Perhaps its fair to say that the Isle of Jura Fell Race is one of the toughest of its kind. It was therefore with more than a keen walker's interest that I set off to replicate a mere fraction of the route, at a less testing pace. In much the same way as we were led on to our geographical holy grail, the Gulf of Corryvreckan, the Paps of Jura have a mythical grandeur about them. Perhaps because of the fell race, but also maybe because you can see them from miles around.
We cycled the 3 miles to the start of the footpath, walked up the largest of them (Beinn an Oir) and then I ran over Beinn Shiantaidh (pictured). A fantastic run, but so incredibly difficult underfoot. Being a Sassenach I was clearly not used to running over such hellish scree and tufted deathtraps. Apparently it's not unheard of to find yourself experiencing total body immersion in a bog, quite out of the blue. I counted my blessings on only immersing the one leg. We cycled back to Craighouse, a little pooped, it has to be said. We declined the offer of joining in the Ceilidh in the village hall later that night, but got the full "benefits", camping just down from it.
We cycled the 3 miles to the start of the footpath, walked up the largest of them (Beinn an Oir) and then I ran over Beinn Shiantaidh (pictured). A fantastic run, but so incredibly difficult underfoot. Being a Sassenach I was clearly not used to running over such hellish scree and tufted deathtraps. Apparently it's not unheard of to find yourself experiencing total body immersion in a bog, quite out of the blue. I counted my blessings on only immersing the one leg. We cycled back to Craighouse, a little pooped, it has to be said. We declined the offer of joining in the Ceilidh in the village hall later that night, but got the full "benefits", camping just down from it. 
No comments:
Post a Comment