The KVK one…

We arrived into Trevaunance Cove, the beautiful beach in St Agnes. It’s hard to believe now that this picturesque spot was once home to great wealth, with a harbour built with the riches and greed of the Cornish Copper mining boom. Fishing flourished, so too a market. But winter storms and hard times followed, washing the small harbour and quay into the sea, joining the Pilchards that used to be fished from this cove.

As we drove down the narrow access road, cars lined the verges of the narrow road as people spilled out on to the street. The pub was packed with a crowd sporting knee length socks and drinking electrolytes. The beer would have to wait. Today's prize was something altogether different - a coveted blue cowbell - symbolic of the Alpine climbs from where this race takes its inspiration. 100 or so people had gathered to register for the day’s assault of the KVK, a trail race over the north Cornish cliffs that would see each competitor climb 1,000m of vertical ascent.  And their reward, in addition to the cowbell medal, would be a custom brew to sip on while watching people enjoy the surf.

Driftwood Spars must have one of the best locations of any brewery, being a handful of metres from the beach. The view from the beer garden looks up towards tall cliffs and tiny trails. On any other day, it would be a welcome sight. Today though it just added to the butterflies as the cliff tops stood defiant. With the sun out and a gentle breeze blowing, this was as inviting as those steep trails would ever likely get.

As the start drew near, we were ushered down the steep ramp that leads to the beach. The organisers were out to make every single metre count.

Worm stood next to me on the start line. This was his first trip to Cornwall and up to this point, he'd been enjoying himself. That was about to change. Fast.

The course would lead us up over St Agnes Beacon, loop down to the coast path and drop back down to Trevaunance Cove before heading north up and over the Blue Hills, in a 24km figure of eight loop.

Leaving the beach, we climbed towards the top of St Agnes Beacon in what might be the slowest ever start to a competitive race. Turning right at the pub, the incline hit 10%+ before everyone had left the start line. 

Half way up ‘Rocky Lane’, the race took a left turn and onto the first short trail, continuing to climb up past the houses on the outskirts of the village and out onto the Beacon.

For a tough trail race with so much climbing, I was breathing hard, my heart rate was 30 beats north of where it should have been and I was burning matches. I hadn’t even chalked up the first kilometre. I find it hard to pace a race at the best of times, not least on an unfamiliar course whilst surrounded by familiar faces.

Reaching the top of the beacon came as a relief. Oddly for so early in the race, decent gaps were already forming. I guessed I was in around 7th or 8th place, though it was difficult to tell who was running the solo race and who was running the first leg of the teams event.

The Beacon's been an important focal point for hundreds of years, having been a spot for one of the county's beacons, back when fires were lit on every hill top to warn of an approaching enemy. Apparently, there was a man posted on the Beacon during the Napoleonic wars too.

The trig point that marks the top of the beacon stands at 192m. The legs had felt every single metre. It was hot now and the ascent was making it hotter.

On such a clear day you can see St Ives in one direction and Bodmin Moor in the other. Apparently. I didn't stop to appreciate the view but picked up the trail that would wind its way towards the cliff tops.

I couldn't see anyone, either in front or behind, such was the snaking nature of the trail. Once on the coast path, the scenery was as dramatic as the path was steep. Dropping back down to the beach, the gaggle of supporters cheered us on. There was a section of flat trail which lasted for approximately 5 seconds, before I started the climb to the Blue Hills and the second part of the course.

I did so with the sound of distant cowbells ringing in my ears.

What followed was 15 minutes of self destruction, climbing and descending the steep cliffs, forcing the pace in a desperate attempt to catch the runner ahead. Whoever he or she might be. The terrain, and the fact you could see the trail in front of you, made the legs ache that bit more. Up, up, up, down, down, down. So it continued.

Turning inland just before reaching the Perranporth airstrip, the trail now completed the figure 8 loop. I was heading back to Trevaunance Cove, the half way point and a much needed water stop.

Lap 2 was identical to lap 1, only slower.

The 500m of ascent had taken the edge off my climbing legs and the thought of going back over the Blue Hills added to the fatigue.

With the pace that bit slower, and now familiar with where I was going, I could now appreciate the course, revealing itself to be one of the best, most scenic places I’ve ever raced.

I passed Worm as I was descending back to the finish line. He looked like I felt. He was working hard to reach the top of the climb, left foot, following right, as he carefully picked his line through the boulders and rocks. Though on the downhill, I mirrored the grimace he wore, as the impact on my knees had started to make itself known.

After chasing ghosts and shadows for much of the race, I now had a target as the finish line came into view. This was all the motivation I needed to pick up the pace, squeezing past the runner ahead as the trail widened briefly before narrowing again. I crossed the finish line a handful of seconds in front.

I'd placed 6th.

As Worm crossed the line shortly after, we headed to the beach with the gentle clanking of cowbells from the medals around our necks. Apart from one other runner who went into the surf, we had the place to ourselves.

The race-brew hit the spot as we looked out over the surf, exchanging stories of an epic race.