The OMM 2011 ("Who dares fails")

Race HQ - we joined the escape committee and headed for a TravelodgeFor such a small island, it never ceases to amazes that there are so many uninhabited chunks of wilderness in the UK. Discovering such places is one of the joys of ‘Mountain Marathons’ and some of us would be lost, or unable to get lost, without them.  The 2011 OMM (Original Mountain Marathon) thus took Wouter, myself and 3000 others in Breadalbane, an expanse of mountain moor in deepest, boggiest, Perthshire. Famed for being the most geologically active part of the UK it lies just north of the Highland Boundary Fault Line (Graeme D will like this detail). The race area was bounded by Loch Tay and Loch Earn and included lots of bumpy stuff (notably Ben Chonzie at 934m) and many timorous beasties. Even we saw red deer, mountain hares, stoats and grouse on our run.

Having done OKish in our last OMM, Wouter and I gave ‘boring’ B Class a miss, and entered the Medium Score event ('classic orienteering') the aim to find of as many controls as possible whilst navigating to and from overnight camp within strict time limits (6 and 5 hours respectively), the controls yielding differing points (10-40) according to difficulty. The small print also said something about time penalties but we had no such fears. More on that later…

Classic Tim wildlife photo (bumpy bits + red deer..)Based on two previous OMMs in Scotland, I was positively pessimistic, “Embrace the power of negative thinking” the mantra and, sure enough, a pre-race fortnight of snow/floods and a mild but wet SW front during the race made life interesting. What better way to sell more OMM kit? Race HQ also had character & Grand Designs, a decaying ex-WWII PoW camp (including original fittings) next to a nuclear bunker complex intended to house an emergency Government HQ - the perfect finishing touch as the rain lashed down, and we hid in the car at the start in our very own Armageddon. “Why?” the only question at such a moment. “We’re doomed” muttered Wouter in a perfect Dutch-Scottish Dad’s Army accent. And so it proved.

Day 1 lived down to expectations and we were soon wretched, cold and very wet. I was happy just to keep up with Wouter who, in-spite of recovering from a bug (he coughed and shivered wildly) was flying like his proverbial namesake. I stupidly ran in shorts and was scratched to bits by the vegetation. Luckily there were no ticks. Wouter looking Wagnerian on Day 2 (no rain!)Applying the ‘survival’ and 'pleasure' principles, we headed for overnight camp after just 4 ½ hours, finishing with a miserly 110 pts.  The campsite looked like, and was, a small flooded field in the lee of a hydroelectric power station. On some glorious summer day it had, maybe, looked much more inviting – today it looked liked the aftermath of Hurricane Catrina. 

But then the rain stopped and a bit of blue appeared (briefly, beautifully) so we quickly spread out soggy gear in the hope some might dry – this re-awoke the angry rain Gods immediately. We crawled back into the tent (2 x 0.9m) and prepared for 16 hours in a cocoon.  Luckily we’d bought ear-plugs, Jura and Talisker (single malts are lighter and yummier than post-race protein bars/energy gels).  Sleep came as frugally as the points on Day 1, hence maybe our failure to fully appreciate the (traditional) Scottish piper who awoke the camp at 6:00am and was greeted with the equally traditional Croups 'fecks and threats' chorus.  As my Grandfather (a Cork man) pointed out, the Irish gave the Scots the pipes 400 years ago but they still didn’t get the joke... 

red-up on porridge, and goaded by a younger Dallimore (Claire and partner won the Medium Score Ladies race at a canter results here) we approached Day 2 in a different frame of mind and felt confident (always dangerous). The map also looked promising, with many ‘big points’ on offer for those who dared. Within an hour we’d bagged 3 controls and 60 points (more than half the previous day’s score) but then came the BIG MOMENT in our race (every MM has one of these), ‘play safe or gamble’?  The obvious was a simple SE run-for-home, with a respectable score and the promise of an early finish, ideal prep for the nine hour drive back to Cardiff. Madness is contagious though, and we both keenly searched for a route North, then East, then South and a yarn spinning grand tour of at least 200 points. Spotting an exit road for a mad dash home should thing go wrong, we had a plan within the minute – it looked impossible, but "what the hell".  The true value of two PhDs was exposed, and whilst seemingly everyone else cheerfully walked/jogged home, we took off in the opposite direction, running strongly but very much alone down a long, curving, valley, with grouse shoot hides either side of us. Balaclava came to mind…

We almost tripped over the next hidden control (20) and whooped with delight when we hit our first ever 40 pointer. Overtaking other runners who'd earlier swept past us but then mis-navigated added to the fun and the impossible looked possible with two and a half hours still remaining for the ~15k run home. Easy for those of the ‘World’s Greatest Running Club’?  But then came soggy bog, a river crossing, then a long gully scramble, 10 minutes time wasted faffing about for a control, then tugging at heather as we hauled ourselves over ‘peat hags’, then crags, then the day's big climb before an even worse 5k rocky track descent. Alarm bells rang ever louder and I’ve never known time fly so quickly. Fatigue is almost forgotten when panic sets-in, but thrives when faced with despair. Run became shuffle and we grew more desperate as the realisation of ‘time penalties’ (2 points per minute late home) loomed.  The game was up by the time we hit our 'exit road' where we were greeted by an unexpected "OMM bus-stop" sign and a queue of retirees and fellow failures.

We toyed with the idea of continuing regardless, walking the last couple of miles and stopping for a pint in Comrie and finishing on a score of minus 10 squillion, but the Race Director (a nice chap who was driving the bus) and his two collies already had their work cut-out rounding-up stragglers like us. The banter on the bus back was of a high standard - someone asked if the Race Photographers would also 'do us a photo' as we disembarked, heads hung in shame. Being driven back in such a state to a WWII PoW camp seemed a rather fitting end to our audacious bid for glory...

A great weekend nonetheless - dare one say a 'classic OMM'??

Tim O'Sullivan & Wouter Poortinga 

Comments

[Wouter Poortinga]

Thanks Tim. It is always a pleasure to read your race reports. Learned lots of things this weekend. (1) I really don't like rain, (2) bringing (a small bottle of) whisky is no unnecessary luxury, (3) Homer was right - trying is the first step to failure, (4) running across mountains is great fun (even if it sounds a bit Sound-of-Music-y), (5) you're a great running partner, (6) a 2 x 0.9 tent is better shared with...ok.. (especially for 16 hours) -no offense.

[Matt Townsend]

A younger Dallimore sounds like another Classic Single Malt.

[tim o'sullivan]

Nice write-up (and some proper pics) on Planet Fear

[Mike Davies]

Thanks Tim. Always an entertaining read. Do you write travel guides as well? Does your camera ... do colour?