Artemis Great Kindrochit Quadrathlon 2011

Getting up at 5am is never easy, especially not when that morning’s routine consists of stomaching a bowl of cold pasta a squeezing into a wet suit to begin swimming across a mile-wide loch. That’s what I faced when the alarm rang on July 9 as I knew that the months of dread/anticipation and weeks of training had led to this moment – the start of the Artemis Great Kindrochit Quadrathlon 2011. Described as ‘Scotland’s toughest one day event’, it had struck me as the next bad idea to pursue after my friend Steven Cockburn and I had completed the Tough Guy Challenge in January.

It began with a 0.8 mile swim across Loch Tay in the Scottish Highlands, followed by a 15 mile hike up seven munros, a seven mile kayak back to the starting place, a 34 mile bicycle ride around the loch and finally a water melon being chopped in half with a sword to stop the clock. A couple of laps of open water swimming, a few rounds of a mere in a kayak and a bicycle ride cut short by a puncture were our training the week before, though the sheer scale of the pending task had not dawned on us yet. After a five hour drive from Cheshire, we spent the afternoon failing a navigation test for being unable to read map nor compass (though my original plan of follow the people and follow the path worked a treat), packing kit into bags and seeking aid to fix numerous bike punctures before a pasta dinner and a poor night’s sleep.

The morning dawned, and after struggling to reach past my waist, let along to my toes, when constrained by a wet suit, we waded into the loch, which at 15 degrees was not as cold as we had expected. Still, the cold shocked me early on as I struggled for breath and pace in the loch, though I warmed up and got used to the temperature and crossed the loch in 38 minutes for the first checkpoint.

We changed and began the walk, which to the first munro, Meall Greigh (1,001 metres high), seemed eternal. We finally found the ascent and reached the top in good time for the second checkpoint. Meall Garbh (1,118m) metres came next, at which point some of the 7am starters were beginning to fell run past us. As I set the pace ascending Steve was able to go faster going down, giving us a good system of me catching him on the way up each. An Stuc (1,090m) was next, at which point I realised it was not going to be up and then along seven peaks, but rather up and down each one individually.

Ben Lawers (1,214m), the tallest of the seven, was next, and a relief when I reached the top as I thought it was the fifth. From the summit we could see the top of Beinn Ghlas (1,090m), which looked deceptively closer than it was, and from there we climbed Meall Corranaich (1,060m) before heading down to the reservoir and the lunch stop. Meall Nan Tarmachan (1,043m) seemed forever away after the lunch stop, and the mountain rescue helicopter picking someone up from the summit in a stretcher reminded us of the dangers.

It was then a daunting walk all the way to the horizon and the glittering Loch Tay, and we arrived to start the kayak stage we had been walking for nine and a half hours – well behind schedule, but over an hour ahead of the cut off time. Despite the indignity of being overtaken by kayakers who did not appear to be breaking a sweat, we were making good time on the water, with the waves assisting us. It was hard to tell how far we had gone or how long we had been going, but checks with safety boats assured us, and when we had touched Bikini Beach and crossed the loch we had taken less than one hour 45 minutes.

Now looking forward to the final push, the real stress began – we got to the bikes to find Steve’s back tyre again flat. We rushed around and after many wasted minutes got him on a rental bike, only for that back tyre to burst half a mile in. We fitted a new inner tube, which promptly blew, so I headed back to the start with Steve walking behind to get him a new rental bike.

Eventually we got him on this, minutes before the cut off time, and set off. The roads were not what my road bike favours, being covered in scree and pot holes, meaning I failed to build up much speed, while the relentless hills left me doing wheelies as I was in such a low gear upon reaching the top.

When we rounded the loch the road improved, and after a quick fish’n’chips stop I finally managed to build up some speed. Inevitably, however, I soon felt my back tyre going flat. Fortunately someone who knew what they were doing generously stopped to help me in fitting a new inner tube, as the tyres on my bike prove a nuisance to remove. That fixed, we headed off, down an eternal hill and up a longer one, and finally around the far side of loch to the home straight when – depressingly unsurprisingly – I felt my back tyre going flat.

I asked the marshals how far was left – just six miles – so I pumped the tyre up from 40psi to 110 and decided to finish on a slow puncture. I explained to Steve that due to this I’d have to zoom on ahead, which I duly did, and with just over a mile to go (I was unsure of the distance at the time) I decided to give my tyre one more inflation. This only compounded the problem, as the valves came undone with the dust cap, and after being pumped up I could hear the air hissing out faster.

Undeterred, I set off with zeal and fortunately saw the finish line was imminent. I headed down and through the field with the flop-flop noise of my now-flat tyre behind me, ditched the bike and sprinted over the line to my relief. Steve followed six minutes later, and after 16 and a half hours of pain and frustration, we were finally crowned quadrathletes, slicing the water melon in two and donning our medals with pride. Despite there being no alarm, getting up the next morning proved even more difficult as the muscle pains set in.

Three Peaks Challenge

Hiking 26 miles up almost 1,200 ft of mountain, driving close to 900 miles, surviving almost exclusively on chocolate and just two hours sleep, all in 24 hours – it’s hard to choose the most discomforting, but all were worth enduring, simultaneously, to achieve the coveted self-proclaimed title of Three Peaks Conqueror.

It was with this determination that myself and fellow fool/brave adventurer Steven Cockburn, 24, from Cheshire, set off to achieve the goal on May 29, largely spurred on by our failure to do so eight months earlier. That time, poor timing had seen us make the error of attempting to climb one of the mountains in the dark, which resulted in us getting lost and being forced to abort.

This time, the plan was much clearer – we would leave my second home of Cheshire at 10am, arriving to start the tallest of the peaks, Ben Nevis, in the Scottish Highlands, at 5pm. We would leave there at 10pm, just before sunset, arriving at the second, Cumbria’s Scafell Pike, at 4am. Completing that in four hours would give us five hours to reach Snowdon and four hours to do the hike and make our 24 hour target.

The quest began well, as we reached Fort William around 4.15pm, giving us time to enjoy a McDonald’s before pulling up by the mountain. At 4,409 ft high, Ben Nevis is the tallest mountain in Britain, and with the ten mile walk starting from almost sea level is also the furthest hike.

The route first ascends steeply up a hill, and then around the corner where the view of the mountain and a loch come into view. It then ascends into the cloud, where we were greeted with increasing bemusement from people about us wearing shorts, warning us about the snow, gales force winds and minus 15 temperatures at the summit.

The snow did come, as did the hale and strong winds, but we persevered, and my poncho did a surprisingly good job of keeping me warm. After touching the summit and having a sip of champagne from two women attempting the same challenge – because of the times of day of the first two times, most people were met were all attempting the same challenge.

We began to descend and gradually get feeling back into our fingers. We did get a little lost taking the wrong route at the bottom, but followed the river to reach the car by 10.20pm.

The drive to Scafell Pike was long – I did the first half, snaking through the Highland roads and pouring rain, though I was glad we had only had light showers on the climb and not the heavy rain we drove through. As the car radio battled to find a signal, we were consigned to BBC Radio 4, which abandoned us to BBC World Service at around 1am.

Steve did the remaining half of the drive, snaking through the hairpin turns and blind bridges that lead to the Wasdale Head route up Scafell Pike. When we arrived at 3.45am it was so light we did not need torches. At 3,209 ft high, Scafell Pike is the smallest of the mountains, but certainly the most difficult.

The path first snakes around and up the hillside, all the while with a stream running down it, before disappearing altogether over a large patch of rocks. We found ourselves annoyed to lose the path again, though fortunately not as catastrophically as during our last attempt, and we soon resumed and made good progress. Once in the clouds the path seemed eternal, but we finally reached the top and could start our descent. The way down was hard as the path was steep, slippery and rugged, but once we cleared the mist we were welcomed to a beautiful view of Wastwater and continued to make good time.

I now took up the mantle of driving back to Cheshire (where we got a lift to Snowdon), this time being consigned to Radio 2 for the tricky drive through Cumbria, consisting almost exclusively of single-track lanes and blind hills/bridges followed by hairpin turns. The danger now was that we felt the task was completed – Scafell Pike had been our biggest adversary, and with the that in the bag we perhaps became a little complacent about the 3,560 ft high Snowdon.

We started that hike shortly before 1pm, already at some height on the Miners’ Track, and the first two miles were deceptively flat and smooth. However, things soon got harder – the path started to climb, and then there was almost two miles of steep climbing, mixing hill walking with scrambling.

The path to the summit smoothed off, but we were both drained. Snowdon was the only hike where we could actually see the peak long before reaching it. The train rode past as a tempting reminder for an alternate way down, and we finally had a view of more than just cloud and mist. Unfortunately, this enabled us to see just how far down and away we had to go back, in just under two hours.

The climb down was slow, as it was steep and perilous, but we were careful not to rush. We chatted to a fellow Three Peaks group, who had started an hour ahead of us, so we knew we were making good time.

After clearing the sharp and steep part though we could look forward to the smooth beginning, which enabled us to squeeze the last bit of energy from tired legs and reach the car park 23 hours and 45 minutes after we had set off up Ben Nevis. From there, it was a short drive home to enjoy a proper meal and then the arduous hike up the stairs for two nights’ worth of sleep.