Running – Page 15 – Heights of Madness

Bynack More

The last time I ventured up Bynack More I turned back in whiteout conditions after reaching around 800 metres. Today was a total contrast: blue skies, light winds, a glorious mountain day. I was running by 8am, along the tracks east of Glenmore Lodge and up to Bynack Stable, and was on Bynack More’s impressie…

Fannichs

I had no desire to prove the MWIS forecast correct. Despite all our foolish optimism, it was, obviously. High winds, poor visibility and zero per cent chance of cloud-free Munros, plus a weather warning for heavy rain from the Met Office. So, it was with some scepticism that Graham and I began running along the track to Loch…

Monadhliath

Today was my first proper long-distance mountain run, a 16-mile jaunt across three Monadhliath Munros above Newtonmore. It was also my first run with a bumbag – or beltpack as Inov8 like to jazzily call it – containing water, a little food, waterproof, Helly Hanson, map and compass. With the wind light, the temperature mild and…

Cioch Mhor

A mere 25 runners lined up for the Cioch Mhor hill race, partly because the event clashed with two major running events in Scotland, partly because there were only 25 mad enough people in the north to tackle a tortuous nine-mile slog with a cumulative climb of a shade under 700 metres. There’s no time to…

Knockfarrel

Knockfarrel is an annual five mile hill race up and down Cnoc Mor, a 269-metre hill that rises to the south-east of Strathpeffer. Despite its modest height, the race involves a climb of almost 400 vertical metres, two of which are up devilishly steep tracks. On the second one, to the trig pillar on the summit…

Little Wyvis

I like signs. Not mundane “passing place” or “give way” signs. I like the ones that tell you where you going, the ones that tell you where you are, the ones that dispense apparently vital information and – best of all – the ones that have no point or use. From personal experience, two favourites that instantly spring…

Stac Gorm

On On the day that much of England was ‘paralysed’ by snow, northern Scotland didn’t see so much as a flurry. With an afternoon to kill, I ventured south from Inverness, following single-track roads before leaving my car at the small RSPB car park on the shores of Loch Ruthven. Trail shoes on, I waded through prickly heather, which…