Reiff Encounter

Myself on Mac's Route (HVS 5a), Pinnacle Area, Reiff

All photos: Sarah Jones

More dodgy weather forecasts, more indecision. This time round Saturday was spent hanging ten up at Jones’ pad in Munlochy. In terms of activity the highlight was sending my long-standing project - the obvious traverse between the lounge door-frame and the ledge above the stairs. It’s difficult to grade. At this level it’s all just theory, until some-one comes along and onsights it. Good luck to them. The next best thing was discovering Leaky’s in Inverness. It’s a huge second-hand book shop in an old church with a wee café upstairs. Sometimes I wish I had a bit of spare cash to splash out on old books and fine food, but, hell, I’m 23, there’s time.

More dodgy weather forecasts, more cups of tea. I felt bad about bailing on Chris on Sunday, he’d hoped to come up and climb on the Shelterstone - I had too - but common sense prevailed after some serious webcam checking and thorough forecast reading. What to do now?

One of the best things about Jones’ base on the Black Isle is it’s proximity to the North West. We made a last minute plan and decided that Reiff would be the best option - quick drying, low-altitude, accessible, and in this case, away from the inland showers (apparently). The other benefit is that it’s Reiff. No trip up to Coigach or Assynt is wasted, like heading into the Loch Avon Basin, they instinctively feel like the right places to be. It was Jones’s first trip up that way too, and the excitement written on her face when Stac Pollaidh, Suilven, Cul Mor and Cul Beag rumbled into view was like seeing a toddler at Christmas.

The promised land: Coigach slumbers under the clouds

Our only problem was that Reiff is quite extensive, and I had left the guidebook back at Abernerthy. Balls. With the ukclimbing.com route list and memory from a previous visit this obstacle was overcome. Naturally, we were confined to the Pinnacle Area, because that’s the only section close to the car park that I’ve been to before, and we only had route names rather than descriptions, but we had a good day none the less.

The latest SMC Northern Highlands North Guidebook

Jones lead Moonjelly (VDiff**) and Edge of the Sea (Diff*), I did Midreiff (Severe*), Skel (Severe), Mac’s Route (HVS 5a*), Jellyfish Slab (Diff*), soloed Puckered Wall (VS 4b*) and landed in the rockpool under Earth Shaker (E2 6a**) a few times before deciding that it was clearly a silly route. Without a guide we decided that quantity was better than quality, and with a few passing showers it wasn’t really a day for engaging with fear.

Jones high on Moonjelly (VDiff), The Pinnacle

Jones 'laying one on' on Mac's Route (HVS 5a)

Just one of the many benefits of Highland living.

On Monday night I met with Jones again, this time at Cummingston, and we had a pleasant evening’s cragging. After climbing Left (VS 5a**), we headed round to Gutbuster Bay. I was in the mood for a fight, and promptly got stuck into Gutbuster (E2 5c**), literally. I’ll tell you now, I failed on this monster, and at the time I felt a little disappointed with myself. However, on reflection I’m not disappointed, I‘m pleased that I had a go. The route starts up a well protected overhanging wave-smoothed off-width groove-come-crack, before finishing up a wall to a good looking arete. No points for guessing where I failed. “Was it the overhanging wave-smoothed off-width groove-come-crack?” I hear you ask. Yes. Yes, it was. Having udged, jammed, cammed, reached, bled and grunted, I just don’t understand how one climbs this kind of thing. Not having had a ’gritstone apprenticeship’, as all those smug troglodytes would no-doubt call it, means that I’m stuck when it comes to grievous bodily harm in a leaning chimney. Bollocks to them. However, I down-climbed, rather than lowered off gear, so my ground-up ascent is still in tact, and it is an inviting line. Maybe one day.

Afterwards I blew away the black cloud created by Gutbuster by soloing Flakey Wall (E1 5a*) and soon felt a bit better about the world. Jones then climbed Rice Crispie Wall (Diff) as the light began to fade over the Moray Firth, and that was that.

Another summer week ticks by, another weekend’s cragging. However, with a great forecast for this week, maybe the coming weekend will enable some classic mountain rock activity. Check back in a week’s time to find out…….

Wet Play

No, I'm not referring to some dodgy sex game. I'm talking about finding ways to spend my time when it's pissing with rain. And it has been. All last week was a wall of wetness, a saturated, dripping festival of badness. What's a boy to do?

MWIS, BBC and Metcheck all fooled me into thinking that the weekend would be nice and dry, so Steev headed up on the train and we crossed our fingers to see if we could get over to Shelterstone crag in Loch Avon to climb The Needle. Of course, we couldn't. Instead we went biking at the Moray Monster Trails near Fochabers and it was a blast, as our pan-oceanic friends might say. We ended up soaked to the skin, plastered from the very tip of my rotting, blistered toes to the top of my noggin in a thick crust of Morayshire's fertile filth. Lovely.

Would you trust him with your kids? Teacher-to-be, Steev.

The panacea view: Loch Avon

With a good forecast for Sunday we thought about an alpine-start and cycling in to Garbh ChoireBeinn a'Bhuird to climb Squareface, a quick drying four star VDiff. However, the liklihood of Steev missing his train put paid to this plan. Instead, we headed up to Coire an Lochan on Cairngorm to see what we could find.

Steve waving from the belay on Savage Slit

After retreating from a very slimy Fallout Corner (VS 4b**), Steev headed up Savage Slit (Severe ***). Despite a fair bit of water hanging around, it provided two brilliant pitches, including some good old-fashioned back-and-footing up the chimney. It's definately getting the Gaz Marshall treatment this winter. With a fair bit of time to kill before Steev's train, but not enough for a big route, we strolled down to the wee slab below and left of Hell's Lum in the Loch Avon Basin and I climbed Pluto (E1 5a*). It's 45 metres of friction padding on beautiful water-worn granite, mustering about three decent runners in it's length. The climbing was a doddle, but I guess the joke RPs in flared cracks made it pretty dangerous. Most of the winter snows have melted away by now, but there was still a wee patch just beneath the route so poor Steev got frosty toes while belaying from the bergschrund.

Who needs the Alps?

The Lower Slabs, Hell's Lum. A worthwhile spot for a second route.
Pluto heads straight up the driest line, above and right of Steev.

Logic vs. Adventure

All smiles: Fran and Jones chilling on Cioch Nose

Remember those annoying questions in maths classes? If Jimmy has three bananas and five pears and Jenny has two plums and an apple, how many men does it take to change a lightbulb on the 16:22 train to Okehampton? Or something like that. Well, on Saturday morning, cruel logic, something I hadn’t really thought about, took it’s toll.

If you have a 1.3 litre R-reg Skoda Felicia and fill it with people and kit, will you be able to drive it to the top of Britain’s longest/highest/steepest mountain pass? Obviously, no. Or at least, not without it overheating at least three times and needing to wait in a layby with the bonnet open, radiator fan wheezing, like a fat Labrador on Scawfell on midsummer’s day. Fortunately, and about an hour later than planned, Jones, Steev, Fran and I finally made it to the car park at the top of Bealach na Ba in Applecross. Our objective: Patey and Bonnington’s Classic Rock masterpiece, Cioch Nose (Severe****) on Sgurr a’ Chaorachain.

Fortunately, the weather forecast had North West Scotland as the sunniest spot in Britain for Saturday, so we were in the right place. With at least three teams in front of us on the route we took our time about it and relished the climbing. Steev and Fran climbed in front of Jones and I, meaning it was a very sociable and friendly day out, despite the ‘out-there’ nature of the line for the grade. Obviously, it’s a great climb, four pitches covered in huge holds and good gear, made all the better by finishing up the A’Cioch ridge above the climb proper. This adds another 100-odd meters of VDiff/scrambling followed by some towers and gaps to skirt round/down/over/up.

Fran employing traditional skills seconding pitch two.

Jones finishing pitch two

We camped just below the Bealach na Ba car park on Saturday night, barbecueing sea bass and overlooking Skye, Eigg and Rum. Who says that low-budget climbers have to survive on super-noodles?

The happy team stroll back to the car, with Skye beyond.

Sunday dawned and we all slept in. Oops. Still worried about my car, we decided to head back to Chez Jones in Munlochy for brunch before heading to Cummingston in her wheels. I felt that I had an inevitable date with Diedre of Double Doubt (E2 5b**) so warmed up on Diedre of Doubt (HVS 5a**) and then Right (HVS 5b*) (neither of which is particularly easy for the grade, I felt)

Me on Right (HVS 5b*). Photo: Steve Crawford

Before I could psyche myself out I stepped up to Diedre of Double Doubt and became embroiled. It’s a great wee route, (I would say that, having done it), pretty steep, but on big holds for the most part. Gear is spaced, and fairly wee and far below the crux, providing pretty ‘heady’ climbing. I felt pretty strong on it though, down-climbing to place more gear before getting fully committed. Smuggly belayed at the top, I felt justified in sitting on my arse for the rest of the evening, which I did, watching Nadal take Federer’s Wimbledon title.

'Getting some back' on Diedre of Double Doubt (E2 5b**)

Nearlly there.... Photo: Steve Crawford

So, despite still not climbing any properly challenging mountain routes this year, I feel like I’m beginning to break into the E2 grade, something that I had really wanted to happen this summer. Also, as Jones gets more confident we’re starting to climb some of the easier classics that I’ve never done, like Cioch Nose. All in all, mustn’t grumble, really.

If you don't like the weather, just wait 15 minutes....

Chris Edwards pulling down on Inspector Cleuso (Font 6c+),

on the Cameron Stone, Glen Nevis. (Photo: C. Edwards)

Another week slips by, another opportunity to reflect on the passage of time.

I haven’t made much mention of my work on Soft Rock, mainly because I don’t really do much of it, but I’ll enlighten you. At the moment I’m working on a short contract for the RSPB, acting as a Research Assistant on Mark Hancock’s ‘interventions for black grouse and pine at the forest edge’ project at Abernethy Forest Reserve. Black grouse are birds of the pine forest edge, and are pretty fussy about the habitats that they frequent – too many trees, not enough, the wrong species, the wrong age, the wrong ground vegetation, anything to complain about, really. As such, changes in land use over the last century have sent their numbers into decline. Mark’s research is trying to glean an understanding of the best ways to manage the forest edge, in order to reverse the plight of this rare bird. At the same time he is looking at the effect that different management techniques have on the regeneration of the magnificent Scots pine forest here at Abernethy. The management interventions in question are burning patches vs. cutting patches vs. leaving all the vegetation alone. This is where I come in. My boss, Johanna Willi, and I spend our days going to all 60 of the experimental plots (20 burnt, 20 cut, 20 left alone), surveying the vegetation (to give an idea of the habitat present for black grouse to hang about in), surveying the invertebrates (black grouse chick food), surveying dung (to see what species are using the plots at present (grouse, capercaillie, deer, etc.) and surveying tree regeneration. Easy.

Spending my days on the moors just North of Cairngorm is pretty pleasant, and for those with an affinity for nature it’s a great job. Hardly a day goes by when you don’t see something of note or learn about a new species. Today’s discoveries included pulling a dry owl pellet (dropping) apart and finding a fully intact shrew spine, with its tiny tail still attached. Later I learnt about the differences between frogs and toads (a toad’s pupils are oval, frogs are more circular, and toads prefer to crawl than jump, frogs are the jumpers). Yesterday I learnt about Formica ants (wood ants). They spray Formic acid at attackers, which you can feel when you pass your hand over their nest. Last Thursday we saw a 6 day old Capercaillie chick, standing stock still in the blaeberry, not something you see every day.

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On to the more familiar subject of climbing. Jones and I headed to my town residence on Friday night - a very soggy Fort William, via a dry Kingussie Crag. I climbed the unimaginatively named, but very good Right-hand Crack (HVS 5a**) and was disappointed to be turned away by its partner, Left-hand Crack (E1 5b**). My head wasn’t really in it, and with gear I didn’t much care for I backed off. Some you win…etc. The Groove (HS ***) and The Slab (Diff**) were both polished and pretty disappointing.

Much of Saturday was spent drinking coffee in Fired Art and watching the cloud roll up Loch Lihnne. Chris came up from Edinburgh on Saturday afternoon, and it stayed dry long enough to allow an evening’s bouldering up the Glen. Although I didn’t actually try anything new I had a good wee session, very nearly repeating Midnight In A Perfect World and Killer Instinct on the Heather Hat in the first attempts in months. Chris tentatively took the first steps on the long journeys that these Glen Nevis stalwarts can provide. I hope he has as much fun as I did.

All weather forecasts pointed East for Sunday, so we upped sticks and headed to Cummingston on the Moray coast for the afternoon. I hadn’t been to this sunny sandstone beach-side crag before, and was pleasantly surprised. It’s famed for being the driest spot in Scotland, and a good trick to have up your sleeve when the rest of the country is underwater – mind you, even here rain eventually stopped play. For me, the highlight of the trip was climbing The Prophet (E2 5c**), a grooved, roofed arête with good gear – possibly the difference that provided the confidence I lacked on Friday? It’s not really technical, just takes a positive approach and a stiff pull to unravel the crux.

Getting involved with The Prophet (E2 5c**), Cummingston. (Photo: C. Edwards)

Working out the crux of The Prophet. (Photo: C. Edwards)

Chris then made short work of Stegasaurus (VS 4c**), a steep but gloriously juggy arête. Jones deserves particular mention at this point for her clean eduro-second of this pitch. It’s definitely the steepest thing she’s seconded, and she hung in there to the top, at times quite literally, showing some of that fighting spirit that she claims to lack. Grrrrr. She’s a tiger. Finally, as the rain set in, I nipped up Trapeze (VS 5b*) an extended boulder problem, and was very nearly decorated in fulmar vomit for the trouble.

Chris, sandstone and blue sky. (Photo: C. Edwards)

Finally, a wee sesh up at the Link Road Boulder yester-eve saw off a couple of the problems I tried last week. Sadly they’re nearly all one-move wonders, so not particularly exciting.

Chris on a 5c problem on the Link Road Boulder, April 2007. Coire an Lochan beyond.

So, there we are. Another week closer to the winter. Uh-oh…….

Coiling ropes at the end of two contrasting days in the Cairngorms.

(Photos: S. Jones)

The Misty Mountains

Jones honing her skills on the sharp end on Afterthought Arete

Just a brief one this week. Mid-summer weather is currently in effect in the Highlands, so the caress of stone has mainly been replaced by fondling chalk-smeared plastic. I've taken to hiding from the rain at Scott Muir's Extreme Dream climbing wall in Aviemore, which is pretty cool - certainly enough to satiate my addiction to severe forearm pump.

Hallowed walls: Shelterstone Crag with Carn Etchechan beyond.

Jones super-styling the first and best pitch of Pygmy Ridge

On Mid-summer's Day it stayed dry in the Cairngorms for a full 24 hours. Jones was in town so we headed for the hills in search of some gentle mountain rock. Starting in Coire an't Schneachda we wove up to the plateau via Pygmy Ridge (Mod**), crossed down to Loch Avon by Coire Dobhain and popped back up via Afterthought Arete (Mod***) on Stag Rocks, then back to the car down the Goat Track. A good wee circuit, taking in some pretty epic scenery on excellent rock. Jones and I shared leads all day and it was great to see her confidence grow throughout - practice makes perfect.

Roaring melt-water heading to Loch Avon

Just because it's easy doesn't mean it's not awesome!

Me on Afterthought Arete. (Photo: Sarah Jones)

Alas, any plans for Sunday were curtailed by ceaseless precipitation. Nothing to do but light the fire and batten down the hatches in the wee cottage.

After work today I ventured up to the Link Road Boulder by the Coire Cas car park. It's a big lump of glacier polished granite that doesn't have a single good hold on it's considerable bulk. I set to work with icy fingers on crystal crimps and ragged slopers until a big squall stopped play, then high-tailed it home. There's the potential for a few evening's playing, but none of the problems are particularly inspiring. If only Glen Nevis was just round the corner.

I'm hoping the good weather of yester-month returns, as I have many a date with the magical mountain crags of this land. Surely another summer can't slip by without at least my doing The Needle or Minus One Direct. To all climbers reading this: get in touch via email/text if you're getting out and want to play, I have no mobile reception so it's hard to find partners up here in the wilderness! Ta.

Soft Rock Review

Would you believe it, it’s been just over a year since Soft Rock was born? Aye, time flies, especially when you’re having fun. I have to say it, but it has been a good year.

Inspired by my then house-mates, Sam’s Seasonal Affected Disorder and Steev’s Stevious Says…, I quite liked the idea of archiving my activities. As a climber you spend a lot of time traveling to new places and drowning yourself in emotional experiences which really lends itself to the written or spoken word; small wonder mountaineering has such a rich history of literature. Combining my whittering with pictures, videos and web links, it’s very easy to create something that looks half decent, and sitting down for the weekly blog session has become something I really relish. If anyone out there does actually read this, then cheers, hope you like it, get in touch. I’ve discovered that I really enjoy writing, so even if no-one reads this, I’ll keep going.

So, the last year. Twelve months ago I was just nearing the end of my monster 10 month doss at Loveday Towers in Edinburgh (I will give you some money one day Sam, honest, but I’m still very skint!). Four days a week I worked in Peter Green & Co. Wine Merchants, the rest of the time I was trying to climb. However, with no car and no money, Edinburgh isn’t an easy place to get lots of climbing done.

A typical evening in Loveday Towers: Big Brother, tea, beer, brown sauce.

My big break and the biggest change of all, came when I moved to Fort William in July, starting a graduate placement with Gary Servant’s Upland Ecology, which lasted until Christmas. I rapidly discovered that Highland life was something I was well suited to, and can’t really see any reason to ever work anywhere else: life really is too short to put up with the things you don’t like. I discovered the delights of Glen Nevis, both the exceptional climbing and pure beauty. Laying siege to the Heather Hat gave me some of the most intense and enjoyable climbing I’ve done. I know on sight trad climbing is where it’s at, but there’s no denying that the feelings of exhilaration and pride rapidly fade. Projecting something hard provided a whole new, deeper, experience. Just another thread in the tapestry, I guess. My contract with Gary ended, and along came the winter season.

A Fort William Winter: are you tough enough?

Fort William turned into the place to be. Coming down for breakfast you’d trip over a slumbering dosser on the kitchen floor. Strolling around town, bleary eyed and red-faced from a day on the hill, your eyes would meet with some other rosy-cheeked, greasy-haired climber type and we’d share a knowing smile. The scene. For three months I subsisted on a few mornings work with Blair for the Avalanche Service, and the pay-out from writing my car off – rock and roll, man. Luckily, as things started to look desperate, and the snow started to look like melting, a job fell into my lap. As a black grouse fieldworker for the RSPB I spent my early mornings surveying the forests and glens of Lochaber for lekking birds. Up before dawn, finished by nine thirty. Not bad. At this time the sun started to shine, and the cragging season began in earnest. Then along came my current contract, and I’ve moved over to Abernethy Forest in the Eastern Highlands. The climbing has continued, and at the moment I’m feeling pretty good.

Searching for enlightenment on the Heather Hat

This time has been punctuated by a few stand-out moments: Johnsey’s wedding in Nova Scotia in August was an alcoholic hill-billie roller-coaster ride, as was my brother’s in October, just with less hill-billies and more kilts. Topping out on Midnight In A Perfect World was the final piece in a five month jigsaw, and a real lesson in self belief, persistence and some of the more mental aspects of climbing. Taking my first decent trad fall was utterly enlightening too. I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders, and a sudden confidence: falling isn’t that bad (sometimes!), and this realization has since allowed me to strap it on on a few occasions that I would have bottled in the past. One final defining moment was the starriest night I have ever seen. Jones and I were camping in Glen Muick, planning to climb Lochnagar’s Eagle Ridge the following day. The combination of time spent with Jones, the slumbering mountains, the prospect of a days climbing and an endless view of those distant galaxies was damn near perfect.

Jones high on Eagle Ridge

Throughout the year Jones has been a pillar, gamely putting up with all my climbing spray and obsession, supporting my decisions as I moved around for work and not minding when I buggered off to play on stones. There’s no denying that not seeing her as often has been one of the biggest challenges of the year, but hell, if you want things enough, they’ll work out.

All in all, not a bad passage of time.

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Much of this reflection was brought on by the last weekend. A decidedly unsettled Highland forecast sent me South to my old haunts in Edinburgh, and as much as I still love the place and all the friends still there, it definitely felt like a stranger to me. The whole time I just had this nagging feeling that what I’d left behind in the hills and glens of the Highlands was the world I now inhabited, and that a city boy I was no more (was I ever?). I guess I’ve just been spoilt by having it so good up here. Living in the stix isn’t for everyone, I’ll admit, but it’s what I’ve come to love. Let’s just hope that I can continue to find work up here.

Chris and I headed down to Back Bowden on Saturday. I had hopes to do battle with a few routes I had tried before and failed on. Starting on The Witch (E2 5b***) I found much better gear than last time round, but proceeded to go the wrong way and took the lob. Next time round I discovered that if you go the right way it’s actually pretty easy. What a twat. Look away now if you want the on sight: don’t traverse the bare slab beneath the overlap, step up high and undercut the overlap all the way from the gear. Big holds make it easier than no holds. Next up: The Sorcerer (E1 5c***). I failed on the long reach on the initial boulder problem a few times, but when I finally latched it the rest all came together. Over a year ago I had had a comedy wobble before falling off when pulling round the lip, but this time that bit went on the first go. At the end of the session I did The Magic Flute (E2 5b**), and am indebted to the guy that lent me his cams for the crucial gear. None of mine fitted, and he threw his up. Surely that’s not beta, I only knew what kit to place when I was at it. Anyone? No? Fine.

On Sunday we went to Stirling’s answer to Rosyth Quarry: Cambusbarron. I had been informed that it wasn’t too bad a spot, but let’s be honest, a dolerite quarry is a dolerite quarry: there’s no folklore and mysticism like the slate quarries here, it’s just a shit hole. It didn’t help that we had to share the crag with an aged Def Leppard (sp?) lookalike in lycra who would not shut up. I’ll be frank, maybe even snobby, but I don’t particularly enjoy spending my weekends in the company of weird old men in dirty holes in the ground. Chris had a valiant effort on Easy Contract (hard HVS 5b**), I did The Doobie Brothers (E1 5b**), and we both decided to sack it and bugger off.

The day before I was inspired to climb. On Sunday, despite being offered numerous quality(ish) routes, I was not. I didn’t mind though, I don’t really think I’m missing much by not going back to Cambusbarron.

The LAMM: Glenfinnan 2008, aka another ridiculous past-time

On Saturday I made some discoveries. Despite what I thought, pain isn't all in the mind. Pain isn't fun. Pain is very real. This oh-so-obvious fact hit me very hard while I was doing my best to stay on my feet, falling and sliding into Glen Dessary. Rocks lurked in the mossy tussocks I could once skip over, but my blistered feet wouldn't skip, they scuffed, slipped and tripped throughout the 500 metre descent. Each step contorting my soggy skin against grit embedded socks and shoes, hard-earned layers of skin just eroding away. Steep, fast, technical downhill was what I supposedly excelled at and enjoyed the most: not today.



It's the LAMM, the Lowe Alpine Mountain Marathon. Day 1. Between checkpoints 4 and 5 Duncan and I were faced with a route decision from hell. Like choosing between being hit by a speeding truck or being repeatedly, but slowly, reversed over by a SmartCar. The former choice was a brutal 700 metre ascent, a sledge-hammer blow to a dehydrated body under a cloudless June sky, the latter just meant going a long, long way. We bit the bullet and committed to being hit by the truck, at least once it's over, it's over.



For the first time ever, I started to feel bad. Not just tired, but empty. In past races, when ever I've felt low I've just munched some jelly babies, had a drink, told myself to man up and dug into my reserves. This time, it wasn't happening. My reserves were exhausted, long gone, nil. Infuriatingly, Duncan didn't seem to be too fussed and kept moving. "Why won't he stop?" I wanted to scream. I wanted to blub. I wanted to add my inevitable tears to my inevitable vomit. I wanted someone to make it all go away.

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Hours later we hobble into the overnight camp, by now Duncan's pains have caught up with him, and together we shake and shuffle our way through the crowds to Chad and Konnie's tent. They look smug, rehydrated and refreshed, placed 2nd out of 33 teams in A class. We're 16th. Much better than I had expected, but it won't make the hollow feeling go away.

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Never under-estimate the restorative powers of eating, drinking and sleeping. Bright and breezy next morning (actually, not breezy, as the latest fashion in midge nets testified), we were up and at it once more. Judicious use of wound dressings, climbing tape and compeed held our blistered feet together, and gamely we hobbled on. Somehow, the emptiness and apathy of the day before had been replaced by a sprightly spring in my step, much to Duncan's later dismay, and I felt high as a kite. Maybe it was from knowing that despite Saturday being a slow nightmare, we still made a fairly respectable place.

By the end Duncan was looking a bit ragged, having rubbed a hole through his compeed and back into his blister, but annoyingly for him I had racing fever. All I wanted was game over, so we just dug deeper, ran faster, and eventually, crossed the line in 13th position. Chad and Konnie had dropped to 4th place - still very good, but dissapointing for them, after Konnie's feet eroded into bloodied stumps. Rumour has it he was heard whimpering - for the first time, the mighty Pole was felled.

Holy Compeed: Duncan's bloodied stump.

Sexual heeling: Mr Rawlik's war wounds.

Our heros: (l-r) Duncan, Konnie and Chad during post-match analysis. Yes, Chad is wearing short shorts.