The Scottish Island Peaks Race is a combined fell running and sailing race which involves running ~60 miles (with 11500 feet of ascent) and sailing ~160 nautical miles over two or three days.
The event is a combination of sailing and fell running. It takes place over 3 (or often more) days and involves over 50 teams. Teams consisting of five members (two fell runners, three sailors) compete. The first stage is a five mile hill race around Oban. On reaching their yachts the runners settle down for a rest whilst the sailors race to Salen on Mull. No engines can be used, if we get becalmed then the yacht can be rowed!
At Mull the runners run (as a pair) 24 miles to and up Ben More and back to Salen where it is back on the yacht for some rest. The sailors now guide the ship down through the treacherous tidal waters round the Corrievreckan whirlpools. Meanwhile down below the runners are trying to eat and sleep and not be sea-sick!
The next landing stage is at Craighouse on the Isle of Jura. The runners are rowed ashore (hopefully not too sea-sick) so they can run 19 miles over the Paps of Jura (with ~6000 feet of ascent). The terrain is extremely rugged here. The approach to the Paps is over ankle turning tussocks and through bogs. The three Paps themselves rise very steeply over a 1000 feet above the plateau. The ascent and descent is over scree. The end of the run involves 4 miles along road to the yacht.
The yacht then sails south and around the Mull of Kintyre (again, the tides conspire here to trap the unwary sailor). Once round the Mull the boat heads for Lamlash on Arran where the runners once again disembark by dinghy before running to, up, down and back from Goatfell. The Goatfell run is reckoned to be the easiest on paper but the cumulative effects of exhaustion, sea-sickness and blisters ensure that it too is a gargantuan feat of endurance.
On returning to the yacht the race is not yet over! The boat must sail to Troon were two members of the team must row to the moorings, run along the pontoons and up the slipway to the finish.
~9pm Oban
Arrived and it was raining. Headed for MacTavishes Kitchen were the "Last Supper" was being served. Tucked into some fine nosh courtesy of James' parents (thankyou again!). Met Brian for the first time. Also had to have our kit checked - fortunately it passed muster.
~11pm
Headed for Dunstaffnage mooring to the yacht, Panther, were we would spend the night. There were a number of other competitors moored there. Pre-race nerves were beginning to set in.
12 noon
After less than a quarter of a mile we headed up a steep alleyway and along a narrow lane. Before long we reached the open hillside and were running along a farm track. The helicopter swooped low overhead but gradually became more distant as the leaders pulled away.
Towards the end of the run the route dropped sharply through some trees. The going was slippy and although I had studs on my feet went from under me and I landed rather abruptly on my rear. This inauspicious start set my mind wandering to Jura, where the terrain would be a lot harder...
As we reached the harbour road we could see the lead boats leaving the harbour. We donned our life-jackets and jumped into the dinghy. John started rowing as we frantically searched for our yacht. They missed us and had to circle around again. When at last we caught them, a line was thrown and as it went taut the momentum of the yacht jerked the little dinghy sharply and we all but fell in. The dinghy was hauled in. We scrambled aboard and dived down intto the cabin. The runners job was now done and our only task was to keep out of the way whilst the sailors hauled the mainsail. Once past a certain point of the harbour engines had to be turned off for the duration of the race whilst runners were in contact with the boat..
3pm - Sound of Mull
5pm - Salen, Isle of Mull
I had been told there is a knack to getting into the dinghy. The most important thing is not to hold onto the craft you are leaving as you go! Instructed thus I went for it and was both surprised and relieved to manage without mishap. Willie followed close behind with a sureness that was to be his trademark throughout the whole venture.
On reaching shore we ran up to the control tent where kit had to be checked. Once again our kit passed and Willie proceeded to see how many kisses he could get from the female marshals. This also turned out to be a Willie trademark - talk about a woman in every port!
Once released from the marshals' embraces (yes there were several) Willie and I set forth along the long road section to Loch Ba. This was a distance of about 10km which usually would present no problem but we had to do it twice with about 20km of rough country and a Munro between. Willie is an expert at knowing what pace to go so I settled in to the somewhat tedious job of churning out the miles. The weather was however perfect. The warm May sunshine was still quite high in the sky (one of those magical early summer evenings on the West Coast of Scotland).
We passed some other teams who were mixing walking and running. We were also passed by a couple of teams, most notably Phil Mowbray and John Coyle. Phil and I swapped some idle banter as the two of them glided past.
At the end of the road section a track leads off to the left (eastwards) and quickly reaches the south west shore of Loch Ba. We followed the track for over a mile before the turn off southwards into a Glen. Not far into the Glen the lead runners were making their way back! I imagine it must have been Rob Jebb and Mark Rigby on there way to setting a blistering stage record.
The route we were taking led us through to the head of the Glen to a high pass. At the high pass we were to follow the ridge westwards to the summit of Ben More. The ridge includes a sister peak of Ben More but ascent of this was unnecessary. We skirted round its south side trying to avoid the tricky boulder fields. The secret is to stay low!
The final ascent to the summit involves sharp climb up a steep ridge section. It was here that both Willie and I felt pangs of cramp in the calf. Up until that moment the legs had been fine but the increased gradient of the final scramble threatened to wreak havoc.
The summit was in a swirling mist but had there been a view we would not have tarried to appreciate it. Ahead of us was descent - something I was unsure about. Willie's experience meant that he was always going to be stronger on the rough descents. He led the way. I followed gingerly over some scree. My legs did not feel quite ready for the sudden change from climb to sharp descent.
Coming off the summit we needed to find a checkpoint at the junction of two streams. As we dropped out of the mist it was evident that several teams were having difficulty locating it. Willie however knew exactly were it was. He descended the gully and checked in his tag while I lingered at the top of the gully knowing he would have to retrace his steps back out. The route now involved circling the north west corrie of Ben More to a saddle in the ridge running North from the summit. The direct line would mean a descent and climb so we were skirting (or contouring) round in an arc to both reduce the effort and hopefully the time.
On reaching the saddle we were to descend steeply back into the Glen leading back to Loch Ba. The descent was tricky and another pair of runners passed us. Once down to the foot of the Glen the running became easier but even so another pair of runners past us. Later we were to find our better pace judgement would allow us to catch them all before the end of the run.
On depositing the last checkpoint tag at the end of the Glen where it reached Loch Ba we had more than a mile along the stony Loch-side track and six miles along the road. By now we were beginning to feel every foot-fall. Reaching the end of the track was a relief as it meant no more painful stones under the feet but the road section seemed to punish the entire sole of our feet.
Half way back along the road we were passed by another female friend of Willie's and even here he managed time for a kiss! Oh! What I would have done for the bicycle! But we were still running at a good strong pace and it became evident we were gaining on some teams ahead. We passed two teams in the approach to Salen, one being a team that passed us on the descent into Loch Ba. On the half-mile from Salen to the jetty we caught and passed the second team who had passed us in the glen.
At the finish checkpoint Willie proceeded to get more kisses and embraces and even a shot of whisky. We had taken a little under four and half hours. Since we had told our crew that we would be five hours our oars-man and dinghy where nowhere to be seen!
This slight hiccup was more than remedied for when John managed to row like fury to us he informed us our steak was waiting in on the yacht! And after that there was strawberries and cream! Now I must have been hungry but I honestly had no room left for the strawberries. Willie conveniently polished the lot off and downed some celebration beer as he had set a personal Mull stage best too. With Jura some undetermined sailing time away I crawled into my sleeping bag and promptly fell asleep.
Whilst lying in my sleeping bag I was OK but the thought of standing up appalled me. I grabbed some breakfast of sorts staying in as horizontal a position as I could. Getting dressed on a rocking and rolling yacht is tricky enough but doing it and trying to keep breakfast down is an art form. Somehow I managed it but then discovered I had lost my map case and compass on Mull! I hurriedly found a makeshift map case and dug out my spare compass (amazingly I had a spare). All I wanted to do was get ashore and run. Running seemed a far more pleasant prospect than staying onboard, even in the relative shelter of Craighouse Bay.
This time jumping into the dinghy was trickier but I was so keen to get ashore I would have swam if necessary! Once ashore Willie and I headed into the distillery malting shed where kit check was taking place. We were in time to see one runner have his kit declared unsuitable - his sleeping bag was too light. This seemed harsh at the time but the weather on Jura was unpleasant and too flimsy a sleeping bag could literally prove fatal. On a less serious note the runner was trying to gain an unfair advantage over those who complied with the rules so the decision was appropriate. Needless to say the runner was not happy about having to send back to the boat for a bigger sleeping bag!
The start of the run on Jura was cold and drizzly. We had practised the route two weeks previously on my maiden sail but then the weather had been glorious. Now it was just about getting round at strong steady pace.
The Jura run involves ascending each of the three Paps. The word Pap means breast and the hills are shaped like breasts. They rise steeply out of the surrounding moorland. They are very difficult climbs because the sides are strewn with boulder scree. This is unlike the sort of scree that occurs in the English Lake District, this is rocks the size of televisons which flow from under you as you try to cross them. Getting the right line up and more importantly down the Paps can make a huge time difference.
The approach to the first Pap was trouble free but shortly into the ascent the weather closed in, with driving sleet. Desperately cold in a very short space of time I struggled to pull on my full body waterproof cover. This cost valuable minutes and progress up was slow, far slower than it had been two weeks previously. On the summit it was hard to stand even when bent over. I all but crawled to the summit following Willie, who as usual seemed oblivious to the whole thing!
The descent went poorly in the mist. We missed the optimum line and came off too far round to the South. I was just glad to get down having been close to becoming crag-bound - an irrational (or perhaps rational) terror that freezes you to the side of the mountain too terrified to go forward or back.
Fortunately the wind was considerably reduced on the next Pap and my spirits lifted. The climb was still hard work but I was content to follow Willie. I now consoled myself with the knowledge that one Pap was behind us. The second Pap seemed to pass without incident and our line off was considerably better. We had a short stretch of moorland to cross before the final Pap. Halfway across I stopped to refill my water bottle and mix in the sports drink. The drink and another Mars Bar steeled my body for the final climb.
We met another pair of runner on the final climb and Willie took great delight in asking them what they had dined on the previous night. They had had the runners staple diet of pasta. When we informed them of our steak dinner they decided they would sack their yacht's chef! Willie was happily chatting away to them whilst I struggled behind. They said they knew a secret line of the final Pap and they bade us goodbye!
Willie's surname could almost be "Coyote"! Despite them outpacing us to the summit Willie picked out a perfect line. We descended the Pap with the murderous scree either side. Like angels from heaven we dropped through the mist and down to the open moorland below. Willie was slightly ahead by now as I stopped to tie my shoe lace tighter. It did not matter. Now we were running my kind of terrain. Tracks. Then road.
Ahead of us we could see a team of three who must have been doing the challenge. All the way to the road we were catching them. Just after reaching the road we exchanging greetings and went on our way. Just a few miles along the road and then back on the boat....
When we reached Craighouse we checked in at the distillery and their we had our photo taken with John. The row out to the yacht was relatively uneventful although the water was still quite choppy, even within the shelter of Craighouse Bay. When we reached the yacht I did my usual trick of diving below and lying down to avoid sea sickness. Willie, with help from John, was left to sort out some food for us.
Apparently, our exit from Craighouse Bay was not smooth. I have little recollection of what happened as I was probably asleep. Jura had finished me off!
As we rounded the Mull the wind dropped further. James and Brian, both of whom had had two long nights decided to cut there losses and get some kip below deck. Having slept for about fourteen hours I was now too awake to stay below. In addition, the calm conditions made being on a yacht pleasurable for me!
Up on deck John was helming but there was scarcely two knots of wind. We were in essence just drifting with the tide. Away to the south west we could see the islands of the Antrim coast. To the south east we could see Ailsa Craig, a distinctive rock island which is a famous bird sanctuary. I sat in the cockpit chatting to John and willing the wind to pick up. The sun was warm and had it not been a race we would have been quite happy to just enjoy the balmy morning. We could see a couple of yachts several miles away similarly drifting helplessly.
The wind had picked up slightly to two or three knots. I asked John at what stage would the spinaker be an option...
An hour later James the Skipper popped a sleepy head out of the cabin into the cockpit. He glanced at the speed guage to note we were doing 4 or 5 knots. It was a few moments before he noticed the spinaker was up, looking ripe and full in the breeze. There was a moment of puzzlement as he realised only John and I were on deck. Then as John explained to him he realised that John and I must have hoisted the spinaker together. Willie was also awake an emerging at this point and expressed his disbelief that John had managed to get the sail hoisted with someone as new to sailing as me.
The truth was that John had done all the hard work whereas I had held the helm. With his guidance on not letting the course cross the line of the wind all I had to do was hold a line. It was quite satisfying for us both to note the surprise on the faces of the others...
The wind drove us onwards for about an hour but was enough to bring us round the south of the Island of Pladda on the southernmost tip of the Mull. The tide however was beginning to work against us and we were struggling to hold position as we rounded Pladda. It was not long before we were being driven backwards. The water was too deep and we were being drifted in dangerously close to the rocks off Pladda. The oars were brought out and we took turns to row. The was a risk that for safety we would have to turn the motor on to drive us away to safety. Fortunately the engines were not needed as the tidal current passed its peak and the wind picked up slightly.
Amazingly to the east one yacht was passing between Pladda and the Mull. The pre-race guidance to skippers had warned against this because of the lack of clearance in the Sound of Pladda. This boat's skipper was obviously a canny old sea dog because the boat found a way through!
We rounded Dippin Head at a snails pace and Holy Island hove into view. Willie and I started making our preparations to run again but progress was slow and we relaxed again. Our destination involved sailing into Lamlash Bay which is guarded by Holy Island. The bizarre thing was that once we rounded Kingscross point and encountered the shelter of Holy Island we very quickly covered the last half mile.
It must have been mid afternoon when Willie and I set out on foot from the inshore rescue boat station at Lamlash. The weather was warm and sunny. Initially we followed the main road but when it turned away from the coast and headed uphill and inland we carried on along the bay. This was easy running even with a rucksack on the back and I felt as good as I had been all weekend. Half a mile further on we turned off the bay road and headed up the hill that lead to the Dun Fionn hill fort. Once there we coasted comfortably down into Brodick. Willie was getting a little nervous that I was pushing it too fast - I really felt like I was holding back. The route around Brodick bay mostly follows the road but there is a shortcut across Brodick golf course. We were soon at Cladach at the foot of climb up Goatfell.
I had never been to the top of Goatfell so I was not sure how difficult it would be. The path however is very clear (compared to Jura) and the dry conditions meant that skipping over the rocks was easy rather than treacherous. I could not believe how good I felt.
As we approached the final ridge we skipped passed two of Willie's club mates, Gary and Andy. We were having a flyer! The final ridge to the summit is spectacular. The views as we reached the top around the Glen Rosa horseshore were stunning. Goatfell may not be a Munro but with its adjacent peaks, the landscape is spectacular - and today the view was awesome. I paused a moment at the top to take it all in. Willie left his tag at the checkpoint and headed off. This was the first time during the race I really stopped to be a tourist! I followed Willie a few seconds later. The descent down the ridge suited him more than me and I struggled to keep the gap that had developed. Once off the ridge and onto the path down through the col I closed up the gap. We were both descending fast. I think we were each on a runner's high.
At the foot of Goatfell there is still four or more miles and a stiff climb to get back to Lamlash. Around Brodick Bay we were fine but on the climb out of Brodick Willie started to struggle. As we turned off the main road at South Corriegills he gasped that he never usually ran this bit. "You will today!" I replied cruelly! He dug in. I am more than ten years his junior but Willie is tough. He ran all the way until the climb through the pine woods to the top at Dun Fionn. That last bit finished him and he had to walk.
At the top only descent and flat running remained. I knew Willie was able to keep a steady pace to the end but with just two miles to go I wanted to push on to a good time. I kept the pressure on him to keep pushing. Fortunately he was too tired to pass comment on my words of encouragement!
As we stormed into the checkpoint I knew we had done it. Willie's team-mates passed him a bottle of Newcie Brown and God did he need it. I put on a similarly needy look and I to was given a bottle which I drank as we jumped into the dinghy back to the yacht. Willie and I were on a high - for us the race was over. The crew however were just about to really start racing. We dived into the cabin as the activity in the cockpit was more than frenetic. Willie and I had done well on Arran - 3 hours 18 minutes, which proved to be second fastest for that stage.
Once Panther had cleared Lamlash and was on course for Troon the boat settled and the mood up on deck became less frenetic but still alert and expectant. Willie and I tucked into some well earned scoff. I was really high!
Up on deck things were really hotting up. Panther was gaining on two yacht's in front but worryingly a yacht was catching up on the stern. James was completely focussed. John and Brian were poised ready to act at moments notice. In particular James was keen to avoid the chasing yacht stealing our wind - a tactic which involves positioning a yacht in such a manner that it causes the yacht in front to lose the air in its sails.
There was a sudden flurry of activity, the chasing yacht suddenly cut across from the rear and starboard in line that would take it across our stern. Frantic orders from James and Brian and John were leaping into action - then disaster! One of the sheets holding the foresail cut loose and it was flapping in the wind like a shirt on a clothes line. The incredibly John caught it and held it. It was unbelievable that his arm did not get ripped off.
The trailing yacht whizzed passed and wide onto our port side. The tactic had worked for them but was taking them off course for Troon harbour entrance. Meanwhile were about to perform a similar wind steal on the yacht we were overhauling...
The yacht we had caught took evasive action and suddenly we were clear and it looked like we had a clear run to the Troon harbour entrance. The yacht that had overhauled us was way off to the Port and was only now tacking to regain its line. We were going to reach the entrance first!
Panther did indeed reach the entrance first but we needed a sharp starboard tack. The yacht that had gone wide had a better line but was still behind. Our tack did not go as clean as hoped and we had lost momentum but we reached the entrance first by half a length...but we had no momentum. The other yacht drifted effortlessly past us!
It was still close and the race was not finished until two crew reached the Harbour Masters Office. To do this you had to launch the dinghy before entering the inner marina. The two selected crew would then paddle like mad to the morrings edge, leap out and run to the Harbour Master's Office.
It was Willie and I in the dinghy, Willie rowing like a man possessed but they had 15 metres on us. They reach the morring and started to run. We reached the mooring, they had 100 metres on us. I sprinted, Willie realised it was futile but I chased anyway. Somehow I managed to close the gap down but I was running out of distance! We were pipped by about four seconds to the finish!
We headed for Oban and the start under engine power. The sight of so many yachts was impressive enough even then but this was before they were under sail. The sea was sufficiently calm that the journey round was a pleasant cruise. The view from the entrance into Oban harbour was spectacular, particularly with so many yachts clammering for space.
The gun went off and the runners started streaming along the harbour road with a helicopter filming overhead. I was making a considerable effort not to run fast, this short stage at Oban formed a trap for the unwary, especially with 24 miles of hill running on Mull to look forward to that evening. Being two minutes slower here could mean we will be 20 minutes faster on Mull.
With the yacht race safely underway the runners were permitted up on deck, at least between tacks. The wind was good although it was coming directly on our line of sail. The sight of a flotilla of yachts tacking their way up between Morvern coast to the North and Mull to the south was breath-taking.
From the point of view of us the runners the sail had seemed leisurely but the approach to the mooring happened very suddenly. We were barely ready to jump into the dinghy. I had managed to make sure I had my pre-measured sports drink sachets, my Mars Bars and my Jelly Babies stuffed in the belt pockets of my KIMM sack. I grabbed the map case, clambered out the cabin and carefully made my way through a somewhat hectic cockpit. The dinghy was already tied on and was now cast into the water in the wake of the boat. John climbed in first and took our bags then somewhat tentatively I leapt forward.
Saturday 20 May 2000
Now if this were a sailing diary I guess there would be a few tales to tell about Friday night-Saturday morning. I imagine it must have been a rough ride because when I was woken and told we should be at Craighouse, Jura within the hour, I was distinctly aware that the sea was rough. The mood of the sailors suggested it had been a rough night.
Sunday 23 May
~5.00am Popped my head above deck to see we were somewhere around the Mull of Kintyre and somewhat becalmed. We were still managing a few knots but nothing scandalous! I went back below.
Footnote
The race was the best adventure I have ever been on. I would like to thank John and James Leckie for allowing me to join the adventure, I would like to thank John for some cracking dinners on board and Brian for his jokes! A big thanks to Willie for looking after me on the hills and dragging me along on the whole daft thing in the first place. Many thanks to the organisers and the marshalls for their time and efforts. Finally, and by no means least, a big thankyou to Sinead without whose support I would not be able to train or race.
