Highlander Mountain Marathon : Day 2

Every ultra runner knows that the best way to go about race morning is to get up at 5:30am and eat bacon and egg butties to the sound of bagpipes. Which is a good thing really, as this is pretty standard for the Highlander, and certainly made us very happy. To be honest I don’t think Chris would have got up without the promise of bacon.

The second day dawned with bright blue skies and barely a cloud. The air was cool and fresh and the morning light filtering through the birch woodland stirred the spirits, and helped us get mentally back into the ‘I want to climb mountains’ mode, even if our legs were feeling a little stiff.

We were keen to get going early as we had a train to catch at the other end, and so at 7am we were off, annotating the map with our route and making our way gently up the side of Creag Bhan, north of Loch Eilt. Our first and second checkpoints, on the west and east sides of the mountain, were positioned next to small lochans, with clear still water shining in the sun; the morning heat and little wind inviting us for a swim. But it was as we summited Creag Bhan and looked east over Loch Beoraid that the landscape really opened out and we were greeted with this prince of lochs.

Loch Beoraid lies tucked away in the hills north of Loch Eilt and the A830 and has no roads to it other than a small dirt track that leads to a local settlement, itself only accessible by boat. To its north rises Meith Bheinn, a vast craggy mountain rippled with streams falling to the loch, its summit a conglomeration of boulders that have punched through the underlying peat. To the south lies a long wide ridge spotted with small ponds, rising to over 600m. The loch-side of the ridge is wooded with birch. Not a plantation in sight.

We descended to the loch and ran along its side, admiring the undulations of the shore and the gentle waves lapping on the stony beaches. I got tired of counting wild camping spots. Our course then led us up several hundred metres of the already-mentioned Meith Beinn to one of its small ponds, and from there we were traversing the slopes of the hills, weaving our way through boulder fields and over bogs, the loch always down on the right.

At the end of the traverse, we descended to the river that leads into Loch Beoraid, the Allt a Choire, which becomes one from two separate streams, emerging out of narrow gorges to the east into the sunshine of the valley. It was here we left this magical valley and began our ascent back out of it, steeply through woodland clodded with moss tufts and out onto a hanging valley below Sgurr an Utha, an impressive peak to the east of Loch Beoraid. One of our checkpoints was a long and gruelling climb up it, and our next was on the far side.

It was here we made our mistake of the day as, instead of simply going up and over, we descended most of the way down the mountain to the upper level of a plantation on its southern slope and traversed along next to the deer fence. This was extremely demoralising and took an age. By the time we had to climb back out of it to our penultimate checkpoint I was close to hallucinating. Chris was going through something similar to the twelve labours of Hercules.

But of course every ordeal has its climax, and we found this checkpoint and began the 400m descent back down into the valley, finishing the Highlander (B course) on a well designed final sprint under the arches of the Glenfinnan viaduct. The sun was warm enough to wash in the stream, still of course being fed by some snow, and I happily obliterated the veggie pasta on offer. Incredibly happy to have had a chance to run in Glenfinnan, it was a fitting end to the weekend to see all the mountains passing from the train, many clothed in white. 4000m of ascent and 43km of running takes its toll, and sometimes I just wanted to slow down and enjoy the scenery more; but there are many weekends to do that, and only one Highlander. We’ll be back next year!

Highlander Mountain Marathon : Day 1

Loch Beorard, inaccessible by road, is one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen. Luckily for us and the other runners in the Highlander Mountain Marathon, we’d be seeing it from all sorts of angles. But this is day two, and the start on day one seems a long time ago…

In the low cloud and early morning rain up a forest track near Glenfinnan station competitors are lined up and given their maps. The run last two days, with an overnight camp, and participants have to navigate to checkpoints. This is the way of the mountain marathon – you can’t just stare at the ground and run, you have to look around you, which is all very well, as we’ve come here to see the mountains of Scotland, not our feet. The evening before we had sat in the hotel bar (though of course we camped that night), looking out towards Ben Nevis in the distance, massive and still with a lot of snow. The hillside around us had pleasingly little sitka spruce plantation and lots of birch, the leaves on most a young light green.

The beginning for Chris and I was a 500 metre climb up a spongy hillside into the mist, meeting one or two other pairs on the way before heading west, up a ridgeline we couldn’t see to a summit trig point shrouded in fog. So much for the views. From here the long gnarly ridge south west from Beinn Odhar Mhor took us to a col from where we could run gradually downhill to another col. And here the clouds began to lift, giving us views of Druim Fiaclach to the west, a dark sharp mountain, its wet rock shining in the sun, spots of snow near the summit.

The sun made its appearance soon after turning west again to contour round the flanks of Beinn Mhic Cedidh and we clung to the side of the hill, the steep sideways slope running causing interesting and not entirely pleasant feelings to our ankles. Shortly after this we made our major navigational failure for the day, going too far along the main valley of Coire Riadh and so missing the stream we were meant to follow over the pass to the next valley. Instead we found ourselves scrambling up a painfully steep grassy slope, finally making it to the top only after several snack stops. The sun was out and it was warm in the shade, but the biting wind on the exposed slope reminded us of the snow still lingering on the high hills.

From here we could jog down into the hidden valley of Coire nan Gall, invisible from the road but big enough to house a small town. Several times small groups of deer sped away from us up the slopes, making it all look far too easy. Once back up on the ridge of Druim Fiaclach itself, we began a superb ridge traverse, the Cuillin of Skye and the mountains of Rum blue in the haze coming off the Atlantic. Our last hill of the day was Sgurr na Ba Glaise, an impressive summit with crags coming off its sides like it had been frozen in time whilst shedding scales.

Our day ended in style, wading through a bog near Inverailort after a great traverse through a small and unfenced birch woodland. We dashed to the line, muddy and tired, before a rest and a beer in the sunshine, looking out over Loch Ailort from the tent, the sun setting in a clear sky behind the hills of Ardnish.

Mike Nelson BOK Trot

I knew there would be a difficult effort in there somewhere, especially when I read that the ‘longer courses would make a descent into the Wye Valley’ – and of course back up it again. Not of course the bit with the crags where climbers creep like starfish onto the sides of fish tanks – but still a steep bit nonetheless. Steep enough for running to become walking.

The Mike Nelson was my first level B event (regional, as far as I can work out). Organised by the Bristol Orienteering Klub, it commemorates the man who helped greatly increase orienteering in the area. It is therefore rightly a hugely well attended event, with a fantastic selection of courses; so much so that you can probably just pick your favorite number of kilometres and there’ll be a race for you.

I started well, into the woods above the Wye Valley, for that moment invisible, collecting a few controls that were laid out almost like a starter in a few kilometres square. I was dashing in and out of old plantations, the floors coated with broken branches and soaked with mossy wet soil.

Someone wearing an England shirt had slowed in front of me to read the map better; I sprang past, eager to get to the next point in the race, and immediately got lost. The thick canopy made the world dark and though I knew where I was, I didn’t stop to work out exactly where I wanted to be. I lost time. Tortoise and the Hare and all that.

Soon after the first set, and some fast track running in beautiful sunshine, I checked the map to see a herd of contours coming up; and here was the mighty valley with the river Wye, the sun drenching the surface, the surrounding woodlands crowding around in submission. Through these woodlands we had to run, sometimes on paths, sometimes taking absurd bearings across large stretches of prime deciduous woodland – replete with dead wood, leaf litter and small streams, as any proper wood should have.

Back up the side of the valley we were expected to run, and by this point I had to concentrate on breathing. It gave me encouragement to be able to see at leas two other runners who were doing the same. Dragging myself across an area of track wide enough for trucks to turn, I flung myself back into the woods for one final run. The last section was flat and quite beautiful. The majesty of Wye was left behind but the open plain of regenerating forest was a pleasure to see, if not a pleasure to try and run through.

The Wye gave me more than a good view in the end. I ran too fast at point I was meant to be orienteering well, which is definitely not the same as just running fast. Be like the river, slow down; look at what’s coming. Save the white water runs for when you know where you are!

The Wessex Galoppen

At the time it seemed like an exciting warning:

“There are lots of trees that have been blown over by the winter storms. These areas are impassable and are marked with pink hash marks.”

Pink. That’s nice. And there was quite a lot of it. As I scanned the map, darting off into the woods from the start line, taking stock of the orienteering course and trying to find the all-important control 1. 

As seems to be common in orienteering, especially over longer courses, control 1 was close to the start, whereas the distance after that to control 2 was one of the longest legs of the competition. I made my way, picking out the fences and dense vegetation and weaving along muddy tracks. Approaching control 2, I met another runner. Parting ways, I watched him run off in a straight line for control 3, into a massive area of pink hash marks. I winced, and ran round.

It is impressive to run through a woodland and to suddenly come across an area of fallen trees, breaking the canopy and creating nature’s very own hurdles course, complete with slippery stumps and dead spiky branches.

The fallen trees were all conifers, planted by someone a long time ago in chalky soil on a hill, not conditions that most conifers enjoy or grow in well. This lot had small root stocks, and had paid the ultimate price for a folly decades old. The broad-leaved woodland in many other parts of the forest – Rushmore near Tollard Royal, Wiltshire – looked healthy, and frequently the invigorating stench of wild garlic and other woodland ground flora hung in the air.

Running, or orienteering, in this type of woodland has always been a pleasure. From controls 3 to 8 I was in and around some good runnable woodland, only interrupted near the edges of the rides by bracken, which, though I attempted to gallop knees to chin, ripped mercilessly at my legs.

After control 8 the course switched to a different part of the forest; control 9 was a long run away along tracks, and then 10 through to 17 were all close, requiring some quick thinking and good estimation of distance as many of the flags were hidden in dips. I admit I had some trouble here, mistaking the vegetation change on the map and stumbling around for a few minutes in a coppice looking, as happens when you are lost in orienteering, for something that wasn’t there.

Up at control 17 the conifers appeared again with regular firebreaks making the regimented plantation look even more man-made. From here though I was back in among the beeches and other broad-leaves I didn’t take the time to identify. As it was a 9+km course, I was beginning to get seriously tired at this point.

It was after controls 18 and 19, relatively simple in themselves but quite a way apart, that I began to lose concentration. Controls 20 to 22 were in a great little wood, filled with garlic, but running without bearing is never a great idea, and I unhappily ended up in the wrong place more than once. The finishing sprint was welcome when it came, luckily downhill, so tired was I by this point that I had to ask the stewards to direct me back to the cars, even though it was on the map I’d been holding for the last hour and a half.

It is always a pleasure when leaving an area I have orienteered in to know that it is very unlikely that I would ever see the places I have seen otherwise. The fallen pines, the coppices, the garlic woodlands. What better reason to run and orienteer in the wild.