26 Soggy hours on skye

GB Ultras | Skye trail ultra

Distance: 79m/127km (Recorded 81m/130km)

Elevation: 12400ft/3780m (Recorded 14649ft/4465m)

I first visited Skye in 2024 as a volunteer for this race. I stayed for a week exploring the island once the event was over. The epic landscapes and rugged terrain captivated me and the seed was firmly planted. I knew I’d have to return one day and attempt the race for myself.

Training and Preparation

The race was entered, the countdown was on. Winter training went really well, I built experience on the fells, logged some 60-mile weeks, plenty of long runs, countless hills, and, for once, managed to stay consistent with strength and conditioning. Even though the main goal in races of this distance is simply to finish, I had an idea in my head of finishing in under 24 hours.

Race week finally arrived. Packing took days of faffing and double checking kit lists. Race bag with mandatory kit, race fuel, and water; drop bags for halfway and the finish line  and camping gear for five days. After a nine hour drive on Thursday I arrived in Broadford, food, drink, and sleep were the priorities.

Friday was a lazy morning followed by a drive around the island to take in some sights before heading to registration to pick up my bib number, hand over drop bags, and catch up with the event crew. Pizza and chips for tea, alarm set for 3am, and a half-hearted attempt at some sleep.

Race Day

Race day was here! The alarm went off, though the rain had already kept me awake most of the night. I got myself ready and headed to the finish line to catch the 4am bus to the start. A bus load of people huddled in the hallway of the village hall, all tired, grumpy and cold except for one girl, Samantha, who was just genuinely happy to be there and raring to go. 

At the start line it was windy and cold, but thankfully the rain had finally stopped. Tracker collected, pose  for a start line photo, nervous wee behind a wall, then lined up and ready to go.



A gentle climb along the road turned into gravel, then a field, then boggy heather. Just three miles in, I misjudged a bog and went straight in, up past my ankles. I was a little annoyed at myself, but I soon realised it wouldn’t matter, the rain had started again and I wasn’t going to be dry for at least another 24 hours.

the trotternish ridge

After a steep climb into the clouds and onto the Trotternish Ridge, we dropped down to the Quiraing with its rock formations, steep walls, and less technical terrain. I felt good and was running well, spurred on by the friendly faces of photographers and race crew, I soon made it to Checkpoint 1.

A random kit check had me panicking that I’d forgotten something, even after triple-checking my bags, but I passed the check and cracked on along the remaining 14 miles of Trotternish Ridge towards the Old Man of Storr.

Heavy wind, sideways rain, zero visibility, off-piste terrain, steep climbs, and even steeper descents made this section brutally slow. Around five hours later, the Old Man came into view. A quick tourist dodging descent led me to the car park and CP2.

I was hungry (unusual for me when running) so I decided to make the most of it: jam sandwiches, salted potatoes, blocks of cheese, peanut butter pretzels, watermelon and chocolate brownies. I took on everything I could before heading out again.

Pushing on through portree

I’d heard those first 21 miles were the toughest, probably true, but the next stretch to Portree wasn’t much easier. The only blessing was that the paths were more visible, though still not straightforward. Eventually the trail dropped to sea level and back into civilisation as I entered Portree and reached CP3. More snacks, a cup of tea to go, and back out again.

It was six miles to the “not-quite-halfway” checkpoint where my drop bag, and more importantly, a dry base layer, were waiting for me. Fairly flat and mostly runnable, apart from a rocky beach section. I caught up to another runner and we covered some miles together, the conversation was welcomed and helped the time and miles pass.

At CP4, I ordered a cup of tea and some cheese on toast, changed into dry socks and a fresh base layer. Warm and dry for the first time all day, I was tempted to stay longer but the volunteers ‘gently encouraged’ me to get off my arse and keep going.

In between the Cuillins

The rain stopped for around five miles before returning just before CP5 at Sligachan Campsite. More snacks, waterproof back on, head torch moved to within easy reach as the light was starting to fade, and off we go.

The next checkpoint was 14 miles away. I set off down Sligachan Glen, threading between the Black and Red Cuillin mountains. In clear weather, this section would have been stunning, especially at golden hour, but in keeping with the day so far, visibility was near zero.

Nine miles later, a mountain marshal directed me up and over a long climb and let me know I had “2.5 miles of rough terrain, then 2.5 miles of road” into the indoor checkpoint at 56 miles. Rough terrain was an understatement, steep, boggy, loose rocks, and rivers that had become torrents. The water was flowing so fast down some of the paths that I had to keep checking the GPX to ensure I was on a path and not in a river.

The road was a welcome sight, leading me to Elgol and CP7. I was hungry again, so I made the most of it, sugary coffee, two bowls of pasta, salted potatoes and biscuits. By now I was wet and cold. I’d heard many runners had dropped due to the cold and being unable to get/keep warm, so I was grateful I’d packed a padded gilet, it quite probably saved my race.

the final checkpoint

Leaving Elgol, I teamed up with another runner whose watch battery was dying so was struggling with navigation. Conversation was difficult, from fatigue and tiredness but mostly due to his thick Chinese accent and poor English. We did our best to communicate but we were likely having two completely separate conversations at once, it helped the miles pass at least.

This section was slow going through forestry and yet more deep mud and bogs. By the time we reached the final checkpoint, he was so cold that the volunteers had to immediately get him wrapped in a foil blanket and dry robe, unfortunately he had to drop out.

The Final Stretch

Just 14 miles to go, nothing could stop me now, right?

A couple of miles of road running helped me warm up, then back to trails for a long coastal climb. My stomach had finally gone, and I was struggling to eat, just tiny sips of water, a few boiled sweets, and the odd ginger biscuit. The sky lightened and the rain eased to showers as I followed the undulating coastal path, narrow, rocky, and relentless. I tried to run the less technical sections and hiked the rest.

When my watch showed the final climb approaching, I really wasn’t sure if I had the energy. I downed a caffeine gel, took a deep breath, and put one foot in front of the other. Photographers David and Joel were located along the climb. For some reason my brain was telling me I’d missed the final cut off, but they convinced me otherwise: “Loads of time left, 2.5 hours for five miles, get moving!”

The descent wasn’t the glorious sprint I'd imagined, my left knee protested every step,  but I managed a steady trot.

Reaching the bottom, two miles to go, runnable tracks and, unbelievably, sunshine. I stopped briefly in a sheep field to strip layers off (and get attacked by midges), then pushed on.

From somewhere, I found energy again. I ran most of the final two miles, even the uphills. Into Broadford, onto the road, and finally the finish line was in sight. As I rounded the corner into the village hall car park, the heavens opened once more. Fitting, really, I may as well finish as wet as I’d been for 99% of the race.

Finished. 26 hours and 2 minutes. Just under an hour inside the final cutoff.

Reflections

Not quite the 24 hours I’d hoped for, I’d underestimated both the terrain and the weather. But the main goal was to cross the finish line and I’m incredibly proud I did.

A silver medal for finishing inside the top 50 came as a surprise, until I learned that over half the field had dropped out. That only made the achievement feel more meaningful, to know I could continue and push through when so many couldn’t.

This is not a race to be taken lightly. Experience in mountain and ultra running is a must, but if you have it, get this one on your bucket list. Despite the brutal conditions, it was an unforgettable adventure, a true test of grit, endurance, and mindset. 



And yes, I might just find myself back on that start line again someday.