Finally, a report that doesn't contain any mention to the Togs! (And it only took them 5 months to write it!) The Togs do not take any responsibility for the poor use of English language, extremely poor jokes, nor poor punctuation. That blame lies solely at the feet of our writers, Tom and Mark Ridgway. Read on. |
Dragnet Report 2004 2nd- 4th July- composed by 'Ridgmedia' (Subject to usual trade mark, copy right and anti-terrorist laws-an unofficial subsidiary of the farcical 'togmedia' group) Elite Team Members: Tom Ridgway: Chief ugly, navigator and unwarranted optimist. Mark Ridgway: Rookie 1, expert boulder impersonator and acting emergency flare. Andrew Thorpe: 2i/c, true heir of Thorpe family humour & veteran of 3 dragnets. Phil Cargill: Rookie 2, 'special' team member and self appointed meal planner. We set out from Marple HQ at roughly 18:00 in two cars and arrived at Newby Bridge at about 20:30. This was only hampered by Twit J forgetting his Jumper and boots (separately & his complete lack of preparation was highlighted in the lakes when he realised the boots he had brought weren't his. It amused us anyway!) First a quick resume for those who do not know the rules of dragnet. 1. You do not talk about dragnet 2. You DO NOT talk about dragnet hmmm or is that something else? I get confused. Anyway, the general idea is to get dropped off in the middle of nowhere, orientate yourselves, then navigate back to a point 35 plus miles away in as near to 36 hours as possible. There's one more twist: you are given three 'lives' at the start of the competition, and then 50 teams of 'catchers' are released, hell bent on depriving you of these sought after commodities. The winning team is the team with the most lives coming in at the finish within an hour of the target time. If there is more than one team on the same number of lives, the winner is the one coming in closest to the target time. Sounds easy enough. Until it's you standing on the rugged terrain of the Lake District with 34k to walk 12hours to do it in, in the dark, it's raining, and you're trying your utmost to avoid roads so as not to be caught! There are the glorious views and inevitable pleasure at having been there, done that (and got the disgusting-coloured T-shirt) to easily make up for the difficult parts! After all, where's the sense of achievement without a challenge? On with the story anyhow. The challenge started with a with a warm up of walk a mile and a half before the event had even started, just to get to the bus as the Leader had trouble navigating to the lay-by, not a good omen! After following the coach route on the maps in the dark for an hour or so, we arrived at our destination: the middle of nowhere! We quickly orientated ourselves without the G.P.S. we'd been promised, naming no names BEN ASHWORTH!!! We began our hour-long jog, through hundreds of deserted villages (not much night-life either, we notice); pausing only once every few minutes for Phil to take his jumper off and tie his shoe laces. And put his coat on again. And re-adjust his boots. And take his top off. And so on..We think by the end of the hour he was really getting the hang of dressing himself (His mother will be so proud, it's only taken 16 plus years!) With 10 minutes of immunity remaining we sprinted through Stainton and stopped to recover our breath in some field. We then proceeded, with considerable success, to lose our catchers (and our bearings), in vast swathes of nettles and giant bramble thickets. We began to collect our first souvenirs of the trip: countless stings and an impressive gash to Tom's knee. At this early stage in the race it started raining. Eventually we worked our way stealthily across the main road, and along the river bank, watching closely in the gloom for the bridge we hoped existed! If we'd taken much longer it probably wouldn't have! Optimistically called White Bridge, it was anything but. We crossed this ramshackle construction, leaning at about 25 degrees, doing our best not to put our feet through the gaping holes in the floor. Enthused with our success, we sat down for our first well-earned rest. Confusion ensued as we spotted an army of elite catchers starting to cross the bridge armed with tracking-dogs, stun grenades, night-vision goggles and back-up in the form of three or so helicopters* (see footnotes at bottom of page). Luckily we'd carefully laid down emergency plan 37A for exactly this kind of situation, and carried it out to the letter. WE RAN AWAY (fast)!!!! Having consolidated under a convenient tree, we assessed the damage, very wet boots being the main cause of concern. It was still raining (2:30am). From here, after two road crossings, we heaved a sigh of relief and started our crossing of the moor-land, which obviously would be deserted at 4:00 in the morning. Choosing our strategy carefully we slip-streamed two groups. If we did encounter any catchers they would provide invaluable distractions. After a short a while we began to notice that there were 10 members in the two groups preceding ours. Very odd, considering there are only 4 men teams involved. When Andy noticed a walker ambling perpendicular to the path about 10 metres away, we started to become suspicious. After debating the possibility of a midnight ramblers association for a couple of minutes we decided to revert to plan 37A! This was executed with perfect timing just as the pincer movement with the catcher's partner was about to close and was surprisingly effective considering our bedraggled condition and Tom's 10metre Klinnsman on the sodden turf**. Refuge was taken in a not-nearby-enough streambed. It was still raining. Hard (5am). After a few more hours of trudging through the incessant horizontal rain, we decided it wasn't our idea of fun and despite Phil's unquenchable enthusiasm (ish) to go on, we decided to look for a convenient barn to shelter in. We found what we thought to be an idyllic-looking barn, until our eyes adjusted to the light and we noticed the rotting carcasses of long-dead sheep. Not the ideal mattress! So Phil got his way (ish) and we continued on dejectedly (except for Tom obviously, who was enjoying himself tremendously). This eventually resulted in a sorry bunch of miscreants dripping on the doorstep of a random farmhouse at about 8am. After a strangely long pause a rather flushed middle aged man answered the door, and after a brief discussion with his strangely flustered wife, we were told to sod off. However, his initial excitement at seeing us seemed to wear off and we found him chasing us (across the land he had just told us not to go across). After unsuccessfully trying to run away, we realised his good intentions and he led us to a spare barn (of a neighbour!), at the cost of Mark, Phil and Andy getting a good coating of cow. ¤ (This is another footnote sign thing). Four uncomfortable hours and 1 marshmallow barbeque later, it was only the youngest of the group who had got any sleep, on account of him being the only one with a sleeping bag in sub-zero conditions ¤¤. A mattress consisting of assorted sheep bones is not recommended either! When we surfaced again at 1pm ish, it had miraculously stopped raining, for the first time. This lifted our spirits somewhat as we set out across the top of the moors. Until that is, we received a message from our network back up team saying they were tired of carrying our kit for us! Also they'd just been caught only several hundred metres from where we were standing at the time. Not good. After a quick discussion we decided maps might be helpful later on, despite our navigational prowess. This created a new dilemma in that we had to find somewhere that we could find, but where the catchers couldn't find us! The opportunity presented itself in the form of a telephone box at Burnbanks near Haweswater reservoir. This however did not fully fill the second criteria and resulted in us sitting on the top of a hill waiting for the constant stream of catchers to thin somewhat, so we could break through their ranks (they may not all have been catchers, but they were loitering suspiciously!). In a daring raid on the village, the maps were recovered and we continued to weave our way across the valley. Having been foiled at the bridge, we were forced to wade the raging torrents of the ankle deep Haweswater Beck. Incidentally this was the last sighting of any kind of human activity whatsoever for the next 16 hours! Our next 3 hours were spent attempting not just to climb, but to actually traverse diagonally a near-vertical cliff-face with the agility that any self-respecting mountain goat would have been proud of. Refreshment was provided in our first stress-free meal (no-one else would be foolish enough to bother going anywhere near us!) (3:30pm). In the end attempts were abandoned, and we walked along the ridge above Haweswater, enjoying the views and climbing giant 2 metre deer fences every 10 minutes or so, arguably getting slightly carried away with the whole evasion side of things! We took a southerly bearing, and began our long trek across the hills. On this section of the journey our main source of amusement was laughing at Phil's increasingly insistent suggestions of tea. These were replied with the standard "OK just over the next hill Phil", "Yes, just one more"..We put him out of his misery after about an hour, on top of Selside Brow, as we watched the sun set, and Phil frolicked happily with his new "friend" ¤¤¤. By the time we reached Tarn Crag it was getting decidedly gloomy, and the decision was made to stop for the night. However, as we learnt to our dismay, we still had plenty of action in the form of a scree-slope/cliff. Due to one of Tom's clever evasion tactics, we ended up crossing a wet 45 degree rock slope with the occasional vertical sided canyon thrown in! A nerve-racking hour later, we had been reduced to quivering wrecks and collapsed in the local farmer's field in the valley. Consciousness slowly returned to us 3 three hours later and our mission resumed, with another 24 odd kilometres to go and only 8 hours remaining. Quite a daunting task, cross country. We slogged on up the conveniently placed bridleway, and after a steep ascent to the ridge, we carried on gradually climbing, to the picturesque Brunt Knott. A herd of magnificently antlered deer was spotted in the distance, from this outcrop, but they soon scattered as we approached them. We then dropped down into a valley, suddenly aware of our lack of time. Taking a south-westerly bearing, we continued post-haste down through Staveley, wading two thigh-deep rivers, only stopping briefly half-way through the river for a photo-shoot. At this point to save our aching legs somewhat, we dumped our bags behind a convenient wall, and started our (2 hour!) sprint for the line! 30 seconds into this headlong rush, we were stopped by a very big muddy ditch. Feeling slightly foolish, we resorted to conventional tactics, and used the bridge. After following a point on the horizon across a railway, several main roads and a few miles of fields, with reasonable success, a "helpful" local managed to confuse us entirely with his limited navigational skills. Surprising how little someone knows the area that they have lived in all their life! Evasion was no longer a priority after this confusion, and the most direct route possible held a certain appeal. However, we did not envisage the crazed sprints down completely enclosed twisting lanes, shouting every so often about which escape route was most probable in the event of a catcher chasing us (i.e. the least painful route!). These measures may seem futile to the well-rested and sane among you reading this, but at the time sacrificing the 'lives' we had worked so hard for, for the last day and a half, wasn't an option! This led to mad cow chases and rushes across farmer's bowling-green standard lawns, washing lines, and vegetable patches. Also, we ended up crossing a particularly heart-pounding half-mile of menacing valley, which proclaimed it contained a dangerous bull, and to continue at your own peril. It wasn't these words that the scared us, but the picture of a giant blood-crazed beast that added that extra spring in our step! Having traversed this without spotting anything even remotely resembling a Minotaur, we trekked through a few deserted farmsteads, following a bridleway. The next obstacle came in the form of yet another main road, but after crossing it without difficulty, the end plantation was glimpsed for the first time. At this point we became slightly worried, as we were 30 minutes late, and the rules state that any team more than an hour past the target time is disqualified. We jogged on, past fields of highland cattle, through another manor's grounds and finally entered "Great Tower Plantation". 10 minutes to go. Upping the pace again, we skirted the woods, on a well-worn track, and climbed a gate which led to the camping sites. A huge hill loomed up before us, and we were forced by Tom to virtually sprint up it, almost tripping on dangerous roots countless times. 5 minutes to go. Just as we were about to collapse, we reached the barren summit: finally SUCCESS! Or so we thought. We'd just noticed the surprising lack of people, when a helpful organiser informed us that the finish point had moved to the main building, as they had got bored of waiting at the top! Just what we needed; another half a mile run. With 3 minutes remaining, we sprinted off madly, shouting to fellow teams to find the main complex. We broke into a clearing and found a smug John Williams looking at watch and saying "30 seconds to go." Eventually, we had finished the ordeal. We registered in at the desk, earning a round of applause, and almost fell onto the convenient wall, where the network team had been resting for the last hour! After three-quarters-of-an-hour of blissful rest, the ending ceremony started and we found that we had come second, on account of us being the second team to arrive with all 3 lives intact! Not bad considering the average age of our team was about 16 and a half. Incidentally, of the 25 teams that started out, a mere 7 finished! The others died in the attempt to finish, probably starved to death, alone on the moors (or perhaps were picked up by the coach). With all the free pies eaten, we had no reason to stay, and left for Marple, the only danger now being that our drivers were almost asleep! Although Dragnet is an amazingly difficult challenge, and you aren't exactly over the moon the whole time, it bring a great sense of achievement at the end to say we came second so we'll be back next year, going for number 1! Reasons we didn't win dragnet this year: 1. We were demotivated at the lack of a comforting G.P.S 2. Our Network support team didn't carry our maps in the right direction*** 3. A complete lack of organisation on our part on the first two counts. 4. We got distracted by David the frog. Time's ish: 03:00am Saturday - White Bridge (lost maps here!) 09:00-13:30 - Sleeping (in barn, had just stopped raining) 18:00 - Haweswater Tea (just retrieved maps from telephone box). This was the start of 16 hour period where we didn't actually see anyone or any vehicles at all! 20:00 - Met David (Phil's friend, a frog by the way!) 22:00 - Began descent of scree cliff thing in pitch black! 23:30-02:30 - Sleeping 2nd time in a field somewhere under K.I.S.S.U. shelter. 11:00 Sunday Still 6K to go, twits had finished already! 11:57 Told that top was no longer end of course! 11:59 Finished race, with about 24 seconds to go. *Possibly **With the benefit of hindsight such premature celebrations of freedom could have been considered unwise if not down right stupid. ***Only joking! ¤ That is a gap fill exercise. To clarify, they didn't actually get a coating of cow. ¤¤ It was pretty darn cold anyway. ¤¤¤ Technically, capturing the poor creature (a frog to be specific) in your hands may not be considered friendly, although apparently this is standard practice for making friends for Phil! |
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