Two Breweries Hill Race

Like an unclimbed Munro or Corbett that I've stared at on the map or in guidebooks, this race has dwelled at the back of my conciousness for a long time. Not surprising since it has been going for 36 years, but I've known of it for a while and wondered if I would ever do it. I actually entered in 2017, and during the summer of that year had done two recces of the route, returning to the car on bike. Unfortunately on the 2nd recce, when descending from Trahenna I had badly sprained my ankle in the heather. That year, my main race goal had been the Kielder Trail Marathon in October so with the 2BHR at the end of September, I decided the risk of injury was too high to jeopardise my marathon.

This year, having completed the Islay Marathon at the start of September, my year was now free to enter the 2BHR. 300 entrants is the limit for the race on EntryCentral, and when I signed up in the 2nd week of September, there were still at least a hundred places left. I bought a new pair of trail shoes (Hoka Torrent) after the SCW run and made sure to run in them as often as possible. Runs of note included the RedMoss Kips once evening, and a long (22km) run home from work over Blackford, Braid, Caerketton, Allermuir and Capelaw.

Race week arrived and keeping an eye on the forecast watched it change from stormy rain to dry and bright. Fortunately, it settled on the latter by Friday 27th September and I felt confident I'd be keeping the 'waterproofs' in the bag during the race. The race organiser mentioned the race was being used as a 'Scottish Hill Runners' counter meaning it would have a greater attendance than normal. Since the race base would be at the Primary School this year, he said that parking in Broughton would be at a premium. I contacted Ian Bradley who I knew was also running and arranged to car share with him.

Ian and I arrived in Broughton around 9:15 and he blethered away meaning we arrived at the buses as they were ready to leave. I grabbed a seat beside a fellow Sprocker owner from West Linton and had a good chat on the 50mins to Traquair. At the House, we politely queued up to register and then Ian and I met in the tearoom for a seat.

At 11:50 we were called for the 'EQUIPMENT CHECK!" which consisted of 10 runners being chosen to stand in a row, then runner numbers from 1 to 10 taking their bags up for inspection, then 11 to 20 and so on. Efficient, but I'm not so convinced of the thoroughness of the check.

At noon precisely, we were given the off. Up the grass and gradually across to the driveway since the famous Bear Gates would never be opened. The mile of tarmac was a good way to separate the field quickly and soon enough there were dozens of runners off in the distance. I held my pace, but passed a couple of slower folk.

Turn left onto the farm track and then the long climb to Birkscairn. The field separated even further now, and once I was into the bracken boundary that had caused so much trouble on my recce, I was on the heels of one guy, but no-one in view in front of him, and no-one behind.

Onto the hill path and I was overtaken by a fast baldy fella and a female who seemed capable of running up the steepest inclines even if walking was the same pace (as I did). I noticed I could overtake her on the flatter sections and maintain her pace on the uphill, but as soon as we hit the descent off the first checkpoint at Birkscairn, she stretched ahead.

The weather was pretty blustery and cold on the summit, and I made sure to thank the three or four marshalls with Arctic gear on taking our numbers as we passed.

The descent into Glen Sax didn't go too well as I had followed the female, who in turn had followed the runner ahead. We had gone the direct route rather than heading north and west to the grouse butts. This meant knee high heather to leap through and I noticed 3 runners haring down the hill past the grouse butts and overtaking us.

Quick splash through the river and past more marshalls before the long, steep climb to Hundlestone. I took the opportunity for my first gel here and noticed other runners doing the same as we plodded up the grass. After the CP at the trig point, it was back to a jog across the bog and focus in on the sheep trod along the hillside towards Stob Law. The 'path' was a balcony of mud, knee deep mud in some places and my pace dropped significantly. The female was now long gone, and I had other backs to focus on.

Descending off Stob Law was a bit of a lesson in hill running, I lost at least five places as the experts came careering past hurling down the short heather. I was mincing down the rough ground, paranoid about twisting my ankle on a stone or tussock. The farm track could not arrive quick enough and I voiced relief at the flat expanse in front of me. Perhaps 100m ahead I could see the last of the runners who had overtaken on the descent and realised I was quickly gaining on him. I passed him as we left the farm yard at Glenrath and he looked over his shoulder exclaiming,

"Spot the road runner!!"

I just laughed and said I much preferred the flat.

I overtook another three runners before we left the tarmac and headed towards the forested Whitelaw Hill. On the ascent I gobbled another gel, concious of the closing climbers behind. I was also very worried about getting lost hereabouts. I had got lost on my recce here, and Ian had told me some horrendous stories. Ahead I could see two Westies runners so cranked hard to keep them in sight. Perfectly I caught them just as they turned into the firebreak and I was on their heels for the awful slog to the hill summit.

I was spent here and struggled to get into a run even across the flat section towards the Dead Wife's grave. More runners coming past and down the slop to the road at Stobo Castle. The sun was out now and I watched a bearded runner streak past and then lead me on past the checkpoint off the road and into the next section.

I could see he was struggling like me, slowing to a walk on any ground that resembled a gradient as we plodded along a forest track. For me it was 60% mental here, I think I could have kept jogging but my mind wasn't in it. Looking over my shoulder, there was no-one visible; I think if there had been, I would have kept the speed up but I was beaten.

Over the dam and onto the open hillside to start the climb of hell aka Trahenna. All sorts of options here. On my recce I had taken the wrong shoulder, so that was out. Ian said go right of the trees but I had seen Stewart Whitlie's route from 2018 went left. Someone else online had suggested going left and over Louden Knowe was better ground due to some ATV tracks he had followed.

In the end I was overtaken by three very strong looking 'walkers' (2 males & a female) who were in train going left of the trees. I followed them and we contoured round Louden Knowe which was not as bad as expected before starting the real climb of Trahenna alongside the fence. This was truly awful. I was able to climb, but not fast and was acutely concious of the disappearing climbers ahead with the closing climbers behind.

It took me 12minutes. The only respite was the voices on the wind of the marshalls on the summit getting louder and louder as I slogged my way ever upwards, clinging onto the rusty fence at times. Over the style and past the checkpoint before starting the descent. First of all NW, then left W onto a horrible contouring sheep track that avoided Cat Cleuch Head. Of course I rolled my left ankle here and waved at yet another runner overtaking me.

Off Ratchill Hill the ground was hard rocky and mossy. I slipped at least twice before reaching more level ground. I noticed my hands and arms were starting to tingle with pins and needles. Not a good sign. As I passed the marshall holding open the farm gate into the next field, the tingling spread to my face and lips. It was an odd sensation and slightly perturbing.

Over yet another gate and Alan Robb from Carnethy clambered over with me before trotting off to the road. Tarmac at last, now for the last km to the finish. Jogging for 300m, I slowed to a brief walk, looked over my shoulder and then ran again. Onto the main road I received a new lease of life and cranked it up to the finish, making sure to trip on a kerb for good measure.

03:57:22 72/179

Islay Marathon

In April or May 2019, I decided I wanted to do another marathon. Having done Kielder (2017) and Copenhagen (2018), it would give me a focus for training over the summer. I knew I'd need to commit to a decent level of training to do it justice, and I did check with Sally first...

When I saw Uncle Phil at the end of March at the ERC Challenge Cup QF, he mentioned my cousin was planning to run the Loch Ness Marathon in October. Now, this was one race I'd like to do, and I seriously considered entering. But October was a long way away....the Scottish Running Guide came up with the goods again, listing the Islay Marathon in early September. After a quick scan of the  informative website and the 2018 results, I had made my choice. The route looked great - no loops, no repeated ground, a true A to B. In 2018, there had been just 13 finishers - yes 13! It was going to be a small event.

I emailed the organiser Stephen Harrison for more information in mid April and by early May had signed up. The race was scheduled for a 7.30am start on Sunday 8th September and they offered a bus leaving the finish line in Port Ellen at 6am to take runners to the start at Portnahaven. Scanning the CalMac timetables, I saw I could catch a ferry to Islay on Saturday and get back to the mainland on the Sunday which meant it was doable in a weekend. As for accommodation, assuming I would be travelling as Jack Jones, the options for the homeless and carless were limited. I asked Stephen if there were any camping options in Port Ellen. He replied that I could wild camp "behind the Ramsay Hall, and there are public toilets on the main road". Perfect, or so I thought.

August arrived and the Islay Marathon facebook page spluttered to life, informing us that registration was in the Islay High School in Bowmore which would be followed by the Pasta Dinner in the same location. What???? Bowmore?? 😨Panic set in. I had assumed from the race information that these were both taking place in the Port Ellen school, hence my camping request etc. To exacerbate my panic further, the Calmac timetables appeared to have changed, meaning the only sailing to Islay on Saturday arrived at Port Askaig, on the other side of the island. Brilliant.

After some frantic emailing of Stephen, I came up with a loose alternative plan.

The week prior to the race was for some windy weather passing through, but settling down by the weekend and my drive west on Saturday 7th was perfect. The mountains around Loch Lomond and Arrochar were memorable friends and I happily wiggled down the A83 through Inveraray to Tarbert where I bought lunch in the Co-op to eat on the ferry.

The Paps of Jura through the ferry windae

The crossing was uneventful accompanied by some absolutely stunning weather. We sailed up the sound of Islay and pulled into Port Askaig at 3pm. A short walk to the bus stop where a couple of others were waiting for the 3.20 bus. I paid my £2.75 and we trundled off towards Bowmore alighting in the main street. Another rucsac carrying male passenger approached me, "Are you here for the marathon?" he said. "I am, just going to registration now" I replied. This was Terry Connel, 20times veteran of the Islay Half from Glasgow. 2h33 marathon runner, heading for Berlin later this year.

We walked up to the High School together and found the registration area where Stephen welcomed us and we were given our race packs. It turned out Terry was also hoping to wild camp in Port Ellen so we both double checked the location with Stephen. Terry wasn't hanging around for the Pasta Dinner so buggered off soon enough to catch the 5pm bus, but I had to wait until 5.30pm. Fortunately the weather was condusive to that and I read the paper on the pier, visited the Bowmore distillery, looked at the round church.

The pasta dinner was great. Held in the school library, a gathering of about 25 were fed and watered with as much as we wanted to scoff. Conveniently, Fraser the Port Ellen Spar shopkeeper sat next to me and I brazenly asked for a lift to Port Ellen. He kindly agreed and by 6.30pm we arrived in the wee village. His car radio was playing bagpipe music all the way across the island, I kid you not.

Such was my luck, there was a travelling fairground established on the land behind the Ramsay Hall. I took one look and immediately decided it was not the place for wild camping. Loud music, groups of surly teenagers, screaming toddlers and the odd dodgy car hung around. Plan C came into force and I set off to walk to The Ard at the far side of the bay. After the last house, I followed a faint footpath through bracken up the hill onto a small moor of heather. Oh great. The wind had dropped and I knew the midges were gathering. After a quick scout, I found an area of tussocky grass that was reasonably flat and decided to pitch the tent.

Sunday 8th September

Sleep was fitful. Voices and music drifted across the bay until midnight, and then more drunken conversations until around 2am. I was ready for the alarm at 5am. I dressed in my running attire and struck camp, shouldering the rucksack by 5.30am with the headtorch lighting my way. I decided to find a bench or table to cook my breakfast so hurried along the street round the bay until stopping at a picnic table near the Co-op.

Quick boil and stuffed two porridge pots down my neck, struggling to not gag as the clock ticked towards 06:00. Some other figures in shorts appearing in the sodium lit morning and walking past. Contact lenses in, and rucksack repacked and then off to the junction where I could hear voices. It was 05:55. There was already a bus parked, and a group of four males at the rear. As I approached, the bus driver said he was full and was going to leave - there would be another bus along shortly.

Fraser (Spar shopkeeper) and Terry (other wild camper) appeared out of the darkness. Another bus arrived and we boarded. The journey to Portnahaven took almost an hour what with stopping to pick up other runners along the way and the single track road. I tried hard not to look at the long straights, knowing we had to run all the way back!

Into the wee village hall at Portnahaven where 20 or so others were already gathered, preparing gear, clothes, shoes, eating fuel, pinning numbers. I failed to lose some weight in the lavs. I went outside for a wee jog up and down the roads and checked out the other runners.

There was a large (10) group of German tourists, waiting in the car park. A couple of them in 'running' gear. They had been at the Pasta Dinner and it seemed were going to run the race as a relay. I recognised Robbie Drummond from the ferry, Fraser & Terry obviously, Tam Macneil (last year's winner), Tobias from Germany and lastly Captain 3D of YouTube fame. I introduced myself.

Stephen presented the race briefing in the hall and then we all posed for a group photo:

At Portnahaven, 5mins to start time

Outside, we were told to gather between two lamposts which marked the official start line. No problems to be at the front here. Three - Two - One and we were off. Like a hare out of a trap, a tall bearded chap in black gear left us for dust, literally sprinting ahead. "Whoah!" we all muttered, "where's he off to??" He was gone into the distance before we could comprehend what we had just seen. I think a lot of us all quickly came to a group conclusion...we would be second best to that.

Not to worry, I settled into a position about 5th or 6th as we did a 1km loop around the village before returning to the hall and set out on the return to Port Ellen properly.

Chatting to Robbie & Ben as we left Portnahaven, 1km in

 I found myself alongside Ben Hickson (Carnegie vest) and Robbie (Garscube) and we had a short chat. After 1.5miles, the first passing vehicle forced us into single file, I stayed in front and we reached the first water station at 2miles in the same order. Looking ahead, I reckoned this meant I was in 4th place.

Captain 3D had warned that the race mile markers were not placed correctly and this proved to be the case. For the first 15 or so, they were a long way distant but gradually came into the line, so that mile 26 on the watch beeped just as I passed the sign. Ahead of me I decided to keep the bloke in 3rd place in view about 50m on. He was keeping a good, steady pace although as the miles clicked by, I did sense I was going a bit too fast. Probably ~7:05 miles on average.

I took some video shorts and ate my gels to time. I noticed the photograpjher from the village hall was leapfrogging us in his orange car to take lots of snaps. I made sure to smile!

After Bruichcladdich

At the half-marathon water station marker, Graeme stopped to take a big drink and I passed him. I was now in 3rd!! I knew 1st and 2nd were long gone, so felt great pressure now. It was a weird feeling. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was following and actually gestured to him to hurry up - I wanted him in front of me to follow!

15miles in, chatting to Graeme? 

At 15miles we reached Bridgend and turned sharp right towards Bowmore. A small crowd cheered and I slowed up to let Graeme pass me. He said he was struggling and I explained that I wanted him to lead again. We discussed our pace and I said I had broken my half-marathon PB, now with 1hr 31. For the next mile we actually ran together chatting, both stopping to drink at the hill road junction.

The next section looked awful - a long hill disappearing to the horizon. At the same time, Captain 3D made his appearance behind us looking like the professional I thought he was. No messing about, just a steady progression keeping a close eye on his watch for the pace and driving his body forward. This was the difference; I was running to how my body felt, he was telling his body to run to the watch. As he slowly overtook us, he said "top of the hill is at 21miles". Good encouragement, that is all I need to know. We had 5miles of this.

Graeme decided to keep on Captain 3D's heels but I couldn't follow. My legs were just too painful and before too long, I was on my own in the dips, no sign of a runner ahead or behind. Just mile markers and the odd car to highlight my journey. I was now in 5th.

The final hills did it for me and I slowed to a walk on the 'steeper' inclines. Of course, they weren't steep but they were enough of a gradient to pose the mental challenge of difficulty. I don't think I walked for long, and I certainly didn't stop moving forwards. Robbie came through at 20miles and we grunted at each other. Looking behind I could see no others. I was now in 6th.

The highest point of the road was imperceptible, but I suppose there was a gradual easing of the effort. To my left I spotted the grand white farm house I had seen in the early morning mini bus 4hours before and knew that Port Ellen was not far.

Robbie had passed Graeme now, and I could just about see him walking probably 400m ahead. "Good," I thought, "at least I'm not the only one." Road junction approached with another photographer...make sure to smile...

My watch had beeped for 40km. I was 3hrs 10minutes in. This was good. That meant I had 30minutes to run 2km in order to beat Copenhagen. I had known I would beat that time, but perhaps not by so much....even with some walking! The Port Ellen signpost arrived and I was soon passing the massive Maltings building. A woman appeared from a side road with an Irish Wolfhound on a lead lurching along the pavement. I said "Hi!" and "That is the size of a horse! Can I ride it??"

Round the corner and into the final straight to the finish at the Ramsay Hall where I could hear music and an amplified voice shouting my name. How did they know me?? Oh yeah, my number..right.

Through the finish tape (held for every runner) and beep on the watch.

3:21:56.
6th / 49

Very, Very Happy with that.

Relive 'islay_marathon.gpx'