Going the Distance: Running 100km across The Flow Country

An icy winter day of clear skies and frozen pools working under Morven and Scaraben in 2023 sparked the idea of a 'journey' through this landscape. I wanted to be up high, on the summits of Caithness, looking over this wild landscape, where I had never been before, on this perfect winter's day. Dusted peaks and frosty glens, the sun gifting warmth through its bold glowing orange. The mountain summits are a place I know. But between the steeps, rock and heather of the mountains, there is the peat. The bogs, pools, moss and birds. Not initially as enticing, but an equally inspiring environment to move through and explore, and a landscape I have learnt and loved over the last few years. More time spent in this unique and wild part of Scotland, battling arctic storms, avoiding the baking sun, and embracing the vastness, beauty, bleakness and solitude of this area enticed me further - I want to explore more and link the landscape.

So, 18 months ago whilst staying in the Garvault Hotel - the most remote in Britain - having spent a second night watching the northern lights, out came the map. What would it take to traverse this landscape, ticking off the most prominent summits and transecting the soggiest of bogs? What would it take to explore the breadth of The Flow Country  - "The most intact and extensive blanket bog system in the world"?

Well, this is it.

A stealth car camp in a frosty Berriedale, my 01:45 watch alarm permitted me to leave my broken slumber and dampening sleeping bag. Oats slurped, coffee glugged, banana squished. Bag on. 02:00. Off I go. I immediately chuckled to myself. 'How on earth have I ended up actually setting off to do this route?'.

The night was clear; a full moon illuminated the ancient track past Langwell House, leading me into the Scarben 'Massif'. Bright enough to leave my headlamp off, I was pleased to make out the outlines of Bronze and Iron Age settlements nestled into the banks here. This area is not a choice habitat for humans, but once upon a time, people made it work.

I felt wide awake and alive, marching through the thick Heather onto Scaraben's back and swung playfully down and through the bog onto Maiden Pap and then Smean. Utterly unique and wild towers of conglomerate, hilariously steep and juxtaposing to the flat saturated land they rise up from. The moon had cast the most phenomenal pyramidal shadow of Maiden Pap, out to the NE further into the horizon I convinced myself the aurora were dancing. Perhaps in my imagination. I was living a dream after all.

The wall of Morven came fast approaching, and I was pleased to stumble into an established path I had forgotten might exist. Zigzagging through the boulders and heather I wondered how many others might have eaten a delightful pastrami, pickle, mustard and cheese sandwich during their 5 am ascent of this great peak.

Further fast-moving undulations over Small Mount, a gorgeous wee rise, took me to a trig at 517m. From here I would turn my bearing northwards, leave the firm ground of these rocky hills and enter the anticipated flows.

When planning the route, it was crucial that this 'sector', transecting 15km of pristine peatland, was done in the light. Not only because I wanted to appreciate it for all I could, but from a very real understanding that this sector may be incredibly slow going and could indeed be quite dangerous if I could not see my surroundings. I had recorded peat over 6 meters deep here previously, and that was in the drier areas.

The big bold moon now sat low on the horizon, a glowing yellow in the soft blue to the cloudless west. The mountains I was leaving behind were now silhouetted against a spartan red sky, and the fiery sun started to cast its eye over the North Sea.

The peatlands were now waking up, the deer crunched through the frosty grasses, snipe drummed high in the sky and the meadow pipits and golden plovers crescendos into their twinkling chorus. 

Energised by the morning light and abundance of life around me I danced my way between the sphagnum carpets and deep peat pools, already lush with cotton grasses and bog bean. I expected this sector to give me micro route choice trouble and slow progress, knowing how rough and wet it would be. Anticipating 'bog-de-sacs' and retracing steps to find a passage between pools and marshes. But, after the direst March for years and an unusually warm first 2 weeks of April the bog was in drought. It gave smooth passage. This was, of course, one of the key reasons I chose this day for the traverse. The growing season had not yet started, and the bogs rarely get as dry as they were this weekend; it was the perfect conditions for a realistic and enjoyable(!) traverse.

The condition of this 'intact and extensive blanket bog system' was, at times, alarming. Huge hags towered over my head, peat pans cracked and dry like a desert, heather and grasses brittle, and browsed by the huge herds of deer that now patrol this land. Rather than trudge through thick tussocks and meander between deep moss, I could clamber down the collapsing peat hags into the basin of these drained pools which were the size of football pitches and simply run along their dry bed. They would have made excellent an excellent arena for cricket, and certainly made for a great running track. This bog was struggling.

Reaching trig 438m the high transect of the Knockfin Heights was complete. A truly wonderful few hours moving through a landscape like no other. It was now a trot to the A839, the first checkpoint, at just over 40km in. Here, my knight in shining armour, Chris Wilkinson, was waiting for me, like a young puppy wagging his tail, bursting with excitement to get stuck into the day's adventure! After a quick resupply of snacks, an 8am can of coke and a few roast potatoes, it was onto the Ben Griams. A lovely runnable estate track for a few km's got the biomechanics aligned again. Black grouse darted from the vegetation, and geese banked hard, investigating this stranger on their patch. The first real slog of the day was up Ben Griam Beg, but being the highest hill fort in Scotland, I was excited to inspect the settlement remains and see the intact footprint fixed into this summit. Down and up through steep, rough terrain, the day was hot, and I was bothered. Chris would be waiting on Ben Griam Mor for me, and it was lovely to share a summit together before midday! We playfully descended side by side, hopping and skipping down to the Garvault Hotel for an incredibly civilised pot of tea, undoubtedly the most crucial part of this traverse.

The next section to Syre Lodge was fairly undefined other than the initial Beinn a'Mhadaidh' Hill of the wolf'. The origin of its name, like many hills, is unknown. But it is not surprising. The view from its many craggy summits is panoramic and at just over halfway I could see the full traverse, from where I had been, and where I was going! I followed my nose for the rest of this leg, and rather than keep to high ground I popped down to Lochan Sgeireach to scout any bird life, but the wind was up, and my birding was futile. The condition of the peatland here, however, was not. The resilience of these habitats was very much on show, as despite the dry and drought, kilometre after kilometre here was hard fought in deep, wet, mossy peat. The sphagnum was doing its job, and doing it well. The day was hot, but boy, this bog was wet!

At 65km it was time for a shoe and sock change, I was pleased for this as my feet were wrinkled and sodden. I was feeling good and looked forward to the final 3 mountains to come. I knew the best of the bog was behind me and the best of the mountains ahead. But to reach their crowned summits would be no joy ride. Establishing myself onto the SE should of Beinn Stumanadh was no mean feat. It was extremely rough with thick heather and invisible drains catching me off guard like landmines. I took a wee pause before the summit here, to marvel at how far I had come, take on an unnecessary amount of sugar, and remind myself the end of nearing, but still more than a decent hill day away! The North ridge was an excellent running decent plummeting towards Loch na Moine' loch of peat' a stunning area of natural peatland and fauna. I signed the book at Achnanclach, a surprisingly busy bothy looking at the entrees, and had a wonderful conversation with an Irish couple from Golspie who were birding on Loch na Moine, unfazed by the abundance of divers and grebes on the loch, it was the Waders they were after!

The route choice up Ben Loyal was unorthodox at best, which was appropriate for this whole route I suppose! From the road, Chris and I more or less straight-lined it to the summit of Ben Hiel. The initial kilometre was utterly gruelling in dense vegetation and soft ground. Totally unnecessary given the lovely ridge only a few hundred meters to the south. But anyway, that's the way we did it. And really, it was a pleasurable shared expression of our love for bogs. From here it was linking trods onto the ridge proper, revealing the astonishing buttresses and shoulders of Ben Loyals NW side. We summited together and waved goodbye as Chris dropped back to the car to continue around to the endpoint, and I embarked on the final sector of the traverse.

Following the ridge of Ben Loyal south, I was treated to a fantastic exposed trod to the west of the Carn a Tionail summit which slingshotted me into the Coire below, taking a much more direct line to the south of Loch na Dithreibh than I had planned. The peatlands here were of mixed condition, hillsides dominated by heather and the rocky bands forcing hydrology to move rapidly through the landscape rather than seep through the water table. The terrain from summit to summit of Loyal and Hope was relentlessly tough. A marginal gain in speed required an exponential output in effort. I conceded to a crawl. There was nothing loyal about this landscape, and I was hoping for the summit, or at least easier ground. But I was still ahead of schedule and enjoying the day. The clouds had rolled in, and the sun subtly disappeared from the day leaving the sky grey and dark. The spontaneity of this unplanned effort was catching up with me, and whilst my legs and mind felt strong, my body was tiring. The sheer gradient to reach the south shoulder of Ben Hope at 719 felt like it took an anaerobic effort, clambering precariously balanced rocky boulders, clutching at tufts and hummocks deep in the hillside for purchase. As I crested the hill the wind was howling. Pleased to have my layers with me I wrapped up and summoned a jog to reach the summit of Ben Hope, just before the need for a head torch.

Despite the deteriorating conditions, I gave myself a moment of reflection at the summit, to appreciate the day's journey, the landscape I had passed through and my relationship with it. The history of this land, what it once was and what it could be in the future.

Adrenaline and disbelief of the day’s success fuelled a fluid decent into the darkness of Strath More below.

100km, 6500m, 10 notable summits, 'the most extensive blanket bog system in the world'. It was by far the biggest day I had ever undertaken on 2 feet!

A truly awesome journey of exploring, experiencing and exerting! A million thanks for Chris for supporting, a monumental effort from him. Unsurprisingly very few people wanted to drive the length of the A9 and stand in a bog at 3 days notice to support this effort!
The offerings of this area are unique, and it really is a (bloody massive)hidden gem of wildlife, landscape and mountains. Well worth getting here and exploring!

 

Dan's epic adventure may now be done, but peatland scientist Roxane Andersen's journey is just beginning. She is taking on a 110km running traverse across part of the Flow Country to raise awareness and funding to support the ongoing work of the Flow Country Partnership, including the management of the World Heritage Site.

You can support Roxane by donating here.