SIPR18 on Fearless Friend

SIPR18 on Fearless Friend

Runner Seeking Boat

A week or so before the race I got a call from an injured runner and signed up with Fearless Friend.  Déjà vu as I’d run SIPR17 as a late replacement with Laura’s Lads.  
Video from SIPR 2017 Laura's Lads

That had been my first SIPR: my partner knew the route like the back of his hand and we’d scaled the big peaks in the evening sunshine.  It was still the hardest thing I’d ever done but I wondered how some of the teams had coped in the dark.  I was about to find out.  I met a more experienced SIPRer on the Oban train.  You’ll be fine she said, just make sure you run The Paps in the daylight.

Oban

After a night on the boat getting to know the Fearless Friends we were kit checked, enthused and ready to race.  A steady start out of Oban with my running partner Laura alongside.  It’s a nice little run out up and over Pulpit Hill and we were soon back to Fraser, our waiting ferryman.  Fraser is a strong rower.  Strong enough to break the oar before we reached the boat!  Safely aboard and skipper Trevor set sail for Mull.  Except there’s no wind, so we row.  And repair the dinghy oar.

Oban: 4 miles, 761ft climb.  Click the link to relive the run.
Relive the Oban run

Mull

We finally arrived in Salen at 7.30pm.  It’s going to be a long night.  “Just come back safely” shout Trevor and Julie as we cast off.  The evening sunshine lit up the roadside bluebells and we made good progress out past Loch Ba.  The light held as we climbed up towards the pyramidal A’Chioch and picked our way across the “tenuous traverse”.  We made the top of Ben More and scurried quickly down to find the tricky control at the head of the stream.  By now there was no pretending, it was getting dark.  Running the contour around Lag a’Bhasdair requires picking a good line and in the failing light we could only bump along over bog and boulders.  We’d been joined by another pair Julien and Sophie.  Frenchman, Julien was fascinated by the bogs and frogs.  Sophie told us about her study of Latin printing in 16th century Paris.  The light went completely as the conversation continued.  It all seemed rather surreal. 

The col checkpoint off the Beinn Fhada ridge was hard to locate.  I knew we were on the saddle but in the headtorch beam every light-coloured rock looked like the kite.  In the daylight there is a nice little trod that descends diagonally back down into Glen Clachaig .  In the dark we couldn’t see the line and forged our own descent across the camber in roughly the right direction.  We finally hit the track and started on the long, long return to Salen.  Fraser was waiting and by 2.00am we were tucking into Julie’s smoked fish supper.

Mull: 24 miles, 3983ft climb.  Click the link to relive the run.

Relive the Mull run

Jura

We’d made a meal of Mull in the dark but if the sailors could get us down to Craighouse by tea time we could knock off the Paps while the clear weather held.  Dolphins appeared and were soon surfing our bow wave and diving under the boat.  A wonderful sight and surely a good omen.  I knew that the Sound of Luing was the key.  With some nifty sailing Trevor just caught the last of the friendly tide and we shot through the Sound.  We got a message that we were leading class 3.  We were flying, we were whooping.  We were stuck within sight of Craighouse for 3 hours, 4 hours … 5 hours.  Fickle winds and tides and we’d lost our daylight: we landed after 11pm.

As we ran out along the coast road I was visualising the route over the Paps.  It’s hard enough in the daylight and I wasn’t sure that it would be possible in the dark.  First things, first: find the mountain.  I had a rough compass bearing and we left the track heading out over the rough terrain towards Pap1.  With headtorch switched off the dark pyramids of the Paps loomed ahead.  Torch back on to avoid the cliffs.

Laura gamely followed my direct attack on Beinn a’Chaolais, a hands and feet climb always scanning ahead for the easier, green lines.  Tunnel vision, cold hands and a relentless climb.  It was rather breezy on the final ridge but we were reassured by meeting another pair and hit a good path for the descent.  The control by the lake was difficult in the dark but once found it put us on the path up Beinn an Oir.  Maybe we could do this after all!  Laura emptied the scree out of her shoes and we headed up into darkness.  Coming off the summit we could see the first hint of daylight and by the time we started the climb up Beinn Shiantaidh the torches were off.  Unfortunately, cloud was now swirling in and the wind was ripping over south ridge.  We hurried up and over the top and made up the descent with a mixture of scree and heather.  I knew that we needed to hit the end of the lake to pick up the return track but the clag obscured everything below.  Finally, I spotted the edge of the lake appearing faintly through the cloud.  Or was it?  The misty, morning light and steep elevation was playing with our perception of distance.  No, it’s the coastline … are we on the wrong side of the mountain?  Thankfully the cloud swirled back some more and the whole lake snapped into focus.  We loped happily down to the stepping stones.  Laura emptied a fair portion of Beinn Shiantaidh out of her shoes.  We squelched back down the moor to the bridge, coast road and eventually the patiently waiting Fraser.

Jura: 15.3 miles, 5138ft climb.  Click the link to relive the run.

Relive the Jura run

Mull of Kintyre

We’d survived Jura in the dark.  Arran was long but it couldn’t kill us.  We tucked into Julie’s chicken casserole and looked forward to some sleep while the boys tackled the sail in one long, comfortably-angled tack. 

It wasn’t to be and we were soon being thrown around the cabin along with cushions, pans, drawers, Julie and anything else that wasn’t securely tied down.  Paul McCartney sung vaguely about his love of the Mull of Kintyre and desire to remain there.  Up in the cockpit, Trevor and Fraser were producing their own more direct and colourful soundtrack accompanied by the smack and crash of the boat as Fearless was tossed about in the standing waves.  This was the infamous “washing machine”.  I managed to wedge myself across the cabin and somehow fell asleep for 3 hours bypassing sea sickness in the process.  I woke up to find our position relative to the South Point lighthouse unchanged.  All three sailors were fighting the winds and washing machine with fierce determination but our trace shows that we circled around until the tide finally let us through.  The one consolation was that we were still just ahead of Marisca.

Arran

Dry land was welcome but I felt strangely unbalanced after the rough day at sea.  We ran off towards Broddick with a slightly drunken gait.  Laura was feeling the cumulative effect but I was a slave driver – we run everything apart from the steeper uphill – look forward to it!  As we toiled on to the summit ridge of Goat Fell it was my turn to feel weary as false summits came and went in the cloud and howling wind.  Our spirits lifted as we started to descend and encountered the Marisca girls coming up.  We knew that they could descend faster than us but maybe not fast enough to overhaul the Fearless survivors before the jetty.  Our race was back on!  The jog became a canter as we left the cloud and hit the easier trail.  Along the shoreline and through Broddick we kept it going.  Back over Prospect Hill and there was Holy Island ahead.  And Fearless Friend.  And sausage casserole.  We were back into Lamlash in sub 4h30 and had held off Marisca. 

There was just one problem:  I’d told Fraser 6hrs and Fearless Friend was fast asleep.  And our texts hadn’t arrived.  As we stood shouting the Marisca girls skipped cheerfully by and sailed clean away.

Arran: 19.2 miles, 4193ft climb.  Click the link to relive the run.

Relive the Arran run

Troon

Trevor announced that we had a favourable wind.  This was a first for the boat and the crew nodded in disbelief.  But yes, we were definitely heading East at a fair rate of knots.  We arrived in Troon ahead of schedule but just behind Marisca.  The broken oar held together for one final effort from the tireless Fraser.  Along the pontoon, into the office and we were done. 

We were over a day behind some teams but the cheery SIPR folk made it feel like we’d won.  Our sailors had shown unbelievable endurance around the Mull of Kintyre.  But at the same time, they couldn’t believe we’d run most of Mull and Jura in the dark.  The Fearless team had taken on the biggest challenges that the SIPR could throw at us and the sense of achievement was immense.  As was the desire to just lie down.