Training Log Archive: graeme

It was Seamus Cunnane who said it best: ``Graeme isn't really the outdoor type''. It's a comment which always rankled, and that of course is because it's true. While others camped and hiked and mountaineered, I was always one for a couple of hours run in the hills then back to the warm and dry.

So though I'd supported a few Bob Graham's I'd never given serious thought to doing a 24hour ``round''. But I knew what Olly and Jamie were planning, and when their postponement undermined my cast-iron excuse (James' 6th birthday party) I was tempted. A quick phone call on Tuesday night, and I was signed up for a Ramsay round - too short notice for any training or recceing, but with a group of six how hard could it be?

Indeed, I'd never even been to Glen Nevis, or up any of the mountains, or run for anything like that long. With no experience or backup supporters it was remarkably kind of the group to accept me at all.

Friday night was spent at Roger Boswell's in Corpach. If you've never been there, the house resembles a little hobbit hole: boxes of stuff squirreled everywhere and the cheery, bouncy occupant merrily offering tea to all and sundry. But Roger differs from a hobbit in the matter of footwear, as I was later to discover to my benefit.

Sunny Saturday, Mick James, Jamie Thin and I set off from PollDubh. Olly Stephenson and Nick Watkins were to join us at the Youth hostel. Up through the crowds on the Ben we trotted, meeting together at the top. We got stuck in rocks descending to Carn Dearg arete, and then my problems began. Outdoor types, it appears, do rock climbing, and off they all danced along the arete leaving me scrambling, scrabbling and straggling behind. Down the rocks from Carn Dearg they skipped, while I snapped my compass, scraped my knees and battered my toes getting myself down. At the bottom I had my first low point - only two Munros done, and already I couldn't keep up.

Luckily, they eased up on the climb, and by the time we dropped bags on the plateau to run up Aonach Mor, we were back together. This set the scene for the day, with me getting dropped on the descents, and catching back on the climbs. Otherwise, it was a stunning day along the Grey Corries, with the whole of the round laid out in the sunshine. But by Loch Treig, the banging of toes against rocks had taken its toll, my toenails were making a bid for freedom, and descending was agony. I'd pretty much decided to stop, but during the 10 minute the support team dragged out my change of shoes, stuck on some tape and vaseline, and muttered about the next bit all being grassy while I scoffed pasta. The pit crew were still in action when the others left, but shoved me off back up the hill a couple of minutes behind.

The middle section is the least dramatic, and therefore easiest going. Big grassy climbs up Sgriodain and Beinn na Lap, descending into the glen at dusk and the long track run as night fell. By the time we got to our second support stop at Loch Elide we'd gained 15mins on the schedule, which we parlayed into extending the break from 7 to 12 minutes. By now my toes were less sore, and all was going well, aside from the upcoming scrambling in the dark.

We tackled Sgurr Elide Mor and the Binneins in the dark and again my lack of rock experience saw me struggling to keep up. On the scramble up Binnean Mor I found myself alone again, and with low cloud on top the map came out. But our support team were there with tea on Na Gruagaichean to slow the others down, and as the sun rose we regrouped, still on schedule. Everyone was in good spirits and good shape - what could go wrong now?

Those rocks again. Another stubbed toe, and the sole of my walsh torn away, flapping from the heel. Olly offered tape, and ran on.

A minute's repair job lasted 100m. I flapped along the An Gearanach ridge, losing time at an alarming rate. Passing me on his way back, Jamie had the answer: sock outside shoe! This held the shoe together and made for some interesting scrambling on the ridge. Proper hillwalkers in ``outdoor type'' clothing shook their heads at my vest, shorts and sock inadequacy.

We'd agreed that if anyone looked like they wouldn't make it, they'd be left behind. I was left for dead, and Phil stayed to support me getting home, and carry my bag. We both wanted to complete the ridge, so we trotted on together in the mist, just avoiding a navigational disaster finding Am Bodach. The urgency had gone now, we were just enjoying the day, climbing above the cloud for views of Bidean in Glencoe floating above the mist, waving at out brockenspectreselves in a personal double rainbow, then, on Sgurr an Iubhair, the hobbit appeared.

``I hear you've lost a shoe'' said Roger. ``Why dont you have one of mine?''. I was gobsmacked. Scotlands highest shoeshop. And me only 30mins behind a 23:30 schedule. A quick change, Roger hopped off down the hill, and Phil and I set off with renewed purpose. Before long the last Munro was in the bag with almost hour to get home. I was getting pretty tired by now, and Willie Gibson and Nick MacDonald appeared to shepherd me down the last descent. Despite my sore toes and slow descending, they were comforting: ``No problem, you've time to spare, we know the way''. None of this was in fact true. As we left the hill into the wood about 10 minutes was left, and Nick began to urge me to speed up. By the track, everything was getting more urgent. ``I'm, er, not sure exactly how far it is'' confessed Willie. You'd better leg it.

Panic set in - should I try to get straight down to the road and intercept yesterday's route? But how to know when I passed that point? If we were a minute late, should I race down the road trying to beat yesterday's time to Glen Nevis? It feel like this is the fastest I've run all day: 23:56, 57, 58 and suddenly Willie's yelling and Jamie's yelling and the carpark appears just in time.

And so the deed was done. The most incompetent, ill-prepared
hand-held, indoor-type Ramsay round in history was complete.
24 more ticks would have brought my Munro count to 100. But
the SMC don't regard Sgurr an Iubhair as a mountain any more: apparently its now a shoe shop.