long day out

 

Sunday 6th December. I only decided to join Nick, Graham and John on this big day out the night before. I quite fancied an adventure, the forecast was reasonable and it was some time since I'd done a 30miler. If you leave it too long, it never gets done again and then you're dead. I checked the buses to Hillend - and it looked like there was one at 8.08 (or 8.11 at Elm Row) that got to Fairmilehead at 8.38. Short run to Hillend for 9. Sorted!

I hadn't wanted to cycle as it would involve leaving my bike padlocked at the Steading all day and although there was a bike rack out of sight of the road it felt vulnerable. Also I may not feel like a cycle home in the cold dark of the other end of the day. This was possibly the wisest move of the day given what followed!

I was glad to have decided to go along. It felt like the old gang had reformed: the four of us have had quite a few long days out and know the ropes. I had only found out the night before it wasn't the usual run to Peebles we've done a few times but more of a circuit round some distant Pentland Hills. Graham was calling the shots. It became apparent that we were heading towards West Linton and then we'd see what happened. There was a brief stop for a chat with Moira on the way, between Hillend and Boghall.

Near Castlelaw a farmer and his dog were tidying the sheep into the corner of a field. He then got back on his vehicle and went along to the next field to do the same. The object of this gathering was not apparent. 

During the contour round Castlelaw I resisted telling the guys about the Green Hairstreak field we ran under (next to the firing range) although there was some butterflychat nearer the Kips. We dropped down to the tarmac path that follows Glencorse and Loganlea Reservoirs up to the Howe. The waters were still and as the sun came out we were treated to some excellent views.

heron fishing at the burn

dipper at Loganlea

After the Howe we went up the steep muddy path that goes towards the Kips. There were quite a few walkers, runners and bikers about and when Nick took an early slip I said the giggling girls up the hill were laughing at him. Karma whipped my feet from under me and I went down with a slap, soaking my shorts and gloves in very wet mud. The camera got a bit muddy but survived ok. I had brought the B camera, an old TZ35 I use for racing or likely-to-get-damaged excursions. It was a good call. (There was plenty snow about all day but surprisingly this was the only fall.) I ran with it in my hand for the 8hrs we were out. 

We contoured round the side of West Kip then went slightly downhill on the East side to take the first right. It didn't really occur to me this was different from the usual route over the fence in line with the descent off West Kip on the South side. We stayed fairly parallel to the A702 running along the high ground then down to Carlops

I pointed out the ridge of wind blown snow on W Kip (above) to Nick and told him it was a serac. What I meant was a cornice of course. Must have been the altitude sickness fogging my brain. 

The forecast had been fair but it turned out to be tremendous weather. Cold, but blue skies nearly all day, not much of a wind and with a bit of warmth in the sunshine. I kept my gloves on but took the buff off my head. I had been a bit concerned about being the oldest and least fit. Right enough I did spend most of the run as back marker but with the weather and scenery so glorious I was really enjoying the first half of the run.

looking back to the south ridge

snowy hills across the Forth

mist below on the East side

Nick without a hand, John without a head
and Graham with a bionic knee

After descending into Carlops we ran through the village and out the other side to that path on the right that goes along to West Linton. There were a couple of unusual pigs and the photo above reminds me of a pal of mine who, when, as a toddler, she saw her father getting out the bath, asked of her mother "why does daddy have a handle on his bottom?"

fine weather and all smiles

steaming in West Linton

The Gordon Arms was closed. The coop was open. So we bought some fluids and drank them in the street like jaikies, albeit muddy lycra-clad jaikies. There is a fork in the path into W Linton a mile out. We came in on the North path and left by the more southerly, which features a more rolling trail through the trees, up and down steps and was very picturesque in the low light. I didn't get many decent photos though as I was struggling to keep up, breathing hard and trying not to throw up my lunch. 

As we joined the main path there was a brief conference about route choice. Back the way we came or left, other way? Graham said he favoured not repeating the same route home. I'm not sure if I had the breath to properly voice my thoughts but I defo said in my head if not actually out loud I thought it wasn't the best idea to go left. (I knew the route well - we had followed this way on the Armistice Day (last ever) Tynecastle Bronze run and I also feared the ground around East Cairn Hill would be waist deep icy water. Even in the height of Summer it can be soaking wet. 

We turned left, to take the longer route over East Cairn before joining the nearer-to-town Pentlands. It was a decision that coloured the rest of the day, and not in a good way. However it wasn't the depth of the water, nor was there any way we could have anticipated how/why it would deteriorate. So it wasn't really anybody's fault. (Well, other than Graham's! 😁)

I had never run by this river before and took this photo because it looked very deep blue and cold. (Not so much in the photo.) I was very glad there was a decent bridge over it just around the next corner. Which is not to say feet were still dry. They had been soaked through, a dozen times already and we had been through deep puddles since the second mile of the day. 

Ever since recent events which made the news, slightly more attention and care has been taken in the company of cattle. I watched with interest as we passed this small herd and one walked in front of us. However the highland coo is well known for being a placid beast and on this occasion they were calm and showed zero aggression. 

Up till this point - about 20 miles - everything had been just brilliant and going really well. We had taken a little more than 3hrs to do the outward leg (15+miles) and had a little less than 3hrs daylight to do the return. I was annoyed to have forgotten to bring a headtorch. I should know better; that Graham's runs are not always limited to the hours of daylight. I have been on several that have headed off the game plan into unknown territory. But the others had brought headtorches and I'd prob get away with sharing their circle of light if it came to that. 

We missed a small turn off. The main trail here goes left up the hill, while there is a smaller path off to the right that we needed to take, leading to the evocatively named Cauldstane Slap. Where the marshal stands handing out jelly-babies during the Baddinsgill Round. I had been thinking about that turn-off as it can be easily missed, but then must have got chatting or zoned out. John, at the front, had seen it and flagged it up, presuming our negligence and continuation affirmed the route choice, left up the hill. We realised our mistake fairly quickly and headed directly across the heather to pick up the proper path. It was a shortish distance but fairly unpleasant high-stepping on bushy heather with feet pushing through frosty snow patches. I thought it would be a great relief to get back onto the path but that too was blighted by snow, running water and rocks, slick with mud. Round about here my 10~14 minute miling dropped to a couple of miles at 22minute miling. 3mph! A slow walk. Conditions underfoot deteriorated as we climbed East Cairn and the gradient reminded my legs we had already 'run' 22miles. I could feel the beginnings of crampy spasms snaking round my hamstrings and calfs. I fell behind the other 3 who didn't seem to be suffering to the same extent as they disappeared up and over the hill. Fuckety fuck!

crossing rough ground to the bottom of East Cairn Hill

onto the path again but no great improvement

There was a re-group just the other side of the summit. I was relieved not just to be left for dead. Graham expressed how awful the going was and everyone agreed. There are reasonable paths that pose no problems in the Summer, but the frosty snow, ice and mud and wet rocks made the place a death trap and you risked a twisted ankle (or worse) if you pushed the pace. A couple of days later and I still have cuts on my shins from the post-holing on icy snow.

I have come through this way on my own before so didn't have any concerns about the nav or being left behind. As soon as we started up again the other 3 were instantly away out ahead again. I didn't want to risk injury so went tortoise slow. It seemed to go on forever, and I watched the others picking their way towards the more familiar Pentland Hills. 

So it was with a good deal of relief that when we got down a bit lower and the ground became more runnable, I quickly caught up. Maybe it was the caffeine drink I had had at lunch powering through my system, but I felt much better for the next few miles; just great to be able to run properly without risk of putting your foot in a hidden rabbit hole and taking a header.

I tried to think ahead but was having trouble connecting the route back down past the reservoirs to Hillend. (I was hoping to conceive a way that didn't require climbing any hills.) We were making good time again, although the troops were tired and pace was not brisk. But it seemed like we may not need headtorches that much. Head down and get on with it. The long red trail from the big hill to Balerno went on and on and on and on. Round about the photo below we clocked up marathon distance. With still quite a chunk to go! Chat was limited to short brutal sentences of pain and commiseration.

we saw possibly the same heron again
it seemed like a week since we saw it earlier that day

I thought that round the reservoirs would be the bad bit. I was wearing hill shoes (Salomon S Lab Speed) which are built for grip not comfort. Manys a time Mary and I have finished a Pentlands Hill run down the tarmac here to Flotterstone and cursed the unforgiving asphalt and the lack of cushioning in hill shoes. I actually enjoyed splashing through another cold puddle to feel the relief of cooling water on hot feet. 

No, the bad bit was after we left the path at Castlelaw to contour slippy muddy fields and soaking singletrack for a further 3 miles. We were now about 30 miles into the ordeal(!) and we were all VERY ready to be finished. Only it kept going. And being unfamiliar with this trail I had no idea how long it would continue. Even though we had come this same way earlier in the day.

Graham, bless him, was probably having it worse than myself by now. He had to wander off piste for a call of nature and then within 30mins another. And nobody was having fun by now. It was just keeping on to get it finished. It must be round the next muddy corner surely? Nick stopped to get a jacket out and maybe a headtorch but when he caught up wasn't wearing his headtorch and had trouble getting his jacket done up with cold fumbling fingers. There was an attractive sunset but honestly nobody was giving much of a rats arse about the scenery. Then it got dark. And on it went.

After a long while we turned a corner and the found ourselves shuffling down the steep wet grassy slope towards hillend lower car park. I took a one foot slider and just managed to avoid a last minute sprawl in the mud. We were done. 

I had hoped to see a bus at the terminal there so I could just get on. But there wasn't one. We were just zombies by now and spacing about putting on warmer kit and in auto-pilot mode. I was SO GLAD I hadn't cycled!!! John got into his car then got out because he saw I couldn't do up my jacket zip with numb fingers. He came over and did it up which I found very touching - he offered to give me a lift home, again extremely kind - but I was sure the bus would arrive and all would be well.

It sort of did and I began to warm up in fresh dry gloves from my pack. I knew I was horribly low blood sugar although I had no appetite. I knew I should eat something. When I got out a sports bar the first bite sent me into a feeding frenzy and I nearly ate my gloves. 

The number 11 would normally take me to yards from my flat, but due to marvelous fucking tramworks tearing up Leith Walk for the 10th? 15th? 20th year in a row, I had to get off at Elm Row before it headed off West, and stumble down the Walk, teeth chattering and close to hypothermia. I got into my shower with shorts and socks and shoes still on and hosed the lot down. My socks were so filthy I had to rinse them through before putting them in the machine. There was so much grit still in them I just chucked them in the bin.

Despite the last 14 miles it was still a tremendous day out. Next time I will pack the headtorch!

34 miles or thereabouts
and about 8hrs