Go Tell It On The Mountain.........

Christmas is so exciting as a child. It’s early-70s December, school is finishing off for the term and there’s so much to look forward to – the decorations, the Christmas tree, the lights, the anticipation as the big day nears. Come Christmas Eve, I’ll be putting my sack at the end of the bed, leaving a mince pie and some whisky out for Father Christmas and looking forward to a restless night, with frequent checks to see if he’s been yet.

And once we get through this magical night, there’ll be presents to open, games to play, a big lunch with all the family. And then, beyond that, a boxing day football match, a chance to catch up with my friends and compare presents, and all that wonderful television to watch....black and white episodes of Flash Gordon, Robinson Crusoe, maybe some Banana Splits!

And yet this year is even more special. For months, I’ve been saving every penny of my pocket money and birthday money. If I get a small amount of money for Christmas as well, I’ll be able to take that most exciting of new year trips to the shops to purchase the one thing I’ve been after all this time.....a Scalectrix!! Only the very basic model, of course, that’s all I can afford. But that’s all I want, as well, that will make me more than happy.

Other potential purchases (subbuteo?!?!) have been forsaken, money hasn’t been spent on sweets, and I’ve been encouraged in this by my parents. I’ve even done a few small jobs for them for money (we’re talking pennies here!). And I’m nearly there. It’s been hard, but I’ve kept to the task and learned a very important lesson.

And then Christmas Day dawns. With excited, magical, wondrous eyes, I look to the end of the bed and.....he’s been!! A large sack, brimful with presents wrapped in Christmas paper. It finally reaches an acceptable hour (7am?!) and we take our presents in to our parents’ room to open them.

The excitement is palpable,  as wrapping paper is discarded and presents received, and it builds to a crescendo as I have one large present left.....from Mum and Dad. What could it be? I have no idea. A game perhaps? Something to make? Something to do with football? It could well be.

I grapple with the paper, tearing it open, to reveal a large cardboard box. I hurriedly tear at the paper, at the same time turning the box over to reveal........a Scalectrix set! Not just the basic model, but one up from that, with more track, fancier cars, and a “bridge”. I should be absolutely ecstatic, overjoyed.

And yet (and I still recall the feeling to this day), in that moment, I feel unexpectedly deflated. I’d saved months and months to be able to go out and buy a Scalectrix set myself, I was almost there, I’d imagined the trip to the shops, parting with my hard-earned cash and walking out proudly with my new toy.

But I learned two very important lessons which have stayed with me throughout my life;

Firstly, if you want something, if you want it badly enough, you have to stick at it, work hard at it, and you can make it happen.

And secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it never feels quite as good when something is handed to you on a plate.

Tuesday 11^th December 2012. Christmas is almost upon us again. The Christmas tree is up (courtesy of a “smash and grab” raid on the edge of the Glenfinnan road!) and the lights are on. Kirsten’s had her fun putting up all the decorations, and we’re both looking forward to the excitement of spending some festive time with our families.

But, for today, I have one thing on my mind.

Since we came here, I’ve headed off up Meall an t-Slamain countless times. Headed up the rough track that leads to the trig point, got to know its contours and its terrain, got to know where I can run, and where I have to take it down to a walk.

And, over time, I’ve started to push myself a bit more on each of the steeper bits (“today, I’m going to run all the way up this bit”), started to dig in and hold a reasonable pace even on the rougher parts. The fitness has started to come back, the resilience needed to run up hills is there again, the appetite for working hard has resurfaced.

And so, today, I am going to run every step of the climb. From here at sea level, to the trig point, at over 900ft.

It doesn’t auger well initially, as I head along the flat stretch to the start of the track, and then up the initial small climb, and the freezing air attacks my lungs and I’m instantly wheezing. But I take the pace back slightly as it flattens, re-gather my thoughts and my energies and head up the steeper early climb, to the deer fence.

Here, I have no choice but to stop for a moment, open the gate and close it again behind me. And then, immediately, I have to walk across the icy wooden bridge across the burn.

But from here, it’s me against the hill, following the path I can see snaking up above me into the low clouds. Head down, arms pumping, legs feeling their way into the climb, I head up. The first initial steepness is conquered and it flattens out briefly allowing me to catch my breath. Then, a small downhill to round the corner and come face to face with the longest, steepest section of the climb.

There’s no easy way up this, nothing offered up on a plate, just a need to get stuck in and concentrate on the arms pumping away and leading the rest of the body uphill. The lungs are gasping for air at times, the legs turn to jelly on the steeper steps but I remind myself of the most important fact – you can’t “try” to run up a hill, you’re either going to run up it, or you’re not!

I reach the top of the steep climb, the ground evens off a bit, and I take my foot right off the gas for a few steps, to let the lactic acid settle and the steel myself for the final part of the route. It’s icier up here as well, which makes it important in places to choose my footing carefully, adding another element.

And yet, as I’ve learned in many other situations, having something “small” to concentrate on (like where to place your feet) actually dominates your thoughts and pushes the pain and suffering to the recesses of your mind. And so it proves, before I know it, I’m up the final short steep part of the climb, and the ground really levels out as the mast rears up ahead of me.

In these frozen conditions, the normally boggy, peaty ground ahead is crisp and solid and I run easily across it, start the final slight rise up the path, then head off across the frozen tussocks to reach the trig point and collapse in a satisfied heap. I’ve done it! All the way up, without stopping. And, of course, that means I can do it anytime I want to now that the barrier has been breached. And I smile, a wee, slightly smug grin in the knowledge that, I may be getting on a bit and not have quite the speed and fitness I did have, but those two lessons that I learned all those Christmases ago, still hold true.

Happy Christmas everyone!

Safe, in the sanctuary, oh so safe.....

I wasn’t planning to do many more races. I’ve mentioned this several times recently. The excitement had gone. With the passing of time and the achievement of feats which I hardly imagined myself capable of, my thoughts and deeds were turning back to what took me out into the hills in the first place – a love of being out there and appreciating the surroundings.

And yet, here I am, on a freezing cold Sunday morning in December, lined up with nearly 60 other runners at the start of the latest Lochaber AC Winter League race at Sutherlands Grove, Barcaldine.

I’d ducked the long Lairig Mor race last weekend because I admitted to myself that I was doing it to go through the motions rather than for any particular desire or want to run it. And it had been a good decision. A flattish, wide landrover track running 13 miles is not my idea of fun.

I thought of ducking this one as well. It’s cold, I’m tired from a long week of running  and perhaps, just perhaps, part of my dislike of racing these days is the pressure that I put on myself to perform (which intensifies as I glance around and spot a couple of my “rivals”).

But here I am, too late now.......

Safe......

Easter in the mid-1970s. A long drive north, bound for Skye and another of those incredible adventures which have shaped who I am and for which I’m so grateful, at the time approached with boyish excitement at spending a week away in the mountains with my Dad.

Travelling past landmarks that would become so familiar to me over the years.... Gretna and the Scottish border, up and up from Moffat before the long descent down towards Glasgow, Loch Lomond-side and a feeling that you’re almost there, Crianlarich and Tyndrum, where memorable mountains enclose you (mountains with evocative names that I’d commit to long-term memory and spend boyhood hours poring over photos in Mr Poucher’s books – climbers in Ben Lui’s central gully, the great dome of Ben More, the sharp profile of Beinn Dorain), before reaching the bleakness of the Rannoch Moor and the final descent down THE glen as we headed north.

It’s indicative of the times that Skye wasn’t to be reached in a day, rather we would find lodgings in Onich, before heading further north the next day. Unfortunately, our “usual” place was full but they suggested a forester’s b&b around the corner and that’s where we ended up on a cool night, sharing dinner at their table (lamb, veg and potatoes no less!) before retiring to our twin-bedded room, wrapped up in sheets and woollen throws, Chopin playing on an old cassette recorder as I drifted off to a contented sleep.

Safe wrapped in the warm cloak of paternal love with the promise of great adventures together.

As usual, it’s a madly quick start, accentuated by the fact that the first climb is single file, by the side of a tremendous steep-sided gorge. Luckily there’s a fence to our right, where the crags plunge into icy depths.

I resolve not to go too fast (plenty of time to catch folks later) but this does mean I’m stuck behind runners who can’t climb and resort to walking before the track levels off. I’m already worried that I’m not amongst my contemporaries and this might be one of those days when I have a bit of a stinker. The legs are aching, the lungs are wheezing, and I can only hope I settle down....

Safe......

Late May 2000. A life which felt like it was leading nowhere, a life full of frustrations at not knowing exactly what I wanted or how to get it, only I knew it wasn’t this.

The mountains were calling me, I sensed a real need to get out there and find some direction. I ended up booking a trip to the Atlas Mountains with the promise of summiting Mount Toubkbal at the end of the second week. Sitting here now, I can’t honestly say what prompted me to go there, but it was a good, life-changing decision.

The first nights in Marrakesh were an assault on the system for a 30-something who’d been living a cosy, suburban life, concentrating on career and family.  But there was soon a realisation, that I was surrounded by others who were living the sort of life I desired.

After a couple of days, we headed off to the mountains and, on that first night, lying in my sleeping bag on a cold, stone roof, gazing up at a million stars, with towering peaks above the village disappearing into the silent void, I looked either side of me to see people of a like mind. And I knew my life would head in a different direction from that moment on. And I drifted off to sleep feeling safe.

Safe in the knowledge that there was a way forward towards the life I dreamed of.

As the race unfolds, the climb continues through rougher forest terrain, and I relish it. As usual, I’m stronger on the climbs than those around me and I start to pick up places and, not far ahead of me, I can see those who usually finish around the same time.

I run the whole climb, making up more ground on those who are reduced to a walk and, as we start to emerge from the trees with one final push to the level forestry track, I come up behind my “nemesis” and I’m boosted by the knowledge that I am having a decent run after all.

Safe......

The outdoors started to dominate my life from that holiday in Morocco onwards. My trips out were more frequent, my love for it grew, and the possibilities opened up as I met more people whose lives I aspired to.

A few years later, armed with my new tent and large rucksack, I took off on my first backpacking trip (inspired by a route in Trail magazine!) to the wild Rhinogydd. I took the train from Barmouth to Talsarnau, where I was deposited at the station and stood, alone, excited and yet with some trepidation at what would follow.

That first day I learned a few important lessons about backpacking, not least of which was that you should pack as light as possible because, by the end of an 8 hour day, your shoulders are going to be very sore!

I had a camp site in mind, from the map, which involved descending from Rhinog Fawr into Bwlch Drws Ardudwy. However, as I summitted Rhinog Fawr, the cloud rolled in. Suddenly, the steep descent on a very feint path took on a new seriousness.

And here was lesson number two – tricky manoeuvres are much more difficult when you’ve got a large, weighty pack on your back. I realised later that I’d actually descended down the wrong gully! As it was, it was ok at first but, having descended several hundred feet, the gully dramatically narrowed and dropped over a 15 foot crag to reach the scree, which would see me down into the Bwlch. The prospect of dragging my tired body back up was not one I wished to contemplate so I determined to scramble carefully down. 

Only I couldn’t. The pack got stuck in the narrow defile and I was wedged above the drop. Slowly but surely, I pulled myself back up and decided there was only one thing for it – remove the pack and chuck it over the crag and down onto the scree. It landed with a crash of pots and cups but stayed where it was rather than disappearing down the slope. I carefully scrambled down, retrieved it and set off, with heart still racing, for my camp spot.

As steady rain fell, I got the tent up within minutes, unfolded the sleep mat and sleeping bag and lit the stove to cook much-needed food.

Safe in the security of my shelter, safe from the clutches of the hill, safe and warm, basking in the  glow of satisfaction from a thrilling day.

We hit the undulating forestry road and, as has become customary now, I play cat and mouse with a couple of other Lochaber runners, overtaking them on every uphill, losing ground again on the flat and downhill.

I can sense that my “nemesis” in particular is tiring and perhaps this is the day I’ll beat him. It certainly feels that way as I go past him again on a short climb. But sure enough, he’s back at me as soon as it flattens out, accompanied by another runner.

We seem to have been going for miles....and yet it’s only a 4.8 mile race! This isn’t terrain I know and the mind plays tricks. I know it’s a loop, and I’m sure that I can see where we headed out, not too far away through the trees. But, not being certain, I daren’t kick for home just yet, there’s not that much left in the tank.

Safe......

July 2010. My Bob Graham. A whole host of fellrunning legends turning out for me. Spending 23 hours on the hill with these fantastic people, who do it not for the glory (for there is none!) or the thanks (of which there are plenty) but because they want YOU to feel as good as they did on their big day.

Mark came all the way from Cheshire to impart his not inconsiderable wisdom, advice and humour. Yiannis navigated me around 2 miserable, wet legs with little visibility and then boosted my energy levels back up at Honister by telling me how superbly I’d done. Darren, a real hero of the fells, posed for a photo with me at the end, all smiles, absolutely chuffed with my success.  Morgan congratulated me at Newlands, having accompanied me all the way from Dunmail. Ian Roberts came all the way up Robinson just to see me down the rock steps,

For those who don’t aspire to do a BG, I can only say that it is such an affirmation of everything that is wonderful about the fellrunning and mountain “community”. Through all the pain and suffering, which you undoubtedly have to endure, I can honestly say it felt nothing compared to the uplifting energy of being out on the hills for a day with these tremendous people. The pride I felt at the finish was not so much at my achievement, but at the fact that these people had all come out for me, had all wanted to be there to see me round.

Lifelong friendships are forged, reputations are enhanced, dreams are realised. It was, without doubt, one of the greatest days of my life.

Safe within the supportive bond of unconditional help, assistance and encouragement from people whose achievements and adventures over the years I can only gaze at in admiration and awe. Thank you, each and every one of you.

All too soon, we’re back in the lower woods, descending down the track and I recognise where we are (from my little pre-race warm-up). I’ve left my kick too late and, with no more significant uphills, I can only dig in, try to maintain position and see what else I can do.

As it happens, I round the next corner to find the person in front of me reduced to a walk on a slight uphill. “Are you ok?” I ask as I approach. “Nothing left”, he gasps, “but I’m ok”. That’s all the encouragement I need to surge past, up the pace, and not look back!

A flat section gives me a chance to really push and gain as much advantage before the steps. I cross the slippy bridge (carefully!) and manage to run the (awkward) steps. Just the downhill to go....

Safe......

That journey, from a young boy fascinated by the mountains, mind fed and nourished by the adventures I was exposed to, to who I am now, contented, happy, and joyfully immersed in the beauty of the wild hills, was one that was always going to happen.

It’s certainly not always been an easy one, wrestling with other’s expectations of me as against who I really was. It’s been shaped by various people along the way, all of whom had a part to play.

As I opened up my heart and my mind towards the possibilities for the future, fate played its hidden, unexpected card. Out of the blue, I met someone who identified completely with who I am and where I wanted my life to lead.

Not only that, but my life has been greatly enhanced by the ideas, attitudes and general enthusiasm for life that she’s brought to me. New avenues have opened up, simple joys have been (and continue to be) explored and I’m even more optimistic about the future.

Safe, in the knowledge of unconditional love, both given and received,safe to be the person I want to be. Safe in the knowledge I will receive support and understanding whatever I try to do.

I charge down the last descent as best I can, catching the runner in front, but not quite enough. The path flattens out as I dodge the tree routes and see the gathered crowd and the finish line just ahead of me. A quick glance back confirms I’m ok and I run through the finish to shouts of “well done”.

Hands on knees for a moment, gasping for breath, feeling the fatigue start to creep over me immediately. Handshakes are exchanged with fellow runners, including with my “nemesis”, who’s finished just a few seconds ahead of me (he’ll later tell me, with a smile on his face, “keep trying, you’ll get there one day!” as we left the cafe).

There’s a buzz and excitement around the finish line which I have missed. Stories are exchanged of falls suffered, wrong routes taken, races not paced correctly. It doesn’t matter where you finished, fellrunning is not about that. Everyone will chat to you and your run is as important as theirs.

As Kirsten finishes and we get ready to head for the car to wrap up in warm clothes, I pop over to the race organiser and thank him for a cracking route and a smashing morning. Without people like him, we wouldn’t be able to do this.

And, as I look around at these like-minded people, all with smiles on their faces, I realise that I do still like racing sometimes. There’s a familiarity that comes from racing, a chance to focus your mind and body, an opportunity to see if you can push yourself to your limits and beyond, and a camaraderie that comes from being part of the event. It feels safe.

There’s no doubt that I have an undeniable feeling that I’ve come “home”, so many miles from where I was born. Up here’ there’s an attitude to life that is more in tune with my own. Hardy people whose daily lives are an adventure and yet they make no odds about it. People having preposterous adventures as though they were commonplace, people living tough, “ordinary” lives, which hark back to the old days and which put the whinges and moans of those “better off” to shame.

Sunday afternoon, on our way back from the race, we stop off to walk the dogs in the beautiful Cona Glen. A real chill hangs in the air and, post-race, it seeps inside our bodies, leaving us shivering. And yet we can think of no place we would rather be in this moment than here, amongst the unspoilt, quiet hills of Ardgour, our special dogs trotting along the path with us, bringing smiles to our faces.

At the new gate, we turn for home and head back down the track. As we near the farmhouse, there’s activity and we call Sam close. We’re all apt to pre-judge and, in our minds, we suspect the farmer may not take kindly to a collie off-lead amongst all the sheep.

And yet, as so many times in life, we’re proved wrong.

As we approach, and a car is waved off down the track, the farmer greets us with a cheery “hello” and is keen to meet Sam and Rufus and talk about his dogs. And, before we know it, after a quick chat about the hills surrounding us, we’re invited in for tea, where we sit in a proper farmhouse kitchen (no ikea “farmhouse” tables and chairs here! Simple furniture, cluttered, basic, but all you need, books on baking and dishes of food for the dogs!). Steaming cups of tea are served and biscuits are laid out on a plate, and we chat to two lovely people who have lived across here all their lives and clearly have so many stories to relate.

And, as we walk back down the last part of the path, having said our goodbyes, we look at each other and smile.

Safe in a place we call home. Safe amongst people we can relate to and who aren’t “chasing the dream” but who realise the dream is right here, right now. Indeed, it’s anywhere you want it to be, if you just stop and look.

Under a Poet's Moon There Are Dreams in Action...

Under a poet's moon there are dreams in action

Prayers met and questions answered

As the world birls in the darkness, I'm still staring at the skies

Under a poet's moon

There's something really special about moonlit runs. Clear skies, an eerie light sending shadows across the hillside, the faint outlines of higher peaks and the surreal glow of snowcapped summits.

With the temperature having plummeted these last couple of days, and frost giving a crispness underfoot even this early in the evening, we couldn't resist the lure of our first bat run from Achaphubuil. Kirsten was home at a reasonable time, Sam was itching to get out there and I......well, I had no choice but to be swayed by their infectious enthusiasm.

And so it was that, wrapped up in base layer, thicker long-sleeved top, buff, warmer hat and two pairs of gloves, we stepped out of the door into the freezing night.

Back in 2006, I'd only been running a few years, and fellrunning for a year or two. We'd sometimes head out from the sports centre at Lilleshall with head torches on, to take in a cross-country route, running across fields and through woods. It was exhilarating, it was fun, it encapsulated everything good about running.

So, one night that winter, with significant snow having fallen, I decided to head over to the Long Mynd after darkness had fallen and run around part of the Stretton Skyline route. I parked the car in Carding Mill, donned the headtorch and set off up the main track. 

Having crossed the icy stream, I headed left and, before long, reached Little Spout waterfall, where torch beams bounced back at me off the icicles in the falls and the sheet ice on the "steps" up to the right. I paused to take in all this beauty, but set off again before too long as the cold wrapped itself around me.

On up to the top of Pole Bank to gaze out at a snowy,winter wonderland. And then a fast descent down to cross the road and head towards the descent into Little Stretton.

Only here, I learnt a very important lesson about night running: places that you think you know like the back of your hand look very different in the dark!

Somehow, amidst the snow and thin mist, I ran straight past the left fork in the track that leads you down into Little Stretton, and found myself on unfamiliar terrain and unsure of which way to head. The heart rate quickened, and I recalled the story of the vicar who'd spent a snowy night stuck out on the Mynd! All alone, pitch black and nobody knew I was up there....I'd better keep moving! After some floundering, I ended up heading down steep, snowy slopes to reach a fence, which was followed back to the main track.

Back to the sanctuary of a warm car and a chance to reflect on what had been a memorable evening. The toes eventually thawed out, a change of clothes brought warmth to my body and I revelled in the excitement of it all. I'd be back again pretty soon!

As we head along the road to reach the gate onto the hill, icy tentacles of air reach deep down into my lungs and leave me wheezing, struggling for breath. It feels as though this may be a slow one! Any sustained effort will be tough in these conditions. As I gulp in oxygen, the cold numbs the inside of my mouth and a dull ache pervades my jaw.

We turn up onto the track and, encouraged by Kirsten and Sam's efforts, I break into a steady trot up the hill, eventually running all the way up to the deer fence, where cold fingers grapple with the bolt to open the gate and make our way onto open fellside.

Torches off for a moment, a chance to appreciate the magnificent views and the exceptional light provided by the moon on this clear night. From down below, noise drifts across from the sawmill, a veritable hub of activity amongst all this calm. We turn, put the lights back on, and focus our attention on the climb.

1.00am on a calm, clear and warm Lake District night in May 2009. I park the car in the little car park at Little Town, get my pack together, step out into the darkness and trot up the tarmac track leading towards High Snab Bank.

I make my way along the track and up to level with the waterfall, where I head off on pathless slopes up to the right, making my way up to the summit of Robinson. The distant lights of Keswick are visible to the north and, beyond that, the orange glow of Carlisle reflects against the high cloud cover.

I descend on runnable slopes at pace, cutting a little too low and left as I head to Hindscarth, before turning back on myself and trotting towards Dale Head, which is reached at a canter. A fast descent down grassy slopes to the side of the eroded path takes me down until I can see the buildings at Honister and a brief stop to retrieve the provisions I've stashed amongst the piles of slate. The humous and vegetable wrap is barely palatable at this strange hour, but I force it down, knowing the body will need it over the next few hours.

I climb the rocky steps beside the fence line as I head up Grey Knotts, clambering up to its craggy summit before increasing my pace as I head to Brandreth. A glance to my right reveals a strange, eerie glow across the whole northern sky....not the northern lights, I don't think, but something akin to it. A magical place to be on such a fine night, all alone with my thoughts, my whole being concentrated on that shaft of light in front of me.

I reach the top of Brandreth and look back to see the first light rising to the east. A fine day beckons by the look of it. As I descend to the col below Green Gable, that early dawn light creeps across the sky and, on the final ascent to that summit, the sun's first rays peer over the horizon.

To anyone who doesn't go out on the hills at night, it's hard to explain the feeling as the sun rises on a new day. An energy fills the air, and fills your very being. Even after a long night out running, it recharges your batteries and brings new hope and expectation. And, perhaps most of all, it brings warmth.

The headtorch goes off as I start the scramble up Great Gable, and as the sun rises in the morning sky, I sense I'm in for a tough day in scorching, hot May conditions.

The highland cattle have been loitering here lately and the obvious signs of their presence are scattered across the track(!). Torch beams search the darkness for the reflections of peering, curious eyes. We toil on upwards and the intensity of the cold increases.

Then we spot the cattle immediately ahead of us on the track. They've seen Sam several times lately and, whilst not unduly concerned, there is a curious interest in him and we're not about to get too close. We fork off onto pathless, frozen boggy slopes and make a beeline for the ridge high above us. The crispness actually makes for an easier ascent than usual as the studs grip, contrasting sharply with the slippery nature of recent runs up here, with the top surface a moving, unstable mass of sodden ground.

We reach the ridgeline just as Sam gets excited about something he's either seem or can smell in the darkness. For certain there will be deer in the vicinity, there always are here and we've seen them plenty of times just lately. We scan the plateau but see nothing.

We turn left to descend towards the trig point, heading towards the lights of Fort William, aware of the snowy fortress of Ben Nevis dominating the gloomy view to our right. Down below, the lights sparkle and shimmer on the loch. Kirsten sees the mast long before I do and, soon enough, we reach the trig point following a bog-hopping trot across fragile, part-frozen ground.

The torches go off again and we appreciate the panoramic view. Snowy peaks in all directions, the Ben towering above us close at hand, the sawmill busy down below, lighting up Corpach, before darkness envelopes the loch as it heads west towards Glenfinnan, only the odd speckle of light from remote houses the further you head up the glen.

Numb, stinging hands search the bumbag for a camera, and obligatory photos are taken. Our first time up here in the dark.....Lochaber Bat Runners!!

October 2009, and the first frosts of autumn have arrived to coincide with a backpacking trip into the hills west of Loch Lomond. A tough day, suffered under the hazy cloud of a hangover, had seen me camp out amongst the forests of Gleann Leacann Shelleach, settling down in my tent to listen to the primeval roar of rutting stags across the amphitheatre of steep slopes which surrounded me.

The next day, I left the tent hidden amongst the trees and set off for a run around the skyline, taking in 3 munros on a high level promenade, before dropping down into Arrochar, where I was meeting Kirsten off the train.

She'd been on family duties, but had wanted to join me as soon as possible for what would be our first time out in "proper" hills together and our first wild camp as a bona-fide couple.

We climbed back up over Ben Narnain, relishing the last wee scramble up by the "Spearhead", before heading down to the west of Creag Tharsuinn on steep, pathless slopes, to make our way along forest paths and back to the tent, where we ignited the cooking stove and settled down to a well-earned meal.

It was a cold, wonderfully clear night and, despite the gathering frost, we couldn't resist lying together with our heads out of the tent, gazing up in awe at a ceiling of stars. We felt so alive and so at one with each other. This was the perfect antidote to a testing few weeks, where the ramifications of our meeting and falling  in love had started to sink in.

In those moments, none of it mattered. We were alone in our beautiful world, we were sharing and appreciating all that was between us. We were both content and yet so excited about the possibilities of life together and the promise of a lifetime of similar adventures. I held her close to me and looked up just in time to see a shooting star leap across the dark void. As moonbeams lit up our woodland haven, we looked at each other, and, even at this early stage, we knew we there was a bond between us that would be everlasting.

We head off around the mast, following slippy grass slopes down to reach the first telegraph pole. Then it's a matter of shining torches up at the wires and following their direction downwards, cautiously when the slope steepens and disappears into the darkness, until we reach the deer fence at almost exactly the right spot next to the kissing gate leading into Crofters Woods.

We release Sam, safe in the knowledge that he won't now take off across the hillsides chasing shadows in the night. We head down on the narrow path through the bushes, the shrill cry of a disturbed nesting bird briefly causing us to be startled. Down across the slippy wooden duck boards and on down to the road, where we turn left for the last mile trot alongside the loch, past the familiar landmarks which we tick off on our daily walk.

We take the pace down for the last couple of hundred yards, as we reach the row of houses where we stay. We look out at the mist starting to gather above the water, and watch the graceful retreat of a heron, who is startled into flight from the shoreline just below us. The gate clunks shut behind us and we open the back door, ready to retreat into the warmth, a bellyful of reviving fodder and a chance to ruminate on another of our little adventures together. 

And, as we do so, we take one quick glance back at the selenite moon.......

     

 

I'm so glad that I'm still here to see this.....

I'm so glad that I'm still here to see this,
the whole story is unfolding before my eyes;
I'm so happy I can barely believe it...
this simple pleasure is the mystery spice of life

Here you go, Em, some pictures!

Beautiful dog!!

The view down Loch Linnhe

Sam sitting under the erratic

Stob Coire a Chearcaill

the top of Meall an t-Slamain, looking across the the Ben

The piper plays his tune so you must follow.....

A cool, slightly overcast November afternoon. Hints of sunshine on the Morvern peaks, it's orange light throwing shadows across the snowy wonderland. The ground underfoot is sodden from the recent wet weather, and yet a crispness to the grass belies the coming of colder weather.

I'd almost decided not to come out on the hill today. The legs are tired from a couple of days of tougher efforts, the warmth of the house is cajoling me into settling down with a book and some background music and the head is not quite there today. But when you get a "weather window" in Lochaber, you're best to take it. There'll be rain along soon enough and the urge to head out will plummet on a dreich early December day, when the only promise is of cloudy summits with no views and freezing, wet feet within minutes of being on the hill.

Anyway, Sam needs it. As soon as he sees me come into the room with a pair of Walshes, he's up out of his bed, tail wagging and he's smothering me in licks and hugs whilst I try to tie the laces. If ever I needed a pick-me-up, he is it. The simple life I aspire to is perfectly encapsulated in Sam. A good run on the hills, a walk or two on the beach to forage and explore, some good food to top it all off and then a nice, warm bed - what more do you need?

I close the gate, only half-wrapping the string (we'll be back here to do that properly in a wee while) and "release" Sam so that he can enjoy the freedom of the hill. I look at the track heading up steeply towards the woods which shield the lower slopes of the hill, I adjust the buff to allow me to breathe easily and off I head, a slow trot, feeling my way into a rhythm.

A cold, slightly icy December Sunday, 1994 in Telford Town Park. I've been running for a few years now, times getting better, PBs at plenty of races and, since starting interval sessions with the Telford Harriers/AC speedy group, the pace has noticeably increased.

Now it's time to see if I can reach the holy grail - a sub-40 minute 10k. A real barrier, a test of the "decent" club runner. I've been close in the past, but not close enough. This race is known as a flat PB course. There's a feeling of "now or never" about today. The nerves are there, the heart's racing a little as I warm-up. There are greetings with fellow runners, but my mind is trying to get "in the zone".

Soon enough, we're off. A mad dash for the first corners, a slippy section or two to negotiate, and then settling down into some kind of rhythm, a steady pace which I can keep up for the next 6 miles. The first mile flies by in 6 minutes and I'm aware that I'm not going to keep that up. I slow a bit and try to hold a steadier pace. Before long, we reach the turn-around point at halfway and I glance down to see 19 minutes on the watch. It's do-able, but I'm starting to tire.

We head back along the flat tarmac of the railway track, desperately trying to keep my mind focused on maintaining the pace, conscious of the fatigue building in my legs and mind. And trying to ignore the fact that this is a really boring courses. Back the way you came, along the flat, harsh, unforgiving tarmac track, hemmed in on either side by steep banks.

As I pass the 5 mile marker, I realise I can definitely do it. Head down and concentrate. A last, strong mile and then I'm into those last couple of hundred yards to the finish as my watch ticks over the 39 minute mark. Through the finish line and I've got 38 seconds in hand. Of course, I'm elated. I've entered the realms of "decent club runner". And yet, it's not something I could say I "enjoyed".......

We turn up the last slope to the deer fence, Sam concentrating fully on the sheep just off to the left of the path. Through gasping breath, I shout "Come Sam" to drag him away. Just a few more steps and.....done it, ran the whole way up to the deer fence despite the lethargy.

Through we go, turning immediately right and off path, to head up through boggy, marshy terrain, in a direct line for the summit. Some bits are run, at other times I back off and walk, content to be out in this magnificent place with stunning views in every direction. Out west, the Glenfinnan peaks sport new snow, above about 1500ft. To the north, the Loch Lochy munros tower above the Great Glen. To the east, the Ben looms over us, it's intimidating north face a mixture of bare rock and snow filling every crevice. The zig-zags are visible, but very much above the snow line, and the relief which the snow provides to the landscape makes you acutely aware that there is a significant drop just below the main path.

As we start the steep climb, we spot a herd of deer on slopes just to the west of us. Sam sees them and is on high alert, lips sucked in, nose twitching and eyes focused. A large stag stands sentinel for the group, and eyes us with a mixture of fear and surprise that humans should be found on these slopes. As we continue, they remain unmoved until we are close enough to see the film of breath escaping from their nostrils. Then, all of a sudden, the deer at the head of the herd makes a break for it, followed by his companions, a mad stampede across the hillside, which Sam views with a mixture of excitement and nervousness (well he is a Collie!).

We watch them head up onto the skyline, the silhouette of antlers against a grey sky, before they disappear over the ridge and we are left to continue our climb, lost in our own thoughts about the wonderful spectacle we've just witnessed.

September 2005. I've just returned from an incredible week in my beloved Highlands. First off, my first Ben race. Having done the Snowdon race and enjoyed it, I thought it would be a good idea to try the Ben. I'd started to do a fair bit of fellrunning, encouraged by the lads at Newport, and had done enough races to qualify.

I'd last been up Ben Nevis over 30 years previously, so I'm not sure what I expected. But what I got was a full-on assault on the senses, a rocky, brutal race that was far removed from anything I'd done up to that point. But I survived, I had an ok time and I'd then headed north to enjoy a wonderful week in Sutherland, walking up remote hills and experiencing all sorts of weather.

But I travelled back on the Saturday so that I could head out to Lake Vyrnwy on the Sunday for the annual half-marathon, a race known for its PB potential. I'd already achieved sub 1-30 and had been slowly taking the time down. Now was the chance to see just how low I could go.

The first few miles saw me trying to settle in, but feeling the tiredness in my legs from a tough week. When I passed Noel at around 5 miles, he asked me how I was. "Fucked" was the reply, and I couldn't imagine another 8 miles of this.

But, spurred on by 2 clubmates, Michelle and Paul, not far ahead, I dug in, turned my mind off to the monotony of the run and slowly, but surely, reeled them in. I passed Michelle around 8 miles and then, a mile later, caught up with Paul. We worked together for the next couple of miles, putting in a 6 minute mile on a slightly downhill section, before I left him and pushed on, focused 100% on the watch on my wrist, working out what I had to do to get a PB.

A slight rise in the last half mile found me wanting, as the legs refused to cooperate, meaning I couldn't catch Phil from the club. But as I turned the corner and spotted the finish line, I realised I was in for a sub 1.26 finish and upped the pace as much as I could to collapse in a heap on the other side of the finish line. 

Again, I was absolutely delighted with my time. I enjoyed the congratulations of friends as they finished and as I relaxed later, I reflected on a job well done. And yet, even in those moments, I couldn't help but notice the contrast between long days out on the hills, where the beauty was in being out there, and road races, where I consciously shut out the surroundings and my world revolved around a watch on my wrist.

We finally reach the summit ridge, only a few hundred yards and a small rise from the cairn. I decide to make an effort, legs kicking into gear, my brain reading the uneven terrain and my lungs sucking in the necessary oxygen. Up to the top, and the view south is revealed, down Loch Linnhe, past the Corran narrows (where the ferry is just pulling out), along past Beinn a Bheithir and out towards Oban and the western Isles.

Closer at hand, I peer down to the loch far below me and across to the relative metropolis of Fort William, lights flashing, vehicles buzzing around, a small boat sending ripples across the water as it heads towards Loch Eil. Only 1600ft up, but a million miles away from all that.

The sun is glowing away to the south-west, sliding lower in the sky as it heads below the far-off peaks. Dusk will be here soon, and I realise it's time to get off the hill. I didn't put a headtorch in today. A mistake perhaps, but the plan was to take in the last of the light and arrive back at the track before darkness enveloped us.

I made one more attempt at a road PB. Buoyed by my success at Vrynwy, I headed off with friends to the Amsterdam Half Marathon in 2006. Another flat race, somewhere different to visit, and a real go at sub-1.25.  

Only it didn't turn out like that. 

Runners packed into caged pens like sardines. Crowded streets where you had to zig zag across to try and pass selfish people who had set off way ahead of their predicted time. Dull, lifeless streets with nothing to take the mind off the dreariness of it all.

And, as time slipped away in that race, I resolved to leave behind the roads and clock-watching and immerse myself in the fellrunning scene. I'd just read a new book, Feet in the Clouds,  that had turned my mind and got me dreaming. Who knows where it would take me!

We descend steeply off the top, past the newly-discovered erratic on the southern slopes and then down past the fence-posts to the boggy bealach. The light is fading, but there's no rush. At times, I descend quickly. At others, I take it nice and steady, enjoying the feeling of being out here where no other humans tread.

Again, we disturb a herd of deer. This time they move away more quickly, rushing for the safety of the ridgeline to the west, where they stand on ceremony looking imperious against the fading glow in the western sky.

Sam watches with curiosity, an innocent, puppy-like sense of wonder. I watch with admiration and a feeling of immense privilege that I am allowed into their sanctuary for these brief moments, so that I return to "real life" feeling renewed.

Up here, away from modern life, a calmness and serenity flows over me.I feel at one with my surroundings.  More importantly, I feel at one with myself. Doubts drop away, expectations wither and self-criticism which gnaws away at me daily vanishes over the horizon. Life is taken at a pace which suits me, hard effort at times, easing off at others, but always moving forward.

Here is where I belong, here is where I've always belonged.

Settling down?

Definition: "To begin living a stable and orderly life"


Hmmm, "stable and orderly", I'm not too sure about that! But it's a phrase I've found myself using several times over the last couple of weeks and it's a sign of the significant effect living in this area has had on me already. 

A bit of background. As a boy, my Dad brought me up to the western Highlands on many occasions, and I loved it then and pored over photos of the great mountains of this area....the Ben (of course!), the Aonach Eagach, Bidean Nam Bian, the Buchaille (that most iconic of Scottish mountains), Beinn a Bheithir.


We came many times, we walked the hills and the passes inbetween them, I have great memories of early morning walks on the loch shore, spotting seals and herons, of warm summer days spent by lochsides or by the burn in a beautiful glen somewhere.


And I'd continued to head up here in the intervening years, although in more recent times, I've been drawn much further north to the extraordinary scenery of Sutherland. But always, heading through Glencoe and along the lochside to Fort William, the memories have come flooding back, together with a feeling that I was "home".


April 2011 finally saw me moving to Scotland with Kirsten and, despite having come very close to moving to the Fort William area, work took us up north to the Inverness area, something which we thoroughly enjoyed and made the most of.


But, with Kirsten securing a new job in Lochaber, we got the chance to move down to the area in the end. Not that I was 100% happy with it initially. I'd loved living in our "hideaway" in the Strathpeffer woods, and resisted the move to the "busier" Lochaber area.


But we were lucky enough to find a place to rent over the other side of the loch from the Fort. 
And HOW lucky we were, we didn't realise it at the time.


This place has changed our perceptions already and, wherever else me may eventually end up, I think a major factor will be having the sea, or a sea loch, nearby.


I'd never lived by the sea, always fancied it though. And, when you consider it, the western Highlands are synonymous with mountains towering above sea lochs, almost fjord-like. It's what makes the area so special. Therefore it was only right and proper to live by the sea! And what a joy it is, in every way......from watching the flowing tides, day in, day out, to seeing lights reflecting across the still water, spotting herons on the shore, seabirds flying past at all times of day and, over the last few days, the huge pleasure and privilege of watching an otter at play in the shallows. I'm also absorbed by the activities over at the Corpach saw mill and the comings and goings of boats laden with logs, felled from the Highland slopes. There is always something to see here!


Add in some splendid hills right out the back of the house, and plenty of roads for cycling (including a 25-mile round trip to the nearest shop!) and we are in a great location. Oh and, of course, to top it all, a wee passenger ferry to take us the 10 minutes across to Fort William whenever we need to....not a bad commute for Kirsten to her office.


I really do feel like I've come "home".


And that's where the "settling down" comes in. I can see us staying here (in this area anyway) for a long, long time (I wasn't sure I could further north). I'm also finding there is no need to travel off in search of adventure all the time, it's right here in front of our eyes. The van is being used less and less. We've just spent a whole weekend enjoying the area around the house, on foot and on bike, rather than heading off in search of new places. I'm sensing this will be the way forward and, going back to the title, there is a real calmness and serenity flowing over me at the thought of this.


Of course, life still has its little annoyances and challenges. I'd love to find a decent accountancy job here for a couple of days a week and then supplement it with sports massage income, but they're few and far between up here. I'd also love to sell my house down south, but it's proving difficult and it feels a long way away when I need to get down there.

But these are all manageable and I'm coping with them because I really do feel I've found where, and how, I want to spend the rest of my life.

Plenty of places to explore, plenty of things to see, plenty of adventures to be had, settled down.........

After a While You Realise, Time Flies...

Doesn't it just?!? In every way. It flies by as life happens around us. The months fly by, the seasons fly by and, I increasingly find as I get older, the years fly by as well.

In seems only a few days ago that I was welcoming in the first shoots of spring, bringing new life to the wood, bursting forth in a panoply of colours and promising a summer of warmth and contentment.

There were plans set (I just read back!), there were ideas forming, there was a renewed energy that mirrored the changing seasons.

And yet, all of a sudden, autumn is pretty much upon us. A sudden drop in temperature these last few days, combined with a deluge from the heavens, has seen the flowers retreat to safety and the ferns, nettles and bushes take on a brown tinge and a feeling of rot and autumnal decay.

So what of the summer? Well, in the end, the plans for running went nowhere.....and, interestingly, I can't say I'm too worried. We had some great days out in the mountains, we enjoyed some shorter trots and plods on more local hills and in the woods and, if truth is told, I didn't miss competition at all.

One of my "target" races came along in early September but, halfway up the Ben, in a procession of runners, with no view other than the shorts of the person in front, and the promise of a battering from the weather higher up on a day where it made little sense to be on the tallest mountain in Britain....I stopped and turned back! Turned back happy with my decision to defer going up the Ben for another day.

I think, finally, after 2 years, I'm coming to terms with the reality of post-Bob Graham life for me. And that reality is that I don't feel a need to push and compete in races particularly any more. I'm much more inclined to be looking at new places to explore, paths to follow, adventures to be had....and for those adventures to be taken at a pace which suits me on the day. Some days I'll be quick, some days I might want to stop and take in views, stop and rest awhile behind a summit shelter and enjoy the beauty and wilderness around me.

It's taken me a while to get here. I'm not sure why I'm surprised at the end result. I came from a hillwalking background, where it was all about the enjoyment of being out there rather than speed. And, I always saw the BG as the ultimate achievement for someone of limited ability like myself. There's nothing more to prove, I did what I set out to do and I loved it.

Of course, that doesn't preclude me doing similar things, or indeed doing races, in the future. It's just that they will be done on my terms and if I find I fancy them, not because I feel I should.

So what else has been happening besides these seismic shifts in my running psyche?

Well, firstly and most importantly, we're on the move again. After a brief period of soul-searching as to whether we wanted to move south, we both came to the conclusion that we didn't and that here is where we want to be, immersed in a different pace of life and surrounded by people with a different attitude and sense of adventure.

So, with Kirsten having waited for a job in Adoption & Fostering to come up, one finally did. She interviewed well, as always, and got offered the job same day! The only thing is, it's based in Fort William! And covers most of the west, as far north as Lochinver.....wow!

So we're leaving our "fairytale" home, something which has taken me a lot of getting used to, and about which I've indulged in a fair few sulks! We've found somewhere lovely to stay though, if not quite the same sort of house. It's over the loch from Fort William, and our house looks out onto the shoreline, with a corbett rising straight from the back. Plenty to enjoy there, and early forays into the woodlands and along the shore suggest there will be plenty to marvel at.

In other news, we got ourselves a second dog, a 3 year-old collie who comes running with us and who has thoroughly enjoyed evenings plunging off the side of Ben Wyvis and trotting along deer trods and through thick heather and bogs. He's a great lad, gets on fine with Rufus (and vice-versa) and is a smashing companion for what would have been solo runs. We're building him up slowly, but in time I hope he'll join me on some of those nice, long, relaxed runs I talked about above.

So.......another move to prepare for, many new places to explore and, as always, an excitement about what life has to offer. Can't be bad!

Under a Poet's Moon, There Are Dreams In Action....

We all need inspiration from time to time. And we can find it in all sorts of places - the beauty of a photograph, a glimpse into nature's secret world, a rainbow across a thundery sky.

But, personally, I always take (and have always taken) great inspiration from reading about the adventures of others and their ability to push their boundaries and take on new and exciting experiences.

So, as I scanned the books on the shelves earlier, I thought I'd put down a small list of the books that have inspired me, and which continue to inspire me every time I pick them up and flick through their pages. So here are my "Six Of The Best Inspiring Outdoors Books";

i) W A Poucher - The Scottish Peaks

In chronological order, this has to come first. As a wee boy, my Dad took me off to the hills on a regular basis and I was privileged to have become accustomed to reaching summits of major British mountains throughout my childhood.

Back then, there wasn't the choice of guidebooks that there is now (and, interestingly, a certain set of a Lakes guides by a grumpy old Lancastrian were hardly even heard of!) but my Dad relied very much on the books produced by Mr Poucher, covering the Scottish Peaks, the Lakeland Peaks and the Welsh Peaks.

They were fantastic books, well ahead of their time, with a white line drawn on photographs to show the route being taken. They certainly weren't comprehensive in covering all hills, but they included the major groups.

And, as a boy (perhaps a bit of a strange one?!?), I could spend hours poring over those editions, looking in amazement and wonder at the photos and dreaming of our next day out in the hills. And, most probably, pestering my Dad to take me to certain places I'd been reading about!

Only in later years have I found out just what an interesting and colourful character Mr Poucher was and I urge anyone interested to go and pick up a copy of Roly Smith's biography "A Camera In The Hills". You'll not be disappointed.

ii) W H Murray - The Evidence of Things Not Seen

I've always been fascinated by reading tales of climbing in yesteryear. The adventures they had seemed to much more "on the edge" and, indeed, these people were pioneers in the mountains, pushing the boundaries of what was thought capable.

And, at a time when life was generally much more harsh, they were doing so without the "leisure" opportunities afforded to us these days. The hard men from Glasgow, who worked in the shipyards all week and then took a bus up to Glencoe on a Friday night for a weekend of climbing, drinking and general debauchery, before dragging themselves home for another week in the docks, cannot fail to inspire.

But ranking above all of those, for me personally, are the thrilling stories of W H Murray and the incredible feats he achieved in climbing, despite the trials and tribulations in his life.

You can't help but have huge respect for such characters and, reading his book, you can't help but think that, next time you're complaining about being tired or uncomfortable, you should think about the conditions he had to endure, both on mountains and in POW camps.

iii) Richard Askwith - Feet In The Clouds

Well, of course, it had to figure, didn't it!?!

The more I read this book these days, the more I see the flaws in it and yet, undeniably, it has been the single most influential factor in my fellrunning to date.

I started fellrunning with a group of lads from Newport on the hills around Church Stretton, and was immediately hooked by it....being outdoors, the views, the terrain, the challenges of uphill and downhill, the lack of rules, the lack of formality, the camaradarie, the beer(!).

But, at this stage, I still knew little about the wider fellrunning scene. Feet In The Clouds changed all that. Whilst the "story" is about Mr Askwith's attempts to complete the Bob Graham Round, the best parts as far as I'm concerned, are the chapters which delve into the history and characters of the sport. Each and every one is inspiring.

That said, I picked up my first copy of this book at around about the same time that I'd been reading about these incredible athletes who were able to complete the "ultimate" challenge, the Bob Graham Round. I was in awe of such people, clearly on a different level to mere mortals such as myself. And then......Feet In The Clouds changed all that and made me dare to believe.......

iv) Joss Naylor MBE Was Here

The more I read about this man, the more I see, the more I hear, the more he sums up exactly what fellrunning is all about and why I love it so much.

A simple, humble man from a farm in Wasdale, who rose to become probably the greatest fellrunner of all time, despite physical difficulties, but who still seems to run just because he loves running in the hills and for no other reason.

Of course, there's a smashing large-size book called "Joss" which you can get now, and a great read it is, often picked up in this household.

But for a truly inspiring tale, pick up a copy of Joss Naylor MBE Was Here and read, in his own words, about Joss's incredible run across all 214 Wainwrights in just 7 days.

v) Hugh Symonds - Running High

I've had this book for many years as well, and I can honestly say I must have read it a dozen times and have a feeling I'm going to be reading it again over the next few weeks.

As someone who came from a mountain-walking background, but then realised that being able to run them would allow me to cover much greater distances and have longer days out, this book summed up everything I thought was wonderful about fellrunning.

If you've not read it, Hugh set out to complete a continuous traverse of the Scottish Munros, all 277 of them, running every step of the way and being met at night by his wife and children in a campervan. He achieved this, but didn't want to stop, so headed down to complete the 3000 footers in England, Wales and then Ireland, running all the way.

The book is fascinating and gripping, with contributions from his wife Pauline adding to Hugh's narrative. I guarantee that if you purchase this book, you won't be able to put it down until you've read it!

Just under a year ago, I managed to acquire a copy of the ITV 1/2 hour programme that was made about the run at the time. It's fascinating to watch, even if the clothes, hairstyles and colours are a little old fashioned!

Oh, and of course, I can't forget the contributions in the book from Hugh's two sons, who travelled along in the campervan and were "home educated" by Pauline Symonds on the way. How bizarre then, at the Knockfarrel race we organised last November, to be confronted by one of those lads, Joe, who is now a fine runner in his own right and how lovely to be able to run for nearly 3 hours with him on Saturday just gone.

If I could only have one book about mountain running, this would be it....I can't think of a higher recommendation than that!

vi) Mike Cudahy - Wild Trails and Far Horizons

I came to this book much later, only in recent years, but it's one I'm so glad I found and which speaks to me much more as a slightly older, slower, long distance runner.

It's a fabulous collection of autobiography together with articles he'd written in the past for various magazines etc on all sorts of subjects connected to the runs he did.

Overall it's the tale of a man going from simple runner to incredible feats of endurance, and enjoying every minute of it! But he is also someone who quite clearly thinks a lot about what he does and how it impacts on everyone and everything around him.

So there we are, six fantastic books which inspire time after time - I'll no doubt be picking one of them up to start again later. But of course there are plenty of others as well. No room for any books by my namesake, Richard Gilbert, who has inspired many a long route I've done. No room for any of Joe Simpson's books, a fascinating yet abrasive character, who is always thought-provoking. No room for any Cameron MacNeish titles, always worth reading. And no room for any of the other more recent "classics" such as "Born To Run" and "UltraMarathon Man".

So plenty out there to read and be inspired by and I welcome any other suggestions.....

Entering new phases.......

Running has been a really important part of my life for over 10 years now. It's very much defined who I am and my social circles and relationships have been very much built to incorporate it. Conversation quite often revolves around it and I'm naturally drawn to people with that same interest.

I started off road running, and put a fair bit of effort into improving times and getting pb's in races. Around the same time that I posted my best 10k (38mins) and half marathon (1.25) times, I also got enticed out onto the fells by a group of runners from Newport Running Club. It wasn't hard to entice me. I'd always been a hillwalker and there was an obvious progression to combine the running with days out in the hills.

I was an avid consumer of anything I could find that would educate and inform me as to the history and traditions of the sport of fellrunning. Inevitably, at some point, I came across a book called "Feet in the Clouds" and it planted a seed which grew over the next few years as I pushed back my boundaries in terms of distance, ascent and effort. When I finished the Old County Tops race for the first time and realised I could have continued running, the Bob Graham became a realistic target, albeit a tough one.

I spent the next 2 or 3 years training specifically for the BG. Every run had a purpose, working towards that. Most races were taken at a pace which took into account the fact that I'd want to be out running for several hours the next day as well!

And then, in 2010, I did it. I had a wonderful day on the fells, felt great all day, took it all in and sprinted up to the Moot Hall at 11.20pm on a Saturday night in July to achieve what I'd put my mind to. There's no greater feeling than to work hard at something and be rewarded with success.

It took huge amounts of effort though. Long training days every weekend, a lot of time spent up in the Lakes, and a commitment above anything I'd ever managed before.

People warned me about the post-BG slump. It seems to go one of two ways. Either you push on (to Paddy or Ramsay or something similar perhaps) or you have a void in your life (certainly in your running life) which doesn't quite seem to get filled.

And I guess that's where I've been at since July 2010. Enjoying some running, but never really focused on anything and, consequently, never training THAT hard.

So it's time for some introspection and some decisions on where I'm going with my running, mainly so I can reconcile it within my own mind instead of having a slight feeling of guilt that I'm not pushing on.

And I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that running (and training so hard and specifically) is not going to have the same status in my life as it once had, possibly ever again. The BG was a real pinnacle for me, in terms of performance. I'm not sure that I could better it or even match it, because it was the benchmark I wasn't quite sure I could ever achieve. Now I know I can, I have little left to prove to myself. I'm moving towards getting my pure enjoyment of the hills back again. Taking my time, Looking around me. Appreciating the subtlety and beauty of the wild glens and majestic slopes of the Highlands.

We went out on Sunday, for a slow trot/walk over the back of Little Wyvis, armed with a map, compass and grid references for 6 features that we wanted to go and find. These ranged from a burn junction, to a flat plateau on top of a spur, to a never-noticed re-entrant on the north slopes of Tom na Caillich. We had a great time. Looking for such features really puts you in touch with the ground you're on. Translating from map to physical ground and back gives you a new perspective on the landscape. The re-entrant I mentioned was a real treat. You can't see it from above, below or even from across to the east on the same slope. We navigated to it and found a beautiful little re-entrant with the last remnants of snow still sitting on it's northern aspect and a tremendous, deep bog at it's lower lip.

I want to spend more time appreciating such beauty and I think that's the direction I'm headed. That's not to say that I won't be running, I most certainly will be. I love the feeling of running well across rough terrain, and I relish the opportunities for long routes in a day which are just not possible when walking.

I think the point I'm making is that running (and training) will be taking its "proper" place in my priorities, which is more to facilitate my enjoyment of the hills rather than being the be all and end all.

I think that's inevitable at different stages in your life as well. Running can't always be the priority, other things become important. Right now, I'm trying to build up a sports massage business that will provide one part of our income for the future. It's something I greatly enjoy and am fascinated by and I'm quite prepared to put a lot of effort into that.

Add into that the fact that we're starting to look at property options for the future and, in particular, how we can provide the sort of accommodation and services which we ourselves would seek, and make a decent income from that as well. Various different options are available, we're open to all of them, but we saw a beautiful property at the weekend out on the west coast which would have great potential. We're also hoping to go and see another place this week, further down towards Fort William, which would be a major renovation project but with huge potential. I'm really excited by this and, particularly if the latter came off, I'd be more than prepared to dedicate a lot of time and effort to it, time that would once have been spent running.

So, all in all, perhaps I'm heading into a new phase in my life, but I'm comfortable with that and truly looking forward to it.

PS: If you haven't picked up on the sports massage business yet, feel free to go and look at;
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Run-To-The-Hills-Sports-Massage/215150135245640

http://runtothehillsuk.blogspot.co.uk

New Beginnings in Every Direction.....

If I could put my finger on one thing that would improve the lives of so many people, it would be the ability to embrace change and to realise that, whilst your plans may not work out exactly as you planned them, you can always make the best of any situation you find yourself in and adapt.

2012 is going to be a fascinating year for us. We have rough ideas of how we think we want it to develop and, the truth is, it will end up being nothing like that. But we're passionate, intelligent, eloquent people and, whichever direction we end up going in, I'm sure we'll have fun and be successful, even though that may not be measured on a financial scale!

We need to push on with some of our plans and, with this in mind, I'm very much looking forward to going on a Summer ML training course in just a few weeks time...and hopefully Kirsten will now be joining me. My wish is, with so many years of experience in the hills, to push on with the consolidation days through the summer and try and get assessed in early autumn. Kirsten will probably need longer, but the sooner she gets on training, the sooner she will be armed with the skills and confidence to push her boundaries on the hill.

As for my sports massage work, it's been ticking over and I've not dedicated the necessary time to really push that - another situation that needs to be addressed. It's a work in progress right now, but I've secured a "brand name" that will, in time, encompass more than just the sports massage. The domain name is purchased, website in progress, blog site secured and initial blogs drafted, and facebook page ready for set-up. The plan is to kick all this off within a couple of months and have a big push. I've got great faith in my own ability to assist individuals now and I want to translate that into helping as many folks as possible.

As part of that push, I'm trying to get to a few lower-key events and provide sports massage, either at low-cost or, in some cases, free (donations to charity?). That'll get my name out there and I'll have fun into the bargain. Got a nice one lined up for late May, a few others on the burner.

And then there's property! Opinions are changing, views being re-shaped and ideas formulated, but from wanting a low-budget option, we've both realised and decided that we might need to stretch ourselves in the short to medium term to acquire the right sort of place. We're still open to all ideas but potentially a b&b property which also includes an element of holiday-let would be perfect.

So where does this leave the running? Somewhere in the mix, is the honest option. All of our plans are focussed around the running and it would therefore be wrong to drop it all while we concentrated on other plans. I've got events lined up each month and, inevitably and ideally, my training will be focussed on nice long days out on big hills. So far, (and it always changes!) the plans are;

April - Eigg

May - Ben Lomond

June - Slioch

July - Wasdale

August - Glenshee 9

Sept - Ben Nevis

Oct - Langdale Horseshoe

Out of those, I'd probably look at Slioch and Wasdale as being the "target" races with Ben Nevis to be done in a time that doesn't embarrass me (as previous times have done!).

Having decided against the Paddy now (on the grounds of it being a long way away and there's plenty up here to do!), I've got a seed in my mind that's growing that says I want to have a go at a Rigby Round, probably somewhere around the back end of July or early August...that'd be fun!

So all in all, another exciting year to look forward to. Plus the fact that I am excited every day by waking up next to the most wonderful person in the world and waking to another day in our fantastic life here amongst the woods behind the castle, watching mother nature conjure up incredible sights and sounds, and receiving the unconditional love and affection from our lovely dog and cats. "I am blessed every day that I live", as someone once sang.

That Was The Year That Was......

Time's skipped by again, I'm not sure where it all goes. A sign of getting old I suspect! Where DID 2011 go?

So, we both ended the year on the "injured list", Kirsten with an inflamed peroneal muscle and tendon, me with a dodgy right knee, which has been troubling me for a wee while now. Both injuries were, I believe, a result of a long 24 mile run in snowy conditions on the West Highland Way prior to Christmas. A great day out, but the constant twisting and slipping, and the sinking of the feet into the snow, took its toll on tendons, muscles and ligaments. We're both taking it carefully with the recovery and, fingers crossed, we'll be back out there again this weekend.

And there's certainly plenty to get trained up for and to look forward to in 2012!

More of that in a moment though, what of 2011? It could easily have been an anti-climax after the excitement of 2010 (getting married on a mountain, the BG, Kirsten's 100 attempt, and many, many long days out on the hills). But, of course, life for us is never boring and there's never an anti-climax and 2011 has truly been another life-defining, life-changing year.

I've talked of moving to Scotland for over 20 years now. As soon as we got together, one of the things that really cemented our relationship was a mutual desire to do just that in the near future and live in our spiritual home. And, in 2011, we made it happen!

We'd decided to go by the end of March, and plans were afoot to move to the west coast, until a late job offer for Kirsten in Inverness saw us heading up to this area, finding the perfect fairytale cottage in the woods and realising our dream move. And what a fabulous move it's been. The place is beautiful, living up here is fantastic, after a stuttering start we've made some fantastic friends and the options for outdoor life are limitless. We've hardly begun to explore the possibilities!

And yet, I feel very settled here, as if I've been here all my life. I should have known I would, I've spent enough time up here to know what it's all about. It's been a whirlwind year though, and time for reflection and planning is needed right now, to ensure we head in the direction we want to and don't get caught up in the rat-race. We will make it happen!!

As for the running, it took a back seat, no doubt about it. But we've had some tremendous fun, heading off to Highland Games races, some lovely days out in remote locations, a BG support on a great day, the Langdale Horseshoe, and a group of Highland Bat Runners we've brought together for some fun on a Thursday night. A couple of close friends as well, who've really made a difference to our happiness and settling in up here, and just recently a new couple on the scene with whom it looks like we'll be having plenty of long-distance adventures. LIFE IS GOOD!!!

So what plans for 2012? Well, we sat down with the race calendars last night and mapped it all out and, I'll tell you what...if that all goes to plan we are going to have a cracking year! Plenty of new races, some classic races I've always wanted to do, and some long-distance challenges. First up the Fling for Kirsten and a test to see if she can summon up that mental toughness which she's demonstrated so admirably in the past.

As for me, I had vague plans for a Paddy, probably towards the end of July. Looking at the calendar though, I'm not 100% sure I can fit it in alongside all of my other wishes, so I think I'll just see how it all pans out and go with the flow. If I'm fit and in the mood, I might well go for it....a nice low-key attempt with some last minute pleas for help and a lot less fuss than the BG.

Otherwise, I'm just looking forward to another great year, sharing it with THE most wonderful lass, and looking forward to the endless possibilities of our life up here together.