Hodgo

The world's least enthusiastic Can-Can with Leg 1 behind

"Question 21. What is known as the 4th Estate?", asked the quiz master (a man of BFG proportions). We arrived too late for any reccies of the route, it was dark, and besides that would have ruined the 'romance'. Instead, Team CAAC took on the fell running elite in a grueling battle of general knowledge and set about breaking Tim's Three-Pint-Rule. Sunday's team had been organised and reorganised several times in the course of this thread on the CAAC forum but, of course, the final decision of who would run each leg, as is mandatory, was made in the pub (the campsite's own The Barn End Bar).

In the first leg of the 22nd Ian Hodgson Mountain Relay, I scrambled up a waterfall, beside Dove Crag, listening to my heart beat faster at the steepest part of an exponentially increasingly steep mile and a half run from the campsite. Every now and then I looked up at Chris waiting for me, fresh as a daisy, and spurring me on up. Even so, the ascent was far from finished and in the next 3 miles there was probably only half a mile of runnable down hill. Finally topping out was rewarded with superb views across Lakeland with a clear blue sky. Chris and I dibbed the checkpoint at the top of Red Screes and looked down, eight and a half minutes later we were at the handover. The initial climb was infinitely long and dangerously steep. This was steeper and longer. We set off stepping with trepidation until we hit a scree gully where we managed to surf down the loose rocks at quite a pace, and then, on the progressively gentler grassy slopes, we nailed it to Kirk Stone.
A welcome gentle rain started as we watched Tommy and Pilky set off on Leg two. . .

Good report thread here. Results and splits here. Photos by Tommy's Dad, Colin, here.

PS The 4th Estate is a term used for The Press.

Comrie Hill Race

On Sunday I joined one of three CAAC teams competing in the Comrie Hill Relay Race. The first team came second, our team came third and the third team came 18th. All in all a fantastic day.

I ran leg 2 with Tim and it was fairly tough going. The initial ascent was fairly gradual but then required a fair bit of heather bashing. Then we followed a fence up to the summit and pegged it down very steep heather to the road. After a mile on the road we handed over to Alex.

The day was sunny and the bbq, beer and village cricket rounded off an excellent day. Also Martin was surprised with a card and a cake to celebrate his 60th. Here he is with Graeme beginning leg 2.

Highland Cross

Letting the other CAACers disappear ahead of me, I took the first four and a half miles at a gentle pace. Then, after crossing a bridge, there was a steep climb. Feeling strong, I kept a steady jog up the hill and took satisfaction in overtaking several people walking including David Law. On a narrow path near the top there was a dramatic waterfall and then the ground levelled. For the next few miles, as far as the Camban Bothy, the ground was undulating and I still felt good and kept up the pace overtaking Dave Henderson.

On flatter and stonier ground I started to get a bit of pain in my knee which checked my pace. In fact I took it easy all the way across the river, past the Youth Hostel and as far as the "Fire Ladies Welcome". (The race was originally devised for firemen and their wives would meet them here.) I wasn't at all tempted by the spread of sandwiches and cakes, but the ambulance truck looked comfortable!

Shaking thoughts of quitting I headed up the notorious Yellow Brick Road. To clear things up, its not yellow, there are no bricks and calling it a road would be a generous lie. What it is is a hard stony track at a steady incline for the length of Loch Affric. I struggled on.

The track continued and eventually became a paved road. I found it harsh to run on this surface and had to walk a few sections. Soon the transition appeared. A kindly bespectacled old local handed me my bike and I changed into my cycle shorts and scoffed a banana. Then I was off to whizz down hill at electrifying near-F1 speeds.

Well not quite. After I had gone a few hundred metres I realised the rear tyre was a bit soft. I stopped, pumped some air in and continued. After a while I heard a clanging sound of metal on road. I stopped again and realised there was a split in the side of the tyre. The tyre must have been damaged when being transported from Inverness. I popped off the wheel and stuck a few patches on the inner tube but there was nothing much I could do to repair the tyre. Fortunately a reasonable amount of air stayed in the Tyre and I managed to get to the end by stopping every quarter of an hour or so to pump it up. A little frustrating but I was just glad to get back to Beauly where a bed, bath, shower, dinner and beer were patiently waiting for me.

It was my third visit to Glen Affric in four weeks. I was there a month ago munro bagging with Alastair, then I was back for the LAMM two weeks ago.

On Sunday, to loosen up the legs, Dave and I headed up a couple of munros in Glen Affirc called Toll Creagach and Tom a'Choinich. We dropped the Tom one along a ridge that looked a bit steep from a distance. Reassured by a dog walker that there was a good path, we followed it and it were glad we did.

LAMM to the Slaughter

We were dropped off by the coach at the Cluanie Inn and I thought I would soon be running up the steep slope I had descended with Alastair a couple of weeks ago. No sooner had we got out of the coach than a marshal herded us into a minibus and we were off again to the real start.

Alex and I competed in the Lowe Alpine Mountain Marathon this weekend. Mystery shrouded the location until last Thursday night. Even then, we only knew that we were going to Kintail, the checkpoints for the route are only disclosed at the start line. After the check point we took on an early steep ascent and even quicker descent. Alex slipped and slid a hundred metres or so down a grassy gully. Thankfully he was mostly unscathed and we continued on our way.

With weighty packs, with compulsory tent and stove, we navigated to the checkpoints, mainly lochans, knolls, stream junctions and, the hardest to find, a spur. Despite a great deal of climbing, often very steep, the course avoided summits. As we ran down the path to the mid camp we spotted the 500 or so tents pitched in the glen like a mini Glastonbury. We washed our legs in the river, found the other CAACers, ate as much cous cous as we could handle and slept.

Alarm Clock

I could easily have slept until the afternoon but the bagpipe player had other ideas and woke us all up at 5am. We packed up the tent breakfasted on flapjacks and picked up the route for day two. Setting off at a reluctant jog we passed the slit trench and the stench of poo spurred us on away up the glen. The weather was glorious and with fantastic views we leapfrogged a South African and San Franciscan pair. We'd overtake them at a run on level ground and they would creep up on us on the hills. With our packs digging into our shoulders and blistered feet we arrived back at Morvich for chili, tea, cake and sunshine!

Meanwhile, Magda went with some friends and climbed Ben Cruachan. I'm a tad envious as Russ and I had to miss this one out due to encroaching darkness (see here). But it will make a good day out on my own at some point!

Mr Cake

Chir Mhor

Under an assumed name I battled my way along the snow covered ridge to the summit of Ben Lomond. The sleet and wind in my face combined to have the effect of someone machine-gunning me with frozen peas. At the summit a marshal, dressed like an arctic explorer, proffered some Jelly Babies and took down my race number. A loop round the cairn and then, with the wind now at my back, I carefully descended the rocky ridge before going for it on the stony path.

The Ben Lomond hill race was an exciting experience, and one that I would have missed if it wasn't for a chance meeting with John from the running club (CAAC) last week at Moy. He couldn't make the race, although he had entered, so I took his place and his name and ran as John O'Hara. John had also organised a lift with his friend Tommy, which I was also able to transfer my way. Tommy, his brother-in-law Malcolm and Martin Hulme all passed me on the way up but I was satisfied to overtake Malcolm at least on the descent. Martin was the 3rd SV. At the fast end, there was some intrigue because an American trail runner had entered and no one knew what he could do. He set off at the start at a crazy fast pace. He has a great all-American name too: Judson Cake. In the end Brian Marshal, from HELP, caught up and overtook, but the contender hung on for a dead-heat mudslide finish. All made for an entertaining organiser's report.

I was happy to get through the race with no pain from shin splints. Nevertheless, after the race, in sunshine (!), I joined a few other nutters cooling their legs off in the loch and then got a bowl of soup in the hotel. Martin mentioned that he was heading to Arran with Ptarmigan Mountaineering Club, and that there was still space on the bus. The club is based around a bus trip to the hills on the first Sunday of each month. Unless you have an irrational fear of coaches (bustophobia?!) its a great idea, and I'd been meaning to come along since Martin told me about it months ago. The three most pertinent advantages as I see them are these.
1) A-to-B walks are possible by picking up the bus at different points. So you are not limited to circular walks to get back to the car.
2) You can read a book, or sleep on the journey.
3) After the walk you can have a beer.

The forecast was for a bright sunny day, so when the ferry arrived it was, of course, raining. Nevertheless, we caught a bus to Sannox and headed of up the glen. We cut up right onto the steep heathery end of Suidhe Fhearghas, tough work. Fortunately, fuelled the cup of tea and bacon sarnie on the ferry, we made short work of the climb. Just in time for another rain shower as we waited for the rest of our party to catch up. The view of the peaks and ridges opened up with Goatfell towering over the rest but outclassed by the shapely Chir Mhor. Along the ridge on the way to Caisteal Abhail there were several granite boulder pinnacles. One of these is followed by a sharply cut bealach called Ceum na Caillich or The Witches Step. Peering over the edge at a precipitous drop, we scrambled down a less ardous alternative.

Martin climbing on a boulder at the Witches Step

With views over the Firth of Clyde, Islay, Jura, Kintyre and Bute surrounding us, not to mention down Glen Sannox and Glen Rosa, we took stock at the summit of Caisteal Abhail. With time (and ferries) waiting for no man, we needed to make a decision whether to attempt the A-chir ridge or drop down to Glen Rosa. Whichever, first we had to go up the absurdly pointy Chir Mhor, Martin called it "the Matterhorn of Arran". We met a photographer catching, no doubt, beautiful shots of peaks hidden behind wispy clouds. Pity he was stood on the best one.

At the turn off for the Glen Rosa path we shunned the easy way and headed off to have a look at the ridge. Initially the scrambling was fairly straight-forward, but it became a little slippery and exposed as we approached the bad step. This, a rock climb, was dripping wet and we skirted around it. Following Beinn a Chliabhan, we dropped, as Dave put it, "at warp factor 10" to the bridge over Glen Rosa Water. Here we met up with a group of Spanish people in the club y he tratado de practicar mi español con ellos. Back in Brodick we had time before the ferry for a swift Arran Sunrise in the pub.

Dave demonstrates the graceful bumslide

Windy Beaches in Dunbar

Borders Cross Country Series continued with a four (and a bit) mile loop around the John Muir Country Park. This started off with a down-wind dash through a water-logged salt marsh, and then we turned into the wind and hit the beach. We followed the wet and compact sand to a loose sandy spit, across a river, and eventually turned out of the wind again and headed back through some woods to the finish line.

Then a group of us turned around and ran it again in reverse. We finished just as the weather deteriorated into a gale. We took shelter and had a good feed, at a farm shop cafe.

Winter running

Training in winter is hard work. Motivation is low because the evenings are dark and its cold and icy. This is when club nights come into their own.

Last night we went and did 7 reps of a loop of roads on a steep hillside. We worked hard on the climb, pushed-on along the flat bit, changed to slow jogging down the hill and then built up the pace a little on the bottom flat bit. I would never push myself that much if I went out for a run by myself.

I have entered the draw for one of the club places in the London Marathon next year.