West Highland Whim

Totally sensible and not at all insane ultra marathons with strangers…

It started, as all good stories should, on the side of a Munro. With three days of thunder storms expected to start at noon, the only sensible thing to do was to try and get a couple of summits under the belt before then.

Having tagged Stob Coire Raineach, I started across the ridge to Stob Dubh only to find someone else had the same idea. We got chatting and our individual short runs became a six hour day of mountains and valleys. Every step seemed to give a new vista, a breathtaking highlights reel of what Scotland can offer.

Camping in the same spot, we made plans to sit out the bad weather and do our normal day jobs in a pub the next day. Of course, laptops open, the occasional chat may* have happened about what to do at the weekend. After work we wound our way through town to the outdoor stores.

Most people hike it over 5 – 8 days, with lots of planning and preparation. We gave it five minutes of thought while looking at the sale rail in Ellis Brigham. Standard.

I can’t even remember quite how the conversation started. “How about,” I offered, tentatively, half in jest, “we run the whole West Highland Way in one go this weekend?”

I expected laughter but received the reply, “if we’re going to do it, let’s do it tomorrow”.

For the uninitiated, the West Highland Way is 154km long with 3,600m of elevation gain. Most people hike it over 5 – 8 days, with lots of planning and preparation. We gave it five minutes of thought while looking at the sale rail in Ellis Brigham. Standard.

Those five minutes were a haze of reassuring each other we were serious and comparing lists of what gear we’d packed in case we needed to buy any more. By the time I was standing at the checkout paying for a map of the route, the challenge was well and truly on.

I text my friends a gif from anchorman saying, “Boy, that escalated quickly.” What better way to cement a friendship with a stranger than attempt a self-supported, 100 mile, ultra adventure the next day?

We headed off to carb load, and I pleaded my way into a hostel for the night to try and get some sleep. The next morning was mainly trying to focus on work and not let the impending fun distract me. Reader, it didn’t work.**

The spirit of adventure was high and while I was present at work digitally, I was most definitely not there in the mind. As people passed through the hostel kitchenette where we worked they asked our plans for the day and started to buzz with excitement. What we told them wasn’t a story about ultra running but about spontaneity, adventure and doing hard things.

The game was afoot.

At two in the afternoon, laptop lids closed and we headed for the car. The plan was simple. More carbs at the local supermarket cafe. Buy some fuel and things to leave in a drop bag and head south. It wasn’t long before we were rolling through Glen Coe, speculating that we’d be running through in the other direction a day later.

We pulled over a little beyond Crianlarich and filled a dry bag with some supplies, hiding it in the bushes next to the path with a note not to touch it. At half way we would have fresh mineral water, babybels, and a pasty. How could we fail?

The thing that surprised me most was how inevitable the whole thing felt. Of course two near strangers were doing a massive ultra with no prep. What else would we be doing on a Thursday evening?

I’ve wrestled with ultra running for a year, getting some shorter distances done but struggling to pass 55km because I couldn’t fuel. I love the sense of exploration, of terrain unrolling like a scroll beneath your feet, but there’s only so far you can go on gels and Haribo. People say not to try a new fuelling strategy on the day, but I had no fuelling strategy – a new one was the only option on the table.

Georgia on the other hand had experience. A better endurance runner than me, she’d done the work and learned to fuel effectively. I was going to have to learn a lot on the course. The best advice? “Think of your body like a steam train, as long as you keep feeding the furnace you’ll keep moving forward.”

We reached Milngarvie a little after eight and by half past were stood at the obelisk that marks the start of the West Highland Way. A quick selfie for the ‘gram, posted with a caption that it was a nice evening for a wee run out. We coasted out of town at a comfortable pace, through the rolling countryside north towards Loch Lomond.

The thing that surprised me most was how inevitable the whole thing felt. Of course two near strangers, one having never ran close to that distance and the other having just recovered from Covid, were doing a massive ultra with no prep. What else would we be doing on a Thursday evening?

The headlamps coming on only exacerbated the sense of adventure. Georgia took a tumble about 25km in and bashed one knee but quickly taped it up and continued. There’s nothing like a bit of blood to make an expedition seem more real.

My rules on hills have always been to run as much as I can then walk when I have to, it took a real mindset shift to be willing to fast hike the hills from the start. We rounded Conic Hill and hit Loch Lomond in the perfect still of the night.

Rumour has it there are taps by the side of the loch, but rumours alone don’t quench your thirst. There was only one solution; the outdoor tap on a fancy-pants holiday home.

There, at 1am, we faced the first challenge of the night. Worried voices. A couple on the balcony who couldn’t immediately understand our presence in their yard, or why my head torch was blinding them. In fairness, they did let us stock up on water, but I’m not sure they were terribly impressed.

We struck on into the night, bats flying overhead, awed at the views that appeared in the breaks in the trees to our left. At some point, in the darkness, I realised that I’d started to feel invincible. We’d started out on a random challenge and backed each other with complete confidence. Now, maintaining a comfortable pace through the dark of night, it felt like the concept of impossibility had been suspended by our spirit and pluck.

It’s a touching moment when you realise your nearest and dearest think you’re entirely unhinged, and choose to back you completely regardless.

Observationally, Loch Lomond is a whole lot longer than I’d expected. It just seems to keep going. The dawn arrived, painting the skies with pink hues, and still the Loch sat on our left. A new day is always a new day though and the rhythms of the body start to wake along with the countryside around us.

Reaching the drop bag was a joy, it was the first break of the run and we were approaching the twelve hour mark. It was hard for me to process everything – already having ran further and longer than ever before and yet feeling strong. Like finding a gear that I never knew I had.

In the hour or so after breakfast we hit a comfortable stride. There was still no question in our minds that we could complete the challenge. Having decided to do this at the last minute, we’d been telling the story on instagram through the night. As our friends woke up the messages started to come thick and fast. It’s a touching moment when you realise your nearest and dearest think you’re entirely unhinged, and choose to back you completely regardless.

The spontaneity of the challenge kept us in high spirits as we approached Tyndrum, stopping for photos with a great backdrop and lured by the prospect of crisps.

As surely as the rainbow follows the rain, so a sizeable blister followed the crisp stop. Actually. That doesn’t make sense. Maybe it was the 90km of running that caused the blister and the crisps were incidental. I sat on a rock. The safety pin and vaseline came out, the sock came off. Onwards. I caught up with Georgia again but the pace was getting hard to maintain as the rain started and the waterproofs came out.

We stopped at Bridge of Orchy for a ten minute nap, not too far from the portaloos, keeping it classy. While Georgia napped I considered the options. We’d done almost 100km and had a great day, and it was the last train station before the finish, we could call it a job well done and go find showers and food. I made the offer, but she was having none of it.

She may have been hurting now, but nevertheless, she persisted.

On we went round and over the hill to Inveroran. Crossing 100km for the first time in my life felt electrifying. Is this what it’s like to feel limitless? If so, sign me up.

At Inveroran, Georgia made the decision to stop. She’d smashed out two big mountain days already that week – and only recovered from Covid a fortnight before. I offered to stop too but received only encouragement to “get a stomp on”.

The adventure continued. As the car carrying Georgia back to the station disappeared I faced the path ahead and realised there was 50km still to go. From not having a wobble all night and day I became a raging torrent of existential angst. How could I keep running for that long, tired and without any support? It seemed a big ask. So I obeyed orders and sped up.

I’d drank from the cup of adventure, but I’d not be the first to come to Scotland, drink too much, and want to puke

I swung round into Glen Coe and bumped into two other runners, tears on my cheeks as I struggled on. The thing that helps is, everyone loves a good adventure story.

“You lads came far?” I asked.
“Just over that hill, you?”
“Milngarvie. Decided to do the West Highland Way on a whim, with a stranger I met up a mountain.”

I need say no more. For the next four kilometres they kept me at a steady pace and gave encouragement to continue. We separated at King’s House, as I looked up towards the Devil’s Staircase, and they assured me that there’d be no shame in using my poles if I needed them.

The Devil, it turns out, is a bit of a knob, and I didn’t much like his staircase. It would’ve been okay on fresh legs but 120km into a run it wasn’t exactly peak fun time. I even contemplated running back down to the A82 and hitching back to Fort William. I’d drank from the cup of adventure, but I’d not be the first to come to Scotland, drink too much, and want to puke.

Coming over the crest and heading down towards the town, I knew I needed to decide. Should I stop at the road crossing or push on over the final section to Fort William? I knew it was hilly, I knew I would unlikely finish before dark, and I struggled to find the motivation to go solo into another night.

My phone found signal again and I got a text: “I’m in Kinlochleven! If you need water etc I’m here.” I called to confirm she was still there, not knowing when she’d sent the message. Help was at hand. Georgia was walking up the way from Kinlochleven.

I found another wind and started to speed down the Old Military Road. Tired and in pain, there was just enough in the tank to throw myself down the hill until we met up. The penultimate two kilometres were the quickest of the day.

What a day. We met up and walked the last kilometre of the section together and I decided the adventure had come to it’s close. 133km and 3,000 metre of vert would do for one day.

It wasn’t quitting because I could go no further but because I should go no further. Because the adventure had been more important than the destination. The West Highland Way may end in Fort William but after a spontaneous effort, with no planning or prep, it felt that the right end to our journey was there – walking back to Kinlochleven knowing we’d woven a story of a thousand possibilities.

We’d written our own adventure. When’s the next one?

Gear: Salomon S/Lab Sense Ultra 8 Pack, Salomon Sense Ride 2 shoes, Suunto 9 Baro watch, Maurten CAF 100 gels, Alpen bars, Babybels, Haribo – and a Morrisons pasty.

* – If you are my boss, this definitely never happened. It was hours of solid focus on our project. Almost too intense. You would have been proud.

** – Again, if you are my boss, remember this is a narrative and don’t get too distracted by the idea I was present in meetings while daydreaming of ultra running glory.