The Support

The Runners

Willie Gibson and Jason Hubert (8am 13th June 2008)

Preamble

I find it hard to remember exactly when I first heard about the idea of running 24 Munros in 24 hours. I have a vague memory of an e-mail arriving one day from my hill-walking partner asking whether I thought it was possible. A bit of checking on Google and I was able to answer that it was, but only by running so, no we weren’t going to try. It must have been about a year later that the same friend and I were going to the Himalayas and, as the date came closer, I grudgingly accepted that I would need to get fit and, even worse, the best way to do this would be by running, up hills. After some initial jogging I met Willie one lunchtime and he introduced me to the pleasure of hill running proper. That lung bursting, nausea inducing struggle to the top of the Pentlands that is only justifiable because of the pleasures of running back down again. It was during one of these runs that Willie mentioned that he had actually attempted the challenge of 24 Munros in 24 hours and, what’s more, this challenge had a name. That was the first I had heard of the Ramsay Round, the seed was sown then and it would be fair to say that what happened next is all Willie’s fault.

Willie’s unsupported attempt sounded truly epic, despite failing he had continued to the end before collapsing into a trembling heap. At the time I was finding getting to the top of Castlelaw without stopping a similar challenge, so was amazed at his ability to do this again and again on a much grander scale. As I got bitten by the running bug things became easier and finally I succumbed to Willie’s persuasion and entered a proper race, Manor Water, and found that I did okay and what is more enjoyed it. It was about that time that Willie mentioned that he was thinking about trying the Ramsay Round again. This time supported and before he turned 50. I knew that I would kick myself if I did not give it a go and somewhat tentatively asked Willie whether he would mind if I came along. To his great credit he said yes, even though looking back at it now he must have realised that having another runner could add to the risk of something going wrong. What he did stress to me was the need for greater mileage than just our usual lunchtime runs and that I had to think about training.

On The Grey Corries in May (Photo from Digby Harris)

Training

Bit by bit I increased my mileage. On Saturdays we would run from my house in Carlops north along the Pentlands reaching the end in time for me to jump in the car and take the girls to their swimming classes. However, I could never match Willie’s mileage, he would seemingly run vast distances in a day that I was struggling to match in a week. As the winter passed I was starting to get worried that I would never find enough time to get out. I became obsessed with my mileage and metres of ascent per week, but never managed to cover the equivalent of the Round in a week so the thought of doing it in a day became more daunting. Finally May arrived, the late spring meant that there was too much snow on the hills for our first recce trip but, on May 24, Willie and I shouldered our rucksacks and headed up Ben Nevis for a two day trip, hoping to cover all the ground. Willie had completed the Island Peak Race the weekend before but did not show any ill effects of the race nor the celebrations. The weather was beautiful and things were going well until Digby Harris of the Macclesfield club swept past with his support toiling to catch up. This was a big reality check. There was no way we could keep up that pace with our sacks, not even just for 12 hours. We persevered until late in the evening by which time I realised that I had not eaten or drank enough and was going hypothermic in the bitter wind that was blowing up. We finally pitched our tent at 10pm and then ate for 2 hours before a poor night’s sleep in a wildly flapping tent.
The next day was better but it became clear that we were too slow to finish the whole round and once up into the Mamores we took all the short cuts we could before dropping down to Glen Nevis using the stalkers path to Stob Ban. By now the combination of dust and sweat had created a sandpaper effect in my shoes, which combined with the fact that the fell shoes are not very cushioned and we were carrying sacks on rocky ground meant that we were both very foot sore. When we reached the road I practically threw myself at the first car that went past and pleaded for a lift back to the Youth Hostel. There was no way I wanted to walk back along the road again.
The recce had taken a toll, both physically and mentally. I realised that I really needed to eat and drink well to survive the trip and that I would need some more comfortable shoes. More worryingly were the blisters on my feet and the fact that the recce had served to increase the sense of uncertainty. Trying to retain a positive outlook became more difficult.
Luckily for me I had organised another trip with a friend who’d promised to support me on the following Friday. We decided to go over the Mamores starting at Kinlochleven and finishing at the Youth Hostel. That Friday was cooler and some rain had removed the dust. Carrying light sacks and wearing a pair of walking boots we resolved to cover the ground at something like the scheduled speed. We had a great day and I managed to cover all the hills, apart from the out and back at An Gearanach, which we skipped, within a minute or two of the schedule. I knew then that so long as I could make it to the Mamores in one piece, and with some time to spare, I would stand a very good chance of making it to the end in time. The positive outlook now seemed more realistic rather than delusional.
After that trip there was not much time left before the big day itself. Both Willie and I were starting to think about recovery and tailing off the big runs. Our lunchtime runs were now more useful as planning sessions rather than training, but it was whilst coming off Castlelaw chatting that I misplaced my foot and had to take some hurried corrections to regain balance. Thinking nothing of it we finished our run and got back to work. However, by that evening my knee was in great pain and my morale was at an all time low. Could such a silly slip have put me out of even trying the round after all that effort? The knee was an old injury that I had managed to sort out with some exercises the physio had given me. The following 10 days were concentrated on getting my knee back in shape and luckily for me it worked.
Suddenly it was the Thursday before the attempt, we packed and then drove up with my wife and two children arriving with enough time to have another look round the final forest section of the route, do some last minute shopping and hook up with the only two people I knew who were brave enough to attempt to support me. That evening I nervously packed and repacked three bags for the different sections of the round and then tried to get to sleep. Uncertainty levels had reached an all time high with a forecast for cold northerly winds and wintry showers on the highest peaks. Could we be snowed off in mid June? Anything was possible.

Leg 1 Glen Nevis to Fersit

Bit by bit I increased my mileage. On Saturdays we would run from my house in Carlops north along the Pentlands reaching the end in time for me to jump in the car and take the girls to their swimming classes. However, I could never match Willie’s mileage, he would seemingly run vast distances in a day that I was struggling to match in a week. As the winter passed I was starting to get worried that I would never find enough time to get out. I became obsessed with my mileage and metres of ascent per week, but never managed to cover the equivalent of the Round in a week so the thought of doing it in a day became more daunting. Finally May arrived, the late spring meant that there was too much snow on the hills for our first recce trip but, on May 24, Willie and I shouldered our rucksacks and headed up Ben Nevis for a two day trip, hoping to cover all the ground. Willie had completed the Island Peak Race the weekend before but did not show any ill effects of the race nor the celebrations. The weather was beautiful and things were going well until Digby Harris of the Macclesfield club swept past with his support toiling to catch up. This was a big reality check. There was no way we could keep up that pace with our sacks, not even just for 12 hours. We persevered until late in the evening by which time I realised that I had not eaten or drank enough and was going hypothermic in the bitter wind that was blowing up. We finally pitched our tent at 10pm and then ate for 2 hours before a poor night’s sleep in a wildly flapping tent.
The next day was better but it became clear that we were too slow to finish the whole round and once up into the Mamores we took all the short cuts we could before dropping down to Glen Nevis using the stalkers path to Stob Ban. By now the combination of dust and sweat had created a sandpaper effect in my shoes, which combined with the fact that the fell shoes are not very cushioned and we were carrying sacks on rocky ground meant that we were both very foot sore. When we reached the road I practically threw myself at the first car that went past and pleaded for a lift back to the Youth Hostel. There was no way I wanted to walk back along the road again.
The recce had taken a toll, both physically and mentally. I realised that I really needed to eat and drink well to survive the trip and that I would need some more comfortable shoes. More worryingly were the blisters on my feet and the fact that the recce had served to increase the sense of uncertainty. Trying to retain a positive outlook became more difficult.
Luckily for me I had organised another trip with a friend who’d promised to support me on the following Friday. We decided to go over the Mamores starting at Kinlochleven and finishing at the Youth Hostel. That Friday was cooler and some rain had removed the dust. Carrying light sacks and wearing a pair of walking boots we resolved to cover the ground at something like the scheduled speed. We had a great day and I managed to cover all the hills, apart from the out and back at An Gearanach, which we skipped, within a minute or two of the schedule. I knew then that so long as I could make it to the Mamores in one piece, and with some time to spare, I would stand a very good chance of making it to the end in time. The positive outlook now seemed more realistic rather than delusional.
After that trip there was not much time left before the big day itself. Both Willie and I were starting to think about recovery and tailing off the big runs. Our lunchtime runs were now more useful as planning sessions rather than training, but it was whilst coming off Castlelaw chatting that I misplaced my foot and had to take some hurried corrections to regain balance. Thinking nothing of it we finished our run and got back to work. However, by that evening my knee was in great pain and my morale was at an all time low. Could such a silly slip have put me out of even trying the round after all that effort? The knee was an old injury that I had managed to sort out with some exercises the physio had given me. The following 10 days were concentrated on getting my knee back in shape and luckily for me it worked.
Suddenly it was the Thursday before the attempt, we packed and then drove up with my wife and two children arriving with enough time to have another look round the final forest section of the route, do some last minute shopping and hook up with the only two people I knew who were brave enough to attempt to support me. That evening I nervously packed and repacked three bags for the different sections of the round and then tried to get to sleep. Uncertainty levels had reached an all time high with a forecast for cold northerly winds and wintry showers on the highest peaks. Could we be snowed off in mid June? Anything was possible.

Jon pointed us down towards the CMD arete and we slipped and skidded on the wet rocks. Discretion was the better part of valour in those conditions and we kept off the ridge wherever possible. Jon, carrying the rucksack, was finding it harder going and I was worried that in the rush he could slip and get hurt so kept within shouting distance. He kept with us until the summit of CMD, but it was obvious that we were moving too fast on the rough ground for a laden person to keep up. I grabbed another bar and a drink from him and we headed on. Pete was nowhere to be seen so I assumed that he was already descending towards the col where there was water. However, the phone started ringing and it became apparent he was behind us but striving to catch us. Willie and I pressed on hoping that he would catch us as we did the out and back of Aonach Mor. By now I was getting a little worried that I was separated from my support and my food. The small water bottle I was carrying contained about 200ml of water and that was it. My strategy had been to try and stuff my face on this first section thinking that it would be harder to eat on the other sections. This was now looking increasingly unlikely. By the top of Aonach Mor I had a half-filled water bottle and nothing left to eat, I was really hoping Pete had made it.

But we were flying, catching up on the schedule all the time and when we arrived at Aonach Beag I knew there was no way Pete would catch us carrying a load. Willie picked up a couple of Mars bars from Alan and that was all we had. At the time I thought that was it until Fersit, and was mentally preparing to suffer quite badly over the Easains, but luckily Willie had organised some extra support for the end of the Grey Corries which proved to be a life saver. Mike O’Connor stood patiently for us at the top of the gully we needed to descend with much needed water and I downed as much as I could take before peering down the highly unlikely descent, under a dripping snow arch and then out of sight. It was very steep, loose and boxed in by an overhang on the right and the remains of the snow on the left but it was fast so long as you could stay on your feet. Once again having a sack on was a challenge and Mike took a nasty fall but continued skidding down after us. We contoured round Sgurr Choinnich Beag and headed up Sgurr Choinnich Mor but realised we had lost Mike.

Paul and Gordon

Up the Easins

On the way to Easin 2

Arriving at Fersit

A rest at last

We waited for a couple of minutes and then headed on thinking that he might contour round Sgurr Choinnich Mor and catch us on the descent. However, looking back from the climb up to Stob Coire an Laoigh it was plain that contouring was no easy option.
By now we were on our own but the next water stop was close. However, the prolonged dry period had dried up the stream and all that was left were some damp moss beds. Squeezing the bottle into the moss created enough of a puddle to fill the bottles but it took time and minutes were lost trying to get a drink. From there a short, sharp ascent up some very loose scree took us to the ridge of the Grey Corries and things got better and better. The sun had come out by now, everything had dried up and we moved along very easily, Willie thoughtfully sharing half a Mars bar to keep me going. He also told me about the support arriving after Stob Ban and my worries lifted as well. It was also plain that we were moving very well in terms of our schedule. Compared to the last time I was there, for the recce, this was a doddle.
Even the steep ascent of Stob Ban did not seem as bad as before, helped by finding a better line off Stob Choire Claurigh that involved a brilliant run down a large snow patch. But off Stob Ban I could tell that Willie was getting worried, no sign of Richard and Nick, hence no new shoes or, more importantly, any food. We took the straight line towards Stob Coire Easain not having to worry about boggy ground since everything was so dry, on the look out for our support. Without them we would be in trouble.
Finally we spotted a pair of figures lying in the sun and we headed towards them. It was Gordon and Paul with food water and encouragement, now the slog up the Easains did not seem so bad and we set off again only to see Richard and Nick running up towards us. Fantastic, a different pair of shoes and clean socks, what a great feeling. Even though we had stopped to eat and then to change shoes we gained more time on the climb thanks to our support. The banter and the food worked wonders and we covered the ground quickly, almost without realising it. Before we knew it we came round a bend and saw the dam and the cars waiting for us. Then two little figures came haring towards us, my daughters, all smiles and excitement what a great feeling.

Rest Point 1

I sat in the back of the car and tried to relax and eat and drink as much as I humanly could. By now my legs were definitely tired and felt like they had had a good day out, but only a third of the route had been completed. Nagging in the back of my mind were the two big climbs to come in the next section and the stories of my marathon running friends of hitting a wall close to the finish. The noodles, sardines and egg followed by chocolate cake and rice pudding washed down with sweet tea did the trick and it was my stomach rather than my legs that groaned as we set off again after the luxury of a 15 minutes stop. My wife was left trying to explain to our 2-year old why Daddy was still running up more hills as we crossed the dam and headed up the railway track.

Leg 2 Fersit to Loch Elide Mhor

In our recce we had tried to follow Digby Harris’s original plan of following the railway for a couple of kilometres and then head straight up Stob Coire Sgriodain. This proved to be very tough and we had heard afterwards that Digby had cut through the forest close to the dam and followed the ridge. I had checked this out on the aerial photos and noticed a track through the woods very close to the railway. Moira had been detailed to sort out a path to the track, which she did with some vigour. Not quite believing the track was so close, apologies Moira, she had disappeared into the forest and the last we heard was a faint “good luck” as we passed by.
The climb was steady and again Paul and Gordon kept us moving well. At the top of Stob Coire Sgriodain the wind picked up and it was now much cooler than earlier. Paul and Gordon headed down to the hanging valley below Meall Garbh as Willie and I headed up to Chno Dearg before trotting south down the grassy slopes to the lip of the coire and tackling the very steep grassy descent. From there it was straight down and up the other side to gain the long ridge to the summit of Beinn na Lap. The longer but shallower angled ridge much more preferable to any shorter steep options.
From Beinn na Lap is was downhill for miles and it should have been a pleasure to drop off the summit, but I was now feeling quite tired and sore and small things starting to grow out of proportion in my mind. I was convinced that we were straying off the line, that everybody else was feeling strong etc. etc.. Luckily Nick appeared and ran with us down to the bridge where we had the pleasure of different shoes, clean socks and a moment to eat and drink again.

Crossing the river

Running off Beinn na Lap

Arriving at the rail bridge

Shoe change 2

Willie was off again with Richard and Gordon and I headed after them trying to catch up. That remained the pattern for the next couple of hours, Willie pushing the pace and me trying desperately not to fall off the back. The rain started and my mood blackened, things were getting tough, my ankle that I had kicked a rock onto earlier in the day was hurting and now that the struggle was less to do with getting up the hills it became more internal and difficult to handle. If I had been on my own I would have walked longer sections and lost time. Thanks to Willie we made up a huge amount of time, but by the time we arrived at Loch Eilde Mor for the second stop I was at a low point and dropped into a heap in the rain slightly detached from reality.

Rest Point 2

Loch Elide Mor rest 2	We had moved so quickly that our support had been caught on the hop, my kit had not yet arrived and I could not think of anything I would quite like to do less than head on up the Mamores. Just then two mountain bikes arrived heavily laden with rucksacks and smiles. Mick James and Olly Stephenson had arrived with my stuff and boundless energy. Mick broke the ice by helping get my leggings on and then Olly got to work on a leg rub and a pep talk. All the time Cali and Moira were providing food and then a foot wash. Although still in the middle of eating cake when Willie got up to go, I felt immeasurably better and headed up the last really long climb with Mick and Bob better than I could have imagined only 10 minutes earlier.	Mist and rain and food
Bob in a supporting role		We set off again

Leg 3 Loch Elide Mhor to Glen Nevis

The rest had worked and we were again moving quickly and gaining time on the schedule. From my earlier recce of the Mamores I knew that it was now possible to finish in time barring accidents or a major physical collapse and that gave me a great boost. Well it was that or the stuff Mick was making me eat and drink. Every few minutes he would pass me something to chomp on and despite the near terminal lack of saliva I managed to get it all down. Again the company and the food were making a huge difference and we quickly moved over Sgurr Eilde Mor and Binnein Beag before nightfall. The rain had stopped and the cloud lifted to give us a perfect evening. Keith Adams joined us with all my sandwiches but unfortunately by this time I could not physically eat them.
Nightfell as we climbed Binnein Mor and we scrambled through the rocks by torchlight. It was a relief to be doing something different from running or walking and using some different muscles. As we dropped off the summit it was midnight and we celebrated Willie’s 50th birthday with a rendition of “Happy Birthday to You”. Na Gruagaichean passed by quickly and I was enjoying the descent when suddenly something brushed against my leg. I jumped out of my skin before I managed to get a clear view in the torch and realised that it was a dog. John and Storm had found us and from then on the singing and banter went up a notch. More scrambling got us to An Gearanach, the only summit I had not recce-ed recently and I was surprised by the exposure, possibly accentuated by the darkness. Mike kept up the food and water supplies and we quickly passed over Stob Coire a’Chairn before tackling the steeper climb up Am Bodach, but even here either the E-numbers or the sugar kicked in and we kept well ahead of the scheduled time.

Sgorr an Iubhair passed in a flash and then we were onto the Devil’s ridge out to Sgurr a Mhaim, an excellent ridge walk that requires enough concentration to keep the mind busy whilst the body plods on. The more mountainous terrain of the Mamores suited me, keeping my mind off the aches and pains in my legs and back and as the dawn started to appear I felt better and better. The views were superb and by the time we headed up Stob Ban all the hills were lit up. I chugged up the steep final ascent of Stob Ban like a train with John shouting encouragement at us from the top. Then all that remained was the long undulating terrain to Mullach nan Coirean. We reached there just after 5am and I called Kirsti to let her know that we were on our way down and then headed down the steep NE ridge to the forest. I think we had all relaxed at that point more singing and chatting got us down to the forest and onto the forest road. Willie and I decided to run the downs and walk the ups since even the gentlest of gradients now felt very tiring. All of a sudden people appeared running with us, then more at the junction of the path and it seemed like a huge cheering crowd carrying balloons standing on the road. Tears welled up as Willie and I pretended that we were fresh as daisies and ran towards the line, finishing together at 6:18am. What a feeling! We had actually done it; we had completed a challenge that only 22 hours beforehand I had had no idea if I would be capable of undertaking. As we sat on the wall outside the Youth Hostel having a nip of whisky it still did not seem real, but everybody else seemed convinced and that was good enough for me.
This was only possible because of the support that we received, without them there is no way that I would have had the strength to get round. Thank you so much, you turned a borderline delusion desire into a reality. Quite some gift to anybody.

Arriving at the road

A high stile

We stop at last

Kirsti congatulates Jason

I am rather tired