The midge can bring horror to the most perfect of days, and reduce rational beings to desperate evasive action. If you know, you know. If you think they’re just a bit like mosquitoes but smaller, you really don’t know. Thanks to our Forumites for this selection of tales from the trail.
Words As told to Hannah
On a summer trip to Kirroughtree the midges were particularly bad (to be expected). On the final run back to the car park, a guy had his bike on the trail side trying to fix a broken chain. I took pity on him and stopped, asked if he was OK… He turned round and he was covered in midges, I swear they were crawling in his eyeballs, he was covered, frantic, fiddling with a chain link.
‘It’s only a chain link!’ I thought… “Give it here”.
I can’t have lasted two minutes, the chain link didn’t make sense to me – it had two pins in one link, and a ‘blank’ plate on the other. The midges had got me, I left him to it, poor guy. A year or so later and I single-speeded a bike and realised where his chain link had come from – it was never going to work. I wonder if he made it out alive or was eaten to the bone.
Jimmy
The midgie experience that scarred me most was in Leanachan Forest at the first 10 Under the Ben in 2006. I’d bitten off a bit more than I could chew with my first solo 10 and so by the time I hit the last lap I was well scunnered. Leanachan is notoriously midgey at the best of times, but that evening was hideous – perfect conditions for them and a bonky, sweaty singlespeeder was clearly top choice on the menu.
The memory of riding for 200 metres, coming to a shuddering halt, removing my helmet, scraping a sludge of midge off my scalp and repeating for what felt like hours is burned into my memory as strongly as the first time I met Phil the Horse…
Martin Steele
There are way too many memories burned into my brain of midge encounters but this was the one that sticks in my mind the most because it was the clearest mix of pleasure and pain.
Scotland never lets you have too much of a good thing. It’s not in its nature to let you get too carried away. Back in August 2010, we headed up Ben Lomond in the early evening to take in the sunset and jumble our way down the boulders of the Ptarmigan descent.
That rarest of situations was happening – no wind, dry trails, clear skies. The descent was amazing. We were bouncing with joy when we got back to our tent. But you can’t have it all ways up here. Within half an hour the midges were so thick that we were cowering under the canvas, sticking an arm out every two minutes to stir the haggis and pasta on the stove. The exposed hand would return pockmarked with bites and a night of tossing and turning and itching followed. Thank God they invented Smidge since.
Munrobiker
The worst one I can remember was maybe two years after I’d met my wife-to-be. We’d unwisely decided to head on a mini road trip around the west coast of Scotland without really considering the implications. Scotland in August was mistake number one.
The first stage was a few days’ cycle touring and other activities on the Isle of Arran. This is where the massacre occurred. We sailed from Ardrossan over to Brodick with our bikes and camping equipment. This was before the days when we could afford decent lightweight and easy to pack cycle touring and camping gear, so we had big rucksacks stuffed precariously to the brim with cumbersome and heavy camping gear. The gear was mistake number two.
We set up camp at the Glenrosa campsite and had a fantastic first couple of days with absolutely perfect weather. Bluebird skies, and a constant light breeze just strong enough to keep the blighters from getting airborne for too long. We spent the first full day having a bit of a potter around on the bikes. Then in the evening, met a local climber around the campfire who over a beer, suggested that the fell walk up Goat Fell and then around the Cir Mhor/ Beinn Tarsuinn horseshoe would be a fantastic and ‘exciting’ day out.
We listened to the climber. This was mistake number three.
So on day two we ascended Goat Fell and around the horseshoe. It was a hot and strenuous route up. The route around and down was much worse. It took all day, scrambling around the sides of fells with my wife to be, who at the time was not confident at all with heights (She’s much much better now. Probably because we do this sort of stupid stuff all the time because I’m a reckless idiot). After a very hot and strenuous day, exhausted and with extremely sore legs, feet, shoulders, arms… well, everything, from all the scrambling around and down, we returned to camp. Still perfect bluebird weather at this point, but the breeze had started to drop…
Early start on day three to get the ferry back to Ardrossan. The weather had changed significantly overnight, it was damp but not raining, and absolutely still. Perfect midge hunting conditions. Aching and broken from the day before, we stirred to the sound of the lads in the tent next to us getting up to visit the toilet block. There were muffled screams and panic. This was not good. I took a very quick look out of the tent to see the air dark with clouds of midge. The lads had fashioned a flamethrower out of an aerosol and a lighter by way of some kind of protection.
Sh*t. We needed to pack up and get to the ferry.
We got the rucksacks into the tent quickly, and packed as much gear in as we could without going outside. The time had come where we could stay inside no longer. We needed to go outside and pack the tent and remaining stoves etc. that were outside. My God it was awful. I have never known anything like it before or since. Absolutely crawling. I cannot emphasise enough.
Hardly able to move from the day before, trying to pack away a wet tent into a slightly too small bag and then a slightly too small rucksack. We took shifts on attempting to pack the tent. One of us would pack and face the midges, then when they could stand it no longer we would switch over to allow the other some respite by hobbling around as fast as possible for some relief. Even when in ‘relief’ hobbling mode, it was still with intense achy pain due to the day before. The shifts reminded me of the Russian soldiers clearing bits of exploded reactor off the Chernobyl power station roof. No, it was probably worse. I’m not being flippant.
After 20 minutes of struggling with the tent, we eventually got it all back into the bag. And the rucksack. Kind of. We got on the bikes as quickly as possible and made for the ferry. Even though it was extremely painful to pedal due to the day before’s exploits, I can still vividly remember the sense of ecstatic relief at getting up to speed on two wheels again and out of the clutch of the midge. Spent the rest of the holiday itching. One of the best holidays we’ve ever had.
el_boufador
I don’t know who plans the UK Downhill race season but to schedule a round at Glencoe at the height of Midge Season isn’t a great idea in our opinion. While we love the venue and the tracks there, spending a long weekend camping in an old LDV with inch-wide gaps along all the door edges isn’t ideal when the dreaded midgies are about. Last year we came prepared: we had two full Smidge spray bottles to leave a mist around all the doors and windows during peak midge attacks. Unfortunately, these attacks seemed to last all day so by Saturday night we found ourselves in need of more. As we headed down to the Green Welly Stop, the van started making weird noises. We had broken down on the way to Glencoe, only a few days earlier, when the radiator cover had rattled itself loose and got tangled in the fan belt. My blood pressure start to rise in synchrony with the increasing noises coming from under the bonnet. Images of being stuck in the middle of nowhere, eaten alive by midgies, started to cloud my vision. Somehow, we made it to the shop and back. Our auxiliary belt was kind enough not to snap until we made it safely out of Scotland. Another fun Scottish adventure in the LDV completed.
Ina de Smet & the Trail Rippers
A few years ago I did a bikepacking tour looping out from Inverness, over the Corrieyairack Pass and back via Gaick. I camped up high, just over the Gaick pass so that I stayed in the breeze and avoided the midges. It was a lovely evening in a deserted spot so I got naked to have a wash in the burn. All was going well when three things happened in quick succession. The wind fell, the midges came out and two other cyclists came round the corner. They were treated to the sight of me jumping around in the burn, slapping various bits of my anatomy then diving into the tent. The midges were horrendous for the rest of the evening. I was pinned in the tent and forced to have a cold dinner as the stove was in a drybag outside.
I like to think there are two people out there who tell the other side of this tale, about the time they came across a naked lunatic performing some sort of tribal dance in the middle of nowhere.
Spin
