Castles Above the Clouds
Published in The Fellrunner 135 (Spring 2023)
Arriving on any island for the first time is often special. But doing so from a small dinghy at midnight followed directly by a race up its highest peak and back is bound to be memorable. Such was my first impression of Arran in 2008 as part of the Scottish Island Peaks Race, an uber classic involving teams of five sailing from Oban to Troon via the highest peaks of Mull, Jura and Arran. Henry Blake and I were the runners on Memec, a yellow and red trimaran. Back then I hadn’t done many long runs and struggled with the distance, sea sickness and difficulty of not eating properly on the 40+ hour journey. I will never forget the bizarre contrast of running the night streets through Brodick on wobbly legs towards Goatfell, passing merry drunks sloping off home after closing time at the pub.
Later I returned in 2012 to run the now defunct Glen Rosa Horseshoe race, breaking the record the week after doing the same at Slioch Horseshoe in Wester Ross. After running up Glen Rosa we cut onto Beinn a’ Chliabhain before a steep descent into Coire Daingean to bypass the scrambly A’ Chir Ridge. Climbing Cir Mhor, we then retraced our steps back into Fionn Choire to skirt the peak, rejoining the ridge at The Saddle before negotiating the rugged North Goatfell ridge and descending south off Goatfell back to Brodick Castle. For me this race epitomised what was great about Scottish hill racing: a low key event, relatively small field and classic course taking in an interesting aesthetic line around breathtaking rugged peaks. To my climber’s mindset it was just a shame that the route missed out some of the gnarlier terrain on offer on the A’ Chir Ridge. Involving a crux downclimb of Moderate severity, it was entirely understandable that we weren’t racing over this, and I came back later to climb this and other fantastic routes on Cir Mhor.
Sadly the Glen Rosa Horseshoe didn’t run again although a similar reverse route has latterly been resurrected as the Tarsuinn Trail race. After my 2012 win I was back the next year to run the Goatfell Race. A simpler race on paper - up and down the mountain by the same route from the sports pitch in Brodick - it’s a tough little number. With a record of just over 72 minutes it’s a fast and furious affair: an initial 2 km road section joining to a runnable mountain track which becomes increasingly rough with height. Flying down the hill hopping between the distinctive rough but rounded granite boulders, avoiding ascending runners as well as walkers is a technical descenders dream, and keeps me coming back. The final road section requires some grit, but never feels quite as bad to me as that first time, in bleary early morning light on the longer route of the Islands Peaks Race.
Today we’re not racing though. Myself and Dougie have been exploring Arran for several days - busy Goatfell, the wild Sannox Horseshoe, and swimming on the west coast after running quiet Mullach Buidhe. It’s been a sweltering day and we’ve hidden from the August sun until early evening. Now we climb from Glen Rosa up beside Garbh Allt and onto Beinn Nuis. Running north along the rough ridge our views are spectacular: the craggy west flank of Goatfell and Stacach is warmly lit with evening rays and our ridge stretches north over jumbled A’ Chir to the distant slabs of Cir Mhor. Out west across flat Kintyre the sun is getting lower over some distant hills, the names of which I know I should know. It’s reminiscent of the Isle of Rum, which doesn’t make sense, until with delight I realise of course we are squinting at Jura’s Paps.
By Beinn Tarsuinn the special feeling is more intense. The hues are deeper, the shadows longer. Glen Iorsa is monochrome, dark hillsides split in two by the tortuous twists of the gleaming, argenteous river. Looking at Dougie we are both grinning. Being here now, twilight not far away, brings an electric kind of feeling. Hard to describe, I think it is a heightened awareness which comes from an animal instinct to be down and sheltered by nightfall. Almost everyone is away home for the night, in houses and soon in beds, and yet we are still scrambling. Life is simple, we will bivi when it gets dark.
Dry rough granite glows golden as we scramble north, finding our way. Outcrops look smooth and rounded from afar, but close up are incredibly weathered and coarse. The Mauvais Pass is descended to a notch out of which we clamber in the gathering dusk. We had planned to go as far as Caisteall Abhail where our friend is biviing, but in the gloaming it seems a long way off. We stop instead at a grassy spot near the col before Cir Mhor. As we blow up our mats we can see Kirstie’s headtorch over on the ridge near Portcullis Buttress. Her dog barks. A perfect windless night. Lying face up to the sky the stars start to appear over Cir Mhor’s summit, the crenulated skyline of the Rosa Pinnacle forming the right hand outline. We drift off to sleep.
Waking through the night a mist has come in, although it’s hard to tell how extensive - maybe it will clear. Days later we see Kirstie’s starry night exposure photographs look across towards Cir Mhor and us from Caisteal Abhail, the hills clear except for a wisp of cloud which has formed in the saddle of our col. Perhaps we didn't pick the wisest stargazing spot after all.
With the spectacular skyscape hidden to us for most of the night, we wake fairly late and climb back along the ridge through thinning clouds into brilliant morning light. Overnight cloud in the glens has built up, caused by a temperature inversion which traps cold air low in the valleys. It’s such an uplifting feeling, running above the clouds, getting moving. We make our way up onto Cir Mhor, “the great comb”, by its easy west side. Standing on the airy summit rocks you are perched atop a precipice, tall cliffs fall to wild Coire na h-Uaimh far below. Last time we sat here, in a little grassy hollow perfect for an afternoon rest, an eagle moved silently across the void below. Next we descend towards The Saddle and the mist. Just before leaving the sun we stop in a hanging bowl of rock and gleaming grass, jumping between grippy boulders as the sun warms. The narrow track weaves a traverse through short grass and between fissured rocks in a view that is unmistakably Arran. Behind and across the bright white sea of clouds, we see Mullach Buidhe and its continuation north to Cioch na h-Oighe.
Down below it is cool and we drink refreshing water from a tiny tinkling stream. It never feels rushed in the mornings up high, the day unfurling ahead with potential. As the path winds around boulders and slabs we rise out of the inversion again to see the dark mass of North Goatfell above, its cliffs falling away into the shadows of Glen Sannox. Up on the ridge we traverse Stacach south towards Arran’s busiest summit. Although there are well trodden paths avoiding the most technical parts, it’s fun to take the ridge more directly. Moving across cool grippy rock we become absorbed. There is no rush but efficiency of movement becomes addictive in itself. Looking across the clouds filling Glen Rosa we see last night’s route and are reminded of those evening views to where we now stand.
There are several groups on Goat Fell’s summit, but it’s still early and not too busy. The cloud is starting to burn off with the strengthening sun. We follow the main path down the rough shoulder east and then south back towards Brodick. Completing our horseshoe we jog back into the village in search of a second breakfast, one which promises to be more substantial than the few bars we munched at the bivi. The inversion has almost burnt off now and already it is another hot day. Sitting on the promenade of Brodick’s main street we look out to sea and watch the bustle around the ferry port and shops. Life seems pretty simple at times like these. Time for another cuppa, we decide. After that, maybe a swim?
