by Andrew Tees
I’d had my eye on the Wicklow Glacier Lakes race for while. As the name suggests, the objective of the race is to visit a set of 7 lakes (touching the water in each), with the route between each lake being almost entirely up to the competitor, returning to start/finish in Glendalough. The race can be run as a 4-leg relay in teams of 2-4 people, or as a solo event. Solo runners are also required to pass through the relay changeover points. Depending on route choice, the course measures approx 42km with 1700m of ascent.
The race is run using a “chasing starts” system, with the first team (and solo) to finish being the winners. Women get a headstart of 10 minutes for each leg they run. Runners aged over 50 get a bonus of 5 minutes. Persons aged over 60 get a bonus of 15 minutes. Persons aged over 70 get a bonus of 30 minutes. Hence a team of four (or solo) W60 women get 1hr40min advantage to start at 8am, whereas teams of four (or solo) Senior/M40 men will start at 9:40. An M50 solo runner would have a bonus of 20 minutes so would start at 9:20 a.m.
I spent Friday night in the van outside Glenmalure Lodge. The mist which had been forecast for Saturday morning hadn’t materialised, as I woke to blue skies and clear hilltops. I’d been preparing to navigate the course in poor visibility, maps were annotated and dozens of mental notes memorised, all aimed to keep myself right. So, it was almost a slight disappointment that those preparations wouldn’t really be put to the test, but also a relief knowing that the risk of any major navigation errors was now greatly reduced.
Watching the 9.20 group head off from the hotel, it seemed like a tough task to make up 20 minutes on some of those guys. I knew Billy Reed from NIMRA, his ultra-running exploits regularly astounding. Others, like Liam Vines and Paul Mahon, I knew by reputation as strong and experienced IMRA runners. Certainly, most of the field would know the course better than I did.
Setting off from the hotel, I found myself at the front of the 9.40 group, immediately worrying that I was going off too quick and that the distance and sun would take their toll as the day went on. I take a direct line from the road-crossing towards Lough Ouler, crossing the SE spur at the lowest point, swerving slightly left in the dip to avoid losing too much height. I caught the first of the 9.20 starters at the lake. Turning to head up the gully, I could see small figures labouring their way to the top of Tonlagee. Why would you go all the way up there? I thought. Then again, maybe they know something I don’t. I stick to my plan and contour around until I can see the checkpoint, then make a beeline for it. The ground is rough, maybe I should have contoured around to the path… Too late now, keep going. I get through the checkpoint feeling good, resisting the urge to ask how many are in front of me, too early for that craic.
Leg 2 goes mostly to plan. I contour around from the front of the quarry on Tomaneen, crossing the peat hags to find the small path leading to Lough Firrib. Reaching the water just as a group of 3 or 4 runners are leaving, they all seem to head off from the lake in slightly different directions. I duck left, back into the peat hags, and weave my way through, in the vague direction that the compass tells me. Around the shoulder of Convalla and soon enough I get a glimpse of the largest of the Three Lakes, peeking out just below the hovering cloud. After leaving Three Lakes I stay high and left of the stream, dropping gradually down towards the first clump of trees. On the recce, I’d gone to the right of the trees, this time, I decide to stay to the left, to maintain height, which turns out to be a mistake. Suddenly I’m slowed to a walk, hopping over the stumps and half-submerged tree limbs of clear-felled ground. I get down to the stream as quickly as possible, cross at a bend, and soon I’m on the military road. I catch up with another runner, who turns out to be Paul. “There’s 4 or 5 in front” he tells me. “You’ll catch them all, except maybe Billy. He’s got 10 or 12 minutes on you…”. “I’ll give it a go” I say, mumble, or think, I’m not sure which.
Right enough, after CP2 I quickly pass a couple more. As I reach the slopes below Art’s Lough, I see Billy’s black and white East Antrim vest disappear over the top of the climb, 10 minutes is about right I think, wondering how Paul could accurately judge the time gap between us… experience, I suppose. My legs feel heavy as I start the climb, I remind myself to eat, and settle into a steady climb, don’t push, a long way to go yet. At Art’s Lough feel the first twinge of cramp as I cross some soft ground… shit, I look at my watch, 23km, a bit early! I catch up with Liam, he appears to be suffering at least as much as I am, which is reassuring, I keep the steady climb going, up and around the steep re-entrant. As I contour around the ridge of Cloghernagh, into the mist, I get a gentle reminder of how quickly the doubt sets in when the destination is obscured by mist and the ground doesn’t match up to expectation. I seem to have been contouring for ages. I tell myself to trust the bearing. After an eternity… at least 2 or 3 minutes… the slopes below Kelly’s Lough appear out of the mist. The climb to the lake looks much longer than I remember it! I scan the hillside below for Billy, no sign. Maybe his black and white striped vest camouflages him, like a zebra…?
I take a tumble on the descent, my right calf and something in my left hip go into spasm simultaneously. I descend tentatively and wash down a salt tab with a couple of bottles of stream water. Up to the lough and stop for more water on the way down again.
At the zigzags, I head left to the forest, across the steep ground, nursing my legs which are twinging with cramp at any irregular movement. As the river comes into view, I see Billy crossing the bridge far below. “Not catching him” I say out loud to myself.
At the checkpoint, I refill my bottle and head off. He’s 4 or 5 minutes ahead I’m told. At this point my brain doesn’t compute that I’ve gained 5 minutes over the course of leg 3, I don’t entertain the idea of winning, only concerning myself with staying ahead of whoever is chasing me. As I climb the zigzags, I listen closely for the shouts of encouragement which would signal the next runner coming through the carpark below. I alternate between a march and a shuffle up towards Mullacor, the threat of cramp has subsided on these relatively level trails. As I near the right-turn to the steps, suddenly Billy is only 200m ahead of me!! “I’ve got him” I think to myself. The steps are agony, and as I turn left at the top, expecting to see Billy ahead of me, he’s nowhere to be seen. Across the boardwalk and onto the forest roads, no sign, even when I can see a long way ahead, no Billy. Maybe I don’t got him after all. Or maybe he took a different route? On my recce, I’d speculatively followed the tracks of some mammoth forestry vehicle down through the last section of woods, it had been rough going over brush and branches and a fallen tree, finally spitting me out just above the junction of the WW and Spinc trail. I hadn’t planned to use this shortcut in the race, who knows how many more trees might have fallen, or been cut down, since March, and the ground would be treacherous on tired legs. But now, in 2nd place, it seems like I have to give it a go. I tell myself that it’s my only chance. So, at the junction I head off, with some trepidation, into the woods. The fallen tree is there just as I remember it, over the tree, duck down, scurrying under the dense brush of the closely planted trees for 10 or 15m and I’m out onto another next set of tracks cut through the woods. The forest road appears through the trees below, and there’s Billy! I pop out of the woods and onto the road, just 10m in front of him. I feel like saying sorry, but instead I mumble “Good man Billy” or something to that effect, before turning and haring off down towards the lake. A shot of adrenaline gives new life to my previously weary legs. I can do this. The tourists turn and stare as I splash into the water at the Upper Lake and then immediately sprint off again. Billy is 150m behind as I turn for home, it’s enough. I keep it steady to the lower lake, apologise my way through the monastic site, through the arch, and the sight of the finish flags is very welcome indeed!
What a great day out this race is!! The route is fantastic, and the route choice and handicapped starts both add so much more interest! Thanks to all involved in organising, marshalling and supporting on the day!!
Race: 7 May 2022
