March 2009 Day 2

Inversnaid  - Tyndrum, 19 miles

This started so well. Aside from the fact it had been raining all morning, and thus looked not to be of the showery variety of the previous day, I was feeling great. Thanks to the mile long climb up the road to the bunkhouse last night, I had a mile long downhill road-surfaced start to the days running. Perfect. I was in great spirits. Once I neared the loch side, my phone starting beeping with texts that hadn't got through previously due to the lack of reception in the bunkhouse. I replied that I'd managed the 35 miles before dark, and that I was a mile in today, and was raring to go. Oh how quickly things would change. I knew that the first section would be the toughest. In my head, it was the toughest section of the whole WHW. But if you plan to take your time, and don't get frustrated by the lack of runnability of a lot of the path, it's actually very enjoyable. And I did enjoy it. The wind from the previous day had died down (as evidenced by the loch looking like a loch again - the day before, with the low visibility meaning I couldn't see to the other side, and the heavy winds causing high waves, the loch had the look of a stormy sea – it was back to being a more peaceful loch, although energetic ripples belied the fact that the wind was still present to a smaller degree) and the loch side provided some shelter from both the wind and rain, and with a 'grin and bear it' attitude, I plodded on, running where I felt was safe, treading more carefully where it wasn't. It was slightly treacherous going. The path involves a fair amount of rock clambering anyway, and with the recent heavy rainfall, and the ongoing rain, the rocks were very wet. More than once I slipped and let out a curse and a prayer to the running gods to stop me falling into the freezing water. The worst part of the rock clambering is around Rob Roy's Cave, but this is a good 15-20 feet away from the water's edge, so any fall would result in a broken body, but possibly not drowning. This cheered me somewhat. Once I left the relative shelter of the loch side, I was exposed to the full force of the elements. And they were strong. I really like the section from the loch to Beinglas Farm, but it is open to the weather, and is pretty unforgiving. Having never run in more than a top and jacket, this is what I was wearing today. It was inadequate. My so-called waterproof gore jacket isn't. At least, not in the heavy rain of today. I had spent so long picking my way around puddles, and choosing my paths over waterfalls in an effort to keep my feet dry, as once wet they blister and break very easily. With 30 miles to cover, I didn't want to be in pain with every footfall. My efforts were in vain however, when frequent sections of the path were unable to cope with the deluge of water, and the streams and waterfalls that were usually a few feet long and crossed using handily located stones became over a dozen feet wide, with all handily placed rocks well below the water level. Once I'd had to run through a few, I stopped bothering to try and pick my way around any more, it was easier just to grit my teeth and plough through. I reached Beinglas Farm, and with a rueful smile remembered that the last time I was there was in similarly appalling weather. On that occasion, I was doing my longest run to date on the Way, of 34 miles, and had another 14 miles to go, even though it was mid afternoon by the time I got there. On this occasion, I had 24 miles left. But I knew that from here on, the running was much easier. Wide tracks, no roots or stones to try and trip me up, just straightforward running. But my body didn't want to comply. Soaked through, cold, getting battered by the wind, and still having to charge through puddles, I found myself walking on parts that I really needed to run, in order to keep the average pace up. I had also forgotten quite how undulating the Glen Falloch part was, and found myself fighting tears of frustration as I turned a corner and was faced with yet another climb that I could not see to the top of. I think it was along this part that I completely abandoned the idea of sticking below 15m/m. Having allowed a lot longer for the loch side running, and knowing that the later terrain was nicely runnable, I had planned a finish time for the day of under 7.30 hrs. As I'd started out at 8.30am, that let me almost three hours of daylight to play with, and I now decided I was going to use that by walking whenever I felt like it, which was a lot. Forget the 7.30. What did it matter anyway? I was on holiday. But once you get an idea in your head and give in, it can become a rapidly declining spiral. By the time I had neared Derrydaroch I had not only given up any ambition on pace, but was questioning how far I would get to. I knew that in a couple of miles was the turn off to Crianlarich. I could stop there, maybe get a train up to Bridge of Orchy and run the three miles to Inveroran to my hotel. Or I could get the train up to Tyndrum and run the ten miles to Inveroran from there. Or I could stay there, and do a 59 mile run tomorrow. So many options. I wasn't able to think straight as my head was mainly focussing along the lines of 'I'm wet', 'I'm cold' and 'my shoes are soaked'. I didn't know what to do. Which wasn't helped by having to wade across a soggy bog of cow poo and mud to get through a gate. Yuck. Then I reached the waterfall that, on previous visits, I have been able to leap across with the help of a stone or two. Not today. This required calf depth submersion to get across the gushing stream that stretched about 20ft across. At least it washed the cow poo off. Then, miraculously, the rain stopped. The sky cleared a little, the sun came out, and I could see where I was going. My clothes didn't dry out though. By now I had reached the herd of cows that live on the hill, and a cute calf was blocking my way across the path. In my not-quite-with-it state I tried to engage it in conversation, explaining my dilemma and asking his advice. He just looked at me nervously. Then it dawned on my that I was walking closer to the calf, and that one of the huge monsters around me was more than likely his mother, and that perhaps, she may get a bit defensive if I got any nearer. But I was wet, cold, and wanted to pass, and it's not as if the selfish bugger had shown me any sympathy for my dilemma, so I just marched on and it scampered up the hill. No annoyed mother cow charged after me. But now I reached the ultimate in cow world. A muddy, wide, stream of cow poo. It stretched out for about 50 metres, and reached from the wall on my right well up the hill on my left. I had no choice but to wade through. Then I had to find another patch of water to wash my feet in. Which should have been easy, given how wet everywhere was, but every puddle of stream had frog spawn taking up most of the room. I wondered how desperate I was, then figured that having wet shoes full of frog spawn probably wasn't much of an improvement on shoes coated in cow poo. Less unpleasantly fragrant maybe. But now I was at the top of Bogle Glen, and I had a choice to make – turn left and continue on the WHW to Tyndrum or turn right and go to Crianlarich. I checked my phone and saw I had reception again, and was very tempted to call Llamadance, who lived a couple of miles away, and ask him what to do, or to come and help me. I think the only reason that I didn't call was that I was not confident of my ability to speak without crying and that maybe him receiving a call from some stranger saying 'fjd afdb abgxvtw avqtgvx abga ag a vgdw' may not have encouraged the desired rescue. It had started raining again by now, and with my characteristic streak of stubborness, I shoved the phone back into my pocket, turned left, and plodded up the hill. The rain this time was showery rather than solid, and as I was in the forest now, was quite light. I began to enjoy myself, and decided that I would continue as planned. Then I walked up a hill and decided to stop as soon as I could. Then I decided not to be a loser, then I wrote blog notes on my phone listing the pros and cons. The main reasons to carry on seemed to be pride, not wanting to fail, and achieving my dream of the WHW 54321. Was that reason enough, given all the reasons to stop? As I was running down one of the beautiful forest descents, I passed three runners coming up the hill. They were the first people I had seen since I had left the bunkhouse many hours earlier. One of them shouted something along the lines of 'You're doing great' to me, and it cheered me enormously. I could carry on. I would carry on. But then I came out of the shelter of the forest, and was battling the weather again, and once more, when faced with a beautifully flat and runnable bit of ground, I could not break out of a walk. I had to face up to the fact that every part of my body wanted me to stop. I would get to Tyndrum, see if they had accommodation, and if not, would press on to Inveroran. I could then decide in the morning whether to run the 32 miles, or run the 3 miles back to Bridge of Orchy and get the train from there instead. It was a great relief, having finally accepted that my plan was possibly not going to happen, but I was now left with a sense of grief for the route that I may miss out on. I would carry on. I plodded my way through along the Fillan river on the approach to Tyndrum, saw another couple of walkers and then was in Tyndrum. One final stream crossing reminded me that even if I was to quit, the WHW had the last laugh, as once again I found myself wading through calf deep freezing water. I stumbled into the Tyndrum Lodge, asked for a drink and asked if they had any rooms. She didn't know, but said the manager would be around at 6pm. That didn't really help – if the answer was no, I had to run 10 miles to Inveroran to my booked room, and didn't fancy doing that after dark, given the weather. Once I'd stopped my cold symptoms had again come to the fore, and I had numerous coughing and sneezing fits. My throat really hurt, and my windpipe felt raw. Then I switched onto auto-pilot and started typing on my iPhone. Within half an hour, I had checked out the train time to Glasgow (it left five hours from now) changed my flight from Sunday evening to Saturday morning, changed my Glasgow hotel booking from Saturday to Friday night, and cancelled the Inveroran booking. Once I'd done that, I seemed to regain my senses, and realised that I had now made the decision. I was not going to run any further north on this trip. My WHW plan was over. As was my dream of the 54321. I bit back tears as I realised what I had done. Could I change it all back again? But then I looked outside, saw the raindrops on the table, and the trees blowing in the wind, and realised that I was doing the right thing.