Attempting a non-stop, 77km link up of scrambles across every hill in Torridon, with over 7000m of ascent.
Tiredness swept across my mind in waves. The sound of John’s ceaseless hiccups had become like the ticking of some strange, broken clock. It took everything I had just to maintain focus and stay awake. I finally understood why people say that 90% of the challenge on a long round is in your head.
I’d always wondered what it’d be like to attempt a long, continuous round in the mountains. The capacity to keep going for over 24 hours, without succumbing to tiredness or injury seemed reserved for people with superhuman abilities. I’d never ran more than half a marathon, and that was across the modest bumps of north Leicestershire.
But in 2021, I decided to join my friend John Fleetwood on a 77km link-up of every hill in Torridon, to find out how far I could go.
Our route would require ascending 7,270 metres on extremely rough ground. It included 9 Munros, 5 Corbetts, and 8 scrambles.
I had the benefit of following someone who had completed dozens of challenges like this before, many of them alone in full Scottish winter conditions. I just had to try to keep up with him…
On the top of Beinn Dearg, it occurred to me that almost every hill surrounding us was on our route- even the most distant ones. In the end, I had to stop myself from looking. I’d already done more metres of ascent during the first quarter of our round than on any other day I’d spent in the mountains. But somehow my legs felt ok, and John’s matter-of-fact attitude inspired belief in me that maybe this wasn’t such a big deal after all.
Climbing the loose upper slopes of "Ling, Lawson and Glover's Route" - a Victorian-era scramble on the steep walls of Coire Mhic Fhearchair.
On the scramble up Sail Mhor, the magic of the round first revealed itself. We emerged from the confines of a deep gully loaded with loose rock, to witness a landscape transformed beneath the setting sun.
Charging down through thick heather towards the next scramble, we were suddenly stopped in our tracks at the edge of a tiny lochan. The mild evening air drifted gently across its glassy water in silent ripples. The view back towards the northern corries of Liathach felt like a secret. The evening sun had cast shadows across its myriad of gullies and buttresses, revealing their endless complexities. Against a backdrop of fatigue and sustained effort, the view meant more. Our journey had led us into so many quiet spaces between the well-walked summits.
At around midnight, we finally dropped off the ridge, aiming for our food cache beside the road, about 800 metres below. We’d ran out of water ages ago, and a pathless descent down sheer scree slopes in total darkness wasn’t what either of us needed. Fighting to keep up with John’s head torch beam, I noticed that if I ran, my feet stopped sinking beneath the scree. Just like the round itself- momentum was the secret key to forward progress.
Trudging up the slopes of Sgurr Dubh in misty darkness, the thick heather pulled relentlessly at my ankles. Every step became a concerted effort. John summed up the monotony best: “Everything takes three times as long, just when you want it to take half as long”.
Sunset on Coinneach Mhor
Watching the sunrise from Sgurr Dubh having walked through the night.
After completing our round, we packed our rucksacks with camping gear, and wandered into the heart of the Letterewe and Fisherfield forests for two days. We climbed scrambles on Slioch and Beinn Lair, then arrived at a remote camp spot on the second afternoon. John had picked out a superb location on the map. We pitched our tents on the crest of a broad shoulder, overlooked by A' Mhaighdean, and nestled amongst some of the most wild mountain scenery in Scotland.
Our campsite in Letterewe Forest.
Scrambling high on the north face of Beinn Lair.
