Mud, marshes and Hebridean wilderness: racing the off-road Craggy Island Triathlon

The next puddle is a big one. The competitor muddy water as he hears me chaining up my gears behind him. He quickly pulls his bike to the side. 

My turn. As I ride into the water my bike slowly but steadily drops into the water. I get an encouraging shout from my now bystanding fellow competitor.

He shouts out how impressed he is as I make it past his bail-out point but as the water splashes my fingertips, I imagine my bike mechanic shaking his head. 

My bottom bracket is not just near the water, it’s fully submerged in it. If there’s a rock underneath me, I’m in trouble.

Luckily, there’s not and I make it out in one piece but I’m not sure how wise my attempt to impress was. Up ahead, the mountains of the Isle of Mull mark the horizon. 

The walkers dotted all around clap and cheer us on. I can’t help thinking I should really take a moment to stop and take it all in.

The clear blue skies overhead somewhat belie the ground conditions which are sodden. It makes for a fun mix, with no easy miles and full concentration required. 

I’m on the bike leg of the Craggy Island triathlon on the small island of Kerrera on Scotland’s west coast.

Much as I tend to complain these days about fading fitness and all sorts of aches and pains, the truth is I’m in decent shape for this one. 

A new job coaching kids means I’ve had to change my training recently. Much shorter and sharper runs have been a feature as have a few extra sessions with a fellow coach who loves his structure and efforts. 

It’s all led to being in better shape than usual and try as I might to berate myself, I know it. 

Last chance saloon?

This is logistically a very challenging race for organisers Durty Events. They’ve been very open in the build-up that today might well be the last ever running of the event. 

Way back in 2011 I managed to win the inaugural race and selfish old me did think it would be very cool to win the last one as well. 

I was, however, very aware that in the intervening years I’d jumped from the senior category to super veteran. 

On top of that, this event is all about inclusivity. There’s a large number of first timers and a real atmosphere of celebrating taking part, which is obvious from the off. 

I tell myself that racing will have to take a back seat today – but who am I kidding?! 

Race day

For a variety of reasons, I calculated that the easiest option to travel to the race was to drive up and down on the same day. 

A 5-hour round trip in the car seemed just about doable but my plan to get to bed early the night before was scuppered by a compulsion to watch the now infamous Ryder Cup. 

Come race day, a 4am alarm call and a roadside power nap mean I get to Oban on time for my ferry crossing. 

I say ferry – it’s more a selection of day cruise vessels bearing a strong resemblance to a scene from Dunkirk. 

This race is so popular that they hold it on both Saturday and Sunday.

 I’m racing on the Sunday and whilst the previous day’s competitors had terrible weather, today is blue skies and flat calm water as we make the short crossing to Kerrera. 

As we huddle together on the boat’s decks, it’s smiles all round with phones held aloft to capture that all important content. 

Arriving on Kerrera almost three hours before race start, there’s one key dilemma – food. I opt for a breakfast roll and in the interests of optimal digestion make an effort to chew more than usual. 

There are plenty of like-minded and friendly people around. I grab a chat with David Custer, president of the Orkney Triathlon club and hear all about his plans for his race next year. 

It passes the time perfectly. I manage to grab another quick power nap in the autumn sun and I’m good to go.

It’s a rolling start for the swim – you punch your dibber and off you go. It works well, with competitors finding plenty of space in the water. I start near the front – I don’t think I fancy a congested bike course – and jump into the clear Atlantic water. 

It’s cool but not overly so. I quickly warm up and find my rhythm. This is nice. I’ve finished my open water swimming season, but I now fear I may have been a tad hasty. 

Boggy biking

I’m all too soon out of this lovely section and onto dry land. Through transition and onto my trusty mountain bike, I see others ahead. 

The wide solid gravel track makes for quick progress but as we turn off it, the pace slows and the ground becomes heavy. No danger of an imminent hose pipe ban here. The consequence of yesterday’s heavy rain and enthusiastic competitors is clear to see below my wheels. 

Slipping and sliding with the occasional dismount and push, I make my way through the field. I see Megan Mowbray, winner of yesterday’s race and marshal today. She directs me up a welcome return to a more solid wide gravel trail. 

With track conditions constantly changing, we’re soon back to grass and mud to circumnavigate the impressive Gylen Castle on the southernmost section of the bike course. 

I hit the final section; a tarmac return to transition up the northeastern side of the island. 

With nobody in sight ahead, my mind briefly wanders. Am I in the lead? 

Entering transition, I’m far too focused on nailing my flying leap to remember to dib in. I make my apologies to the marshals, dib in and with running shoes on, head out. 

Hanging on

The initial climb up the small hill tests the legs – they feel just about ok. 

Paula from my triathlon club is cheering on club members. She squints her eyes to look at me and then exclaims “oh it’s Sean!”. She may even have prefaced that with an expletive or two. 

I tell her off for sounding so surprised, for which she immediately apologises and then tells me I’m second. I think I do rather well to soldier on despite the devastating double whammy – I just about survive. 

This is proper off-road running with only a very faint track. The run course now briefly joins the bike course and I exchange encouraging comments with cyclists heading to transition.

I keep looking forlornly ahead to see first place but with nobody in sight, inevitably my gaze turns backwards. 

I see James Tedham. Formerly in the Parachute Regiment of the army, he was knocked off his bike just a few days before Celtman and still did the race. He’s not the sort of guy I want to see chasing me. 

I focus on pushing on but the ground is more like a marsh. I console myself with the thought that it’s the same for everyone, but then again James isn’t really everyone. Given the rough and ready nature of the course, I’m concerned about going the wrong way as well. 

I needn’t be though as there are markers every 50 metres or so. That’s a big job for the organisers and is very much appreciated particularly at this point in proceedings. I finally see first place on the top of the last rise but he’s well ahead. 

One final look back assures me I’ll just about hang on to second and that realisation gives me a very welcomed boost. 

As I run back to the finish, others are heading out. They are very complimentary to me, which is very kind and appreciated.

I do my best to reciprocate but as hard as I try to avoid saying that most pointless of phrases, the occasional “keep going!” does slip out. I really need to work on my repertoire. 

Second is best

I finished in 1 hour and 42 minutes for second place and first super veteran. So often second is a position of mixed emotions, but not for me on this occasion. 

I was three minutes behind first place and whilst it might not seem so on paper, that’s a decent chunk of time on a course like this. I don’t think I could have been much quicker. 

My transitions remain sluggish – I do have a slight paranoia about pulling my back whilst trying to remove my wetsuit! I’m very aware it involves somewhat more vigorous movement than I’m used to. A sensible person would practise. 

My technical off-road running is particularly poor these days, but I was very happy with how the day went.

 In any case, this is not a race or venue where any form of complaint seems fitting. 

Sitting at the finish line at the wonderful Kerrera marina in the warm autumn sunshine and chatting to fellow competitors, it’s impossible not to be lifted by the energy of events such as these. 

Everyone I speak to is so positive. I often find myself having to turn my ear closer to hear them as we’re drowned out by the near constant shouts of encouragement as people finish. 

Many spectators have come over for the day to cheer on their friends and family. With all shapes and sizes, ages and racing backgrounds, this event gets things so very right. 

Whilst there is uncertainty around the race’s future, one thing is clear – its legacy is powerful. 

We all know how triathlon has so many race formats and to be honest I sometimes struggle to keep up, but the Craggy Island triathlon does provide a template which in some shape or form is surely very much worth continuing with.

Looking for a multisport challenge yourself? We rounded up the hardest triathlons in the world.