Janesmoor Pond, fog, mud and Santas

11 December 2016

Lately life seems to have been nothing but one race after another. This morning we were up early yet again, heading for a race. This though, would be the last race of the year. In an epic piece of bad planning on the part of the people who plan races, there were actually three races going on this morning in different parts of Hampshire. Without a time machine though, we could only go to one and Commando chose the CC6 at Janesmoor Pond. 

Yesterday was very wet, meaning this was going to be a muddy race. Luckily the forecast for today was cold and bright and, when we set off there was frost on the car windscreen and blue sky overhead. Somewhere on the motorway this all changed though and a thick fog rolled across the road, patchy at first and then getting thicker until we could hardly see the road ahead.

When we pulled up at the Janesmoor Pond car park it looked as though the sun was going to burn off the fog. Being the last race before Christmas there were santas everywhere. All the marshals were dressed in Santa suits. At least they were easy to spot in the fog, which was rapidly winning in the battle against the sun.

By the time everyone lined up for the race start the fog had become so thick I began to wonder if the runners would be able to find their way around the course. Then they were off, dashing across the muddy grass with the wonderful Annie bringing up the rear. The camera did a better job of seeing through the fog than my eyes did.

There are some fantastic trails at Janesmoor Pond and my original plan had been to have a little wander while the race was on. The fog was so thick and the mud so deep I quickly decided this was not a good idea at all. If I went into the woods I might never come out again. In the end I decided to stick to the path and maybe head towards the pond, thinking it might make for some interesting photos with the fog swirling across it.

This might have been true if I’d actually been able to find the Pond in the fog. As it was I could barely see a few feet ahead of me. With each careful step trees and shrubs surprised me by appearing out of the murk. The path curved and I was sure the Pond must be right ahead. Then I looked back and could no longer even tell where the race start was. I thought I’d better retrace my steps lest I walked  right into the pond before I saw it.

Walking back seemed to be taking a lot longer than I’d expected and I began to worry I’d somehow taken a wrong turn. When, finally,  all the running club flags materialised from the whiteness ahead, it was something of a relief.

Slowly, I picked my way across the boggy grass, searching for the finish line that had been swallowed up by the thickening fog in my absence. Standing beside the Santa marshals I wondered how on earth the runners were managing to find their way? With visibility so poor and mud so thick I began to worry. Falling seemed a distinct possibility and with falls come injuries. There have been quite enough of those this year already.

The fog billowed and eddied, occasionally disgorging a runner. It seemed to be thinning, at least in patches, revealing large, muddy puddles pockmarked by the deep footprints of the runners who’d passed. Finally, much to my relief, I saw Commando. He hit the mud and sent it spraying up into the air. Then he seemed to lose his footing, trail shoes sliding on the unstable ground. I sucked in my breath, thinking he would surely fall but, somehow, he regained his balance and kept going, flying across the more solid ground to the finish.

Eventually everyone was safely back and the fog finally began to lift.  No one had got lost in the fog and no one had fallen. This seemed like something of a miracle given the conditions.

Now all that was left to do was fold down the tent, a task that has proved frustratingly difficult in the past. Commando and Luis tried to tackle it but, after a promising start, it obstinately refused to stay folded. Eventually a runner from another club came to their aid. For a while it seemed he had it under control but, even with his expertise, the blasted thing escaped his clutches and sprang open again before it was finally beaten into submission. For us spectators it was an entertaining spectacle but we had to keep our laughing to a minimum to avoid upsetting those brave enough to try to tame the recalcitrant tent.

We’d arrived at Janesmoor Pond in thick fog. Now the race was over the sun finally came out. If only it had managed that earlier.

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