Mountain and River Adventures In Scotland

Upper Couloir of Stob Ghabhar ...

2009-02-15T22:58:00.009Z

It had been a really feckin long time coming …

Joe and I having been talking about an ascent of the Upper Couloir on Stob Ghabhar for probably the best part of 8 years. For those who don’t know, it is a very tasty Grade 2 winter climb very high up on the mountain (in fact it finishes just below the summit). Each winter since the idea was first discussed, we always had a reason …either it was not in condition or work / family life etc …always got in the way and provided an excuse.

On Ben More the week before, I was very obvious that conditions were near perfect. Watching a steady high pressure sit over Scotland midweek, it became clear that this was our opportunity!

I picked Joe up late on the Thursday evening and we made our way north. By far the most dangerous bit of almost any hill day is the drive up and back again. We crawled up the Lomond side very aware of the ice at the edge of the road indicating low temperature. Turning left at Bridge of Orchy the road was white with snow – thankfully nice crusty stuff which provided something for the tyres to grip on. We laughed as the thermometer on the car dropped and dropped.
By the time we were parking the car, it was dipping between -10 and -11 …a perfect test for my new Rab Summit 1100 sleeping bag. A perfect clear sky was observed as we got the tent up and the stove on. Mint tea and Jaffa cakes were enjoyed as we made plans for the next morning. I snuggled down into the new bag (rated to -30) with only an icebreaker base layer whilst Joe wore most of the next days hill gear and two sleeping bags.

With the short daylight hours, we left the car just after 7am and headed up past Clashgour and onto the track which leads up Stob Ghabhar. With drifting snow sitting on the track, going was slow. With the heavy packs …very slow indeed. It took an age to get into the Coire but it was comforting that as we gained height, the snow got harder and harder. Just before starting to traverse in towards the approach slopes, we stopped to get the crampons and harness on.

The wind was blowing fairly hard at our backs as we picked a route up towards the start of the climb. We chose a line to avoid the lower crags and noted the old avalanche debris from an earlier cornice collapse. Thankfully the majority of the slope was solid with only pockets of unconsolidated powder …that was until we were directly under the upper crags where the snow got into that gut instinct “dodgy” category. We had been short roping but it was time for a belay and a traverse onto solid ground. Joe led off leaving me standing on top of a buried axe – not the best but sufficient. I could see he was heading for a patch of blue and a nice ice screw placement. Think we both happy to get an intermediate runner! With rope running short, I started across the slope and soon joined Joe at the bottom of the first pitch. The snow was nice and frozen perfect axe placements all the way up to below the ice pitch which forms the crux of the climb. Joe led off and got a nice ice screw in just below the ice bulge. The weather had now taken a bit of a turn for the worse with spindrift getting blow down the gully (and down the neck as well !!!). Joe shouted down to watch him on a move, I looked up and got a face full of snow – it could not have been nice for him trying to move upwards through the stuff. The next shout was that he was safe and to start climbing. Up at the bulge, I could see the trouble move – not the best axe placements and a high step left. I made the move … my left hand axe pulled and I stepped back down …quickly. A better axe placement was found and I pulled up and over (with the help of a rather loud grunt). We could see that the top pitch was fairly easy and rather than faff around sorting the belay, I led through. I had a fair idea that rope was running out when I found a tasty big rock to bring Joe up on. With no cornice to worry about we topped out …VERY happy. Big smiles and a short ramble to the summit – it had been well worth the wait!

The Big One(s)

2007-06-19T19:04:00.000+01:00

So - it's been a while since anyone stuck anything down here so I'll post a relatively condensed journal of my recent ramblings.

NB - the tone of this post may seem a bit odd. See the last paragraphs for reasoning

The main thing I've been doing is trekking. Seems strange that a biker and paddler should dedicate their training to trekking, but hey. My car sadly died around about Easter time, so I'm biking the 6 miles to work everyday. Sleipnir has been resurrected as a fully rigid road/town bike (she gave up her bits to create Frankenstein, my new MTB). Spent the winter paddling rivers as always, but spring has been mainly trekking. Why? Read on...

The main reason is for charity's sake. A bunch of people from Npower (the people who very kindly employ me and keep me sustained with just about enough pennies to go play at the weekends) were doing the 3 Peaks Challenge for CARE International, and I was asked to be part of the planning committee because, frankly, some of the others couldn't find their backsides in the dark without using both hands. They needed some people with a bit of hill experience, so the drafted in myself, 2 Scout leaders and a TA officer.

I won't bore anyone with the details of the planning, but the hardest part was raising the minimum £5,000 sponsorship (per team - we entered 2 teams. You see where this got complicated?). But, by a combination of corporate hassling, bring-and-buy sales, betting, lotteries, fun days and car washing, we got there - and some. We actually took the prize for the highest fundraisers in the event, handing CARE a very nice cheque for £20,000. Thanks to the guys that sponsored us (those who didn't - it's not too late!!).

We'd done a LOT of practice walks, with various people from the 2 teams and sundry hangers on. We started with the Yorkshire 3 Peaks (which is about the area where I used to work) in the middle of a heatwave: 4 of us completed it in 9 hours, the others crawling in about 2 hours later, killed off by a combination of cramps, dehydration and general fatigue. So it kind of boded well, and kind of didn't.

I then wandered off to New Zealand for 3 weeks. The others had a recce and a practice up Scafell Pike while myself and my Mum had a very pleasant 7 hour hike over the Tongariro crossing in the mist and the wind. Thankyou to W.L. Gore and company for their lovely products on that one.

Not long after I came back it was time for the Big Ones. WE drove from Leeds up to Glencoe and I felt very out-of-place as we spent the pre-race night in a 4-star hotel. I love corporate hospitality... Ben Nevis was first up, after the customary safety briefing, and we set off, team 'Food' first, myself and team 'Urban' 5 minutes behind (names are CARE's radio call signs for each of the teams)

Now - the original plan was that 'Urban' would push hard to make the 3 Peaks in under 24 hours, as is the custom. Team 'Food' would aim just to get all 3 done, hang the time. Somehow it didn't work out like that. Halfway up the Ben you would have seen Phil, the TA officer drop to the back of the group to nurse one team member with cramps up the zig-zags, while I gravitated further forward, with another team member bungeed to me for a tow. He'd apparantly not realised "just how big Ben Nevis was...". So Food pushed for 24 hours and Urban went into survival mode and aimed just to get everyone up everything. Oh yeah, and I bumped into Anna from SALT, walking with her Dad, which cheered me up no end. But anyway, after 5h34mins we were back down and stocking up on food ready for the drive to Southwaite services, where we had a compulsory 'hold' stop.
We arrived, briefed, and headed off for some kip. More like an AR event I ended up in the 'fort' in the kiddies playground (the grass was wet!) for 3 hours, and very comfy it was too. Our support guys woke us at 3:30am with tea and cereal, and we pottered off towards Seathwaite to start Scafell Pike. Food again set off first, Urban 15 minutes back on them. We left the farm and got up past Stockley Bridge when we heard Dave (walk leader for Food) come over the VHF saying they were dropping a team member due to fatigue. We continued on where we found Sheridan, the lass they'd dropped, nearly in tears on the path. They others had been pushing at a pace that she just couldn't sustain, but wouldn't slow or stop when she asked, so she'd left them to it and started to walk off. We called into base and asked if it would be okay for Sheridan to join Urban, since we were moving at no great pace. They consented so the Team Urban roster went up to 7. We bimbled on at our only happy trot up to Esk Hause where we found my old physics teacher marshalling. Afte a quick natter and some food we pottered off to make the summit and met a very dejected and sore Team Food coming back down - Rob had been physically sick on the summit and couldn't keep any food down. Dave was also starting to suffer. So, while Urban were slow but happy, Food were fast but knackered.
We got back to Seathwaite to see not only our support crew, but also my Mum and Dad who'd driven down to see us in.

NB: The support crew seemed amazed that we'd picked up Sheridan and taken her with us, like it was a medal-worthy thing to do. I wandered off briefly to have a quiet word with Dad and he was surprised at their thoughts too. If you saw someone crying on the hill and you knew you could help them, you would. That's the way it works. Maybe modern business doesn't work like that. Is that a sad thought? To my mind, yes. That said, they had nothing but praise for us doing it, so maybe it ain't so odd.

Battering on down the M6 to Llanberis the walkers zonked out. Sleep was very much the order of the day. We got to the car park and prepped for the last time, strapping feet, vaseline-ing the chafed bits, slapping on the suntan lotion for the last grind. We headed out, the last team onto the hill, still as a very happy, cheerful seven. CP1 came and went without a dimming of the humour, a brief stop to buy everyone a choc-ice at Halfway House cafe and then CP2 at Clogwyn station. Then the last mile - the hardest. We were told that "if you can get up the climb from Clogwyn to the plateau without stopping, you'll be fine", so out came the bungee, the poles and on we went. At the summit trig we radioed in:
"Challenge Base, this is Urban, over"
"Urban, this is Challenge Base. Pass your message, over"
" (Cheers, yells, whoops, screams). Over"
"Urban, I'll assume that means you've reached the summit then?"

A photo, a group hug, some Haribo, then head out and off.

We passed 2 teams on the way down, then shocked the assembled crowd at the finish by running across the car park, up the stairs and onto the hotel lawn to the finish banner in a total time of 27:04, then had our photo taken, turned round and stayed put to cheer the last 2 teams home. Food had made 24:20, just missing out on their aim as both Rob and Dave had been sick (again) on Snowdon. Neither had slept, neither could keep food down, and carb drinks and gels won't sustain you for that length of time.

So - why is the tone strange? I guess it's a bittersweet/melancholy kind of thing. I'm really happy with the way our team performed. We didn't make it in sub-24. So? We walked every step as a TEAM. We crossed every start line and every finish line as a ONE UNIT. We joked, and laughed, and called each other "cads and bounders" all the way, and you know what? Sod the pain, we enjoyed it. For 2 experienced outdoors guys and 4 people who previously had no ambitions to climb even the smallest hill, we had an awesome weekend. I can only devote every ounce of thanks to Phil, James, Adam, Julian and David, and to our ever attentive and fantastic support team of Chris, Sarah, Ian and Steve. They went above and beyond the call of duty to ensure we got through it all.

What soured it was the way our other team behaved. Not for dumping a walker on the hill - sometimes these things happen. But for offering neither us, nor any other team in the event any support whatsoever. They'd come in off Nevis strung out, each walker 5-10 yards apart, heads down, hurting and sloped straight off to their vans - 15 yards from, and facing, the finish line. But did they clap us, or anyone else in? No. Two of their team were on a personal vendetta after they failed to make all 3 last year, and it marred the whole weekend. While their support came to the line to see us in, they hid in the vans and tried to pull themselves together. When we finished at Llanberis, only three members of their 10-man team were there to say 'well done' to the slow guys who'd been taking it easy all weekend (thanks Lawson, Laura and Paul) - the others had headed off to the hotel to get a shower and have their dinner. The misfortune for me is that one of these guys is my senior manager...

Thank you for your attention. May the next blog be a happier affair.

(a slightly cheesed off) Pyro

Hebridean Challenge 2006

2006-07-20T22:51:00.000+01:00

Running from Barra in the south to the very Butt of Lewis in the north, this five (and a bit) day race covered about 700km in a convoluted combination of hill running, mountain biking, road biking, kayaking and swimming. Twenty-odd teams of five people, a handful of four people (less a kayaker) and a few more pairs. The pairs do slightly less than the others but only slightly so. Our team was Alan Meikle, Bill Horsman, George Spittal, Neil Baxter and Paul McGreal.

Prologue

It's Sunday (2 July) at 9:00 pm and the day is still bright with a northern, summer sun. We're in position for the Prologue – a short introduction to the next five days' worth of racing. Paul is on the start line, down at the pier, on his bike and ready for a trip round the road that circles Barra. About 1km later he will tag the other four of us and we will scatter in separate directions to sweep up a total of six check points. We've looked at the maps for the next few days and this is just a short scamper over the heather.

Fifty minutes later and we're all back at the finish. Neil has had a hell of a time looking for CP P6. It wasn't where it should be. Some confusion about grid references that I'm pretty sure isn't our fault. In the end, Neil spent 30 minutes looking for it and didn't find it. We weren't given a penalty but we did waste a lot of time. The lesson we learned is to not waste too much time looking for check points! We head back to the tents at Tangasdal as quickly as we can to get enough sleep for our early start on Monday.

Day 1

6:30 am and I'm down at the pier in Castlebay with a wetsuit on, a pair of goggles sucked onto my eyes and plugs stuffed into my ears. The start of the Heb proper is a quick swim around Kisimul Castle in the centre of the bay. Straight out of the sea and tag Neil who speeds off to Vatersay on the southern tip of Barra. While he does that I make my way slowly to the monument on the road to Vatersay to meet up with Neil when he returns and then to wait there for Paul and George to collect some hill running points on the way back north (Paul and George have made their way down to Vatersay by bike and foot before the race started). Meanwhile, Alan has disappeared off east in his kayak on a three stage journey all the way to Eriskay. This starts the sequence of events that continues for five days that can only be described as complicated and bordering on chaotic. We have a piece of paper with coloured lines, check points, grid references, estimated times, and who does what (including who is in the van). I'll try to resist the temptation to record each leg, each check point, each transition as we progress up the islands; I have your sanity and understandably limited patience in mind. But you get the idea.

We spend the afternoon in two pairs (Alan is off on his own, in the kayak, which he starts to get used to). Neil and I are running around some steep hills in the centre of the island whilst George and Paul swoop round the outside on bikes picking up more than their fair share of CPs. All four of us climb to the the summit of Sheval, the highest hill on Barra and are rewarded by 8 points and a sweep-round view of the entire island and beyond. We have been set a target of 150 points for the week: any more and it doesn't help, any fewer and you are penalised by three minutes a point. We need to average 30 a day and pickup 18 on day one.

Neil and I finish early on our run because of strategic binning of CPs that would take longer to pick up than the penalty for skipping them. It's a hard decision because we came here to run (and bike and... ) around the Hebrides so just because it will improve our result doesn't mean we're going to skip stuff. Having said that, we still do a two hour run on top of what we did in the morning and, well, it's day one. We pick up the tents and circle round the island to the ferry over to Eriskay. Much jostling for position and head scratching from Calmac staff as bikes are removed from the backs of vans and stuffed inside or walked on. We see Alan again before taking the ferry and leaving him to paddle across. By 6pm we're on Eriskay with the tents up again and we're ready for our meal in the hall. Alan turns up just in time for food looking weary but happy and up for more paddling. Which is good, because there's more in store.

Day 2

We're travelling the length of the Uists today in sharp contrast to Monday's dizzy route around Barra. We're picking up some good hills on the way but we've also got to cover some ground to get up to Lochmaddy by evening. We let Alan out of his kayak for ten minutes for the first road bike section, after which he tags Paul and me for the machair and beach ride up the west coast of South Uist. Beautiful. Beaches are either a) level and hard packed, or b) seaweed strewn soft, cloying sand – like pixies grabbing your spokes. We alternate between machair and sand to choose the best ground and, towards the end, get it wrong and end up pushing our bikes along a sandy road (of the pixie variety) whilst rivals swoop past on the beach. Then we tag Neil who has bravely volunteered to do the Beinn Mhor & Hecla run – all three hours fifty minutes of it. The rest of the day is split between fast road bike sections and another, shorter run over Eaval. Alan has paddled up the east coast and was left alone on a jetty after every other team had picked up their kayakers. We got there as fast as we could, Alan. Well, as fast as we could after we realised that we'd missed our chance to do what we should have done only we didn't think of it in our sleep muddied brains the night before.We finally roll into Lochmaddy in time for dinner – George nursing a broken road bike (gears in spokes disaster) and having suffered what turned out to be the week's worst midge attack and Alan having another spin on a bike. It's been a long day and, without a ferry crossing, it's been intensive.

Day 3

Straight onto the ferry to Harris for all the lazy folk who aren't paddling across. We get to do a tag with Alan as he arrives at Roghadal pier – it's great to be interacting with him a bit more. There's a necessary split: kayakers like the coast and runners like hills. When we meet up it feels more like a team. The mountains of Harris are tough and Neil, Paul and I all take some long runs. A car passes me as I slowly bike to a point on a road (waiting for Neil to tag me) and I see a banner in the window saying “Hebyoneers – Go Bill”. I did not expect that. It was Alan's wife Caroline and family :) George and Paul share the mountain bike time trial (with a bit of help from Neil) and then Neil and I nip up Clisham – at 800m the highest hill on the Outer Hebrides. At the bottom of Clisham is a wonderful surprise as Nonie, Heather and George are there waiting for me. I knew they were arriving on the island that night but didn't expect them so soon, and didn't expect them to find where I was (Nonie was armed with grid references and a vague idea of a schedule). It was good that Nonie had done the Heb before because it didn't offend her when I chatted for about 90 seconds and then jumped in the van and sped off after George (who'd just departed on his road bike). There's little time for much else on the Heb. Still, I was very happy to know they were on the same island at least.

George had a long bike ride back to the hall on Scalpay and we had time for Neil to take in an optional, floating CP. Paul had had the energy on his long bike leg to take his additional CP too which meant we'd completed everything for the day and made it to the hall not long after 6:00 pm. Great food: fish pie, lasagne, and chicken pasta. So good I had them all – despite Alan's alarm at mixing such varied ingredients. We were hungry!

Day 4

We're heading up into Lewis today and we have lots of road biking, a long hill run, and a swim to do. Alan is in the van most of the morning (we bung him on a bike for the first leg because it starts at 6:30 am and no one else but George wants to start that early. Actually, we're typically all up at 5:00 am and are standing around the van eating breakfast with the tents loaded half an hour later.

We make a tactical decision to bin the long mountain time trial. It's a hard choice: complete everything so we can say we did everything or be sensible and get to camp before 8:00 pm. We decide to double up on the first hill run (still a long 3 hours 40 minutes) and get as many road bikes out as we can. Neil (“never-let-me-get-on-a-bike-again”), George and Paul clocking up the miles. I do a wee swim round a headland at Bhaltos and almost forget to race whilst staring at the sea bed with my goggles on. I should do more swimming in the sea (more than just splashing around I mean). Six months ago, in the winter, it seemed like the short straw but I've changed my mind.

On to Great Berneray for camp and an very complicated meal: haggis, ribs, stuffed tomatoes, pasta, many salads, cold beef. All very welcome and delicious although I'm not sure we paid it the attention it deserved. Nonie and the kids run around the hall (the kids doing the running) and George bikes around the car park and I feel thoroughly spoilt to be doing my own thing AND have my family around. It's another late night as the meal, planning, and packing kit spills into the hour before midnight. Tomorrow, billed by Paul as a light day, turns out to be as tough as ever. A slightly different emphasis as we plan the day to a tight schedule right up to the ceilidh that is planned at Breascleat – the finish line at the Butt of Lewis is just a CP on the way to the party!

Day 5

The earliest start to the day: Alan is off to join his kayak friends at 5:45, George and Neil disappear at 5:55 to get into position by a hill to the south and Paul starts the race on his bike at about 6:20. I get a minibus to the start of the swim (where I will be tagged by Alan later on). The swim is lovely: across to an island, walk over, and then over to the main island to finish. Alan is supporting me in the kayak which is how we've trained and I like it that way. A bit of confusion about finish lines (hastily conscipted marshall not told the right information) and I do a bit of a dog-leg to finish. Dog legs whilst swimming very slowly are doubly hard to stomach. Meanwhile, Neil is back from his hill run and Paul and George are waiting to cycle off to Stornaway. A quick scuddle around in Stornaway, down at Cuddy Point as Neil kayaks, George and Paul orienteer, and Neil and I pick up a few coastal CPs on bikes and foot. There was going to be some clever, token based kayak/run thing but organisation went a bit pear shaped (saftey boat not ready) so it was all simplified so that we could still finish the race before the ceilidh (remember the ceilidh). More road biking up the east coast (George and Alan); an epic hill run from Neil (boggy, peaty, rocky, heathery); and a long run up the coastal path to the Butt for Paul. Finally, a short bike ride (high speed, adrenelin fueled, finish in sight) for George and I. We crossed the finish in a tight pack of runners and bikers and sipped Macallan under the stony gaze of the lighthouse. Never before had a bottle lasted all week!

We were 11th out of 21. Our time was 72 hour 47 minutes - 22 hours hehind the winners. I'm very pleased with that.

Alan: enthusiastic to the end, fast and furious in the boat. Never complained (when abandoned).

George: always asking what needed done next; crouched on the verge everytime he got off the bike, unable to speak; always searching for how he could do more.

Neil: strong as an ox, finding new limits, drinking tea.

Paul: navigator, runner, and above all biker; strategist, humour-monger (quantity, not quality); fitted into the team perfectly.

Ian Fraser (left begind though injury): stoic in his acceptance, pissed off he couldn't go (which showed he cared), already in training for 2007. Generous in his help (maps, lift to Oban, kit, hospitality).

Nonie, Heather and George for sharing it with me.

Midweek Mountaineering - Culra Bothy

2006-05-21T20:35:00.000+01:00

Continuing the midweek mountaineering …

The Ben Alder area is both remote (in terms of distance to the road) and yet rather accessible (by mountain bike). I first explored the area on a mammoth winter backpack from Corrour over the high tops to the now long gone bothy at Blackburn of Pattack then over more tops before a long walk along the road to Tulloch. This was in the company of Paul Gillies and Alan Kelly back in 1987. Further trips included visits to Ben Alder cottage and Culra bothies.

With the Gnome sitting at 210 Munros and Shamir aboot the 137 mark, an introduction to this rich seem of ticks was needed. The idea grew until the team consisted of the Gnome, Shamir, Jim Riach, my Dad, Eric Hamilton and myself. Eric had to drop due to work commitments and following a rainy drive north my Dad headed …back south !

Following a feed at the Ballinuig Motor Grill, we finally loaded the bikes and started down the track along Loch Ericht at 21:40. Good time was made down the loch until the climb up onto the moor just past the lodge – the Gnome clutch was slipping badly. We regrouped prior to breaking east and the final section to Culra. One of the reasons the bikes were so heavy was we each had a “small” bag of coal.

Personally, I was really looking forward to the fire when the bike light beam hit the side of the bothy. Opening the first door revealed a goodly number of folks already asleep ! An attempt at room 2 was no better …Shamir had a wee “whit the f@ck” moment when the third indicated no room at the inn ! We headed back to room 1 and negotiated some space although the chance of a fire was gone. Turns out, there was some coast to coast challenge / ramble thing on.

Wet gear off and stove on. The Gnome is famed for “triple repacks” whereby he appears to have finished packing only to empty the rucksack and start again. Whilst the rest of us got comfy, had tea, passed the bottle about a bit …the Gnome seemed to be having a “triple unpack” – eventually he announced he couldn’t find his sleeping tablets and popped the cork on a bottle of 17 year old Glengoyne instead.

Next morning and the weather had got worse (I am sure my Dad was sitting rather smugly back in Glasgow). The top tickers decided to settle with Carn Dearg (1034m) which sits behind the bothy and Jim a low level option. In the event, the views across to Alder were fantastic. Regrouped at the bothy for lunch and chatted with a guy who had the largest German Shepard I have ever seem (appropriately named “Wolf”).

The bike back out was a breeze other than some loch side antics which I won’t go into …but in my defence … I “nearly” made it !

GL3D

2006-05-03T23:48:00.000+01:00

The Great Lakeland 3 Day event gets billed as one of the harder tests in Richard Askwith’s excellent book “Feet in the Clouds”. As I sit with two black toe nails and bruised ribs (after another experiment with gravity and rocks) … I tend to agree. The event is organised by Joe Faulkner and is based around his experience of longer Mountain Marathons. The total distance is roughly 75 miles with each day being approximately 25 miles plus several thousand feet of ascent.

Unlike events such as the KIMM or LAMM, overnight camping gear is transported by the organisers (who also supply bread and milk each night) and you enter as a solo – although there is nothing to prevent you from pairing up during the race.

Fellow “Westie” Shona Robertson and I joined up with Robert Monro from Shettleston Harriers for the journey south on the Friday. Day one controls were issued at registration which ensured the remainder of the evening was spent marking up maps and route planning.

From the event centre at Rydal Hall just north of Ambleside, we went over Silver Howe before heading north to Sergeant Man and over to Esk Hause then Scafell Pike. Joe had thrown in the optional control of Scafell – it would have been a shame to ignore this as assuming we completed Day 2 & 3, inclusion would mean having traversed all the 3000ft mountains in the Lakes during the event. The “recommended” route down via Foxes Tarn was ignored for the time being and the direct line over Broad Stand was taken. Being a little short in the legs,(to reverse the move would of required a “droopy” down onto a slab which sloped the wrong way) I decided not to return by this route and came back via the Tarn – slow but safe. Back at Esk Hause it was time to check out with the marshal and commence the long descent into Langstrath. The next control was at the bridge at the end of this valley at which point it was time to start climbing …again. Passing by Blea Tarn, it was a long bog hop to High Tove and finally to the summit of High Seat where the last control for the day was located. With a number of possible routes to the camp (and finish of Day 1) runners seemed to head in very different and often conflicting directions. I chose a fairly direct line through bracken and to the main road. A short road run then led to Burns Farm and the Finish.

At the Day 2 briefing, we were treated to a free beer which was in keeping with the following day which was to follow the “Old Crown” round. Whilst being shorter than the previous day it had a fierce start – a short road / track run to the bottom then the climb up the track to the summit of Skidaw, A few brave souls (including Shona and Robert) did run for a good deal of the ascent …the rest race walked as quick as our legs would allow. Over the summit the route continued over to Great Cockup (wonderful name for a hill) then another high level bog trot to Carrock Fell. If the descent down to the manned control beside the River Caldew was fast …then ascent up Blencathra seemed to take forever (maybe due to my pace). The run along the summit ridge was fantastic as was the descent back down to the A66 and the finish / camp.

Another free beer and another evening spent marking up and pouring over the map. Sadly, the perfect weather that had been with us for the first two days didn’t last and we had rain overnight. Folks milled about until it was dry(ish) before starting Day 3. The route followed a north / south line over Clough Head down towards Helvellyn (where a few of us got caught in a rather sore hail shower). Navigation had been fairly straightforward until Fairfield – a direct line up the face meant it was hard to tell exactly where on the summit ridge you were. Robert had passed me on the climb so I was surprised to meet him coming up the ridge that I was descending ! Quick discussion and we agreed it was the wrong ridge ! On the way to the correct ridge we bumped into Shona. I decided to try and keep up with them was they shot off towards Dove Crag and the last control. With the last CP in the bag, all that was left to do was finish – a nice fast ridge led back to Rydal Hall …and lunch !

A fantastic event with a really friendly atmosphere – highly recommended. As this is posted no official results have been posted but I will add these once available.

Wan Dae

2006-04-30T12:30:00.000+01:00

We decided that our Heb Team (the Hebyoneers) needed a bit of training: we have a few weak points in our team. The kayaking we can do. We're all kayakers. We like kayaking. We're good at kayaking (assuming you're comparing us to the average AR person and not to that strange breed: Urquart. Block, Tordoff). We're just let down by our swimming, running, biking, navigating and logistics! Well, the Wan Dae wasn't going to help out the swimming (unless things went really pear-shaped) but it would sure help with the rest. Our fifth member was in Australia so the remaining four (George, Alan, Neil and me) entered a team into the Simply Blended class. I suppose we should have done the Cask Strength class (8 hours as opposed to 5) but for most of the team it was their first AR and we wanted a gentle introduction.

We got off to a bad start with us arriving in two vehicles and parking in different car parks 3km apart. It was a bit frantic with 10 minutes to go to the briefing and we didn't know where we all were. This add to the general "where is my gear" panic and I remember throwing bits and pieces into a rucksack without really knowing whether I had everything. Oh well, we're here to learn and there's no better way than learning by mistakes.

The kayak went well (see above). We won, but we weren't cocky: we knew that teams would quickly start overtaking once we made like the fish out of water and got on a bike. We spent 5 minutes getting changed and looking at the map. Our tactic was to bite off about an hour's worth of bike checkpoints and then review how we were doing. We flew along for the first hour picking up a CP every ten minutes or so. Then we made our first mistake. We decided to do more CPs on the bike, but instead of doing the additional ones we'd planned we decided to loop back and do some of the high ones. This meant going back over towards where we'd already been and it took us something like 60 minutes to get to the next CP (worth only 30 points). And then the next CP (worth 30 points) was an easy traverse around a hill - only the track was terrible and we ended up walking. We finally got back to the transition with 50 minutes left on the clock.

With such a short time left we had no choice but to pick off the nearest two running CPs. To get a third would have meant penalties. Only 40 points of our total of 232 were from running. Still, it was good to stretch the legs after the biking.

I vote the Wan Dae race a success - well done Scotty John and all his helpers. It was great to work together as a team and we all learnt a lot. Now, as long as the Heb isn't any harder or more complicated than the Wan Dae we'll be fine...

Cathkin Braes - Bog & Burn Race 1

2006-04-22T20:08:00.000+01:00

An urban hill race !

The first in the fantastic mid-week hill races which form the Bog & Burn series started from just below the car park on the high road over towards Rutherglen from Carmunock. Out of the field of 65 runners - 26 were Westies. Someone commented that represented the majority of active racers in the club. It certain made a great spectacle seeing the field dominated by the yellow vests.

The start is a slight downhill and felt fast ...too fast. A look to the left only to see Angela Mudge (similar to trying to keep up with Paula Radcliff in the London marathon) confirmed the pace was not sustainable and I pulled up a little to something more sensible.The early part of the course takes a line over fields down towards the edge of the braes before turning left and climbing towards the woods. The first hill was sore with a short transition from the long strides to short steps. At the top the pain was compounded by changing back to the long strides. The woods section was made "interesting" by some of the local kids heckling ...on quad bikes - not a place you wanted to stop. Cries of encouragement included "hurry up ...the guy in front is beating you", "whit ye runnin fae ya fanny" to a more abrupt "yir sh!te". The steep descent through the bracken took us just to the edge of Castlemilk before traversing a couple of hundred yards and the VERY steep climb up to the transmitter mast. The course continued through the woods back to the start where it was off for a 2nd loop of the circuit.

With the pack generally well split I found myself in the middle of a mini Westies race between Hamilton Semple, Murdo McLeod, Blair Millen and John Donnelly (with Helen Palmer and Martin Reid not far behind). It seemed like I was stronger on the climbs ...could just hold on with the level but lost heaps on the descent where the other guys were so much quicker. Nearly spewin ...I managed to get to the front but it was at a cost - wobbly legs and a sore gut. Just before the finish, Nigel Scott was walking back down the course (having already completed) and he confirmed that JD was close behind me. Thankfully one last blast kept the placing as we all crossed the line within about 90 seconds of each other.

32 Graham Kelly Westerlands M 0:45:30
33 John Donnelly Westerlands M40 0:45:35
34 Murdo McLeod Westerlands M50 0:45:42
35 Hamilton Semple Westerlands M50 0:45:47
36 Helen Palmer Westerlands F 0:46:48
37 Martin Reid Westerlands M40 0:46:56
38 Blair Millen Westerlands M 0:47:05

Easter snow showers ......

2006-04-17T15:22:00.000+01:00

In an effort to keep the black dog away which seems to nip at the heels all too often, Shamir Naseem Mohamed (aka Stuart the Sweat Beast Ferguson) and myself are currently planning at least one midweek hill trip each month. We kinda cheated a bit this month and choose Easter Monday. The plan was a good one …high camp under Sgurr Eilde Mhor (up the east end of the Mamores) at NN 224 653 then maybe a moonlight ascent of Eilde Mhor before a good nights sleep then back over Binnein Mor & Na Gruagaichen.

Anyway …

17:30 – Shamir picks me up at Busby and we head north of Balloch (via the Erskine bridge now free of tolls).

19:30 – We stop at the Green Welly for some last minute provisions …it is raining.

19:40 – Heading through the Coe and it is REALLY raining …the wind is up as well.

20:00 – We are in the bar at the Mamore Lodge.

21:00 – We leave the Lodge (the rain is off) and walk 100yds before stopping to put waterproofs on (the rain is back on).

22:30 – The rain has stopped …to be replaced with snow !

23:00 – We are standing in a blizzard, trying to find a spot to get the tent up and get some shelter. The wind is ridiculous. Every so often all you can do is stand with your eyes closed whilst spindrift went everywhere (including up my nose and in my ears). Eventually, we find a spot as sheltered as we will get. Putting the tent up is like fighting one of those Chinese Dragons. Inner up – yipeee. A few minutes later and the outer is over the top as well …a few seconds after that and the outer is well … no longer over the top. Sustained pressure and much swearing later and we have shelter. Ice axes are used to keep the side of the tent taking the brunt of the wind fixed. Both getting too cold for comfort we dive inside the tent, strip off water proofs and get into the sleeping bags. Comfort at last. No sooner had Shamir’s head hit the pillow and all hell broke loose. Judging by the amount of snow driving through the inner mesh, it was obvious …we no longer had the outer tent protecting us. Seconds later, the main centre pole collapsed. First things first …get the warm gear back on quickly, add the waterproofs, keep the sleeping bag dry and then sort out the medium term. It took the best part of 15 minutes to get it all back under sensible control. Once packed (thankfully the outer was still attached to a couple of pegs) – the next decision was do we head of Meanach bothy or the car. Confirmation of the car being closer and we bailed in that direction. Once dropping below the snow line we were able to take stock …the weather if anything was getting worse !

01:30 – Back at the car …phew.

02:00 – Driving south through the Coe singing a selection of Kenny Rodgers and Glen Campbell hits – magic !

04:00 – Tucked up in bed ...wondering if the earlier part of the evening had been a dream !

Westies - the Campies by Moonlight ...the plot thickens

2006-03-25T20:44:00.000Z

Well if the January moonlit run was to be eventful, March was no different …

Following the cancellation of Balloch to Clydebank half marathon (due to a huge dump of snow) a little snow sport was in order. A bunch of Westies (Trevor, Robert, Peter, John, Chris, Jane, Clare and myself ) met up at the Dumgoyne Distillery on what looked like a rather chilly evening.

Underfoot conditions were fine heading over the field but with fairly crusty snow became “interesting” the higher we climbed. The decision wondering whether or not to wear my older Walshes or newer and sharper Walshes was put into context by Peter – who was in road shoes. Still nae point on worrying about the descent whilst still going up …

Onto the summit, it looked as if we were going to see the moon. As we headed over towards Garloch hill it looked less likely. A fierce wind was making it feel colder than it should of and stopping for any length of time was to be avoided. The crusty snow was still with us and was sore …really sore. You would break through then your shin would cut through as you move forwards – ouch ! By the time we were on the summit of Garloch a team decision was in order …admire the view quickly then head back towards Dumgoyne. Bearing in mind the “interesting” snow conditions we opted for a traverse line before descending back to the distillery.

Everyone back safe and folks were getting changed, chatting etc …when the polis turned up. They looked at me and I quickly stuck my head in the van to try and find shoes (honest guv) …maybe a guy reaction to avoid talking to the gents in blue (or is it black these days) but why appear guilty of nothing when John Donnelly (Westies social secrtary) was only a few feet away. In the end the social sec was very social and discovered that someone had seen headtorches high up on Dumgoyne and called in. Pretty descent of the folks to care and the polis to leave the warmth of the station eh ?

With BST coming up, I suppose that will be the last of the night runs. If you haven’t tried them – get yirself oot there next winter …magic fun !

Westies - the Campies by Moonlight ...or not

2006-01-13T15:45:00.000Z

Some folks will know I finally got round to Joining the “Westies” last year. With the dark nights, most of the midweek club runs are road or local trail runs. Once a month as close to full moon time as we can … it is back to the hills.

This months run was up in the Campsies. It might not of gone exactly to plan ... but it was good fun. Below is Chris Upson’s very accurate version of events ...

--------------------------------------------

Approx. version of events...

There were 9 of us to start with, but Luke, Steffen and Robert all
dropped out before Cort-ma Law. That left me, Graham Kelly, CatM, ValB, ValH and ClareF. It was pretty misty and murky on C-mL but we took a bearing and headed off towards Lecket.

The emerald green bog was the worst I've ever seen and people were
constantly disappearing up to their waists, but we ploughed on regardless. However the visibility got worse and degenerated to around 10 metres, so bit by bit we lost all sense of direction, or where we were, or why we were there. So we abandoned the idea of Lecket and decided instead to try to get back to the road, and headed west dropping into the gully and eventually contouring round to where we should have come off Lecket.

When we got back to Clachan of Campsie, Steffen had been waiting for
around an hour, but thankfully Robert was still there, so they were sitting in his car with the heating on.

All in all a great night!!
C

Team Dogger -playing in the woods at night...

2006-01-12T23:19:00.000Z

Yes, it probably is as dodgy as it sounds

It's been a funny season. There was the utter inability at the beginning, the attempts at running, the damaged knee to go with the damaged ankle. The damaged psyche to go with everything else. One job, no job, 3 jobs, no job, day work, night work, evenings, weekends. House, no house, back to the parents, back to Leeds, sofa, sub-let room. I guess it's part of life, but looking back at it now it was a complete pain in the jacksy.

So, now things seem relatively stable. Nice house shared with another kayaker/climber (Alison) and a young lad (Johnathon). Decent, although not spectacular, 9-to-5 job, evenings and weekends free to kayak/bike and... ah yes, the title of the post... Team Dogger.

Team Dogger consists of myself and Laurent, the hairy Frenchman who is, essentially, the duracell bunny in a drysuit, plus sundry hangers-on/students/victims. No points for guessing where the name comes from, but paddlers should recognise the symbolics of the logo above. And we're becoming infamous...

It started with someone explaining the curious phenomenon of 'dogging' to Mr Laurent. (well, he is French...) . This became a minor obsession, and came to represent anything physical between any 2 people in any location anytime... Methinks he missed the point.
I'm coming back from injury and attempting to put in as much mileage as I'm able on the bike. Which means riding in all conditions, all weathers, and at all times of day. Including the night. So, I tell a few of the canoe club guys who bike with me occasionally that "I'm off for a night ride, anyone fancy joining me?" and the French accent pipes up "yeah". True to form, a week later, 7:30 in the evening, a Ford Focus estate pulls up at my house and a bike is duly unloaded, lights strapped on and we're set.

The Meanwood is our regular ride anyway - it's convenient, fun, and just far enough from civilization to feel like a good break from the city. In the day it's a nice, fairly swift technical blast, about 1:30 for the main loop, 2:00 for the full works. We decide to take it easy and do an even shorter version of the short loop - about an hour, we reckon. Out of the house with the little LED lights on, down the street and into the woods at the rear of the house, halogens onto full beam. Drop through the woods a little faster than is actually safe, misty breath clouding up the headlight beam. Across the road and onto the little cut-through path, wheelying, hopping and swerving to avoid the little brown squishy landmines the local canine poulation has left for us. Out through the old mill path (hey, it's Yorkshire) and round by the allotments into the park. Over the little humpback bridge (slow slow slow turn hoist jab on the pedals and try not to fall into the stream again) and up the bank and we're at the base of the Meanwood Bombhole. Decide that the low-level paths probably the better one so it's off along the swoopy wide trail to the End of the Line and up the hill to the Horse Path. Gravel Bank climb, swoopy bit, round the Corner and it's the long drag of Horse Climb (horrible at this time of year as it's muddy and cut-up. Great muscle training but a complete pain). Down to the ring road and across and into the Second Bombhole. It's been changed by the local scrotes, who've dug out one of the best jumps to make a longer run-in to a really bad one. Oh well. Tonight isn't the time to be testing it out, I guess, so we head into my favourite part of the trail - Speeder Chase. I normally rail through this 500 yard stretch at something approaching warp speed (well, that's how it feels) but tonight it's slow, ponderous. In the day I know every corner, every line, every rock. Tonight it's all wierd and spooky and strange, like I'm a first timer fumbling around in the dark. I guess I am in a way.

Out to 7 Arches bridge, via some impromptu bughwhacking (the trail's vague at the best of times. Dark evenings are not the best of times...) and through the twists, turns and climbs to Joe's Nose, then along the bottom trail to Adel jumps and the Golf Course Road. Along the road and into the Reservoir Trail with it's accompanying double drop-off - the line was good, the landing a little on the sketchy side: it's difficult when your landing spot is outside of the 10m dribble of light and has a tree either side of it. Must try narrower bars. Then out to the Hotel and into Golden Acre...

Golden Acre park has a couple of reputations. 1) it's a lovely place to go walk of a Sunday afternoon (if you can avoid getting mown down by errant MTBers) and 2) it's a lovely place to go at night if you're after a bit of illicit extra-marital how's-yer-father. Shame I didn't know about the second part. I guess the number of parked cars with interior lights on should have given it away. That and the naked pair of buttocks at the front seat of the car nearest the road (honestly, some people...) I can't imagine what they thought when they were minding their own business, having a wee spot of nookie in a bush, when 2 lycra and gore-tex clad idiots on bikes go flashing past with headlamps on full blaze (and eyes half shut - they would have been fully shut if I hadn't wanted to see the trail.). What I thought was "funny, lots of cars. Oh look, naked people. Oh dear. Pedal pedal pedal pedal don't laugh just pedal"

The end of the ride came after we'd hammered round the last 2 miles of trail so fast you'd have thought it was daylight. And THEN we burst out laughing.

So. Team Dogger is well and truly in business, although we've not been past Golden Acre since. Anytime anyone's passing Leeds with a bike, we'd be more than happy to show you the ropes...

Take it easy folks, see you at an event soon

Pyro

Karrimor International Mountain Marathon 2005 – Cumbrian Fells

2005-12-23T15:12:00.000Z

08:29. The German and I are walking from the camp site to the start. G is walking pretty fast actually and it seems to me to be a bit inefficient to get to the start line out of breath. “15 minutes to go” I say in an effort to calm him down. “Bollocks” he mutters, realising that he has got the start time wrong by fifteen minutes. I’m actually quite impressed that he wasn’t getting upset as he’d just watched me mess around with various buckles and straps under the impression that we were going to be late. It sets the tone for the weekend – no snarling.

There’s a lot of time to think on the KIMM but that doesn’t mean that a lot of thinking gets done. Whilst I’m running at least 90% of my brain is thinking about where to put my feet: grassy flat bit (nice); shallow puddle with sandy bottom (step into), dark puddle (jump over), flat rock (step on), wet angled rock (jump over), tussock (careful), bracken (pick your feet up high), ad nauseum. That leaves 10% of my brain to think of higher things, usually questions: How long can I carry on without a rest? Shall I have something to eat? Shall I have a drink? How far is it to the top? How far is it to the bottom? Is it going to rain? Is this rain hard enough to stop and put my jacket on? Am I too hot/cold? But mostly: How far is it now?

G is running up ahead. Mostly in sight, occasionally disappearing over the brow of the next hill, his grey clothes blending in with the grey weather. His job is navigating. I’d like to navigate but he is so much better and has time on his hands to gaze at the map whilst he waits for me to catch up. G does a lot of walking: typically, he’d run for a minute and walk for a minute whilst I just ran to keep up. It was beyond him to run as slowly as me. My pack was heavy at 10kg (with water) and my usually flat and ungraceful running style was flatter and more graceless than usual. All but the most gentle of uphill sections saw me walking.

Check point BZ is down in what in Scotland would be called a corrie. It takes us 10 minutes to descend into and 20 minutes to climb back out of. At 50 points it’s not economical to do if we run out of time later (you get penalised by two points a minute if you’re late) but we decide to do it anyway. We’re motivated by points (or we wouldn’t be here) but it looks like such a nice place to go we make the recreational decision. And it is worth it. A lovely three-sided bowl with a wind-battered tent sheltering between three low walls signifying the marshal. The beauty of the check point is marred only by the steep exit back onto the ridge.

10km along the side of Hawsewater on the approach to the overnight camp was a welcome, flat road section. I didn’t really want to do any road running but the alternative was a 400m climb. We only had a little over an hour of time left and I was trashed so we chose the easy route. It wasn’t a fast 10km to say the least, but it was mindless in its own way and that was refreshing. Time to look around (rather than at my feet) and distance myself from the running and therefore the pain. We run past a perfectly good hotel with a bar.

At the camp site the tent is thrown up quickly so we can get some food on. It’s not raining much but the wind is getting enthusiastic and I’m glad I’ve brought neighbour Charlie’s tent. We have every guy rope and peg in use. He described it as “bullet proof” and this sounded like a bad omen but it did in fact perform perfectly, shrugging the worst of the weather off with an “I’ve seen worse than this” attitude. We cook three separate hot meals and doze peacefully in between. We hop over to Rob & Lesley’s tent to outstay our welcome in a tent not designed for four. Golden syrup cake.

Sunday is as windy as hell and dark clouds tumble down from the peaks like water balloons. We’ve got a long run back to the start (a.k.a. the finish) and we decide to adopt a detour-phobic strategy. We’re pretty much going back the way we came which means going back along the road for a few kilometres deliberately avoiding some easily ignored check points. It’s raining and G says he’s never been this wet without being underwater before.

A couple of hours later and we’re on the steep, wet, cloudy climb up onto the ridge. Running is an absurd notion as I use all four limbs to slowly gain height. But I know that I’ve got to get up high to get to the other side so it’s satisfying. I know where we are within about a 1000m which probably isn’t good enough but I should be able to get off the hill on my own if necessary. In the mean time, I follow G through the gloom. Have I mentioned the wind? It’s very windy. I can’t accurately judge the speed but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone said Force 7. It was strong enough to stop me dead in my tracks (G’s tracks actually) whilst I adjusted my weight to lean even further into it. When I jumped over a puddle or some rocks I was never quite sure where I would land, wind-blown like a leaf.

Finally, on the ridge and we’ve got all the big ascents behind us. I allow myself a taste of the finish line and try and imagine how much further. Hmm, not far – just along the ridge and down the shallow shoulder on the other side to the end. I’m running again on the flattish bits and it feels good. The wind is behind us and it makes a real difference. But all too soon the flat is replaced by downhill and if there’s one thing I do worse than ascending it’s descending. Muscle groups jostle for attention as they signal to me their disbelief. My ankles roll horribly inwards with every step and I hope I’m not doing them any permanent damage. I’ve opted for not wearing the orthotic insoles I have to avoid this problem – the other risk is a sprained ankle and whilst rolling ankles are sore a sprained one means the end of the race and long journey back. But don’t get me started on my ankles...

The ridge really does go on and on. We’re an hour from the end and Graham spies a check point off down the hill to the left. It’s a detour and worth only 30 points. We calculate that if we can do it in less than 15 minutes we’ll make a profit despite the fact that we’re going to be late. It takes about 13 minutes and I’m glad we did it – reminding me why we came here in the first place.

Ah, the finish. Lovely. Racers are streaming in towards the finish funnel from various directions; all of them looking fresher and faster than me. The weight of my pack, my ankles, my tiredness, and my general inelegant running style rub shoulders with each other and others’ loping runs jar against my slow shamble. But I am still running and we’re only 50 minutes late. We’ve done it. G is slightly out of breath and looks like he might start to fade in another dozen hours or so. Rob & Lesley are there, having finished some time ago, with hot drinks and food. Mmm... bed... sleep... mmm.

The Everest Marathon

2005-12-19T20:09:00.000Z

I’m just back from taking part in the eleventh Everest Marathon, billed as “The Highest and Hardest Marathon in the World”. Bold words I scoffed at before I went, but a sentiment I can totally endorse now I’ve completed it!

The Factual Bit
The Everest Marathon is listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the highest marathon in the world. The start line is at Gorak Shep (17,000 feet), close to Everest Base Camp in Nepal. The finish is at the Sherpa town of Namche Bazaar at (11,300 feet) and the course is a full marathon of 26.2 miles over rough mountain trails. It is one of the world's most spectacular races and has been held ten times since 1987.
To acclimatise naturally to the high altitude all runners join together for a 26 day holiday in Nepal. This holiday combines sightseeing in the capital, Kathmandu, a 16 day trek to the start, ascents of Gokyo Ri (5483m) and Kala Pattar (5623m) for the best views of Everest, and one of the most grueling races in the world.
The race is a non-profit-making venture with all profits going to the Everest Marathon Fund, a UK registered charity which has raised over £350,000 to support health and educational projects in rural Nepal.

The Madness Sets In…
I decided early in 2005 that I would run my first and last marathon to celebrate turning 40, so I needed to find a suitably unusual event. I had to wait until May to find out I had a place in the race, then had six months to train, to panic, and to spend a small fortune on kit. I opted to donate 50% of my sponsorship to Yorkhill Children’s Foundation, and so far I’ve raised over £1800.
The whole trip has been truly fantastic - Nepal is a wonderful country, Kathmandu a brilliant city, the people amazingly friendly, and being in the Himalayas just an awesome experience. Being fit & healthy enough to climb the two trekking peaks, AND getting to the start of the marathon, never mind finishing it was just the icing on the cake!

Arrival
There were around 70 of us on the trip: 57 western runners, friends or family accompanying as marshals, group leaders, and a team of medics to look after us. We all met in Kathmandu for team briefings and to be allocated to three trekking groups. The briefings really made us think about the dangers of altitude sickness, cold, and staying healthy, but at the same time stressing that the marathon was just one day, and that we were there to enjoy the whole trip. There were 24 in my trekking group designated the Late Birds, including a group of ten friends from Clayton Le Moors Harriers, who turned out to be our very own entertainments team!

The Adventure Begins
We left Kathmandu for the breathtaking flight into the Himalayas to Lukla airstrip, which is so compact (and steep) that only small 16-seaters can be used. There we met our trekking sirdars, and twelve cooks, twelve porters, and 5 yaks for each group. From then on we were in trekking country where only human or animal power is available for transport, and we set off for 16 days of trekking, camping, and acclimatisation. Each day consisted of an early start with the cooks bringing us "bed tea", packing kit bags for the porters to carry, breakfast in the mess tent, and around 4-5 hours of leisurely trekking - leisurely to avoid ascending too quickly and incurring acute mountain sickness headaches, but also out of necessity - every step proved to be an effort at altitude.

The days were broken up with frequent stops at the numerous teahouses for pots of tea, hot chocolate, or hot lemon, an absolute necessity both to get enough fluid onboard to counteract dehydration, and also to soothe the hacking coughs we all got as a result of the dry air. Our first night was spent in tents at Phakding beside the raging glacial waters of the Dudh Kosi River, and next day we trekked up the steep, winding path to Namche Bazaar, getting our first glimpse of Mount Everest through the trees.

We had a rest day in Namche Bazaar, where we stayed in trekking lodges rather than tents - the last luxury for a couple of weeks. Everyone stocked up with fleeces, wool hats, gloves & socks in preparation for camping at -20 degrees, and we had a recce of the last 6 miles of the race route, planning to walk uphill, and run the flats & downhills.

The outcome was more like a shuffle uphill, walking the flats, and shuffle the downs, making us realise that rather than running, our training for the next two weeks was going to be just walking uphill.

The Gokyo Bit
From Namche we set off on the trek proper, firstly up the Gokyo Valley, where our first camp was at the village of Khumjung, where Sir Edmund Hillary has attracted god-like status for building a school & clinic, then onto a campsite at Dole. We were lucky to have clear blue skies and brilliant sunshine every day, but as soon as the sun disappeared behind a mountain – something which happened rather rapidly – you had to run and unpack kit bags to find at least three layers of thermal clothing! Although our cooks prepared food & served it in the mess tent each night, all our campsites were beside trekking lodges, so if there was room in the lodge dining room we would all pile in for a heat at the stove. Mind you, sometimes the mess tent was preferable to the smell & smoke from burning yak dung! We had a two night stop at Machermo, where there is a clinic to provide treatment for the trekking porters & staff run by volunteers.
The resident doctors gave us a hard-hitting lecture on the dangers of altitude – one we all took very seriously since one of our group had been evacuated the night before, and our photographer, Pete was being treated inside a pressure bag while we were being lectured (he made a remarkable recovery after 3 hours in the bag, and didn’t need evacuated). Our final day ascending the Gokyo Valley took us up past glacier lakes to Gokyo, where I was lucky enough to summit the peak of Gokyo Ri. A few of us went up late in the afternoon but only two of us were willing to stay on the summit long enough to see the sun set over Mount Everest, which was so stunning it would have made the whole trip worthwhile on it's own. To heat up, we ran back down to Gokyo. The moon was so bright we didn’t even need our headtorches (although I did manage to fall off the stepping stones over a very cold river. Not the recommended method of washing feet!)

Base Camp Everest, Here We Come
Next day we descended back down the valley to camp at Machermo & Khumjung before we set off for the main trek up to Everest Base Camp. This took us through the Buddhist monastery of Tengboche, where we had enough time to visit the monastery & watch the monks prepare dances for the Mani Rimdu festival. The monastery is equipped with lodges, a bakery & campsite & sits on a hilltop with stunning views of Everest – which meant a long decent & even longer ascent – something which didn’t go un-noticed, since we were now on the race route. We camped below Tengboche, and began to notice that the nights were getting colder. Our next stop was Dingboche, where we were warned to be extra careful because of the suspect water quality – all our water was boiled & filtered, but you have to remember all the other ways we ingest water.

Most of us had remained healthy, apart from developing coughs from the dry air and getting a few altitude headaches, but gradually as we ascended, more of us succumbed to stomachs bugs with varying results - not pleasant at -20 degrees, when you have to dress in 3 layers of outerwear to run to the toilet tents! I finally succumbed to the dreaded bug at Dingboche, and had a very unpleasant night, but the main casualty was my lovely knitted Nepalese rainbow hat which became an emergency sick bag! All through the trip our medical team were fantastic, and filled us with medication at the first sign of trouble to give us the best chance of continuing to the race start, but a night of sickness left me with barely enough energy to walk the couple of kilometers to the next village of Pheriche, where I had to leave the group to recover in a warm, comfortable lodge (it had western toilets!), accompanied by Kate, one of the doctors, who was just as ill.

I wasn’t quite sure who was looking after who! We woke up feeling significantly better, so we set off to rejoin the group at the bleak camp at Lobuche. It looked so miserable, we decided another night in a lodge was a good idea, so feeling somewhat guilty, we left everyone to the mess tent & the cold, and climbed into sleeping bags under thick quilts.

The next day saw the group finally ascent to the old Everest Base Camp at Gorak Shep, which consists of two lodges on a frozen glacier lake at the edge of the Khumbu Glacier. This was our final campsite, and definitely the coldest. I felt well enough to climb to the summit of Kala Pattar with John from the medical team and had another stunning experience sitting at the summit pole amid streamers of prayer flags, overlooking Pumori, Nuptse, Everest, Llotse, Makalu, and the Khumbu Icefall & Glacier, which I’ve read endless stories about, and dreamed of seeing for myself. We had to drag ourselves down in time for a final race briefing, and then a very subdued supper, before an early night before a pre-dawn start at 5am to force down some porridge & chapattis. We were joined by around 20 Nepalese runners, included three girls, making a total of 80 runners. The race start at 7am was surprisingly low-key; we shuffled over the flat surface of the frozen glacier lake before a brutal scramble up the steep sides of the glacier moraine to an extremely rocky path – it was eyes down for the next 26.2 miles for a marathon like nothing else on earth.

Race Day
My illness and resulting lack of appetite had left its mark and I found the first half of the race so hard I secretly hoped I’d miss the final cut-off at 20 miles. But the marshals & medics at each aid post were so encouraging (and so good at forcing down cups of Tang & bits of Mars Bar) that I gradually felt better as I descended to an elevation where my lungs weren’t struggling quite so badly (there is 50% less oxygen at Gorak Shep than sea level), and I began to enjoy the second half. I even managed to overtake some of the people who had left me standing earlier. I finally made my most ecstatic race finish ever 8 hours 33 minutes after starting. Most of the top runners were Nepalese (who in some cases ran in sandshoes), but Garry Wilkinson from Clayton was the fastest western runner with 4 hours 57mins. Garry can probably run a conventional road marathon in not much more than 2hrs 30mins, giving some idea just how hard the Everest Marathon is!

Post-Race Recovery
It was a tired but very happy group who gathered in the Ama Dablam Lodge in Namche to begin the post-race celebrations – and to have the first beer in over 16 days, and the first shower in about the same. We even managed to drag our weary limbs the few yards downtown to Namche’s “club”, where we punished our legs more by dancing to an ancient Boney M tape. After a rest day in Namche where we attempted various functions such as washing two weeks dirt out of socks, getting a wet shave in a Namche barbershop (the boys, not me), shopping for clean clothes, (and another energetic night dancing, fortunately not to Boney M this time), we had a long trek all the way down to Lukla, where the brilliant Clayton gang had sprinted ahead (or hobbled faster) to book our whole group into a nice lodge, and treated us all to cosy rooms and a buffet dinner and breakfast.
The evening wasn’t without drama, since we received a request to treat a sick American girl I had met earlier on the trip. John patched her up without much trouble, but due to a curfew which had been declared due to Maoist trouble, we had to get escorted across to her lodge under armed guard!

Heading Home
We had a long wait next morning for flights back while the fog lifted in the Kathmandu Valley, but when we got there, the most noticeable thing was the sound of the internal combustion engine, accompanied by a cacophony of horns! We had the following day to complete our shopping, relax, or do some sight-seeing. Instead, I persuaded an unsuspecting Dr John to go out cycling, so we hired mountain bikes, bought a map, and headed for the hills around the Kathmandu Valley. 20 minutes took us outside the madness of the city and into jungle-like forest, and tracks which contoured round steeply terraced hills, past groups of local children who crowded round us every time we checked the maps. Without their help we would never have found the most amazing single-track back to the city. The paths join local villages and are perched on the thin strip of ground which is left perched several feet above the paddy fields, and they took us past rural life which we would never have seen from a tour bus going to yet another temple!

Our trip culminated in a celebration dinner before our multi-national group went our separate ways on various flights the following day. Even without all the brilliant photos, the memories of this amazing journey will stay with me for a very long time.

I owe a big thank you to Smartwool socks, Rab down clothing, and Salomon shoes for their generous assistance, to all my fellow travelers for making it so much fun, and to everyone who has sponsored me for helping make it worthwhile.

If you’d like to add a donation: http://www.justgiving.co.uk/lesleytaylor;

If you would like to view my photos: you can log onto http://www.truprint.co.uk/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=32745798/a=37901259/t_=37901259 (just create a free account to view)

Namaste!

Spanish Biking ...

2005-12-12T09:31:00.000Z

The Prologue
The trip started fairly low key – first Joe & John got to talking then my Dad jumped on the back wheel, quickly followed by Jim. I am not exactly sure when or exactly why (other than the thought of biking for a week with pals appealed) but before the trip left, I had added my name to make the Scottish contingent up to a respectable number of five !

Joe sorted out skedaddle (the tour company), flights to and from Glasgow, bike bookings, and hired bikes for himself and John but it wasn’t going to be that easy. Dialogue with skedaddle revealed the hire bikes were still to be bought and would we mind transporting them from the UK. That gave the logistical issue of how to get 5 guys, 5 backs and 5 bikes to the airport at 5 o’clock in the morning. A fairly cost effective solution was a van hire. Van booked and my Dad went to pick it up on the Friday afternoon – 1st problem …the guy who had the van the day before smashed it beyond driveable condition (vehicle incident number 1). Thankfully the hire company sourced another van and we were sorted again. Meanwhile, Joe had decided on a new camera …after interrogating the girl in Jessops for the best part of an hour (poor lass it was only her 2nd day in the shop) he decided on a rather funky wee Canon. We were about to leave when Joe asked about memory cards …the girl opened the box to check only to find that whilst an SD card was included …there was no camera in the box !

Arrival in Malaga
Early rise, van packed and we arrived at the airport. Checked in and it was coffee time (the first of many).

Following our flight to Malaga, we were reunited with our bikes which had all survived the journey…just (why do airlines take such poor care of luggage???). We met up with the majority of the other folks on the tour. Paul (offshore rig worker with a nice bike …a very nice bike to be exact), Robert (Londoner and top roommate), Caroline (aka posh white trash, bunny boiler but with a heart – don’t worry she knows how that nic came about), Chris (driest and funniest sense of humour ever), “big” Yella (fast Dutch triathlete). One guy was missing and was to arrive later was Charlie (who informed us he hadn’t been on a bike for two years ….). We met Dan, Tim and David who were to be our guides and support for the week.

We were transferring to west towards the chic resort of Estepona, when Dan got a call which informed him the clutch / gearbox on the minibus had gone (vehicle incident number 2). With a bit of shuttling about, we all arrived at a rather posh hotel more suited to golfers. We set about building and testing bikes …some bikes needed more attention than others!

A few beers later and we could even remember everyone’s names!

Day 1 Estepona-El Bosque
Following a leisurely breakfast we took the short transfer out of town and started to climb up Sierra Bermeja in order to start the tour with a downhill! During the ascent I am sure it was John who commented “I wuidnae like tae be oan ma bike goan up this” Mmmmm

The first descent was a taste of things to come being steep and fast through amazing scenery. It seemed all too easy …and it was, until the first hill. Those who know John know he isn’t “keen” on hills. Shortly after the first coffee, we were all climbing up something very similar to the hill we previously ascended in the Landrover. It was clear at this point there was going to be three groups – the fast boys (only Big Yella & Paul made it into this group), the main peleton and the social group who swept up the rear. At the top of the climb was a village where we all regrouped and cheered as one by one everyone arrived. John thankfully looked happy if a little tired. Another descent over some unfinished road (was mountain biking included?). We arrived and were just eating lunch when I heard a short pop followed by a scoosh of air i.e. my bike had a spontaneous puncture. Bike fixed and fed we started again. We were beginning to figure a pattern – steep descents are followed by steep climbs. In this case it was a steep climb through a gorgeous pine and cork forest. The next few hours were spent pushing towards our overnight stop in the tiny white village of El Bosque. Daylight was against us and as it got darker, we grouped up to stay safe. Those who made it, rolled into town just after dark. Those who were sensible were already in the Landrover with bikes on the trailer. First day riding was over and I was trashed – Grade 1 to 2 ?!?!??!? A snooze, some Jay Farrar on the MP3 player, a bath, a meal and more sleep Zzzzzzzz

A typical climb !

Day 2 El Bosque-Ronda
Waking surprisingly fresh, the day ahead was discussed with Tim. Concerns about the first climb were raised but he assured us that we didn’t start on the hill straight away. He was correct (well kinda correct) …there WAS at least a 400 yard roll before we turned left and started to climb. Ascending up the narrow forest clad mountain road which winds up the Sierra Grazalema was spectacular if long …very long. We climbed up towards a high coll (no – not Joe although he was having fun), we saw enormous Griffen vultures look at us in a hungry kinda way, we saw road workers and a camera crew look at us in a mad kinda way. One by one everyone arrived at the summit of the climb all tired and all buzzing.

Tired but happy ...

Re-fuelled we descended towards the village of Grazalema it's self. Very kindly Paul had cleared the road of sheep previously and it was head down and go as fast as you dare. Down in the village my Dad informed us that he had heard a “ping” from his rear wheel. The “ping” was made by a couple of spokes breaking free from the cracked rear hub!!! Mechanic Jim trued up the wheel to make it rideable at least.

Lunch was down by a river and the group separated for the afternoon – my Dad on the Landrover (confidence a little shot …he was opting for a wheel purchase in Rhonda option) and the fast boys were heading for an extra (steep) loop …without the support vehicle. The social group headed off for an easier out & back loop which included a coffee stop.

Skedaddle say:- “From here we continue through the hills and valleys until the dramatic sight of Ronda appears on the horizon - perched on a cliff top high above us – this is our base for the following two nights.” They were not kidding …the climb towards Ronda was murder. One of those awkward gradients that there is only a wrong gear (either too high or too low) – thankfully the right gear became apparent as the legs started to complain …the lowest you have. Still it was good opportunity to play head games till it was over. Regrouping just outside Ronda (beside a statue of a red deer stag that I never did find out the story behind) the story of the extra loop was told – a mix of narrowly averted mental breakdown & tears from Paul with big Yella demanding food “NOW” and having to eat things he didn’t like. I was glad to be in the social group.

The lack of pasta was kicking in and a group breakaway was formed to find a source of carbs. Paul, Caroline, Robert and myself ate in a small café whilst the rest ate in another posh place. Not exactly sure how …but some of us ended up in a bar called “Huskies” till around 1am. In our defence, it was a sports bar !?!?

Day 3 Ronda
This day had two options have a walk around Ronda which is surely one of the most interesting, picturesque, and famous towns in all of Andalusia, with it's narrow streets, plazas, cliff top views, and historic bull ring. Apparently, this place was a favourite haunt of Orson Wells and Ernest Hemingway.

For the rest of us there was a “short” bike day – descend back out of town and along the gorge to the hill town of Cortes. It was on the way back that Jim attained the team Scotia land speed record recording a top speed of 73.5km/hr !

Day 4 Ronda-Antiquera
Leaving Ronda behind, we headed towards Antiquera. The countryside changed dramatically. The steep climbs and descents were replaced by rolling agricultural land.

Funniest moment of the day came when from a distance of about 200m I saw two dogs go for the wheels (legs?) of Joe & Charlie. As Charlie headed into the distance, Joe span at a cadence of somewhere around 140 rpm – apparently he had just chosen an easy gear to help his increasingly sore knee. I nearly fell off my bike laughing – this alerted the dogs that they could either continue the pursuit of Joe …or turn and have a shot at me ! As they approached, I did a u-turn and sprinted in the opposite direction. As I passed Caroline, Robert & Tim I shouted something about “mind the f@ckin dug” to which Tim commented that he had never seen a Scotsman run from a dog ! Thankfully all the exercise seemed to calm the mutts in question and we got past intact.

After regrouping, Joe and I managed to set a good pace towards Antiquera only broken by the best coffee stop of the trip.

Beats workin eh ?

The town seemed big …very big. After being out on small roads almost devoid of traffic, arriving in Antiquera in the evening rush was a little overwhelming. We found the hotel and went out for a wander to locate a post office. After much map reading and a few wrong turns we eventually found the place …then spent the rest of the evening stumbling into post boxes. That evening we ate in a restaurant where newly qualified chefs work – it was evident that the portion control module had not been covered! VERY full …we waddled back to the hotel and another sleep.

Day 5 Antiquera-El Chorro
The early part of this day was very similar to day 4 except for the wind. As we headed up the first climb it was a major struggle to remain on the road. For some reason Tim & Joe (whose knee was getting worse) had stopped at the most exposed part of the road and set up a feed station – pausing for even a brief few minutes and we were frozen. We opted to continue down to the next village and have a stop there. The descent was hilarious (if a little unpredictable). If the constant high wind was bad …the gusts were worse. Funnily enough the gusts seemed to always hit when a car was approaching in the opposite direction.

Continuing on, and the road surface was mixed. It was either the usual perfect surface or major roadworks or loose gravel – thankfully we had been warned and everyone made it safe without incident.

The descent to El Chorro was interesting. Tight corners which got tighter as you went round them. The poor wheel rims were burning by the time we arrived at the rather obvious hotel. I say “rather” obvious because my Dad managed to miss it and continue down the hill. When it was evident he was missing, David sorted a search party. Charlie found him sitting at the bottom of a dead end road enjoying the view of the lake (and apparently it is always my fault he gets lost ?!?!?)

El Chorro is famous for a number of reasons – in “north of Balloch” terms, it is famous for hot rock excursions made by Joe, Alan “Big Yin” Kelly amongst others. Joe had the full El Chorro experience planned out for us. We took in views of the Kings Walkway, the railroad tunnels as well as stories about the various climbs. We also heard the story of “Emily” but that is one for another time …

View from the railroad ...

Day 6 El Chorro-Marbella The last day!
Had it really have been the best part of a week since we arrived at Malaga?

Joe was back on the bike for a last blast as we left the gorge fades behind us and headed through the groves and terraces towards the impressive white village of Alhora. As we had coffee, we overheard David mention something about the next section being VERY steep. It was nice to find out that he was referring to the descent through the town rather than the next and last climb which took us to the summit of the Puerto de Ojen.

Stopping just outside Marbella for a last coffee we enjoyed the views over the Mediterranean. Apparently you can even see over to Morocco on a clear day. From here was downhill all of the way to the sea. It seemed a shame to stop.

Bikes packed back into boxes, we headed in search of a suitable bar. No sooner had we sat down with a beer and the rain started outside – kinda nice that it waited for us to finish!

After another big meal a few of us went for a ramble around the town via a couple of bars and what seemed like a club before settling down to a wee table with a view. Paul seemed to be especially taken by the view down the street.

Next morning and it was airport transfer time for most. We were relaxing in the hotel foyer when David rushed in to inform us that the Landrover had broken down (stuck in gear) and was blocking the street (vehicle incident number 3) – we got it moved but the gearbox was done.

Post Tour Malaga
Team Scotia had opted for an extra night in Malaga before heading home. Goodbyes said we headed to another hotel, stored the bikes and went exploring. Due to a nagging doubt about getting the boxed bikes on the train to the airport we nipped in to the station. Joe checked both with station staff and security that it was ok to take the boxes on the train – both groups confirmed “si”. The rest of the day was spent around the streets (and bars) in town. We sourced a rather good Chinese and paddled on the beach. Categories for prizes were discussed and nominations made. Winners were:

Most Improved Rider – John “I dinnae dae hills” Queen
Funniest Moment – Joe “trackstand” Coll

It was hard to compare a typical UK city with Malaga on a Saturday night. Mainly because in Malaga, there was no real evidence of the drunken violence that usually accompanies bar closing time. Rather than us not wanting to be part of Europe I think it might be a case of us not being grown up enough to join Europe.

Next morning we had breakfast, visited a cemetery, the Picasso museum (well Jim and I did the arty thing whilst the others went back to the beach) and all that was really left to do was get to the airport. Back at the hotel the news from Glasgow was not good. Eva had collected the van to collect us …and the cutch was quickly burning out (vehicle incident number 4). Thankfully it seemed to be holding enough to do the airport run.

We had devised a fairly cunning plan – my Dad in a taxi with the bags and two bikes leaving John & myself to get the 1st train and Joe & Jim bringing up the rear with the last bike. Ticket purchased from the machine and we headed towards the barrier. Just before I put the ticket in I heard a very gruff “NON”. I turned to see a wee pug faced Spanish lass (who obviously didn’t own a bed with a right side) growling. I was informed that I was only to speak to her in Spanish so decided to wait for Joe. We briefly discussed making a run for the train but considering we had boxes and the security guy had a gun …we chose to wait. Joe arrived and started the dialogue. The fact he could speak Spanish only bugged pug face even more – despite a valiant argument, we lost. I thanked the security guard for his help and we left …quickly.

Up at the taxi rank we touted the idea of loading us and the bikes into a single taxi – the guy looked confused. In the end we were helped by a 2nd driver who smelled a fare. The drivers were the polar opposite from the woman in the station soon we were loaded up we were on the way –some difference in attitude !

As always, the conversation turned from a retrospective view of the trip to “what is next” …

Life is a beach ...

A wee refresher on Scottish soil

2005-10-26T08:31:00.000+01:00

On a flypast from our current nesting place in the US of A I wanted to make a point of revisiting some old haunts with some old acquaintances. With the pressures of time (and family) the window of opportunity was compressed into just a few spare hours on a Friday morning but that made the decision for me - where else to go but the Cobbler....

So it was that Wee Joe, big sis and meself hauled ourselves North of Balloch (past the monstrous carbuncle at the Balloch Roundabout - WTF is that?)

and onward to the Arrochar Alps. This would be the first any of us had set foot on the new expressway to the Cobbler and it was immediately obvious that there were significant changes to the pathway. Somehow it wont be the same without the lung bursting start straight up the hillside - but not sure I'd say I actually missed it...

Even though I'd been away for 8 months or so, the weather was still as predictably unpredictable as ever. Why expect that to change? Dunno - but that's the way it is - you go away for two weeks on holiday and expect things to change - so surely after 2/3 of a year the weather would have eased up a little?!....Nah - we spent most of the upward part in fog.

The new path is just as you'd expect it - it looks new. That's about it really.

So we got to the top - actually, we got to the top a couple of times. I was already a few minutes past the summit when I turned to Joe and Kar and reminded them that I wasn't any good at following a path and if they happened to see the summit then they should let me know. They politely pointed out that the summit was the great big fook off lump of rock I had passed a few minutes ago, and then they somewhat unkindly proceeded to rip the pish right out me. Ahem. Friends...

Of course it was on the way back down that the cloud lifted and afforded some views of the new path we had come up a little earlier, but as always the Cobbler managed to look like twice the mountain it actually is!

Two Breweries

2005-10-07T00:16:00.000+01:00

It was The German’s idea. Good training for the KIMM he said. 18 miles and 4,900 feet. Well, the furthest I’d run before was 13 miles and that was sort of flat and tarmacy. I’d done 2 hour hill runs before but this was going to be double that at least. By all accounts the Two Breweries was a lot of heather, some rocks and steep slopes. Eddie Dealtry, who taunts me with tales of the hills from his desk at work, told me that the problem was that the middle third of the race was flattish with good tracks. Problem? That sounds right up my street. No, the problem is, he said, you are tempted to go too fast and burn out before the last hill. Yeah, right. I remember that he hasn’t seen me run. I’m hardly ever tempted to go fast unless it’s crossing a Glasgow street. He did have some useful advice though: watch out for the last hill [Trahenna]: “it’s much harder than it looks – people throwing up – take it easy.” Ah, take it easy – that’s advice I can follow.

The German, Lesley, Rob and I stood on the lawn of Traquair House with ten minutes until the noon start. Time for a quick, compulsory kit check: whistle, compass, map, waterproofs, food. We set off in a jovial group of around 70 runners. They all look, well, like runners. There doesn’t seem to be many people there just to see if they can get round – I imagine they all have Personal Bests to better. I had a sort of goal: 4h 15m - not sure how I arrived at that but you’ve got to have something to aim for. The pace is pretty quick; I’m running with The German who has stupidly agreed to stick with me all the way like he’s going to on the KIMM apparently. It’s so hard not to get carried away with the excitement at the beginning. I could overtake people; I was strong; all I had to do was stick with the others and just tough it out. Sounds simple enough.

We’re at check point 1 and we’ve been running for over an hour. The German knows exactly how long (and how high) because he has a watch that tells him. We are well within the cut-off and I’m pretty confident that I won’t get sent home early so I decide to stop looking at my watch. The last thing I want is “3 hours to go.... 2 hours fifty-five minutes to go... 2 hours fifty... etc”. It was a slow run up over the humpy summits to the top of Birkscairn Hill and there was much walking. I’m happy that I wasn’t walking more than the others around me and it felt comfortable getting back into a run whenever the opportunity arose.

30 minutes later and I’m watching nearly everyone in the world disappear into the distance. The German is about 100m ahead and struggling to go as slowly as me as I descend with tentative little hops down the very steep grassy slope. I’ve got my ankle taped up because of a recent sprain but, to be honest, I don’t think I would have been much faster anyway. I’m scared of hurting myself. More precisely, I’m worried that I’ll sprain my ankle again and have a long hobble off the hill. That would ruin the day and probably ruin the KIMM too. Still, the KIMM is just more of the same so if I can’t cope with this then I might as well let The German down on a day race rather than a two-day one. To start with, at the top of the hill, people fly past at almost twice my speed. They occasionally ask if I am okay: yes, yes – this is my normal speed. Then, further down, there was nobody left to pass me. [Actually, some people were still behind me – Rob and Lesley for instance – but I couldn’t see them].

Then it starts to get tough. We’re walking up a burn and a very steep slope looms up ahead. We’re definitely in walking territory now – there’s some comfort when running isn’t even an option. But it’s hard work even walking and The German is setting a fast pace. He’s also doing that sheep dog thing of walking backwards up the hill in front of me – chatting away.

Two hours or so into the race and we get to some tracks. Not too steep. It feels good to be running but it doesn’t last for long. There is a very steep, short climb up to another check point. We’re walking. Even The German would have been walking without me I’m sure. At the top is a very welcome Mountain Rescue white Land Rover. I’m thinking this is a good time to sprain my ankle but nothing happens and I’m forced to continue. From then on it gets gentler; tracks that are runnable, tarmac even. A lovely stretch up past Stobo Castle and I’m feeling quite happy. A wee fun-size Mars bar from a welcome water station gives me a temporary boost. Trahenna here I come!

Before we get to the foot of The Hill the going gets a little unruly. I take the opportunity to walk a bit and hope I might recover a little, but before long we are into the guts of the slog upwards. Hmm, quite hard and it seems to go on for a long while. I alternate between zig zagging up very slowly and going straight up extremely slowly. I even do a bit of going up sideways to give my ankles a rest. It does eventually end and I’m beginning to feel like we’re going to make it. It’s just down hill from here.

4h 15m and I’m still descending that damn hill. I’ve been descending for a fair while now and the bottom is a long way off. I can tell how far off it is because The German is quite small – a yellow smudge leaning against a gate chatting with some marshals. He’s done quite a lot of chatting when he should have been running. [He tells me later that the marshals were asking if I was alright - “oh yes, that’s him running normally” he reassured them.]

My time: 4h 41m 10s - The German’s: 4h 41m 11s. Haha, there’s some justice after all. I feel alright really. Tired obviously but not throwing up and still able to walk. Good thing really because if this was the KIMM I would be slightly less than half way. And this time I’m about to have some hot food and return to my bed. Hmm.

[Results.]

(P.S. Thanks for looking after me, German. It was more comforting than annoying having you scamper about near me.)

Mount Baldy - proper hill running

2005-09-28T08:50:00.000+01:00

So I was browsing the rails of REI (a cross between Blacks and Nevisport) and I got talking to one of the ever attentive assistants. With the energetic notion of doing the LA marathon I was keen to start pencilling in some interim events to help inspire some training discipline so we got gassing about local running events. She tells me about this "run to the top" thing held around Labor day and how she does it every year, usually ends up walking most of it blah blah blah. "Sounds great" thinks me - combines hills with running, but not in that damp, cold, grassy, muddy, KIMM way - this is more like running on the moon. Excellent....

Exactly as expected, I didn't bother doing any training except for the two weeks before the big event when the running shoes got dusted down and put to use, plodding round the streets of sunny Cucamonga in search of some running enthusiasm. (Well - it was dark o'clock by the time I finally went out running most nights so it wasn't "sunny" as such...but still - it was warm and dry and coming from the west of Scotland that's not a combination of words we're used to saying expect perhaps for those two weeks of the year when we go abroad on holiday)

The event itself is called the Run to the Top. It simply involves running to the top of Mount Baldy - easy peasy lemon squeezy...

Except "The Top" is 10,064ft above sea level, and as far as I remember, sea level is pretty much the same here on the west coast of America as it is on the west coast of Scotland. That's going to be a bit of a problem - obviously when I submitted my online registration back in June I didn't see that however. For 95% of the people who took part, the name is a complete misnomer - there's not even the slightest possibility we will "run to the top", not even for one of those "sprint finishes" we keep hearing about from seasoned athletes. (In fact getting to the top on the same day as starting and without the assistance of the air ambulance will be an achievement for many - I like to think I'm not quite in that category yet though...) There is some good news though - the race doesn't actually start at sea level - since the nearest bit of sea level is about 50 miles from Mount Baldy it's a fact which is likely to make the event somewhat harder to plan, so the race actually starts from the car park at the foot of Baldy, somewhere around 6000ft.

I know what you're thinking...10000ft - 6000ft = 4000ft = that's not so bad. And if I tell you its only 8 miles long you start to think that perhaps I've gone a bit girly. And now the pain in my chest has finally gone away I'm starting to think that too, but then my mind drifts back to the burning in my legs and it all starts to creep back up on me again. Unfortunately I couldn't find my heart rate monitor with which to record the pain - but I'm pretty sure the heart rate profile would have been similar to the profile of the mountain.

The race starts nice and early - with registration at 6000ft at 0600 there's a very definite Scottish chill in the air. It's only when I hear the pre-race chatter (or is that actually my teeth rattling from the cold?) that all of a sudden I start to remember what it is about these events that makes me keep coming back for more. It's that "like minded sorts" thing again - who in their right mind would be here (knowing they have no chance of winning) other than people just like me. Except this is Southern California and I'm a Scottish bloke so there's noone else here just like me - and that's the point - it obviously doesn't matter where you go in the world, there will always be folk like you...

From the car park you actually run downhill for a few hundred yards in search of the trailhead - and from that point on, it's uphill all the way. For the first 30mins or so I manage to keep running. The surface is pretty good - just a normal compacted rock/gravel path much like a forestry road so it's not too bad on the ankles, but with the dust getting kicked up it's not long before everything starts to develop a fine coating and you start to spit mud. This path leads up to the chair lift station on the Baldy notch but thats where we leave it behind and set out on the narrow trail that forms the Devils Backbone path to the summit of Baldy. By now I'm approaching 8000ft and still feeling ok - I'm still running and passing many of the people who pelted past me on the downhill section right at the start. If I could catch a breath I would shout some profanities at them but gulping ever thinner amounts of cold air, I decide to save my energy for shouting for help sometime fairly soon.

Onwards past the 8000ft point and I catch onto the tail of a typical older, southern california dude - he's got the tan, the "outdoor complexion", the white hair and the Oakleys and he's just unwillingly become the target for some scottish patter. The logic here is simple - If I befriend this fella, then he'll hopefully feel obliged to ensure that my exhausted carcass gets recovered from the top of the mountain - providing I make it that far which by now is starting to feel like only a distant possibility.

Perhaps it's psychological but I'm pretty sure by 9000ft I'm starting to feel a bit of a headache coming on and I'm convinced I should have brought some of that scuba gear for oxygen support. I'm also thinking that perhaps some acclimatisation might have helped and that next year I'll mebbe camp out the night before the race...and that's when it hits me - I'm struggling to get up this hill, legs are burning, sweat's lashing off me, there's a cold wind ripping across the path threatening to throw me down the scree slopes to oblivion, and I'm already planning for next year...and somehow with a wee bit of conversation going with surfer dude I'm feeling ok again. That only lasts about 10 minutes however until the final climb comes into sight and I suddenly remember about the bit at the top of Baldy. Only good thing is that by this time there's noone left running so when I slow to a walk, I'm not losing any places...just time, which doesn't seem to matter because the view is spectacular and I'm just glad to be here looking at LA in the West to San Gorgonio in the East with the Santa Anas to the South and high desert to the North (and is that the Sierra Nevadas in the far horizon?)

It's a relentless grind for the last 1000ft - (I'm reminded of Ben More but without the grass and then my mind wanders onto other nonsense such as Ben Tumorousvan) Crossing the finish line in 97th place (out of 554) with a time of 1:38:52 becomes my new personal best and a benchmark for future attempts. Of course, now there's just the 4 miles back to the chairlift to go...fortunately for those still climbing, we're not racing back down...well, not officially...

I hear that the LA marathon is quite a show - I'll report on my findings sometime after March 19th. Just 24 weeks to go.

Lee Gilberston

Miss Chatty China and Mohamad Muscles - PJ Half Marathon

2005-09-25T20:45:00.000+01:00

Its 6.30am, still dark, 27 degree, and I'm standing at Kelana Jaya Stadium, just out side Kuala Lumpur with 4000 other heed jobs, dressed in shorts and a running vest.

My mind flashes back to the 2002 Glasgow Half Marathon, where the German and I stood shivering in the downpour, as thunder crashed further up the Trongate. I hate to think what the temperature was!

I was just as wet when the Classic looking Raj Sikh official, complete will full turban and curly moustash, fired his pistol in.the air to start the 21st PJ Half Marathon. This time I was soaked in my own sweat, and I hadn't even started running yet!

The thought of running 13miles in the tropics is a daunting one, however like all endurance sports, its all about the training. Slowly adapting the body to handle the conditions. My adaptation included 3 outside runs in 2 years, and several 5K sessions in an air-con gym. I was expecting pain.

Once we started up the high street in Glasgow, the body warmed up and before long we were at pace, chasing down the 1hr 30min target.

Here in Malaysia, warming up is never a problem! I decided my target time was around 1hr 45mins, and I would start near the back of the field. I would pad the first 10K at a very easy pace, drink as much water as possible, and then step up the pace to gain the pyscological advantage of passing the people who had gone off too fast. In my head, it was sound logic and actual a mature and experienced approach to road racing (Not something I've practiced much in the past)

At 5K they were issuing frozen sponges to accompany the cups of tea warm drinking water. A strangle combination, but it worked. The warm water went down without upset to the stomach and the sponges were fantastic, squeezed just behind the neck.

At 10K I was feeling slightly over-temp but still OK, as we headed out on the long straight towards where I work. I was making up position fast, as many people were fading (Mostly made up of football shirts, and adidas kick - They made me reflect on the Great North Run!)

I was starting to fade at 15K when the rain started. It was warm rain of course, but welcomed all the same. My feet were cooking, so the 5mins of tropical downpour followed by some deep puddle jumping helped cool them down and kept my mind off the pain which was creeping into my tired legs.

A Chinese girl asked me where I was from and I told her Taman Seputeh, and then asked her the same question in Bahasa. Her puzzled look was then followed with a laugh. (I decided there and then she had just entered one of my private competitions and I was hell bent on beating her)
She went past me joining a old guy, who looked very strong.

I put in the effort to join them, and decided my best tactic was to hang onto this small group until 20K, and then try to find the strength for a strong finish. Easier said than done!

The older guy was a picture of fitness. Every muscle in his body was well defined, and he looked like he ran races every weekend. Unknown to him, he too he had become competition fodder. Although I'm sure wouldn't of been overly concerned about the heavy breathing scottish race stalker, desperately trying to hang onto his tail.

The road climbed over a bridge, and during the gradual assent, my years of plodding up Scottish hills seemed to present me with an advantage. I drew level with the other two, who had slowed during the climb. Although my legs were nearly finished, my head enjoyed the psycological boost.

The last watering station was at 19 km. I grabbed cup of water, took one sip and poured the rest down my back. The Miss Chatty China and Mohamad Muscles were now behind, and I decided to try push on with as much pace as my weary legs could manage.
I dared not look back as I took the left turn into the Kelana Jaya shopping area, followed by another left into the road which led to the sports stadium. I knew its was only 500yards away but I also knew the Big Sikh organiser with the gun, would probably make us lap the running track before presenting us with a finish line.

I was right, but entering the stadium was a great feeling, with so many people supporting and cheering the runners on.

Then out of nowhere, the chinese girl came bounding past me, saying "not far now, good luck!"
I managed to gain enough pace to stay with her, and then level as we came into the home straight. I then turned to her and said "only 30secs to go until 1hr 50mins"
We both sprinted to the line and finished together.

1 hour 49mins 39 seconds was the official time, which maybe my worst half marathon time, but I was happy. Considering the heat, and my limited training, I went home very satisfied.

By 8.30am, I was back in bed, in the recovery position, cuddling my camelbak!

Alan Kelly

Hill days ....

2005-09-19T18:32:00.000+01:00

It is where it all started for me – the Scottish mountains. Long before the running and racing began I realised there was fun and adventure to be had in them thar hills. A good deal of the history is still on the now archived “North of Balloch Rules Apply” website. I suspect that once the body and head start to decay to the point where competition stops making sense, the rambling around in the glens and tops will continue.

A long standing topic of conversation in front of the bothy fire (and bar-room) is whether, as guys, we go to the hill to meet or to escape the lasses. Over the years there has been probably a bit of both but I am sure anyone who has been lucky enough to meet the right girl knows sharing the experience only adds to it.

One of the many things I first liked about Moira was that she wasn’t one of those hard little city types who don’t like getting wet unless it is during a spa treatment. Not only could she roll a kayak (which 10 months later I still can’t do) but she had hill experience – perfect! Unfortunately, she got sick and spent too many months off work. Thankfully the recovery continued and it seemed like a hill day was overdue …long overdue.

For anyone reaching for the sick bag – I make no apology for being all sentimental. I think I do a reasonable job of hiding the fact I am sensitive (for a Glasgow guy anyway) but I am proud of the way Moira has got back to fitness again ….long may it continue.

The Cobbler – 3rd September 2005
The Cobbler is a great hill and makes a grand day out. Within easy reach of Glasgow and not too hard - it was chosen as a good first return day. Over the years Arrochar has been like a big mountain playground – walking, rock climbing, wee tad of ice climbing, hill running, mountain biking etc … so there was plenty stories to make the pain of ascent / descent seem preferable to the constant “I mind the time when …..”

The new path is a dream. No longer the heart bursting climb up the old pipe track! The sad bit is missing out on the traverse which led from the top of the old path along to the dam which used to give an alpine feel to the day. Still it made the first section easier and soon we were up at the Narnain Boulders. Time for a few stories about Jock Nimlin, the original climbers who used it as a doss etc … Slightly higher up and the stories moved onto the “time where Wee Joe and I were oan Recess Route and the wee fella got wedged in a chimney due to his rucky” – Moira feined interest in between choosing what looked like the most awkward route possible and nodding. Once on the North Summit we looked down onto the last pitch of Punsters …she didn’t look that impressed as I continued about the “time where the Big Yin was trying to impress two girls by making the pitch look harder than it was”. We continued onto the Centre Peak and even had a look through the eye of the needle before lunch and a wee snooze. The descent continued (as did the stories) until we were back down the grassy ridge and at the dam. Back down the good path and we were at the car. Moira looked tired but happy.

Ben Dorain – Sunday 11th September 2005
Due to poor communication on my part, the planned sharing of birthday celebrations became a logistical nightmare and basically we both cancelled plans without actually checking what the other was doing. End result it was too late to apologise to the people concerned and turn up …late. Apologies to all concerned. In the end we left Glasgow around 8pm on the Saturday and camped beside the river Orchy – we made last orders which was something at least. I also kinda failed to properly explain that my wee Terra Nova Solar One tent was …well meant for one. It has seen a good few Mountain Marathons but in hindsight … that doesn’t mean it is a good idea. Anyway, I took to opportunity to test sleep the “balloon bed” – FECK it ain’t easy to tie knots but much twisting and swearing later and my new bed was ready. Great it terms of pack size & weight but there is a lot to be said for a thermarest if you are car camping. Next morning and the midges were out – yes it is September and they just shouldn’t. Breakfast by the river was binned in lieu of the large veggie fry up in the hotel (which Moira kindly paid for).

The ascent up the coire seemed drier than previous visits which was good. We practiced measuring distances and calculating times allowing for ascent … all good navigation practice but we did get some looks from passing folks as we sat pouring over the map on a clear day. Sadly the clear day clouded over just above the bealach. So some nav for real was required as we continued up to the first summit where we met a couple who were wandering mapless – short burst over to the real summit and lunch. The descent was ok but it is easy to drift either towards the crags on the left or glen that sits to the east. Back at the bealach we decided on dropping back to the car, Tyndrum and a coffee / cake combination. As we changed into soft shoes etc … Moira seemed less trashed than the week before – a good sign surely ? Maybe the lack of stories has improved her demeanour?

Ben Lomond – Sunday 18th September 2005
Three hill weekends in a row – jist like the old days! Driving through Glasgow and it was pishin doon – jist like the old days. We had been fairly lucky with the weather and thankfully by the time we were at Rowardennan the rain was off (but the midges were still out). Last time I was here was on the hill race back in May i.e. more stories and comments on split times for each section – poor lass. Moira had two previous, unsuccessful attempts at the summit – I was keen not add a third. As usual the hill was busy which seemed to drive her on. The plateau is good as it gives a chance to recover before the last push up onto the summit ridge. Although the mist was down at the trig point – Moira looked happy. We opted for the Ptarmigan Ridge option for the ramble back to the car. This has the advantage of great views across the mountain. Views which with the mist gone, were superb. If it had been the Green Welly the week before it was the Drymen Pottery for coffee / cake this week. In days gone past it used to be the pub on the way home – a sign of the times maybe?

-------------------------------------
All in all, three cracking days out – life in the mountains is good. Wonder if life would be more simple living there … I don’t know. I know one thing – I don’t like the idea of a life without them !

Dive time at the Fish House

2005-08-30T19:05:00.000+01:00

Time for a story ...

I wrote up my episode in the Jungle, for the NOBRA website, or Mountain River Blog, or whatever it's called. I realise I've been silent for some time, so I've put in the effort.

I also went Scuba diving to paradise at the weekend. Pulua Perhentain is a couple of Islands out in the South China Sea, about 45mins speed boat ride from the Malaysian Mainland.

I flew early on Friday morning, arriving at the Jetty at 9:30am. By 11:30, I had the gear on, and heading for the first of my Open Water dives. Its was Mega Mega. Like swiming inside a fish tank. I found Nemo, and 1000's of other tropical fish.

By Saturday afternoon, I had completed all 5 dives, and was now PADI Open Water Qualified. This gives me licence to dive anywhere in the world to a depth of 18Meters (Which is deep, when diving along a reef).

I was due to fly home on Sunday evening, however Sunday was a No Dive day, since you need 18hours between multiple dives and flying at altitude, because of Nitrogen levels in the body.

The other people on the course had driven from KL, which had taken 6 hours, over narrow roads to reach Kuala Besut (The Jetty), however they were able to dive Sunday. I was satisfied with my weekend, and planned to read a book and do some snorkelling.

Then after dinner on Saturday night, one of the instructors suggested we gear up and go for a Night Dive. I jumped at the chance, since my Nitrogen level would still recover in time.
The dive was mental, which I'll explain in a pub when I get home at some point.

When we were finished, we were getting the gear sorted out, when one of the guys from the dive resort came over and said "If you guys can keep a secret, I plan to go to the Fish House tomorrow, and you could join if you want."

Since I'm obviously clueless, I keep sorting out gear, however the two instructors who had been leading our dives almost made a mess of their wet-suits. I couldn't believe how excited they were. I asked, what's the story with Fish House. They told me it's a mysterious place, which is a bit of a legend in the Diving world (A bit like our Secret bothy in the cairngorms)

It's out in the deep sea, where fishermen have dropped weights to the sea bed, with a 42meter chain of Bamboo leading all the way from the bottom to the surface. The bamboo has branches tied to it, which creates a catch zone for plankton. Small fish feed on the caught plankton, medium size fish feed on the small fish, and big fish feed on the medium fish. It's very scary, since its a deep blue dive, all the way to 42meters.

These guys were like wains, all excited and chit chatting. I kept asking more questions over the next hour, until one of them said do you want to come?

I explained about the flight, and they said F-ck your flight, come down the road in our car with us. He didn't need to say it twice. I was in.

I went to bed with the same feeling I had the night before I climbed point five on the Ben. Part of me really excited, part concerned I was being stupid, not responsible, etc.

By morning, I was totally fired up.

One of the instructors had a Sony T1 camera, like my own, however he had a dive housing. I asked to put my camera in the housing and he agreed, no problem.

The photos below don't really capture what it was like. As we entered the water, I couldn't believe how amazing the deep blue descent was. All dropping into the thermocline. It was an experience of a lifetime. We had Shoals of 5ft long Barracudas, Bat fish, Tuna (although I missed it).
Whale Sharks commonly go to the spot, however we didn't see these 15ft monsters. But it was just tremendous.

The car journey home took 9 hours, because of bad weather and traffic, and I didn't make it back to KL until 1:30am, however it was worth it.

Cheers,
Alan

HHH, Are You Tough Enough?

2005-08-30T18:58:00.000+01:00

The Malaysian Tourist board owe Karyn and I a sizable commission cheque. We have been living here for just under 2 years, and there isn’t too many places we haven’t visited. We have encouraged countless visitors and local friends to go explore.

Whether you want the hustle and bustle of an Asian city, or the tranquility of old traditional temples. Rock climbing on amazing steep limestone, or mountaineering on exposed granite at altitude. SCUBA dive in search of Nemo or just or lying on a desolate beach.Malaysia is a very good place to take a holiday.

At some point, I’ll stop “getting away with it”. I’ll wake up to the reality they have found me out, and are shipping us back to somewhere less Tropical. However until that day comes, we’re continuing to fill every minute.

I have a short mental list of things we must do before we get deported back to the UK. Running “The Hash” has featured on this list for some time.

I had read about the Hash House Harriers many years ago, however when my company asked me to take up post in KL, I never linked the two.
It took a scan through a copy of the Lonely Planet to realize the crazy tradition actually originated in Kuala Lumpur.

I fancied doing one, however the thought of running through thick jungle in 35 degrees heat and 90% humidity, brought back a flood of TV memories.
I love the story of the guy in the Railway, who shouted to the German, as he was leaving the office for a walk down Buchanan Street, one unusually sunny lunchtime in Glasgow. “ Ho Graham! You watch yirself oot there. Everyone knows your sh:te in the heat”

The fact is, Scottish folk are generally all sh:te in the heat. We’re not that well adapted to exercise in the Tropics. One visitor I had last year told me the minute he stepped out the shower, he felt like he needed a shower. Any sort of physical exercise, results in heavy sweating. Now days I define physical exercise in much broader terms, which includes carrying shopping from the car to the lift, or walking across the car-park to get to the shopping center.
The thought of long distance running took 6 months to even contemplate. Even then, I tried a wee road run with embarrassing results. After 1.5miles, I wished I had brought along the fare for an Air-Con Taxi. After 3 miles, I was walking, feeling sick and looking more like a capsized canoeist, than a runner.
Nevertheless, the longer we live in the heat, the more accustomed our bodies seem to become.

I also visited a couple of website, which were full of “Hash Jargon”. I realize to the dedicated Hasher, this is no different than our beloved NOBRA p:sh patter, but … it’s was crap patter, which only a NOBRA member will understand is much worse then our pish patter ???
It actually put me off, so I dropped the idea.

And then there’s the wildlife to consider. The jungles around KL are wild places. In a country, which still has wild Elephants, dangerous reptiles and the occasional tiger, remote outdoor sport is a serious under-taking. The worried looking Glaswegian in the photo below is me. The local guys are foolishly looking at me for advice. This is a 10ft long Malaysian Python, caught in the receiving area of our facility. The other picture is of a Cobra, caught just last week. I work in a factory in a built-up area, 15K west of Kuala Lumpur. Hardly out in the sticks.

But I can’t live in KL and not take part in at least one of the Hash races, so I check out the Petaling Jaya Hash website for details. The directions on how to get to the start, are given as an intricate plan. The whole thing has an air of secrecy about it, which reminds me of a Rave in Glasgow during the early 1990’s. I’m starting to like it, so I copy down the details and let Karyn know I’m going outside, and maybe some time.

By 4:15pm on Saturday evening, in the middle of nowhere, 65 KM north of KL, in the blistering sun, 60 runners assemble around an old van, full of Tiger beer, and bottles of water. The race organizer explains the format for the race very briefly, blasts a big air horn, and off we go into the thick of the jungle. And I mean thick!

I quickly realized I was right at the front within the first 5mins. This was unfamiliar territory for me, since I typically find myself further back in the field. I knew my fitness had not developed significantly since coming to Malaysia, and doubting some late developing natural ability, I knew something was wrong. Racing snakes were behind me, while real snakes were probably up in front.

We were following a trail of paper, with a Dennis the Menace logo printed on one side. Then suddenly, without warning, the trail ran out.

The couple of guys in front of me shout 'Searchin' and head off in different directions, leaving me standing, wondering what to do next. I decide to go straight on, and start my own search for Dennis. The route is silent for about 100meters. The theory being, as the front-runners try to sniff out the trail, the slower runners catch-up. When the trail is located, the finder shouts 'On On', and the lemmings (covered in leaches!) follow on. The front-runners, who are out searching in a different direction, then try to catch-up again, and effectively the race starts over. So regardless of how good a runner you are, if you have a poor sense of direction and natural navigation, you're screwed.

The trail was located at 90 degrees to the last paper marker, and therefore my 10mins-searching straight ahead, was all wasted effort. As I crawed through thick jungle, and over a Cafe Latte colored river (ever conscience of the who really belongs in it!), I realized why so many experienced looking runners were not bothering their arse at the start of the race.
I was now at the back, trying to pass people who I'm sure was sniggering at the stupid new guy.

After about 20mins of effort, I was back near the front, slightly wiser than before.

Within a couple of minutes, the path came to another halt, and we were faced with more “searching”.
By this point, I was knackered. I looked down at my sweat soaked running vest, which was now covered in jungle insects. I thought Denggi! And frantically started swatting them off my body. Although I had applied good quality Deet Repellent, the river and the sweating had either washed it off or at least diluted it’s effectiveness.
Before long, I realized I was fighting a loosing battle, and decided to concentrate to moving forward again. The middle of the pack had just reached where I was standing, when we heard 'On On' over to our left. I felt slightly guilty as I easily joined the trail. Apart from the finder, the other front-runners were somewhere within the radius, and my wee rest had given me an advantage.

I tried to catch the guy in front, but after 10mins, I seamed to be making no progress on him. I was in the company of two fit guys, who had managed to catch up with me.
Then all of a sudden, a river blocked the trail in front. The Leader was waiting on company before starting the waist high wade back to Dennis who was teasing us on the other side.
We all jumped in together, shouting and splashing uncontrollably, probably out of fear.
Safely on the other side, we started running again. We could hear swearing behind as the next group of runners spotted the river, directing their obscenities at the race organizer. I was smiling, and then my face changed to panic as I realized, my car keys were in the wee pocket (normally used for Taxi fare money) in my Nike shorts. Since the waterline was above my waist, I was sure the electronic key has been drowned. No point worrying about it now, so my mind returned to the leg pain, as we did the fell runner up hill march, with hands on knees, up and over a very steep ravine. I was feeling gubbed and wondering when the next problem would present itself.

We arrived on a land rover track, leading into a rubber tree plantation. It was great running for a change, and a chance to stretch out the legs. I looked down to see blood on both legs. The group I was running in also had similar war wounds. This was no picnic.

However, one guy asked me if I wanted to go to his Bar-B-Q the following day? I thought it was a strange conversation between competitors near the end of a race, however it was hell of a nice of him to ask, all the same.

I recognized a familiar building ahead and realized we were near to the cars, and hopefully the end. All 4 of us were running at pace, although the front guy was very strong. He left the track still following Dennis into very rough jungle again. Reluctantly, we followed, adding to the cut as we waded through the thorn bushes.

The path of paper came to another stop, but the guy in first was out of site. I decided to stay with a big guy with ginger hair. Built like an outside toilet, and obviously a veteran of several past Hashes, since he knew all the patter.

He did a grand job, finding the trail within 30seconds. We left the Jungle, and ran across a clearing, before joining the tarmac road, which gave us 200yards to the finish.

We could see the first guy nearing the left turn to the finish, as we picked up pace. The Ginger Toilet thought we could drop me with a short burst of speed, but I hung on. He tried again, but again I came level, as we made the left turn towards the Beer,

I get the impression no one really wins a hash. Everyone just takes part. However the competition is always there. 'Its not the winning, its the taking part that counts...???”
I personally don't agree with that statement. I never win races, however every time I run a 10K, a Half Marathon or run the KIMM, I'm always racing against myself. I always time my performance against my previous records.
If I have a bad race, I call it 'just training' for something bigger in a couple of weeks time.
If I do well, I smile from ear to ear. I typically pick out someone in every race, who I plan to beat. The guy has no idea, he's been stalked by some competitive nutter, but I've been doing it for years, and it helps pull better performance from somewhere.

Big Ginger knew he was in a race. Whether the rules say so or not, we were joint second and he was pissed I couldn't be dropped.
I offered my hand at the end, but he showed me his bleeding cut across his palm. I nodded, and offered him a bottle of water instead. He took it, and asked if it was my first time.

We sat down and watched the others fight their way out the undergrowth, and down the road. I was consuming 100 Plus and Water, like there's going to be a fluid shortage.

When I got Home, Karyn couldn’t believe the state of my gear. The vest had blood, mud and grass stains all over.

It will take several washes to get it clean, however it will take several weeks to wipe the big smile off my face.

Alan Kelly
Kuala Lumpur
14th Aug 05

Mostly Biking Biggish Bike 2005

2005-08-26T12:43:00.000+01:00

I've been wanting to bike from home to Loch Muick for over a year now. We tried in August 2004 but ended up running behind time and taking a shortcut home. I've never seen Loch Muick. This is the story of my second attempt to get there.

It's 11.15 and we're descending off Mayar on our bikes. Mike is ahead picking his way down the steep, grassy slope; traversing off to the side to avoid the rocky path. The going is pretty slow because the tussocky ground threatens to somersault the complacent rider. Harry is back on the summit bathing in the warm sun. I'm starting to think he's the wise one, pausing to enjoy the day. He's going to head back home in his own time, having decided beforehand to have a more relaxed day, whilst the remaining five of us rush headlong onwards - anxious to make good time. It's going to be a long day; we set off from home at 08.15 and we're only about a quarter of the way round the route. The climb up Mayar (a Munro at 928m) was easier than I expected with only about 30 minutes of pushing needed. Now we are being rewarded with the long descent down the Kilbo Path into Glen Doll.

Nearly two hours later and we're down in the depths of Glen Clova. We're about an hour behind schedule. The Kilbo Path was far rockier than I remembered from walking it in the past. Streams crossed the path every 20m or so – each one flanked by stout stones to protect that path and making it damn hard to cycle. Despite some stubborn biking we all eventually ended up walking our bikes down. Pushing a bike down a hill just doesn't seem right. It's later than I'd hoped and the hills look much hillier when you're at their feet. We abandon Loch Muick for the second time and head straight up Glen Clova towards the plateau. It's a hard decision.

Another two hours later, we're up on the plateau beside Jock's Road and we're exhausted. We can see a lot of the route from up here and the hill between us and Loch Muick looks like hard work. We're relieved we made the choice we did. It's been a long push up out of Clova – 90 minutes of winding upwards on the rocky path. It's a warm day and we're hot from the climb. We finish the last drops of our water as we eye the burn below us; I think we're all short of water. Ahead of us are the peat hags of the plateau for the next 2km. Not really much ascent but constantly climbing up and over or skirting round the undulations. Mike is always in the lead and often out of sight, with Keith at his heels. Eddie, Graham and I pursue from a distance. There's no bike riding up here and we're beginning to wonder why we brought bikes at all. But we've got plenty of food and the views radiate around us – it's really beautiful up here.

Eddie's bike is bouncing around ahead of me whilst his teeth rattle down the rocky, chaotic path off Finalty Hill. We're done with pushing and carrying our bikes and now we're feasting on the thrill of the descent – ridable this time. Adrenalin encourages us to ease our sweaty grip on the brakes and let the bike leap forward under gravity. It really does get easier the faster you go. The only trouble is that the consequences of an error spiral beyond cuts and bruises. Eddie does in fact launch himself over the bike onto the rock strewn path but escapes with a cut to his forearm. Everybody except Eddie takes heed and slows down. This downhill stuff is hard work damn it. Our arms are jarred with each blow and are legs are aching from standing up all the way down. But there is no time to stop to rest – this is way too much fun!

Our return home comes none too soon. A few minutes shy of ten hours out on the hill with a good four of those spent off the bike walking. I'm glad to say that even allowing for rests we rode for over half the time. We've completed 70km and ascended 2,300m. At times it seemed perverse to have our bikes with us – so out of place in amongst rocks and heather - but we definitely covered the ground quicker than on foot, on average, and I guess that is the main criterion that separates combat biking from just being out for a walk with a bike at your side.

Going round Loch Muick would have taken about another three hours and it was a good decision to cut short our journey. We're going to need a good plan to do it next year: starting a couple of hours earlier would help but in the end we didn't run out of daylight but energy. I suppose more time would have given us the opportunity to rest more. I still think it's possible. 2006 anyone?

Borrowdale Fell Race - 6th August 2005

2005-08-08T14:22:00.000+01:00

Decisions SHOULD be easy – we make loads each and every day.

The idea of the Borrowdale race has been rattling around for years -ever since Joe, Alan and Byso came back from a climbing trip with tales of a long hard fell race followed by a surreal party in a marquee with much jumping about to a steel band. That was in the days when we were limited to walking and climbing. The idea of running around mountains was to take a while to grow. There was some talk about the Borrowdale race again earlier this year but it was on a plane to Birmingham (of all places) that the final decision to run was made.

With Rob P at a wedding, the only other person mad enough to think it would be a nice way to spend a Saturday was Lesley. We drove down on the Friday evening stopping briefly at a chippy in Keswick. The campsite was busy and it was hard to spot the tourists amongst the fell racers. Next morning and there was much faffing about trying to decide how much food and water to carry as well as what to wear. Lesley seemed very calm and very sorted. I briefly considered sharing my concerns about how hard the race was …but thought better of it.

Registration done, kit packed and last minute nerves in check (well sort of) and it wasn’t long till we were under way. Not exactly sure why, but we got caught in a slow(ish) pack and the first few miles along to the foot of Bessyboot were a little frustrating – not helped by a lass who insisted on trying to overtake on very narrow sections of track. The first climb was better – a chance to settle down and get some height under the belt and gain a few places. First control out the way and the running out towards Scafell Pike was great – even managed to get a gel down replenishing energy for later. The climb from Esk Hause up Scafell itself was familiar – not because I had ever been there ….but it was so similar to so many of the Scottish Munros. For the first time in the day we were joined by groups of walkers.

The descent from Scafell Pike was mental. The race organisers had suggested a “safe” route but the majority were opting for an incredibly steep scree gully. The decision was made …descend by quickest (but rather unsafe) route. Holding back and trying to control the descent didn’t work – best strategy was to kinda fall and then try to regain balance before the gully ended several hundred meters below. Once onto the corridor route, sensible running resumed – how sensible it looked to the walkers ascending by the same route is debatable.

By the time I reached Sty Head I was totally gubbed. The wobbly legs and dizzy head were making it difficult to manage anything more than a slow run / stumble combination. The decision to only carry one litre of water had been wrong. I didn’t have enough left to get a dry energy bar down and the remaining gel didn’t appeal. Thankfully, the kindest girl on the planet (who was doing support for some other runners) gave me a pouch of lucozade (did I really look that bad ????). Another girl gave me a square of flapjack and soon the world seemed a better place again. The drink was added to the little water I had left and recovery began. As I started up Great Gable I wondered how Lesley was getting on and where about in the madness she was.

Over Great Gable and I was feeling better again. Some scrambling down to Windy Gap then nice ridge running along Green Gable, Brandreth and towards Grey Knotts. A pack of about six runners started working together – positions changing but nobody opening a gap …or falling behind either. The best line down to the slate mine & Honister pass control was not obvious and a committee decision was made. We passed though the control at exactly 3 hours 30 minutes. The last climb on the route was to Dale Head and it was actually alright ... but the last few miles to the finish were not. I nearly fell dozens of times and the effort to stay upright was ridiculous. Don't remember much about the final lanes or the river crossing that lead to the finish in the village, but staggered across the line spewing in 4 hours 27 minutes and 53 seconds.

All I could do was kneel down in the grass and try to stop the gut wrenching. It took about another few minutes before I was able to sit up and relax again. Getting Ben & Milly (the dogs for those who don’t know them) from the car, I returned to the finish hoping to see Lesley finish in better condition than I did. Sadly, she missed the cut off by 6 minutes. A later discussion revealed that two other runners who had been in the pack with Lesley but who decided on a different line from Grey Knotts, made the cut off by 2 minutes.

The results show Lesley as having “retired” which sort of suggests it was her decision - which it was not. Especially harsh considering she had already run for 4 hours 36 minutes, up Bessyboot, Scafell Pike, AND Great Gable. In the end only missing about 4 miles of the total 17 miles (and 7000 ft ascent) and even running the 2.5 miles back to the finish along the road.

We managed to hobble to the after-race party, which certainly lived up to it's reputation - wild pogo-ing to a steel band in a marquee in a field, culminating in a drunken Phil Davies skilfully negotiating the rings of barbed wire to reach the top of one of the marquee poles! We met a heap of folks all of whom were wearing the same “shattered but isn’t all this wonderfull” style smiles.

I was proud to wear the kilt to the party although it did seem to cause a little stir amongst one of two of the locals (i.e. the English folks). Scanning the results, there is a distinct lack of Scots take part (judging by the club representation) – not sure why this is the case ?

A great weekend based around a great race. The decision to head back north and the return to real life was probably not an easy one - it seemed a shame to stop !

----------------------------------------------

German Race splits

Rosthwaite (start) 00:00:00
Bessyboot 00:45:30
Esk Hause 01:30:00
Scafell Pike 01:59:35
Sty Head 02:24:10
Great Gable 02:54:05
Honister Pass 03:27:50
Rosthwaite (finish) 04:27:53

----------------------------------------------

Merida Mountain Bike Marathon -Selkirk

2005-08-02T13:55:00.000+01:00

After a last minute choice and an urge to increase my racing mileage I headed down to Selkirk for the Scottish round of the Merida Mountain Bike Marathon series.

Heading down I still didn't know if I could get an entry on the day but unfortunatly I could. Quickly signing on for the half marathon I discovered the first shock of the day, the day after my birthday, I was no longer a senior but in the Masters class - in mountain biking the Vets classes start young at 31.

10.00AM the race started. With nearly 1000 mountan bikers this is a big event and the largest mass start I have ever been. A few minutes to cross the line was followed by a dead stop as we tried to get round the first corner. Following the lead car the pace was quite relaxed for the first 3-4KM along the road.

THEN it started. A sharp right onto what would turn out to be a long forest road climb. Much crunching of gears and the massive group set off. This was a massive challenge with quite deep ruts on each side of the track. Not being used to riding in a group of this side I kept getting stuck behind people slower up the hill so it needed a big effort to get round them. After a age of climbing we turned off for....

YET MORE CLIMBING - up a steep singletrack climb. With people inches in front and inches behind everyone was keen to be the person who didn't fall or slip. Finally we reached the top and downhill one began. And what a down - starting with a full on no track dive through short heather, swoopy single track, rough roots, drop offs. For the next hour this continued baby single track climbs, down, up, down again.

I ate one mouth full of energy bar but as it suddenly turned technical again I shoved the rest up one leg of my shorts (am I the only person who does this?) to eat at the end of the technical section. An hour later I was able to take one hand off the bars long enough to dig it out but it no longer looked tasty

An hour and a half later and I was tired already and more than slightly concerned that the feed station at 15 KM still hadn't appeared. At nearly two hours I was really worried. I asked 'Halifax' who was riding together next to me if I had missed it.

(we rode together for almost 2 hours but never did tell each other our names referring to each other as 'Halifax and 'Glasgow' as we passed back and forth).

After another monster climb and descent I reached the turn off for the shorter course. Sudddenly I was riding on my own and really hurting with no power left in my legs.......

To be contuinued

Maddy Moss Hill Race (6 mi / 2500ft - AM) aka the post Rat Race Blues

2005-07-22T10:48:00.000+01:00

After last years US presidential elections, Steve Earle (the incredibly honest Nashville based singer/songwriter) commented, “the only cure for the post election blues, is to get the fuck out the country, fall in love with a red headed girl from Alabama (he was referring to Alison Moorer) and include at least one Rolling Stones cover in the gig”.

With another Rat Race over, we needed something similar …but different. The Maddy Moss hill race seemed appropriate.

The legs were still suffering from the weekend (it felt like I had been horse riding) but the Ochils looked good as Bill & myself pulled into the car park. In various states of race registration and dress were the rest of the Rat Race exiles – Lesley Taylor & Rob Priestley. Also up for the hill, were two Rat Race marshals - Rob Sanderson and Robyn Frew (who along with Lesley & Rob make up Team Alpine Bikes who are racing the Wilderness ARC next month).

The start was steep. I tucked in behind a group who looked like they had good local knowledge as they were taking a slightly higher line than the main group. In turned out that we were slightly off course – the result being an extra loop of 100ft steep climb followed by a 100ft near vertical drop through 5ft bracken and rock faces to get back on course.

Over the bridge and starting the long climb onto the Law I saw Rob P up ahead …time for a little more effort. I was barely able to shout a response when he shouted “what 4x25 Kelly” (a Borneo based standing joke with Rob and myself). Over the Law it was time to start running again. The legs complained a little but it was good to stretch the back out. The summit ridge was shrouded in mist but it was fun trying to judge how far it was to the summit based on how fast folks were descending back down towards the col and which leads to Andrew Garnell hill (who exactly IS he and why does he have a hill named after him ???). Round the summit cairn and an opportunity to see who was where. Rob P was alarmingly close, Bill was just behind him, Lesley was having a fantastic race, Robyn was smiling but I couldn’t see Rob S… was he ahead ?

The long descent towards the finish was superb – hill running as good as it gets. It was even possible to look up every now and then to enjoy the surroundings. I could hear someone just behind me and despite every effort to open a gap, when it came to a rather technical little drop down to a burn, a girl sped past at an incredible rate. Initially, I thought she had tripped and was falling but then I realised she was just a fantastic descender and very confident with it.

A last push though the bracken and it was over. Next in was Rob P followed closely by Lesley, Robyn crossed the finish next looking far too fresh. Unfortunately, Lesley told us she had passed Bill walking down the track – he had trashed his ankle. We were all heading back up the hill to offer Bill some moral support when Rob S passed by.

With everyone now off the hill safe, the Robs headed back to Glasgow and Lesley, Bill and myself headed to the Woolpack pub to get ice for the now swollen ankle. It would have been rude not to have stayed for beer though. Shame I didn’t have a Stones record for the drive home ...

Big thank you to the Ochills Hill Running club for organising the race and as always, for the marshals without whom, it wouldn’t happen.

Edinburgh Rat Race

2005-07-21T20:51:00.000+01:00

Nonie pulled out of the Edinburgh Rat Race to go to a horse show with Heather so I was allowed to take her place in The Caravanettes team alongside the experienced Rob and Lesley. This was my first Adventure Race. As far as I can tell AR means doing whatever your told to do for quite a long time until someone lets you stop.

The Prologue

Saturday evening meant running round the streets of Edinburgh for three hours, finishing at 22.00. There were about 30 checkpoints (CPs, I'm learning the jargon) and you could do them in any order - any you missed out meant a time penalty but you had to be back by 22.00 or incur further penalties. Some of the CPs are just a case of dipping your electronic SI (Sport Ident, do keep up) into a wee box; some were more convoluted and bizarre: rock climbing, James Bond impersonation, and juggling. Oh, and there was a kayak section on the canal in horrible inflatable things. We were very pleased with our performance overall - 325 points out of about 500 (we'd missed a whole swathe of CPs down towards Leith). Then it was hang around and pick up the route instructions for the next morning...

The Race Proper

We met at the castle esplanade at 07:30 on Sunday morning with our bikes down in the compound in Princes Street Gardens. The idea was to string out the field a bit so that you didn't have 400 bikers going through Edinburgh in a big glob. So we ran round in circles for a bit and then counted cricket balls before setting off in a stretched out thin glob. I'm a bit hazy on where we went next but I do remember lots of kind policemen stopping traffic and, sometime later, ending up going around Arthur's Seat on the road. Time for the first bit of rope work with a short climb up Salisbury Craggs. More accurately, time for a long queue for the short climb. I think it must have been something like 40 minutes which was a real shame. I'd rather not rest at all, and at this point we weren't even tired enough to take advantage of it. Still, we all queued up good naturedly and chatted about nothing much. After the climb and bitty orienteering section with one member of each team going off in a relay to fetch dip each CP. This meant more standing around so by the time we'd left Arthur's Seat we'd done a fair bit of nothing.

We'd kept our climbing harnesses on because we were headed for The Tun to abseil off it. A bit of fun, but again, more queueing - this time whilst stuck in a hot stairwell. Then, off along cyclepaths out to Port Edgar (under the Forth Road Bridge) for the kayaking. A lapse of concentration and we headed 2-3 minutes down the wrong route but quickly corrected. Much swearing from Rob.

Arrived at Port Edgar; another queue whilst we waited for kayaks. A 1.5km paddle, a couple of CPs wading about in the sea alongside the harbour wall, 1.5km back, and a "limbo" which involved a short swim whilst passing the kayak over a pole. Lovely and warm.

From Port Edgar out to Winchburgh and onto the canal. It looked like the CP had been stolen since we couldn't see it on the bench where it was supposed to be. Later on we found out that it had been there we'd just been to stupid to find it. Sigh.

The section from here to Wester Hailes was about 14km and we had been told to do it in at least 45 minutes (to discourage racing along the busy towpath). We took it quickly but without pushing it and took 60 minutes - obviously their definition of racing meant a hell of a lot faster than I could go.

Wester Hailes was a bizarre orienteering section through the scheme to find the CP in an underpass followed by a 3km kayak along the canal. Trouble was there was a massive queue (some people had already been there an hour). It was 16.00 and we were going to be in danger of the CPs starting to close before we'd finished. The marshalls decided that they had to do something to placate a restless crowd so allowed people to run the kayak course (on the towpath!) and incur a time penalty. Everyone did this but we decided to stick by the instructions and do the kayak anyway (there were now lots available). Call us stubborn.

Next stage was at The Gyle and a quick space hop around the car park and a dart into three shops in the mall. Oh no! Look at the time: 17.10. We thought we were past getting sent back to the gardens but decided to carry on until someone told us to stop. Call us stubborn. A short ride followed by a steep climb up Corstorphine Hill to the CP at the top. "Sorry, we're closed" said the man. "Go back to the gardens. Do not collect £200." Disappointed! Not only had we not completed the course but we'd struggled up the hill for no extra points. We, somewhat dejectedly, cycled back down the hill and in along Corstorphine Road heading for the finish. Still racing, but the adrenalin had seeped away.

Finally, back at the gardens. Left the bikes at the gates as instructed and ran onto the finish. Clapping and shouts of "well done" all around. 10 hours later and we'd done it. We'd raced well and pushed hard all day. We'd have loved to have finished and had the energy to do so. Bugger, have to try harder next time. Hopefully there'll be less queueing. To be fair to the organisers, they had last minute trouble getting hold of enough kayaks which led to most queueing. (All the queues are "timed out" by the way - the clock stops).

I've not seen the results yet - rumour has it that we were beaten by one place by Team Happy (The German, Ross, and Ailsa). Double Bugger.

Bog & Burn - part 2 ...

2005-06-23T13:29:00.000+01:00

Cort ma Law Hill Race (6mi 1700ft – AM)

… post 70 Wild Miles and motivation was lagging. In fact it was blown completely. As a result, the Ben Shean race was binned in favour of fast food, beer and rest. From discussions regarding conditions, I am glad. One guy even commented it was like a “midge last supper thinly disguised as a hill race”!

A week later and the world seemed a better place … the legs seemed much better as well. The Campsies are just to the north of Glasgow and can be seen from most parts of the city. Whilst I have walked in them a fair bit, it had never really crossed my mind to run in them - mainly due to the boggy nature of the bits I did know. The Cort ma Law Hill Race starts from the Campsie Glen car park on the Lennoxtown to Fintry road. A very pleasant warm wind kept the midges at bay. The race route follows the ridge line up to Lairs before heading over Cort ma Law itself. It then continues onto Lecket hill from which you follow the fence line to a marshall before dropping down into a fairly deep gully. The last significant climb takes you back onto the ridge where you retrace your upward route back to the car park and finish.

A quick race briefing and we were off. The first 1km is steep but on good short grass. Once onto more level ground the pace increased - only being dropped when trying to choose a line through the small bogs that seemed to be every few hundred metres. I was just holding position when just after Lairs I went into deep into bright green bog. Thankfully only one leg was sunk up the short line but it took me the best part of a minute to pull free – by which time two folks had passed. A few minutes later I regained a place when one of the guys did the exact same in another bog. From that point on we both were a little more cautious ! Over Lecket Hill …it was time for a little more effort. The descent into the gully was fantastic fun – big grassy tussocks that allowed you to go as hard as you could “safe” in the knowledge that even if you were running slowly …you couldn’t see where your feet were going anyway! Starting to climb out the gully was murder – a steep traverse line that the calf muscles did not like at all. Still this section is just less than 1km and the easiest way to get it over with is to keep moving forwards (the same applies for most crap in life). Back on the ridge is was almost all downhill to the finish. It sounds silly but the best line was not immediately apparent (to me anyway). I thought things were going fine until I looked left and saw to runners (who I thought were a safe distance behind me) running parallel but maybe 50m to the left…apparently I was too far to the right. I started to correct my line but it was too late. One guy was well gone and the other not far behind ! Crossing the line was good – my legs and lungs had about all they were up for. Once again, Moira was there to provide support (and my fleece).

In pursuit of a westie !

70 Wild Miles

2005-06-11T18:00:00.000+01:00

This year's 70 Wild Miles was in aid of CLIC Sargent (Caring for Children with Cancer). If you didn't get round to sponsoring me and you read this before the end of August it's not too late. Email me and I'll tell you where to send the money, To all that did sponsor me - thanks very much. A brief description: 47 miles road bike from White Corries Ski Centre in Glen Coe to Taynuilt, 10 mile kayak up Loch Etive, 13 mile road run up Glen Etive.

It's an early start from White Corries and I arrive at the car park at 07.10 ready for registration and last minute checks. The warm, dry weather and bright summer light fools me into believing it was later. The first hurdle of the day is making sure that you have all the right gear in the right bags and the right bags on the right bus; gear is efficiently transported to the two transitions and the finish - including kayaks and bikes.

Bike

I set off 30 seconds behind Steve and hope he might be a good target to chase. I watch him gradually get further ahead until about 20 minutes when I lose sight of him completely. Oh well, maybe I'd catch him up later (I hoped). The weather is perfect: dry, not too windy, a little overcast. I reach Tyndrum almost before I know it with the first 55 minutes done - I am pacing myself, knowing that in previous years I had found the final 10 miles really hard. But I feel good, ate some food, and set about chasing some people. The miles slipped by and I was into the final 8 miles sooner than I realised. I had been going for 1h 41m and was desperate to beat 2h - I could just make it. I put on some extra speed and felt strong but just slipped past the top of the hour to finish in 2h 2m 37s. Damn. But still, I was aiming for 2h 30m so I was over the moon. I didn't feel too bad and it makes me wonder whether I took the first half a bit too easy.

Kayak

I had an hour and a half to wait for the kayak leg to start (you get to rest at this event!) and queued up for a welcome massage. The prospect of stuffing tired legs into a kayak for 10 miles and expecting them to work for the run wasn't very realistic I thought. And anyway, I got to lie down on the table and snooze and who could argue with that? The kayak started a little late at 12.15 and I found myself towards the back of the mass of 95 kayaks - weaving and dodging my way through the pack. Within a few minutes the race sorted itself out and I could see about 15 people ahead of me (including, in the distance, the white smudge of a disappearing James Block). I picked off a couple of them within 20 minutes but the rest were more elusive. At one point I was about 100m behind Steve and managed to shout something discouraging at him but he just pulled away from me until I couldn't make him out amongst the dots and flashes of paddles in the distance. I saw Graham and Graeme in their double sea kayak ahead, being tailed by a guy in a red touring K1 and I reckoned I might try and overtake them. At 1h 10m I got ahead of the tourer and felt pretty confident I could stay ahead but that damn double was no closer (but no further away). They were way over to the right side of the loch and I was sure I was on the faster, left line. At 1h 15m the finish comes into view (looking, deceptively, about 5 minutes away) and I decided that if I picked up the pace I might just catch them up (they were about 200m ahead of me). Another 5 minutes later and I was maybe only 160m behind them and the finish was no closer... Another 5 minutes later and I had fallen behind again - looks like they had started their sprint for the finish and it was faster than mine. I glanced around me and saw no one close and knew that my position was decided and just put my head down and went for a good time. It's a beautiful loch (the side glens looking impossibly green), but it does seem a long, long paddle. 30 minutes into the race is the hardest point: hurting with over an hour still to go. I finished 90 seconds behind the damn-double with 1h 38m 36s.

Run

It's up to you when you start the run which makes it a strange decision. The longer you wait the more rest you get, but that competes with a strong desire to get it over with and the knowledge that it's going to hurt whenever you leave. Some food, some drink, get changed and do some stretching - I managed to make that last an hour and a half before I can put it off no longer. I decided to start with Jon - we had similar times last year (I beat him by a couple of minutes I think). But I also knew that he found it easy last year (damn him) and that he would pace himself better this year - that is, he'd push himself harder at the start. I stayed with him for the first 4 miles and it was going well but I sensed that he was holding himself back a little. I said that I didn't mind if he went on ahead and he casually said "okay" and did exactly that. Well! I thought he might make it look a bit more of an effort! I kept him in sight for another couple of miles but then could only see him on the long open curves. It was hot as it often seems to be for this race and I was picking up water and pouring it over my head. I felt as good as could be expected but could feel my pace slowing and my style (what little I have) ebbing away. When I get tired I start running inefficiently, which is a cruel state of affairs. Nevertheles, mile 8 came without too much pain and I took comfort in the few miles remaining. But unlike the kayak (to some extent) and certainly the bike, the nearer the end I got the more it hurt. There was no adrenalin rush to the finish, no second wind, just a steady drain of energy and growing pain. I've run this road six times now and I'm no longer fooled by it's repeated curves and false finishes which does help - the sinking feeling you get when you realise it's further than you thought is crushing. With half a mile to go I see Nonie, Heather and George and they squirt me with welcome, cooling water. Heather runs with me to the finish and she easily keeps up. As I reach the finish bridge I even wish that the line was this end of it and not the extra 20 metres to the other side. I finish in 1h 50m 28s which is only 4 minutes slower than last year.

My total is 5h 31m 41s - I'm really happy with that. I was aiming for 6h 30m and I ended up only 5 minutes off last year's time. Graeme and Steve both beat me (and I don't like that :) Steve cutting 20 minutes off his run time and Graeme beating me mostly due to his fast run (and he'd spent the last few months telling me how bad his running was). The German didn't beat me - :) - but he did have very fast bike and run sections. The German needs to get in his kayak a bit more often I think (or perhaps not if I want to stand a chance). Well done to Graham B. who finished the run despite being in a lot of pain. Well done to Sue, Andy and Jon (who came third in the team event). Well done to Lesley (fastest female kayaker). Full results are available for solo and teams at the SPORTident site.

Bog & Burn - part 1 ...

2005-06-08T15:23:00.000+01:00

"Ah, the summer time is coming, and the tree's are sweetly blooming , and the wild mountain thyme, all around the blooming heather"
Bog and Burn,the new Rock 'n Roll

The Bog & Burn race series comprises of a number (10 this year) of midweek evening hill races. To qualify for a place in the overall series you must run a minimum of 4. Usually the Polaroid 10k races dominate midweek activities, but for a wee change I thought it would be good to do something new …

Kinnoull Hill Race (4miles 800ft – CS)
Having persuaded the fair Moira that a Wednesday evening in Perth would be fun, we headed north on the A9 in torrential rain – not a good start. As contingency, her Mum & Dad were driving over from Newport to keep her company. Registration done I headed up to the start. I began to get concerned over my choice of shoes – I was in Inov8 Mudroc fell shoes and the majority of folks (mostly wearing Perth Road Runners vests – surely the locals knew the route ?!?!?) were in either trail or road shoes. A good crowd of about 100 runners lined up in the ongoing rain. The start was fast … very fast. The pace was maintained by some as we headed up the first steep hill. The route is on trails but due to the amount of water these were fairly muddy – I was glad of the extra grip. As the field spread out a small group of us seemed to have one of those “overtake on the ascent then get overtaken on the descent” – I can only assume that those who were strong on the up and down … were well ahead. The last steep descent down towards the finish was fun – I even managed to raise a laugh from fellow runners when I stopped briefly to give the Moira a wee kiss (which freaked my sister who was on the mobile to her at the time).

Kilpatricks Hill Race (6 miles 1400ft ascent – BM)
Another wet Wednesday evening – thankfully the rain was off by the time registration opened (although it was replace by midges). With the added incentive of a nightshift following the race I was keen to start. The course looked good – nice mix of fairly steep ascent / track / grassy ridge with some wet bog type stuff thrown in. With the short road section over and heading up the open hill side the pace slowed and it was hands on knees quickstep with short sections of running where possible. Topping out onto the Braes the angle eased and it was possible to start properly again. Confidence in the inov8 shoes continued to grow on the first descent down to the Humphrey track. Sometime during the section between Loch Humphrey & the Greenside reservoir a wee sparring contest began between myself and another runner. This continued as we climbed up the Slacks and past the trig point – the other guy was a far better descender than me and the gap continued to open until we were on the last road section where I appeared to be closing … a little. In the end we both overtook one other runner but I couldn’t catch him. Upon finishing we thanked each other for the sport on the hill. He also showed me the reason for his slowing on the road …a loose lace !

Heading up the road ... to the hill !

Turned out that Helen Palmer (the lass who came down to the 2004 KIMM with Big Lee and myself) was also running. It was a pleasant surprise to find she was also only two places in front !

A week off the hill races with 70 wild miles to look forward to …

Scottish Sea Kayak Symposium

2005-05-31T10:36:00.000+01:00

Pah. It's been a long time since I've added a blog here. Too much of "The German". But I've figured out why. He's always off doing adventures and I've not done much at all.

This was our second sea kayak symposium having been to the one on Skye in 2003. Alarmingly, I don't seem to have done a great deal of sea kayaking in between, I've got to find more time to do some trips because it is just fantastic.

The symposium comprises about 250 paddlers from around the UK (plus a handful from further afield) staying at Skye's Gaelic College (a beautiful building right down by the shore at Kilmore on Sleat).

Saturday

I was pretty tired and had promised myself a day of classroom learning but the forecast at our 8.00 a.m. briefing was for a Force 5 - 6 and there was the potential for an exciting 30km paddle from Kyleakin back to the college (Kyleakin, near the Skye Bridge, to Kilmore on Sleat) - Google Map. Unfortunately, it was a bit chaotic and the planned trailer wasn't available and I ended up having to drag Nonie out of her class to drive me up there. And we didn't end up launching our boats until 11.30 but I guess that is what happens when you try and coordinate so many paddlers - a fair bit of wasted time. We headed off into the teeth of the wind, making our way due east, but within 300 metres it was obvious that some of the group weren't going to make it. This was a little frustrating because we'd all been warned about the strong winds and I was eager to do the trip. But the group leader (Doug Couper) didn't really have much choice but to change the trip into a very short pootle about under the bridge and along a bit north east towards Plockton (where we were sheltered by the shore). An enjoyable trip but it was a shame to have dragged Nonie away from the Symposium for 2 hours to drive me up there just to pootle around.

Saturday evening's slideshow was from Sean Morely about his solo circumnavigation of the UK. Really interesting and I managed to follow it from Falmouth to Harris before having to take the exhausted kids to bed.

Sunday

In the morning: a couple of seminars: "The Three Hippos" (hyperthermia, hypothermia and hydration) and "Expedition First Aid Kit". You can't know enough about that sort of stuff. But all a short session like that tells you is how much you don't know. I still feel woefully inexperienced.

The afternoon was all about tidal paddling which sounded like a fun afternoon. The narrows at Kyle Rhea (Google Map) produced about a 4 knot tide (we were about half way between spring and neep tides). It was fun paddling across but not really much of a challenge when you're used to paddling on rivers. Still, the techniques are a little different when paddling a 5m plus boat with a rudder and we had a fine time. The good thing about paddling on Skye is that even if you're just floating around there are lots of things to see. But no otters despite being right next to the Otter Haven.

Sunday evening's slide show was from Duncan Whinning about his trip to Greenland.

Monday

I spent the morning doing "Incident Management" out on the water near the college. Not much paddling and we just floated around discussing (and practising) how to solve incidents. Things like ripping your spraydeck, breaking a paddle, blisters, hypotherima. I had very little kit with me and was surrounded by folk with all sorts of useful stuff: spare paddles, knives, repair tape, spare shock cord, plastic bags, survival bags, flares, VHF radios.... All I had was a tow line. But it was interesting to see all the kit I lacked and what it can be useful for. Of course, just having the kit doesn't get you anywhere on its own and a lot of emphasis was on using the kit you have in an adaptable way rather than having everything. For instance, if you lose a hatch cover you can't rely on having a spare one. Better to have materials to hand that you can use to make a temporary one with.

We left for home just after lunch. But not before we saw the Coast Guard helicopter arrive for a demonstration. We didn't stay for all of it but the kids thought it was great when it landed in the car park.

A great weekend. Get your name down for the 2007 Symposium. It's run by Gordon and Morag Brown (Skyak).

(Incidentally, the kids were being very ably looked after by White-Wave: open canoeing, climbing, fires on the beach, etc.)

Ben Lomond - an experiment with gravity ...

2005-05-09T14:49:00.000+01:00

Ever wondering why its called “Fell Racing” ?

Around 115 folks were counted through the gate at the Rowerdennan Hotel for the start of the 2005 Ben Lomond Hill Race.

The weather at the lochside was blustery which meant the wind on the summit ridge would be sore. Similar to last year, the fast pace along the road continued up into the forest – thankfully due to congestion this slowed some as we reached the rocky slab. Quick check of the watch showed the lower slopes has been cleared in just under 15 mins. A combination of hands on knees quickstep / slow running whenever possible helped to make progress up onto the plateau where the pace could be picked up again. Just before the last steep section onto the summit ridge the race leaders passed on the descent … the snow started. A minute or two was lost whilst the waterproof top was pulled from the bumbag and wrestled on (it still amuses me that if you were walking up the Ben you would have boots, warm clothing, spare warm clothing etc … and yet for a hill race you are in fell shoes / shorts / with only minimum spare anything etc …)

The summit ridge was cold but it was good to be near the trig point and I was looking forward to the descent. Leaving the summit I noted I was a couple of minutes down on last year with the watch showing 1hour 3 minutes but I was feeling better … a lot better. The muscles went from uphill to downhill mode fairly well and the first steep descent went well. Down on the plateau, there was an opportunity to reclaim those missing minutes and hopefully start working towards the 1 hour 35 minute target finish time. The next bit was confusing …the loud whuuumppppffff, the grating pain in my knees and arms all pointed to the fact I was no longer upright and was continuing to descend face first. After coming to a halt I rolled up onto my arse and had a look at the damage – no number, skin had been replaced with grit and blood but nothing was broken. A few guys asked was I alright to which I strangely replied “aye – fine, cheers”. I didn’t fancy a DNF on the result sheet and walking off the hill seemed a little embarrassing so I pinned the number back on in three places (one pin had gone missing) and started a slow run. It took another 10-15 minutes before any confidence returned and I started to feel better again. I entered the forest at about the time I had hoped to finish but crossed the line in just over 1 hour 41 minutes. Having Moira at the finish cheered me up. I declined her offer of baby wipes to clean the now dried blood but did take up her offer of heavy duty painkillers to ease the pain which had now replaced the adrenalin … which had undoubtedly helped me off the hill. Driving home I was inspecting (licking ???) my wounds and caught Moira giving me one of those “what age are you” type looks – I tried to explain that despite the fall I had enjoyed the race and made a joke about “falling” being part of “fell racing” but she didn’t seem that amused.

On a different note …

It isn’t that often that you experience product support worthy of mention but as Big Lee will testify, the Inov8 Mudroc fell shoes wrecked by feet big style at the KIMM last year. My left heal was bleeding by day one and the right took it even worse on day two. I was on the verge of throwing them in the bin when still sore at spending the money and not getting the use, I called Inov8 to see what they could suggest. A guy called Wayne seemed confident it could be sorted – he was right. First thing he did was to send up free of charge some reduced volume footbeds to lower my heel in the shoe. This helped but there was still a friction point that I felt would still lead to blisters. Wayne’s next instruction was to steam the heelcup - then whilst still warm, to get the shoes on, lace up and go for a short run. The plastic heelcup would then mould to my foot (as opposed to the other 90% of people that the cup is designed to fit). This felt much better but I was still to be convinced. I did as instructed and following the Ben Lomond race my feet and heels in particular were still in perfect condition. In short Inov8 shoes are highly recommended – a great company with great products and a great attitude.

London Calling ......

2005-04-26T12:04:00.000+01:00

Imagine Phil Mitchell fresh from the set of Eastenders shouting at the top of his voice “Gooooo on my son”. Imagine a roar as loud as you can on either side of you on Tower Bridge. Imagine turning in front of Buckinham Palace to run along the same bit of road that Paula Radcliffe ran along (albeit about two and a half hours previously) and you can start to imagine what taking part in the London Marathon was like.

Shortly following the aftermath of last year Loch Ness marathon, Rosco came into work with application forms for London. We decided to maximise the chances of a place by both “bequesting” the entrance fee (i.e. in the event of not getting in … the money is lost anyway) – there is an additional 1000 places available for those choosing this route. A few months went by and I got a text from Nicola saying she had got a place. A few days later I got an acceptance with a wee yellow sticker indicating the decision to donate the money had been a good one … for me anyway. Rosco on the other hand heard nothing ... until he got a rejection letter. After complaining bitterly about the irony of them sending an energy gel “whit feckin good is that tae me noo” and a comment along the lines of “where is Willie Wallace when you need him”, Rosco seemed to calm down a little. Maybe the wee jacket they also sent helped.

Training for London was challenging. Marathon training always is but working a bad series of nightshifts when the long runs were due didn’t help. Having said that, when I look back to the diary for Loch Ness - I had done more preparation for London. A good sign surely ?

Sadly Moira was still sick and was not able to come down to London. It must of been hard for her being left behind. Farewells and good wishes noted and I was soon sitting in Glasgow Airport. It was great – loads of folks sitting reading about where to register, discussing pace and chuggin water hoping to stay hydrated. It was funny watching one poor guy whose girlfriend was trying to plan what to do on the romantic city break – including what they were going to see & do after the poor guy had run 26.2 miles. I am fairly sure she was going to be disappointed.

Arriving in Luton is was good to see Annie again. We had run in the 2003 LAMM together and last met up at the 2004 Rat Race in Edinburgh. After coffee and a read through the most comprehensive set of directions to her place in High Wycombe possible and I headed off to registration. This went very smoothly and it was then time to wander amongst the marathon expo. I left a couple of hours later with a large bag of leaflets, a Science in Sport “carbo” kit (energy drinks, bars and gels), legs feeling great after a massage, a new pair of shorts etc ….

Race morning was as perfect – clear skies and just a tad on the cold side. The journey down to London from Annie’s was spent on a range of soapbox style discussions (subjects to varied to list here). With the world at rights – Adrian, Annie and I walked down to Charing Cross where we joined the masses heading over to Blackheath Common and the starts. I was in “blue” start and Ade was in “red”. With similar half marathon times we made a rough plan to look out for each other … amongst the other 30,000 !

It only took about 4 minutes from the gun going off to getting over the start line. Running for the first 2-3 miles was slow but fairly steady which was pleasantly surprising. Heading out past Woolwich the pace was upped a little closer to the pre-race target– it was nice to be making progress as planned. It was also nice to just enjoy the crowds who even at this early stage, were making a difference to morale. Rounding Cutty Sark was fantastic. Having watched it on TV for years … being part of it is kinda hard to describe. As each mile passed it got hotter. Every so often there was a shower over the road – for us Jocks on the course the drizzle made it feel like home (even if the salty sweat running into the eyes was sore). The water stations were well managed and there was every opportunity to take on fluids. Some time around 7 miles I met Nicola - she looked to be having a tough time with the heat. I don’t remember a great deal about the next ten miles or so other than the ongoing support from thousands of people who didn’t know the majority of people they were cheering for. Every so often I would see a fitba top I would recognise and a “up the celts” or “up the gers” shout would incite an even louder roar from whoever was wearing it. At one point there was a guy with a huge Saltire at the side of the road – it made me smile. As we were heading out towards Docklands the elite men passed in the opposite direction – very impressive. It is hard to imagine how fast these guys go. I doubt that by the time I was at that stage folks were thinking the same however. As usual, some time around 21-22 miles it got sore with the only relief from the pain and nagging in the head being when hamstring cramp threatened – at least that gave me something new to worry about and divert the wee demon telling me to jack the running and walk a while. It was a struggle to remember that not only would walking mean the end of a new PB … but it wouldn’t actually help the pain. Dr Mike Stroud in the book “Survival of the Fittest” commented that the most important quality for endurance is not fitness or strength but a defective short term memory. Maybe that was the only thing which differentiated those still struggling to maintain a pace and those who were walking with heads hung low. I went through 40km at just under 3:30 – the math was easy … maintain under 5min/km and I would be finished in under 3:40. Delivering that proved impossible no matter what and I crossed the line dizzy but over the moon in 3:41:19. A new personal best by about 14 minutes.

Turns out Ade had a better first half marathon than me but also suffered with the heat and we passed somewhere in the last couple of miles to finish only a couple of minutes apart. Nicola got a new personal best finishing in 3:51.

Post races good wishes and coffee completed it was time for the long train journey back north.

The Dark Side...

2005-04-13T12:49:00.000+01:00

Pyro has gone over to the Dark Side...

Next event on the cards: May 15th - Leeds Half Marathon.

Yes, I've finally become a road runner (meep meep...). Decided road running would probably be better for my ankle than running trail for a while. (Thanks to Paul Currant for much advice/abuse/etc over the Polaris and XXX weekends, Abbey Runners for putting up with a whinging newbie, and my housemate for the installation of a new shower.)

In AR terms - see you all at the Rat Races, Heb or on a bike or boat somewhere. Glasgow Curry night sometime?

Smoke me a kipper...

Pyro

Welcome to Paradise

2005-03-17T21:05:00.000Z

With the open water ticket sorted we were off to the Kuala Lumpur (via Dubai and a brief touch down in Dhaka). The original plan to see the last stage of the Tour of Lankawi was dropped when we realised we would still be on the plane!

It was good to spend a couple of days acclimatising to the heat in the luxury of Sri Langit apartments with my cousin and his family. With it not being very practical to run in the streets around the complex, I had a wee treadmill session and was soon dripping with sweat ( I failed to notice the air conditioning which had been turned off) – never mind sweating is good for … apparently.

The first of a good many early rises saw KL left behind and a flight over to Kota Kinablu before another flight across to Tawau and the road connection to Semporna. There we were met by a boat to take us out to Mabul and the dive resort. When we finally arrived – we knew what Chooi meant by “see you in paradise”! The place was amazing. Imagine a perfect dessert island and you have Mabul. Lunch & dive paperwork over and we got fitted out with sea fins and 2mm wetsuits – some contrast to the thermals, undersuit and dry suit combination.

A dive summary:

Day 1
Dive 1 – aborted after 4 mins! Visibility was even worse than Loch Long
Dive 2 – Sipidan Hanging Garden 28min / 9.4m
Dive 3 – Sipidan South Point 35min / 15.5m
Dive 4 – Mabul Oil Rig 35min / 16.1m

Day 2
Dive 1 – Sipidan Barracuda Point 40min / 27.7m
Dive 2 – Sipidan Hanging Garden 46min / 13.1m
Dive 3 – Mabul Eel Garden 50min / 16.7m
Dive 4 – Mabul Paradise (Night dive) 50min 13.1m

Day 3
Dive 1 – Sipidan Barracuda Point 39min / 24.3m
Dive 2 – Sipidan Drop Off 36min / 21m
Dive 3 – Kapalai Mandarin Garden 49min / 15.8m

Day 4
Dive 1 – Sipidan Drop Off 46min / 24.3m
Dive 2 – Sipidan Barracuda Point 38min / 28.6m
Dive 3 – Sipidan South Point 51min / 8.5m

Highlights included:

Dawn dive at the drop off on Sipidan Island. The wall looked different … mainly because there were 100s of bumpheads who didn’t seem to like being woken up by divers.

The night dive – stating the obvious a total contrast to a day dive. For one, you tend to see more mainly because of the limited field of vision which forces you into focusing more !

Swimming in a shoal of 5000 – 6000 barracuda. Very humbling indeed.

Swimming close to the reef and leopard sharks. Dismissing the myth about all sharks being killers!

Chooi (top dive guide / Mr fixit), the dive master, boat crew and staff at the SMART dive resort.

Life is a beach eh ?

-----------------------------------------------------------

Next morning we were up at 5:30am to head back over to Kota Kinablu where we were meeting up with Alan. As usual, the flights were perfect and we got a great view of the mountain during the descent. Alan did his usual collie dug impersonation as we steadily climbed up to the park gate. Booked into the Hill Lodges and a wee jungle exploration was in order. We walked the 4km up the road to get a look at the start of the mountain before dropping down to a river trail which leads back to the park HQ. An impressive display of acrobatics from a monkey looked as if it had been laid on especially for us. The lower sections of the trail brought back memories of SAS Jungle but without Eddie’s encouragement this time. Once back at the main road we got some glimpse of the mountain itself … it looked big. A good deal of time that night was spent on the eradication of mosquitoes. The big yin took the under the net approach and just hid whilst I swatted as many as I could find with a book (ironically a copy of Mike Stroud’s “Survival of the Fittest”.

Next morning we were back down at the HQ to pick up our mountain guide Dappit (who was instantly renamed “deep heat”). The trail starts up a seemingly endless number of steps. Every so often there is a shelter which also has a source of water (untreated) and a toilet (kind of). The climb up is sticky but ok – very similar to the last pull up to Namche Bazzar out in Nepal. We got to the mountain hut in a fairly respectable 3 hours – which left the afternoon to relax and eat. Big disappointment was finding out that the hut had NO chocolate … infact no munchies at all. With a 2am rise on the cards dinner was wolfed quickly and an attempt on sleep made. In the end the attempt was very successful! The alarm sounded and it was back for more food – more importantly coffee.

Heading out into the darkness was murder – tired, cold limbs were not amused. Soon, we were climbing up onto the first fixed rope section where a poor Dutch lass was struggling with the whole deal – not many hills in Holland. All she needed was a little encouragement and she got over the worst of it. My Dad and the Big Yin questioned my motives for helping her as usual.

Once on the plateau it all changed. For one it was cold …very cold. The upside was the angle eased. Last hard push up onto the summit saw us on the summit for just after 6am – in plenty time for the sunrise. I found myself a comfy rock away from the growing crowd on beside the cairn. Post sunrise we quickly got some “see you Jimmy” hat photaes before heading back down to the hut for a second breakfast. Fed and on the final descent, an idea came into play … “why don’t we run back doon”. It was steep and sore but great fun.

In all, we had taken 9 hours (over the two days) to climb approximately 18km and 2195m (7200ft) of ascent. For really impressive statistics have a read at the tables below. They are from the 2004 Kinablu hill race – which has an extra 4km road section added on to the end !

Male Senior
No Bib Name Country Summit Time Finish Time
1 007 Bruno Brunod ITA 1:43.51 2:40.04
2 001 Ricardo Meija Hernandez MEX 1:38.36 2:42.22
3 023 Robert Krupiche CZE 1:39.08 2:42.57

Female Senior
No Bib Name Country Summit Time Finish Time
1 200 Anna Pichtrova CZE 1:54.43 3:06.54
2 207 Favre Corinne FRA 2:09.24 3:28.10
3 212 Zatorska Yzabela POL 2:06.35 3:29.25

Veteran
No Bib Name Country Summit Time Finish Time
1 367 Rodimin Bin MAS 1:58.51 3:07.22
2 301 Taising Bukolong MAS 2:04.35 3:10.52
3 300 Ahhing bin Serinen MAS 2:13.01 3:18.22

A Malaysian Prelude ...

2005-02-22T16:11:00.000Z

It started as an idea for a ski holiday …

Before long, baby logistics meant Irene (my sis), Jim and Heather came to the conclusion that a ski holiday wouldn’t be that practical – one for another year. A conversation over a Chinese meal with Andy (my cousin Fiona’s husband) and the idea of scuba diving was planted. About this time, my Dad suggested heading east to Malaysia for a wee visit to the Big Yin. An old email was resurrected which mentioned something about combining Mount Kinablu (13,500ft) out in Borneo with some “world class scuba”.

A month later, research done and a couple of PADI Open Water courses were booked with Splash Sports in Partick. Time was tight … very tight. On paper we didn’t have enough time to complete the course in Glasgow – thankfully the guys in the dive shop had a solution. Do the first three pool / theory sessions on consecutive Monday evenings then on the last week throw in dry suit orientation on the Thursday evening in Edinburgh – then join the east coast team for the open water dives that weekend before flying to Kuala Lumpur the following weekend.

The Open Water course was harder than we expected with a mix of physics, maths and common sense in the theory and a good few skills to learn in the pool. Mirren and I thought it was great when my Dad got into trouble two weeks running for leaving his tank standing up unattended. The humour wore off quickly when I got into trouble for ascending too quickly (Mirren is still calling my “Jack in the Box”! By the time the last Thursday (and the associated exam) came … ma heid was burstin ! The forecast for the open water dives looked good – cold but dry. The BP Finnart dive site looked very cold …even wearing fleece trousers, fleece top, a full thermal undersuit, dry suit, 5mm neoprene hood and 3mm neoprene gloves. In the end it wasn’t too bad with only the hands suffering a bit. Pool skills were repeated and over the weekend we logged four dives down to a depth of 17m. On the Sunday afternoon the work was rewarded with our Open Water dive tickets.

Next stop Malaysia …

In the week leading up to flying out, the email traffic east to west had been increasing by the day. Chooi Tan (top guide who had been sorting the Malaysian arrangements) was raising expectations with comments like: “we'll provide the hammock, coconut palms and the beach!” and “See you in Paradise!” – we were not to be disappointed!

To be continued …

Lomond Hills Challenge 2004 - Saturday 20 November

2004-11-29T16:35:00.000Z

Gary & Jane have been threatening to rival our annual Loanhead Challenge with their very own copycat version and, finally, on 20th November they got round to it. The goal was to bike to each of the four biggest peaks in Fife: West and East Lomond, and two (mysteriously) called Bishop Hill.

Gary and I drove his van round to the half way point with sandwiches and hot chocolate so that we could have a nice, well deserved break without having to carry too much stuff. It took about 40 minutes but it was time well spent if it meant a nice lunch. It's preparation like that that makes the difference. We pushed off on our bikes at about 9:45 into the cold but still air. The weather was perfect, a little above freezing with clear skies and light winds. After the first short road section we quickly started our ascent up towards West Lomond. The tracks were frozen and hard without being too slippy. It would have been a lot harder work with the mud-nymphs clinging to your tyres and dragging you backwards.

There were a couple of very steep, short climbs with no option but to get off and push; feet sliding backwards on the frosty grass. And then we parked our bikes in a gentle hollow at the foot of West Lomond and scrambled up to the cairn on top. The view was gigantic - tens of miles in all directions.

At the top of West Lomond.

We hopped back down to the bikes and started the long descent down to the van (going south towards East Lomond). A well-made, wide, stoney track giving us our first taste of speed after the long grassy ascent of the early morning. Minutes later we were down at the van, expectant and hungry - the hot chocolate anticipating the icy Novemver air. Gary had conveniently put the van keys in his jacket pocket, and inconveniently left his jacket in the house :) People offered knives and skills from an ill-spent youth in assistance, and I even offered a weighty stone, but we eventually sided with patience and left the van intact. In fact, we had a few sandwiches stashed in bags and various bits and pieces to keep us all going. I'd go as far as to say I'm quite glad that I didn't get hold of the many sandwiches I'd made because I think I would have ground to halt on the bike on the steep climb that followed. But don't tell Gary that.

And so onto that climb. Steep but short and a quick flat bit before we again abandoned our bikes for the short walk up East Lomond (I hope I've got that the right way round). Then a varied section of woods and narrow paths, stubble fields, afluent farms and grassy lanes. During another stop for food, Jane pointed out the next hill to climb. High and way off in the distance it looked like hard work. And it was already about 2pm - with the November nights it looked like we'd be returning in the darkness. We dropped down to a couple of resevoirs before starting the long climb up through the trees. Fortunately, the grass was pefect: nice and short in its winter state, hard because of the frost, and no ice or snow. Most other days of the year it would have been a long walk.

Once at the top we were on the plateau that contained the two Bishop Hills. One that was marked as such on the map, and one that people sometimes called Bishop Hill. Jane and Gary know for sure, but for me it was just another two peaks in Fife. Again, they were short walks to the tops but now, with the falling sun, the view was even more stunning. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Three in Silhouette on the Not Bishops Hill.

Sunset at the top of the Erosion Path.

All that remained was the descent down into Kinnesswood (using the aptly named Erosion Path). I experimented with lowering my saddle (something I'd heard that real bikers do) and found it really useful. Before long, we were back onto tarmac and wiggling our way back through the ancient back lanes of the Kinnesswood to Gary and Jane's warm house in the disappearing dayligh.

Thanks to Gary and Jane for a fantastic first challenge. Oh, I almost forgot. After a heavy night of drinking, Gary's idea of a final leg was 1km in the local pool at 9 am. Congratulations to those who turned up for the swim (Gary, Chris and me) and shame on you all who stayed in bed!

Ach Dot - KIMM 2004

2004-11-18T08:22:00.000Z

The Karrimor International Mountain Marathon has a number of different categories. Elite – nae idea whit these folks dae, Fixed route – A,B,C (different lengths) and the Score Classes. The idea of the score classes (long, medium and short), is to plan a route that takes in as many controls (and therefore points) as possible in the allotted time. Fierce penalties are applied if you go over time. Sounds simple enough eh ?

"Fresh" from the Loch Ness marathon at the start of the month Big Lee (aka Dot Cotton) and myself were up for a good hard couple of days in the Long Score event. This allowed seven hours of competition on the Saturday with a further six hours to add to the total on the Sunday. With revised transport logistics in place, we ended up giving a lass called Helen a lift down to Wales from Glasgow. The more she chatted about her previous orienteering exploits, the more we realised we were going to the same place for very different reasons.

The traffic was murder with a tailback which started near Manchester continuing until past Birmingham. Eventually we arrived at registration and Helen went off to find her partner for the weekend. With the ground in the campsite being a little damp, the KIMM organisers had arranged for car parking to be provided about half a mile from the event centre. We opted for a feed at Wilfs before moving anywhere. Met up with some folks that who I knew from previous events - which is always good. Quick debate about dossin in the car vs walking back and forth to the camp and we were tucked up listening to some Jazz on Radio 3. After a few minutes Lee announced “I’m no listenin tae this sh!te” – nae taste that boy.

Next morning we were up and back to Wilfs for breakfast without the hassle of packing a tent a way. The directions to the start were a little confusing – we were able to find different sources of information that indicated either a 45, 30 or 10 minute walk. We took for the safe option and ended up standing about for a while but better that than rushing.

It started well … first control cattled and a fairly good scoring skeleton route picked. The geography was brilliant – unlike anything we had been previously used to. Some of the controls were tucked away deep in sinkholes (of which there was plenty). The route to the second control seemed fairly straightforward … along a ridge, over a small top then descend left to a coll. In the end we chatted too much, drifted right and spent another 20 minutes faffing about until we relocated and got the control in question. Having been brought back down to earth we became a little less ambitious and when we did a quick time / distance calculation opted for a “safe” route to the mid-camp. With two hours still to go we did decide on a wee side excursion to pick up a wee 15 point control. Great running down a grassy ridge to find the control sitting as described “hill north side”. For the first time in five years of doing the KIMM, the electronic punch wasn’t working. With the mechanical substitute punch marked on the map we started a traverse / climb line back up the hill. Ma feet were killing me. The innov8 shoes had been tearing away at my heels and there was no denying that some serious blisters were forming. Dot seemed to gain some smug satisfaction in my increasing level of complaints. We dropped down to the Llyn y Fan Fach (the wee loch below Mynydd Du aka Black Mountain) and I dipped my feet in every available bit of water trying to take the burning sensation out my heels. By this time the mid-camp was getting close. Another two controls and a watch check indicated that another side trip for an additional 10 points was possible. I looked at Dot and he reply “naw” before I even read out the description. We decided on a “get a guid pitch at the camp” strategy and ran down to the muddy track leading to the finish. The printout showed we had completed Day 1 with 40 minutes to spare – not exactly “long score” eh ?

The campsite was good – level ground, not too boggy and a supply of water. Tent up and a brew on. I checked my feet to find my left foot worse than expected i.e. seeping blood. Much compeed and moaning later Lee seized the opportunity to transfer the Dot Cotton handle over. To keep a little Germanic flavour “Dot” was prefixed by “Ach” and every moan was then met with a cry of “Ach Dot” for the remainder of the weekend. Sometimes to rub salt in he threw in “aye – wait tae the Big Yin hears o’ this”. A check of the results board indicated we weren’t even in the top 100 !

Next morning it was race time again. Plan was to try and improved our position or hold onto it at least. Looking at the map we had two options … heavy first half then head for the finish or take a fairly direct line to the east side of the course then pick up as many controls as we could later on. My feet (unsurprisingly) hadn’t improved overnight … it was going to be a long day. We seemed to be doing ok for the seven controls then I had a gnome moment. I had scoffed everything I had to eat within easy reach on the rucksack and had to dig into the main section to refill the pockets. Stupidly, the bag containing the food was … at the bottom. This meant a complete unpack / repack. Frustration soon turned to anger … which only served to slow the whole process down. In total, this took at least 5 minutes which equates to a loss of 10 points if we ran over time. Finally on the move again we headed east to a point where a descent (albeit steep) through some crags looked “possible”. Peering over the edge would of scared even the bravest of eagles. “Possible” was replaced with “nae chance” – the lure of the 30 point control was gone. We were faced with two options – up the hill or doon the hill. The advantage of going “up” was that we could pick off another control on the way. Whilst ascending I checked the map against available time – it looked less than good … at least 10km over a couple of big hills - with just over an hour to go. The descent / ascent / descent / ascent seemed to take forever and we stopped looking at the watches. It didn’t really matter now, we were over time but we could still run as hard as we could in order to limit the damage to our points tally. In the end we wiped out the last 4 controls with time penalties. Funny thing was we finished smiling …

As with most things in life, you learn more from mistakes than successes. For me the lessons were kinda obvious but well illustrated over the weekend. We could of tried harder on day 1. You have to push very hard if you want a good result. Taking an “easy” option can sometimes leave you wondering. Things can (and very often) don’t work as planned – your plan “B” should always be a good un. Giving up is seldom worth it – there is always another angle.

Now back to my feet … utilising the National Trust toilets in lieu of a shower I gingerly took my socks off. You didn’t need to be in the medical profession to realise that they were trashed. Both were bleeding and the next couple of days were spent trying to keep infection at bay. Lesson well learned – back tae Walshes next year !

Grand Canyon 2004

2004-11-04T19:27:00.000Z

Nonie and I just returned from the Grand Canyon - well, ten days ago. There's the start of a web site available at http://www.familycobwebs.com/canyon04/index.html which includes my journal and a few photos.

“A butterfly flaps its wings” - An experiment in Chaos Theory. (Polaris Challenge Autumn 2004)

2004-10-18T20:29:00.000+01:00

It was never going to be the best prepared of events. Katy had only been in the country 3 weeks, having moved to Leeds from Edmonton, Alberta and was still just settling in to the British Fresher (read: drunken) way of life. I’d sprained my ankle at Rat Race and therefore had been almost entirely inactive for the whole of the summer. I’d got out on odd trips on my bike, but nothing like the kind of duration or distance I’d been riding before, say, the Heb. Not even the distance I’d been riding in my ‘normal’ life when I wasn’t supposed to be training for something. Add to that the fact I was due to change jobs around the same time, not quite knowing to what or where I’d be going. So, basically, we were winging it...

I’d met Katy twice. We’d talked over the Internet quite a lot, via my kayak club message board. We met vaguely and briefly during Freshers week while I was working for the Union, and then, about a week and a half later, we’d managed to get out for a bike ride together. 2 hours later, I was confident she’d survive the Polaris Challenge pretty well. Wasn’t sure I would, though...

Just getting to the race caused it’s own headaches. I’d just moved to another Youth Hostel, this time Stainforth, near Settle, without half of my kit, as I don’t own a car in which to transport the accumulated junk of 6 months at Dentdale. So, I had to knock off early on Friday lunchtime, dash up to Carlisle on the train, grab the car off Mum, drive back to Dent, pick up the more essential bits of kit, then dash back to Stainforth to work evening shift, cook dinner for 45, wash up, dash down to Settle on my break to meet Katy, back to Stainforth to finish shift, then throw the last bits of kit (and Sleipnir) into the car then drive to Hawkshead. The event centre was in Coniston, but having only finished shift at about 9:30pm we were pushing it if we’d tried to get to HQ, register and still get into the Youth Hostel before they locked us out.

After at least getting a decent nights sleep and sorting the kit out (had all the essential bits. Phew...), we headed down to registration and got ourselves sorted, then over to Wilf’s for a cuppa. Of course, in all the repacking, tea drinking and generic faff we were late for the start. Oh well, it was a punching start so we were okay...

Coniston as a base would potentially give some cracking riding. The Walna Scar road leads over into the Duddon, the Langdales were well within reach, and the Greythwaite Estate and Grizedale forest in very close proximity to the start. We set off over the grind up through the forest, before turning off onto some gorgeous ‘first smooth and fast, then slow, tight and technical’ singletrack across the fell. The weather was absolutely superb, and our slightly later start (first starts at 8, last at 10. We started about 9:50) had meant it was a little warmer for us than the earlier folks.

The day went on fairly smoothly, bits of great riding, bits of dull road hack, some beautiful descents and then... flats. Katy’s rear tyre had ‘snakebited’ on a descent, so we stopped to put in one of our spare tubes. Then, as we made to head off, I realised I’d flatted as well. We’d wasted 15 minutes that we really needed, and the campsite, being at Kentmere, seemed an awful long way away. We opted to stick to the road and head for the overnight camp as quickly as possible. Then I hit the wall (not a real one fortunately). So, pushing up hills, cramming as much food down as possible, feeling lousy for slowing Katy down, as she was going so well and generally being miserable for about half an hour. Then the food kicked in and I felt better so we picked the pace back up a bit. In the end, we managed to pick up one more CP and head into camp with 4 minutes to spare.

After a gourmet dinner of couscous, smoked mackerel, brie and hot chocolate and a pretty good nights sleep, we set off at 9:45, reversing the end of Saturday’s route, before heading south, past Ings and away down the lanes to the east of the lake, to get the ferry across Windermere (and buying Mars bars and ice cream at the pier), then heading away along the shore road. The route we’d decided on had the flaw of taking in a road that we’d missed as being on the ‘out of bounds’ areas, but being the road through Greythwaite Estate, it was gated shut anyway. So, after some more faff, food and a bit of a detour along the road we arrived at our last checkpoint with 15 minutes and about 8km to go.

We pushed hard through Grizedale, making for the road into Coniston, but a long sustained climb, a very nasty descent (complete with oncoming motocrossers) and general fatigue put paid to a full strength charge. As we reached the road, 1.5km to go, Katy noticed her rear tyre was looking a little soft. As was mine. But we didn’t have time to stop, so we pushed on towards the finish line. We finished tired, hungry, but fairly happy.

While we hadn’t done as well as we would have liked, I reckon we did as well as we could have in the circumstances, and finished 13th out of 22 mixed pairs. We gratefully flopped off for Wilf’s and a cuppa, then headed to Settle to drop Katy for the train. Maybe next time we’ll both be in shape and there won’t be so much chaos involved, but I’m not placing any bets on the latter...

Loch Ness Marathon - 3rd October

2004-10-10T03:45:00.000+01:00

With another KIMM entry secured, team Gilbertson / Kelly knew some heavy endurance training was in order if there was any chance of a reasonable day out in the Long Score event. There was some big talk but due to logistics these were cut down to a joint Loch Ness marathon gig. Ross was due to run as well but a txt at 02:26 on the morning of the race indicated he was full of whisky and wouldn’t be attending – some excuse about being best man at a wedding or something.

Thought about writing a blow by blow account but the text commentary makes better reading. It was a hard course for sure but the NOBRA boyz went home happy !

To set the picture a little – Joe was doing support along the route on his mtn bike and Alan was playing golf in Malayasia !

Anyway …

--------------

This is the transcript of your text commentary;

Graham - "NOBRA boyz all tucked in up in the sneck. Pishin & windy perfect weather fur pain. Spanish Joe has the sackets of gel ready tae hand out at 17 mile!"
Alan - "NOBRA knobs. I'm having breakfast on the golfers terrace at sepang,south of KL. It looks like the golf will b hot today, thank god for the wee buggy. Wish I was there wi u."
Joe - "Well me and the bike is all ready for loch ness 2morro. I've got the mountain bike as well"
Lee - "Last forecast I saw was for thunder and lightning and ten degrees. Oh aye and gale force winds. At least they were southerly ..."
Joe - "Do you remember 2 in the morning at the B&B the last time. "Oye you!,
Come back wae ma gate"
Alan - "I do. You just made me laugh out loud. All the best biker"

Next morning ...

Alan - "And how are the Athletes feeling this morning? Best of luck. Joe, text me the split times at 1/2, 20M and finish"
Joe - "Nae bother. It's Cold this morning but so far dry. German just left to meet Lee."
Graham - "Daen fine. Just off tae meet big Dot - Results to follow"
Lee - "Wish I was there golfing"

The Race ...

Alan - "Joe, what's the latest from Dores Hill?"
Joe - "They just passed half way 2 hours. Running together. Leader at 1hr 15mins"
Alan - "Past 15 miles yet?"
Joe - "Winning time 2hrs 28ish. At 15 mile Lee is leaving the German behind. german calf is sore and long climb at 17 to go.
Alan - "Sounds like Lee is going well. Where are they now"
Joe - "Past 19 mile at 2hrs 54mins"
Joe - Both boys in trouble at 21M. Lee's foot is "goupin"
Joe - "Boys in trouble at 23miles in 3hrs 30mins
Alan - "Walking together?"
Joe - "Running"
Alan - "What's the latest update?"
Joe - "Still Running at 25"
Joe - "3hrs 53 mins not finished yet"
Joe - "3h53 gk 3h56 lee
Alan - "Well done. Both under 4hrs is good. Not the easiest course? Lee still doing louisville?
Joe - "Eh! No"
Joe - "Gk revised time 3h55"

--------------

Guess which one trained in California and which one in Glasgow ?!?

Plan B - The Gorms ...

2004-09-23T15:19:00.000+01:00

Seems like plans are forever changing these days …

Plan A –

Paddle the 14km up Loch Mullardoch to camp around the south side of the inflow to the loch at the west end (NH 088 292) - BESIDE the kayaks.

Tuesday - take a ramble up on the ridge which joins Creag a Coir' Aird (673m), Mullach Sithidh (974m), Mullach na Dheiragain (982m) then continue round to Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan (1151m), possible side excursion to pick up the un-named 941m subsidiary top to the east ..... then descend back to the loch via Stuc Beag (1075m), Stuc Mhor (1041m) and Druim Bheag - roughly speaking.

Wednesday - see how the weather is and what anyone is up for / paddle back.

Plan B –

A bothy somewhere, a hill then see what happens …

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Braced against the Mullardoch dam, watching some serious waves breaking down on the loch, Plan B was adopted. The choice was split between Camban in Glen Affric and Ryvoan down in the Gorms. Ryvoan had a number of advantages with a major one being an easy walk in so a big fire was on.

A small donation to the Cairngorm Rescue team secured parking at the back of Glenmore Lodge where we left the cars (and kayaks). Quick re-pack and we were along the track in no time. With Cherie being so good at putting fires out, she looked after lighting it whilst I made dinner (does that seem like the wrong way round to you ?!?!). The wine went down quicker than the dinner and we moved onto Morgans and Coke followed by whisky chasers. The long lie next morning was mainly due to coming off nightshift … honest. The target for the day was Bynack Mhor with a possible extension over to Cairn Gorm. Heading up the ridge was wind was beyond a joke – barely possible to stand at times and cold … very cold. The summit was clear and at least heading over towards Cairn Gorm would be in the lee of the wind for a while. The ascent back up from the saddle was punctuated with stops for weighty discussions. On the summit the wind returned … unsurprisingly. The map showed a track leading from the Ciste car park directly to the lodge (where a source of beer was). Descent was fairly rapid. Two beers later, and it was back up the track to Ryvoan collecting wood on the way.

Same sketch as before – Cherie lit the fire and I cooked. Some time around 9pm a guy arrived with a big bag of coal and a wee Spanish lass. I might be wrong but I am sure he was expecting the place to be empty. They stayed a couple of hours before disappearing back into the darkness and Aviemore. The coal burnt very nicely.

Having transported the kayaks, it seemed a shame not to use them. With the wind at a manageable level we headed over to Loch Insch and had a paddle up the loch. Not exactly sure where we were going, we paddled up the Spey towards Kingussie. About 1 hour 40 mins into it, and the current got too strong. The return only took an hour. One of the highlights was seeing a flash of green neon shoot across the river in the shape of a Kingfisher and a young buzzard sitting in a tree. Great thing about the kayak is getting to places not easy to reach by any other means.

The Mullardoch trip … next spring !

Beinn Bhuide and a boat ...14th September

2004-09-16T11:00:00.000+01:00

The plan …. South Shiel ridge with the Forcan extension.

With the forecast being a nice mixture of high winds and rain and an alternative was chosen – Beinn Bhuide with a speedboat extension.

The Beast picked me and a mtn bike up on the Sunday evening and we headed through the rain up towards Loch Goilhead and his parents place, where his brother Crawford was dog sitting for a week. I was warned “nae sudden movements … the dug disnae like strangers”. I took note, but what damage an elderly scottie dog with an impressive set of piles was going to do, seemed negligible. A quick beer in the house before heading along to the pub to continue old war stories etc …

Next morning was dry to start with. Breakfast and a quick set up adjustment of a borrowed bike for Crawford before the car was loaded up. It was still dry as we trundled along the track from head of Loch Fyne along to Beinn Bhuide. It was even still dry when we left the bikes and started up the hill. Annoyingly, the rain came as soon as we got to the steeper ground. It is debatable whether you were getting wetter through sweating encased in goretex or from the rain. Within minutes of starting, the beast took a nose dive into the mud and came up looking ready for a selection of Al Jolson numbers. Crawford and I liked this a lot.

By the time we were on the summit ridge, it was clear that we would have been dryer sitting in the river. Summit photos were brief and a fast descent back down the ridge into the relative comfort of the corrie for lunch. By the time we were down at the track the sun was out again.

Back at the car we loaded the bikes and headed back to the house for soup and bread … and the second part of the day – the speedboat. The beast squeezed into a kayak to retrieve the boat from its mooring. He continued to contribute the humour of the day by struggling to get out of the kayak – helpful comments concerning his relative width in relation to the kayak were offered from the shore. Nice thing about the West of Scotland humour … the ability to be abusive in the name of fun with no offence being taken.

In the end, he managed to get his arse out the kayak and into the speedboat. With the water bailed out we were soon speeding down the loch – magic fun. The boys showed a great deal of trust and let me drive – even better. We went round into Loch Long for a wee scout about. Briefly thought about having some fun with the good folks who look after Faslane but decided although a wee trip to Cuba appealed in principle, we wouldn’t look good in orange and the food at Guantanamo Bay probably wasn’t that good. We went ashore to have a look at a private hut used by the local outdoor centre – very sadly we found that it had been broken into and much of the contents (including a couple of mattresses) had been left out in the rain to rot. Why do folks do this ?

We were on the way back when it was suggested that jumping from the boat into the sea might be fun. With wetsuits and buoyancy aids on … it seemed a shame not to. Lesson 1 – it is better to jump to the inside of a turning speedboat. That way the distance between you and the prop “increases” as the boat turns away from you. Wonderful thing hindsight !

Showered we headed off for food:

• Hotel 1 – empty
• Hotel 2 – “we don’t serve food on Mondays”
• Hotel 3 – great soup but half portions for the main.

The beast complained bitterly about only getting 14 chips. End result a reduction in the bill but not the point.

Back at the house we debated setting up a website called www.dontvisitscotland.com. The idea would be simple – simply record personal experiences of establishments where poor service / products can be found (the Corrie hotel in Arran would be high on the list but that is another story).

Up early on Tuesday and straight to work. Without doubt the saying of the trip would have to be:

“The worst day in the mountains / rivers / sea … is still better than the best day in the office”

Sea Kayaking on the Forth (21/22nd August)

2004-08-27T10:32:00.000+01:00

Over the past few months, I have spent a great deal of time on the website run by Douglas Wilcox. Unless you are completely devoid of imagination, it is difficult to look through the site and not picture yourself emulating the sea kayak journeys recorded in the various pictures.

Inspiration is one thing but the knowledge and skills to deal with the trip planning, navigation - not to mention rescue techniques is also required. With my wee sis having done some sailing courses at Port Edgar and the brochure mentioning weekend sea kayak courses, the only thing to choose was a suitable weekend ….

The 21/22nd August fitted in with shift patterns and the Forth should be “warm” – perfect. As a bit of prep training Lynne did a course down at Castle Semple which included a one star assessment.

As usual with such a course the first 10 minutes was spent milling about trying to figure out who else was there for the sea kayaking. Our instructor arrived and introduced himself as Iain. Quick introductions from Tess, Rob, Kate and Ellen and we started the indoors stuff. We got a look through some charts and books as well as a discussion about how weather and tides etc … can influence route planning. A great introduction but it also helped enforce my belief that a RYA Day Skipper qualification would be useful for helping with the coastal expedition planning!

Down at the boatshed we were introduced to our kayaks for the weekend – almost brand new Prijon Seayaks or Kodiaks. Fitted out with wetsuits, buoyancy aids and cags we headed into the harbour. We paddled forward, paddled backwards, tried a few sweepstrokes before moving onto a sculling draw and a feather draw. Whilst turning the sea kayak was murder … moving sideways seemed easier with a long boat (the wee Riot 007 just spins).

After lunch we head out into the main estuary. Everything started fine. We headed east stopping at Inch Garvie. We rafted up to allow a big ship to clear before attempting to cross back over to Port Edgar – not that anyone wanted to try and race a tanker anyway. The next half hour to hard … very hard. It seemed like an easy paddle but at one point I thought I was going to end up in Stirling! A combination of wind and tide meant steering was close to impossible. No amount of right hand sweeps could keep me on track. By the time I struggled back into the harbour it was time for tea. Sleep came easy that night!

Next morning, the group seemed to have recovered and the water was perfect - flat calm. The plan was to head down towards Inchcolm Island and Abbey for lunch. It was great paddling in the company of the inquisitive seals. As we beached the kayaks I couldn’t help but feel superior to those folks who had arrived via the ferry. We had got there under our own steam after all. The wasps who were trying to eat my lunch didn’t differentiate however.

Back afloat, it seemed too nice a day to hurry back. We stopped at every opportunity and in-between stops chatted to whoever was beside you at the time. We passed Dalgety Bay and as we tried to regroup at North Queensferry - the fun began. Once again, the wind and tide conspired to make steering difficult. Finally, we arrived back at Port Edgar where is was time to get wet.

Nobody had swam (which was a good thing) but it is unrealistic to expect to paddle and not experience that upside down feeling at some point. After some superb rolling demonstrations from the instructor Iain, we had a shot at a “X” rescue and re-entering the kayak full of water. I had a shot at a roll and got up far enough to see the harbour wall before ending upside down again.

As happens with most courses, you get to practice and refine some old skills, learn some new and leave with a hunger to get out and push till once again confidence surpasses skill and another learning opportunity is required !

SOBRA

2004-08-26T10:47:00.000+01:00

South of Balloch Rules Apply?

No matter how hard I try to adjust, Scottish guys are just shite in the in the heat. The German's heat stroke in Borneo makes a lot of sense now I've lived in KL for 6 months. The high temperatures are one thing, but the constant high humidity makes the slightest physical effort, a full scale workout.

Air New Zealand have been sending us engines for the past 7 months. We're on trial, as they gather data on our performance. They plan to make a decision on where they will send 12 engines per year for the next 3 years. I really want the work. They are exactly the type of customers we need at GE Engine Services Malaysia.
With the 7th engine just completed, they invited me down to Christchurch for a discussion on the situation so far.

It's a place I've always wanted to visit, for three good reasons.

- First of all, I've never met a Kiwi I didn't like. Their great folk, with a canny similarity to the Scots.
- Secondly, the place is full of Campervans.
- Thirdly, Like Scotland, they have been blessed with Mountains. Very Big Mountains.

Some carefully planning allowed me to mix business with pleasure - or Engineering with Mountaineering, as the NOBRA boys would say.

As the 737 from Auckland touched down in Christchurch, the pilot announced an outside temperature of 7 degrees.
When I left KL, the big thermometer on the Federal highway registered 37 degrees!
My clothing was the warmest gear I had in KL, however it was clearly insufficient for the street, never mind the mountains. I decided a climbing shop was required. I could feel a wee purchase coming on.

As I walked outside to grab the Shuttlebus to my hotel, I was struck by a strange feeling. I looked at the people around me, all with jackets and hats, some with Red hair, most with skin as pale as mine, and as the bus pulled away from the carpark, I smiled. This feels just like home.

The hotel receptionist was a climber. What luck. He pulled out a wee map of the town, and marked down 4 good climbing shops. It may be hard for some people to understand, however the German knows exactly want I mean. I almost ran to the first shop, excited at the prospect of some new gear, and the chance to get some local mountain knowledge from the guys in the shop.

Next morning, accompanied by Ben Waters, the GE Sales Director, we headed back towards the airport, for the meeting with ANZ.
It went well on both Thursday and Friday, with an early finish at 3:00pm, allowing me time to visit the Antarctica center.
Since becoming interested in the adventurer Ernest Shackleton, I'm now fascinated with the Antarctic and it's history. Many countries use Christchurch as their base during explorations, and the center provides as much information on the Continent as you could ever want to know. I loved it, and learned heaps. Karyn doesn't know it yet, but some day she's going on the coldest holiday of her life!

One of he ANZ guys has a keen interest in the outdoors, and kindly offered to take me up Arthur's pass on the Saturday. It’s the highest village in NZ, located right in the Heart of the Southern Alps. Graham McCabe's a great guy, who lived in Northern Ireland for years, so he understands the Celtic patter.
He picked me up from the Hotel, and before long we were driving through Lord of the Rings country. The glacier landscape was amazing, with some serious looking mountains in the distance.
As the distance became nearer, I was doing the same fast scanning wee Joe laughs at when we drive through Glen Coe.
But this wasn't the West Highlands, this was the Southern Alps. These mountains were double the height of Bidean!

We stopped at the Department of Conservation office and bought the guidebook and a map. We then moved up the road to Arthur's Pass village, where we found a Café, had some Tea, and checked the map for a suitable route.
The DoC officer had told us Otira Valley was a good place to go 'tramping' as the Kiwi's call it. It leads to a bridge over the melt water, and then up into a corrie when the big routes onto Mt. Rolleston start.

The walk was excellent and before long we were in the snowline. Up ahead we could see avalanche debris. A number of avalanches had dispatched from several different directions. As we reached the wall of snow, we were amazing by the shear scale of the mountains around. I grabbed some photos, before we moved over the debris, to a better vantage point. I think Graham was enjoying it as much as I was. It was just like the European Alps, with Glaciers, and 2000ft faces all around.

We found our way back down to the end of the first avalanche, and decided that was good enough for the day, since we never intended going to a summit. We were just out for a day in the hills, without any serious mountaineering, although the seed in ma heed, is well and truly planted.
Back at the car, Graham introduced me to Moro bars, as we headed down the west side of the pass towards the new viaduct. The road was previously very dangerous, due to regular landslides.
The government funded a major engineering project, building to a new viaduct, and an open-faced tunnel, complete with overhead stone shoot. It really was an amazing sight.

We then went to Deaths corner for a view down the valley. When we arrived, Graham explained the guy ahead of us was in big trouble. A Kea mountain parrot was on the roof of his car, destroying the trim around the rain gutter. He was trying to chase it away with no luck. They are very aggressive, attacking without warning. They are also protected, so you can’t respond with a stick, although you may want too. I thought it looked like an extra from Lord of the Rings. Parrots in the mountains?

Graham told the guy his best option was to jump in the car and just drive the car fast. It would get the message and fly off. He followed the advice, however we quickly realized it was time for us to bugger off too, since the bird was making it way towards Graham’s car. Probably even more pissed off.!
We left the car park in a hurry, heading back to the Café as the weather started to deteriorate.

By early evening, we were back in Christchurch. I was happy as hell. My first trip into the mountains since arriving in Malaysia, and it had been a cracker.

So my advice to NOBRA is this;
Start saving for an airline ticket (make sure it’s on Air New Zealand for Christ sake!)Hire a campervan and go climbing and “trampin” about in these spectacular mountains.

Oh aye, and don’t forget a gid jacket!

Thanks again to Graham. You’re now the first Southern Hemisphere NOBRA member.
Cheers,
Alan 21st Aug 04

ML assessment for real ....

2004-08-25T08:38:00.000+01:00

Below is a wee blog from my pal Jasmin. It follows on from the Cairngorm trip back at the end of June. Most important bit .... SHE PASSED ! Well done girl.

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Finding the courage to go back and complete what I started in September 2003 took longer than I thought it would. My outward attitude was ‘of course I’m going back to do the assessment’, but deep down I was just too terrified of another accident out on the ropes to make that commitment. Eventually I made the booking and then it was a simple matter that I had to be able to abseil whether I liked it or not …. the very first time I abseiled since the accident was completely nightmarish – but I got there in the end…

Sunday 18th July: I arrived at the Lodge in time for some last minute panic reading about environmental topics. I had the luxury of a room to myself and within minutes of arrival it was covered in kit and books.

Monday 19th July: Breakfast – or an attempt at breakfast – on panic stricken stomach. Start to meet other people who were on the same assessment, who all seemed to be extremely calm – although most admitted to the contrary. At 9 we met our instructors, and then it was out on the hill for some basic nav and emergency procedures. Once we got started I was a lot happier! We were given water and contour features to find, taking turns to lead. A few ‘what ifs’ were thrown in for extra measure – and to see if you had the kit to be able to deal with the situation – sprained ankle, early signs of hypothermia and so on. Water hazards followed in the afternoon. I lost count of how many times I went across that stretch of water. Everytime I crossed I seemed to get in deeper and deeper.
The bar seemed like a very good place to be that evening….

Tuesday 20th July: This was the day I was truly dreading: security on Steep Ground. The whole decision making process was as important as the ropework itself - and eventually the day was over. I managed to deliver what was required, but my nerves were completely shredded by the end! Towards the end of the day, the wind picked up and even simply trying to tie a Thompson knot proved extremely tricky as the rope was blown all over the place.
The bar seemed to be an even more welcoming place that evening …

Wednesday 21st July: Well, this was it: the two night exped. I made the mistake of weighing my rucksack – and really wished that I hadn’t found out how heavy it actually was! We started off from the ski car park, walking into Coire an Lochan, each of us taking turns to lead the different legs of the journey over towards Cairn Etchachan. Very grateful to see the campsite – but before we could grab that long awaited brew, several questions on campsite organisation management…

Night nav was hard work. We were out for 4 hours (after what must have been at least a 7 hour day). What an experience - middle of the night on Macdui - pitch black with the cloud base down - remaining snow fields iced over - temperature at about freezing- and headtorch beams bouncing off the moisture in the air!!!! Had a bit of a shock on the leg I had to lead. In the middle of concentrating hard on my pacing I was distracted by clicking sounds and then got the shock of my life as some dark shapes emerged out of the gloom. This was my second close encounter with the Cairngorm reindeer herd – the first being on a solo wild camp last summer when one reindeer started to take too much of an interest in my tent for comfort.

Thursday 22nd July: Peering out of the tent, I established that the weather was ideal – the cloud base was low- hopefully with a day’s nav in this then we wouldn’t have another night nav exercise. Up to the summit of Macdui, over to the memorial, then a knee jarring journey down into the Lairig Ghru, followed by finding a contour feature over the other side of the river (I was getting slightly paranoid by this point as all I seemed to get was contour features – was I getting everything completely wrong???). Up to the Garbh Coire hut for lunch, where we were to treated to an environmental talk. Then over Angel’s Ridge (yup, with full pack!) followed by more navigation across the Moine Mhor, eventually ending up between Carn Ban Mor and Sgor Gaoith, overlooking Loch Einich, where we camped for the night.

Friday 23rd July: After breakfast I treated everyone to an environmental talk (which was over researched – sorry to everyone who had to sit there freezing while I talked on … and on…!)Then the walkout to Glen Feshie, navigating pretty much to the bitter end. We were driven back to the lodge in the minibus – and all I could do was sit there and think that there was nothing more I could do now. Lunch at the lodge was most welcome, followed by a wait for results. I was so pleased to pass. It was something that didn’t seem remotely possible for me to achieve at the beginning of the week – and by passing I have certainly put some nightmares to rest!

The Big Bike: Jock's Road - Saturday 21 August

2004-08-22T17:52:00.000+01:00

Rob had an idea: how about we do a big 100 mile bike around Loch Muick? To make it harder, any distance done on tarmac doesn't count. Hmm, great idea. But let's scale it down a bit and work our way up to doing it next year. First compromise: let's make it kilometres instead. Second compromise: tarmac does count. Third compromise: when we said 100 kilometres then 95 will do. With that in mind, Keith Brown came up with a tortuous route from Loanhead House (in Glen Isla) via Glens Prosen and Clova, round Loch Muick and back: 95.5 km.

Unfortunately, Rob had to pull out of the first Big Bike, but I convinced our pal Hamish Parkinson to come along too. So the bikers were: Nonie, Keith, Hamish and me. We decided on a not too early, not too late start and set off at 08.30. 15 minutes later we were thigh deep in a river crossing and I lost one of my water bottles. Dang. The water was lovely and warm so nobody was complaining. And then up to Backwater reservoir before hopping across to Glen Quharity. The "hop" included our first bit of walking; but there was plenty more to come. Glen Quharity is a good Land Rover track with a steady climb all the way to the top where you join Glen Uig for the gentle descent into Glen Prosen. Gentle maybe, but we put a bit of speed on. Lots of standing water and streams running down the track made for big splashes and mud splattered grins.

3km up the road to Glenprosen village (steep hill!) and then it's up over The Minister's Road to get into Glen Clova. Again, good Land Rover tracks all the way made it ridable and it looked like we'd be able to make Glen Clova in time for lunch. The descent down to the road was steeper, rockier and more technical this time and it was arm-jarringly fun.

We stopped beside the Clova Hotel for lunch, on the banks of the South Esk. It was 12.25 and we had a quick think about our route. We'd already kicked around the idea of taking a short cut if necessary and it seemed like a good idea. Going round Loch Muick would mean getting home about 20.00 or 21.00 at night and this was already the longest bike ride any of us had done before. Nonie was getting cramp in her thighs and decided to head home along the road (still a ride of two hours home). Keith, Hamish and I decided to cut from Glen Doll west up Jock's Road onto the plateau before heading south again. Should be easy enough, and it would save us 16km.

Keith sped off up the road to Glen Doll and Hamish and I worked together to try and catch him. I got used to seeing Keith up ahead. Except when I couldn't see him because he was so far ahead. We were zooming along the Whitewater walk in Glen Doll when we spotted the sign off to the right for Jock's Road. Sighs all round as we looked at the rocky track disappearing uphill into the trees. It was a 2km section of hard riding. Not especially steep, but the rain had washed all the soil off the "road" (more of a path really) leaving just the rocks and boulders. Coming out of the trees and seeing The Road climbing up onto the plateau was actually a relief: at least we wouldn't have to try and bike it, it was a definite walk.

Keith with Jock's Road in the background.

And what a walk it was. It took us over an hour to climb 320m to the shelter at the top of Jock's Road. It was narrow, steep and rocky. The bikes were either awkward to push or sore to carry. And it just kept on going up and up. After four and a half hours biking this was a tough walk. But the scenery was amazing: the forest dropping away behind us and the steep sides of Glen Doll all around.

Bill climbing Jock's Road.

The other two got ahead of me and I bought some time by taking my jacket on and off and gulping carbohydrate sachets. I finally caught them up at the shelter and we had a brief 10 minute stop to try and recover.

The top of Jock's Road with Glen Doll in the background. Keith (left) with Hamish.

We looked at the map and realised that that undulating, boulder strewn, boggy, heathery land to the south was our route to Finalty Hill. It looked like the walking wasn't over yet. It was less than 3km to the next marked Land Rover track but we were only doing about 3km/hour as we picked our way across the plateau.

Hamish picks his way across the plateau

After a total of two hours walking we finally got to a track we could ride on. It was good to be back on the bikes, but also sore! Another 50m of climb and we were on the rolling top of Finalty Hill at last. At 905m it isn't quite a Munro but big enough thank you very much. We didn't stop for long: the rain had been on and off for the past hour or two and the wind had got up a little. Time to get down into Glen Isla again. The descent down was a lot of fun: 500m in 4km, lots of rocks. We went as fast as we dared and occasionally a little faster. Once down beside the river it was a blast along the track (which turned into a road), following the river south. A final, punishing 100m climb up out of Brewlands Bridge onto the moor nearly finshed us off. Back through the forest (muddy, wet, heathery, long grass, peaty puddles) and we were home. 17.00: eight and a half hours later which included over five and a half hours biking and two hours carring the damn things. Which all added up to 79km. Which is nearly 80km. And that's only 20 shy of 100. And a kilometre is not far off a mile. And if you include all the tarmac then we did in fact achieve Rob's dream! Next time, we really will get to Loch Muick. But we're going to need to be fitter. And start earlier. Hope you can make it, Rob.

Armadale to Mallaig - Saturday 7 August

2004-08-18T23:20:00.000+01:00

We're playing with the kids at Armadale (Skye) waiting for the ferry back to the mainland at the end of our camping holiday on Lewis and Harris. The kids are having a whale of a time with our friends: ropes, swings, piers and ice cream. Nonie has the idea that one of us could paddle across to Mallaig (it's only about 7k). And I get to go! Cool. A bit of repacking of gear (all packed up for the journey home) and I set off with enough time that I should get there before the ferry. Across the sound with the ferry disappearing in front of me (it has to go there and then come back to pick up the rest of the family). Again, it's falt calm. The low sun to the south-west has Eigg (I think) in sillouhette and turns the sea jewel-bright. There are more black guillimots who all disappear beneath the surface as I get close. It's quiet although I can hear the distant throb of a boat engine - it's always hard to place the source of an engine at sea. Straight in front, a porpoise swings up out of the water and down again: not very high but I see the distinctive triangular dorsal fin. Fantastic, my first porpoise from a kayak. I ease off the pace and look around, quite expecting to see more. But after five minutes I see nothing. I pick up the pace again, reasoning that it happened the first time whilst going quite fast so I wasn't necessarily going to see more by just floating. I did spend a lot of time glancing about, but still no more porpoises. I knew there were whales in the area too and got to thinking about that. It would be magical to see one, but also a little scary.

50 minutes after setting off, I arrive at Mallaig and with the ferry still some way off I spend a few minutes going up the coast for an explore. And then once the ferry gets close, I follow it into the harbour, heading to the slipway where I'd arranged to meet Nonie. A woman shouts at me from the pier: had I seen the seal that had been following me? Ah, the cheeky wee devil. No, I'd not seen it and never did. Nonie pulled up at the slipway exactly on time and she decided that she would paddle another hour down the coast whilst I bought some food from a supermarket and drove down to meet her. I sat on the beach making cheese baguettes in the sun while the kids played in rock pools. This was proving to be a fine, fine day. And after a night of midge hell at Sligachan campsite (on Skye) then just as well.

Sea Kayaking at Bhaltos - Thursday 5 August

2004-08-18T23:10:00.000+01:00

We were camping on Lewis. Nonie and I spent the morning playing around with Heather and George in a sea kayak, a play boat and a sit-on-top kayak: we paddled about 400 metres to an island just off the beach we were camping on and then had a picnic. Lots of jumping off high boulders onto sand and swimming in the clear, clear water. When we got back to the camp site Nonie zipped off round a couple of islands whilst I played with the kids. And when she got back, it was my turn.

This was my first time in the Inuk and I really liked it. Fast, stable and manoeverable - what more could you ask for. I headed off north up the channel between Lewis and the largest island (Lewis seemed big enough to pretend it was mainland sometimes). I passed some caves to the right but didn't have a torch. And anyway, Nonie had suggested that the route would take me about 50 minutes so I had something to prove. As I rounded the northern end of the island I felt the lack of land to the north - nothing but sea all the way to the Arctic probably. Fortunately, it was really calm: hardly a ripple on the very small swell. The cliffs were forbidding and impressive and I felt quite adventurous. There's something about the sea that makes me constantly question whether what I'm doing is safe. I guess that's a good thing but it does make it quite stressfull.

Before long I am heading back south towards land and I feel a little safer. Lots of birds around (black guillimots mostly) but no interesting mammals that I could see. The boat is fairly whizzing along and I am thinking I should get an Inuk all for myself (this one is Nonie's). It really is a beautiful day in a beautiful place. I can see steep, rounded hills all around: hard rocks draped in green. The sea is glowing with blues and more and the white sands slip past as I peer downwards. It seems to take a long time to round the last island but the compass on the boat (and the map) help to give me a reference. It seems that I have gone half way round the island when, in fact, I have only done a quarter. But, too soon, I come up to the beach and glance at my watch: 53 minutes, sigh. I feel great though. It's been wonderful to escape out on my own, and a privilege to have done so in such awesome surroundings. I pop the boat on my shoulder and walk back to the tent for tea. The midges are asleep and the sun is out and we have a bottle of wine open. Bliss.

Falls of Lora - Monday 2 August

2004-08-18T23:05:00.000+01:00

The Falls of Lora is a tidal rapid that runs when Loch Etive tumbles out into the emptying sea below. It runs best when there is a spring tide and that was scheduled for Monday. Actually, the biggest water was going to be at about 01.00 in the morning but we certainly weren't brave enough to paddle it in the dark.

The rapids form a series of surfable standing waves. But nothing remains the same for long. The difference between the top and bottom levels is changing all the time so what starts off as a nice gentle surf wave quickly transforms itself into a steep, fast wave leading to a chaotic tumble of waves. With a few whirlpools as added spice. It's strange to read the waves and decide on your moves only to have to recalculate it all five minutes later, because it's harder and bigger than before.

We got on about 11.30 - too early for the big water but Neil and I were keen to get on whilst it was a little easy. For different reasons I think: Neil because he wanted to loosen up before it got big, and me because I was scared. My reasoning was that it was going to get bigger and bigger over the next two hours so I was best to get on as soon as possible. I was very cautious to start with - I had heard rumours and tales of its fury and disregard for humans and I was anxious about a swim. Leaving your boat was bad: if I "pull the tag" it is because it is already nasty to paddle in and therefore quite unpleasant to swim in too; and the flow from the rapid was straight out to sea so I was going to be relying on my pals to rescue me (or have a long swim, leaving my boat to its own course). I had already selected my most solid paddle, having given it a reassuring knock with my fist and been satisfied with the sound it made - a broken paddle will very likely lead to a swim.

I follow Neil to the top wave and it doesn't seem too big so I pop onto it and have a wee surf. Through nervousness I slip off the back almost straight away but I'm happy enough about what went on to have another go and this time have a proper surf. Well, this is going okay so far - but all the time I am thinking "it's going to get much bigger than this". And it does. Very gradually. Davey, Jock and Bownsie have joined us by now but there's plenty of waves to go round. I miss the cut back into the breakout a few times and have a fun, uncontrolled trip down the lower rapids. This is where it gets hard: whirlpools suck the whole boat down and waves come from all angles. I have quite a few rolls but they are all pretty quick and I feel confident about getting up again. I have one bizarre surf on the top wave where I nearly fall in on my off-side and need a pry to support. But all that happens is that the stern sinks down and something pirohetty happens and I am upside down and out of view. It's only about 3 seconds before I pop back to the surface but it's confused the hell out of me.

I carry on going back for more and get trashed a lot of the time. The other kayaks breeze about making it look easy. After about 90 minutes (or maybe less) I get off, pretending to be tired. To be honest, I wasn't tired: too much adrenelin for that. But it was still getting bigger and had about another 15 minutes to go. It really freaked me out not knowing how bad it was going to get. And having it change on me all the time. I'd run out of anti-fear pills and decided to call it a day. It's been excellent practice for the Grand Canyon (in October). It had been about a year since I'd last paddled and been scared (the last time was sea surfing - another occassion when I couldn't be sure how big it was going to get). I'd better save up some more anti-fear pills for the Canyon.

The Fisherfield Munros ...6th to 8th July

2004-08-18T11:37:00.000+01:00

With a kernel of an idea for a sea kayak / cullin ridge expedition being planted by Bill and a free weekend, all combined with the Beast having a weekend pass the venue of choice was Skye. The idea of another recee over the “interesting” bits and adding a few tops to the Beasts growing collection, seemed the perfect combination. Good weather was forecast right up until the Friday morning where the low winds and high cloud was replaced with high winds and low cloud.

Call me a pessimist if you will but the statistics for ridge attempts in Skye aren’t good:

1- Up Gars Bheinn late in the evening and found a great bivi site. Storm hit about 2am and we were forced to descend at first light.
2- Up from the Coruisk hut just after dawn. Slow but steady progress towards the TD gap in cold and windy conditions. Onwards towards Sgurr Mhic Chonnich by which time … time had run out.
3- Attempt from Slig – woke up to rain and low cloud. Attempted to find pinnacle ridge failed but did manage to fall in a river on the way back down.
4- Another attempt from Slig – woke to rain and low cloud … had the sense to go back to sleep.

There have been as many successful days out in the Cullin but the message is clear – unless the weather is good … forget it.

A quick discussion on the above and the Beast was convinced – a new location was needed. With a strong factor being “how many tops wuid I get” being raised and a midge avoidance strategy being just common sense, the Fisherfield was picked. The journey north was only spoiled (for me anyway) by the aftermath of the Beasts glass of prune juice which had had prior to leaving work. As we passed Inverness I was like one of those mad collie dogs hanging out the window.

The food stop at the Aultguish consisted of beer, mushrooms with garlic dip and haggis – as if the prune juice wasn’t enough. At the car park it was midge hell and even the Beast’s emissions couldn’t hold them at bay. Quick triple repack and we were off. Clear of the woods and the midges eased … until we reached the bothy just before 10pm where the conflict was resumed.

Shenevall was almost full – not that you would of noticed from the noise (everyone was in bed). We got a space in the room with the fire and after a quick beer nodded off.

6am and the alarm went off. By 7am we were heading down to the river and the first crossing of the day. Thankfully it was well down and we still had dry feet as we picked the route up to Beinn a’Chlaidheimh. Sitting on the summit at 8:30am was perfect – great view all around and only one t-shirt change of the Beast. We headed over to Sgurr Ban where we could see a couple of lasses heading up from the other side. We stopped to chat for a while – the Beast reckoned they were of “mahagow” frame of mind (i.e. more than just friends). The thinking behind this seemed flawed but it did help pass the time as we ascended Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair. At this point I raised the matter of a couple of wee subsidiary tops I was after. The Beast decided to continue on and leave me to it.

Heading down towards Beinn Tarsuinn, I met up with a lass by the name of Barbara. We discussed the hill, discussed living around Glasgow, discussed women in engineering until a roar of “GERMANOPHOBYYYYY” echoed across from the summit slopes opposite. This was followed by what looked like a bull fighter impersonation with a red goretex from the Beast. My initial attempts to disown him failed. The shouts continued until Barbara suggested I better go and catch him up if only to re-establish the peacefulness of the place. Apparently, the Beast was concerned I hadn’t seem him and was about to re-ascend Mhic Fhearchair.

Over Tarsuinn, the hard bit of the day began. Not only do you lose a heap of height but there is a goodly distance to cover before the climb up to A’ Mhaighdean. This was broken down to micro-stages (including a water refill where the midges were murder … again). For me the summit views on A’ Mhaighdean are the best to be had in the whole of Scotland – why this is … go and find out for yourself – you won’t regret it. Sitting about the summit were some other guys up from Glasgow. They had driven up (leaving at 03:30am), walked in, dumped gear in the bothy, THEN headed up the hill. Whilst they were only doing two of the hills we reckoned that was harder than doing all six after a night in the bothy.

Over to Ruadh Stac Mor and there was only the walk back to the bothy left before food and drink. A post dinner party with the other Glasgow boys was great – for some reason other folks in the bothy didn’t seem to want to join in.

Next morning dawned with Beast announcing (from the depths of his sleeping bag), that the walk back to the car was about all he could manage. As happens, the talk soon got round to the next hill trip and even extended to the possibility of getting a big team weekend in Gorton sometime in early December ….

Loanhead Challenge #6 (Craigie Thieves)

2004-07-24T19:34:00.000+01:00

Some background first. We ran the first Challenge in November 1999 and we've done one or two a year since then. It's a combination of mountain biking and walking. It's not a race - we all stick together as a friendly bunch of folk. The challenge bit is seeing if we all make it back. The Challenges all finish at our house so part of the challenge has been to come up with original routes each year. We've had anywhere between 7 and 16 people and some people do it as a relay.

This year's start was beside Backwater Reservoir (about 20 minutes drive away). Only a few minutes behind schedule, we set off at 09.20 heading north for Craigie Thieves: Ian "Bownsie", Senja, Ian "ITN", Gary, Callum, Biffo the dog and me. I spiced up the otherwise mundane road section (the first kilometre) by dropping Biffo's lead beside the road and Bownise jumped at the chance to run back to get it. "Fetch Bownise! Fetch!" said Biffo and Bownsie obediently complied.

Before long we were starting the gentle climb up onto the plateau that bridges the glens of Isla, Prosen, Clova, Doll and Shee. Once up on the plateau there is an enticing bagful of hills within reach and it takes restraint to stop yourself wandering off for a few days. We settled for the relatively close but intriguingly named Craigie Thieves (689 metres). The path was varied: sometimes a Land Rover track, sometimes a sheep track, sometimes a pooled bog and our speed varied accordingly. The air was windy and speckled with teasing drops of rain - it was hard to know what to wear with everyone swapping between shorts and waterproofs. But visibility was good (for navigation if not for views). A slight confusion (good natured, right Bownsie?) and we found Craigie Thieves and dwelt there a while to take it all in. The clouds were rushing overhead but with plenty of blue sky to inspire confidence. Nothing too worrying but it would surely rain hard soon. Glen Prosen with the Prosen Water was visible to the east; the river meandering its way down towards Kirriemuir, sparkling in the sun. We traced out hills and routes we'd taken on previous trips and our minds wandered back to relive them.

But the wind flustered through us on the exposed peak and we quickly carried on to the north-west, dropping down into the Glack of Balquhader pass. It was slow going - steep and heathery and we needlessly man-handled Biffo over a deer fence twice on the way. As soon as we'd dropped down onto the top of the pass (we were perpendicular to the normal path) it was time to climb up the other, steep side and onto Broom Hill. Beyond that on Bawhelps (830 metres) the weather was turning bitingly worse. It was now very windy (force 5, I'm guessing) and with a not-quite-sleet-but-close-enough rain. Visibility was dropping so we quickly double-checked maps and bearings and headed west to go down to Auchavan (in Glen Isla) where Nonie was waiting with the Land Rover and bikes. Bownsie and Gary looked at the maps a little more closely and discovered that we were actually about 400 metres south of where we thought we were but we could adjust our route a little so it was okay. It was now only about 2k to the transition but it did seem to drag on a little. I'd underestimated the time it would take and we eventually turned up at the Land Rover 40 minutes late (it had taken 4 hours 10 minutes) - I think that was mostly down to the terrain and lack of paths.

The Land Rover was full of friendly faces and we were met with a rush of children to cheer us on. Nonie and Jane had unloaded the bikes and were waiting with coffee and sandwiches (thanks!). The rain had now settled in: not particularly heavy, but very enthusiastic. Half an hour later and everyone had changed footwear and clothing and pumped up tyres and we were ready for the second stage. Senja and Callum (Callum is 12 and had done a remarkable job of keeping up with the tough pace) headed back to the house with Nonie, and Jane joined us so now we were five.

The first 8k was a fast road section, tempered by the strong, wet head wind. And then, tantalisingly close to the pub (see later) we headed up the hill south out of Brewlands Bridge. This hill has featured a lot in the challenges over the years and it is remembered bitterly by most. It's about a 20 minute climb without much chance to rest. Once at the top, we jinked left to go straight back down again! But this time it was off-road along part of the Cateran Trail. Pretty good fun, with lots of ruts, heather and rocks to keep you on your toes.

The next section was a 12k circular route around Glenmarkie forest: muddy but good tracks with a fair bit of climbing. We whizzed round - enjoying the final swooping 3k back down to the road. The rain picked up again (it had been sunny for a while) which cheered us up no end as we headed for the Glenisla Hotel for a quick beer :) It was pretty quiet inside with just one customer on his bar stool. He gave us lots of unsolicited advice about the quickest way to get home but completely failed to comprehend that we didn't necessarily want to go home the quickest way. I had planned a slight detour to take in a river crossing and he was at a loss as to why we weren't going to take the much more convenient bridge. We left him pondering and returned to the sunshine again.

A short 3 or 4k on the road and then we headed down across a field and stopped before the River Isla. The level was low and this was, according to tradition, a ford but we all hesitated about riding across. Bownsie put pride before sense and bravely set off into the water only to come to a complete stop after 2 metres. Damn, now we all had to try. And we all did, with Gary giving the best impression of someone actually expecting to make it - but none of us made much headway and we ended up wading across. Then, a steep grassy climb up the other side to get back to the track that we should have been on if we'd followed the bar stool route. Everyone was relieved to learn that it was only 2k along a track to go - to waiting children and friends. Not to mention the fridged beer and ovened food :) It had been a long day: four hours walking and three hours biking (plus transition and pub which don't really count) totalling 51k. Well done to all who challenged. And a double well done to Nonie for the child care, cooking and transition logistics. What more could we ask for?

These Challenge weekends are wonderful: the ideal combination of friends and hills (and this time a river too). We manage to get the challenge about right I think - hard enough that you have to push yourself, but easy enough that we can all keep together as a group and still have enough energy to party in the evening. It would be nice if we could involve some of the children now they are bigger (although they have a darn good time playing at the house). We might initiate a junior version on the Sunday next time… Thanks for coming everyone.

Looking Ahead

2004-07-23T11:48:00.000+01:00

The Heb and Rat Race have been fantastic. "But what next" I hear people cry (maybe only in my head, but hey...).
I'm gonna be out of the groove for a while, but looking to get back into it for September time. I'm going to spend the rest of the time faffing, planning and basically being an Armchair Adventure Racer. And they say that forewarned is forearmed (and if you're forearmed you can hold twice as many swords...) , So I'm posting a list of events that I'm looking to do in the future, and if anyone else wants in on the jollies, mail me or post summat.

26th Sept - Carsington Water Challenge, Carsington, Derbyshire
3 hour, 3 person mixed teams. Have a girly in the form of Katy Curtis, Canadian AR'r who's coming to Leeds Uni in September.

2nd Oct - Ace Race, Southern Scotland.
2 day, 4 person mixed teams. Pyro, Katy + + ?

9/10th Oct - Polaris Challenge, Lake District
2 day Trailquest event. Enteringpairs with the Canadian again. She's gonna be really hacked with me by this point, I suspect...

Anything else around then that people can think of and need people for, give me a shout.

Smoke me a kipper...

Pyro

Hebidean Challenge - Nonie's Blog

2004-07-21T17:42:00.000+01:00

I've posted Nonie's blog for the Hebridean Challenge. In five parts, dated on the day they happened. But that means that they can get lost in the long list of old blogs. So this entry is just to point back to them. Here's day 1.

Glentress

2004-07-16T15:30:00.000+01:00

I had my first experience of "proper" mountain biking last weekend. When I say "proper" I mean with marked trails and good tracks and hills and banked bends and things. As compared to biking over hills along whatever tracks you can find. I think I prefer being out in the wild but it makes an exciting change.

Met up with Neil Baxter in Edinburgh, picked up Davey Cuthill and then headed out to Glentress to meet Tony Tickle there. All four of us are doing the Grand Canyon in October and this seemed like a good excuse to disguise some fun on bikes as training. After a bit of faffing around with pumps, inner tubes and stuff we headed up the wide forest track. Very quickly we were up into the trees and speeding up hill along a narrow track. I was already having fun - going up hill round where I live is a lot harder than this. The ground is very dry and it's fast going. We stop at the top car park (why would you drive half way up the hill?) and have a wee stretch to pretend that we're athletes.

A bit more climbing and we are rewarded by our first downhill section. Ooh, this is fun. I'm on the brakes quite a bit, but the bike is shaking and rattling and I'm going as fast as I dare. All too soon we are at the bottom of the section and we shift back into climbing mode.

The sun is shining and we're all dazzled by the dappled plunges of green around us. We can see rolling hills to the south and we have frequent stops to absorb it all. This time we climb for a lot longer and we eventually reach the top (of our route). It's been a steep climb but, surprisingly, it's been a lot of fun. And we still have the downhill to go.

We push off down the red route and I'm slowly learning how fast I can go. It's easy too go to slowly and cruise down but my efforts to keep up with the others stretch me a little. Some of the hairpins are banked which is something to learn about. You can go faster, of course, but you have to watch out: if you carry on accelerating round the corner you get higher and higher up the bank. If you come off the top then you are going to be flying into the trees.

There have been some forestry operations so we cut onto the black run to see if the surface is better. This is fun. Then it starts to get really steep. Up to now you could get down anything just by slowing down. But now I'm doing 1ml/hour and it's still scary. Neil is ahead and he locks up his front wheel and over he goes in a graceless fall over the handle bars. Ha, ha, laughs all round. With the benefit of his experience I get down and look round just in time to see Tony do the same. Ha, ha, laughs all round. Tony doesn't move. Laughter stops. "Tony, Tony! Speak to us, Tony!". But he talks and we are less worried. Davey extricates him from his bike frame which seems to have entwined itself around him. All seems fine, but Tony is grumbling ever so slightly and blood trickles down his leg. He's got these "bear trap" pedals. A clever invention with sharp spikes on the pedals so that your shoe doesn't slip off the pedal. Trouble is, they also make an effective weapon (in situtations when your bike turns against you).

Neil becomes all efficient and suggests that we get Tony back to the car before his body's own drugs wear off and we need to add some more of our own. In fact, Neil gets so efficient that he speeds off down the track on his own - only to turn back after a couple of minutes and wait for the rest of us! I wistfully look at the remaining black section that we are bypassing. I'll be back to do that another day. We get back to the car within about 10 minutes and we start to look at the leg. It's looks bit dirty and we decide to just give it a quick wash and antiseptic wipe and get him to hospital.

40 minutes later in Edinburgh and he's being cleaned and stitched up and we're all happy again. And thanks to the glorious NHS we're back in time for our planned beers and curry. We nip to Montpelier's in Bruntsfield to try and remember how nice it used to be. Then a fantastic curry at the Himilaya. Followed by better beer and even better whisky at The Ettrick Hotel. Thanks for a great start to the weekend guys!

A girlie hill ....

2004-07-15T15:43:00.000+01:00

Sunday 4th July 2004

It sounded like a plan …

Work an “easy” nightshift, grab some sleep on Gina’s floor then a ramble up and down Ben Ledi before heading back to Edinburgh to see Bonnie Raitt at the Usher Hall. In the end the shift went horribly wrong and I only made it to Gina’s for a cup of coffee before Ailsa picked us up. Don’t think I saw the end of the street and was gently woken in Callander about an hour later.

Last time I was up on Ben Ledi was with my favourite Texan (who put Lance Armstrong into 2nd place) – a lass called Wendy. This time was with a group consisting of Emma, Gina and Ailsa. The previous route was reversed saving the aptly named “stank glen” for the descent. Weather was pretty much everything – heat and sun to start with, wind and rain on the summit, dry and breezy on the descent.

There is something special about being in the mountains with girls – LUNCH !

In the same way Wendy always brought an interesting change to my garage bought stuff, this time was no different. Can’t remember who brought what but as we sheltered just off the summit cairn, a selection of oat cakes, goats cheese, camanbert and cashew nuts were passed about.

Once back at the car it was sleep time again for me … for an hour at least. Still plenty of time to catch up on that mid-week.

Cairngorm Assessment

2004-07-15T12:46:00.000+01:00

Sunday 31st August 2003 - A last dose of revision for the imminent Mountain Leader assessment was planned for the Sunday afternoon. The venue was the crags low in Coire na Ciste on Cairngorm. During training this location was midge hell! Apparently, this was on the only known occasion that an ML training course was forced of the hill by the wee menace! Things had been going well with direct, indirect belays, Thompson knots etc... during a classic abseil Jasmin's feet lost contact with the rock and she rotated out and swung into a rock corner, hitting it square with her back. Quick rescue and she was back at the top of the crag and in the South African abseil position - but the back didn't feel right ...

---------------------------------

Wednesday 30th June 2004 - In the end, her back was as far from “right” as it can be. A severely bruised spine, two nights in hospital and 8 weeks later and it was still sore and unable to bear any additional weight. Withdrawing from the 2003 assessment was inevitable even before it started.

That afternoon was relived a few times following a phone call from Jas to say she was heading back to Glenmore Lodge in July 2004 to complete what had been started 11 months before. The main purpose of the call had been to arrange a mock assessment style expedition. From her point of view, it was an opportunity for preparation from my point of view it was an opportunity to play “assessor” (as opposed to just an “ass”) and to ehhhh … bag a handful of subsidiary tops needed for the collection.

With free weekends being scarce, we opted for a wee mid-week gig. The format was simple 3 nights wild camping with loads of navigation and route finding on steep ground in between times.

Bite to eat and a pint in Café Mambo then up the ski road to the usual tramp up to Coire an t-Sneachda and the goat track. Some folks have complained about the repetitive nature of using this access up to the Cairngorm Plateau. I prefer to think of it as visiting an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. Once at the bealach the fun began – an easy start with the summit of Cairn Lochan being the first nav target (yup – one of the subsidiary tops cattled). The next few hours were spent with some more ambitious features e.g. specific index contours, indistinct cols before the first camp over at the twin lochans on Carn Etchachan.

Next morning it was time for Jas to find a suitable route and lead down from the summit of Carn Etchachan dropping down the steep boulder strewn slopes to Loch Etchachan. From there, we headed up Beinn Mheadoin for another wee top then onto another hard to find contour ending with the descent down to the Hutchison hut and lunch. The day continued with the ascent up onto the bulk that forms Derry Cairngorm and onwards to the top of the “tailors” burn below the summit of Ben Macdui. A decision had to be made – drop down into the Lairg Ghru and head for Braeriach (optimistic eh ?) or camp until it was dark and some night nav. We choose the later as it was more relevant (plus we were tired and hungry). Tent up, fed and into the sleeping bags for a snooze.
For some reason I woke … at 00:50 !!! Sleeping in for night nav is just plain embarrassing. Within ten minutes, packs were packed and the we were off towards the summit of Macdui. Sounds silly but the views were amazing ! To the left we had a full moon breaking through the drifting mist and by the time we had visited the RAF memorial, north summit, a couple of index contours – we were seeing the start of sunrise in the east. By about 03:30 it was too light to continue and the tent was up again.

Next morning we continued over towards Lurchers with the emphasis being on timing and accurate pacing.

Mid-morning and we were down on the route back to the car. For some reason people do look at you strange when you are descending at the same time of day they have only just got out onto the hill – can’t think why. The fantasy food conversation was in full tilt by the time we reached the café down at the ski centre. The lass behind the counter informed us that if we wanted hot food then we had to go to the “restaurant” at the top of the funicular – ehhhh NAW ! So back down to Aviemore it was.

For Jasmin, there is only the real assessment to go now …

Hebridean Challenge 2004

2004-07-11T21:35:00.000+01:00

"When first I came unto this land,
And the roads lay bare before me.
And the miles and miles of eagle feather wind,
Blew through the singing valley...

There's so much could be said about the Hebrides, and about the Challenge itself, but the words don't always work. Once you've been there, there are things stuck in your head that don't want to be written down, or trapped in silver nitrate - they're utterly personal.
Well, the Heb Challenge is both brutal and beautiful, and the combination does the same thing, but to greater effect. Pain, joy, beauty, humour and frustration, all in one 5 day, sleep deprived dose.

...if i had heard any name or word
There'd be none could well describe it
For my heart was the heart of beast and bird
And they spoke to me their language."

I can't possibly recount every inch of the race, but it would be good to put some of the best bits down, some of the silliest, and some of the just plain entertaining:

The team consisted of captain Nonie, Heather, Linda, Gordon and Pyro. We were team Pyro & the Vets - the amusement started with trying to find a name, but a pun on Benny and the Jets won out. Some of the training has already been recounted here by myself and others, but it was realised early on that I'd not have a chance to meet the rest of the team before being 'on the brink' already.

"is this the calm before the storm, or the storm before the calm?"

Meeting at Oban, feeling ropey from one too many pints of 80/- in the Ben Nevis, watching Linda get progressively greener on the ferry out, meeting up with old friends like the One.Tel team and new friends like H4 and Hitchhikers, camping for 3 nights on the machair, waking to the surf and going to sleep to the rain. Epic planning sessions, wrangling over who, what, when and where (fortunately, no-one ever posed a 'why'...). Intimate Bike Surgery in a car park when I realise the chainrings are worn enough to slip.

"Spread your arms, hold your breath, and always trust your cape."

Being the only team to beat the 'only 2 bikes' rule on day 1 by using scooters, paddling along, realising that despite a nice expensive, lightweight boat, I was destined to be near the back of the pack (mental note: kayak polo is not a good training method for 20-odd km paddling days...), having a lunch stop at Castlebay and already being badly in need of pie, finishing at Aird Mor, travelling back to the site of last years ceilidh and being fed IPA by the H4 team while one of their team members was in agony with cramp.

"Where the eagle glides descending,there's an ancient river bending,
through libraries and museums, galaxies and stars"

Watching Nonie get more out of the Inuk than I ever could when she came in first on the sound crossing, MTBing across the machair on South Uist past a hostel I stayed in 5 or 6 years ago, wheels spinning in deep sand. Having tea and sandwiches at transition while Gordon hacked up Beinn Mhor, then blasting off for 3 stages on the trot - MTB, road bike and run, dragging my sorry carcass up Eaval and Bunabhal behind Gordon, trying just to get to the finish before I died.

"Still the wind lifts me up, so light am I, and it blows me on and on,
Far above this place I've given the name 'home'...

Hacking round Lochmaddy bay to the top checkpoint on the kayak mystery stage, being one of only 2 teams to get all the checkpoints, flatting on the way back (didn't realise then but this was due to a cracked rim weld) and getting very frustrated changing a tyre with very bendy cheap tyre levers, then hacking back in a real mood, only to be told we had a time out (blooming typical). Racing off and grimly hanging on to Linda, Heather and Gordon as we pelotoned it to the ferry terminal, Gordon putting £1 into the vending machine on the ferry and it not letting him have his crisps (schadenfruede, I know, but...). Driving into Tarbert, setting up and then blasting off for one of the best MTB loops available, struggling up the big hill on the Rhenigadale path, knowing exactly how Rob felt last year, then hammering the descent and having enough left on the road leg to Scalpay to catch 7 minutes on the guy in front.

...I long to see the living tree that heart and hearth hath grown,
In a land that's not just made of dirt and stone."

The long wait at transition while Heather ran, Linda biked and Nonie paddled, having tea and cakes with One.Tel and H4, then cruising along the road with H4 and Friends of Genghis to start the MTB time trial. More long drags, the frustration of a slipping granny cog, meaning I couldn't attack on the climbs like I should have. More epic descents as well, both steep, technical and just plain cool. The last offroad hill, worried I'd passed the checkpoint, then finding Gordon's little 'signpost' to the sheiling. being paced up the last hill, then tagging, pulling in, and falling over still clipped to the bike.

Having a bit of rest, then setting off to paddle up the side of Great Berneray while Nonie blasted past on her road bike, with the 'big bloke' from FoG drafting off her (would have been better the other way round...), hating the swell round the headland, then surfing in to the 'meet teams and portage' section to find I was short of a team. Running across the bogs in a BA and portage boots to stop the clock, and watching Matt fall out of his boat while getting in on the lochans.
Supporting Heather for the swim and then running up the road to the hall paddles in one hand and boat in the other.

"Why do I keep f**king up?"

Puncture. Again. Same reason, waiting on the side of the road for the van to catch me to change the bike. Nonie blasting in from a road bike sectiobn to find the others asleep in the van. Laughing at H4 as Ant rode off with Rhoda's map. Going knee deep in a bog. Getting in the boat on friday morning expecting another racing slog, only to find we were having a social paddle. Finishing said paddle at 9am, and waiting 'til 1pm for a pickup, being fed by each consecutive team as they came to get their paddlers. Another slog of a road bike leg, then running across the heather, thinking 'only 3 1/2 km to go'. Hitting checkpoint 166 spot on, despite trying to do fine nav on a 1:50,000 map. Misplacing Linda temporarily. Jogging through the woods to the finish, stopping occasionally to stop Linda hyperventilating.

The last run to the finish.

Crossing the line, feeling close to tears.

Shaking hands, hugging and congratulating other teams and each other.

Cheering in the last finishers.

"...and he drew that bow across those strings, it made an evil hiss,
And a band of demons joined in, it sounded something like this..."

Dancing the Orcadian Strip the Willow, spinning Claire off her feet. Jon 'Raffling' the top kit prize. Moira's 'Paddler's Paddler' prize and Jas Hepburn's impromptu poem. Dancing, drinking, chatting, swapping e-mails.

Sleeping.

Fried breakfast.

Sleeping in the van. Stopping for another 'transition' when H4 shredded a tyre (don't know where, I just woke up and started getting ready to run...)

Bill cooking for us.

Getting up early (again!) to go paddling on the Tay.

FINALLY managing to get a smooth surf on Stanley wier (thanks Bill and the two Ians!)

More sleeping.

Thinking "hmmm. Rat Race in 1 week. Better start carbo loading..."

That's enough from me. I can't put into words the feeling of accomplishment, joy and relief, but anyone who reads this who knows the feeling will remember. I'll end with another quote.

"When first I came unto this land,
And the road lay bare before me,
And the miles and miles of eagle feather winds
Blew through the singing valley.
If I'd seen then where we are now,
Would my path have been a straight one
Into the heart of the nameless wild
To live and sleep,
Not lonely, but alone."

Hebridean Challenge - Day 5

2004-07-09T17:35:00.000+01:00

Friday: an even earlier start – kayaks had to be at start (northern end of Gt Bernera – Bostadh) for 06.30 but in order for vans then to drive round to where they needed to be we revised this to 06.00 i.e. leave hall at 05.30. Clouttie dumpling in mouth, Pyro and I headed up to Bostadh to leave me with kayak to await kayak start. Lovely clear and warm AM – again forecast winds (Force 5) and deteriorating weather simply didn’t appear (got windy later in the day – for the kayakers road bike time trial, of course – but that’s later). Met Joe, (solo) and Lindsay who had camped night there – thought that I could have done that with kids if we’d been following Bill in the race. Fabulous camp spot, lovely beach. Fabulous paddle, mass start so a true race for once. Bit of caution about the swell coming in from north west but in fact it was fine – moderate swell but no wind and no chop so still felt pretty stable and very paddleable. Pyro had had only rough seas of whole race day before when they rounded other side of Gt Bernera coming up Loch Rog an Ear and met some chop at the headland (then had to be diverted from planned route into beach to avoid mountains of stranded jellyfish heaped on beach). Charged round the corner at Siaram Bostadh – James and Callum already gone but I hung on to Anthony’s coat tails and refused to give up fourth place as we slogged and surfed down between Pabaigh Mor and Bhacsaigh to the beach at Bhaltos. One of our shorter race legs – only c. 40 mins. Came in fourth (but only just!) to accompany Gordon on swim along beach – beautiful, took a few photos while trying not to bash G on head with rudder.

Leap out of kayak as G finished to tag L off on short hill section; I handed over kayak to Pyro, (doing next race leg) and ran up beach with G and H back to bus to get changed to do road bike leg after L came off hill – only a 20 minute run so had to be speedy. L came tanking in and I set off on road bike with L, G and H in bus chasing me off Bhaltos isthmus and off to west Uig. Legs tired and got my gears wrong on first hill but after that got my head down and felt stronger again. Only 8 or 9 km to point where bus waiting (just behind Uig beach) with G ready to set off on long hill run over Suaineabhal and Teinneasabhal and down to L/R track where he was to meet H (biking in from gravel pit where track joins road). Bus, L, H and N round to gravel pit to drop H off with mt bike so she could cycle in and swap over with G – H to do Snaidibridh and Mealasabhal up above Mealasta on the coast (where we started epic paddle into Reasort and down to Huisinish last year). H set off and N and L waited just off road at end of L/R track for G to come back out with mt bike. Even had a wee sleep! Very sociable – lots of other teams waiting there for people coming off hills in various directions. Only about 4 teams (of which we were one) attempting all the hills on this section. G in and we drove round to wait for H. Fabulous views, fantastic beaches on drive round. Another pleasant wait, L ready to do her road bike bit back to Miabhaig where we were to collect Pyro coming in from kayak section. H came in off hill looking really strong – tough ascent and descent, boulder scrambling at top but she’d made good time. Linda away and we drove back round to collect Pyro. Now about 2PM and it turned out second kayak section had turned into a cruise (by general paddler consent and fact that winds were rising) so Pyro had had good fun that AM but had then been waiting at Miabhaig since 9AM!! Collected kayak and got Pyro ready to take over from Linda when she arrived – Pyro on mt bike with slicks doing next rd bike section down to southern end Loch Rog Beag – set off in bus to chase him and found home by side of road with another puncture!! Screeched to halt, gacve him N’s road bike and he set off again while G fixed puncture and discovered a split weld on the wheel frame which was probably responsible for Pyro’s multiple punctures. Luckily we had a time-out at next stop where I had to start kayakers’ road bike time trial section so no great rush to fix puncture and follow P down road to checkpoint. Then N on bike for time trial from end Loch Rog Beag to end Loch Rog and Ear – only about 9k but disappointingly my legs now feeling bike-tired and the forecast Force 5 wind now arriving (and yes, from NE so it was a head wind!). Didn’t feel as good as day before but did what I could and it passed very quickly – then more complicated hand-over to 4 bikes (G, L, H and P) to get last points required to make our 150 total for the week. I followed on in bus (in case of more punctures) as they retraced the route I’d cycled in opposite direction day before along the red road back to Acha Mor and down to Luirbost. Here, between us we managed to get lost looking for a left turn in Luirbost back towards Stornoway (turned out it was helpfully and incorrectly signposted Ranais and not Stornoway – wonderful chat with dear lady from whom we asked directions. She was most concerned that we should not take that road as it was very windy and narrow – we just wanted to know if it was the road we were pointing to on the map!!!!). Off again – very happy to see marshal (Pyro’s pal Jeff) at checkpoint and then final orienteering bit with Pyro, Nonie and Linda/ Heather each doing different checkpoints across soggy moorland Mointeach Airinis south of Stornoway. Very irritatingly I got mine despite (I thought) following right bearing – instead ended up at Heather and Linda’s checkpoint!! At least I then knew I was wrong and which direction to head back to find mine. H came with me to help and we found it quite quickly and slogged across deep heather and bog and steep rocks along side of one of larger lochans to forest edge where we were to meet Pyro and Linda. Unfortunately Linda had by now got lost after H left her so we regrouped, left H on most prominent hillock and P and I went in different directions along coast road. H very worried because L was so tired but L appeared soon after, running in from south – had got completely lost but worked out where she was and came back the right way after a bit of a detour!! Last slog in across the woodland to west of Stornoway harbour, L struggling now and hyperventilating so we took it slowly, jogged and walked into castle grounds via Cuddy Point (starting point from last year!) where Gordon was waiting for us. Ran across finish line for a very welcome greeting from assembled marshals and principal of College and then hung around for a bit to cheer in Friends of Genghis when we heard they were coming in a few minutes behind us. Several other teams turned up all washed and ready to party, having got in ahead – hugs and congratulations all round. Tired, smelly, sweaty, relieved, satisfied, sad, already starting to think of the next time – ready for a wash and food!!!!! Headed to the hostel for rapid showers and then to British Legion (fortuitously about 200m from hostel!!) for food, phone home, bottle of wine, chocolate, prize giving (lovely and unserious – what was Jon’s comment – “the winners always come first and get the prizes” so he did opposite and awarded prizes for “best newcomers” (Friends of Genghis) etc. etc.. We won a bottle of wine for being the team with a more mature palate……Summed it all up really.

Hebridean Challenge - Day 4

2004-07-08T17:35:00.000+01:00

Thursday: yes – an early start! Got Linda ready on her bike – her turn to do the swoopy road back to Tarbert, then tag Heather for hill run over peaks north of Tarbert, who was then to tag Linda again for (another!) road bike up to Abhainn Suidhe castle.

Meanwhile, P and G had a lazy morning (!) getting ready for their mt bike through the hills of North Harris. We’d decided on a tactical dumping of the big hill running time trial in order to save peoples’ legs so we could still get all required points (150) by end of Day 5 and not be hours behind all the other teams today. The dumped time trial was the peaks north of Abhainn Suidhe and south of Loch Resort (Ceartabhal, Tiroga Mor etc.) which I think Iona ended up doing on her own in Team 70% last year.

Meanwhile, I was dropped back at my boat at top of West Loch Tarbet for a timed race (set off as our road bikes came into the checkpoint) to Abhainn Suidhe. The idea was that either road bike or kayak tagged the time trial hill runner at Abhainn Suidhe (only about 4 teams put up time trial hill runner but all kayaks and road bikes still did their race legs). Some of the slower kayakers had fast road bikers in their teams and vice versa so I was left chatting on start line with James, Callum, Anthony until Linda stormed in and set me off – at least having slower kayakers ahead meant we had someone to chase but after catching two people it was then a long hard slog up the Loch – beautiful and very calm again but monotonous. It’s quite nice to be able to see where you’re going from the start but it doesn’t half make it seem slow as the land around changes only every so slightly as you slog your guts out and the bum starts screaming in pain (didn’t seem to get my seat pad right this year or maybe my bum is less padded than in the past!). Also – it was much the same view we had enjoyed day before on cruise back from Taransay!! Finally the inlet to Abhainn Suidhe appeared, Anthony cruised past me and I slogged it out to the line trying to catch the slowest of the solo paddlers. Head down so hard I almost missed seeing the castle! Very welcome rest, chat to Linda – her bum sore too from all the road biking. She had brilliant idea of asking Woody and the other safety boat crew if they would give a few of the bikers a lift back to Tarbert (they were now meant to cruise back on road bikes, having finished race leg). Of course they said yes and loaded up bikes and bikers for a wild ride back to checkpoint M32 (inlet north of Tarbet where Abhainn Suidhe road joins main road up centre of Harris). We kayakers of course still had to slog along on another “cruise” – effectively same one as yesterday, back to same checkpoint where buses were waiting and mt bikers setting off on the mt bike time trial. Again I struggled – convinced I was going to fall asleep and fall in!

Finally made it to the bus, saw Pyro cycling up side of Loch to start of mt bike time trial and Gordon went off a bit later. Then drive with H and L up to next checkpoint – end of mt bike time trial to await our two triallers. Nice place to stop at top of Loch Seaforth and a good long break to get fed and changed for my new activity (splitting road bike time trial with Heather) – Pyro to do kayak leg later in day. Gordon won the battle of the time triallers and came in looking suitable muddy and knackered. Pyro soon after also looking knackered – for a while I thought I might have to jump back into kayak later to keep Pyro alive but he rallied (as youngsters do!!). Heather off on road bike after a slight hiatus with screw falling out of cleat on her shoe – rapid change of footwear (Nonie to Heather and Pyro to Nonie – similar sized feet in a Heb team is a big advantage!!). Chased H up the road in the bus and she seemed to be going well. Stopped in our allotted layby and I got ready on side of road to take over on same bike as she leapt off. Worked well and I got my head down and chased the Friends of Ghengis biker ahead. A few hills heading north then turned west and started to blast along the red road towards Berneray and Uig. Kept catching FoG biker on the hills then he would get away from me on the downhills – most odd and frustrating. Finally settled in behind him (not allowed to draft on time trial so I just sat close enough to get some shelter from the (inevitable and ubiquitous) head wind). Finally got past him after Berneray turn-off and left him behind after he’d drafted me for a bit. So good to change activities and feel I could really push at something – and completely different sitting position so even my bum was fine! Feeling really strong and came screaming in to check point M37 to carry on up the side road to Hotel Scaliscro at end of which Gordon was meant to be waiting to be tagged – to realise Gordon and Heather were leaping around beside the van, not ready!! They had all been asleep or chatting. Meandered along yellow road until Gordon caught me up on his bike, then speeded down to end, saw G set off on his hill run and pushed his bike back out along out to van, while riding mine (one controlled crash when I realised I couldn’t reach brake one-handed and decided that ending up in a heap on the sphagnum with bikes on top of me was safest option).

Drive round to await Gordon coming off his hill run – decided to split this section with L doing a road bike bit in middle to relieve G’s tired legs. Waited and waited. Checked and checked that we were in right place. An hour went by – very pleasant, sunny, beautiful spot, but we’d thought Gordon would be much less than an hour. An hour and half – Heather saw movement at top of hill (Gordon?) but then nothing more for ten minutes. Then Robin from One.Tel came marching across the bog below us from completely the wrong direction (?) shouting at someone on her mobile phone to fetch the bus in to meet her (we thought mobiles weren’t allowed!). Then more movement of sheep and Gordon appeared – very knackered, had got lost, set off too fast after I woke him up from his slumbers and never quite got himself orientated! Jumped in bus while Linda linked G’s running legs with (another!) road bike up to final check point just south of Gt Bernera. Drove bus on to Gt Bernera realising that we were now going to be late for Pyro and his portage out of sea into fresh water loch at old Norse Mill just east of Breacleit. Realised how slow our brains were becoming with exhaustion and lack of sleep – 3 of us had been sitting waiting for Gordon for an hour and half while we could easily have driven up to Gt Bernera (or biked) and dropped someone off to help with portage. Drove up leaving Linda and Gordon at last check point, H dropped me off to run across moor and just miss Pyro and his portage by about 5 minutes. He had (gallantly) yomped across moor in his full canoe gear and wet suit booties to stop the clock as we weren’t there to help with portage. I raced after him, missed again (he was now on his way back to kayak) and finally caught up with him to help with mini-portages in middle of paddle down Loch nan Geadraisean. One.Tel doing similar manoeuvres – this was where Matt their paddler managed to “swim” while trying to get back in boat after a shallow bit (he too had had to yomp along moor in canoe kit!). Final portage across into Loch Breacleit to find H waiting for swim and L also arrived on bike to help. Sprint around the Loch while H swam and Pyro supported – to help at northern end with final portage and run up to community hall and finish. G in from last leg of run. Good finish and good fun despite some rather rocky organisation in final hour or two!

Final night of planning with cotton wool for brains and slightly frayed nerves and tempers. Very good food again – even left out Clouttie dumpling for breakfast. Crash.

Go to Day 5.

Hebridean Challenge - Day 3

2004-07-07T17:34:00.000+01:00

Wednesday: yet another early start – down to Lochmaddy for mystery stage. First a swim round headland (Heather supported by Nonie) then immediately into free stage – collecting as many checkpoints (in order) as we wanted to go for around Lochmaddy. Three had to be visited simultaneously by kayak and land based (runner or biker), other four on islands for kayak alone to visit. Whole thing to be completed in less than 90 minutes or penalties incurred. Set off hard but very difficult to read poor copy of 1:25000 map on deck with wet map case and early sun shafting down. Followed James as closely as I could until (quite soon!) he vanished behind islands. After that pretty much on my own – Callum overtook too but his land runners missed checkpoints and no other teams tried for them all so James’ and my teams ended up being only two to complete that stage without penalties. Great to come storming in and see Linda and then Pyro exactly where they should be! Fun stage once I got my head round the new scale of things – tanking around little islands looking for bright green spots of marshals. We completed whole lot in about 75 minutes then I came in to tag 4 bikes (points, points points!) to head off to ferry while I chased them in bus. Lovely drive around and impressive seeing our “peloton” of bikers working the hills on the way to Berneray causeway. Got there just ahead of them to unload kayak and wait for Sound crossing while rest of team drove across causeway to new ferry terminal to catch ferry. Again we set off soon after ferry left – I was in second wave this time, overtook Moira and others quite soon but then had no-one to follow and managed to head rather further out towards St Kilda than intended! Heading for gap between Ensay and Killegray (I thought) but realised when I saw James and Callum race past me about 500m to east that I hadn’t got quite right route! Amazing conditions again – swell but calm across Sound. Weird currents and rivers of flow in middle of sea through gap between two islands and across to Leverburgh. Good fun, nothing scary. Hard work and seemed a long slog into Leverburgh to tag bikers to head off along yellow coast road up east side of South Harris.

Jumped in bus with Linda and Pyro to be ferried up to Horgabost beach on north coast of South Harris directly opposite Taransay. L and P off with bus to get themselves in position for tags from H and G after they had done wiggly road bike and run route up east coast. Pyro mt biking (one of the big ones – round via Reinigeadal to Scalpay) and Linda doing a couple of big peaks running north to Tarbert (lower peak on Uabhal Mor and Ceann Reamhar). Beautiful day (again!) – lay in sun eating, sorting out kit (paddle in running gear this time to do sprint up Beinn Ra on arrival on Taransay), drying clothes, chatting to other kayakers until safety boats appeared. Then a mass start sprint to Taransay – just over 3km, one of shortest race legs, good to be able to see where we were heading all way across and still be able to see James and Callum all the way too! Arrived on beach in fourth place, set off up hill, lovely running to start then hard slog on heather and peat and rocks, lovely run back down for clock to stop on beach. Overtaken by Andy and Tim on run and overtook one person so ended up fifth – pretty chuffed! For once remembered camera and even took a quick “time-out” at the trig point to take panoramic shots of views of top of Taransay – St Kilda etc. out to sea; fabulous views of North Harris hills and beaches to east. Hot sun, blue skies – who needs forecasts! Passed by James (being rapidly overtaken by Callum!!), Andy and Tim on their way back down to beach (I was still on the way up!) – headed back down to join them and went into sea for a glorious swim. Then an interminable “cruise” back to Tarbert. Really tough – took about 2 hours and I was struggling to stay awake! Beautiful, lovely views of cliffs and beaches and seabirds but very hard neither racing nor dawdling. Bum screaming, just wanted to stop! Big relief to get to end of Loch A Siar (West Loch Tarbert??) and finally find grassy patch near school to leave boats. Couple of team buses then delivered us all back to Scalpay for famous fish pie and other goodies.

Meanwhile, having completed road bike/ run (H and G), hill runs (L), H and G had done road bike along swoopy hilly coast road to Scalpay and together with L then done bike/ run round Scalpay itself (including their encounter with Fred Macaulay’s Dad’s cousin and his gift of shortbread). All met up at Hall – for usual: food, more food, planning, briefing, massages and bed!

Go to Day 4.

Hebridean Challenge - Day 2

2004-07-06T17:32:00.000+01:00

Tuesday: another fairly wet and wild night and this time we had to be up and packing up wet tents at 5.30AM. Drive round to Ard Mhor for kayakers to get ready (Nonie today) and rest of teams in ferry queue by 06.45. Ferry set off first, kayakers soon after. We were set off in reverse order of times from day before – they weren’t sure where to put me as I hadn’t paddled day before so I was set off with Moira from All Over the Place. We were allowed to paddle straight across the Sound and I could almost see the ferry terminal on far side (Eriskay) from the off. Fabulous paddle – almost flat calm, glassy seas, quite a swell in the middle but still possible to paddle almost as if on flat water and not worry too much about staying stable. Shoals of auks – guillemots, black guillemots, lots of razorbills, flighting around and on the water. Chased the ferry across, watched it go out of sight round sea wall and then 20 minutes later, the return ferry coming out towards me. Not sure what to do, headed left as I thought the ferry might have to take same coast-hugging route it had on way across. Ferry headed right towards me so I paddled faster, keeping left and eventually ferry gave up and we passed left to left (probably I was meant to go right and pass right to right?). Feeling strong and came in ahead of the field – good feeling with all the teams waiting to be tagged by their incoming kayak. Set Gordon off in the lead on bike across causeway from Eriskay to South Uist. I ended up third equal time on that leg – pretty chuffed, beaten only by James Block and Callum Urquhart – nice boat!!

Meanwhile, G raced on road bike across causeway, up to a checkpoint on south side Loch Baghasdail and then to tag mt bikers (L and P) to set off on a S Uist machair ride and H on a run over Triurebheinn, Stulaval and Trinival to the east of the machair. We got kayak loaded and jumped in bus to take L, P and H to their respective start points. I collected G after he tagged H (slight hiatus when my brain stopped and we missed turn off while G was tanking up behind us on bike!). Drove north up main red road (spinal route) to another check point to await incoming bikers (L and P). Glorious weather again – stripped off kayak gear, hung clothes all over bus and ground to dry. Eating, rehydrating etc. G resting before big Beinn Mhor run. L and P (and lots of other teams) came tanking in on mt bikes. I then set off on road bike – back down red road and on to side road to meet H coming off her run. Scooter on my back in a rucksack to help H out. Lovely ride down shores of Loch Eynort and then sat in the sun watching various runners come in off the hill and chatting to Gordon from Heb Hash House Harriers also waiting for his team runner. H arrived and I tagged her and set off racing back on road bike to tag G at bus to set off up Beinn Mhor. We decided to ditch the next stage (swim across causeway at Loch Bee) so as not to miss kayak leg later in day. (In fact, looking back, we could probably have managed both if we’d had swim set up, with H and me in place in advance of G coming down off Beinn Mhor – but it’s hard to judge these things when none of us is a good enough hill runner to judge our finish times at all accurately). G was pretty quick in fact – he came in, tagged P again for another mt bike machair section, then rest of us with bus moved up to end of swim causeway. P came in, then went out straight away again with L and H for long road bike section (P on mt bike!!). This road section took them up on to N Uist, followed by a run across the bog to bag Eaval and Burrival (G, H and P). This meant mad Pyro doing 3 hard sections in a row – mt bike, road bike, run – nutter but then he does have 20 years on the rest of his team! L then met them with bus at end of run to do road bike along Loch Euphort and final tag to G to go up last checkpoint and bike in to Carinish Hall for end of day.

Meanwhile, G took bus, kayak and me up to Grimsay for start of next kayak section. Managed to get that bit wrong – meant to drive anti-clockwise round Grimsay and I forgot and thought we were to go clockwise – result was I saw Catriona and Mike’s croft though, which was nice! To Kallin to pier to launch kayaks. Long, lovely cruise paddle around Ronay, out to sea and up main east coast of North Uist. Some swell but again almost windless, calm, sunny and beautiful. Sea like molten chocolate. Rainbow out to sea. Sociable, chatting, RHIBs chugging alongside. Up off Floddaybeg and we regrouped to be set off racing again in reverse order of day before times, Moira and me at the front. Tough paddle up the coast, quite hard to read coastline, so I was very glad when James and Callum overtook me and could let them work out how to spot the very narrow entrance to Loch Euphort into which we had to turn (saw James ahead disappear a couple of times up blind “inlets” – and then re-appear!). Beautiful moment when porpoises suddenly appeared about half a km ahead and we were able to paddle up right through the middle with them porpoising and playing around us (12 or 15 including at least one tiny one). Saw some runners coming down off Eaval to our west, lovely evening sun. Slog up Euphort – paddles slapping and slurping off unpleasant concentrations of large jellyfish all around. Anthony and Matt finally reeled me in on the long haul (oh so long) up the Loch and I ended up fifth on that leg – very good to finish, in a light refreshing rain shower, and see team there waiting to help with kayak onto roof and back to hall to find Gordon and food and massages awaiting.

Go to Day 3.

Hebridean Challenge - Day 1

2004-07-05T17:31:00.000+01:00

Monday: relaxed and fun start to the race. We’d agreed that Pyro would do Day 1 paddling so that left me having to run around a lot! First stage was to drive along to southern end Vatersay Bay, then a Le Mans style start to the whole event with team carrying kayak and running across to Bagh á Deas to launch Pyro and the boat off on a paddle back round the headland to Vatersay beach to escort swimmer (Gordon) in a swim parallel to and south along the beach to tag runners (Heather, Linda, me) to set off on a tour of the (low) peaks of Vatersay (Am Meall, unnamed and Beinn Ruilibreac). Good fun – I felt slow and we were passed by a few teams but I kept reminding myself that times weren’t too critical – putting three runners out on this section meant a good start to the points-gathering which is an essential part of completing a Heb. Best memory of that leg – running up a potato field behind Friends of Ghengis runner and then freeing his foot when he got stuck trying to clear a barbed wire fence. Slog along dunes almost back to campsite to hand over to Gordon and Heather for next running leg and start to scrutinise the rules and map for that afternoon’s mystery stage (only handed out after starting portage). H and G off to bag Theiseabhal Beag and Theiseabhal Mor on Vatersay while N and L took van round to causeway on to Barra. Meanwhile, Pyro in kayak had a race paddle round to Castlebay (where they stopped for LUNCH!!) then later a long (16k?) paddle right round east of Barra up to Ard Mhor (new ferry terminal).

H and G came spanking across causeway to tag L and me and we set off up a steep scramble to find checkpoint on shoulder of Beinn Tangabhal on Barra, followed by a yomp across the moor to another checkpoint in a Dun (burial mound) on the northern coast of that part of Barra. Good fun – we felt slow but steady – found both checkpoints and made good time back along the coast to the bus and G and H waiting for us at Tangasdal (place we camped at end of event last year). Nervous point at end when we thought we’d ended up wrong side of a large lagoon but we found a way across without getting immersed and it was great to run up to the familiar grassy flower field of 13 months earlier. Also very satisfying to meet other teams who had gone faster but failed to find our 2 checkpoints.

Then began the free stage – get as many marked checkpoints as you can in any order with 4 people and two bikes in any chosen combination (including meeting and swapping partners/ bikes if desired). We opted for simplicity – H and G as faster runners set off on bikes to do all furthest distant checkpoints while L and I did the 3 closest but highest ones. This involved L and me scootering through Castlebay to save our running legs, out the other side, dump scooters in an overgrown ditch and then leg it up Sheabhal (383m) and Grianan (295m), picking up another checkpoint on way back down to Borgh and Tangasdal. It wasn’t exactly running but we scrambled up Sheabhal, on hands and knees at times (I can see how Iain managed to get out of control on way down last year), past the white statue of Madonna and child to the check point on top. Brief stop to put on waterproofs – we could see heavy dark clouds and rain piling in off the sea to the west and I hoped it wasn’t getting squally and rough for Pyro out to the east of Barra. Fabulous views – couldn’t believe I hadn’t taken a camera with us. Off the back of Sheabhal and Grianan, back down to road and slogged along towards Tangasdal picking up another check point on the way. Then out to a fourth by the Burial Ground north of Tangasdal – leaving a red hat on a fence post at the start of the track as we came out to let H and G know we were ahead of them and had done that last checkpoint. It was only on the way down from that run that I realised we should have ditched one or two of the furthest check points – with only a 25 minute penalty we would almost certainly have ended up with a quicker time by taking the penalty and missing some of the furthest away ones. L and I jogged in to the finish of the day (H and G time would count as they were behind us) and Pyro was there waiting having got a lift back with a faster team. H and G arrived soon after – very relieved to have found the red hat in place which saved them going for the last check point. They had had more gruelling afternoon – running across various unsuitable bits of terrain in bike shoes with cleats on. Quick diversion to Castlebay for very welcome showers in the school, collect scooters from ditch and back to Vatersay for a sumptuous meal (laid tables, flowers and candles), briefing, planning and bed.

Go to Day 2.

Hebridean Challenge Prologue

2004-07-04T17:22:00.000+01:00

Hmm…. Where to start. Another glass of wine. My second Heb and very different from the first. Not quite as nerve-wracking and awe-inspiring but fabulous nonetheless.

Saturday: arrived on Barra after a pretty unpleasant and heaving ferry crossing (about a 6-er on the Rob-throw-up gauge). Linda suffered despite her pills; I headed for the loo just to be safe and fell asleep in the shower when I found the loo occupied. Meanwhile, Bill was away down the road to Norfolk via York with Heather, George and Biffo to visit families and have parties. Week before was strange – packing for Bill and the kids, sorting out Heb gear, wrestling with software and maps, trying not to train too much.

Also strange arriving in Castlebay – scene of some of the most intense emotions of our race the year before – Iain injured storming down off Sheaval, last leg out to Kisimul Castle and feelings of euphoria at completing the event – and now here we were arriving at another beginning. Drove across to Vatersay to camp on the dunes behind Vatersay beach. Fabulous location, great northern divers, auks, otters and seals in the bay. Calm blue water, endless beach and soft sand to pitch tents in.

Sunday: spent the day missing Bill and the kids and pottering around with gear. Pyro had a go in the lovely new red Inuk (and fortunately liked it); planning sessions with maps and coloured pens and flip charts and lots of scribbling. Kit checks, bike fixing, registration etc. Meeting familiar faces from last year and getting to know new ones. Early-ish bed and torrential rain and winds all night – not a good sleep despite relatively late start and long lie Mon AM.

Vale of Leven 10k / river bound ...

2004-06-24T11:51:00.000+01:00

The run …
Vale of Leven 10k is the last in the Polaroid road race series. Despite entering the series for the last three years, this was the first time I wasn’t double booked and could actually attend (actually I was double booked but that is another tale).

The start was down by the railway station before a loop led up into Balloch country park and a short hill which broke the field up a little. An easy descent back into town before heading out towards Jamestown, Bonhill, over the river Leven and a return to Balloch via Alexandria.

At the 5km point things were looking good for a new PB with 20 minutes and 29 seconds on the watch (previously I managed 40:37 at the faster Dumbarton course). Once again, no amount of effort seemed to pull back the 29 seconds to get under the magic 40 minute mark which would have been perfect – was the previous best at Dumbarton beaten … not sure. I stopped my watch at exactly 40:37 ! Will see the official results soon I suppose.

Quick yap to a lass I was at school with, then off north to the river Teith …

Maybe ma boat is too wee ?
I sent Rossco a txt to let him know I was just past Drymen (his burd was on cook duty). About 40 mins later I got a concerned call asking where I was … apparently the journey should of taken half the time and I had taken the tourist route ?!?!?

Conversation over lunch (which was cracking – cheers Lynn) centered around the New Zealand All Blacks and personal in-security. Fully fed, we fully loaded loaded the car and headed up to Eas Gobhain which flows into the Teith. An easy start and an easy float for a while. Passing the meadows we debated if the river was up or down on the last time. Before long, we were using hands to lift the bottom of the boat off the river bed. Shortly after we were out and walking over a section that was almost completely dry.

After the luxury and space of the sea kayak, the Riot 007 seemed ehhhh … tight. After the run the legs were sore but after an hour in the 007 I couldn’t even feel them. Ross suggested we pulled over and stretched the legs a little. My problem was standing up ! As I wiggled about trying to get onto the bank the blood returned which in retrospect may not of been a good thing. Back in the boat, cramp threatened for the remainder of the journey. Major memory of the trip was watching Rossco fall into the river whilst exiting the kayak at the get out. It was great to be back on moving water again !!!

70 Wild Miles - A German perspective ...

2004-06-22T17:12:00.000+01:00

Policy – if in doubt … do it.

Over the last seven days I have wondered if this should be posted. For me, it is open head and heart material. The memories and feelings associated with the days before and after 70 wild miles are pretty raw. Maybe what is below should remain in my head but I have a nagging fear of forgetting which kinda makes me go with how I feel at times …..

A difficult decision …
My Mum’s fight with lung cancer had been going on for 12 years. Over the past few months her condition had been getting worse. Gut instinct was to stay at home in Glasgow. Following a conversation with her and my Dad, gut instinct was overruled and I headed north towards Glen Coe.

Pre-race …
When it comes to accommodation in the Coe, the location of choice is to camp at the back of the Kingy. This is more for historical reasons (the Big Yin and I had a misspent youth based here) than anything more practical. Having said that, with and early start from the White Corries next morning, it made perfect sense. Kayak off loaded, tent up and it was time for food and a beer. Maybe a sign of age but I choose the lounge bar with the higher degree of comfort as opposed to the more usual climbers bar.

The alarm went off just after 6:30am and the stove sparked into life for morning coffee. Carbo loading continued with a bag of mini jaffa cakes complete with the “smashin wee orangy bit”.

Up at the White Corries bikes were being assembled, brakes tested, tyres checked …. i.e. much faffing about.

The paranoia about "was all the right gear in the right transition bag" and "was the right tranisition bag in the right van" soon disappeared – there was a serious 47 mile time trial to be done … too late for worrying !

The Bike …
47 miles is a long way. Across the Rannoch Moor, on a road bike and 47 miles is closer to madness.

In 1990 I remember crossing the moor on a suzi 600 bandit and feeling incredibly small and this felt worse! Still - heid doon / @rse up and arms onto the tri-bars. After the initial nerves settled down it was great. The 64kmph descent down towards Bridge of Orchy was “interesting” – easy time improvement to be had but at the risk of a bent bike and body in the event of a crash. It seemed like no time at all before the race marshals were warning of the right turn at Tyndrum. The road sign announced that there was 24 miles to Taynuilt and the finish – a check of the cycle computer showed that the sub 2 hour target was well possible. By the time the undulations in the road hit the legs, that target seemed …less possible. With Taynuilt in sight the same computer indicated that the target had been missed and a damage limitation exercise begun with everything possible getting thrown into the last mile or so up to the pier.

A split of 2:05:46 – just over target but the best that could have been achieved on the day.

The Kayak …
Thankfully Iain Burns joined the army and donated a sea kayak for beer and curry. I say thankfully because I really wouldn’t be up for a 10 mile paddle in the wee Riot 007 play boat thing I own.

The mass start was fantastic with boats of every shape, size and type. Watching the brave (and skilled) folks in the tippy marathon boats trying to stay upright helped to pass the time till all hell broke loose and we were off. Very quickly the field broke into those who knew what they were doing … and those who wondered what they were doing. I have heard of magnetic boulders in rivers but the north shore of Loch Etive ??? At one point I hadn’t put a right stroke in for about 10 minutes. All the effort was being put into the staying in a straight line – which meant left, left, left left, left … etc.

My shoulders and back were agony by the time the finish was in view. From a previous trip here I knew there was still a long way to go.

A split of 2:01:26 – again just over the target of under 2 hours (which could have been achieved if I had tried harder in the early part of the paddle ….. AAAARRRGGGHH)

The Run …
Having had a practice run over this section, the confidence of knowing where the three really nasty hills were, was tempered with heavy post bike / post paddle legs. My overall aim was to get under 6 hours for the total 70 wild miles. Fearful of attracting cramp and having to walk, a steady pace was adopted. With each mile marker that went by, the legs loosened off. The superb scenery was added to the bucketful of memories that continue to live in various parts of Glen Etive.

The only downside of the run, was having to jump clear of a minibus and into a ditch – the annoying thing was it was being driven by a race marshall who should know better !

Mile 11 … no point in finishing with anything left over so the pace was increased to everything that could possibly be sustained for the remainder of the distance.

A split of 1:36:10 – better than I could of ever have hoped for.

Post Race …
A quick set of goodbyes /congratulations, car loaded and the journey south started. Usually the race medals go to Mirren. This time I gave mine to my Mum.

About 10am on the Sunday morning, I got the phone call to tell me to get over to the house quickly – my Mum was worse. Early afternoon, an emergency doctor prepared to give a dose of diamorphine to make my Mum comfortable. The effect of this was explained and my dad, sister and I said everything that needed to be said. Overnight, my dad and I took turns overnight in checking on her. Around 6am on the Monday morning we were looking at her still fighting for breath .... and wondering how she was still managing to achieve it ! I nipped out about 8:30am to take Mirren to school and just before 9am - my Mum died with my dad by her side.

Over the next few days some thoughts about 70 wild miles rattled around the head.

Was it the right decision to race ? For sure – life is about getting out there and trying. If you have your health and fitness it should be used whenever you have the chance … you never know when it might not be there.

Are results important ? Again, I think they are. Without targets to work toward how do you measure yourself ?

What is more important than results ? – your family and pals. Without these people to share it all with, the experience could be empty. My dad summed it up “the best bit about going out on the bike, or into the mountains … is coming home” Coming home has changed forever now.

I also thought about how I had come to take part in 70 wild miles. A quick trace revealed it came from taking up paddling. I had thought about it in previous years but dismissed it due to the kayak section. How did I take up paddling … by meeting Nonie at last years Hebridean Challenge which was due to Rob … which was due to taking part in SAS Jungle … etc …

Like I said … the most important thing about a race is having good folks around you.

On a lighter note …

During the cycle I saw a couple of folks with "in memory of Mum and Angela" signs on their backs. This broke me and in both cases I passed them in tears. Would of liked the opportunity to let them know "why" but also kinda like the idea of them thinking ...... "WOW - how hard is that guy trying that he is crying" !!!!!!!!!!!

Pen-Y-Ghent race

2004-06-14T16:11:00.000+01:00

Let's begin at the beginning.

It's a nice sunny afternoon. I'm stood in a layby with my manager and his girlfriend, going through a bizarre series of stretches. Everyone else who posts to this blog is off doing crazy things in Glencoe. So what am I up to? Waiting...

We wait a bit more. Then Chris turns up in his Volvo. Then Matt, and all of a sudden there are 8 of us. We all do some more bizarre stretches and try and psyche each other out.

We walk over to the 'start line'. Someone says 'go'. We all run off.

This is the fifth running of the annual YHA (+ hangers on) Pen-y-Ghent race/fun run. I say fun run, as you're not supposed to race on a public path without police permission. It started as a 'lets go for a run sometime' comment from the manager of Stainforth YHA to some of his staff, then suffered under the effects of excess testosterone and became a race.5 year on and the hormones haven't worn off yet...

Pen-y-Ghent is a big hill. 694 metres, according to my map. There's a very steep path up one end. Guess which way we're going? Got it in one...

I've been spending a lot of time on my bike recently, hence I'm not such a great runner. Aiden, my manager, has been training for this. Chris, the manager at Stainforth, runs this about once a month. The others I've never met, so I don't know. As we set off, I go hard, keeping with Aiden and Simon. I think I can keep this pace up but I'm wrong. The gradient and surface changes make it hard to keep a rhythm going, and the fast start was the wrong idea: I've never run this race and it's been a long time since I did anything like it. So, I flag early on - after about a mile, I'm 30 yards back on Simon and Chris is about 30 yards behind me, but looking a lot fresher as we reach the first stiles. He passes me soon after.

The constant climb to the 'base' of the hill is a long drag, slight drops at times, but never enough to really relax and catch your breath. So, I chug along, keeping my own pace now, not aiming for the others: there is a chance I can reel some time back on the descent, as I know Aiden can't descend very quickly. But Chris and Simon can...

Ellie is 100 yards behind me, Matt 50 behind her, and I can't see Phil and Robin. I get to the steepest part of the climb (yes, those are crags on the map - yes, it is a 'climb', pretty much...) and pause briefly. The rough steps slow everyone except Chris down, and he goes up them like they're not there. By the top he's caught Aiden and is gunning for Simon.

I'm just aiming to get round, and hopefully stay ahead of Ellie, who seems to be gaining on me (must be her personal stereo). But I scramble over the last rocky step, look up, and see the trig point 100 metres away. I set off again, and there's no way anyone will catch me on the descent.

Pen-y-Ghent race route - 8.9km (5.56 miles), 464m climb.

As I top out, some other members of the YHA staff who walked up earlier are having a barbecue at the top. 'Well done!' says Alex. "If I'd know it was that steep, I'd have brought f'ing crampons" I reply. But it's mostly down from here. Over the stile and it's time to move. I look along the path briefly, and see Aiden a long way ahead of me. I'm not going to catch him, so I concentrate on going at a fast but safe pace. The descent is rocky and loose and at one point I see Aiden fall, but he gets up quickly, dusts himself down and he's off again.

The pain arrives at the gate into the lane - the last 1.5 miles is along a walled lane, not climbing, but not downhill enough for 'gravity assist'. so I drag along, trying not to hurt myself. At one point I glance back and see Phil about 500 yards back; he's made a lot of time up on the descent, passing Ellie and Matt. Robin's still nowhere to be seen.

I remember the advice I was given at the start 'turn left through the farm yard', and vault the gate, then trundle on to the bridge to finish. As I get there, the others congratulate me, and Chris tells me I've done 63 minutes, which quite cheers me up. I've come 4th, although I'm 7 minutes down on Aiden in 3rd. In a way I'm happy, as it tells me my running is better than I thought it was, but in a way I'm unhappy as I didn't run how I should have and lost time as a consequence. Oh well, I'll know for next time.

As the others finish we clap them in. Everyone who's raced has set a PB, which is quite nice. The hostel's closed this evening, so we can relax a bit. I neck some water, grab a CamelBak shower in the layby and then head to the pub for a nice pint of Landlord and a curry...

70 Wild Miles

2004-06-14T13:06:00.000+01:00

70 Wild Miles

12th June the day when of us has been waiting for dawned with only a hint of rain in the sky.

I had a plan in my head for this race but after a few months of interrupted training it was time to put it into action (the details of the interruptions are not for listing on a family site like this one but believe me many a tube of ointment was packed in all my transition bags).

Bike

I started the bike at just after 8.00 and it was nice to get the stress of preparing out of the way and just start cruising down the road. I spotted Dave (Outside Edge) just starting down the road a couple of minutes in front of me to give me something to aim for. The first half of the bike was fantastic with big sweeping descents and even the climbs seemed like fun.

Then came that turn. The course direction stated turn right at Tyndrum. The other way of putting it would be 'at Tyndrum point your bike into the biggest wind you can find and slow down' Only 24 miles of head wind to get to the end of the bike. I tried to stay focussed and down on the tri bars but still no sign of Dave.

All went smoothly for the next 20 miles or so and then my front wheel hit a massive pothole - I looked down expecting to see a flat tyre but it was still running - the wheel now with a very jaunty wiggle to it but was still going round. Then a glimpse at the tyre showed it was very squint - I was running tubs instead of normal tyres. Very quick and light but if they are on squint they tend to fall off the wheel. The next 4 miles were spent with a slightly more cautious attitude going down hill and a bit of an aversion to standing on the pedals !!!

Then two miles to go there was Dave !! 40 miles to catch him but I did it. I passed him on the last hill before the finish - he then passed me on the last down hill so he managed to finish first after all.

All in all happy with the bike and felt a bit fresher than I thought I was going to after being unable to push hard for the last few miles.

Kayak

A big mass start for all the boats and I quickly settled into my lack of rhythm. It took me a long time to find any sort of pace or any sort of anything. Eventually settled down a bit to find myself way over to the left of most people. I could see what I thought was Lesley about the same pace but actually with other people so I knew my pace was OK. With a bit of a cross wind I was struggling to relax and for me that just makes me go slower.

After what felt like 4 hours I had a quick look at my watch I found out I had bravely made it through the first 30 minutes of the paddle. Relaxation was not helped by the boat nearest me managing half a roll (the down bit). A long time later I rounded the headland and could make out the finish. I was not a happy bunny as I dragged myself in after a couple of hours to finish but two legs done and one to go.

Run

12 / 13 miles of running fun. Now I had been warned that this course was mostly uphill but this is incredible. I am certain that a chain of yaks passed me near the end and I regretted the lack of supplementary oxygen at times. I ran the first four or so miles with Lesley (more for my benefit than hers as I have a real habit of running too fast at the start).

Then on a nice big hill I decided it was time to run fast or I would never have time to get really knackered and mess up the end of the run and be forced to walk.

Thankfully I managed to get this right so by mile 10 I was reduced to walking breaks in between running and this was gradually replaced by running breaks in between walking. The only highlight of this section was when I managed to pass people by walking quicker (sorry Kenny you might be able to do a 1hr 46 min bike but when it comes to shuffling I am just too quick).

So after a longer run than I had hoped 70 wild miles was over. There are many other tales to tell from my day and others but I guess they will have to wait to be poured out over a few pints.

Great race, great day, great company, great weather, rotten last 4 miles.

Will I be back – I’d of thought so.

70 Wild Miles

2004-06-14T12:07:00.000+01:00

Just back from Glen Coe and another frantic 70 Wild Miles race. Frantic mostly because of the amount of organisation involved. A brief description of the race: road bike from White Corries (Glen Coe ski centre) south to Tyndrum and then west to Taynuilt (about 43 miles); kayak north up to the end of Loch Etive (10 miles); run up the road along Glen Etive (about 12.5 miles). You'll maybe notice that that doesn't add up to 70 miles but "65.5 Wild Miles" just doesn't sound as good.

There's lots of preparation involved: bike in working order, kayak that doesn't leak, paddles, kit bag at the end of the bike with kayak stuff in, kit bag at the end of the kayak with running stuff in, kit bag at the finish with warm stuff in. It sounds simple enough but it becomes more complicated when you try and do it. Not sure why. So it took us about a day to pack and we set off for Glen Coe in plenty of time. Then my car broke down :( I don't have the heart to relate all the details (and you probably don't care), but the consequence was that instead of arriving at 6pm the night before the race we arrived at 10.30pm having not had a proper meal. I hastily eat some pasta not quite sure whether carbo loading was wise or relevant at that late stage - but it tasted good. I got to sleep about 11.30pm and slept soundly until 5.55am whilst Nonie sleeplessly mulled over the logistics of the next day inbetween short spells of sleep.

Bike

Okay, so you get the picture. Lots of organisation, plans awry, lack of sleep. But the weather was good and I was at the start with all my gear and nothing holding me back so I was ready for anything. My start time was 8.00am but they are pretty laid back at the race and after a few delays I eventually set off at 8.25am. The roads were dry but there was a strong headwind (which isn't unusual). Eddie Ward set off about 30 seconds before me and I set my sights on overtaking him as soon as possible. Over the 30 minutes he slowly crept ahead and I eventually lost sight of him. Damn. He was in red and I kept catching people up thinking it was him only to be disappointed when I passed them. But I got to Tyndrum in a little under 55 minutes and I was hurting but feeling good. I eat a energy gel (which I'd cleverly taped to the bike frame so that it opened as I riopped it off - what a pro). I think it must be psychological because within about 5 seconds I felt ready to up the pace. The wind had cleverly shifted (or more likely, was funnelled by the hills) so that despite turning from south to west we still had a head wind. Grrr. And then, hooray, there was Eddie ahead of me. I accelerated so that I could pass him with the maximum degree of humilation and laughed at him as I passed - why is it so easy to be cruel to your good friends? I felt good now and was really pushing it. Passing lots of humans and being passed by the other proper cyclists. I didn't mind because I don't really feel in the same league as them. They shoot past me with such speed in a blur of bright colours and a smudge of expensive bike that I barely have time to shout out a good natured "well done!" (I am very polite to people I don't know). 4km to go and I'm starting to run out of beans - still going much faster than last year but I'm looking forward to the end. Head down and hang in there. And then... "hey Billy!" (add dopler effect yourself) as Eddie passes me. "Aghgrhgh" I cry and stand up on the pedals. He will not get away from me! He is 50 metres ahead of me before I have time to react, but I suddenly find that I DO have some energy left after all. I manage to hold my distance and even catch him up a little and close the gap to 20 metres. But then we hit some traffic: cars are slowing down because of bikes turning right into Taynuilt. Eddie takes no prisoners and cuts onto the right hand side of the road and starts overtaking like a demon. I'm not sure this is wise but follow him anyway. The cars seem quite docile. We turn off the main road onto the narrow road to the pier. Eddie just ahead of a BMW. The BMW driver decides to drive at 15mph for safety reasons (there are a lot of bikes around). Well, fine and dandy, but I WANT TO GO FASTER. He eventually sees me filling up his rear view mirror and puts his foot down. A kind marshall pulls some cars to the side to let me past and then I am stuck behind a kayak trailer. I can't complain; these are volunteers taking my kayak to the start of the race; but I'm still angry because I WANT TO GO FASTER. He too sees me swerving behind him and pulls over to let me past. The open road lies ahead. Well, not exactly open: it is littered with slow moving cyclists and pedestrians. With oozing ill-grace I cut past them all but do manage to shout out my thanks. There is Eddie right ahead, and (ha, ha) he's stuck behind a truck doing 10mph. I catch him up and we cruise the last 2 minutes at a snail's pace He assures me that the only reason I caught him was traffic, and I am equally confident that the only reason I didn't pass him was traffic. Sigh, I guess we'll call it a draw. Our times were both 2h 08m.

Kayak

So now we have a couple of hours break before the kayak start. Always delayed because of the time it takes everyone to register and get ready we set off at 12.26pm. It's a mass start and I am about 1/3 of the way back through the field. I spend the first three minutes fighting my way through slots in the traffic. Then the water gets really choppy: there are boats sideways, a few capsizes, and everyone is looking for gaps. My fast, but unstable, boat is good at shooting through the gaps and it is easier to paddle at speed so I quickly cut out of the mass of paddlers. Ahead of me now are the hard core marathon boats and, annoyingly, Steve. He's in a river racer (slower than my boat) with 25 year old slalom blades. Technically, there is no reason why he is going so fast, damn him. I do pass him after about 10 minutes and he pops onto my wash and chats away. Damn him again. There are a few choppy waves and I accelerate hoping that the wash will get confused and he'll drop off. His voice fades and eventually stops - I think I've lost him. [I can't look behind me in my boat - I'd almost definitely fall in!] There is another marathon boat ahead of me and the paddler is obviously fit but not a canoeist. He has bad technique and I'm sure I can pass him. Bizarrely, he stays ahead. What is going on? My boat is as fast, his technique is bad. Grr. I hope that he has misjudged the pace and will fade soon. After about 40 minutes the water starts to get really choppy. Waves are breaking over the boat and hitting the cockpit. My cleverly designed bit of plastic, taped on around the spray deck with a foam block inside to give it shape, is very effectively shedding the water and I feel smug with myself (but thanks to Keith Brown for the idea - I would have sunk otherwise). The guy in front is a bit less sure in the waves and eases up. This is my chance and I scoot past him. But the waves are a bit scary. Not really big but I'm worried about falling in. There is no chance to roll a marathon boat and a capsize would mean a 15 minute loss of time whilst I was rescued. The scenery is absolutely beautiful but I can't spare any concentration to look at it. I am focused on my paddles and the waves within 10 metres of my boat and nothing else. I definitely feel that if I day dream I will be in. 20 minutes later the waves die down a bit and I can concentrate fully on going fast again. There are about 5 boats ahead of me. I say "about" because the lead guy (James Block) is so far ahead that I can't even see him. There is one guy who is about 400 metres ahead that I might be able to catch. He has veered off to the right and I think I might have the faster line. I am definitely holding my distance behind him now but I'm not making any impression on the gap. The end of the loch comes into view and it looks about 10 minutes away. Experience tells me that it will be a lot further than that. I'm hurting (and have been since the start) but feel strong and can keep the pace up. I can hear thumps and splashs behind me but dare not look round. It's either waves hitting the rudder, my paddle splashes on the back deck, or Eddie right behind me. I decide not to take any chances (the image of him passing me on the bike still vivid in my head) and up the pace. When I eventually finish I stop the clock and with the safety of the marshalls holding the boat look behind me: no one even close. Oh well, it was a good motivator! My time was 1h 32m.

Eddie comes in a few minutes after me and Steve behind him. Nonie puts in a very good time (she is in a slower boat than me) as does everyone else. The kayak section is strange: the exhaustion is completely different from the bike or run. But it's great to have finally got off that long, long loch.

Run

Time to eat a little and drink a lot. And stretch - my thighs and arse are still sore from the bike and I'm not entirely sure I can run more than a mile. A few practice jogs up and down the road only emphasize how stiff I feel. My right knee hurts and my left shin aches on every stride. None of which is too painful, but I worry what it will be like after 12 miles. Ah well, I decide to set off up the hill (you can choose when to start). I'm timing each mile and they seem reasonable (about 8 minutes). I am doing arithmetic as quickly as I can: it's 12.5 miles and my target is 1h 50m... by the time I've worked it out another mile has passed and I have a whole new set of calculations. Being slow at maths sure helps pass the time. It's actually going pretty well and I feel good up to mile 7. Then I start to shorten my stride and I'm slowing down - my usual fault. I really concentrate on my style. I'm on target for 1h 50m and if I fall behind that then my goal of beating 5h 30m for the whole race is gone. It's hot and I'm sipping electrolyte from my hydration pack. I pick up some bottles of water from the water stations and swill out my mouth and pour some over my head. The miles go past very slowly now and from mile 8 - 11 drag on and on. And then it gets even harder. With half a mile to go I am looking at my watch trying to calculate my time. I think I can make it and it spurs me on - I don't pick up any speed but I am at least not dropping off. I have nothing left for a sprint finish (but I could probably have gone faster if Eddie had gone past me!) and 1h 45m gives me a total of 5h 26m and I'm very pleased with that - 3 or so minutes faster than my target. I resist the temptation to lie down in the cool grass and manage to stumble around eating and drinking whatever I can find. Phew.

72 not quite so Wild Miles

2004-06-09T21:02:00.000+01:00

As a graduate of Leeds university, and partly due to living pretty much ON the Carlisle-Settle-Leeds railway line, I still spend a lot of time travelling to Leeds to visit my mates and party every now and again. Being as I don't own a car, I've always biked to a station and got the train: first Dent (2 miles), then Ribblehead (about 8 miles), then Settle (17 miles by road, 20 off-road)...

So, as my so called 'training' progresses, I get further away from work to the station. Fine. But the natural conclusion ahs to be to bike to Leeds, yeah? Yeah...

Obviously, I had to try one day, so, one sunny afternoon, with at least 2 nights off to recover, I set off from YHA Dentdale to seek my fortune on't way t't big city...

From Dentdale to Ribblehead is a nice ride, up a big hill on the road, then climb a little bit and descend on some nice moorland singletrack, watch out for the dogs as you fly through the farmyard etc etc... Ribblehead's a lovely place. Big viaduct. Ice cream van - no, I didn't stop.

A little more road brings me to Selside and the bridleway/BOAT across Ingleborough Common - wild moorland doubletrack, scraps of limestone pavement (ever tried riding on limestone? When it's dry, it's like riding on sandpaper. When wet, like riding on soap...). The view out across the common is beautiful, and the recent access restriction order means no more motorcrossers to avoid.

The lane down to Settle via Wharfe is technical double/single track with a lovely ford and stone bridge - time to test the trials skills again - and a little back road down to Stainforth and Settle...

From Settle, my nice safe knowledge of 'yeah, this is fine' is gone. I'm not at a 'point of no return', the railway runs pretty much exactly whe I'm riding so there's plenty of chance s for a 'sack this' moment, but the sun is shining, and I'm a sucker for sunny days on a bike.

I grind up the hill out of Settle, Sleipnir's knobblies treads singing quietly on the tarmac. It's a hard hill, but I'm in a good mood and it passes quickly. The next bit's boring: all road. We pass through Bentham and Hellfield quickly and head on to the place where I've told myself I can have an icecream is I want one: Skipton.

I ride into the middle of Skipton and find an appropriate shop, then go and sit by the canal. Enjoy my 99, it makes a change from the nutrigrain bars which are my standard fodder on long rides.

From here it gets interesting. 29 miles of quite scenic and quite lovely canal towpath. I've paddled this many years ago (OK, not that may, but a few) in a stage of the Trans-Pennine Canoe Race, but it was dark then and all I wanted was a dry pair of shorts. Now it's sun-dappled and lovely and all I want to do is ride. And it's flat. The only times i have to slow from cruising speed are to avoid pedestrians and dogs (and consequently a potential swim in some fairly yuk looking water) and under bridges (ditto...), so i sit at a constant cadence and aboput 14mph for 2 and a bit hours. The canal weaves it's way from Skipton via Gargrave, Keighley, Shipley and the top end of Bradford into the centre of Leeds, but you never feel 'urbanised', you're just riding along next to a canal, the stuff around you is trees and grass and fields, and citys are something that are happening to other people while you toddle along at whatever pace you like.

All in all, just over 6 hours later I arrive at Granary Wharf, Leeds quite happy. The afternoon has flown by, and a text message tells me there's burgers and cold Guinness waiting for me in the park...

Ben Narnain ....

2004-06-07T17:45:00.000+01:00

After an absence, two mountain days within a week was perfect !

A return to Arrochar and a return to Ben Narnain. Company this time was some friends of a girl that I work with. Mike was over from Canada and hoping to get a Munro tale to tell back home. Alan and Irene just looked over excited (a look which took some knocking out of them).

For those unfamiliar with the soon to be replace pipe track route of ascent, it has been described as:
“The start is a good warm up, taking a brutally direct line up the line of what was a rack and pinion railway used to construct part of the Loch Sloy catchment area for a hydro-electric scheme”

Brutal is about right. Over the years the erosion hasn’t helped either!

By the time we were at the point where the path takes an easier traverse line towards the Cobbler (we were continuing straight up), Mike’s knees had decided enough was enough. With about another 2000ft of climbing and a full 3000ft of descent the hard choice to descend was made.

The remaining folks continued up towards the summit whilst the cloud swung in and out either giving or stealing the view as it wanted. Just before the last push up to the trig point a sheltered lunch stop was chosen and Alan dished out a fantastic rice and veg dish with a selection of teas – tremendous!

Time was pressing when we arrived at the trig, so it was photographs, quick bearing and down towards the bealach between Narnain and Ime. Alan decided to make the descent a little more interesting by trashing his ankle a little – which looked sore. Few brufen he was back to skipping down again.

Last bit of the pipe track was made torture by the addition of the midges (doesn’t bode well for next weekends camp ?!?!?!?).

Back at the car (and with the Munro virginity lost) the pain in the legs for Alan and Irene seemed to be replaced with that over excited look that had started the day. Only another 283 mountains to go ….

Clydebank 10k Road Race (more fun than last week)

2004-06-04T09:06:00.000+01:00

What do you get if you add a pretty girl, a humid night and an Audi TT ? The correct answer (but not probably the one that first comes to mind) is last nights Clydebank 10k Road Race.

A little explanation is required – the pretty girl is Nicola (my dentist), it was a little humid, she does drive a really nice black TT and after Helensburgh last week we were going to run together to try and get her a new PB.

The race start was, as always, mad – confusion to exactly where the start was and confusion to had the clock started. The congestion remained until the industrial park where there was an opportunity to spread out a little. Going through 3km a quick pace check indicated that we were on target. Settling down, we were bang on time for under 45 minutes at the half way mark. Unfortunately around 7km we had to slow up a little but Nicola put in a fantastic last 1k to finish in just over 48 minutes.

As tends to happen with 10k races … no matter how sore it is at the time, recovery is quick. Disheartened about not achieving a new PB ? Nope – there is always Dumbarton next week or Kirkintilloch on the 24th June or ………….

The Cobbler

2004-06-02T10:51:00.000+01:00

The Cobbler is one of those hills that has something for everyone – unfortunately in our case it was rain !

Can’t remember exactly what age I would have been when I first gazed up the steepness of the pipe track path but it would have been in the company of my Dad, Uncle Jack and Alan for sure. Since then, there has been summer and winter climbing (including a few epics on Punsters, hilarity on Recess Route, ice axes and bad language from the Gnome to mention a few), day rambles and numerous hill running trips. The easy access from Glasgow also helps!

The original plan for the weekend had been a big backpack / camping shot with some Venture Scotland folks. Due to family illness and a new lass (for one of the other guys) the plan was scaled down to a single day gig. Just outside Paisley my mobile beeped to indicate that Gina had left her waterproofs in Edinburgh – brief glance through the windscreen indicated that was a bad move (which she remedied with a £12.99 top in Balloch).

After introductions in the car park, the team consisting of Rhidian, Mike, Raymond, Gina, Ailsa, Emma and myself (is it just me or are there more girls on the hill these days) made for the soon to be replaced path leading up towards Ben Narnain and the traverse round to towards the Allt a’ Bhalachain. Every combination of base layer and waterproofs was tried without much success. The cloud was ridiculously low with even the Narnain Boulder being covered! Quick bit of navigation tuition for Ailsa, before heading up into the Corrie where another two girls and a guy joined up with us. The rain got worse. Once at the bealach the decision was easy – “nae big traverse of the tops … simply got over the centre peak and get tae!” A couple of guys were roping up for threading the needle - one for another day.

Once down onto the grassy ridge that runs parallel (but above) the path we had come up and it was hands in pockets relaxed type stuff again. Possibly a little too relaxed as I managed to drop a little lower than ehhhh …… planned. This resulted in a battle with the forestry to regain the correct path – OPPS

Lesson for the day was concentrate on the nav rather than the sh!te patter.

Veggie burger, chips and some of Gina and Emma’s ice cream over at the Pit Stop (Ailsa had been wanting a skinny latte and a low fat muffin – typical Edinburgh lass) before heading up to Grandtully via Glasgow.

The weather wasn’t what we had hoped for but once again proof that the worst day on the hill is still better than the best day stuck inside !

Grandtully

2004-06-01T12:48:00.000+01:00

Just back from a weekend camping at Grandtully (NN913531). It's a lovely site run by the Scottish Canoe Association in an old station yard only about 200 metres from the rapids on the Tay. (If you want to book the site, call The Riverside Inn.) It was mostly a family camping weekend but we did manage to squeeze in some training too.

#1 - Friday evening. Heather W. (not daughter, in other words) and I went for a short hill run heading from Strathtay over towards Pitlochry. About 25 minutes up and then a few minutes running around on forest tracks one the top. I was finding it really hard to match Heather's flat ground speed. I'm starting to realise that my how-fast-I-can-run-for-10-minutes speed is not that much different from my how-fast-I-can-run-for-60-minutes speed. I need to work on that a bit (although I have no intention of running 10 minute races). It was certainly good practice for the 70 Wild Miles (which, to mix my units, includes a 20k run).

#2 - A bit later Friday evening. Nonie went off down the Tay a short way in her river racer. Very shallow and she ended up walking up some of the small rapids on the way back because it was too shallow to get her blade in. Annoyingly, those same rapids also got quite deep at the top so she ended up wading up to her waist and struggling to get back into her boat whilst hanging onto a tree!

#3 - Saturday afternoon. Nonie, Linda O., Heather W. and I went for the run from Strathtay over to Pitlochry and back. A bit like the previous day only we dropped down the otherside before returning: two tough climbs. Total time was 80 minutes for Heather and me. I can cope with putting my head down to grunt up hills, but again it was the challenge of opening up on the flat and downhill bits that I found hardest. It's mostly in my head, I'm sure.

#4 - Heather W. and Gordon [side note: Nonie, Heather, Gordon, Linda and Pyro are all in the same Heb Challenge team] did a practice swim on the Tay with Nonie supporting in her kayak. The idea being that it would be a bit like the sea (not flat like a swimming pool, murky and cold). They shot off downstream for about 300 metres and then tried to head back. They then realised how hard it is to swim against even a slow current. They could only barely make headway and ended up getting back with a bit of clawing/walking. Still, good practice!

#5 - Nonie, Graham and I did a 9 km paddle on Loch Tay. Quite a stiff head wind (on the first half) but the waves were quite small. Nevertheless, it was pretty tough going. There is the physical extra drag of the headwind to contend with, the effect it has on your steering, and the shift in focus too. The latter is at least something I can work on. On the flat with no wind I find I can really focus on propelling the boat efficiently. With a wind or waves, I find myseld easing off a bit. It's hard to describe: it feels harder but my muscles are working less. I think there's a tendancy to say "these conditions make it hard for me to perform at my best, therefore there's no point trying 100%". Nonsense of course. I also had my usual swamping problem with my low lying marathon boat. The more water it gets in the lower it lies and the more water I get over the deck and the more it lets in, etc.. Keith Brown suggested some arrangement with taped down polythene over the deck to try and divert the waves a bit. I'm going to experiment a bit. It would be crazy to lose the advantage of a fast boat by having to empty out half way.

#6 - Heather W. had another swim session - this time on Loch Tay. No problem with depth this time, but the waves make it hard to breathe. Graham cheered her up: "Despite the pain, I can really enjoy the biking and running on the Heb Challenge. And I can imagine the kayaking being fun. But the swimming? That just looks plain hard." (Paraphrased from bad memory.)

We filled in the rest of the weekend with kayaking and canoeing with kids and the day-to-day chores of camping. All of which is a lot more tiring than adventure racing. Managed to get a lot of kids and adults wet above and in the water. But more about that elsewhere.

Holdway Cancer Challenge - 24 hour Kayak Polo.

2004-05-29T21:59:00.000+01:00

"Could do with spending some more time in a boat..."

These words, said in an e-mail to Nonie, Heb Challenge team captain, came whizzing back through my head when I'm sat in the middle of a kayak polo pitch at 4:15am on the Saturday of a bank holiday weekend.

The idea was simple: Raise money for cancer charities, break 2 world records and have a laugh at the same time. Question is, in 24 hours of polo, is it possible to do all 3?

My weekend started well when I managed to get out of work to get the early train to Leeds, then on to Doncaster. With Sleipnir once again loaded with kayaking kit, I set off biking from Doncaster station out to Hatfield Water Park, a converted gravel pit somewhere near the M1.
Arriving 15 minutes before my first allocated playing slot, dumped my kit with my mates, bundled through registration (confusing the girlon the computer by giving her my real name. I'd apparently been registered on the network simply as Pyro...) and dashed back to get 'gimped up' (if you've seen ChillCheater kayaking kit, you'll know what I mean.)

Launching onto the water, it seemed that all was well. I watched the 6pm start of the event from the subs area, accompanied by hooter, flares and the pop of flash bulbs. Come 6:15 I was itching to get into the game, and nearly hoarse from shouting to my team mates.

I get onto the water and immediately end up straight out of my depth. there are 5 National Div.2 player on the pitch (including our goalie, putting me out of my normal position), so I stick in defence, getting stuck in and irritating the opposition as much as possible. A fast break from a sideline throw puts me right in the middle of their defensive zone.A miraclulous gap opens and our striker pops it to me for a very short shot. Goal #1 - the most I usually get in a season of normal (Yorkshire Div.2) play.

I sub off after an hour. Since a normal match is 15 minutes, the shoulders, stomach and back have had a bit of a working. I'm not rich enough to own a fibreglass polo boat so I'm stuck with my old 'plastic fantastic'. Head off to the DM 'Chillout' tent for tea and cake (and, as a bonus, Hoegaarden) and to watch whitewater DVD's.

Come 22:30 I'm back in soggy thermals and cag, getting ready for my second stint. Someone has very inconsiderately paddled off in my boat, so I have to go and steal a mates boat while she's asleep - first mistake. As I sub on I realise that the footrests are set way too short for me, and are bolted in place. "Oh well" I think "it'll be alright". Also the boat has no backband. Joyous.

Polo at 10:30pm - that's me in the subs area...

Playing under floodlights makes a huge difference. The shadows effect your distance perception, making passing and shooting less accurate. The other team complain about playing into the lights. Just because they're losing. An old teammate starts trying to wind me up by deliberately fouling me. The ref (also an old teammate) starts winding me up by ignoring other people's fouls, but blowing up the minute I commit the slightest infraction (sounds bitter, but he was. He admitted it afterwards). Somehow I find myself on the break with a clear pitch and an open goal. A long range shot finds it's mark to double my total for the season.

I sub off after 45 minutes and have to be helped out of my boat - the short footrest and no backband has caused my lower back to seize solid. Fortunately some of the Leeds Uni girls are very good at massage (excellent in fact). I wolf some chilli down and head for my tent to get some kip. Unfortunately, that isn't going to happen - 2 other people are occupying my tent and my back is killing me. I spend a few hours lying awake and trying not to move. Eventually, I manage to doze off, at about 2:30am

At 3:15am Owen kicks me awake. We're both on for the 4:15am shift and we need to find breakfast first. Fortunately, we also find Gemma and her remarkable supply of painkillers. Ibuprofen and a fryup perks me up no end, and by 4am I feel almost human. I've also got my own boat back (you'd think one with my name printed across trhe back would be obvious as mine, wouldn't you?)

The floodlights are turned off as we paddle into the subs area, and I get the wonderful experience of watching sunrise from a boat (seen it while biking, now while boating. I love it). I sub on and stick with goalkeeping, just in case. There's 3 others from my old team on, so we work well together and keep pressing as hard as we can. Too often in the past we've all tried to play past our limits - aiming to pass too far, shooting too early, not looking where we're aiming, but somehow we all play like a dream. We look almost like we know what we're doing. I take my 3rd goal of the match with a long high shot past the captain of the Leeds Uni A Team - which I never made while at uni. I feel smug.

After another hour of play, I slope off. Supposedly my last playing shift over, I've got 1 goal in each session I played, and I'm back up to speed on my goalkeeping. The opposition keeper shakes my hand as I paddle past to leave the pitch. The atmosphere is so relaxed and friendly, yet highly competitive: Everyone wants their team to win, but it's a 24 hour game, so there's no point letting grudges and egos get in the way.

I wander back to the tents, get changed, pull myself into my sleeping bag, curl up next to a young lady and doze off.

At 9am, Revett knock on the tent door to wake me. He's got to take someone to A&E (broken hand from a nasty paddle foul) and wonders if I'd take his 10am shift. I think I have 1 set of dry thermals left so I agree. Kit up, collect my bib, get on the water and within a minute my number is called to sub on. I move onto the water with a grin on my face and the intention of 1 more goal in my mind. Somehow it comes 5 minutes later, after our other keeper is illegally kayak tackled. The break comes and 3 of us move up in formnation, sweeping through their defence like prunes through a short grandma, and a short range blast find the back of the net. I grin even more as I recognise the old York Uni keeper - my arch enemy in Div.2. I drop back to goal and play the worst 5 minutes of polo of my life, followed rapidly by the best half hour of polo of my life. For someone who's had about 2 hours sleep I feel great. I know it can't last, but this feeling of tiredness, serenity and absolute calm is wonderful, like the end of an epic bike ride.

I leave the pitch after 45 minutes. I'm holding the 'longest playing time' record, and as I pack up to go back to work, with another 6 hours still to go, my team are 20 points ahead...

Shame I missed the party, but I guess I have to work hard to be able to play hard...

Helensburgh 10k road race - (anger and attitude)

2004-05-28T09:13:00.000+01:00

Picture this .....

The Polaroid 10k road race series is one of the annual events on the calendar. With the upcoming madness that is 70 Wild Miles a little short sharp pain seemed in order.

Spent most of yesterday with a good deal of anger bubbling ..... mainly work but suppose the other stress helped. Left the office with a guy I work with to drive down to Helensburgh - traffic was murder. We arrive with less than 10 minutes to the start. No time for using the changing facilities just a quick bare @rse in the car park and over to the start line. With a few races under the belt I decided to go for a personal best of just under 40mins. Things start well:

1km - 4:30 (about right)
2km - 3:35 (just about back on time)
3km - 4:05 (about 5 secs slow but still ok)
4km - 4:30 (what the ?!?!?!?!) - the stomach is giving it "pull up or I'll spew" feeling
5km- doesn't matter !

I was angry at the start line and my attitude didn't improve until the 8km mark where it was too late. Finished in about 41:30 which is about my usual for Helensburgh. Suppose if there is something to learn it must be that anger is a complete waste of good heart rate reserve and should be left at home when racing !

Got a lift back with my dentist and a couple of her pals. Got dropped just beside just round the corner from Spanish Joes (temporary abode), got a pizza and a couple of tins of cider and went back to casa de Coll with my tail firmly between my legs. Wolfed the food and drink and retired to bed. Ran into work this morning just to make sure the legs didn't think they had won!

4* Sea Kayak weekend

2004-05-19T09:44:00.000+01:00

The whole weekend started with a phone call on friday morning. It was Laurent the Hairy Frenchman asking me if I could possibly pick his car up when I got into Leeds - another logistical nightmare, since i was transporting myself and all my paddling kit for the weekend by bike and train. More faff to be endured, I loaded Sleipnir up, packed my rucksack and set off on my wobbly way across Ingleborough Common to Settle to get on the train.

[much faffage later...]

Friday night was a long theory session. Despite being a competent land navigator, I had very little idea about tides, bouyage, Admiralty charts and the like, all of which are fairly essential for sea paddling. So a lot of coffee was consumed, charts dug out, books researched and I started to get the gist of it all. Enforced route planning from Duke of Edinburgh's award came back to mind, albeit with tide calculations instead of climbing stats, and no idea what the naval equivalent of Naismith's rule was. We planned a trip from Sandsend to Runswick Bay and back (east coast, near Whitby), nicely taking into account the change in tide, so it could be adequately demonstrated what paddling against the tide was like. Much planning and Post-It notes later, we went off to get a beer...

Saturday morning dawned with a thud, as it often does when you're sleeping on a sofa. Laurent arrived early as always, and we loaded the car up and headed off. It was nice to see Bertha, the rudderless yellow fibreglass supertanker, again, having not paddled her in 4 years I was a little nervous. And since the last time was on a lake in my first year of uni (fresher prank), getting used to a sea kayak hull took a little doing. Getting my fat bum in the cockpit also took some work (why can't they make them like my river boat?).

The world was a happy sunny place when we arrived at Sandsend and started kitting up. I was slightly fearing becoming a 'boil in the bag' Pyro as I pulled on my dry cag and trousers, but there was enough of a breeze to keep me cool, and a couple of practice rolls showed I could cool myself down if necessary. We set off north, taking bearings, noting transits and points of interest, stopping at lobster pots to check tidal drift and pondering what we'd do if that silly idiot up there fell off the cliff. Padllign along to Runswick bay was quite smooth, a little bit more exciting when Laurent decided to get me a practical demonstration of an overfall (not a very big one, but enough to scare me a little) and a nice smooth sideways landing at Runswick bay marked lunch time. Coffee, ham and taramosalata sandwiches and a Nutrigrain or 2, a bit of scrambling on the cliffs and then we set off back.

Getting back to Sandsend was fine, nice current with us all the way, blue skies and sun, and then came the obvious ending to the day - the obligatory 'rolls, rescues, bailing and sculling' session. I now know for certain that I can't hand roll a sea kayak. Close, but no cigar...

2 hours biking on the moors, fish and chips and a few light beers on Saturday night and a good amount of sleep (well, good for someone kipping on a sofa) and it was time to head for the sea caves at Flamborough. Myself, LynneW and the Hairy Frenchman pootled off in search of the York Uni boys. Bertha had been replaced with something a little more manueverable, but since I needed to paddle long boats it was a very 'old-skool' Prijon Hurricane. The boys hadn't checked the tides properly, so a bit of car-park faffing was done while we waited for there to be enough water to get through some of the shallower caves. we all paddled out in formation, looking out for the Guillemots, Puffins and Cormorants that inhabit the cliffs at Flamborough, mainly so the York boys didn't get their nice shiny river kit 'dirtied'. Some of the caves are really narrow, and I had a bit of a hairy moment when a freak wave caught me and I nearly ended up pinned across the tunnel. Who would have thought that stern rudder works upside down as well?

A lovely paddle out and round, in and out again lead us to a very nice place to sit and have our lunch and a bit of a cliff jump. Backflips all the way. And then it was time to paddle home, to get an ice cream, to try and unzip Laurent's drysuit as we pushed him in, and to organise a strangely successful impromptu barbeque back in Leeds. More beers, sleep and then back into work, a very tired, but now 4* qualified, paddler boy.

Loch Sween

2004-05-17T12:02:00.000+01:00

We went up to stay in Lesley's caravan on Loch Sween (NR712791) for the weekend. Rob & Lesley were there too and we (Nonie and I) brought along Heather & George and Sanna (au pair from Sweden), so it was a packed caravan! It's a long and windy 4+ hours from Glen Isla over to Lochgilphead and beyond but we got there by 9pm or so (met Lesley in Lochgilphead and Rob arrived on the bus from Glasgow with stories of drug busts in Iverary). We were all set for a tough weekend's training camp with both the sea and hills on our doorstep.

Saturday

Rob and I paddled round from Castle Sween to Muileann Eiteag Bagh (NR715738) which is about 11km. As we went round the headland there were a few small wind-blown waves coming in from the south-west. Just enough to make it necessary to concentrate on steering and for poor old Rob to throw up :) (Sorry, Rob - I wasn't going to mention it... but). Arrived at the beach just in time to meet the rest (who'd had a 1km walk in from the road end). Had a great couple of hours playing in the sand and stuff. Except poor old Ben (the dog) needed a trip to the vets because of a problem with his eye so Lesley shot off to Lochgilphead.

Which meant I got to paddle back with Nonie in the other direction. Very warm and the sea now quite still. Beautiful, so I decided to put my head down and see how quickly I could do it. Nonie decided, wisely, to look around at the hills and stuff, but still only trailed me by a couple of minutes.

Back to the caravan with thoughts of a run somewhere. But we decided to settle for just talking about a run and started to prepare the barbecue instead. And then a quick surprise ride in a RHIB (Rigid Hulled Inflatable Boat, if you're interested) for Rob, Sanna, Heather, George and me over to Eilean Mor (NR666753). Really memorable: fast exciting ride on flat seas, warm sun, green-brown hills, and culture too! Eilean Mor is run by Historic Scotland and has a wee chapel and stuff on it. Imagine Heather (6) & George (4) holding onto RHIB with the wind blowing their faces flat and their hair back - grins wide. Thanks for the ride, Mouse.

Later, barbecue into night with neighbouring caravans. Nice.

Sunday

More laid back. Down to the beach about 400m south of the caravan (overlooked by Castle Sween). Damming rivers. Paddling about in kayaks for Heather and Sanna (across to Danna Island) and round in circles for George. Rob had a good bash at rolling a sea kayak. Nearly got there but led astray by confusing and inaccurate advice from me. Do what I do, not what I say, Rob! Next time. Lesley rolled easily after a gap of 20 years (she must have be rolling very young, right?

Then, time to pack up. Everyone except me that is. I left them all to it while I disappeared into the hills for a short run. Very steep, very boggy, very heathery. That's my excuse for only averaging 5km/hour! Long drive back east.

A really, really good weekend. Not so much training as holidaying (which is no bad thing). Thanks a bunch Lesley (for the caravan) and both Lesley and Rob for being excellent hosts. Again?

(Photos soon, when I get round to it).