My recent plunge back into the world of orienteering has given me an uncomfortable reality check. When I was at school I wasn’t too bad but I was a large fish with a big attitude in a tiny orienteering club. Now, some years later I’m facing up to the reality that I was never quite as good as I thought. I had this confirmed today when I finished ‘comfortably’ in last place at the Cleveland Orienteering Klub qualifying Heat of the Compass Sport Cup and Trophy. [Dougie did in fact beat four competitors who made errors on their runs. He may have been the last finisher but he did finish and he did visit all the controls. Orienteering Ed.] I’d spent some time the night before revising the funny symbols that are the standard now used for control descriptions and had worked out a system for having compass, map, and reading glasses, all reasonably accessible. I thought I was ready!
I arrived with tons of time to spare. Lots of time to spend watching some serious-looking orienteers with equally serious looking kit. I nearly missed my start because I’d forgotten to clear my dibber, then I nearly missed the dibber check (I had no idea there was such a thing!), and when we started I think I got it right. I asked the starter if I’d dibbed correctly and he said he wasn’t paying attention and anyway, it was entirely my responsibility. Right’o.
I made steady progress round the course trying not to fall into the usual trap of skimping on the map-reading and trusting that controls would be obvious. This is easier said than done when industrious looking athletes are confidently flashing past at regular intervals. Apart from some scrappy decisions I was doggedly and steadily getting round. However two major navigation errors where to be my undoing and I think, without exaggeration, probably cost me well over 45 minutes in my ultimate time.
In the long stretch between controls 4 and 5 I’d decided to go for the long fast runnable way round rather than short and direct. A mis-judged corner-cutting shortcut found me disoriented and I realised that I wasn’t just misplaced, I was proper lost. With teeth-gnashing impatience I decided to jog along the track I was on until I got to a suitable landmark so I could re-orientate myself. Before long a nice, man-made fence defined the corner of a plantation at a track junction and I found myself, so to speak. I shrugged off the lost time and charged on.
Out of the forest and onto the bog and some totally unrunnable deep heather (unless your initials are Will Horsley), which reminded me of Britain’s worst fell race in a few weeks time. A few controls later I was regaining my confidence and left the moor to re-enter the forest for control 15.
Control 15 was a cheeky monkey, nestling deep in the forest at the bottom of a rock. I searched and searched and, recalling Tom’s report from the Copeland Chase, kept peering hopefully over the tops of crags to see if the elusive control was lurking below. Eventually I found a splash of orange and gleefully approached to register my visit. A quick glance at the number showed it wasn’t my control and I felt an angry well of despair. I’ve never felt such frustration before in an orienteering event, really angry shouty sweary frustration, borne from the realisation that I’d messed up big-time, was bleeding away bucket-loads of time, and the only solution was to work back to a known position on the map, and start again. It had to be done, and I forced myself to go back along the course and made myself walk (not run) from a known good position into the control. 37 minute split for control 34 to 35. Painful.
I tried to be philosophical as I completed the remainder of the course but I was a thoroughly grumpy bunny when I finished. I’d run fast when running was possible, but any gains were negligible compared to the time lost by sloppy navigation. Still, you live and learn, and I learned a lot today. And I’ll be back. And next time, I won’t be sodding last!