Merrick Hill Race

Five go to Merrick

19th September 1998

Flushed with success after our recent pot-bagging success at the Lomonds of Fife, Manny, Kevin and myself enlisted big George and Murdo for a raid into deepest, darkest Galloway. We arrived at Glen Trool slightly shaken after a near death experience with a Calor Gas Lorry travelling on the wrong side of the road, George having had to take an off road detour to avoid a spectacular end to our running careers. Our second disappointment was to find that there were enough runners present to make up several rival teams, including a squad of pot-hunting Ochils and local boys Solway AC. Sensing that our spirits' had fallen, Captain Manny assembled our team at Bruce's Stone - sight of another improbable victory against the odds, he reminded us as he fired us up with a passionate pre-race tactical briefing.

The team tactics paid off. It was Westies 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, ... at least for the first twenty feet of climbing, as Kevin did his best to block the narrow path and give his team mates best advantage. Unfortunately, despite his heroic efforts, cries of 'fuck you, ya bass' informed us that he had been overpowered and that the rest of the field was in pursuit.

The out-and-back route to the Merrick climbs steeply up the improbably named Fell of Eschoncan before winding a Campbellesque traverse of bog and hag over to the romantically named Mid Lump, where the main path is joined. By this stage George and Manny were distant yellow specs and I was struggling in the unseasonable heat. Over Benyellary and a short descent down the Nieve of the Spit before the final slog up into the cloud and the top of the Merrick. First Westie coming the other way was George who's encouraging cry of 'Christ you're slow Bonnyman', and 'get a move on' cheered me up no end. Suddenly a slavering mad-eyed vision appeared from the clag, arms flailing wildly while uttering incomprehensible grunts. I had barely time to shout 'Go on yersel Manny' before it had disappeared again almost as suddenly as it had appeared. Round the cairn and back down to the Neive, I meet Murdo not far behind. The earlier rearguard action had taken its toll of Kevin who was badly bruised and limping.

I have a not bad descent picking up a few places and feeling quite strong until I hit the hags and my legs go to jelly. Out of the clag, it has turned into a scorcher of a day. The runner in front of me disappears up to his waist in the bog, as I sportingly bound past. Back down the stupidly steep path to the finish and I can hear the supporting shouts/desultory jeers of my team mates. Next home was Murdo followed by ace descender Kevin 'I-left-my-arse-on-West-Lomond' Doonan, who had picked up about twenty places on the way down.

A quick dook in the river, tea and Scones at the visitor centre and team prize to the Westies - a magnificent pint glass hand decorated with felt pen and a can of McEwan's Export. Magic.

1 A. Adamson Solway 80.50

2 E. McKay Ochil 82.12

3 C. Brash Girvan 82.46

4 G. Reid Westies 84.36

6 M. Gorman Westies 86.51

9 B. Bonnyman Westies 91.52

M. McLeod (3rd V) Westies 95.42

K. Doonan Westies

Posted by Brian Bonnyman on Wed 30 Nov -0001 | comments are closed

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