberland cottage appears like a mirage out of the dusk. In the distance a Matterhorn cow bell is being rung out and when in sight fairy lights lead the way to a beautiful fairytale like cottage in the middle of the forest adjacent to Cumberland Brook.

Entering the cottage you are greeted by a blazing log fire and a supply table that is brimming with sugary delights. After having my card clipped I am handed a full fat coke... the greatest full fat coke I have ever sampled. We were aware of the time as dawn was now upon us so the visit was too brief. My aim in the future is to make this point an hour earlier to really take in the surrounding. It was so hard to tear myself away from the fire but Steve was already heading out of the door so we all followed suit.
Section 11: Cumberland Cottage to Walker Barn (6.37kms)
The walk to me at this point was no longer that enjoyable. Don’t get me wrong, with a stunning dawn enveloping us, and the silence and beauty of the surroundings indescribable, but I have had enough of battling the mental torture of the pain in my feet and legs. With only 4.30hours until the finish time approaching, the chance of enduring the pain and keeping up with the relentless pace was beginning to look like a hurdle too far. I was quite delirious and my mind was struggling to comprehend the situation that I was putting it through. This is where I would have certainly sat down and quit if it wasn’t for my team I had become part of. Steve, Julia and Helen pushed me on at my most painful and difficult moments and I pushed them on when they needed support. It was the thing I had been missing for the first third of the journey. Someone to motivate me, to push me, to tell me to stop moaning and get on with it, and indeed someone for me to lead by example. I may have forced myself into their group but they all became a part of me for the duration of the Bullock. I could not or would not have gone this far without them.
There were two routes over to Walker Barn, one was the longer flatter road route. The other and the one we were now struggling up was the shorter up hill section which leads along the edge of Macclesfield Forest. It was also a lot tougher under foot, as once you get a couple of kilometres in to the route the road turns into a rocky and uneven path called Charity Lane. I was starting to walk like, I can only describe as a paraplegic. With little to no control of my legs on the uphill section it became a case of rocking my hips to move my legs forward. As we approached the top of the rise I was again able to take some pain relief which I hoped would get me through to the finish line . On my descent

down from the forest I saw a young lady or was walking as bad as me, I had seen her previously at Brand top but she was going at a snail pace now. I later found out her name was Nadia. She was suffering from a severe case of burst blister syndrome. We kept each other company for the last couple of kilometres laughing about absurdity of the situation. I later found out she had made it with time to spare. Another trooper who raised over a grand for an autism charity. Amazing achievement and a great cause.
Walker barn checkpoint is in an old church just off the Cat and Fiddle road. The volunteers here were brilliant, they sat you down and got you what you needed. There was no standing around, they were so supportive. However after a couple of minutes. Steve our natural leader indicated that it was time to move on and we reluctantly stood up to leave.
Section 12: Walker Barn to Whiteley Green (6.96kms)
With only one checkpoint to go until the last leg to the finish a belief in completing the Bullock within the time limit was starting to become a reality. There were no real up hills for the next 16kms and most of the route was along a canal and on old railway track. The worst part was getting down to the flat section which involved a prolonged descent along country roads and footpaths to Bollington. We weren’t really speaking as group, just existing and putting one foot in front of the other. Steve mentioned on a couple of occasions that he was going to quit at the next checkpoint which seemed absurd to me with only a few kilometres to go. Life was stirring all around us as we made our way through Rainow, people stared at this strange stream of limping fatigued strangers stumbling though their village. Some asked us what we were doing and were amazed by the achievement that we were close to completing. Coming off the road we drop into the valley at the base of Kerridge Ridge and I am relieved to find out we don’t need to ascend it, instead we skirt around the base of it before dropping into Bollington where we climb up to the canal near one of the old mills. From here it is a short walk of just over a kilometre to the final checkpoint prior to the end. The smaller set up is just as welcomed as all the other checkpoints and a quick cup of tea is partook before we set out for the final leg of our epic journey.

Section 13: Whiteley Green to Hazel Grove (9.1kms)
Steve has decided to carry on. I think to be honest he may have stopped but Julia was really struggling and he continued to support her. When we left Whiteley Green I was filled with a determination that I can’t now explain. I was in intolerable pain, I was totally exhausted but I wanted that piece of paper with my name on it which said I had successfully completed the 2019 Bullock Smithy. There was a risk that Julia might not make the cut off, so without expressing so much in words Helen and me started to pull ahead of the other two. We pushed hard, so hard in fact that upon looking back at my Strava data we went the fastest on the Middleway than at any other time on the hike. Pain wasn’t even a factor. We just pushed hard. Nothing was going to stop us. Over the next few kilometres we overtook several new faces, we passed families enjoying the last of the summers sunshine, the smells of late summer filled our noses as the heat of the late morning sun dried the dew, and before long we were approaching Poynton and the last couple of kilometres through my birth town and onto Hazel Grove and the finish line. I phoned my wife and told her I would be back before the cutoff and she set off from home. We ascended the steps off the Middlewood way and made our way down the sleepy streets of Coppiceside in Poynton. As we walked down towards Towers road by stomach lurched. I will never forget the sickening feeling as my left little toe nail slipped off. As I steadied myself and hopped onto my right foot, I felt the little toe nail slip off that foot as well. The pain was beyond anything.... Just anything full stop. Helen came back to see if I was ok. I told her my predicament and attempted to walk on but I was in real trouble. I told her to go on without me, I still had an hour to get to the finish line but I would slow her down too much. She agreed to carry on and after a shouted conversation as she almost went down the wrong road, she continued up Towers Road and out of sight.
Well here I was alone. Just over 23 hours before I had found myself in this position. If at that time you could describe what I was about to put myself through, the pain that I would experience, the

exhaustion that would envelop me. I would have reconsidered. However if you had told me of the people I would meet, the brief life changing friendships I would form, the beauty of the surroundings in the darkest of times I may well have.... Just maybe... carried on. And that is exactly what I was going to do now. I was going to carry on. I was going to bloody well finish what I had started. I started walking , I ignored the pain and the soft squelch of my raw nailless toes, I walked and I walked hard. I was determined not to give up or slow down. Walking up Towers Road several people whom I suspect were not part of the Bullock but none the less knew of the event spurred me on with statements like “keep going you’re almost there”. A car full of hikers travelled the opposite direction leaned out the window and cheered me on. It was bloody brilliant. Within no time I found myself on the main road heading toward the scout hut. As I approached the traffic lights at the Fiveway, a few hundred metres from the finish line, I spotted the bridge next to the scout hut. I don’t know whether it was relief, pain, exhilaration, tiredness, or I suspect a mixture of all of them, but I burst into tears. Bloody hell I thought. Where did that come from. I quickly composed myself as bemused people sat in their cars at the traffic lights watched with amused looks. I found my sunglasses to hide the tears and crossed the junction. The last hundred metres and I spotted Yuliya and the kids waiting for me at the gates. The kids ran towards me and I again was overcome with emotion.... This was quickly broken when my daughter Maia recoiled from my hug exclaiming “you stink”. Yes I did! And I deserve every bit of sweat. Kissing my wife she reminded me that I hadn’t finished yet and I strolled towards the finish line. There were several participants and several organisers clapping me through to the finish where I handed in my checkpoint Tally card for the final time. And with almost an hour to spare I had completed the Bullock Smithy in 23hours 4 minutes, only 5 minutes behind Helen. Steve and Julia arrived 13 minutes after me. Nadia made it despite her blister after 23hours 30 minutes.
Out of the 295 starters, 236 people completed the Bullock meaning 59 retired. I came in at 204th.

Afterthoughts:
I sit here 3 weeks on with no ill effects from the Bullock Smithy. To be honest apart from it taking a week to catch up with sleep I was fine after a couple of days. The toe nails still haven’t grown back. I have however been through a slump in my emotions. To go through something so extreme in terms of emotions, life looked a little mundane for a while. I’m fine now but I have looked at further challenges to fill that hole. I have signed up for the Goyt Valley Challenge in a few weeks, and I am seriously contemplating the 2020 Bullock Smithy. Having read back on my journey I know many will ask ( and indeed I ask myself) “why?”. Because I know I can do better having learnt the lessons through trial and error.
1) I need to get myself fit. Although a seasoned short distance walker I didn’t realise that my weight and my general unhealthy lifestyle would cause such pain. I was carrying over 12kgs of additional weight which played havoc to my muscular and skeletal systems.
2) I will carry only what I need to. Most of my additional snacks remained untouched throughout the walk. Due to the frequency of the checkpoints and the resupply stations I don’t think I need to carry anymore than a 2 litre camelpac. As I did on the Bullock I will take advantage of all the eccentric snacks on offer. This is all totally weather dependant as if there is high temperatures predicted additional fluids might be warranted.
3) I will review my footwear choices. Over the practice walks I concentrated on blister minimising, I chose running trainers for this years walk, I now believe this was a mistake. The most painful thing was the impact pain from the constant footfall. I therefore believe a more sturdy thicker soled walking boot would minimise this damage.
4) I will utilise walking poles at an earlier stage. I was 20kms into the walk before I took them out of my rucksack. Not only does this help with minimising weight going through my legs but also ensures that I remain steady on steep sections of the hike. This might not seem too detrimental in the short term but the constant relentless twisting of a slipping foot has huge negative effect on the body in the long term.
5) I will take advantage of the other people around me. It was only a third of the way through the walk that I really started to make friends with people around me. To have someone to spur you on or just distract you from your own negative thoughts was invaluable. This might be easier next year as my wife is considering entering although this challenge could lead to a quick divorce. I am also doing everything to persuade Tristan to sign up but as of now he is flatly refusing. I know there will be familiar faces and people who will be willing for me to join them next year
6) I will practice the route. If it wasn’t for Steve and his knowledge I would probably have lost too much time to complete the challenge in the allotted time by having to navigate. I think I know the route but a year is a long time to forget the small, easier, diversions.
7) And despite all the above, I know I can do it. Through the bitching and moaning, the pain and the tiredness I did it! I know there was probably more determination to finish my first Bullock but if I can iron out some of my flaws I think I can repeat and hopefully better my time.
Was it worth it? Personal challenges have been part of my life for the past few years and it keeps me going as I stumble through middle age. If I didn’t have these I would keep a rather sedentary and unhealthy lifestyle (trust me I have done nothing other than eat and drink since the Bullock and put on an additional 3 kg). The autumn and winter seasons have always been a fallow period for me but once January hits I intend to hit the fitness regime hard. Of cause it was worth it. What a bloody brilliant achievement. What a brilliantly well organised challenge. All the volunteers ensure that the

checkpoints and refuelling stations are stocked, they bend over backwards to welcome you to their small oasis on the route. Some go the extra mile (walkers barn, Chelmorton and Cumberland cottage coming to mind), however all the others have there own character and enthusiasm. The event raises funds for a great organisation. The same organisation whom organise and run the event. So all I can say give it a go, after the pain of the event I understand why many participants fail to complete it. But they all achieved goals and took on what is one of the hardest endurance challenges out there. You get to spend time in beautiful surroundings with beautiful people and truly push yourself to the limit. Everyone needs a challenge in life to keep them going and bettering themselves and I feel that I may just have found a new family to take on this epic challenge again with.
Bring on 2020
Peace out Steve
P.S
Please check out a short video I made on my experience of the Bullock Smithy 2019. In advance I apologise about the amount of moaning of my pain and also the lack of landscape. Note to self must try harder next year to make a more interesting video

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