In Defence of Marylin Bagging - Breac-Bheinn

'There are no boring hills, just boring people' is a saying I love trotting out when my more Munro-obsessed friends and acquaintances mock me during the obligatory 'How many Munros did you bag?' questions on Monday mornings. This is in response to the withering looks I get when I admit to having run up esoteric delights such as the Hill of the Whangie. Often the views from the 'connoisseurs' hill are just as, if not more, spectacular and interesting than those enjoyed by their bigger neighbours. Breac-Bheinn at in Strathcarron is one such hill.

Strathcarron is probably one of the most unfortunate glens in Scotland, being owned by some of the most dubious characters that have ever had pretensions to be lairds. Those responsible for the brutal clearances, poignantly remembered in the etched graffiti in Croick Church, have been followed by numerous other unfriendly absentee owners of which the latest incarnation is Mr Lister. His 'Wilderness' was once the home of hundreds of people and his plans to exclude access, with a 30 mile 3m high electric fence, goes against centuries of access rights. The development of a Safari park is not a 're-wilding' and surely if Mr Lister was so concerned about returning the Highlands to a previous state, he would encourage people to move back into 'his' reserve. Thousands of years of human interference and interaction make the idea of creating a true Wilderness in the Highlands idiotic. The constant flux in the environment was brought home to me on another recent hill run I came across an area of deeply eroded peat. Exposed stumps and trunks of ancient trees a testament to the changing climatic conditions.

Breac-Bheinn is a suitable distance away from the Alladale Estate and the steady plod up heather made the views from the flat summit even more surprising. The views north and west were breathtaking. The Inselberge of the North-West coast rose prominently in the distance, made even more stark by the miles of conifer-planted wide strath that stretched out far to the horizon.

Admittedly the second hill of the day, Meall Dheirgidh, wasn't blessed with such views, but the short 2h jog was still comparable to any number of 'proper' hill days.

Another advantage of the lower hills is the lack of paths, cairns and, although it is elitist to say it, lack of people. All this makes the Marylin day much more of an adventure and a challenge. Of all the days out this year on the smaller hills I can count the number of other walkers or runners on both hands.

Worryingly those who I have met on these hills have more of the train-spotter about them than your 'normal' hill-goer. Sometimes, I suppose, the truth hurts and I can take solace in is the fact that with only two trains lines, Inverness Station has so little to tick that I can't think that I am in danger of changing sport, yet...

A wet Cullin weekend

I am still not running as my foot is still quite sore. It is probably time to get it sorted out now that I don't have any key runs to do this year. Flat walks are fine but as soon as it gets rocky it tends to hurt even with walking boots. So going across to the Cullin to help my boss bag his Munros wasn't the best of ideas, but I felt it wouldn't be too bad for my foot.

Saturday was spent watching the rain in the car park in Glen Brittle until lunchtime when we decided to chance an attempt on Sgurr Na Eag. It didn't go well. Cloud was down to 100m and the burns were so high that we had to try and traverse round from higher up Corrie Laggan at the 400m contour, rather than follow the well made path. All the crossing points I have used in the past were several feet under water. The velocity of the water tumbling over the rocks was spectacularly violent. A doubt remained in my mind that even if we did cross would we be able to cross back if the rain continued?

There was a constant noise of water rising out of the mist. The weather was so thick that we couldn't see much more than 50m and we followed a bearing through rocks and deep grass around flanks of Sron na Ciche. Finally, we hit the path again which climbed steeply up Coir ' a Ghrunnda.

Following intermittent cairns over blocks of gabbro we reached an impasse. Above, polished slabs streamed water and the route seemed to zig-zag up next to a burn which cascaded over a rocky lip. I tried the slabs, but I was uncertain of whether we were on the right route and our ability to down climb on the smooth holds. The thick clouds clung to the rocks, withholding any views and distorting any sense of scale. Intimidated by the atmosphere and demoralised by the weather I suggested that we turn tail and head for the pub.

As soon as we began to drop down the path, the rain eased and the mists began to part. The doubts that always come on after having made a decision to retreat lingered. At the car, changed into dry clothes, it all seemed so easy when looking at the map for the umpteenth time.

Sunday, with an early start helped by the voracious midges in the Sligachan campsite, we headed up to An Dorus from the Youth Hostel to bag Sgurr a Mhadaidh and Sgurr a Ghreadaidh. I packed the rope just in case in deference to the guidebook description. For the first hour the showers came and went, but we had views into the Corrie so at least we knew where to go this time. Steadily the mists rose up from Glen Brittle obliterating the views and the showers turned torrential. We dragged ourselves up to the ridge over blocks and scree slopes with rain drumming so hard on our waterproofs that we couldn't hear each other talk. There was water everywhere and every runnel scoring the black cliffs above streamed white foam.

Out of An Dorus, a deep notch in the ridge, there are a couple of steep, polished moves out of the gap to either Munro. Both walls didn't really require protection and the holds were good. The rocks were tricky in the wet and thankfully for the most part well defined paths could be followed above. Small cairns decorated the tops which we reached more with relief than jubilation. Showers gave way, but the clag was omnipresent and as result it was not the most enjoyable day on the hills. Finally we descended out of the showers and the mist back to the glen. Just as wet but slightly more satisfied than the day before.

Both days were about 4.5hs which is about the time I am trying to limit any exercise to in an attempt to make sure I don't over do it.

Morning Glory

I took this picture this morning from Beinn na Feusaige after spending the night camped up by Lochan Meallan Mhic Iamhair. Moments like this make all those days in the clag worthwhile.

Off to work now in cloudy Inverness, but somehow after being privileged enough to see a sky like that I don't mind at all.

Are you alright? - Ramsay's Round July 2008

"Are you alright" asked Neil. I answered him the only way I could and began to projectile vomit. We were half way up Sgurr Eilde Mor and about 12hs into the attempt. Apart for a slight feeling of nausea, I had been feeling alright, but now it was looking grim.

60 miles and over 8000m of ascent over 23 Munros in under 24 hours was never going to be easy. A major coup was to find someone who was interested in doing it too. Talking to another Highland Hillrunner, Neil Speight, after a race in 2007 we both mentioned a faint desire to try Ramsay's Round. Somehow this all snowballed into a proper attempt this summer. Training schedules were worked out and warm up races planned. The only slight issue was a lack of people able to support as I had found the support crucial during my successful Bob Graham Round.

After much faffing we finally got some runs done in the Glen Nevis area and a date was set. Expecting no support we dropped off kit and food at strategic locations (Fersit, Loch Eilde Mor and Lairig Leacach) to be ready for the Saturday.

The forecast was not great; cloud at first followed by clearing skies and a fantastic Sunday was promised by Heather 'the weather' and MWIS. Predictably we set off up the Ben tourist track towards the clouds together with Dave who had come along for support and to bag Carn Mor Dearg. The pony track was heaving with '3 Peak Challengers'. Some of whom decided to inform us that we shouldn't be taking the short-cut to Red Burn.

Up in the clag we made good time, which we promptly lost by missing the line off to Carn Mor Dearg. Eventually we found the path much further to the right. Once on the ridge, the rocks were lethal and I went flat on my back. Not too much damage done, just a very sore backside and a sense of relief about avoiding a potentially disastrous slip.

The cloud level hovered around 800m but down in the bealachs we could look across to the Mamores which were clear of cloud. On Sgurr Choinnich Beag Dave dropped behind and myself and Neil carried on, enjoying the running. The springs were full and I was eating every half-hour. All we needed was better visibility as the constant greyness was monotonous.

After 6 hours we dropped down to our first food cache and had a quick clothes swap before the second major climb of the Round, Stob Coire nan Easian. The slope seemed to go on forever and I needed my MP3 player to distract me before we finally crested the cairn.


Dropping off the tops,the cloud had dropped lower and we ate our food at Fersit in drizzly rain. The presence of a potential lift back home from here was a strong distraction to continuing. However, Neil said nothing so I just resigned myself to the second leg although it did feel as though we were getting somewhere with this attempt. Brighter skies appeared everywhere we weren't and we headed into the cloud again, up into the hills. Chno Dearg was tricky to find and was the first hill where we were slower than schedule. A very demoralizing moment and I was worried as Neil seemed to have slowed dramatically.

Slightly lost, a fantastic scree run down lead us on a different line to Beinn na Lap. Although much further left we were able to gain the east ridge of the Beinn earlier and despite a slow pace we were up gain on time. The top was a huge milestone. Every step, every minute was going in the right direction.

Running down the rough ground from the summit to the railway with the buds of cotton grass glowing astonishingly brightly in the dark will be one of enduring memories. For once running on the track and path for the next couple of hours were fun in the dark stillness of the night. The skies began at last to clear.

The Mamores were silhouetted in the distance and acted as a clear beacon showing us our direction. We didn't push the pace, but it made no difference to the splits which we were beating again. Unbeknown to me Neil was seriously thinking about quitting, in fact doing anything that meant he didn't have to run any further.

Another quick food stop at Loch Eilde Mor and we were off again. I was wary of the last leg as I had heard plenty of stories about attempts going awry late in the day.

After being sick I did actually feel better, briefly. Strangely being violently ill had no effect on my moral and I was still optimistic. One look at Binnein Beag, however was enough to swing my mood back round to abject depression. The urge just to stop and sleep was intense. I was struggling to eat properly and all of the climbs hurt. It was now time to take the hills one at a time. We knew we were significantly up on schedule and we fought to keep the loses at each peak to a minimum. I was desperately trying to keep ahead of the game, whilst Neil encouraged me along, buoying me up with unbounded enthusiasm. Finally we were on the main Mamores ridge. No more huge climbs and the skies really had cleared. Faith was restored in Heather.

We followed every short-cut we had read about from Yiannis' article and other reports to minimise height gain. I was keeping on just counting down the Munros left to go. Every hour we were still moving meant one less hour of suffering. The pain in my left knee which had started as a niggle on Binnein Mor was now becoming more evident. It got worse with every climb. At least, despite the cloud reappearing in whisps, the route finding was straight-forward following well-defined, but rocky tracks. The twists and turns of the sinuous ridge and the annoying outliers frustrated me. I just couldn't see the point any more. To cap it all a chill wind picked up, whisking in wet blanket of cloud that quickly drapped itself over the peaks and corries.

Sgurr a Mhaim was my nemesis. I wanted to beg Neil to allow me to skip it out. I had been running for 20 hours so what difference would one peak make? Who would know? Anything to avoid the pain in my knees. Silently cursing I tagged the cairn, surprised to hear that we had only lost 3 min on the 23h schedule, and went straight back the way we had come. Only 2 more hills to go. Even in my addled state I was coming round to the idea of finishing this self-inflicted hell.

By Stob Ban (the second to last Munro) the pain in both knees was intense. Even walking on the flat was agony. No dull ache this, just sharp stabbing pains at every step. The only thought driving me on was the fear of having to go through all this pain again if we failed to finish within 24 hours.

I could see that we were shipping time by about 5 mins a peak so with a final effort we topped out on Mullach with about 1.5h to spare. Now we just had to get down! The final descent was awful. A desperate waddle down steep grass before meeting a path leading through the forest. At least this path was soft and muddy, meandering alongside a river bank and through plantation woodland. After a few ups and downs we finally dropped to a well graded forest track. The verge was grassy and soft, and with a time cushion of 45 mins we wandered down. Both of us in an extremely exhausted spaced-out state of mind.

There was no-one there to see us at the finish. Finally it hit home. We had finished with 45 min to spare. Together we had made it. For a moment it was all too much emotionally. After all that pain, effort, training, preparation and stress I could finally relax. My whole body ached, and I was tired, so tired. No elation, just relief.

Whether it was worth it or not is still something I haven't answered for myself yet. Mentally I am still drained and empty. Physically I am in pretty good state so I must be getting used to these kind of distances. A scary thought!

Successful Ramsay 12th/13th July

Just back from Glen Nevis after several pints of coke and some REAL food. Myself and Neil Speight, supported solely by Dave Raffe from the hostel to Sgurr Choinnich Beag, got round in 23:15. Exploding knees over the last 5 Munros lost us a heap of time, but after all that pain and effort there was no way I was going to miss the 24 hours.

The weather was mostly cloudy and although the food drops went well it would have been nice to have had some more tea at the breaks.

Highlights include running at dusk through swathes of cotton grass and the scree run off Chno Dearg. Also, exchanging abuse with a '3 Peaks Challenger' on the Ben.

Low lights include projectile vomiting on Sgurr Eilde Mor, extremely sore plus swollen knees on the Mamores and the descent off Mullach nan Coirean.

I will probably do a longer write up later after another nap.

Would I do it again? An emphatic NO! I will help pace though ; )

The Highland bl@@dy midge!

We don't have heat haze up here in the Highlands when it is still and warm. Instead we have the midge. Cycling down the track from Loch Eilde Mor, after my food drop for the Ramsay, clouds of midges swirled over the track at head height. I hit swarms of them and they pattered off my coat mimicking rain, turning my legs black as the wee beasties struggled to escape the jellyfish-like tentacles of my leg hairs. Some poor folk had decided to camp at the end of the loch and I can only imagine the torment they went through that evening.

If the midge wasn't such an irritating bugger, the shimmering clouds could have been one of the wonders of nature. Perhaps allowing comparison with the other great marvels such as salmon migrating up mighty rivers or the huge flamingo flocks on the lakes in Africa. Instead all I was left wondering was where on Earth all the predators were which surely must feed on the midge. Dark thoughts only turned lighter by conjuring up ideas of staking naked to a post, either here or on Skye, those ecologists who insist the midge does have a role to play in nature.

At least everything is now in place for the attempt at the weekend. Looks like we wont be having too much company. Then again I am not a big fan of the huge groups of pacers/supporters/hangers-on which some runners deem necessary to have around on attempts of these kind of hill-running 'challenges'.

Ramsay - The Final Preparation

Another successful reccy last Thursday evening (26th June) on the eastern-most Mamores has pretty much confirmed that myself and Neil are as ready as we are going to be this year. So next Saturday 12th July will be the day/night for the attempt starting at about 10:30am in a clockwise direction. I am off up the hills tomorrow to organise the food drops and hopefully we will also have some minimal support for the day itself. My mood sways between confident optimisim and spectacular pessimisim as to the actual outcome, but I am prepared to give it a decent shot. Having almost no running support will make it harder, but all the more pleasing should we get round.

I have been down to the Lake District for the past week running and climbing and I felt pretty strong on the hills. The ache on the side of my foot is still there from after the Highlander, but hopefully nothing a bit of pig-headedness won't get me through. I have added some photos from the week so enjoy.

Running High Stile.
Blencathra smoking.
Sunlight above Buttermere.
Mine beneath Grisedale.