Paola Handley
Cape Wrath Ultra and the Feralship of the Midge
A pilgrimage into suffering, absurdity, beauty and resilience.
Last year I signed up for the CWU full of confidence, enthusiasm, and arrogance. Suffice it to say, I was promptly humbled by the Wrath of the Trail. Since July, it's been injury, illness, rinse and repeat — and I knew I stood only the faintest chance of completing it.
Day 1 - Fort William to Glenfinnan
Nerves are high. Spirits too. Everything is fine and dandy… except for the scorching hot weather. A sighting of the Jacobite train gliding over the Glenfinnan Viaduct adds a touch of magic. The tartan onesie I packed to avoid freezing my ass off at night, paired with a midge net, accidentally turns me into a fashion icon. High-land couture.
Day 2 - Glenfinnan to Kinloch Hourn
Miles should be counted in dog years. Five took three hours to cover. I smash the Guinness World Record for most uses of the phrase “that’s f*****d up.” But it’s also my favourite day. For the first — but not last — time this week, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for being in such an incredible part of the world, in the company of other incredible women (shout out to Erin, who came back for her second attempt and showed a grit and determination that would put a professional athlete to shame).
Day 3 - Kinloch Hourn to Achnashellach
Sunstroke + GI issues = game over before checkpoint 1. At least it was a gorgeous sunny day. Questionable tan lines will keep the memories alive for a while (including some from pole gloves: tanned fingers and pale hands is quite the look). It’s the only day I didn't spend with my buddy and fellow member of The Green Runners Petra (who incidentally did 90% of the navigation — so I really didn’t stand much of a chance without her). But I got to play Good Samaritan and enjoyed the company of fellow participant Jonas, so not all effort was wasted.
Day 4 - Achnashellach to Kinlochewe
After the literally steep learning curve of Day 2, this was the day I coined the phrase: "Fool me once, Shane on you. Fool me twice..." It started with breezing through 15 glorious, easy, piece-of-cake miles — only 9 left to camp! — and ended in F*****g Mordor. Bogs so shitty, if I’d been Sarah, I’d have left Toby to be turned into a goblin without a second thought. (Also: King Jareth? Dreamboat. Win-win.) Thankfully we were led through it by Fiona, fellow TGR member and proficient swearer (sporting a “f***k” Wheel of Fortune pin on her pack, for when she feels expletively embarrassed).
Relentless forward progress ©No Limits Photography
Day 5 - Kinlochewe to Inverbroom
A cheat 10k day. Washing my socks in streams mid-course and using my running pack as a clothesline? Absolutely acceptable. Snot rockets have been perfected. Comparing the state of our feet in the tent becomes prime entertainment during the brief window between camp admin and sleep.
Day 6 - Inverbroom to Inchnadamph
Comfortable temperatures, high-end bothies, endless runnable tracks, and a pub so irresistible that participants refuse to be driven back to camp.
Day 7 - Inchnadamph to Kinlochbervie
Incredible views — or rather, a total lack thereof in fog and rain. Slip ’n’ slide mud. Loch after loch. The highest waterfall in the UK. And the summit from hell before checkpoint 2. We’re so drenched it basically counts as laundry day. Which is just as well, because somewhere on the trail I realise I’m one pair of pants short. One of the most fun days out there (like, type 1 fun) despite shitting bricks when my buddy’s GPX failed and we had to rely solely on my watch and navigational skills — in zero visibility. By this point, I finally start to grasp how to run this thing. I wish I’d been able to recce it, or at least train on similar terrain.
Finally some Scottish weather ©No Limits Photography
Day 8 - Kinlochbervie to Cape Wrath
I’ve gone 100% feral. Absolutely nothing wrong with using Gurney Goo as face moisturiser. I set off in damp clothes — no point agonising over it. With a forecast of heavy rain and 40mph winds, dry kit wouldn’t last long anyway. Threatened with 10 brutal km leading up to Cape Wrath, I find myself wondering when the bad part will start (such is the nature of the course: it breaks you into submission, and you eventually accept the inevitability of having no control. You even get used to the madness). But the weather holds up, gifting us with views as far as the eye can see.
My trail/tent mate and I reach Cape Wrath lighthouse, agree it looked bigger in pictures, and resolve to never do this again.
I came away utterly and completely in love with whatever f****d-up excuse for a trail that is.
Nine days of bonding over endless hours of hiking (very little running) and downtime at dinner or in the tent — removed from the world — left me completely restored and reset my brain. The event itself ran like a perfectly oiled machine, even in the face of unforeseen circumstances — a testament to the professionalism of OE and the hard work of the volunteers. They were running their own endurance event, setting up and dismantling camps at speed, feeding hordes of participants in various states of dishevelment, and taking care of injuries at exponentially increasing volume.
(On a separate note: one of the hardest things to accept upon returning is that daily chips and cake don’t constitute an acceptable form of afternoon tea.)
The trail is an uncanny metaphor for life, with its literal highs and lows, unexpected challenges, and endless, brutal passes you think will never end — only to be replaced by unbridled joy, pride, and gratitude. While I wish I’d completed it, I don’t feel I have any unfinished business: I got to cover two-thirds of the trail, made friends, and enjoyed the camaraderie and simple pleasures of camp life.
Paola finding her stride on Day One of the Cape Wrath Ultra ©Reuben Tabner Photography
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