The Sgurr of Eigg, a 390 m high prow of volcanic pitchstone, dominates the western side of the Isle of Eigg, towering above the small harbour at Glamisdale. We’d looked across the Sound of Eigg from the Ardnamurchan Penninsula at this geological marvel but today, as we powered across the sea in the “Sea.fari” fast catamaran, it was obscured by clag and drizzle. Together with nearly 50 other runners we were sailing from Mallaig to Eigg to take part in the Easter Eigg Races, a one off adventure devised by Lawrie Anderson of Lomond Hillrunners. Today’s 9km race would take us from the harbour, across the bogs and moor under the eastern precipices of the Sgurr, before scrambling steeply up and running the rocky ridge to the trig point. Then a headlong dash back down the way we’d come. That was the plan anyway.
“I’ve put a few flags out”, explained Lawrie, “ the route’s obvious, just follow the red dots along the main tourist path”. However, the main tourist path was supplemented by numerous other trods and more than one runner took wayward routes in the thick mist. Even Lawrie himself, flying down the moors towards the last mile on the track, found himself off route. Despite the navigational incidents the race route was a big hit with the runners. A race with everything but a view... track, moor, bog, rock...and beer. The cafe at the harbour serves butties, cakes, teas and coffees...and Guinness. Marvellous.
Mandy and myself, and another running couple, were picked up by Stuart “Scruff” Miller in his old land rover and taken the four miles across the island on the single track road (the only road on the island) to his croft and newly opened B&B. Howlin Croft House sits in a stunning spot under the Quirang like cliffs of Beinn Bhuidhe and overlooks the pristine white beaches of Laig Bay and Camas Sgiotaig - the Singing Sands. The stunning backdrop is the Cuillin Hills of the Isle of Rum. Probably one of the best views in Scotland, but today it was invisible. Scruff, raconteur extaordinaire, regaled us with tales of the island. As a farmer, builder, coastguard and ex lobster fisherman he seems to have his fingers in many pies on the island. Those fingers he has left that is. In his most gruesome tale he explained how he got three of his fingers trapped in the creel winch on his boat and had to cut them off with his bait knife to get free!
If you want to stay somewhere unique, friendly and informal you must visit Howlin Croft House. http://www.spanglefish.com/howlinhouse/ Before we’d even sat down a large dram was thrust in our hands. We were given a guided tour of the chickens, ducks, goats, pig and polytunnel. Scruff’s wife Kathleen cooked up a wonderful home-made and locally sourced meal and we were entertained by endless stories. The Easter Ceilidh was to be held in the community centre near the harbour. Scruff volunteered to give us a lift. He was soon cursing when we were held up by the local bus, an old white minibus, crawling along at 10mph. “The bloody driver’s always pissed” Scruff explained, “but nay bother, I know a short cut”. He steered the land rover off the road and accelerated across a bumpy field before cutting back onto the road in front of the van. “Did you like that?” he asked. Before we had time to reply, “I know an even better one”. We plunged over an edge and plummeted down a steep grassy bank cutting out a hairpin on the road. “My brother’s still got a neck brace from last time I did that” he shouted gleefully. Nerves were calmed by one or three guinesses at the ceilidh. Scruff had promised to pick us up at 1am warning us not to walk home as the road was full of drunken drivers. We wondered whether we’d be better taking our chances with the drunks!
The Ceilidh apparently starts at 9pm, and finishes at 9am! One obvious reason for this was that each dance seems to last forever due to the large number of dancers – all having to execute the particular highlight of the dance at least once. We started stripping the willow just after midnight...by quarter past one we’d stripped it three times and the band was still going strong. We retired, dripping with sweat. I’m sure it was the dancing that caused my calf strain rather than the fell running.
Sunday saw us lined up on Laig Beach ready for Race 2. Lawrie, having lost one young lady in yesterday’s race (she was eventually found wandering the misty moors in tears several hours after everyone else had finished), had revised today’s route as he didn’t want to lose anyone over the precipitous drops of the Beinn Bhuidhe ridge in today’s thick clag. Along the beach, along a track, up an outrageously steep climb to Beinn Bhuidhe trig, back down vertical heather before flying down a wonderful grassy ridge to finish on the Singing Sands. Another top 8km route. No prizes for our racing prowess but we did win a spot prize each. As we were strolling back towards Glamisdale in the rain a rusty old pick-up with no rear lights and the widows held in place with gaffa tape pulled up. Scruff leaned out, “You wanna lift?”. We nodded. “You’ll have to jump on the back then”. We perched on a pallet as the pick-up negotiated the narrow winding road waving at the other runners as we passed them. An Isle of Eigg white knuckle ride. “Great pick-up this” Scruff told us, “I once had 18 passengers on the way back from a ceilidh, four of ‘em were on the bonnet!”
So, if its ever on again (Lawrie’s still deciding whether to repeat it), put the Easter Eigg races in your diary. Or, just visit the island anyway. It’s a magical, friendly and wild island with great walks and runs, fascinating geology and archaeology, and extraordinary Scottish island hospitality. We’re already looking forward to going back.
Slainte Mandy & Phil
“I’ve put a few flags out”, explained Lawrie, “ the route’s obvious, just follow the red dots along the main tourist path”. However, the main tourist path was supplemented by numerous other trods and more than one runner took wayward routes in the thick mist. Even Lawrie himself, flying down the moors towards the last mile on the track, found himself off route. Despite the navigational incidents the race route was a big hit with the runners. A race with everything but a view... track, moor, bog, rock...and beer. The cafe at the harbour serves butties, cakes, teas and coffees...and Guinness. Marvellous.
Mandy and myself, and another running couple, were picked up by Stuart “Scruff” Miller in his old land rover and taken the four miles across the island on the single track road (the only road on the island) to his croft and newly opened B&B. Howlin Croft House sits in a stunning spot under the Quirang like cliffs of Beinn Bhuidhe and overlooks the pristine white beaches of Laig Bay and Camas Sgiotaig - the Singing Sands. The stunning backdrop is the Cuillin Hills of the Isle of Rum. Probably one of the best views in Scotland, but today it was invisible. Scruff, raconteur extaordinaire, regaled us with tales of the island. As a farmer, builder, coastguard and ex lobster fisherman he seems to have his fingers in many pies on the island. Those fingers he has left that is. In his most gruesome tale he explained how he got three of his fingers trapped in the creel winch on his boat and had to cut them off with his bait knife to get free!
If you want to stay somewhere unique, friendly and informal you must visit Howlin Croft House. http://www.spanglefish.com/howlinhouse/ Before we’d even sat down a large dram was thrust in our hands. We were given a guided tour of the chickens, ducks, goats, pig and polytunnel. Scruff’s wife Kathleen cooked up a wonderful home-made and locally sourced meal and we were entertained by endless stories. The Easter Ceilidh was to be held in the community centre near the harbour. Scruff volunteered to give us a lift. He was soon cursing when we were held up by the local bus, an old white minibus, crawling along at 10mph. “The bloody driver’s always pissed” Scruff explained, “but nay bother, I know a short cut”. He steered the land rover off the road and accelerated across a bumpy field before cutting back onto the road in front of the van. “Did you like that?” he asked. Before we had time to reply, “I know an even better one”. We plunged over an edge and plummeted down a steep grassy bank cutting out a hairpin on the road. “My brother’s still got a neck brace from last time I did that” he shouted gleefully. Nerves were calmed by one or three guinesses at the ceilidh. Scruff had promised to pick us up at 1am warning us not to walk home as the road was full of drunken drivers. We wondered whether we’d be better taking our chances with the drunks!
The Ceilidh apparently starts at 9pm, and finishes at 9am! One obvious reason for this was that each dance seems to last forever due to the large number of dancers – all having to execute the particular highlight of the dance at least once. We started stripping the willow just after midnight...by quarter past one we’d stripped it three times and the band was still going strong. We retired, dripping with sweat. I’m sure it was the dancing that caused my calf strain rather than the fell running.
Sunday saw us lined up on Laig Beach ready for Race 2. Lawrie, having lost one young lady in yesterday’s race (she was eventually found wandering the misty moors in tears several hours after everyone else had finished), had revised today’s route as he didn’t want to lose anyone over the precipitous drops of the Beinn Bhuidhe ridge in today’s thick clag. Along the beach, along a track, up an outrageously steep climb to Beinn Bhuidhe trig, back down vertical heather before flying down a wonderful grassy ridge to finish on the Singing Sands. Another top 8km route. No prizes for our racing prowess but we did win a spot prize each. As we were strolling back towards Glamisdale in the rain a rusty old pick-up with no rear lights and the widows held in place with gaffa tape pulled up. Scruff leaned out, “You wanna lift?”. We nodded. “You’ll have to jump on the back then”. We perched on a pallet as the pick-up negotiated the narrow winding road waving at the other runners as we passed them. An Isle of Eigg white knuckle ride. “Great pick-up this” Scruff told us, “I once had 18 passengers on the way back from a ceilidh, four of ‘em were on the bonnet!”
So, if its ever on again (Lawrie’s still deciding whether to repeat it), put the Easter Eigg races in your diary. Or, just visit the island anyway. It’s a magical, friendly and wild island with great walks and runs, fascinating geology and archaeology, and extraordinary Scottish island hospitality. We’re already looking forward to going back.
Slainte Mandy & Phil
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