Fellsman Dart 30 miles, 4200 feet elevation (varies according to route choice)
Race date: Saturday 25th April 2026
Race report by Laura Rangeley

Get ready for another Laura Rangeley long race, long report – this time also including a lengthy pre-amble!

It all began on August 1st last year. My husband Jim had decided he wanted to run the Fellsman – an iconic 62 mile self navigated point-to-point fell race traversing checkpoints throughout the Yorkshire Dales, approaching its 62nd year. All well and good, apart from the fact it fell shortly after our wedding anniversary, and I was already a bit peeved at the number of solo weekends away he’d had as a more accomplished adventurer than myself. Turns out romance isn’t dead in the Rangeley household as lo, what should fall into my inbox but a surprise “Jim Rangeley has entered you into the Fellsman Dart” confirmation from SI Entries. The Fellsman Dart is a “short” (lol) 30 mile version of the full event, covering the second half of the route. And that was that – I was going with him. I was already in training for the Dig Deep ultra at the time so my plan was to keep up the mileage, work on my nav skills, and be ready to go on an event which I thought would be not too dissimilar to the ultras I’ve completed before, all being off road and with a similar distance and elevation to the Dart. Spoiler alert – reader, I underestimated it.

Anyway things quickly fell apart when the aftermath of Dig Deep resulted in a bout of patellar tendinitis. Hills were out of bounds while I recovered, and it took until the Percy Pud in December for my knee to feel better. I’d been recommended sports massages and an upping of mileage (gulp) by my physio, which led to me enlisting the help of fellow Strider Cara Hanson, who could not only cover the massages but put together a flexible plan with suggestions for weekly goals and long runs built in, leaving the rest up to me to help me not feel too overwhelmed or bound by the training. Importantly, recovery weeks were also built in, which I’d stupidly neglected before – I felt they made a huge difference. Speed sessions remained a focus initially, resulting in a 10k PB at Stockport in January, before I turned my attention to building in the elevation, keeping up with strength work and balancing longer runs with niggle management – something I was hyper aware of after my experience at Dig Deep. I managed to hit my goals every week bar one, and enjoyed the races I had built in to the training block – the 25km Saddleworth 5 Res’s, which was a perfect kit check trial run, and the 34km Grindleford Gallop, where I was thrilled with a whopping 40 minute PB compared to my time a couple of years ago.

Another thing I’d been conscious of was the weather, and what this might mean for the race. The extensive kit list includes 5 long sleeved layers, a survival bag PLUS hooded foil poncho, a headtorch and back up light source, and a pair of goggles which must seal around the face – all reflective of potential conditions on the exposed and remote terrain. Terrifying. As a spectacles wearer who struggles with any combination of dark, rain, and fog when off road, I’d already decided that should conditions be particularly adverse I was ok with not making the start line – I wouldn’t enjoy it, and I wouldn’t have felt safe. I had not predicted the weather being TOO nice. Enter, a rogue April heatwave, with suncream and a cap joining the down jacket in my already full to bursting pack.

After days of sorting kit, packing, unpacking and repacking, we were ready! We headed up to race HQ (the finish line, Upper Wharfedale school in the tiny village of Threshfield) on Friday evening to have our kit checked and be ready for Jim’s very early start the next morning. Now it’s worth pointing out at this point that the logistics of the event are absolutely superb. We could choose to camp in the school field at the finish as part of our entry, with a bus from there to the start lines of our respective races available, so no panic about getting there in time and somewhere super close to rest before an early start (and a very late night). They even put a shuttle bus service on from the car park to get us and all our gear to HQ fuss free. We accidentally took an embarrassingly huge tent compared to the tiddlers around us so we had ample room to faff even more before heading to registration. This was an impeccably organised affair which still took an hour of queuing – no real hardship in the beautiful sunshine with plenty of other nervous but very friendly runners around us, and the time passed quickly exchanging thoughts on route choices and what food we were looking forward to most at the checkpoints. I was in the minority doing the Dart, which has a limit of just 100 entrants due to the remote location of the start line, compared to 500 capacity for the full Fellsman. I’ll admit I felt an imposter in that queue, and it took people in the “real world” to remind me that only 30 miles isn’t a concept that exists outside of the ultra running community and is actually still quite a long way. Anyway, after snaking round the school, signing a waiver for everything “including but not limited to death”, having our trackers attached and going through kit check (really nerve wracking, but made so much easier by the thoroughly delightful volunteers) – we were finally unleashed into the rapidly cooling evening to actually put all of the stuff into our bags, over which I had a small tantrum, before an early night.

Overnight, the temperature dropped to freezing – not exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep in a tent. Jim was up at first light, and crunched away over frosty grass while I managed to have a bit of an extra snooze until I was rudely awakened by the defrosting condensation in the tent dripping to the floor and causing a puddle which soaked my breakfast (a Belgian Bun and a banana), not ideal but hey ho, nothing compared to the challenges which lay ahead. My bus set off to Ingleton at 9.30 and it was a gorgeous drive through stunning scenery. Ingleton was the start of the full event but also where we would collect our numbers and the all important tally – a disc which had to be presented and stamped at each checkpoint as evidence of our visit – before a second bus trundled us to the Dart start line at Redshaw, just south of Hawes. This journey took us near the Ribblehead viaduct, so we were treated to drive by views of some of the Yorkshire Three Peaks competitors. By this point temperatures were pushing 20 degrees, cloud free skies with very little breeze, tough conditions to be out on the exposed hills and moorland terrain.

Here’s where the day’s next (and most tragic) challenge presented itself. The organisers had been informed of a serious road accident, just a mile from our start, on the only road to Redshaw. Their plan was to get us as close as possible and see what could be done. As we approached Redshaw it was very clear we weren’t getting there on the coach, with the road blocked by a multitude of emergency vehicles including three air ambulance helicopters. Here’s where the Scout spirit came into force. The committee members responsible for setting us off jumped off the bus, did the world’s most thorough dynamic risk assessment and managed to successfully liaise with the police and landowners to safely, sensitively and compassionately guide all 84 of us around the scene of the accident – taking us off road, over and around a hill so we were well out of sight, before popping us back out on the road just a couple of hundred metres from the Redshaw checkpoint which was to be our start line. Not the way any of us thought we’d be beginning the challenge and it really did make me feel so grateful to be safe and well and able to take part in such a ridiculous endeavour.

OK I’ve finally got to the actual race part now! Consider this the checkpoint/aid station of the report, a good opportunity to get yourself a cuppa and a biscuit, tis the ultra way after all!

As I’ve mentioned already, the Fellsman is a very classic style of fell race and the start was no different – someone shouted go, and off we went! Immediately we were into a climb, gentle for now on rough tufty grass over soggy bog ridden ground, not a path in sight, just set the bearing and follow the features of the ground. My feet were wet within seconds, and it was BOILING, the sun beating down with no shade to speak of. If this was indicative of what was to come (it was), this was going to be even more of a slog than I’d anticipated. The first 7k or so was entirely uphill and a mix of rolling fields and bridleway, with the first proper ascent being straight up the side of Dodd Fell. Looking back this scrambly climb barely factors in my memory but at the time it felt pretty tough! Tally clipped and tracker swiped at the top (the checkpoints had a fun combination of sounds when we dibbed in, ranging from a wheyoooooo for the first few, to a da-da-da-daaa-da-daaaaaa! fanfare of champs later on) and onward, to finally a bit of respite from climbing. I’d been warned there was some tricky navigation coming off Dodd Fell and indeed this was the only bit where I properly went wrong, overshooting the turn off I needed due to what I foolishly thought would be a visible gap in the wall or even maybe a stile onto a path actually being a broken fence traversing a stream, which needed to be clambered over. But back on course and not far to go to Fleet Moss, the first road checkpoint which meant a chance to refuel. Conscious of not lingering too long, I topped up my water and scampered off with my hands full of Jaffa Cakes and potato sticks (I didn’t fancy the hot bean stew at this point).

The next section, into the village of Marsett then onwards to Cray, was a change to the previous route to avoid a lengthy road section and I think comply with a conservation request, so it was new even to seasoned runners of the race, of which there were many! Some of this bit was actually runnable although I took a line right down to a stream and ended up splashing about more than intended. It was at this point, still only about a quarter of the way round, that I realised my feet were getting hot spots on the heels, somewhere I have literally never had an issue before. Eek. I applied some Compeed stick and tried to ignore it, fell in the gill, dropped my map, and had a bit of paddy before I realised I was totally alone and should probably try to get moving. Eventually I found a way to get out of the very bottom of the rocky, unsteady, wet valley and back on track through a shady wooded area, the only bit of cover on the entire course. Eventually I popped out into Marsett, where the leader of the full Fellsman absolutely SKIPPED past me looking fresh as a daisy.

Marsett to Cray was without doubt the worst part of the route for me. A long, slow, rocky uphill drag that felt like it went on forever and every step was a challenge, the blisters on my heels and now under my foot too really not helping and fully exposed to the heat of the day. I suspect Jim’s report of the full Fellsman will nonchalantly describe this bit as “nice and runnable” or similar and I IMPLORE you to ignore him completely unless you are feeling particularly masochistic. I had to keep stopping to look at the BEAUTIFUL terrain and remind myself that I wanted to be here, what an absolute privilege to be experiencing this, I was strong, and I could do it. There was a very real danger that this wouldn’t have worked though, had it not been for the company of Lisa and Hayley – two fellow Yorkshire lasses who I’d been passing back and forth for most of the race but who I joined at this point to get up the hill. They were amazing. Motivating, kind, and most fortunately for me equipped with both better things to put on a blister than my carefully put together, kit check compliant first aid kit, and expert knowledge (Hayley being a paramedic who had looked after many feet on none other than the Spine Race!). Together we made it to the next checkpoint, before a rocky descent into Cray which felt horrendous on my sore tootsies. It was hard to enjoy the downhill much when ahead of us loomed the might of Buckden Pike, the summit of which was our next destination. Getting into the aid station I’d intended to eat something proper but got too flustered by an impromptu spot kit check and the task of taping my feet back together, thanks again to Hayley for deciding we’d already reached a point of our friendship (or being very professional even when off duty) where she didn’t mind touching my absolutely minging trotters. A pair of dry socks to replace the bog riddled first pair too and I felt like a new woman! My snack of choice here was stupidly a few slices of apple, which was refreshing and delicious but definitely not enough – fortunately I’d packed my own little picnic as part of the 6kg worth of gear I was lugging around, so I snaffled a mini Soreen on the first bit of ascent up Buckden before it became too much of a slog. I was fuming to realise I’d missed out on a hot dog.

Buckden Pike reminded me of a lakeland climb. It’s long, tough, and had more false summits than I care to remember. Lisa and Hayley had gone on ahead as I was slower up the hills so I could mutter grumpily to my heart’s content. Eventually though the checkpoint came into view and I did a minor detour to touch the trig. Something magical happened at that trig point though and from this moment on the miles seemed to tick by so much more quickly, probably due to having passed the half way mark of the race! A great few miles along the ridge and gradually heading down to Park Rash and the last feed station, via the only section I’d reccied in advance and three sheep corpses in varying degrees of decay.

Lisa and I had agreed to stop together for some proper food before tackling the last big climb and the famous unavoidable peat bogs at the bottom. It was approaching dusk by this point so having someone else to cover the last 10 miles with was so reassuring, and we were having such a nice time together doing bad maths about what was still to come and sharing stories. I got into Park Rash feeling tired and hungry but the crew here were absolute DIAMONDS. They gave me hot soup, and a rather handsome chap brought me some rice pudding with jam which I wouldn’t normally choose but was exactly what I needed at the time. The lovely lady there even clipped me back into my pack after I’d layered up, so I could have just a moment of being pathetic before it was back out into the wilderness.

Great Whernside – the last climb! I quite liked this one. It felt relatively manageable and the views were idyllic. The sun was setting, the sky ablaze with colour and the unbelievable beauty struck me to my soul. I felt really emotional and proud at the summit and so happy to be able to share it with my new friend. It sounds profound but genuinely it’s a moment that will stay with me forever. I did not detour to the trig this time, it was over a small number of boulders and I was very much at the “fuck THAT” point of the day. Lisa was running the Dart for the 2nd time and despite the late start was really pleased we still had daylight at this point in the race, and we were ahead of her time from last year too! The last of the light was really helpful as the nav isn’t fantastic coming off Great Whernside. The path is non existent and there’s a massive bog forest at the bottom. From the top you could sort of see a way through the rugged mounds of peat, but they were such that once you were upon them all you could see was heather tufts to bound between with no clear way ahead. I was SO grateful to Lisa here – not only was she relentlessly positive but having done it before meant I believed her when she said it wouldn’t last forever. Solo, this would have been genuinely terrifying for me and even more outside of my comfort zone than the race had already turned out to be. As part of a duo, I had an absolute hoot and managed to successfully convince myself there was an alternative outcome to perishing in a boggy doom.

We reached the wall at the bottom, head torches needed now, and I had a bit of a meltdown for no real reason, I think I was so shocked to be unscathed by bog that my brain needed something else to panic about. I flapped a map about needlessly for a bit until finally the penultimate checkpoint came into view. From here it was, relatively speaking, easy (quad destroying tufty grass descent aside, I swore a lot, and I’m really not a swearer). Beacons and flags showed the way to the last checkpoint, a final ladder stile was successfully if disgustingly slowly and painfully got over, and there was even an actual path. I was SO ready to be done. Yarndale to the end proved to be my quickest 2 miles of the whole race, how I made myself run I will never know but run I did. Hard track turned to tarmac, signs of civilisation came into view, I chugged past Nige, Nick and Simon who had come out of their cottage to cheer me past. Such a boost, but if I’d stopped I’d have never got going again and I didn’t tell them this bit but I would absolutely have burst into tears. My quads were on fire, my feet in shreds and the realisation of what I’d put myself through was starting to hit. Through Grassington village, a last bit of hill, and there was the school and the finish line. I’d only gone and bloody done it.

I reluctantly handed in my fully stamped tally which I’d come to think of as some kind of pet (we get it back as a memento once verified), headed to the canteen and tried to work out how to simultaneously carry a cup of tea, a beer and a jacket potato with cheese and beans with just the two fat hands. Thank you to the young Scout who spotted my predicament and heroically carried my tater for me. I cried on it, forgot what ankles were called and had a debrief with those who just that morning were strangers but by now were firm friends (even if Lisa – who knocked over an hour off her 2025 time, the legend – did joyously declare she never wanted to see me again, sorry mate you’re stuck with me liking your Facebook posts forever) before heading back to my tent to embark on the worst shoe removal of my entire life.

The Fellsman Dart – the race that chewed me up, spat me out, and ate me again for supper. 9 hours, 16 minutes and 59 seconds I will never forget.

There were 84 starters and a remarkable 82 finishers which I think says a lot about the structure of the event and the support on course. The winning time was Tom Wilson in 5.12.16 with fastest female Fiona Hall 5.56.29.

Striders result – I was the only Strider and I came 47th overall (9.16.59). My slowest 50k by over an hour but a time I’m still really proud of given the terrain and conditions!