The Mighty Mournes

It was about lunchtime, wandering along the Silent Valley, when Bearnagh first caught my eye. I’d crossed the dam, enjoying the views, when the sunlight poked through and danced across the summit tor. I turned and ran back to my viewpoint to get a photo. Slieve Bearnagh. I knew I’d be climbing her twice the next morning and was enraptured.

Reinhold Messner once said: “The most beautiful mountain in the world is not the highest, or the most difficult. It is personal. It is always the one I am currently dreaming about.” By that standard, she was the most beautiful mountain in the world that day.

I was in Northern Ireland for the Mourne Skyline race but the trip wasn’t exactly going to plan. I’d flown out on Wednesday only for Stormont to vote on a new lockdown and the race to get cancelled. It was the right decision, but gutting for all involved.

The organisers communicated well throughout and went above and beyond to put a race on. With that impossible they pivoted to a virtual race, with competitors needing to run 35km and 1350m of gain to count. That’s less vert than the course itself but takes into account the fact it’s hard to find the kind of elevation you get in sky running races. Having already travelled, I decided to run the virtual race on the actual route.

I turned up in Donard Park to find different pockets of local runners who’d had the same idea setting off on the course. I’d chatted to a couple via the facebook page, and I tagged onto a small group for the first section.

We soon started to split up as we attacked the, surprisingly runnable, climb up to Donard-Commedagh Saddle. Part of me knew I was being lured into a quick start and that things would get brutal later, but I just didn’t care. From the saddle you follow the Brandy Pad below the Commedagh ridge, glancing left to see the Irish Sea at the end of Bloody Ridge valley. The path was used to smuggle contraband inland and its gentle contours and soft surface are perfect for fast running.

Part of me knew I was being lured into a quick start and that things would get brutal later, but I just didn’t care.

It felt natural to get into race mode with other people out, the sight and sound of other runners keeps you pushing. Reaching the dramatic Hare’s Gap marked the start of the first summit climb of the day, sticking close to the line of the Mourne Wall up onto Bearnagh. It’s a hard slog, you don’t need your hands too much but the rocky ground is relentless. As I pushed up into the clouds it was hard to associate this peak with yesterday’s beauty.

Coming off Bearnagh to the North West was even more technical. I was finding it hard work to find a line through the rocks when two fast lads smashed it past. They were dancing over the steep boulder field like Fred Astaire had taken control of their feet.

Descending fast is tough. You need to read the mountain and find the best line, have energy to pursue it, and that hint of insanity to not think about what happens if you slip. Whenever I’m passed on a technical descent I try to watch, tag on for a little, and learn.

Descending fast is tough. You need that hint of insanity to not think about what happens if you slip.

After Bearnagh you summit Slieve Meelmore and then descend towards Fofanny Dam. I heard the sound of cowbells, and passed a marshal who’d came out on the course to encourage us.

I came down a quick and runnable trail before skidding shin first into a stile. First blood. Nice. I filled up as soft flask in a stream and tagged along with two lads up the road and back on to the trail. We passed over Slieve Loughshannagh and onto Slieve Meelbeg, where I dropped off the pace a bit and decided to unfold my poles for extra support.

Soon I was face to face once more with Bearnagh. A few of us scattered across the climb trying to find the best lines. It’s even more unrelenting from Meelmore than it is from Hare’s Gap. Steep and rocky all the way. As I came off the summit I felt my achilles start to groan — I’d hurt it during Ultra North a fortnight ago and it wasn’t appreciating the punishment. I settled in for what I knew would be a hard grind for the rest of the race.

After hitting Hare’s Gap again you follow the indomitable Mourne Wall up onto the ridge. The summits of Slievenaglogh and Slieve Corragh follow but there’s nothing too technical. Feeling pretty spent I just had to dig in and push on. There’s good craic with people going in the same direction and I reached the top of Corragh to be spurred on by the sound of cowbell once again.

I reached the top of Corragh to be spurred on by the sound of cowbell once again.

There’s a water pipe before the summit of Commedagh which is priceless, having not passed a good water source for miles. I drink up and fill up ready for the last challenge. Commedagh offers a fairly smooth descent that would be a lot quicker if it weren’t for the tired legs, and I dash across the saddle to start the big one, Slieve Donard.

By this time I was in a rain cloud and taking a fair battering. I felt my temperature drop and my t-shirt start to cling as I tried to figure out whether to stop and layer up or keep moving. I knew I needed to warm up, but mentally couldn’t give up my momentum. If I stop, I thought, I won’t get going again. I pushed on for the summit, assuming the descent would warm me and the cloud would clear. What I didn’t count on was how hard I’d find going back to the saddle, shivering and with my achilles giving me grief all the way.

What I didn’t count on was how hard I’d find going back to the saddle, shivering and with my achilles giving me grief all the way.

Arriving on the saddle, it was clear the cloud level was much lower. I passed a couple of friendly hikers and asked if they could pass me my waterproof – it was in an open pocket but, in my depleted state, I couldn’t get at it easily. They helped out and held the poles while my shivering fingers fidgeted with the zip.

Waterproof on, I made better progress down the granite steps next to the Glen River. As I warmed up I started to move easier and, while a few lads flew by, I was happy with the pace.

At the footbridge over the river you turn left and follow a fire road that zig-zags its way down to Donard Park. Some more local people gave a cheer and encouragement and I dashed to the seafront to clock up the 35km.

I’d spent much of the last section swearing I was through with sky running. No sooner had I stopped and raised my poles triumphantly above my head than I was looking forward to next year.

The route is exceptional, technical and demanding, but the best part was the atmosphere. The race may have been cancelled, but the fact some could still get out made for a great sense of camaraderie.

It was as though the whole Mournes had determined to make it a grand occasion.

People set off at their own times so you’d see other runners, be cheered on by marshals who’d came out anyway, or hear cow bell echo along a pass or valley. It was as though the whole Mournes had determined to make it a grand occasion.

If this was the thrill on a none race day, I can’t imagine what it’s like on the actual day. Hopefully I’ll be back in 2021, to find out in a post-pandemic world. It has to be one of the fiercest, most thrilling, race routes in the British Isles.