Mull Monsterette 19/07/08
Team PRCMary's report...
Yesterday was an early start. Team Hunter-Buchanan rendezvoused with junior member Kemp at 0530hrs at our doorstep and we whisked off north-west in Ben's big black car aka “the hearse” (according to Alison's mum). By 0910 hours we were buying our ferry tickets from Oban to Craignure in Mull for the purpose of attending the Mull Monsterette, a medium length hill race in the Scottish Hill Running Championships series. A fair proportion of the people also queueing were clearly hill runners. The rest were tourists from all over the world. Presumably heading to Iona for a look. A woman with very good English and a vague German accent homed in on Ben (he has a sympathetic face) and started telling him all about her morning and how difficult it was for her to get up and all the problems she had been having with her breakfast. I was already suffering from a degree of nerves about the day ahead and felt this woman was further scrambling my brains so stayed out of eye contact and under her radar.
The Garmin Armies.The 45 minute journey over the water to Mull was smooth and unproblematic and a good opportunity to eat quite a lot of porridge. A bit of to-ing and fro-ing and being sent from one bus to another was soon resolved and we found ourselves on the coach to Salen for registration at the church there. We were then mini-bused onwards to Loch Na Keal and the race start.
Sarah was just behind Frank and Martin was hot on Ben's heelsThe course description warned, as did the registration form, that this was a serious mountain race and required navigational skills and care and attention. Other clues were excerpts from the course description such as “head straight for the summit by following the path as it climbs the south facing slopes and meets a chimney that takes you almost to the top”. Pardon me but isn't a chimney a feature used in climbing? Oh well, faint heart never won championship points. I've been up a few hills but don't know much about it and frankly don't know a coll from a gulley and all the other stuff map-wavers rave on about. The thing is to follow someone else as well as you can and hope to God they know what they're doing.
Claire "Brown" picked up an injurySo. With standard minimum of fuss we were sent off up the road with clear instructions about where to go which my brain refused to retain. I would be trusting to luck. The first mile up the road was fine and I clocked a 7.55 min/mile. My average pace for the whole race was 20 minute miles so you can see things slowed down a bit after that. The first climb was long and stiff but I rather liked it. I can often hold my own on the way up. We emerged eventually from a steep calf burning ascent on gravel and heather onto a chossy, gravelly top (my mountaineering terms are failing me here. Surely it was a bluff or a saddle or something. I wouldn't know. It was on top.) as the first confident down-hillers went by me I was philosophical about it, always knowing my strength is in ascending and thinking optimistically that I might reel them in again later on. Little did I know that this was to be the pattern for my entire race.
The Carnethy TentAs I picked my way uncomfortably across nasty ankle-twisting scree others lolloped past, apparently unconcerned by the myriad drop-offs and blind falls ahead. I picked up some places after the first long descent by up-hilling determinedly to the foot of A chioch (I knew from past brushes with mountains that this meant the nose, so I assumed it was this thin grey snout pointing up into the stormy sky with dots of tiny “runners” ranged up it.) For a while I had been aware that Tony Stapley was close behind me and had been trying to keep the pace up. All respect to Tony but I didn't want him beating me. The wind was getting stronger however and the ridge ahead looked so steep and exposed that I thought I better get my coat out my bumbag and on. I felt a bit dizzy and disorientated anyway and I thought the cold might be adding to this. Most people had Helly Hansens under their running vests but I'd opted for the vest only option because so often when you're running you end up too hot. I wasn't really moving fast enough to stay warm though.
Now on the boat Tony and I had had a discussion about navigation which had culminated in Tony telling me that he had been rescued from completely the wrong side of hills on a number of occasions, and him saying “Never, never follow me!” If this had been a film, (or the Simpsons) at this point, I would have heard this voice echoing as a warning through my head. But it was no film and as Tony and a gang of other lads in their 50s and 60s overtook and began taking a path to the left of the ridge which was seductively out of the wind, I followed.
On the left the first ascent and ridge.
Picture of Ridge from Carnethy website (thanks) but it wasn't looking so friendly on race day.At first the path was good although a bit sheer at times dropping sharply off into green and rocky depths below. The quiet after the constant roar of the wind was helpful. I noted that the guys ahead were beginning to shake their heads though and were heading with an unmistakeable seriousness sharply up and right. When I took in where we had come to I had pause for thought. I suddenly realised that we were on a greasy green slope with no path on steep drop offs and the only way out really was to climb up and off the ground we were on as soon as possible. I noticed my breathing was very heavy considering it wasn't physically that hard work and realised belatedly that I was close to panic. Nothing felt safe. The ground I was standing on didn't feel safe. The next move did not look safe. There was nothing to get a secure hold on, just green mossyness and loose gravelly bits and it was quite steep. The thought that I was avoiding was that if you began to slide there there would be absolutely no way to stop and there was a clear drop below of at least 2000 feet. We used to rock-climb and previous exposure to sudden bouts of fear helped me to deal with it. The thing is that if you let it build it can really get you into trouble. What I had to do was get moving right away before I got frozen and caused the situation that I most feared.
Possibly A Chioch which we ran from left to rightI probably wasn't there very long but it made an impact. I was soon on less steep, easier ground and as I popped over the top a marshal looked surprised to see me. “Just head up there” he said “ there is some scrambling.” “Oh God” I said resignedly. I thought briefly about retiring, staying with this marshal and coming down ignominiously off the hill, but thought better to press on even though the thought of scrambling at that point reduced me inside to a whimpering cringing wreck. As it was there was nothing again nearly as frightening as what had already been. The thing was we'd been off course. The chimney materialised fairly soon and it was a scramble upwards but it was on positive rock and gravel and concentrating on getting your feet and hands placed well distracts you from any thoughts of the space sucking at your heels. Quite soon I was at the top of Ben More and turned right onto the tourist track – the name of which was so reassuring I loved it right away.
Gio
By this time though, my usual poor descending skills, tiredness, hunger, fear and thirst had robbed me of all but the ability to jog down slowly. To my surprise people kept passing me. It was a surprise to me that there was anybody behind me at all. None of them were in the state I was though. They seemed happy and relaxed and soon disappeared into the distance on what to me seemed like an impossible stony descent. At times I thought optimistically that I might be reeling in runners only to find the runners were in fact a few scattered sheep grazing on the hill side. Involved as I was in this I was about to miss the river crossing which cut a good corner off the finishing stretch when by a stroke of luck Davy Francis of Fife who was injured and therefore moving as slowly as me (at last!) happened by and showed me the way. A last stagger across peaty squelchy uneven bog and I was running up the road, over the bailer twine and finished! Hurray!
I could read concern in Ben and Peter's eyes. Concern that we were going to miss the first ferry home as I'd been so long. Ben gave me some food. Peter asked me where on earth I'd been. It took a while to tell them because I didn't really know. Anyway it was good to be alive. Incredibly, some people were still finishing.
Talking to people at the prize-giving afterwards and then the onwards journey over the water there was a mixed reaction to the race. Some people (mountain people I suspect) loved it while other runners felt out of their depth and totally unable to do any real running. I chatted to one guy who was thinking he should just give up hill running completely having also felt so scared and thinking well maybe it just wasn't for him. I reminded him of all the peaty grassy roundy hills that are also a part of Scottish hill running and although they need a degree of thought and care and self-sufficiency they don't have the same stark seriousness of mountain ridges. Hopefully he was coming round a bit after talking about it for a while.
It was nice having someone else driving because I was able to have some beer to drink in the pub while we were waiting for the ferry. I felt the atmosphere between the runners was unusually warm and friendly, due perhaps to having such a stern common enemy in the dangers on the hill. Maybe it was just me short of sleep though. I get like that. Ben dropped us off at something like 2300hrs, back on our pavement and Peter and I hurpled back up the stairs. What a day!
Report Mary Hunter
Peter's version...
John Coyle (above) is the mastermind (and I use the term loosely) behind the Mull Monsterette. A Carnethy of old he moved to a teaching post in Mull and encourages folk to go running there by devising hideous routes over the high tops. The “Monsterette” because it is a shortened version of the Monster: twice the distance at 18 miles and over twice the ascent at 10,000' of climbing. If it is twice the difficulty of the monsterette I will never be doing it. Don't get me wrong I really enjoyed the day out but the difficulties of the course were such that a second lap, or equivalent, is unthinkable.
The scenery was great and I would highly recommend the route (in good weather) for a walk and scramble in the hills, but I found the ground too rocky to enjoy running over and there was so much stepping up that even though it was only a couple of hours I felt well fried. My legs were cramping all over the place while I tried to change shoes after the race, and I had had more than enough of “running” over poor ground: too rocky, too swampy or just too steep.
Mary has covered most of the days events (although she seems to have forgotten Ben Fhada a large unmissable hill in the centre of the course but perhaps not as impressive as what immediately followed and so easier to forget.) It was a properly scary prospect facing A Chioch and seeing the competitors ahead ascending into the mist up an impressive ridge. Not so much because of the risk of falling (unless you took the Stapley team alternative route) but because the wind was howling round your ears at that point and the ascent ahead looked even more exposed to the elements. I put my Goretex Jacket on partly as a security blanket and partly because I feared if it got worse upstairs getting out a jacket up there would be near impossible without doing an Alison Hargreaves. If I had known how impressive it looked I would have taken a camera to record it.
The reality was thankfully much less hazardous as once in place on the ridge the position took you out of the full force of the wind and although there was still a lot of careful stepping (rather than running) up and along rocky paths, quickly the worst was behind and a straightforward climb to the top of Ben More lay ahead. There had been jokes beforehand about the course being “runnable” a term that presumably encompasses everything up to, or down to, crawling on your belly holding on with your teeth. Pretty sure Brian Marshall and all were stepping (rather than running) carefully up and down the route same as everyone else. Only doing it slightly quicker. I would describe the route as FULL ON and “not for those of a nervous disposition.” And although I enjoy an adventure in the hills I didn't feel I made a terribly good job of this one. As you can see from the profile the route goes up at the start. I think it took me about 33 minutes to summit the first climb which fills your shoes with sweat allrighty. The appropriately named Ben had disappeared long ago and I could see the lead three women ahead swapping places. But as the race progressed runners came alongside, we would run together, then they would get ahead – even on the downhills where I usually pick up places. Partly because of the stony ground which doesn't allow flat out bombing downhill and partly because the stepping up stony ladders for hundreds of feet using handholds isn't something I've done enough of in training and it leaves your legs jellified. The terrain reminded me of Borrowdale, The Ben and the Lairig Ghru; in other words the least pleasant type of surface for running over.
However it did make for an interesting adventure and if anyone else wants to put money into a hat for tarmac-ing the last mile from the tourist path across the river over to the finish I'll be up for that. Ben fell twice while overtaking a couple of guys. I had decided to jog it but still went down once heavily in the tussocky swampy waterlogged melange of ankle-breaking shoe-grabbing brick infested shrub garden. I felt while crossing this death-trap wasteland I would have been much smarter to follow the tourist path to the main road then dash along the tarmac to the finish, however Gio did just that and felt he lost considerable ground to colleagues who did the diagonal swamp-cut. Grass is always greener etc.
Brian Marshall broke his own record.Anyway big respect to John Coyle for keeping a very cheery demeanour during the long day and successfully organising buses, mini-vans, marshals, church-halls, starts, finishes, soup and cakes, prizes, and mini-van trips back to the ferry. Despite his levity I know he had his breath held and fingers crossed until everyone was safely off the hill. And he also did a great line in original prizes from great handmade pots of wildflowers and local produce, to unusual domestic appliances. Top marks for the adventure of the race and good organisation though not perhaps the most pleasing of underfoot conditions.
Having a laugh with Dougie Milligan: first o/60 and runs like an o/40 - well this o/40 in fact, as we spent the whole race changing places and he finished 10 seconds behind me. (pb) What a guy!
Tony with Tom Bowie on the ferry back- "You need a lang spoon tae sup wi' a Fifer..."
Hopefully Ben will add a comment* as he thought the route was outstanding and performed strongly with his customary skills. Also it should be noted that the concern Ben and I had about Mary's late arrival at the finish was because we were worried about her, and not about missing the ferry.
Report and photos pb
Team photo Davy Francis
Results here*Ben's report.
There is not much I can add to Peter and Mary's full descriptions of a very full day, except to express enthusiasm for what I found to be an exhilarating and challenging race in wonderful surroundings. I loved the mix of running and scrambling, the constantly varying terrain and, most of all, the drama of the location (which I made myself pause to appreciate, if necessarily briefly, on several occasions). Fabulous adventure running in what felt like a genuine 'mountain' environment, coupled with all the familiar fun of Calmac and the Scottish islands. A serious race, no doubt, but one to be recommended if you fancy an adventurous day in the hills, without the commitment of a longer race, and even day-trippable from Edinburgh! Thanks to John and the other organisers, and in particular to the marshalls for doing a sterling job in demanding conditions.
2 Garmins agreed about 9.5 miles though this graph suggests 10.5+
