Shutts again, but this time to see the sun set. I recall a run with James a few years back where we found ourselves up there as the sun was about to set. It was by chance, but memorable. This time of year, spectacular sunsets are a rare thing, but with some foresight and a degree of rigorous planning, I'd assembled a small and reluctant group with the singular purpose of standing atop of Shuttlingsloe summit as the sun would dip over the Cheshire plain.
I've not run with James for a while, he was a 'maybe' until the final call and from then it was the familiar 'what are we wearing, Rich' until the moment we'd got out of Chris's car. I'd fully anticipated running as I was, meaning simply a T and shorts. On the one hand, it'd been a stunning day, blue skies all day and a light breeze, on the other I don't posses much more in terms of running apparel, so hadn't really given it any thought. I should have, it was blowing a gale, a sharp penetrating wind that went straight to the bone.
Chris kept his head down and got on with it, Sharon anxious that we might not make it to the pub and James forever putting his jacket back on or taking it off again. I just tried to keep the group together and offering encouragement, mostly defending my insistence that we'd brought head torches, despite the razor sharp brightness of the sun and a steely blue sky. It was stunning, and certainly immersive. When in the wind, it was deafening, rattling our clothes and battering our ears.
And then little pockets of isolation and a mesmerising silence as you'd turn back to look at where we'd come from, seeing a rapidly darkening scene stretch out beneath. Eventually we'd reached the top, puffing and wheezing, just as the sun was kissing the horizon. We sat and watched...what a show! In the moment before the sun disappeared, the landscape took an almost one dimensional look, barren almost, but with translucent burnt orange floating haze. We sat and watched in silence...then it was gone.
It was a shame Pete and Steve couldn't have been there, Steve with his own troubles and Pete spending all day in bed with the nurse. The photos don't really illustrate what we experienced. And then back down...the long way, of course. We soon hit the tree line and it was head torches on, pitch black underfoot, but a forest canopy lit by the dying light of the day. It was the best single track running you could wish for. And then the pub. A great evening... it all came together and went down as one of the most memorable runs of the year.
