The designated time was 6 a.m. and we were still waiting on 'Long' John at 6.15 a.m. He eventually appeared and we were on our way heading for Glasgow, then down to Ardrossan where we had time for a breakfast of sandwiches and coffee. We were a cheery bunch, our driver Allan McGillivray, Ian Mills, John Cummins and myself all loitering about on a dull morning with a lot of low cloud. We were waiting for the ferry to take us over to Arran for the Glen Rosa Horseshoe, a 12 mile race with 5,500 ft. of climb. The sail across took an hour, which was full of interest, meeting old friends and foes, and a varied amount of shipping from yachts to submarines, all at pretty close quarters. Better still, the tops were beginning to show and we could see we were in for quite a race with the 'horseshoe' showing like a New York skyline, very impressive indeed.

Once off the ferry we boarded a service bus for two miles, then walked a narrow road for another mile to the campsite where the race begins. What a beautiful setting for a campsite. The immediate reaction was I wished that I had brought the tent so that we could have spent the whole weekend there. This place could have been Switzerland or Austria with trees and a river running by the site and the mountains towering over the whole setting.

The race starts off, an easy flat two miles of dirt track, then it is a long hard climb through knee high heather to gain a ridge which gives good running to the first checkpoint and the summit of Bein a Chleabhan. The checkpoint consisted of a bucket-like thing where you deposit one of the seven discs we were all carrying with our race number on it. This was the first time I had used the system but it is very successful (a Lake District idea which cuts out the need for a great amount of marshals). The course then follows a track, which lends itself to some good fast downhill running to the next checkpoint, which is located at the top of a steep gully where you jump over the edge and keep your legs going like hell on loose scree. It eventually spits you out into a big corrie where you traverse round trying to keep as high as possible to gain the beallach between Bein Tarsuin and Ar Mhor. On this beallach is checkpoint three and five as Ar Mhor is number four, which gives a bit of scrambling to gain this rough and rugged peak. After Ar Mhor its back to the beallach and yet another long traverse, also keeping your height to checkpoint six, which is another low point on the ridge, called the 'saddle'. The route follows a track winding its way up to North Goatfell, which seems to go on forever.

By this time although tired I was really enjoying it and even went over the top of North Goatfell, which was not necessary. I suppose I lost about two minutes. Now after a short steep descent I was faced with a complicated looking ridge leading to the last checkpoint on the summit of Goatfell, the highest peak on Arran. My luck was in as coming down the ridge was a runner who had been lying second before he attempted this ridge but had lost his way. Now he thought he knew the correct way up a path lower down. In fifteen minutes we were over Goatfell and on a downward run on difficult, loose slabs of stone (granite I think).

   The great thing about hill racing is you can pick your own route between checkpoints. Sometimes you're lucky, other times - well! For me it was one of the other times. Trying to be smart, I took the low ground, which was a knee-deep bog. Then a short cut down into Glen Rosa which was a stumble, stop, fall and curse through boulders lurking in long ferns and heather, and even getting within ten yards of a small group of hinds which must have wondered what was coming. It obviously wasn't a stalker.

Eventually reaching the Rosa footpath I then fell in the bloody river. With three miles still to run I was a bit sick
and downhearted thinking I had lost a lot of time. I started to splash down the track, working up a good
steady pace and stealing a place back on the run in.

Now it was time to sit in the sun and drink tea, eat freshly made sandwiches and moan about all the bad
lines that had been taken. Within twenty minutes all the Fife men were in and we were running again,
this time to catch the minibus to arrive at the pier, just in time for the ferry. It was a merry pack sitting in the
lounge bar sharing a beer and stories with other club runners, but the all too short crossing came to an end,
where we departed for Fife and the others to Glasgow, Edinburgh and Fort William.

For anyone wanting a good, hard, well-run race, which is reasonably priced, this one comes highly recommended. Everyone is made welcome with plenty of food and drink post-race. Roll on next year!

Tom Ross