Harris Half Marathon

It doesn't get properly dark at this time of year

It was late, very late. And my brakes had started to make a horrible metal on metal grating sound some time ago. And, well, to be honest, they weren’t working at full capacity. I had reconciled myself to it being a late arrival as sensible Friday work departure times are now a distant memory, which of course had done nothing for my general mood. My mood was certainly not improved by my dodgy brakes because of which, other than the predicted cost of repairs as well as the distinct possibility of ending up stranded at the side of the road (or in a ditch) I was reluctant to drive fast and overtake the seemingly vast number of utter diddies on the road crawling along at 40mph - I’m not quite at the stage of having a death wish just yet. I had vaguely planned to stop somewhere midway just when I got tired and camp at the side of the road and then continue the journey in the morning but with my car playing up I decided that it was safer just to push on to Uig and then worry about the car on the Sunday after the race, after all missing the ferry to Tarbert was unthinkable and on balance being stuck on Skye and unable to get home on Monday was certainly the more bearable of the two options. Actually, it was quite a desirable option when I thought about it. Anyway, there was a Heb 3 T-shirt at stake.

Another Heb 3 T shirt added to the collection

Eventually I screeched (unintentionally) into the campsite at Uig sometime well after midnight, threw the tent up as quickly and as quietly as possible and fell into it. When I took a look at it the next morning it was decided lopsided but it wasn’t particularly windy and I really couldn’t be arsed with re-erecting it so I decided it could stay as it was.

A wonky tent

 Saturday was a glorious day and I sat out on deck on the ferry for a good part of the journey from Skye to Harris catching up with folk and letting go of the stresses of the previous week and the journey to Skye. I was on my own as Simon had stayed up in the Hebrides after Barra for the week whereas I didn’t have enough annual leave allowance to do that. Another sore point. 

Anyway, Simon met me off the ferry, and we made our way up to the school to register for the race and out to the buses which take the runners to the start line with Hamish, my heb half nemesis. As we headed out to the buses it had turned grey and overcast and there was a light drizzle so it was beginning to look like perfect running conditions to most people although I tend to prefer the heat. 

There was the famous “pee stop” which, believe it or not, for the first time in the history of the race some plonker took to social media to complain about – aye, there’s always one. And the twonk even took photos! Let’s hope his race entry isn’t accepted next year. I’ve noticed his presence recently again on social media bleating about some aspect of another race – they didn’t have enough water stations on a 5k or something.

My, I am really sounding like Little Miss Angry in this blog post. That is what life is doing to me at the moment – Time to go to the mountains I think!

Mountains. Where I need to be.

 We were dropped off at the start point and quickly set off, some quicker than others. In fact, a couple of the younger girls who I think were University students seemed to shoot off very quickly and I equally quickly made the decision not to attempt to go with them. Initially I didn’t feel too bad and having no real idea of where I was standing in the overall series but knowing that Mairead from HBT was behind me and that she was definitely a contender for the Heb 3 series, I pushed on. I was generally feeling ok until about 7 miles when disaster struck and I felt the start of a grumbling gut that nearly stopped me in my tracks. Basically the rest of the race was spent battling a dodgy gut and praying that I wasn’t going to have to stop. I really welcomed the uphills as my guts were considerably more comfortable on the climb than they did pounding away on the downhill but this was a worry, a big worry. 

Those two cyclists looked like they were having a great holiday

Staying in front of the cyclists

Simon was dotting about the course taking photos and cheering the runners on and I concentrated on trying to keep up with an overtake a pair of cyclists who were loaded up with paniers and the slowest of the two looked like she was having about as much fun as I was. After about 10 or 11 miles I felt reasonably confident that I wasn’t going to have to stop and so I started to go a bit faster and overtake people including one of the girls who had started very fast and I was gaining ground quickly on the other who appeared to be walking up the hill a couple of hundred yards ahead of me. By now the sun had come out and it was really pretty warm by Scottish Island standards which I think may have played a part in the demise of the two girls who both slowed down considerably and both of whom were in need of medical attention on the finish line. 

Happily I had reached the finish line with no gut related emergency stops required but I wish it was something I could resolve at it seems to happen quite often although I think dehydration the day before a race often plays a part and I struggle with eating and drinking while travelling as it always seems to necessitate eating far too late in the evening, particularly with rushed post work journeys, stressed to hell and middle of the nights arrival. My only other race related issue didn’t manifest itself until the following day and that was in the form of some cracking sunburn.

Heb 3 organisers

Heb 3 team winners

They did the Heb 5

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After the presentation of prizes for both the Harrris half marathon as well as the Heb 3 it was off to the pub before catching the late ferry back to Uig. Sadly the usual pub has now become a church so we went to the hotel next door in search of beer (and probably eternal damnation) and a celidh before going out in the grey misty rain in search of much needed food, much needed before any more beer was consumed. I know its hard to believe but on what is probably one of the busiest nights of the year in Tarbert to our horror and disappointment the fish and chip shop was sold out. Yes, really. We trudged round to the little burger stall near the ferry terminal. We were pleasantly surprised, its definitely worth a repeat visit there, the food was excellent and very good value for money if anyone is looking for recommendations. Then it was more beer. 

Determined to sit out with a beer despite the rain

Sheltering from the rain

The fish and chip shop had sold out

"Are you sure you've sold out?"

Simon and I arriving and departing separately generated much comment and drunken discussion about sub optimal annual leave allowances but by the end of the day I was feeling considerably happier (or drunk?). A chat with Bruce and Dougie about Himalayan adventures, as well as the African and South American adventures that Dean and Gillian had talked about on the ferry journey home from Barra the previous week began to stir thoughts in my head and firm some up some future life plans and action to be taken. How much would I regret putting myself in the position where these adventures were never to be an option open to me? I may at this juncture steal an #ultrakazy hashtag or three #liveyourbestlife #dowhatyoulove #surroundyourselfwithgoodpeople and my own one #lifestooshort 

 I stood on deck and watched the grey misty evening in Harris slowly slide out of view before heading inside. After more beers on board coherent thoughts were no longer really an option so I crawled back to my lopsided and by now very soggy tent and resolved to enter the Marathon Hebrides the following year. Not quite the Andes, Alps or the Himalayas but hey, baby steps.

I woke up to a misty, grey, rainy morning (Basically, Skye weather) and remembered the car. If the brakes did properly pack up then it was going to be a long day trying to get back to Aberdeen in the rain - if i could be arsed...might just stay another night....got the tent after all.... Oh well, nothing to be done but go for it. I packed up the soggy tent and made the unhappy discovery that I had managed to drop my box of matches outside the tent and they now refused to light rendering a cup of tea a distant prospect so I decided to go in search of tea. I headed to the Uig Hotel and met up with Hamish and his dad although I resisted the temptation of a second breakfast tempting though it was. Happily, the car got me that far without the brakes failing, so far so good. 

Plan A was the Trotternish ridge but the dank low hanging mist swiftly put paid to that idea and I drove on the Sligachen hotel and decided to go for a stroll down the valley in the shadow of the Cullin hills. After the first 100 yards or so the crowds of camera wielding tourists thinned out then disappeared altogether (and not because I snarled at anyone, in fact I was very nice) and I was left in peace alone. Bliss. Every so often the swirling mist lifted and I caught glimpses of the precipitous rocky summits around me including the near perfect pyramid shape of Glamaig, the race up and down which had taken place the previous day, a race however that I tend to go out of my way to avoid as it is brutally difficult and happily my SHR championship chase can avoid it this year. 

Eventually I reluctantly turned around and made my way back down towards the hotel slowly dragging myself back to reality where sure enough the crowds of tourist were gathered and I started the adventure that was the journey home on distinctly iffy brakes. At least I had a dose of mountain related #mentalfloss to get me through the journey home, if not the following week. The fact that I’m sat here writing this should tell you that the brakes survived long enough to get me back to Aberdeen although by the time I got to the A96 I was changing down the gears in preference to braking. 

And for the record, yes, the repairs cost a bloody fortune but most importantly I got my Heb 3 T shirt.

Creag Choinnich Hill Race

The eagle eyed amongst you will have noticed that I’ve moved back to the frozen north having swiftly concluded that I am indeed a country bumpkin and compared with Edinburgh, Aberdeen seems almost village like and will do me until I can find the ideal lifestyle to fit my personality eg lighthouse keeper on a remote Hebridean island or yak herder in the Himalayas. Sure, Edinburgh is a “happening” place, loads of things going on and whatnot but I couldn’t stand the noise, the bustle, the traffic, the crowded pavements, the crowds of people. Mainly the crowds of people. In fact, I really couldn’t stand the crowds of people. I’m not really a people person. In fact, on the scale of country bumpkins I am heading towards hermit status at an alarmingly fast rate. So, I clicked my heels together three times and hey, presto! I arrived back in Aberdeen just in time for some midsummer races. The summer nights of the north of Scotland when it never truly gets dark….

Actually, it was pretty cloudy and chilly for the race with grey clouds gathering ominously overhead, a typical Aberdeenshire summer evening really, with runners turning up wearing long sleeve tops. Ah, its good to be home.

Race Registration was in Braemar castle. Ok, now for the history bit. Feel free to ignore it….

This location for a castle first came to prominence in the 8^th century when Angus McFergus, King of the Picts built a fort on the site called Doldencha which became an important stronghold controlling one of the main fords or crossing points across the River Dee and he also founded a chapel dedicated to St Andrew located in Braemar’s burial ground. In the 10^th Century Kenneth the Second visited Braemar on a hunting expedition and gave the hill of Crag Choinnich its name – “Kenneth’s Hill”

In 1060 Malcolm the Second visited, also on a hunting expedition and held a “great gathering”, maybe a forerunner of today’s Braemar gathering, where prizes were awarded for various feats of speed, skill and strength including the hill race, the first winner being one McGregor of Ballochbine and this was the means by which the king selected his swiftest messengers. Going by my performance on the night its unlikely I would have been selected for that particular royal duty.

Kindrochit castle on the banks of the river Cluanie in Braemar was built by Malcolm and it gradually took over from Doldencha as the seat of power. Braemar stood at the convergence point of many important routes such as the Cairnwell Pass (now the A93) Jocks Road, the Lairig Ghru, Across the Mounth to Angus etc.

The present Braemar castle was constructed by the 18^th Earl of Mar in 1628 as a hunting lodge, and then forfeited by the government after the 1715 uprising in which the then earl of mar was a key figure. It was bought by John Farquharson and it was used as a garrison for troops until 1831 when it was returned to the Farquharson clan and restored, even hosting Queen Victoria there when she attended the Braemar Gathering*.

The Castle also featured in Andy Stewart's video for a “Scottish soldier”. Its available on youtube if you really have nothing better to do. If you don’t, then now is a good time to find something better to do.

Right, back to the race…We were led to the start line right at the foot of the hill over the road from the castle by a lone piper. It’s a brutal uphill start by anyone’s standards and I couldn’t help wondering if king Malcolm let his runners start at the castle to give them a bit of a run in to the hill to let them warm up. I soon warmed up was we climbed the awkward sized steps, and followed the trail passing through the gate in the fence and into the woods, past the ever present Christmas tree. The dry weather had left the paths dry and dusty which was definitely preferable to trying to tackle this race in a wet weather mud bath. I seemed to be going well enough at this point and over took a few on my way to the summit. As it is such a short race we seemed to wind our way up to the summit very quickly before being directed downwards by the summit marshall. I wonder if the hill was in use as a fort or similar in the centuries before Malcolm came along with his early hill race? The summit certainly has a feeling of ancient times about it or is that my over active imagination? I blame the solstice.

The descent is equally short, sharp and brutal at one point featuring a sharp right turn at 90 degrees (I remembered almost not quite making the turn in a previous race) and then bouncing down those awkward sized steps towards the finish. I was glad to reach the finish before too many people had gone past me. Then it was into the castle for some top-notch tea and cakes which is a pretty plush location for a post hill race prize giving by anyone’s standard. A stone spiral staircase led up to a large room painted deep red in true Victoriana Style, lined with dark mahogany furniture, thick rugs on the stone floor (I hope the runners wiped their feet!) and the obligatory stags heads mounted on wooden plinths adorning the walls. At one point during proceedings a large grandfather clock chimed causing one runner to enquire whether it was Alan Smith’s stopwatch.

It was a late finish and a late return to Aberdeen, and that was without stopping for chips on the way home. A long way to go for such a short race but it was definitely worth it as it’s a great wee summer midweek hill race in a great location and, unlike my last race in the central belt, you could enter on the night and there wasn’t a thousand other runners!

(*the history bit has been lifted from various websites such as wikipedia (so it must be true) and "braemarhistory.co.uk. I am not sure if this is classed a referencing historical sources or a disclaimer)