Great Glen Ultra 2014
This was it, my A-race, my main goal of the year, the one I
had been anticipating since I screwed up the courage to enter last November. A
monster 72 mile trek from Fort William all the way up the Great Glen to
Inverness – a full sixteen miles further than I had ever run before and, over
the second half at least, elevation to match the WHW itself. Daunting or what?
Sadly, as usual, my planning let me down this summer and,
after doing not very much at all in the aftermath of a fairly respectable
Highland Fling performance, I traipsed off to Italy with Alison where I ran the
grand total of 10.4 miles over an entire fortnight ( this particular west of
Scotland man just doesn’t do hot weather and, jeez, it was hot) which resulted
in the meagre total of 84 miles in June, around half my previous monthly figures
so far this year. Not the best preparation but life does get in the way of
running (sometimes).
The trouble with running an ultra away from home is that you
can never know just what you will need
and end up packing enough gear and food for an entire relay team. I did just that, much to Alison’s
despair, and we set off for Inverness with the car full to bursting – my six
drop bags alone could have fed the five thousand! The race was due to start at
01:00 on Saturday 5th July, a new experience for me, although I had
had some practice at staying up all night when supporting Ian Rae in his recent
tenth WHW race completion. I believe I can hear a fanfare of trumpets at this
point for Ian - only twelve other people have achieved this stupendous feat.
We decided to stay in Inverness so I could savour the race
ambience on the bus down to the start in Fort William but, in hindsight, should
have done what my pal John did – got a room for the night in FW and spent the evening
in bed, sleeping. I should explain here that John is the Martin Duthie of
Garscube Harriers, a legendary latecomer! To be fair to him, this time he turned
up quite early by his standards, around half an hour before the start although
this still led to him pinning his number onto his vest by the light of my
head torch while we listened to the start-line briefing!
Registration had earlier taken place in the wine bar of the
Moorings Hotel beside Neptune’s Staircase, only adding to the surreal feeling as
we took over the bar, the lounge and especially the toilets. Many folk
were having teas and coffees but I resisted the temptation yet still managed to
drink too much (water). I had a pleasant chat with two lads, Jim and John, from
the Highland Hill Runners, a club based in Inverness.
Neptune’s Staircase
to Clunes, miles one to ten
I thought the pre-race paperwork had been quite explicit “keep
the water to your right at all times” yet here we were lined up, in front of
the starting arch, on the right-hand (east)
side of the Caledonian Canal. (Turns out the instruction was to keep the lochs on your right-hand side, once
again I didn’t read the briefing properly!) What the hell, I must have missed
something I thought, I’ll just follow everyone else. Which is what I did for
the first six or seven miles jouking from left to right to avoid the
pothole-like puddles which could easily have led to a twisted ankle, never mind
not wanting to get your feet soaking at the start of such a long run. It also
meant running with my head well down in order to see where I was putting my
feet by the light of my Lidl head torch. John had mentioned earlier that he
rarely used his torch, a statement which puzzled me at the time but I hadn’t
had the chance to find out more before the race started. As the runners thinned
out I began to realise how clearly I could see the moonlight reflected from the
canal so turned off my light and found I
was now searching for the puddles fifteen to twenty yards away thus improving
my running posture at a stroke. Simples!
I would dearly love to come back and run this first section
again in daylight as, according to the map, we ran over/passed two aqueducts
and a swing bridge – lovely night as it was becoming sadly, in the darkness, we
were oblivious to the sights although I did hear someone having what sounded
like a party on the far side of the water. We ultrarunners do keep strange
hours.
The towpath ended at Gairlochy where we were directed, by
the first of the wonderful marshalls, over a bridge and onto a B-road along the
west side of Loch Lochy. Sadly here the bright
wheeze of running with only the moonlight let me down badly as I began to
realise I could no longer see the lights of the three runners who had been a
short distance ahead. Stopping to look around I heard voices and, looking to my
left, once again saw the lights fifteen yards or so away and a similar height
above. Not once thinking of retracing my steps to find the turning I had so
obviously missed I jumped down a couple of feet into what looked like
waist-high ferns. Not so. Hitting the ground almost four feet below I felt the
shock travel up my legs and into my spine! Ouch - this wasn’t how my big race
was meant to end. Without a great deal of choice in the matter I stood still
for a couple of minutes letting the pain subside before clambering up the slope
towards the path discovering as I went that there were brambles lurking
underneath the innocent ferns, I could feel the thorns scraping my shins although
couldn’t do much about it but carry on - my heart told me I wasn’t keeping
calm! Reaching the path at last I hurriedly started to run before the runners behind
realised what a numptie I’d been yet almost burst out laughing at the absurdity
of it all when I saw the path meander down to cross the same road a hundred
yards further on - I could have stayed on the road the whole time, avoided my
painful detour and saved myself a few
minutes. Doh!
The next mile or so was spent carefully (head torch now back
on) avoiding tree roots as we ran along and through the lightly wooded shore
giving the most gorgeous views up the length of the loch. Remember this was
still well before dawn yet I remain convinced I saw purples and greens in the
sky. Were we too far south for the northern lights? Memorable nonetheless.
Sadly we left the magical woods far too soon and were back on the same road
leading to the wartime Commando training grounds of Achnacarry. It was here
that the adrenalin from my scrambling escapade took over and I swiftly passed
the three runners whom I had been
happily bimbling along behind. I remember commenting on the way past to Rhona
McKinnon how hard Stonehaven folk must be as she was running in just her club
vest. By way of contrast I was wearing a technical tee-shirt, gloves, beanie, neck
buff and a jacket. See hard? See me? Not. In my defence I would like to point
out it was a short-sleeved tee! At this point my bladder saved me from
expending too much energy early in the race by sending clear instructions to my
legs to move to the side of the road. (Male) Runners do it anywhere! While
stationary I realised what was happening and consciously re-started at a far
more conservative pace which resulted in the four of us arriving at the first
checkpoint together. This would be the first of many meetings with the same lovely
marshals as they leapfrogged us up the length of the Great Glen, not only
giving up their weekend for us runners but also an entire nights’ sleep.
Always the first thing I take at a stop I quickly gulped
down a banana milkshake (it works for me) while John Duncan filled my previously
empty bottle with water. A wee trick I had learned last year at the Glen Ogle
33 from Anni Johnstone was not to carry any fluid from the start if the first
checkpoint isn’t too far away thus cutting down on weight. (In that race the
checkpoint was only seven miles from the start and she didn’t carry anything at
all, her prepared race pack doubling as her drop bag.) Having really nailed my
nutrition/fluid strategy at the Fling this year I once again left each
checkpoint eating half an orange and half a banana only running once I was finished
eating. I found this kept me strong longer than any combination of gels, bars,
tablet, etc. In fact I only used two or three gels during this race as I’m
getting to the point where I really can’t face them. Sadly I bought boxes of
them cheaply last year and can’t quite bring myself to waste money by throwing
them out. I suppose they’re a handy emergency fuel source to carry, but from
now on it’s ‘in case of emergency only’
Clunes to Laggan,
miles ten to twenty
I exited the checkpoint before the others and quickly found
myself amongst a group of Irish lads who lifted my spirits just with their patter,
thanks guys. The next few miles along the forestry tracks on the west side of
the loch were thankfully uneventful although I do recall being pleased with my
pace and that I was running more uphills than usual. Pre-race chatter had
suggested the first half of the race was ‘pretty flat’, I would suggest
otherwise and , unusually, the word undulating would be fairly accurate. I also
recall looking across the loch at a couple of cars heading north, just like us,
and idly wondering what folk were doing and where they were going at that time
of day. No doubt they, in turn, would have speculated what we were doing had
they been able to see us, probably along the lines of “What are those nutters doing?”
Eventually I descended through a farmyard to the sight below
of boats sitting serenely at anchor on the misty loch, see above, before it was up and over
another big hill and down on to the A82 for a few yards before turning off into
checkpoint two. Here I met Graeme McKinnon (husband of the afore-mentioned
Rhona) with whom I had had a brief chat in the early stages of the D33 back in
March (his first ultra, I believe). As a runner himself he knew exactly how a
marshall can help to make the eating and drinking as speedy and painless as
possible and I was soon on my way again, only to be told I was heading in the
wrong direction and to turn 180 degrees and head up the big hill out the back.
Nooooooooo! Oh well, I was going to walk while eating anyway.
Laggan to Fort
Augustus, miles twenty to thirty
On and on this hill went but, in truth, I now remember very
little at all of running the length of Loch Oich other than running through
Invergarry and out the other side and, you’ve guessed it, up another hill, this
time so steep the path switch-backed it’s way up. Eventually the Great Glen Way
came down and out of the forest at the very top of the loch and turned left
back onto the canal path for what should have been a nice little three to four
mile plod alongside the water in the lovely morning mist and sunshine (see pic below).
Almost every runner I spoke to afterwards talked about how hard they
found this section
which chimed with my own feelings as it was here I was forced to walk/run on
the flat for the first time. My left hip was also giving me some grief, the
result of a heavy fall crossing Rannoch Moor two weeks previously. Two
paracetamol were consumed at this point, far earlier than I had intended/hoped
and I don’t mind admitting my head was well down wondering how I was going to
cope with the ‘harder’ parts of the race to come if I couldn’t even run along
the canal? However if there is one thing I have learned from my previous ultras
over the last three years it is just as there are ups and downs in every race
in an ultra they’re just bigger and last longer, I knew from experience I would
stick it out and that the next checkpoint was just at the end of the canal. Managing
to shovel a couple of gels (eugh!) down my neck to give me a quick hit, oddly, the
thing that helped the most, was catching Jim Meehan, the Irish lad I had been
talking to in the pub before the start, who was clearly in some trouble and walking
slowly. Having a chat with him and trying to talk him out of dropping out or at
least to put off making a decision until he’d sat down and got some food inside
himself helped me completely forget my own troubles. I also realised I was way
ahead of the tentative schedule Alison and I had discussed the day before and soon
was happily picking up the pace on the way into Fort Augustus, downhill past
the locks and into the care of two Kirkintilloch ultra ladies, Susan and Ada, apologies
as I don’t know the other ladies names but you all have my thanks. Camping
chairs were lined up ready for me to flop into while shovelling down my
mandarin orange segments and rice pudding all the while sarcastically asking
Ada who had said the first half was flat, as though it were her fault – sorry
Ada, but at least you know when to ignore an emotional runner (and when to give
him a good kick up the backside, or so I’ve heard! That might be required next
time…)
Fort Augustus to
Invermoriston, miles thirty to forty
After another quick pep talk with Jim I walked through Fort
Augustus simultaneously eating a banana and calling Alison, who by this time,
07:35, was already on her way down the A82 for our 08:00 rendezvous, oops. She
took the news surprisingly calmly, telling me how well I was doing – she’s
getting very good at this support
thing! I should mention at this point that the organisers, BaM Racing, (Bill
Heirs and Mike Adams) had arranged that anything we wanted to leave at a
checkpoint, provided it fitted into the dropbag, would be returned to the
finish for our collection. This was a godsend as I could ditch my jacket,
beanie, gloves, hand and head torches thereby running much lighter without
losing expensive gear – ok, the Lidl torch wasn’t expensive but you get my
drift (it was heavy).
After saying cheerio to Alison I started chatting to Ivan
Bertram, who had posted a recce. report on facebook prior to the race and yet,
unbelievably, we promptly missed a turning! Ivan realised we had gone wrong almost
immediately so we turned around and bumped into another runner, still eating,
who said he was “just following you two”. As the three of us climbed,
inevitably, out of the town Ivan dropped back and I got chatting to the other lad,
George Chalmers, although I didn’t know his name until later. We carried on together
through the forest along what proved to be a fairly pleasant section, at least
I think it was as I don’t have any memories of cursing and swearing at the
terrain! We congratulated each other along this section as we were now over
half way to Inverness, woo hoo. George spotted Invermoriston through the trees
but with the path veering away inland he began to wonder if we had missed
another turn off but this part of the route I did remember from my map so we
carried on and eventually picked up the road into the village.
My heart sank as I saw John Duncan for the third time that
day as he was wearing a midgie net - Invermosiston had turned into midgie
central - but Alison had partially saved the day by taking my dropbag from a
slightly miffed Graeme McK. and taking it to our car at the far end of the car
park where the wee swines were less prevalent (the midgies, not the marshals).
I did not feel like eating but Alison helpfully suggested a roll and cheese which
I really enjoyed scoffing along with a warm cup of black coffee, she very
graciously waited until I had finished before pointing out it had been intended
for her breakfast! Never mind, the village shop was just across the road. I
could see George out of the corner of my eye seemingly faffing about with his
waist-pack, was he waiting for me? If so I was more than happy to hurry up and
join him as he had been excellent company.
Invermoriston to
Drumnadrochit, miles forty to fifty
Past the village shop before Alison could clip me round the
ear we were soon faced with what we both knew was only the second-biggest climb
of the day yet worryingly it went on and on and on and on so much so that the
cursing and swearing were in full flow now, sorry you had to hear all that Geo.
Not that he was exactly happy himself! At one point I glanced at my Garmin and
was dismayed to see we were at 24 minute miling - wtf? We went up and up and,
in true hill walking tradition, every time we thought we were at the top we
weren’t, it was only another ridge with another in front of us. We eventually
came out at the treeline but even then the terrain rolled up and down, finally
forcing us to acknowledge what we had been refusing to admit, we were way off
course - merde! I recall stopping to place an extra stone on a cairn (a
throwback to my hill-walking days, never pass a cairn without adding to it) as
I thought we didn’t need any more bad luck. Deciding jointly that we were still
heading in roughly the right direction we carried on and came upon a viewpoint
looking down over Loch Ness that was
just so stunningly beautiful we couldn’t not stop and take photos of each
other. Just a shame no one else was there to take one of us together, the two eejits
that got lost went off course slightly!
I was told later by someone who knows the route well that we had taken a much
harder route than the correct one so I trust we won’t be accused of trying gain
an advantage.
After studying my Harvey map of the GGW a few days ago and
looking closer on Google maps I reckon we missed the second right-hand fork
after Invermoriston and didn’t re-join the route for several miles although I
still don’t have a clue where that may have been. Having since read some other
blog reports it would appear we were not the only ones to go wrong at this
point but the first other runner I recall seeing was just prior to coming out
of the forest and on to another minor road when Alyson Mcpherson came up behind
and began chatting away to George. This was when I learned that both of them
had lined up for the start of the Cateran 110 back in May and only much later
learned that Alyson was a ten-time finisher of the WHW race! Why were these two
slumming it with me?! Lovely people. Shortly we were very glad to stumble
across the intermediate 45 mile water stop, manned by a couple and seemingly in
the middle of nowhere. I was slightly perturbed to realise we had only covered five
miles since Invermoriston but as both George and I had run out of fluid during
our epic climb we were delighted to accept the coke and water on offer. I found
out later that the guy manning this water station had actually started the race
but had to drop out early on then the two of them then spent hours high up
above Loch Ness assisting us wilting runners – fabulous guys, many thanks.
After leaving them along another steady uphill we finally saw the road
stretching straight ahead of us at which point Karen caught us up and with a
great glass-half-full attitude cheered us up no end. Soon I was leading us
along the path near the road only to almost trip over Ivan, stretched out “trying
to get some sleep” - presumably he had got in front of us again by taking the
proper way. It was just after this point that the stone in my shoe which I had
been trying for miles to work into my toes started digging into my sole. This
was due to another mistake on my part as I had thrown my road Sauconys into the
car at the last minute after reading that trail shoes were unnecessary but
forgot that I had no velcro on the back of them and consequently couldn’t wear
my nice new tartan gaiters (supplied by the lovely Janice Miller). Probably a
consequence of the very dry conditions I was plagued all day with grit in my
shoes but only this once had to stop and empty them. I hate taking my shoes off
during a run – I can’t bend over to reach very well (even sitting down), my
fingers don’t work properly and I get irrationally angry with myself. This time
I had the sense to make use of the wasted time by taking another couple of gels
and a huge swig of Nuun. After a brief chat with two Stonehaven girls who were
concerned why I had been sitting beside the road I then charged along off onto
a forest track and down a gradual descent chasing the others who had
disappeared from sight. Soon I had to rein in my enthusiasim and slow down as
the slope was becoming steeper and my quads and left knee were not coping too
well. I eventually caught George, we came back out onto the A82 and started the
long shuffle to the checkpoint. After our tacit agreement to run together
earlier we decided in advance this time to run out together which, in practice,
meant I would wait for him as he was away to spend a penny (actually 20p) at
the public facilities. (Good advance warning Karen, he had plenty of coins!)
This time Graeme was able to have my drop bag ready and
waiting for me as my wife was having forty winks in the car although she roused
herself to assist very quickly. What was particularly appreciated this time was
a quick wipe down with a wet flannel, perfect for getting rid of the sweat,
flies and general accumulated grime. I noticed that not a few runners also like to
brush their teeth at this stage which I might try in the future as by this
point I’ve been cramming fruit, rice pudding, sweets, bars, gels and other
assorted rubbish into my mouth for fourteen hours or so, and as a result my
tongue felt like the proverbial gorilla’s armpit. Alison also washed the blood
from my shins so I felt like a new man (I wish) as I prepared to say goodbye because
we wouldn’t see each other again until the finish.
Drumnadrochit to Abriachan, miles fifty to sixty
For once it
wasn’t onwards and upwards instead we hiked along the A82 for what the map says
is about a mile but seemed much longer, just onwards and onwards, ever onwards.
Eventually we reached the turn off near to a large road sign cruelly informing
us it was fourteen miles to Inverness when we both knew our chosen path would be
a good deal more. At this point the discomfort in my left hip and right knee
(or was it the left?) made me try the Morton stretch recommended by George,
which consisted of hanging on to a post and squatting down on my hunkers and
back up again - not sure it helped but it certainly didn’t do any harm and did
stretch out the hamstrings. This time the path, although still climbing
steadily, followed the contour of the hill rather than zig-zag upwards and I
seemed better able to cope with this, also maybe the thought we were on the
last leg cheered me up. I think it was while we were still quite exposed high on
the hillside that we were hit by a sudden downpour which very quickly turned to
hailstones! I struggled to get my jacket on in time but it certainly cooled us
down. We came to a junction with a blue waymarker but no direction on it, very
helpful and agreed left was probably correct but worried for a long way before
finally spotting another blue post – phew! In no time at all we were running
downhill through the forest and, lo and behold, away to our right, was the
amazing sight of hi-viz jackets in the distance - checkpoint six already after
only around seven miles. A fairly brief stop here as neither of us had much
appetite although George did get a skoosh of anti-midge spray which I declined
as they only ever annoy me when stationary (me that is, not the midgies) Over
the road and straight into a fairly recently planted forest where the young trees
were so close together we had to run with our arms up in front of our faces
resulting in us both getting another soaking from the wet leaves. Resisting the
temptation to call into what must be one of Scotland’s most remote cafes in the
middle of this forest (I would have loved a cafetiere of coffee just then but
would probably have happily stayed there for the rest of the day) we reached
another quiet country road. Long and fairly straight, we kept our selves going
by running to the next blue or green
wheelie bin then walking for a bit then running again, walking, running,
you get the picture. George was really helping me along here as I was
struggling and also varied the routine by suggesting running/walking thirty
seconds on and off. Off the road and up, yes up, and there was Irish Jim ahead
(the guy who had been intending to pull out at thirty miles!) also run/walking.
We gradually reeled him in, chatted briefly, and were on our way again into
what we both remembered from the map as a small forest. Beautiful place it was but
it went on for what turned out to be four miles before we finally had our first
view of Inverness, below in the distance. I undoubtedly got a real lift from
seeing our goal and suddenly everything was round the other way, I was powering
ahead while George was having difficulty keeping up. Spotting an extra water
station ahead we took the joint decision that we were going to run straight
through as stopping at this stage, unless we really had to, would have been a mistake,
although we both managed cheery smiles and waves, I think George knew the marshals.
Continuing on along what turned out to be a long, long downhill (two miles?) past
a lovely old building (an old hospital or country pile?), through a housing
estate, finally past the golf course, a few hundred yards along the canal,
across the swing bridge and into Bught Park athletics stadium. Avoid stumbling
over the three-inch high kerb at the edge of the track, pick up the pace into
the home straight and cross the finish line, shaking hands as we do. Nice one!
Over the last
few miles I had been encouraging George along by saying we could definitely
finish in sub-eighteen hours and joking that 17:59:59 would sound so much better than 18-something. In the
end we managed this very comfortably in 17:32:49 but it was Alison, backed up
by Ada, who made the pair of us realise we had actually finished in 16:32:49,
an entire hour off our time! I hadn’t remembered that my watch was now
displaying real time and not, as I thought, elapsed time - ya beauty!
Sunday 6th
July
The prize-giving at ten o’clock the following morning was the
usual entertaining fun, runners hirpling slowly and with difficulty to the front of the hall
to receive their race whisky and tumbler.
A very nice touch was the final
finisher, Helen Munro, also being awarded the Lanterne Rouge silver salver, a
beautiful memento - see below.
Also worth mentioning, for different reasons, was the length of the
post-prize giving celebrations in The King’s Highway, the Inverness Wetherspoon.
Apparently (I wasn’t there myself, you understand, had I started drinking at
that time of day I would have been asleep by two o’clock!) some were still
there approaching midnight – as someone pointed out on facebook, a drinking
session longer than the time it took Mike Raffan to win the race!
And no, we didn't see this guy!
Some numbers;
86 starters, 76 finishers, therefore 10 dnfs, 1 DQ - currently
under appeal
72 miles, 10,800 feet of ascent, 6 checkpoints, two additional
water stations
Eight paracetamol ingested – about right for my ailments on
the day.
The winner was, as widely predicted, Mike Raffan in 10:48:43
Leading lady was either Morgan Windram-Geddes in 11:45:44 or
Antonia Wesley in 12:20:39, depending on the result of the appeal.
My pal John McLaughlin ran 12:05:46 to finish in a fantastic
sixth place and would have been faster but had the misfortune to arrive at the
swing bridge over the canal while some craft were passing through and had no
choice but to stand and wait! At least he had the chance to compose himself for
the photos at the finish line!
Highland Hill Runners, Jim Meehan 16:40:12 and John Moffat
13:56:10
Believe it or not, Harley Davidson finished 26th
in 14:36:52 and, no, he completed the course on two legs not two wheels!
Anni Johnstone was 38th overall and 5th
lady in 15:51:49 and her husband Alan in 14:29:23
Alyson McPherson was 7th lady home in 16:24:02,
Karen Donoghue 16:32:17
George and I were either 46th or 47th
equal (depending on above appeal) in
16:32:49
Ivan Bertram woke up to run home in 16:50:34
Rhona came over the line in 17:42:18
The final runner was home in 21:51:28 which meant BaM and
helpers could get to the pub before closing time!
Lessons learned;
Apart from the first two miles or so I got the pace just
about right, I am getting better at this aspect
Need a better quality head torch
Must put velcro on my shoes before I leave home
Put a toothbrush and toothpaste in a later dropbag
Try Babybels as a dropbag food (highly recommended by
George)
Impressions;
Probably
because of miserable weather at the GO33 last year I hadn’t appreciated just
how
good a race
experience BaM provide, absolutely fantastic guys. It is, of course, also down
to
the people on
the day and that is the fantastic ultra-running community who never cease to
amaze.
My only minor
suggestion to BaM would be to improve the accuracy of the
distances
between checkpoints in the race briefing as they were, at times, significantly
inaccurate,
plus and minus approximately three miles.
Photographs;
I can’t remember who took which shot so general photo
credits go to Rhona McKinnon, Nicola Martin, Helen Munro and BaM Racing. If
I’ve missed anyone, please let me know and I’ll add them to the list.
Conclusions;
I can heartily recommend this wonderful race to anyone and
firmly believe it will go from strength to strength over the years to come. I
may even run it again myself some day, although not next year. I have a big decision
to make between now and November and, as I write, I genuinely do not know what
my main target for next year will be. This is not the time to commit myself before
I have recovered both physically and mentally from this epic race.
By the way, if anyone is on the Great Glen Way in the coming
weeks, please keep your eye out for my running mojo as I seem to have misplaced it! I’m sure it will come back eventually.
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