The Mourne Skyline

11th October 2025 - 22miles / 2700+m

Copper Skytrail in 2024 was my favourite race to date. It felt like the perfect bang for buck between distance, elevation, time on feet and challenging terrain. I pushed myself to the limit and enjoyed every moment.

Since then I have been keen to do more Skyraces, I feel like I found my thing. I love pushing hard, gnarly terrain, sections of scrambling and a relatively short time needed. It hits all the spots for me.

I had been looking at the Lake District and St Sunday Sky Race but this year the date didn’t work. I was available for the weekend of the Sky Run the Mournes though, albeit, in the end, making for a very busy time around the race - with a mountain bike enduro event the weekend before and a work trip to Oslo during the week, landing back home Thursday evening and then flying to Dublin Friday afternoon…

We flew to Dublin rather than Belfast (which is closer to the Mournes) as I went with my friend, experienced ultra runner, ski-mo-er and all round mountain goat, Paul.

Paul was keen soon as I put the idea out, a day or so before I signed up back in July. Teamwork from the off and Dads for the win. My Dad drove us to Heathrow and Paul’s Dad picked us up from Dublin where we then borrowed his car for the weekend to head up to Newcastle to stay a night ahead of the race.

Our accommodation was in the perfect spot, less than a mile from the event making registration easy and a relaxed start to the day.

We headed off from Donard Park up a climb through the forest. We were probably in the front third of a few hundred people in our race.

If I was alone my approach was going to be the same as the Copper Skytrail; empty the tank, give it all, see what I could do. The plan changed being with a friend. We didn’t discuss a plan but I figured we’d go round together and for me that didn’t actually mean much of a change (to giving it my all) since I am normally hanging on to keep up with Paul.

We climbed together - hiking with poles to the foot of Slieve Donard. Slieve Donard was becoming ominous. It had been mentioned a few times by Paul but also by other friends who know the Mournes. At 850m it’s the highest Peak in the Mourne mountains.

But we weren’t ready to climb it yet. It was saved for the final climb of the race, at the end of the loop an out and back to the summit before descending back down to the start and finish at Donard Park. With Slieve Donard to our left we climbed a style over the wall and run into some single track carving the side of the hill. I ended up stuck behind someone. I couldn’t help but overtake at the first opportunity so I could run at my own pace.

I tend to speed up when I get to some fun single track or technical train and the guy in front had been moving slower than I wanted to move. Give me a fire road and I will plod, struggle to motivate myself - single track, I enjoy it, I go faster.

Paul didn’t follow though, not right away at least. A few times I pushed ahead and he seemed to hold back. I decided he was telling me something. One overexcited wanna be sky runner sprinting off like an enthusiastic puppy and a more seasoned, very experienced long distance runner (who has also spent time in the Mournes before) going easier, intentionally slowing me down predicting I’d blow up? I might… I took the hint and we balanced out.

The undulation became relentless steep downs aside the wall reach the bottom and straight back up. Some sections steeper than others and some with scrambling. It was as dry as it probably gets but there was plenty of mist and lots of sheer rock, I was grateful to be wearing mutants on my feet which dug into the grassy sections and stuck to the rock. They gave a lot of confidence.

“Woody the parachute” On one particularly steep descent, steepest of the course I’d say, Paul and I had been taking it reeaaaaally wide. Zig zagging to shallow out the gradient. At the bottom I noticed a guy to my right straight lining it down aside the wall, grass and rock, steepest line you could find. A tall guy, extending his arms and poles to drop big chunks at a time.

Paul, in front of me clocked the same and said “hey, I think you forgot your parachute there buddy” confused, the guy looked up then, nooo, his concentration broke. He slipped down. Half his body length, down on his arse and wrist. Immediately Paul apologised, clearly not the intended result. We checked with him to ensure that he was OK, he was, though a little disgruntled. He followed us up the next climb and I realised I knew of him through Instagram since he’d been active in all the skyraces I follow, we chatted a bit and he seemed to perk up.

Further on, around 7.5miles into the race, a runner came flying towards us with the pace of a scolded cat. I heard a guy nearby say something confused “are you alright, are you lost mate” as he continued past, a blur.

The penny dropped when a nearby Marshall let us know he was the front runner. On his way back. On his way back, already! He must have been about 13 miles in. It was Manuel Merillas who went on to win the race in an incredible 03:23:36.

For us 9.5 miles and 2 hours 15 minutes since starting we reached the aid station. It felt like we we’re going well - maybe we’d be finished within 5 hours?! - our best guesstimate before was 6 hours. The race was listed as 22miles 2,700m+ but the route on our watches showed just over 20 miles. We stuffed our faces with what we could, biscuits, banana, I tightened my laces which had started failing to hold my feet in place through harsh descents and we quickly moved on.

A short road climb and then back into wild, to undulation, up and down, hundreds of feet at a time. Relentless. I was enjoying every moment but it was relentless. We went on strong for a while but about 15miles in we were beginning to flag. Our earlier prediction that we might be done in 5 hours was going to be way out since the second half packed a much bigger punch, not that it mattered.

We attacked the steepest section again, in reverse, now a climb. The same one where “Woody the Parachute’s” accident occurred on the descent earlier. We had been yo-yo’ing with him since and there was now a running joke about us being bastards (actually I think just Paul). He was sat half way up the climb having a rest and it was entertaining when we met.

The now ominous Slieve Donard was getting mentioned again. Paul knew what was coming and he started sharing calculations - “I reckon we’ve got about another 500m when we’re here”, “another X there”. I joked to him that’s why he’s good at his job, he must just love numbers. I didn’t want to think ahead. I couldn’t dream about the pint after like Paul was because if I did I knew from experience my head would want to be there and I might struggle. I’d done a grand job at keeping charge of my mind and enjoying being in the now the whole race.

Before we knew it we were climbing the final ascent, Paul a fair way ahead, my climbing energy spent. The sun came out. But it didn’t ‘come out’ we just got above the cloud, It suddenly got warmer. We fist bumped at the top and it was all downhill now.

After the race Paul asked me if I had any low points and I was a bit surprised at the question because it obviously implied he had, which I hadn’t thought about. There were times he was a bit behind but I just figured he was pacing sensibly - there were plenty of other times it was the opposite way around, predictably and increasingly more so as it went on. (See earlier comment about enthusiastic puppy vs experience).

I really didn’t feel like I had any lows, I’d been looking forward to the event, had never been to the Mournes before so it was new and exciting. I had dreaded the busy week before it. A lot was going on in the lead up but it all went well and now I was here I was loving it.

I’d say there was just one real contender for a low point. The first part of the descent from Slieve Donard was where I struggled most. It was technical rocky steps, with a length and drop that was not compatible for my body or brains fatigue. I couldn’t quite get the foot placement right and nearly crashed a few times so had to take it super slow.

At the same time Paul was LOVING this part. He flew down the steps. When the ground became less of a gradient we were running together again and we’d take turns in towing each other along in the descent back through the forest to Donard Park. This section should have been easy but I suppose nothing is easy after 20ish miles and what ended up around 3,000m of elevation.

A few hundred meters away from the finish we’d been overtaken by another runner but he didn’t overtake and disappear, he overtook and stayed 20 paces ahead. I was feeling jovial. Paul and I were aside one another. I looked at Paul and said “let’s take him” - “what?!” said Paul. “let’s take him”. “No mate, no no, no.” “Comon”, as I started picking up the pace. Paul did too. “comon”, “let’s go comon” we kept going... A sprint finish, catching and entering the gantry with the fella who over took us. As it turns out I think he was even in a different race (there was multiple distances) and it was never about position or bettering but made for a bit of stupid fun at the end of a long race.

We met Woody again at the finish, once again he said what a bastard Paul is for trying to sabotage his race. I don’t think they’ll make each others Christmas card lists but they won’t forget one another.

Next came the best stage of all, across the car park to O’Hares for a couple of pints of Guinness zero and to bask in our sense of achievement.