Great Wilderness Challenge

Runner, why do you run?

4.30pm on Friday after a shitty week at work and the last thing I felt like was a 5 hour drive to Poolewe, let alone a 25 mile race the next day. If it hadn’t had been for the fact that 58 people were sponsoring me, I’d have probably abandoned the plan, gone home and gone to the pub with Cheryl from up the stairs.

Three hours later, Wynonna Judd on Radio Scotland’s Country Programme adding to that ‘open road’ sensation, I’d forgotten work and was feeling mellow. Heading north after a vital carbo loading break in Aviemore, driving through a late summer landscape of iridescent purple hills rolling distant towards a glowing, evening sky, I couldn’t help thinking that whilst the high pampas and snowy peaks of our Peruvian summer holiday had been awesome, Scotland’s ancient landscape is still the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen – old romantic that I am!

Darkness had fallen by the time I arrived in Poolewe; I chatted with the campsite warden as he helped me with my tent; no, I’m not a wimp, it’s just that the tent outer has shrunk with age – like lots of things – and it takes two to erect it – but I digress! He told me of a ceilidh in Gairloch the next night and that several runners had arrived earlier and gone down to the pub. As for me, I snuggled into my “cloud of down”, new sleeping bag, brewed up a Choc ‘n’ orange and munched on Hobnobs before drifting into a 9 hour sleep.

I woke to the sound of oystercatchers and wished I was going beach combing not running. However, lots of folk were bustling about so I put on my bustling head and got organised; then became slightly nervous and then sick feeling as I began to go over the route splits in my mind. There were not many kent faces at the village hall registration – several ultra runners, road runners and lots of walkers; eventually I spotted Donald Smith smiling faintly and looking as if he didn’t really want to be there either; we exchanged concerns over a cup of tea. Next I spotted bag o’ rags, Bill (Gauld) from whom I cadged some up to the minute route information on the infamous boggy bit; then in walked John Donnelly, grinning in purple kit and looking confident.

For those who are not familiar with this event, participants have 4 options:

25 mile run, 3000′ ascent

25 mile walk, 3000′ ascent

13 mile run and a bit less ascent!

13 mile walk and a bit less ascent

The main objective is to raise lots of dosh for Highland based charities and there is huge community support for the day, with armies of folk assisting with the marshalling, mountain rescue, catering and child care. There`s a real gala atmosphere in the village with the hall open to visitors and racers from 6.00am to 7.00pm. All participants are bussed to their respective starting points, the walkers leave before the runners and all routes lead back to the riverside finish at Poolewe.

The weather was dry and dull (so Donald’s race notes tell me!) as the 25 mile runners were bused to Corrie Hallie. I was feeling dry and dull too as I sat twitching next to Donald trying to decide how many jelly babies and Staminade bombs to take and reminding myself all the while that I hadn’t raced this distance for 18 months. I think the piper that finally sent us off must have had midges stuck in his drone, either that or my nerves were causing severe irritability! Luckily, the sound faded quickly as we pattered off up the stoney track – the track that leads over to Shenavall bothy. My race plan was simple “ignore everybody, run just within yourself to the bottom of Gleann na Muice Beag (approx. 9 miles) push hard up this steep section and see how you feel, if its good, go for it, if not, just do it. Aim: to beat my time of 9 years previous.

A steady climb for the first 2½ miles; a young man in tight yellow shorts kept doing sprint overtakes like a lemon on speed, those in the know adopted a steadier approach! A right turn after the first checkpoint onto a contouring path crossing huge slabs of rock between boggier sections. My mind was in neutral, but I had to concentrate hard as we began the rocky, badly eroded descent to Shenavall. I recalled an evening here, wood collecting for a bothy fire with Roger Boswell and Ian Murphy, when we suddenly spotted a badger not 200m from the bothy. It had watched us watching it for a full 5 minutes before it scuttled off up hill; funny place to see a badger.

The two river crossings below Shenavall were easy, the water level being low, but I wasn’t feeling great as I plundered across the bog between the rivers. I caught up with Geoff Simpson (HBT) and he said he wasn’t feeling great either. Once on the far side we ran in silent convoy for a while and finally I settled down into a welcome rhythm. Crazy Kate Jenkins appeared from nowhere, running in the opposite direction and shouting abusive encouragement. For a further 12 minutes or so we trotted briskly along the narrow, heathery defile, eyeing up the steep zigzags ahead. I was beginning to look forward to the dramatic views that I knew would open up before us once we’d reached the high point at Clachan Fithealaidh. We hit the climb and I felt good – I like STEEP. I tried to pull Geoff with me as we chugged passed folk less keen on STEEP, but he faded towards the summit and I pressed on.

The race helicopter buzzed me as I crossed the plateau, not wearing any mascara however, I was relieved it didn’t linger! The descent to Carnmore is steep but runnable. Donald says in his race notes that he flew down this bit of the track, the only bit of the race that he enjoyed! I too had a fast descent to the lochside checkpoint and a waiting clan of cheery midge-hooded marshalls. On then, across the causeway and round the end of Fionn Loch where I took a quick glance back towards the buttressed arena of Loch Dubh. It really is wild and beautiful here folks; even if you don’t do the race, try and visit the place sometime – preferably not during midge time.

The next 4½ miles or so along the southern edge at Fionn Loch felt like a long way. Donald’s notes tell me that he really struggled along this very undulating section with progress hampered by groups of innocent hill walkers, sprawled across the path. I was having to concentrate hard and was feeling hungry. Despite a handful of jelly babies and half a Staminade bomb, I felt hungry again10 minutes later, so gulped down the rest of the JB’s and in doing so nearly fell over a yapping wee dog with a bow on its head! I swore at its bemused owner, then felt very guilty and so shouted an apology over my shoulder. You’ll be glad to know I wasn’t wearing my Westies vest when I swore in an un-Westie-woman-like manner, at this harmless, knitted rambler. My Westies vest chaffs during long races and excuses abound as regards the infamous Westies crop top! As the contours slowly dropped and the jelly babies took effect I picked up the pace again, encouraged by the sight of runners not far ahead. The dreaded bog occurs at about the 21 mile point and used to be at least knee deep and a good ¼ mile across, but now this potential nightmare for shortlegged and near bonk-point individuals, is no more, thanks to a ¼ mile section of duck boarding. I caught the couple of guys ahead as we descended towards the woods of Kernsar and at the start of the needle strewn forestry track I allowed myself my second only glance at the watch pleased to see that I was ahead of schedule – I didn’t dare look again until the finish – I was trying as hard as I could anyway.

The last 4 miles passed in a blur, somehow. The forest track gave way to the undulating single track road and I think it must be thanks to 3 weeks holiday at altitude that for once I felt as if I had oxygen bottles for lungs not the wheeze bags that usually pass for lungs. The sun was shining; villagers and visitors alike were out in hoards to cheer in the homecoming runners and walkers. Even the piper sounded tuneful as I crossed the finishing line!

Flopped on the grassy embankment as finishing competitors streamed across the line, JD and I mused over what for both of us had been a good race and a somehow, special run; we agreed that it was days like this that remind you why you want to keep on running ‘We run because we love it, through the bright, broad land’. (This a quote from some poem but I cant remember which or by whom!). I don’t think Donald felt quite like this that particular day, but he finished, smiling and relieved it was over; Donald knew he hadn’t been able to train properly for this race and will be back next year I’m sure, honed for the event! It was just a pity he couldn’t stay for the more relaxing events of that evening.

Bill and I moved our tents down to join the others on the dunes at Gairloch, where we watched an incredible sunset bleed across the Summer Isles and listened to the seals sing. Later, we ceilidhed our socks off down in the village; Bill was up for every dance and a permed lady from a bus party told me off for “wearing the wee soul out”! She didn’t believe me when I explained he’d just run 25 miles, 3000 ft and broken the vet. 60 record for same! – so much for age and shrinking!

Suggestion – Westies weekend at this event this summer.