ADVENTURE

MAMORES ROUND DNF

11 Munros. 58 kilometres. 5,279 metres of ascent.

ADVENTURE

MAMORES ROUND DNF

11 Munros. 58 kilometres. 5,279 metres of ascent.

Sometimes the hardest part is knowing when to turn around.

Learning to trust your gut, listen to yourself and accept that not every adventure goes to plan.

I was looking for a run.

Not just another run from home, but something a bit different. Somewhere further away, something hard, and preferably something with a stupid amount of elevation.

I’d really wanted to get the CMD Arete and Ben Nevis into a run, but travelling all the way to Fort William for one summit seemed a bit daft.

So I thought:

Why not throw in the Mamores Round beforehand?

What could possibly go wrong?

Sometimes the hardest part is knowing when to turn around.

Learning to trust your gut, listen to yourself and accept that not every adventure goes to plan.

I was looking for a run.

Not just another run from home, but something a bit different. Somewhere further away, something hard, and preferably something with a stupid amount of elevation.

I’d really wanted to get the CMD Arete and Ben Nevis into a run, but travelling all the way to Fort William for one summit seemed a bit daft.

So I thought:

Why not throw in the Mamores Round beforehand?

What could possibly go wrong?

GETTING THERE

I’d recently discovered the Ember bus service from Inverurie to Fort William.

£18 return.

It was a no-brainer.

The bus left Inverurie at around 03:00, with the plan being simple: get on, sleep my way to Fort William via a bus change in Inverness, then start running.

And that’s roughly what happened.

I slept. Dozed. Slept some more.

Although “slept” is probably being generous.

I couldn’t get properly comfortable and the quality of sleep wasn’t exactly brilliant, but it was enough. By the time I arrived in Fort William just after 07:00, I felt okay.

I got off the bus and headed straight to McDonald’s for a coffee and some food, then Morrison’s to top up my fluids before heading to the taxi rank.

A short taxi ride later and I was at the Lower Falls car park.

It was time to go.

GETTING THERE

I’d recently discovered the Ember bus service from Inverurie to Fort William.

£18 return.

It was a no-brainer.

The bus left Inverurie at around 03:00, with the plan being simple: get on, sleep my way to Fort William via a bus change in Inverness, then start running.

And that’s roughly what happened.

I slept. Dozed. Slept some more.

Although “slept” is probably being generous.

I couldn’t get properly comfortable and the quality of sleep wasn’t exactly brilliant, but it was enough. By the time I arrived in Fort William just after 07:00, I felt okay.

I got off the bus and headed straight to McDonald’s for a coffee and some food, then Morrison’s to top up my fluids before heading to the taxi rank.

A short taxi ride later and I was at the Lower Falls car park.

It was time to go.

The plan

I arrived not long after 08:00 and sorted through my kit.

For this one I was using the Osprey Talon 20L.

A bit big for what would normally be a mountain run, but I was travelling by bus, carrying some extra stuff I wouldn’t usually take, and I’d rather have a bit too much space than not enough.

Travel gear went to the bottom of the bag.

Everything I might actually need went to the top.

Then I was off.

And, initially, the conditions were bloody brilliant.

Clear tops.

Warm.

No midges.

I knew the wind was due to pick up during the afternoon and there was a chance of the tops clouding in, but the forecast was giving me around a 70% chance of cloud-free summits.

I liked those odds.

Or at least I thought I did.

The plan

I arrived not long after 08:00 and sorted through my kit.

For this one I was using the Osprey Talon 20L.

A bit big for what would normally be a mountain run, but I was travelling by bus, carrying some extra stuff I wouldn’t usually take, and I’d rather have a bit too much space than not enough.

Travel gear went to the bottom of the bag.

Everything I might actually need went to the top.

Then I was off.

And, initially, the conditions were bloody brilliant.

Clear tops.

Warm.

No midges.

I knew the wind was due to pick up during the afternoon and there was a chance of the tops clouding in, but the forecast was giving me around a 70% chance of cloud-free summits.

I liked those odds.

Or at least I thought I did.

Mullach nan Coirean

The first Munro, Mullach nan Coirean, was straightforward enough.

Good tracks.

Good visibility.

Nothing particularly technical.

I was settling into a rhythm and getting into that nice mountain-run flow where you stop thinking about the route and just move.

But as I approached the cairn, I could see something changing.

Ben Nevis had started to disappear into the clag.

I wasn’t particularly concerned.

Not yet.

But something happened in that moment that I didn’t really recognise at the time.

I remember hoping it wouldn’t get any worse.

Normally, if the cloud comes in, it’s just something I deal with. It’s part of being in the mountains.

But on this day, on my own, something felt different.

I didn’t know it yet, but that little feeling was going to become quite important.

Mullach nan Coirean

The first Munro, Mullach nan Coirean, was straightforward enough.

Good tracks.

Good visibility.

Nothing particularly technical.

I was settling into a rhythm and getting into that nice mountain-run flow where you stop thinking about the route and just move.

But as I approached the cairn, I could see something changing.

Ben Nevis had started to disappear into the clag.

I wasn’t particularly concerned.

Not yet.

But something happened in that moment that I didn’t really recognise at the time.

I remember hoping it wouldn’t get any worse.

Normally, if the cloud comes in, it’s just something I deal with. It’s part of being in the mountains.

But on this day, on my own, something felt different.

I didn’t know it yet, but that little feeling was going to become quite important.

Stob Bàn

I cracked on towards Stob Bàn.

There were a few nice little scrambles along the way and, for a while, everything was still good.

Then the mist started building around me.

The clag was coming in properly now.

I was starting to lose a little confidence, but I was still comfortable with the task at hand. I had contingencies if I needed them. There were ways down into Glen Nevis if things deteriorated.

I wasn’t panicking.

Yet.

By the time I reached Stob Bàn, though, it was completely clagged out.

Visibility had gone.

I couldn’t see a thing.

And Stob Bàn isn’t exactly a gentle little hill when you’re standing in thick cloud with no visual reference for what is around you.

I was moving slower.

More cautiously.

And my brain was starting to fill in the blanks.

I was standing on what felt like a point in the sky surrounded by nothing.

Was there a cliff edge beside me?

A steep drop?

Or was it actually much less dramatic than my brain was telling me?

I couldn’t see.

And that was the problem.

Stob Bàn

I cracked on towards Stob Bàn.

There were a few nice little scrambles along the way and, for a while, everything was still good.

Then the mist started building around me.

The clag was coming in properly now.

I was starting to lose a little confidence, but I was still comfortable with the task at hand. I had contingencies if I needed them. There were ways down into Glen Nevis if things deteriorated.

I wasn’t panicking.

Yet.

By the time I reached Stob Bàn, though, it was completely clagged out.

Visibility had gone.

I couldn’t see a thing.

And Stob Bàn isn’t exactly a gentle little hill when you’re standing in thick cloud with no visual reference for what is around you.

I was moving slower.

More cautiously.

And my brain was starting to fill in the blanks.

I was standing on what felt like a point in the sky surrounded by nothing.

Was there a cliff edge beside me?

A steep drop?

Or was it actually much less dramatic than my brain was telling me?

I couldn’t see.

And that was the problem.

Getting off Stob Bàn

Getting off the summit was steep and wet.

And, for a moment, I was scared.

That’s not something I say very often.

I knew I had to get down, so I stopped, took a couple of breaths and started moving.

Three or four steps later, reality started to come back.

I know what I’m doing here.

This is manageable.

My brain was making this much worse than it actually was.

It was steep.

It felt exposed because I couldn’t see.

But it wasn’t some terrifying technical section that I couldn’t handle.

Down I went.

A few slides.

A few careful steps.

And eventually I dropped back underneath the clag.

The relief was immediate.

Getting off Stob Bàn

Getting off the summit was steep and wet.

And, for a moment, I was scared.

That’s not something I say very often.

I knew I had to get down, so I stopped, took a couple of breaths and started moving.

Three or four steps later, reality started to come back.

I know what I’m doing here.

This is manageable.

My brain was making this much worse than it actually was.

It was steep.

It felt exposed because I couldn’t see.

But it wasn’t some terrifying technical section that I couldn’t handle.

Down I went.

A few slides.

A few careful steps.

And eventually I dropped back underneath the clag.

The relief was immediate.

Running out of water

The whole thing had been pretty disorientating.

And I’d also started running low on fluids.

The next opportunity was a loch before the next Munro, so I pushed on.

By this point I was around three hours into the day.

I was behind schedule.

But physically?

I actually felt pretty good.

I reached the water, filled up, got some food down my neck and started the steep climb towards the next ridge.

And this is where things got interesting.

Running out of water

The whole thing had been pretty disorientating.

And I’d also started running low on fluids.

The next opportunity was a loch before the next Munro, so I pushed on.

By this point I was around three hours into the day.

I was behind schedule.

But physically?

I actually felt pretty good.

I reached the water, filled up, got some food down my neck and started the steep climb towards the next ridge.

And this is where things got interesting.

Devil’s Ridge

Up until this point, navigation hadn’t exactly been my strongest point of the day.

I knew I was heading towards a ridge and that I needed to go out and back to tick off the next Munro.

What I didn’t realise was that I was heading onto Devil’s Ridge.

I’d been in this area before.

Back in 2022 I did the Skyline Scotland Ben Nevis Ultra, so I wasn’t completely inexperienced with these hills.

The problem was that my memory of the terrain didn’t match what I was seeing.

Or, more accurately, what I wasn’t seeing.

In my head I was somewhere else on the Ring of Steal.

My bearing was fine.

My recollection of the terrain was not.

And the clag was putting me completely on the back foot.

Devil’s Ridge

Up until this point, navigation hadn’t exactly been my strongest point of the day.

I knew I was heading towards a ridge and that I needed to go out and back to tick off the next Munro.

What I didn’t realise was that I was heading onto Devil’s Ridge.

I’d been in this area before.

Back in 2022 I did the Skyline Scotland Ben Nevis Ultra, so I wasn’t completely inexperienced with these hills.

The problem was that my memory of the terrain didn’t match what I was seeing.

Or, more accurately, what I wasn’t seeing.

In my head I was somewhere else on the Ring of Steal.

My bearing was fine.

My recollection of the terrain was not.

And the clag was putting me completely on the back foot.

where it went wrong

I started making my way across the ridge.

It wasn’t how I remembered it.

Not being able to see over either side made everything feel considerably more serious.

So I gave myself a rule:

If I need to use my hands, I’m out.

The exposure was getting inside my head, but I knew the ridge itself was manageable as long as I kept my cool.

Then I reached a particular point.

The ridge narrows.

The trail drops away in front of you.

I had no idea how far it dropped.

In the clag, if you’ve never done it before, it looked like I was walking towards the edge of a cliff.

I stopped.

Checked my position.

And then I read it:

DEVIL’S RIDGE.

My brain started melting.

where it went wrong

I started making my way across the ridge.

It wasn’t how I remembered it.

Not being able to see over either side made everything feel considerably more serious.

So I gave myself a rule:

If I need to use my hands, I’m out.

The exposure was getting inside my head, but I knew the ridge itself was manageable as long as I kept my cool.

Then I reached a particular point.

The ridge narrows.

The trail drops away in front of you.

I had no idea how far it dropped.

In the clag, if you’ve never done it before, it looked like I was walking towards the edge of a cliff.

I stopped.

Checked my position.

And then I read it:

DEVIL’S RIDGE.

My brain started melting.

What the fuck am I doing?

Everything went through my head at about a million miles an hour.

What am I doing out here?

I took a few steps forward.

Stopped. Stared. And then:

“I’m getting the fuck off of here.”

Head completely gone.

I turned around and started jogging back along the ridge.

And weirdly, it felt steeper than it had a few minutes earlier.

I stopped again. Took a minute.

Asked myself a few questions.

Calm down. Try again.

So I did.

I went back for another look. Then another.

And eventually:

Fuck this. I’m bottling it.

What the fuck am I doing?

Everything went through my head at about a million miles an hour.

What am I doing out here?

I took a few steps forward.

Stopped. Stared. And then:

“I’m getting the fuck off of here.”

Head completely gone.

I turned around and started jogging back along the ridge.

And weirdly, it felt steeper than it had a few minutes earlier.

I stopped again. Took a minute.

Asked myself a few questions.

Calm down. Try again.

So I did.

I went back for another look. Then another.

And eventually:

Fuck this. I’m bottling it.

The decision

I was absolutely wrenching inside.

What the fuck was that all about?

I got back to the point where I’d broken off towards the ridge and looked up at the hills disappearing into the cloud.

I had zero desire to continue.

But more importantly:

I didn’t trust my judgement anymore.

That was the deciding factor.

My legs were fine.

I had all the gear I needed.

I had enough food to survive an apocalypse.

Physically, there was nothing stopping me.

But if your head isn’t in it, and you no longer trust your own judgement on exposed mountain terrain, that’s a pretty good reason to call it.

So I did.

I was getting off the hills.

The decision

I was absolutely wrenching inside.

What the fuck was that all about?

I got back to the point where I’d broken off towards the ridge and looked up at the hills disappearing into the cloud.

I had zero desire to continue.

But more importantly:

I didn’t trust my judgement anymore.

That was the deciding factor.

My legs were fine.

I had all the gear I needed.

I had enough food to survive an apocalypse.

Physically, there was nothing stopping me.

But if your head isn’t in it, and you no longer trust your own judgement on exposed mountain terrain, that’s a pretty good reason to call it.

So I did.

I was getting off the hills.

The walk back

I was devastated.

As I made my way down, I was already trying to work out how I could rescue the day.

Then, about 500 metres lower, I dropped out of the clag.

And almost instantly, my head cleared.

The disappointment came rushing in.

How can I rescue this?

I thought about carrying on from the Glen Nevis side.

I considered whether I could still get up Sgùrr a’ Mhàim.

I thought about the route.

But honestly?

At that point I just wanted to hide away.

I’d considered heading out towards Steall Falls and stretching the legs out, but eventually decided against it.

I would just get the Glen Nevis bus and go home.

The walk back

I was devastated.

As I made my way down, I was already trying to work out how I could rescue the day.

Then, about 500 metres lower, I dropped out of the clag.

And almost instantly, my head cleared.

The disappointment came rushing in.

How can I rescue this?

I thought about carrying on from the Glen Nevis side.

I considered whether I could still get up Sgùrr a’ Mhàim.

I thought about the route.

But honestly?

At that point I just wanted to hide away.

I’d considered heading out towards Steall Falls and stretching the legs out, but eventually decided against it.

I would just get the Glen Nevis bus and go home.

Was it a failure?

In terms of the objective?

Yes.

I set out to complete the Mamores Round.

I didn’t.

That’s a DNF.

I’m not particularly interested in pretending otherwise.

But I also don’t think every DNF needs to be turned into some inspirational lesson about how “the real victory was getting out there.”

Sometimes you just didn’t do what you set out to do.

And that’s okay.

The important bit for me was why I stopped.

I wasn’t injured.

I wasn’t out of food.

I wasn’t dangerously exhausted.

I hadn’t run out of kit.

I simply reached a point where I didn’t trust my own judgement in the conditions I was in.

And that’s not something I want to override just because I’d spent three hours getting there.

Was it a failure?

In terms of the objective?

Yes.

I set out to complete the Mamores Round.

I didn’t.

That’s a DNF.

I’m not particularly interested in pretending otherwise.

But I also don’t think every DNF needs to be turned into some inspirational lesson about how “the real victory was getting out there.”

Sometimes you just didn’t do what you set out to do.

And that’s okay.

The important bit for me was why I stopped.

I wasn’t injured.

I wasn’t out of food.

I wasn’t dangerously exhausted.

I hadn’t run out of kit.

I simply reached a point where I didn’t trust my own judgement in the conditions I was in.

And that’s not something I want to override just because I’d spent three hours getting there.

The journey home

The journey back was long.

Especially when you’re sitting on public transport replaying the day in your head.

I was disappointed.

I was frustrated.

And I definitely spent some time wondering whether I’d bottled it.

But underneath all of that, I knew I’d made the right call.

I got home.

I got back to my family in one piece.

Mission accomplished.

The route hadn’t gone anywhere.

The journey home

The journey back was long.

Especially when you’re sitting on public transport replaying the day in your head.

I was disappointed.

I was frustrated.

And I definitely spent some time wondering whether I’d bottled it.

But underneath all of that, I knew I’d made the right call.

I got home.

I got back to my family in one piece.

Mission accomplished.

The route hadn’t gone anywhere.

The hills will still be there

I went looking for a hard day in the mountains.

I got one.

It just wasn’t the one I’d planned.

The biggest thing I took from the attempt wasn’t about fitness, pace or endurance.

It was about knowing when not to force something.

It’s very easy to think:

I’ve committed to this.

I’ve already travelled all this way.

I’ve done three hours.

I should just keep going.

But that’s exactly how you end up shoehorning a route into a day when the conditions — or your own head — are telling you otherwise.

Sometimes you’ve just got to trust your gut.

Turn around.

Go home.

And come back another day.

The Mamores Round isn’t finished.

It just wasn’t my day.

And that’s alright.

The hills will still be there

I went looking for a hard day in the mountains.

I got one.

It just wasn’t the one I’d planned.

The biggest thing I took from the attempt wasn’t about fitness, pace or endurance.

It was about knowing when not to force something.

It’s very easy to think:

I’ve committed to this.

I’ve already travelled all this way.

I’ve done three hours.

I should just keep going.

But that’s exactly how you end up shoehorning a route into a day when the conditions — or your own head — are telling you otherwise.

Sometimes you’ve just got to trust your gut.

Turn around.

Go home.

And come back another day.

The Mamores Round isn’t finished.

It just wasn’t my day.

And that’s alright.

THE ADVENTURE DOESN’T END HERE

The story doesn’t end here. If you want to see the route, the conditions and the decisions as they unfolded, watch the full adventure over on YouTube.

THE ADVENTURE DOESN’T END HERE

The story doesn’t end here. If you want to see the route, the conditions and the decisions as they unfolded, watch the full adventure over on YouTube.