Ring of Steall Skyrace 2022
About once a year or so, I conduct a highly scientific experiment: which is stronger, my body or granite? I never plan when this experiment is going to happen but I know immediately when it does. 4km into the Ring of Steall last weekend, granite extended its lead to three nil. I’m hoping it’s a best of three kind of competition and we can call it quits now.
I’d taken my running poles moments earlier to help push up Sgurr an Iubhair but they’d spent most of their time clutched redundantly in one hand while I navigated bogs and stone. I got my toe on the edge of a big rock and then, without hands to pull-up, I slipped off it and my shin bounced down the granite edge.
A hand steadied my rear. A marshal quipped that the person behind and I were now an item. I just wondered if I’d smashed anything. It was hard to tell what was mud and what was blood. But the throbbing pain was familiar from past experiences, presumably nothing broken but my stride and my pride.
The thing that amazes me most is that I forget how unpleasant the terrain is for this race. It’s consistently rough and technical in a way that few others are. Yet I blithely sign up to run here as if it’s going to be fun. What is it they say about doing the same thing and expecting different results?
My last experience of this race was in 2019. Coming back from a sprained ankle, I dropped to the ground after a sprint finish a few seconds shy of six and a half hours. I knew I wanted to be faster, but I didn’t know where the improvements would come.
It opens with the steep climb to the top of Sgurr an Iubhair, all ankle deep mud and slippy rocks. I paused after my fall, splashed my legs in a stream to try and clean the mud out of the cuts, popped a waterproof on to prepare for the wind chill, and pushed on to the top. I’d made about eight minutes over last time on the climb and was feeling positive.
Last time out I was looking at my feet and barely noticed the exposure of Devil’s Ridge but this time I drank it in. It’s not a technical challenge but steep drops on both side make for plenty of exposure. The dash across it, stopping midway to pull your body up through the bad step, was a major adrenaline boost ahead of the first real challenge of the day: the descent of Sgurr a’Mhaim.
When I was a kid, we’d camp in the glen with a view of Sgurr a’Mhaim. I’ve vivid memories of gazing up at it in the morning as it wore its clouds like a laurel wreath. It turns out that being in those clouds is less glamorous than looking at them. The wind brought the temperature a few degrees below zero and we plunged on down the scree.
After massive struggles running down hill this summer it was refreshing to feel like I was holding my own. You drop a thousand metres of height over a few kilometres in a seemingly endless descent toward the lower falls car park.
No dallying at the aid station. A volunteer filled my flasks while I munched celery. I was out the other side within a minute or two and headed up the path into Nevis Gorge. They’d changed the route a little, diverting us up through the undergrowth and off the trail, but I made it to Steall Falls about twenty minutes up and with the wind in my sails.
I’d had a pretty rough day in the Mamores this summer and the steep slopes of An Gearanach are imprinted on my mind. This is the crux of the race, a relentless and steep 750m ascent done on tired legs. The only option is to dig in and grind your way up.
The summit is the first of a string of three Munros, punctuated by two Munro tops. An Garbhananch offers some airy scrambling and the whole ridge is rocky and technical. Just when you know you’re coming to the end of the ridge Am Bodach, the final climb of the day, emerges from the cloud.
It’s only a 200m climb but when it towers above you it feels far bigger. Another runner asked if it was going to get tricky again as he was scared of heights. I can’t even imagine the nerves required to run those ridges with vertigo. Luckily myself and another lad knew the route enough to assure him Am Bodach’s bark is worse than its bite.
I topped out over thirty five minutes ahead of last time with the long, muddy, descent back to Kinlochleven ahead of me. The first few kilometres didn’t yield the pace improvements I hoped for but I kept pushing. What I lacked in downhill skill, I compensated for in ardour.
The whole section was as much arithmetic as it was slipping around in the mud, keeping a running measure of what pace would be required. As I hit the turn onto the single track part of the West Highland Way I knew it was now or never. I flung myself down the remaining section to the road and pushed on. Cow bells. Cheers. And a sprint into the finish at the Ice Factor.
Skyline Scotland is always a brilliant atmosphere and finishing at the event village gives a healthy dose of adrenaline. This was the rarest thing for me – a race I’m actually happy with. After a poor summer, I took forty-eight minutes off my last time here and finished with no regrets.
You can’t ask for more after a race than to hit the line knowing that you left everything out on the course.
That’ll do pig, that’ll do.
Gear: Salomon Sense Pro 4 shoes, Salomon S/Lab Sense 8 pack, Suunto 9 Baro watch, Sungod Classics, Ponnek Running trail tee, Ponnek Running Trail 5 cap