I'm not exactly sure when or how I first came across the Cape Wrath Trail but its most likely I stumbled across it during an adventure planning period whilst I was working down South, In those days I'd get homesick and plan holidays from the WalkHighlands website. Some time after that, I became fixed on backpacking the trail and eventually, after a year long deployment in the South Atlantic and a pandemic, I completed it in 2021 with my girlfriend. 

And that was that, I didn't ever really think about doing it again until my roaming cookies/data profile contrived to pop the Cape Wrath Ultra ads onto my YouTube feed, and the corners were lit again. I didn't enter immediately; I read around it, watched some clips here and there, tolerated a few hard but sedate weeks in my new office job, before finally making the jump last November.  

I'd never ran an ultra, but didn't really see it as that, to me it was just rough country adventure through the regions of Scotland that I had grown to cherish, and a little bit of escapism. It was only when I became acquainted with the event staff and the runners, both now my friends, that I realised that this was also very much an ultra and an ultra running community. Someone looked genuinely alarmed for my wellbeing when I said I'd never heard of Chamonix or the UTMB.

But I wasn't wholly unprepared; since Munro (my young Springer Spaniel) had come of age the previous April we had summited 86 Munros together. This, supplemented with some quite consistent speedwork and forest trail miles through the week (circa 40 miles), constituted my preparation for the Cape Wrath Ultra.

Months passed, and then all of sudden we were off. Three gentlemen- Ian Malcolm, Jon Hall and Richard Lindsay- moved to the front of our wave, Wave 2. After a mile or so I joined them, and for the next 7 miles or so we chatted in the Scottish sun, moving at just above 8 min/mile pace on the flat tarmac preamble to our epic rough country adventure. One of our four commented that we were perhaps moving too fast, but infact I had never been able to run at conversation pace in a race before. And, owing to my lack of experience in real distance running, I don't think I'd ever even had a conversation in a race before. As it would have it, these three would become some of my dearest friends on the course as the week unfolded, there is a selfie of us at mile 3 (of 240 odd) that I no look back at fondly. Though still lengthy at 22 miles, it seemed as though Day 1 passed in an instant with only one small hill to negotiate. Then it was back to camp for a cold water muscle soaking and a hearty portion chips and soup. Next we were all acquainted with our dear tentmates- if we hadn't already pre-arranged this- and settled for a night in Glenfinnan, under the famous viaduct.  

The still, shaded morning of Day 2 brought with it the highland midge, the scourge of Scottish tourism. I could no longer recognise the faces I'd met the day before, best efforts were made to cover all exposed skin. Though no bloodsucking swarm could curb the enthusiasm, as the next two days presented some of the most rugged and remote landscape anywhere in the British Isles; a not so smooth northerly slalom through the rough bounds of Knoydart and beyond into unspoilt Kintail. I had done this before in poor weather and was looking forward to less wind, rain and clag; I wasn't disappointed.

After two long days (35 and 41 miles respectively), Day 4 in Torridon was a considerably shorter day. When I think about how we arrived in Kinlochewe to perfect sunshine, I struggle to reconcile this with the contrast in which the morning broke; rainy, claggy, cloudy, and midgie. Though by the time most of the pack were heading down to CP1 at the Ling Hut, the sun was warming our backs and, looking down into Glen Torridon, you could see jackets being stowed everywhere. There are some truly remarkable photos of us contouring around the Northside of Beinn Eighe, sadly my vision was fixed on what was probably the most challenging terrain of the whole course; a steep descent and contour of an unstable boulderfield obscured by thick heather. Sam Hill descending here was a thing of beauty, but to me the foot placement was a complete lottery at this particular rocky interlude.

By contrast, the next two days (5 and 6) were marketed as runnable days, in the broader context of the Cape Wrath and it’s underfoot challenges, I should say. Day 5 is a marathon distance bimble through the Fisherfield Forest, the track itself (mostly track) skirts around An Teallach, offering all sorts of glorious angles of those postcard pinnacles, and there are equally stunning views West to the most beautiful but inaccessible Munros in Scotland.

At this juncture I should admit that I only brought two pairs of light fell racing shoes (Inov8 Talons), and in the second half of the event this naive and incompetent oversight was beginning to degrade my running. It is really no exaggeration to say that I owe the sustainability of my limbs in the second half of the race to Ian Malcolm who leant me his pair of padded Talon Ultras ahead of Day 6, after overhearing me bleat. Day 6 would prove to be a lot of hard standing track and stone, and this would have been profoundly uncomfortable in my Talons; thank you Ian.

And just like that there were two days remaining. Like most in the camp, I felt like if I got through Day 7 I could reasonably crawl the last 16 miles to the lighthouse on my tongue. I took counsel from the lovely Med team about a few niggles I was harbouring; some tendonitis in the bottom shin/top of the foot area (afflicting most of field), and some growing knee pain that had been hitherto ambient. Neither were real showstoppers, as was validated by the physios, and so I began Day 7 wrapped up and strapped up, another one of the growing population of blue K-taped zombies you would see shuffling awkwardly from tent to tent. On this day the weather was authentically Scottish- finally- strong wind and rain battered our battered bodies as we passed Eas a' Chual Aluinn (UK's highest waterfall!) and skirted Loch Glencoul and Glendhu, and up Ben Dreavie. Mercifully though, the rain and wind did yield, and for most of us the final sections of this day were sunny once again.

Day 8; by this point I had become quite invested in the race others were racing. In my tent there were some who had eventually opted for the Explorer route, some that had spent significantly longer out on the trail and on their feet, some that were competing at the pointy end, and one that was nav'ing the whole thing with just a map and compass (you know who you are). They all made it to the lighthouse, a real testament to their spirit and determination, but also the logistics of this wonderful event. 

More on this, and as I hope the above illustrates, this is as tough and as rough as running conditions get in the UK, and naturally that attracts individuals with a sense of adventure and ambition. It is the meticulous attention to detail of the event team that allows this challenge to run safely on the edge, and it is the unrelenting enthusiasm and encouragement of all the event volunteers that fosters a sense of self belief among the challengers. I cannot speak highly enough of atmosphere that this creates, it’s truly remarkable.

Top tips:

·       Those racing Talons worked really for me on the early bogs but realistically you'll need more cushioning out of a shoe for some of the track heavy days,

·       Encourage everyone you pass, they waited a long time to try this,

·       Have a nice airy pair of camp sliders or crocs,

·       Take plenty of photos, it's a truly once in a lifetime experience,

·       Try discipline yourself to take a good cold water dip, or leg dip at least, every evening,

·       Take time to get to know as many of the runners and volunteers as you can.