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Relay Magazine May 1990

Have you ever wondered how to overcome the staleness every runner feels?
After completing the same round of training runs for the umpteenth time and finding nothing new or exciting to write in your diary. New roadworks, a second shaved off here and there. There's nothing exciting in that I hear you cry and I can only agree. Perhaps I am lucky in having been able to run with a madcap bunch of guys from this club (Yes this club!) who find that variety truly is the spice of life. When we feel that boredom is setting in, we head for the hills.

We have certainly had luck on our side with the weather. We had a fine crisp day in early October 1989 when six of us, in two cars, completed a three from the north, three from the south jaunt from Loch Morlich and Linn of Dee respectively, through the Lairig Ghru in a little over 4 hours. Sunday April 9th 1990 turned out to be another such day, only more so.

A motley bunch met outside the butcher's shop in High Street, Newburgh, as the clock struck seven. The full complement was not here. The Kirkcaldy fireman was late AGAIN! We eventually set off about ten minutes late as the sun was cresting the local hills. Perth came and went. The berry fields of Blair beckoned; spot the local wildlife was the name of the game. Apart from an unusually large number of cock pheasants, several of the crew spotted flocks of white deer (sheep), black and white buzzards (oyster-catchers) and eagles (crows). When Tom jumped on the brakes as we crested a small hill, announcing a huge tiger in the road, Frank Cation all but scrambled into the boot.

Eventually we reached Braemar and headed along the riverside to Linn of Dee. A large herd of red deer, which were grazing by the roadside, stared back at us when we slowed to view them.

After a quick bite to eat and a hot drink, we set off up the forestry track shortly after 9 a.m. The sky was clear; there was a distinct nip in the air as we jogged up the track to Derry Lodge. There were two more large herds of red deer to be seen before we reached Derry Lodge, and a small group of green tents clustered under the trees when we got there. The easy bit was now over; it was not to be so easy coming back.

We crossed the burn at the mouth of Glen Luibeg trying to keep our feet dry, why I don't know because the path further on was all water, rocks, snow and more. We studied the maps to figure out which top was Ben Macdui then carried on our way. We twisted and turned our way along the path and round the corner to see the southern end of the Lairig Ghru and Corrour bothy. We passed a group of walkers/climbers on their way to the bothy too. When we stopped for some eats and a drink we immediately wished we hadn't. Our ears were assaulted by a constant tirade from a recumbent walker. The lord of all he surveyed, surrounded by all his personal gear, telling all who wanted to listen (and most who didn't) about his exploits and his buried bottle of Glenmorangie. After a short break, we set off up the burn-side path towards the steep snow slopes, which would lead us onto Cairn Toul. Climbing a 75 degree snow slope in training shoes would be foolhardy. In Walsh hill shoes it could be said to be marginally less so, but with a mixture of straight up attack and zigzag edging up, the col was soon reached and, after stopping to watch some ptarmigan, we set off over the boulder fields to the Devil's Point. The views up the Lairig Ghru and down the River Dee towards White Bridge were breathtaking. Lochnagar, Beinn A'Ghto, Schiehallion and peaks further west and north could easily be picked out in the crisp, clear air.

We could easily have stayed all day marvelling at the views but other tops beckoned. We dropped back to the col, stepping-stone fashion, then picked our own ways to the next top where the sight of the cornicing around the Cairn Toul proper was a sight to behold. As we climbed again through the snow covered rocks to the summit we saw several ski mountaineers ahead, two of whom came from Kirkcaldy. We surveyed the scene and scrutinised the maps to find a way down, eventually taking what I thought to be a one-way ticket to oblivion. The snow slopes were even steeper than before but we ran down with unbridled enthusiasm when we discovered it was like scree running but much, much better. We had dropped more than 500 feet in one great rush but the best was yet to come.

We negotiated a small boulder field and came to another longer snow slope. The snow here was soft on top with an icy base about two inches down. Tom set off in front followed by 'Irish' John and Pete. I gingerly brought up the rear. I looked up to see Tom fall after losing his footing. He took off at full speed on his backside. Without a vote John, Pete and I decided at the same time to follow suit. Four human sledges made their way down the mountainside with much whooping and shouting. With backsides wet and numb with cold, we had lost 1,000 feet in height in about two minutes. We jogged back along the riverside to the bothy to collect Frank who had retired after the first top (he'd not been taking his pep pills!). Our lord awaited, not looking like he had moved since we last saw him, and immediately resumed his diatribe.

We gladly pressed on for the route back to Derry Lodge. The path underfoot was a little safer and the burns and puddles felt quite warm. The thought of a swim at journey's end was quite pleasant. Reality was to prove much colder. The deer and tents around Derry Lodge had disappeared. We forded the river and carried on our way. We were all beginning to tire visibly and leg cramps began to affect running style. More than once on the long, hard track out to Linn of Dee, I thought about stopping completely.

Eventually, six hours after leaving, we arrived back at the car. A quick splash in the river, dry clothes, a hot drink and more to eat. Sheer luxury! A short rest in the warm sunshine and we were soon heading back to Newburgh for some more relaxation of the liquid variety. All in all, a great day to be out in the hills.

As I am moving away from this area, this will probably be my last such day in the hills for quite a while. It was a day to savour. I must thank my companions for the day - Tom Ross, Pete Low, Frank Cation and John Cummins. I have spent many enjoyable hours on the hills and roads with them and others too numerous to mention. Long may you all enjoy your own particular brand of running and I'll see the 'hill-running loons' at the Ben Lomond in May.

Bob Melville

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