3, 2, 1, go - run - check the map -run - check north - fight through the slow starters - wrestle with the over sized map, finally fold it into a manageable shape - confer with Duncan, confirm control 1 - run - link tracks to sheep trods, line up the walls and the tor on the skyline - run - there's the river, find a crossing point - run, the first deep breaths up the first hill - check the next leg - reach the tor, Control 1 - Beep - Go.
And continue....
It's been a few days now since I got back from the OMM. Enough time for the dust to settle and the worst of the pain to subside. Enough time for the worst of the misery to be forgotten, leaving only the spirit-soaring highs. I'll say this much: it was a long old way. Dartmoor isn't blessed with big hills, and it's got it's share of fast terrain. To make it hard the organisers just had to keep us going. And going. So that's what we did.
52km on day 1; Dunc and I laughed when we first saw it printed on the map - we almost cried between those last painful controls. At least it was clear and dry, making for easy navigation and route choice. The weather turned that evening, making for a long loud night of wind and rain howling and beating at our cocoon.
Day 2. We stirred as the heavy showers continued and started the admin - breakfast, blister plasters, hydration, the queue for the portaloo. Slowly, gently, wake up the legs. Pull on the wet shoes, hope the blisters don't bite too badly. Join the hubbub and excitement at the start line. 3, 2, 1, go.
5 hours 22 minutes later we emerge out of the cloud and stumble over the finish, a wet, wheezing mess, miles of bog and hill behind us. An overall time of 12 hours 45 over the 2 days, just shy of 90km in a straight line, more in reality, puts us in 8th place behind the big guns. Happy days.
Same time next year? I expect so.
Showing posts with label The OMM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The OMM. Show all posts
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Couscous/Smash
Falling leaves, burnished golden hillsides, the first snows - the clock inevitably ticks towards the OMM next weekend. The training runs start to wind down to the all important tapering period before the race (more time free for climbing). Team admin begins (the classic cous cous vs. Smash debate). Old race maps lie strewn around the house, studying route choices, brushing up on navigation. The October traditions of the last seven years.
Living and training up in the Highlands, I'm hoping Dartmoor will feel relatively warm and dry, but I won't hold my breath - these events have a good record of attracting the worst of the elements.
It's now at the stage when there's not much more I can do to prepare. Now it's time to sit it out, think, relax. Be ready for the first glimpse of the map and the sound of the starter's airhorn -then it's time to act.
Living and training up in the Highlands, I'm hoping Dartmoor will feel relatively warm and dry, but I won't hold my breath - these events have a good record of attracting the worst of the elements.
It's now at the stage when there's not much more I can do to prepare. Now it's time to sit it out, think, relax. Be ready for the first glimpse of the map and the sound of the starter's airhorn -then it's time to act.
Monday, 11 October 2010
Still There
I've managed to stay on the tightrope a bit longer. Another climb/run weekend passes with a trip down to auld reekie and The County. Back Bowden in the harr on Saturday allowed enough dry rock for a nice wee boulder and route or two. I'd not encountered trad climbing for a while so got a good work-out on the 3-dimensional The Arches.
Sunday was the real reason I headed south: the Pentland Skyline race. The cloud was down the whole way, making some of the intricate route finding tricky, but I was pleased to come in 15th. 2 places higher than last year, although 3 minutes slower; I'm blaming the weather for those 3 minutes. Konrad was 6 seconds behind in 16th and OMM partner Duncan came 21st, so OMM prep is in good shape. Dunc's sister Katie was the final Team Towers member to cross the line, in a very respectable sub-4 hour time. High fives all round.
The big news, however, is that Mr Betts got his Torridon project on Saturday: The Essence. Not many lines like that hanging around. The Bettsmaker is beggining to pay off. Nice one bruvva!
Richie on a previous session working what would soon become The Essence, Font7b+ish: a perfect highball line low on Seanna Mheallan, Torridon.
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Tis the season
Some punter doing the 2009 Pentland Skyline. Photo: Bill FairmanerI'm pretty sure I've written a blog entry at this time every year for the last three years saying the same thing; but really, where did the summer go?
It only seems like yesterday that it was June and I was dangling off a very big rope half way down a large Hebridean cliff, and now look at it: the leaves are turning and the first dusting of snow has been reported on UKC. Surely it's only a matter of time before someone claims a winter ascent of Pygmy Ridge. For me, this time of year means donning the lycra and heading out running in the hills. Yes folks, it's OMM season.
I've done the OMM, or KIMM as it was, every year since 2004, so despite it being down on Dartmoor this year (mountain marathon, seriously?) I'm signed up again. I've run it with the same chap, Duncan Steen, for the last 5 years, each year doing better than the last, so the aim is high and the training is in full affect. I try to do one big hill run every weekend for the two months leading up to the race at the end of October, which means I generally don't get too upset if the weather is too crap for climbing (which it seems to be), and I get to bag one or two otherwise unheard-of Munros. Runs I've got lined up in the next few weeks are a circumnavigation of Loch Arkaig, which I've wanted to do for ages for some reason, and the Pentland Skyline race down in Edinburgh. Psyche.
Mainly, though, its an excuse to wear short shorts and lycra.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Downtime
It’s funny how things go. You anticipate and expect so much. You plan, you stress, you strain, you sweat and you train, and then, just like that, it’s over. Like a climbing project, you always inflate it in your head until it feels like a massive challenge, but when you actually do it, it doesn’t feel like such a big deal.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been worried about competing in the OMM this year, but it seems like a healthy dose of fear was needed to kick my arse into gear. Somehow, and I’m still not really sure how, Duncan and I came 9th overall in the Elite Class. Given that we were initially thinking that simply completing the race would be worthy of celebration we’re pretty pleased.
So, what was it like? Well, let’s put it this way, I won’t be volunteering as an ambassador for the Elan Valley tourist board. The place is one big bog, covered in a thin veneer of bog, surrounded by a load of bog with bog in the bits between the bogs. Shoe-sucking, knee-deep, peat-black bog. Okay, I’m probably overdoing it. In fact, it’s not all bog, because there are the hundreds of square miles of tussocky grass, waiting for an unsuspecting ankle to snap or groin to strain too. To my botanical mind the grass is called Molinea caerulea, or Purple Moor-Grass, but I’ve also heard it called Bastard Grass, Babies Heads and Policeman’s Helmets, due to the way it forms distinct and large tussocks and is bloody hard work to get through. The worst part is when the gap between the tussocks is bog. However, besides all this, the rolling nature of the hills and their relatively minor stature means that much of the ground is fairly quick to get around and there are no huge crippling ascents.
As seems to be becoming our hallmark, Duncan and I never really flew between the controls but managed to keep a steady pace and to keep on top of our navigation and route choices (mostly). We’ve done enough races together now to know the score: what kit to use (borrow other peoples expensive and very light gear), what to eat (smash, cheese, peperrami, and our top secret ‘Power Breakfast’) and what to carry (I get all the heavy stuff). I definitely had a couple of ‘sugar lows’ when I started to feel empty, but managed to fuel my way out of the slumps with Jelly Babies and energy gels, following on behind Duncan who seemed pretty indomitable the whole time. Bastard.
Now, at last, I can relax and revel in the one short time of the year when I don’t feel the urge to be out getting things done. It’s generally too cold, dark or wet for rock climbing, but it’s not cold enough for winter climbing and there’s no longer any need to be out running; the OMM has been and gone. Instead, let’s light the fire, put on the kettle and settle in with a good book…..
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been worried about competing in the OMM this year, but it seems like a healthy dose of fear was needed to kick my arse into gear. Somehow, and I’m still not really sure how, Duncan and I came 9th overall in the Elite Class. Given that we were initially thinking that simply completing the race would be worthy of celebration we’re pretty pleased.
So, what was it like? Well, let’s put it this way, I won’t be volunteering as an ambassador for the Elan Valley tourist board. The place is one big bog, covered in a thin veneer of bog, surrounded by a load of bog with bog in the bits between the bogs. Shoe-sucking, knee-deep, peat-black bog. Okay, I’m probably overdoing it. In fact, it’s not all bog, because there are the hundreds of square miles of tussocky grass, waiting for an unsuspecting ankle to snap or groin to strain too. To my botanical mind the grass is called Molinea caerulea, or Purple Moor-Grass, but I’ve also heard it called Bastard Grass, Babies Heads and Policeman’s Helmets, due to the way it forms distinct and large tussocks and is bloody hard work to get through. The worst part is when the gap between the tussocks is bog. However, besides all this, the rolling nature of the hills and their relatively minor stature means that much of the ground is fairly quick to get around and there are no huge crippling ascents.
As seems to be becoming our hallmark, Duncan and I never really flew between the controls but managed to keep a steady pace and to keep on top of our navigation and route choices (mostly). We’ve done enough races together now to know the score: what kit to use (borrow other peoples expensive and very light gear), what to eat (smash, cheese, peperrami, and our top secret ‘Power Breakfast’) and what to carry (I get all the heavy stuff). I definitely had a couple of ‘sugar lows’ when I started to feel empty, but managed to fuel my way out of the slumps with Jelly Babies and energy gels, following on behind Duncan who seemed pretty indomitable the whole time. Bastard.
Now, at last, I can relax and revel in the one short time of the year when I don’t feel the urge to be out getting things done. It’s generally too cold, dark or wet for rock climbing, but it’s not cold enough for winter climbing and there’s no longer any need to be out running; the OMM has been and gone. Instead, let’s light the fire, put on the kettle and settle in with a good book…..
Monday, 19 October 2009
The End Is Nigh
Autumn in Gruinard BayTime keeps slipping by and the big weekend of the OMM is now just a matter of days away. My training seems to have worked out pretty well, and I surprised myself by managing to come in in 17th place in the Pentland Skyline race, taking 2hrs56. Later in the week I managed to knock a minute off my Loch an Eilein round, making my time now 18.56 for the 5km trip (being dragged around by freakily fit Stevie Hammond did wonders here). Race partner Duncan came up from Edinburgh for the weekend and we managed one last run in the hills before a week of serious rest. Now it's time to make the final tweaks and arrangements - what to run in, what to carry, what to eat, how to stay hydrated, how much vaseline Duncan's going to put on his balls. All the big questions.
Partners in crime: Harry and Stevie Hammond living the dream
Iain Small on an onsight attempt on a recent E5 6c addition to Goat Crag
I've recently found that when one aspect of either my running or climbing is going well, the rest starts to suffer, and I've definately noticed my indoor climbing has gone all to cock now that my running seems to be going OK. Hoping that this wouldn't be the case on the real stuff I made use of a high pressure system hovering over Scotland, took a day off work and hit the road northwards to get some late-season rock routes done. Now, for those that know the North West Highlands you'll know that come sunshine or showers, this place is heart-stoppingly beautiful. What I hadn't expected was how much more spectauclar it is at this time of year: the kaliedoscope of autumn leaves, frosty white glens, golden hillsides, cloud inversions and clear blue skies, and with acres of rock to play on it could just be paradise. On day one Stevie and I joined Blair and Iain at Goat Crag in Gruinard Bay, where Stevie and I got a resounding spanking on the bolts while Blair and Iain showed us how to climb properly. On day two Duncan and I went to Stone Valley Crags south of Gairloch and had a great day on perfect gneiss trad. I managed to come away feeling pleased to not fall off Bold as Brass (despite my very best efforts), reassured that there's still some fight left in me.
I suspect that these will be the last rock routes of 2009 (unless winter stays at bay and we all do a big sun dance), and looking back over the summer, I feel fairly pleased with the way my climbing has gone. Here's hoping that I'll be able to look back at the race this weekend in the same way.
Blair cruising Freak Show (E5 6a) at Goat Crag with the Fisherfield Forest beyond.
Friday, 9 October 2009
I just felt like....
I've been struggling to come up with an entertaining way to write about training for the OMM, but to no avail. So, I won't, I'll just give the facts. This is meant as a personal record, so I apologise for any boredom inflicted on the reader (if you exist).
Since Duncan and I decided to enter the elite class I've been fouling my little lycra leggings. We're gonna be rocking with the big boys so I thought that I should at least try to train properly. From my experience, success in mountain marathons is based on three things: route-choice/navigation, tactics (when to push, when to slow, what kit to use) and hill fitness. The first two of these come from race experience, practice and a logical approach. The latter comes from lots of hard work, and it's this that I'm concentrating on. Fortunately I've got an OK base-level of fitness to start from so I've simply been stepping up my running (frequency, distance and speed). Working a 9-5 week, I've attempted to split training into longer hill runs on weekends and shorter runs in evenings, balanced with regular bouldering and climbing sessions on nights off and one or two rest days. The plan is to keep increasing the workload until a few weeks before the race, when I'll start to taper it down and rest.
My longer runs have been:
Since Duncan and I decided to enter the elite class I've been fouling my little lycra leggings. We're gonna be rocking with the big boys so I thought that I should at least try to train properly. From my experience, success in mountain marathons is based on three things: route-choice/navigation, tactics (when to push, when to slow, what kit to use) and hill fitness. The first two of these come from race experience, practice and a logical approach. The latter comes from lots of hard work, and it's this that I'm concentrating on. Fortunately I've got an OK base-level of fitness to start from so I've simply been stepping up my running (frequency, distance and speed). Working a 9-5 week, I've attempted to split training into longer hill runs on weekends and shorter runs in evenings, balanced with regular bouldering and climbing sessions on nights off and one or two rest days. The plan is to keep increasing the workload until a few weeks before the race, when I'll start to taper it down and rest.
My longer runs have been:
- Glen More - Loch Avon - Beinn Meadhion - Bynack Mor - Glen More: 27km, a bit over 4hrs
- Glen More - Ryvoan Bothy - Strath Nethy - Coire Raibert - Cairn Lochan - Coire Cas - Glen More: 24km, 4hrs.
- Sugar Bowl car park - Larigh Ghru - Derry Lodge - Coire Etchecan - Loch Avon - Coire Cas - Sugar Bowl: 37km, 4hrs45.
- Loch an Eilein - Glen Einich - Sgoran Dubh Mor - Allt a Mharcaidh - Loch Gamhna - Loch an Eilein: 21km, 2hrs40.
- Forest Lodge - Meall a Buachaille - Forest Lodge: 13km, 1hr30.
Shorter week-night runs have generally been around Aviemore, up Craigellachie, round Loch Morlich or Loch an Eilein, the Challamain Gap or Burnside circuits. I've also started adding faster runs to the mix, either doing intervals of hill sprints on Burnside (sprint uphill 30 secs, walk back downhill for 45 secs, repeat to the top of the hill) or fast rounds of Loch an Eilein (5 km, P.B: 19mins51). So far, so good.
The next step is doing the Pentland Skyline Race just outside Edinburgh this weekend, then I'll try to speed up round Loch an Eilein in the week, then a small run on the weekend, followed by a week of pasta, resting and quaking in my boots.
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
Autumn Afternoons
Something smells like wet dog in here; the sweet musty scent of hounds drying by the fire after long wet walks on autumn afternoons. Warm and sickly.
I roll over and hit something, roll the other way and hit something else. All of a sudden an enormous roar and a cold splash on my cheek. I’m confused and disorientated.
Those splashes and the sound like a hundred fighter jets passing overhead bring it all back. My prison is one of bodies, sleeping forms pressing in on all sides. On my left Duncan, on my right Ducky, if I stretch far enough I can kick Sarah and if I fully extend Marcus is my pillow. Zoom out and this mass of bodies multiplies and extends to cover the whole floor space of this barn, our refuge, our sanctuary, and I’m just one tiny dot in it’s midst. Hundreds of contorted and bunched up shapes in multi-coloured sleeping bags hiding under a sea of shimmering, shifting foil blankets surround me. I’m sure I’ve seen this before on the ten o’clock news. Emaciated and tired faces crammed into a shelter near a border, fleeing from war-torn homelands.
It seems like days ago that this all began, and safely tucked into my sleeping bag little do I know what a stir it’s causing.
For a few days the weather forecasts had been telling us to expect the worst. As a huge low pressure formed over the Atlantic, so too did the excitement and psyche build amongst the competitors of this years Original Mountain Marathon. Borrowdale in the heart of the Lake District was the venue for the 41st OMM, and after a few years of good results for us ex-EUMC kids the fighting talk was getting loud and pride was at stake.
By Friday afternoon MWIS told us to look out for 110mph gusts on the tops and persistent torrential rain. Courses had been shortened. Still, it’s the OMM, we thought, it’s not supposed to be a walk in the park, so we strapped it on and stepped into the breach. The mini-bus journey from Edinburgh was all the usual OMM banter – eager beginners asking about what to expect, nervous chatter and communal laughter, tall stories about past events, chip-shops and pasta.
Before we knew it Duncan and I were lycra clad and packed and 0853 on Saturday morning was fast approaching. The wind was already gusting hard in the valley but it was still dry. Ant-like lines of competitors tramped off towards Great End and Green Gable. Game faces were applied, thinking caps tied in place. The horn sounded and we moved off.
The rain started somewhere on the way to control 1. It didn’t stop until Sunday morning. In the teeth of a strengthening storm we struggled onwards, wet through and cold. Heads down, checking the map, running, walking, sliding, sinking. Sometimes blown backwards, sometimes blown sideways. The day was spent balancing heat gain and loss on the tiniest razor edge. Stopping for a minute at control 9 left us both shivering uncontrollably, but a minute later as we contoured the north side of Knott Rigg the blood flowed again and I could just feel my fingers enough to wrestle a jelly baby from its bag.
At control 10 we knew we’d made it. Only a kilometer or two to go. The marshal told me we were the third team in A-Class to come through. Having started late that could only mean we were in a strong position. Bouyed with his words I tried to stick three fingers up and shout the news through the gale to Duncan, but my fingers didn’t want any of it. I just waved a claw at him and yelled, from his grunts and howls I assumed he approved.
Sprinting to the finish we punched in the final control and smiled, only to be told that the whole race was off, canceled, fini.
_________________________________________
Along with everyone else who’s made it to the overnight camp in Buttermere we’re herded into the barn that is to become our home for the next 18 hours. Change clothes and warm up. Meet friends and exchange thousand-yard stares. Rumours circulate – we have to walk back to the start in Borrowdale. Honister Pass is closed so we can’t reach Borrowdale. There’s hot food for everyone back at the start. Mountain Rescue is turning everyone back in Honister Pass. Cars are submerged and tents floating. Finally we work out that we’re staying put and start getting comfy. Sleeping mats and bags are arranged, stoves flicker and roar as a hundred brews are made and shared. Camaraderie is high and an anarchic festival atmosphere spreads through the masses as more and more soggy shapes shuffle inside and find increasingly inventive places to sleep – in a digger bucket, on a JCB, under a truck, two to a sleeping bag, four to a one-man tent. I’m part of sixteen or so friends from Edinburgh and we all bunch up for an epic nights spooning. The wind continues to howl and rain pours down. I hunker further into my sleeping bag and close my eyes and drift back to those autumn afternoons.
__________________________________________
The OMM 2008 isn’t going to be quickly forgotten, but sadly, probably for all the wrong reasons. The media got there and decided to spray. Yes, a hugely expensive mountain rescue operation was carried out, and ultimately the poor, beleaguered, credit-crunched tax-payer has to foot the bill, but let’s look at it objectively. 1700 runners started, 1700 got home. Everyone knew it was going to be a desperate and uncomfortable event, and that was why we were there. I think calling the race off was probably the correct decision because 1700 people under canvas for 18 hours in that weather was asking for all kinds of hypothermic mischief, but I disagree with those that say it should never have gone ahead in the first place. It’s understandable for the likes of the police to want to call it off, but their job is public safety, so if they could we would all be wrapped in cotton wool and tied to our sofas. The kind of people that do the OMM don’t look at the world like that (naturally, many beginners/idiots got stuck and needed help). Of course, the mainstream media (and also lots of numpties that use computer forums, I notice) seem unable to comprehend the idea of people being able to look after themselves and actively seeking out challenging situations and end up instantly labeling the race organisers as a bunch of selfish cowboys.
The moral is, if you want someone to hold your hand and bring you back from the hill in a shiny helicopter when you start to shiver, don’t do the OMM, you’re a soft-cock.
I roll over and hit something, roll the other way and hit something else. All of a sudden an enormous roar and a cold splash on my cheek. I’m confused and disorientated.
Those splashes and the sound like a hundred fighter jets passing overhead bring it all back. My prison is one of bodies, sleeping forms pressing in on all sides. On my left Duncan, on my right Ducky, if I stretch far enough I can kick Sarah and if I fully extend Marcus is my pillow. Zoom out and this mass of bodies multiplies and extends to cover the whole floor space of this barn, our refuge, our sanctuary, and I’m just one tiny dot in it’s midst. Hundreds of contorted and bunched up shapes in multi-coloured sleeping bags hiding under a sea of shimmering, shifting foil blankets surround me. I’m sure I’ve seen this before on the ten o’clock news. Emaciated and tired faces crammed into a shelter near a border, fleeing from war-torn homelands.
It seems like days ago that this all began, and safely tucked into my sleeping bag little do I know what a stir it’s causing.
________________________________________
For a few days the weather forecasts had been telling us to expect the worst. As a huge low pressure formed over the Atlantic, so too did the excitement and psyche build amongst the competitors of this years Original Mountain Marathon. Borrowdale in the heart of the Lake District was the venue for the 41st OMM, and after a few years of good results for us ex-EUMC kids the fighting talk was getting loud and pride was at stake.
By Friday afternoon MWIS told us to look out for 110mph gusts on the tops and persistent torrential rain. Courses had been shortened. Still, it’s the OMM, we thought, it’s not supposed to be a walk in the park, so we strapped it on and stepped into the breach. The mini-bus journey from Edinburgh was all the usual OMM banter – eager beginners asking about what to expect, nervous chatter and communal laughter, tall stories about past events, chip-shops and pasta.
Before we knew it Duncan and I were lycra clad and packed and 0853 on Saturday morning was fast approaching. The wind was already gusting hard in the valley but it was still dry. Ant-like lines of competitors tramped off towards Great End and Green Gable. Game faces were applied, thinking caps tied in place. The horn sounded and we moved off.
The rain started somewhere on the way to control 1. It didn’t stop until Sunday morning. In the teeth of a strengthening storm we struggled onwards, wet through and cold. Heads down, checking the map, running, walking, sliding, sinking. Sometimes blown backwards, sometimes blown sideways. The day was spent balancing heat gain and loss on the tiniest razor edge. Stopping for a minute at control 9 left us both shivering uncontrollably, but a minute later as we contoured the north side of Knott Rigg the blood flowed again and I could just feel my fingers enough to wrestle a jelly baby from its bag.
At control 10 we knew we’d made it. Only a kilometer or two to go. The marshal told me we were the third team in A-Class to come through. Having started late that could only mean we were in a strong position. Bouyed with his words I tried to stick three fingers up and shout the news through the gale to Duncan, but my fingers didn’t want any of it. I just waved a claw at him and yelled, from his grunts and howls I assumed he approved.
Sprinting to the finish we punched in the final control and smiled, only to be told that the whole race was off, canceled, fini.
_________________________________________
Along with everyone else who’s made it to the overnight camp in Buttermere we’re herded into the barn that is to become our home for the next 18 hours. Change clothes and warm up. Meet friends and exchange thousand-yard stares. Rumours circulate – we have to walk back to the start in Borrowdale. Honister Pass is closed so we can’t reach Borrowdale. There’s hot food for everyone back at the start. Mountain Rescue is turning everyone back in Honister Pass. Cars are submerged and tents floating. Finally we work out that we’re staying put and start getting comfy. Sleeping mats and bags are arranged, stoves flicker and roar as a hundred brews are made and shared. Camaraderie is high and an anarchic festival atmosphere spreads through the masses as more and more soggy shapes shuffle inside and find increasingly inventive places to sleep – in a digger bucket, on a JCB, under a truck, two to a sleeping bag, four to a one-man tent. I’m part of sixteen or so friends from Edinburgh and we all bunch up for an epic nights spooning. The wind continues to howl and rain pours down. I hunker further into my sleeping bag and close my eyes and drift back to those autumn afternoons.
__________________________________________
The OMM 2008 isn’t going to be quickly forgotten, but sadly, probably for all the wrong reasons. The media got there and decided to spray. Yes, a hugely expensive mountain rescue operation was carried out, and ultimately the poor, beleaguered, credit-crunched tax-payer has to foot the bill, but let’s look at it objectively. 1700 runners started, 1700 got home. Everyone knew it was going to be a desperate and uncomfortable event, and that was why we were there. I think calling the race off was probably the correct decision because 1700 people under canvas for 18 hours in that weather was asking for all kinds of hypothermic mischief, but I disagree with those that say it should never have gone ahead in the first place. It’s understandable for the likes of the police to want to call it off, but their job is public safety, so if they could we would all be wrapped in cotton wool and tied to our sofas. The kind of people that do the OMM don’t look at the world like that (naturally, many beginners/idiots got stuck and needed help). Of course, the mainstream media (and also lots of numpties that use computer forums, I notice) seem unable to comprehend the idea of people being able to look after themselves and actively seeking out challenging situations and end up instantly labeling the race organisers as a bunch of selfish cowboys.
The moral is, if you want someone to hold your hand and bring you back from the hill in a shiny helicopter when you start to shiver, don’t do the OMM, you’re a soft-cock.
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Changes
The golden hills: Cona Glen back in JanuaryIt's that time of year again. The dazzling greens and blues of summer are dimming into their autumnal golds and browns. The deer grass and Molinia are dieing back, painting the hillsides bronze and the heather is reverting to its drab winter grey. Whats more, its drizzling, and the clouds are slowly rumbling down the glens. For me, this is a time of change. It's the one period of the year when I'm not totally champing at the bit to seek out dry rock or frozen water: it's running season.
The Original Mountain Marathon (OMM) is but a few weeks away, and spare time is now spent as a lycra-clad fool stomping up and down the hills in a last-ditch bid to claw back some fitness after a summer's cragging. It's a great way to herald the changing seasons, and one of the few times of year when I actually am happy to go into the hills without the notion of climbing things. Pathetic, eh?
Fortunately for me, my work up at Forsinard has come to an end so I'm back in Fort William and surrounded by as good a training gym as any hill-runner could ask for. On sunday I took myself out, making use of the improved Lochaber knowledge I gained from the black grouse surveying I did in the spring. I parked at the road-head (what a fine Americanism) in Glen Loy and trudged up onto the ridge that marks it's northern boundary, following it down into Glen Mallie and then up onto a snow spattered Gulvain. From there I dropped onto the northern boundary ridge of Glen Mallie before crossing the glen (obligatory river wade) and crossing a low col back to Glen Loy and the car. The whole run was set to an eery soundtrack of lowing, roaring, belching and howling, as the stags prepared for the imminent rut. All rather haunting if you ask me.
If the weather aint too shite I'm hoping to do the classic Grey Corries ridge traverse this coming weekend. Fingers crossed.
------------
Another gratuitous photo from Culfern: Chris on Run For Cover (HVS 5a)
In other news, I was pleased to hear from the man in the know, Andy Nisbet at the SMC, that Chris' and my routes at Culfern hadn't been previously recorded, so we got ourselves the first ascents. Sweeeeet.
Another gratuitous photo from Culfern: Chris on Run For Cover (HVS 5a)Monday, 29 October 2007
The Pay-off
Its monday morning and I'm sat in front of the computer in the office, ready for a day of mapping the distribution of ethnic groups in the US for a GIS course I'm doing. Its crisp and cold outside with mix of clear blue and ominous grey in the sky and there is fresh snow down to about 800m on the Ben, CMD and Aenoch Mor. Also, I hurt quite a lot. No one area hurts the most, its just a general ache. From the blister on my left heel, up through my leaden calves to my dodgy knee and tight thighs, past the mole on my back that gets really sore by the rubbing of my rucksack to the tender bits on my shoulders where the sack rubbs up and down.
The over-night camp at a mountain marathon is always an amusing place to find your self, especially when the weather is utterly vile. Everyone has their own strategies for comfort, nutrition and hydration, but the one thing that binds us all (besides the mutual misery and suffering) is 'plastic bag chic'. You are no-one without two plastic bags to keep your changed socks warm and dry inside your very wet running shoes while hobbling to and fro. Without them you are nothing.
Dunc and I were rather surprised to discover that we were lying in 14th over-night, especially since we had walked from half-way. The terrible conditions must have slowed everyone down, and our good navigation must have earned us brownie points. It made me even more worried though, because with a good position we should try to work hard on the Sunday to keep it, but my knee wasn't well. I just chewed my scrounged ibuprofen and put it out of my mind. Food, sleep and trying to keep things dry was enough to occupy us for the next 12 hours. Buddies from Edinburgh, Konnie and Kiwi Steve (both recently mentioned on these pages for Alpine endeavours), were 2nd in our class by just 30 seconds. Game on for them.
Sunday morning started as usual with the 6.00 bagpiper reminding you of the farce you are in the midst of. We readied for our 08.36 start and hoped for the best. The weather had cleared up and it was looking promising. Clear and blue, clouds scudding on the morning breeze. Maybe it was possible to push through with some dignity. Navigation shouldn't be too much of a problem, just the usual issues of route-choice and finding fast ground.
Some where on the first wake-up-call ascent my knee stopped hurting, and bouyed with the sun on my face I started to feel good. Duncan was moving fast too, and the game faces were back on. We could do this. As usual, Dunc was there with good route-finding all the way, and by making sure we were always thinking one control ahead the checkpoints began to fall. That way as soon as you reach a control you already know which way to head off to the next. A longish leg between controls 7 and 8 meant it never felt like it was nearly over until we were legging it down the track to the last control, number 10. Duncan's power-shouts to keep back the tears bemused the teams we were flying past, but we didn't care. We were both digging very deep to keep moving fast over those last kilometres. Then it was over. Crossing the line and back into the real world. All the stresses of finding little controls in re-entrants and at stream bends just faded away.
We knew we had done well because we had been overtaking teams that were placed above us over-night, but it wasn't until we had got in, had a change of clothes and some food that we realised we were up to 8th. Nice one Duncs. The Power Bar Carbo-drink never tasted so sweet!
Konnie and Steve ended up as winners in A class. Hell yeah. Go team. Although their high altitude training must be cheating, surely! Seriously though, a really good effort by those two. Just think how good they'd be if they navigated well!
Jones and Will got round well in C class, gaining about 20 places on day two, so top banana to them and to all the other yummicks who braved the utter ming of the OMM 2007.
It seems that my training: sweating up, down and round Cow Hill, the Ring of Steall, the Five Sisters of Kintail and riding home from work up the hill to Upper Achintore every night seems to have worked out alright. Just let these aches go away and bring on the winter climbing season.
Winter?: Snow on the hills.
The over-night camp at a mountain marathon is always an amusing place to find your self, especially when the weather is utterly vile. Everyone has their own strategies for comfort, nutrition and hydration, but the one thing that binds us all (besides the mutual misery and suffering) is 'plastic bag chic'. You are no-one without two plastic bags to keep your changed socks warm and dry inside your very wet running shoes while hobbling to and fro. Without them you are nothing.
Dunc and I were rather surprised to discover that we were lying in 14th over-night, especially since we had walked from half-way. The terrible conditions must have slowed everyone down, and our good navigation must have earned us brownie points. It made me even more worried though, because with a good position we should try to work hard on the Sunday to keep it, but my knee wasn't well. I just chewed my scrounged ibuprofen and put it out of my mind. Food, sleep and trying to keep things dry was enough to occupy us for the next 12 hours. Buddies from Edinburgh, Konnie and Kiwi Steve (both recently mentioned on these pages for Alpine endeavours), were 2nd in our class by just 30 seconds. Game on for them.
Sunday morning started as usual with the 6.00 bagpiper reminding you of the farce you are in the midst of. We readied for our 08.36 start and hoped for the best. The weather had cleared up and it was looking promising. Clear and blue, clouds scudding on the morning breeze. Maybe it was possible to push through with some dignity. Navigation shouldn't be too much of a problem, just the usual issues of route-choice and finding fast ground.
Some where on the first wake-up-call ascent my knee stopped hurting, and bouyed with the sun on my face I started to feel good. Duncan was moving fast too, and the game faces were back on. We could do this. As usual, Dunc was there with good route-finding all the way, and by making sure we were always thinking one control ahead the checkpoints began to fall. That way as soon as you reach a control you already know which way to head off to the next. A longish leg between controls 7 and 8 meant it never felt like it was nearly over until we were legging it down the track to the last control, number 10. Duncan's power-shouts to keep back the tears bemused the teams we were flying past, but we didn't care. We were both digging very deep to keep moving fast over those last kilometres. Then it was over. Crossing the line and back into the real world. All the stresses of finding little controls in re-entrants and at stream bends just faded away.
We knew we had done well because we had been overtaking teams that were placed above us over-night, but it wasn't until we had got in, had a change of clothes and some food that we realised we were up to 8th. Nice one Duncs. The Power Bar Carbo-drink never tasted so sweet!
Konnie and Steve ended up as winners in A class. Hell yeah. Go team. Although their high altitude training must be cheating, surely! Seriously though, a really good effort by those two. Just think how good they'd be if they navigated well!
Jones and Will got round well in C class, gaining about 20 places on day two, so top banana to them and to all the other yummicks who braved the utter ming of the OMM 2007.
It seems that my training: sweating up, down and round Cow Hill, the Ring of Steall, the Five Sisters of Kintail and riding home from work up the hill to Upper Achintore every night seems to have worked out alright. Just let these aches go away and bring on the winter climbing season.
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Tick Tock Tick Tock
That sound is the clock counting down to the start of the OMM this weekend. It's gonna be da bomb. The week leading up to it is always a good one. Like the excitement of waiting for christmas when you're a kid, but just a painful, muddy, wet christmas with cardboard flavour cous-cous instead of roast turkey and spit and bile instead of chilled champagne.
I'm so excited. 3 days to go. I've already got most of our food. Just a few dilemmas to clear up now. Do I run in shorts and keep my leggings dry for the camp or do I save the weight and run in leggings?
This weekend found me doing one last training run in Kintail. I hooked up with the yummicks in their bothy, Glen Licht House, and Duncan (part of the dream team), Tom OG and myself ran the Five Sisters ridge plus Saileag (the first of the Three Brothers). It was probably around 20km and we made good time and I felt pretty good the whole way. I ran the 5.5km out to the car the next day and felt fresh as a daisy, which is always a bonus.
I'm so excited. 3 days to go. I've already got most of our food. Just a few dilemmas to clear up now. Do I run in shorts and keep my leggings dry for the camp or do I save the weight and run in leggings?
This weekend found me doing one last training run in Kintail. I hooked up with the yummicks in their bothy, Glen Licht House, and Duncan (part of the dream team), Tom OG and myself ran the Five Sisters ridge plus Saileag (the first of the Three Brothers). It was probably around 20km and we made good time and I felt pretty good the whole way. I ran the 5.5km out to the car the next day and felt fresh as a daisy, which is always a bonus.
Duncan Steen: Stud
TOG at high speed on the way down to Bealach an Lapain
I've been getting a bit worried recently bacause small runs have been beginning to hurt more than I think they should, but the run on the weekend made me realise that when I'm on my own I actually run quite fast. Running with others means I can pace myself, relax and enjoy it much more, rather than just worrying about getting it done. Also, I've been doing lots of short, fast runs of late and I was worried that these might dent my ability in a longer, slower event. We'll see this weekend.....
In climbing news: The weather afforded one evening on the Heather Hat last week and I was able to reach my 'high point' on Midnight In a Perfect World a few times, but still can't link it into those last desperate moves. The toe hook is actually quite painful when you weight it, and I could only have a couple of goes at a time. Its looking like Midnight... is earning its grade and what with the nights drawing in its gonna be a struggle to get it done before the end of the contract. However, as soon as the OMM is over it's gonna be 100% psyche for climbing and getting strong. New tools for the coming Scottish winter season and some new house-mates too in the form of climbing instructors Rob Jarvis, of Highland Guides, and Danny Goodwin, of Mountain Plan. I just need a couple of bright dry days on a weekend and it'll go.
Outside of my rather small-rock orientated world, Sam Loveday and Konrad Rawlik made an alpine dash last weekend and climbed The Ginat on the North Face of the Droites in a 36 hour round trip from Edinburgh. Superb work I must say. However, on a rather cynical note, maybe it's things like 'EasyJet Alpinism' that's making classic routes come in to condition less and less. Discuss.
Viv Scott and Kiwi Steve Fortune are currently out in the Alps getting up to some sort of mischeif, though I know not what. I suspect Viv will let everyone know in due course....
I'll post some pictures when I remember to bring my camera to work.
Love and eco-freindly hugs all round.
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