Modern Athlete Magazine Issue 113, December 2018 | Page 24

TRAIL RUNNING
Karoline and Filippo
happy to have made
it to the finish
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The Cape Wrath Ultra is a brutal eight-day, 400km trail race described
as Scotland’s answer to the Marathon Des Sables. Filippo Faralla and
Karoline Hanks flew the South African flag high at the Cape Wrath
lighthouse. This is Karoline’s story…
I
had just completed the fourth and final day of the
Richtersveld WildRun in 2015 and was sitting on
the banks of the Orange River, when I spotted my
partner Filippo on his cell phone, entering us both
for the 2016 Cape Wrath Ultra (CWU). He had been
chatting to world-renowned trail running journo Ian
Corless, who was covering Richtersveld that year and
was excited about the prospect of covering a new
entry on the international ultra trail calendar, the CWU,
set to play out in the Scottish Highlands.
Filippo heading for the sea on the final stage
Sadly my Achilles had other plans, and due to major
surgery in December 2015 that took me out of running
for six months, we opted to carry our entry over to the
2018 event instead. (The CWU is a bi-annual event.) And
so this year Filippo and I found ourselves alighting from
a ferry onto the banks of Loch Linnhe, accompanied by
the evocative and goose-bumpy sounds of bagpipes
being played by a ruddy-cheeked fellow in a kilt. Along
with 177 other ultra-enthusiasts, we were about to set
out on an epic north-bound journey.
ANCIENT PATHWAYS
The Cape Wrath Trail is touted as one of the toughest
long-distance hiking trails in the UK. It starts in the
relative comfort of Fort William, a charming little
town at the base of Britain’s highest mountain, Ben
Nevis, then winds through an exquisite patchwork
of mythical, ancient mist-drenched lochs, boggy
glens and rugged peaks, until it reaches Britain’s
north-western most point, Cape Wrath. The trail often
follows centuries-old routes that crofters and their
animals would have used to navigate the remote
north-western seaboard of Scotland.
To say that I was ill-prepared for this race is a gross
understatement. For months I barely gave it the attention
it deserved, leaving it all up to Filippo, who has always
been a meticulous planner. He was the one who made
sure we had all the mandatory kit and spent days
pouring over google maps and overlaying the organisers’
waypoints with his own, ensuring we had a detailed
breadcrumb track for each day’s route – in other words, a
solid purple line on our hand-held Garmins. I would come
to depend on that purple line – quite literally – for survival!
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ISSUE 113 DECEMBER 2018 / www.modernathlete.co.za
About two weeks before the event, I thought it best
to get some insight into the race, and get my game
face on. In describing the route, the hiking guidebook
speaks of “some of the remotest country in Britain,”
“one of the wettest places in Europe,” and of “sudden
weather changes, impassable rivers, extreme
temperatures, ticks, midges and deep, dark bogs.”
They say ignorance is bliss, but I quickly realised that I
was in for a very tough challenge!
BOGGY BAPTISM
The first day started at a hellishly brisk pace. Given
that we had some insanely long days ahead of us, I
was quite alarmed at just how brisk. As we ran along
an undulating rocky jeep track into a massive glen
(valley), still at a very stiff pace, I found myself being
overtaken by many runners, and the voices of doubt
started to niggle. We were just into day one and
already my lungs were bursting, and my hip flexors
were twitching! On the other side of our first ascent,
I had my first real encounter with the boggy, soggy,
humpy-lumpy, slippery stuff that would become the
norm for much of the race. Often one would take a
misguided step on what looked like mossy ground
and you would plunge into a sucking, slurping bog –
often up to thigh height. It took my breath away.
What have you done Hanks? Why would you think
Scottish myth has it that while wandering through
the Highlands, a ‘kelpie’ may appear to a weary
traveller as a magnificent horse, ready to be ridden.
When touched or mounted, alas, the hapless rider
becomes stuck to the kelpie, which will dash into the
loch and drown the victim…