Nigel Rose - 1992 Bruce's Crown
I first
heard of the Bruce's Crown event when Harry sent me an entry form last year. It
is a journey of 50 miles and 12500 feet through "rugged and remote country" in
the
Galloway Hills.
The event is open to both runners and walkers.
I was otherwise committed last year, so decided to apply for the event this
August.
I began to wonder about the event when the entry
acknowledgement arrived.
The
compulsory kit list
included, besides the usual equipment, "a survival bag, a sleeping
bag and food for 30 hours".
The race facilities were described rather succinctly
‑ "Facilities - in keeping with the self-sufficient spirit of the Round
there are none,
apart from frequent burns".
It was with some trepidation that I set off
on Friday afternoon for the camp site at Glen Trool.
In the
evening we met Glyn Jones, the organiser, and had our kit checked before
settling down for a good night's sleep.
The start, at nine o'clock on the Saturday
morning was a low key affair.
Sixteen of us were told, "Good luck and off
you go",
before we
set off along a forest path. After about ten minutes we came upon a forest
road and the first navigational decision of the day.
I
had originally intended to go along the road then cut up through a firebreak
towards the top of the first hill.
Several
of the other runners had talked earlier about doing previous events in the same
area. The
main group crossed the road and plunged into the forest on the other side.
Thinking
they knew where they were going I made my first mistake of the day and followed
them. It
soon became obvious that all the map and compass waving covered an uncomfortable
truth - the followers didn't know where they were and the leader didn't know
where he was going. I'll
never follow an orienteer again.
We eventually broke free from the forest, to see
runners heading from all directions towards the summit of
Mulldonoch.
The route then took us over most of the tops of the Minnigaff Hills, including
the intriguingly named Curleywee.
It started as good running on long grassy
ridges, but began to get rougher as we headed further east.
Mist
was beginning to come and go a bit over the tops.
Coming
off Cairnarroch, we had
to descend steeply into a valley then cross a bridge
over the River Dee.
I set a bearing for an aiming-point on the
opposite side of the valley and confidently set off
down the hillside.
The
terrain soon became rather unpleasant.
It looked like long grass and heather but
underneath it was so spongy that it was impossible to run on.
Lower
down I had to fight through trees and bracken to reach the forest road.
Several
times the bracken seemed to weave itself into an impenetrable barrier before me,
bringing me to a complete halt.
Eventually I reached the forest road and went on
towards the bridge. The checkpoint at the bridge was manned - and fruit cake was
on offer. I was also given water because the river water was of dubious quality
- there was a fish farm further upstream.
It
was important to get plenty of water because the next section went along a long
dry ridge. As
I put white Leppin powder into the water, the marshals raised their eyebrows and
made vague references to steroids!
Heading
up the next hill, I had the choice of fighting the short way through forest or
climbing through what seemed to be a disused quarry - the quarry won.
As I ran on from Little Millyea to Meikle Millyea the
mist came down very thickly and the wind got stronger.
Fortunately
there was a wall to follow but the checkpoints were
tricky to find.
The whole route had 26 checkpoints; most of
them were orienteering punches as they were too remote to be manned.
I
missed one of the manned checkpoints near Millfire. The summit ridge looked very
rough in the mist and I found a good path along the flank of the hill.
By
the time I realised that I had passed the checkpoint, I was halfway up Corserine
and in no mood for turning back. The wind had increased to
gale force.
I remember at one point screaming "Bloody
August" into the wind but it didn't seem to do much good.
Coming down off Corserine, the mist suddenly lifted
and the wind began to abate. Unfamiliar country opened up all around.
Between
the ranges of hills lay many lochs surrounded by vast plains of forest.
Large
rivers could be seen winding through the
forests and further north Loch Doon appeared huge.
I thought at first that it was a sea loch. The
next part of the run was fun.
The
long undulating ridge of the Rhinns of Kells was covered with short springy
grass - ideal for running.
I
made good time along the ridge but towards the end I had to drop down for a
while to find a burn as I was running short of water.
From the
top of the final hill, Corran of Portmark, I had to drop down to a large forest
and go about a mile through it to find a forest road near the shores of Loch
Doon.
From the top of the hill I could see broad
grassy rides sweeping invitingly through the forest - it looked easy to get
through. Down
at the trees it soon became a
different
story.
The grass was knee deep, full of thistles and hid a
continuous
variety of ditches, bog and rocks.
Even
worse,
the Harvey's map that I was using
showed firebreaks
but they didn't seem to correspond with the actual forest.
If I
headed too far
north I would miss the forest road altogether and end up going straight into
Loch Doon. By
a bit of judicious guesswork and a chance sighting across the loch I managed to
find the forest road.
The
next six miles of the route lay along forest roads, around the south end of Loch
Doon and across to the north of Loch Riecawr.
It
was difficult to keep running as I was beginning to feel a bit tired and the
road was very hard. I had been running for about ten hours.
A little
further on there was to be a flagged route up through the trees to the overnight
bivvy site. I had intended to run the whole race in one go. The rules were that
if we reached the bivvy site before 7.00pm we could go on in pairs; otherwise we
would have to stop.
I saw Glyn's car parked by the turnoff so I
left the road and started to climb up a narrow firebreak between the trees.
The next twenty minutes
seemed like a bad joke.
Although
the route was well flagged it became a repeat of long
grass and boggy ground interspersed with hidden
ditches.
The hillside
became
ever steeper and in places I had to crawl through bushes to follow the markers.
Some
of the markers had words written on them which bore no resemblance to the race
and I began to wonder if I was following the right route.
Also
it began to rain heavily. Suddenly I came out from the trees just behind Glyn,
who was carrying up a box of food.
Round
the corner two earlier arrivals, David and Mark, were trying to shelter from the
rain under the trees.
There was a half-hearted discussion about going on,
but the light was beginning to fade and mist was creeping down from the
hilltops. An
overnight bivvy seemed the lesser of two evils.
I
chose a spot on a heathery bank under the edge of the trees.
It
took a while to struggle with the logistics of getting a wet body and a dry
sleeping bag into a survival bag, without knocking more water down off the
overhanging trees. I
couldn't get comfortable and seemed to spend most of the night tossing and
turning on the lumpy
ground.
Later on it seemed to get better although I
didn't find out why until the morning.
At
some point in the night I had rolled down the bank into the thick grass at the
bottom.
I was woken at dawn by the sound of David getting out
of his bivvy bag. Five
o'clock in the morning and thick mist everywhere.
It
started to rain again so I lay in the bag for a while until it stopped.
Glyn
was already up and brewing hot tea on a stove.
One
other runner, Chris, had made it to the bivvy site and a few others were
reported to be down by the road. Glyn had rigged up an awning under the trees so
we ate and chatted for a while.
It
was remarkable how cheerful everyone was in the adverse circumstances.
After
a breakfast of tea and cakes I set off for the third hill range of the journey
the Range of the Awful Hand (I kid you not - check the map).
The whole range was covered in thick mist so it was
compass navigation all the way.
Shalloch
on Minnoch was awkward as there were two shallow summit plateaux about a
quarter mile apart.
I found the trig point without too much
difficulty but then somehow set my compass 180 degrees out coming off the hill.
Fortunately
I didn't go too far before I realised the error.
Curiously,
Chris who was following a little way
behind made exactly the same mistake in the same
place. There
was a manned checkpoint on the next hill at Tarfessock.
What
I didn't know until later was that the marshals had arrived not long before me.
They had set off the night before but got lost in the
mist.
They
stopped
and camped overnight then carried on again at dawn to find the checkpoint.
After Merrick there was a wall to follow to
Benyallery and on to the final hill of Bennan.
There
was a road most of the way up Bennan to a radio station at the top.
I
idly wished that some of the other hills had had a road to the top. Coming off
Bennan, I finally dropped below the mist and aimed for another forest firebreak.
This led down to a rough forest track to Bruce's Stone.
From
there, another track went around the east end of Loch Trool and over the river
bridge. The
final two miles of track along the south side of Loch Trool were optimistically
described as a forest trail.
Much
of it was obstructed by large rocks, tree roots and bog, all made slippery by
the steady rain. It seemed to go on for ever through the trees.
Eventually I reached the camp site and the race
finish.
I was the second man in,
having run a total of eighteen and a half hours.
Glyn
had enough food to feed an army at the finish.
What
went down best of all was cold custard and jelly.
By
the middle of Sunday afternoon, four runners had come in, two walkers were still
on the way and all the rest had dropped out.
It
was certainly the toughest race I have ever run.
It
is a great pity though that the event is not better supported considering all
the effort that Glyn and his friends put into the organisation.
Finally, a word for Harry.
If you value our friendship, don't ever send
me another
entry form for Bruce's Crown.
Well,
not this year anyway."
Nigel
Rose