April Microadventure: After Hours
5 min read.
Of all the months to trip me up on my monthly microadventure challenge, I didn’t think it would be April. But with a week off work to potty train, two bank holidays, tapering for a marathon and work filling the gaps, it was hard to take a full day to go and do something wild and wonderful. And it was doubly hard to find the time to write about it, hence the delay (reader: I’m writing this with May’s write-up waiting in the wings).
BUT I didn’t want to use busyness as an excuse for not getting out there, mainly as I knew it was exactly what I needed. So I decided to go on an after hours excursion.
I’ve wanted to run on the moors in the dark for a while. I even bought a very expensive head torch back in 2021 (Petzl Swift RL). But for one reason or another – pregnancy, newborn phase, and if I’m honest, going out in the dark alone isn’t really a good idea as a woman – I’ve just never got around to doing it.
Reasons quashed, I picked one of my go-to loops on the moor: a 12km with 330m of climbing. I know it well and I know it’s safe. However, I did pack a whistle, share my location with Dan and ask him to wait up for me. We’re usually in bed for 9pm; I wasn’t expecting to get home until closer to 10pm. I also decided to run without music, which is unheard of for me.
After getting our toddler to bed, I bid Dan farewell and headed out the door. I was running by 8pm, with the aim of catching sunset over the Yorkshire Dales. It did not disappoint, although the picture above doesn’t do it justice. I paused in the silence. With a small child I’m rarely out of the house past 6pm these days – and life is rarely silent. It felt good.
As I climbed up on top of the moors, night took hold. I must admit, as it got darker I could feel my senses heighten. I was suddenly very aware of being totally alone – a feeling I usually relish up here in the day. I spooked a few pheasants, which in turn spooked me. There was an eery silence, yet I didn’t miss my music. I wondered if it was always this quiet and I’d been missing out, blaring music into my ears.
On I ran, the incline so gradual now that you don’t even realise you’re climbing. I followed the dry stone wall, crossed the planked path and dried bog, before reaching the exposed plateau. Suddenly the wind whipped up behind me, which made it hard to hear anything else. My heightened senses were tested.
I know every step, stone and leap on this 12km loop; I’ve done it countless time. Doing it by head torch, however, was a very different experience. The dark toyed with my perception. I kept thinking I was much further along the route than I was. Was I running faster than usual or was the thrill of it speeding my heart rate up?
I heard a muffle on the wind. Then out of nowhere appeared three silhouettes just off the track. Who is it and what are they doing on the moors after dark? I sped past them. That really got my heart rate going. I thought I spotted another figure ahead of me but it was just the trig pillar marking the highest point, which I thought I’d passed already.
Powering along the giant slabs that route you across the top, I reached the tight left turn that gives way to my favourite part of the loop: a beautiful descent that I seem to fly down at breathtaking speeds. This time, though, there was a little less flying and a little more fumbling. I wasn’t as sure-footed as normal. My eyes kept refocusing on the next obstacle my head torch lit up.
I hard stopped at the beck, the end of my favourite section, before hopping across it. Heading back down into the valley, I had a bit more speed underfoot, as the path opened up. I was sheltered from the elements once again and ran on in silence. I wondered if I’d opt for silence over music on my next run.
The final stretch passed below a sheer drop, before undulating to the White Wells: an old spa bath house that was built around 1700. Today it’s a cafe, although I must admit, I’ve never been. Striding down the steps, I can usually see the car down below, yet I saw nothing. We’d all need a Petzl if it wasn’t for streetlights.
Reaching the bottom, I skipped around the duck pond and hit stop on my Garmin. I drove home in silence, adrenaline bubbling. I knew it was going to take me a while to fall asleep when I got home. Creeping in, Dan was waiting for my arrival to close his eyes. I laid in bed thinking about all the places that would be fun in the dark.
But they’ll have to wait until the nights draw in, as I’m definitely not an 8pm runner.
