'I Attempted to Lift a 332kg Set of Ancient Stones – Here's What Happened'
I’ve spent almost two decades of my life investigating the intricacies of strength training. But ultimately a lot of it boils down to this: picking stuff up, then putting it down again.
And it long precedes the advent of dumbbells: the act of lifting stones as both a display and test of physical prowess can be traced back to early societies such as the ancient Greeks. Examples include a 143-kilogram rock, dating to the 6th century BC, which was found at the site of Olympia inscribed with the words, ‘Bybon, son of Phola, has lifted me overhead with one hand.’ Impressive.
Traditional stone-lifting has a rich history, with legendary rocks located everywhere from Iceland and Germany to Asia – as well as right here on the British Isles.
Perhaps it’s a reaction to our increasingly tech-heavy gyms, but there’s been a resurgence of interest in the practice. The Instagram account @travel_liftstones_repeat – operated by US-based ‘Big Jon’, who documents his attempts to lift famous stones around the globe – has nearly 100,000 followers. Closer to home, coach and YouTuber Fergus Crawley has chalked up multiple stone-lifts in his home country of Scotland. And the pursuit has long been a staple in competitive strongman.
As an enthusiastic amateur in the world of strength sports, I was tasked with investigating the trend – necessitating a road trip to the Scottish Highlands, where many of Britain’s fabled stones are to be found. Armed with a map (courtesy of liftingstones.org) and plenty of chalk, my two brothers and I headed off in the rugged Ineos Grenadier, which we had been graciously loaned to help us navigate some of the more remote terrain.
Our ultimate ambition? To lift all 332kg of one of the most iconic stone sets in history: the Dinnie Stones.
Part 1: The Sheriffmuir Stones
Our first set were found nestled in a grassy plain, just outside of Dunblane. The Sheriffmuir are a set of six stones, stationed next to the immovable Wallace plinth. This is thought to mark the encampment of William Wallace’s army before they triumphed over the English in the Battle of Stirling Bridge. Lifters have long attempted to pile the stones (weighing 55kg, 73kg, 95kg, 120kg, 130kg, and 163kg) atop the plinth. We figured this would be a good warm-up and a way to gauge our expectations.
We began with the lighter stones, hefting them onto our laps before bearhugging them and explosively rolling them up our bodies to secure them on our shoulders. As the stones grew, we aimed to lift them to chest height or stand them up at our waists.
When we reached the heaviest stone, we each attempted to ‘put wind beneath’ it – the term traditionally used for breaking a stone from the ground – but had no luck. We’d found our level for the weekend, and fortunately it didn’t necessitate any changes to our plans. We took turns stacking the mammoth stones head high on the plinth.
Part 2: The Saddlin’ Mare of the Sma’ Glen
Next, we headed further north into the hills of the Sma’ Glen, edging into the Highlands. This required a bit of off-roading – the Grenadier facing its first real test and effortlessly proving its functionality – crossing a stream before moving into a paddock of felled trees. The stone, or ‘saddle’, weighs around 100kg and sits at the foot of a 7ft-high boulder, the ‘mare’.
The challenge is to ‘saddle the mare’ by placing the stone on the boulder. This means lifting the stone to chest height, then leaning forward to wedge it between your body and the boulder, attempting to inch it up onto a ‘shelf’ high on the larger rock. A momentary lapse in strength and pressure will see the stone roll back down to your feet. Very Sisyphean.
After 30 minutes of effort, my brother – who is a few inches taller than me, not making excuses – had managed to precariously balance the stone. The work was exhausting, trying to pin the rock still as I made micro-adjustments to hand positioning took my breath away. The stone had grown jagged and sharp in places due to centuries of being ground against the boulder. By the time we left Sma’ Glen, we were bleeding and bruised. I’d lifted the stone but failed to saddle the mare.
Part 3: The Dalwhinnie Stone
Our next stop was Dalwhinnie, on the road between Perth and Inverness. It’s said that the stone, which sits by a roadside inn, was used for impromptu lifting competitions in the time before cars, when resting travellers would frequent the area. The Dalwhinnie stone weighs around 102kg but is perfectly smooth, making it more accessible than the saddle.
We spent a good hour working it, attempting lifts to the chest and shoulder, before fatigue set in. A newspaper article from 1912 details how a Highland Games athlete had carried the stone into the inn, placing it on the bar and demanding a pint for the feat. These sorts of stories are abound in stone lifting folklore. I’m sorry to report that when we went in for a portion of haggis and chips, we left the stone outside.
Part 4: The Great Stone of the Dripping Cave
We reached the northernmost point of our tour as evening approached. Our final stone rests on a piece of craggy coastland that we were informed is best accessed during low tide. However, we’d missed this by a large margin. We tried using the Grenadier’s built-in winch to rappel into the cave but were blocked from getting close enough. We descended to sea level and raced across the shore.
By the time we clambered into the cave the sun was dropping below the horizon and high tide was well on it’s way. The rushed scramble over the rugged coastline had left us sweating, and as I positioned myself above the stone for my first lift, I joked that this was probably the first time today we were actually warmed-up.
The stone is a large black rock weighing around 122kg. It’s referenced in a 19th-century book by Scottish writer Hugh Miller, who mused that he would have liked to have met the schoolmaster who beat him as a child, ‘when I became strong enough to raise breast-high the Great Stone of the Dripping Cave.’ Clearly illustrating the belief that the ability to lift the stone was a sign of manhood and physical capability.
Tired, bruised but in good spirits, we spent as much time as we could testing different techniques and gripping from different angles until we could nail a smooth lift. The oncoming tide lapped closer to our feet and began to bar our exit. We stuck tight to the cliff walls as we carefully traversed our way back out to safety. A fulfilling experience that you’d be hard pressed to recreate exiting your local leisure centre.
Part 5: The Dinnie Stones
At sun-up, we journeyed eastwards across the Highlands for the final stop on our tour, and the one towards which I felt the most trepidation. Conquering the Dinnie Stones starts long before you reach the two monolithic boulders that rest outside the Old Potarch Hotel in Aberdeenshire. The stones, each with an iron handle bolted to the top, cannot be lifted without prior permission. In order to secure permission, one must prove their readiness by submitting a video of themselves lifting 300kg or more, without straps. We had sent in our lifts, using imitation ‘handles’ loaded to the weight of the stones. This was, however, on the cusp of my abilities.
The iron rings were attached to the stones in the 1800s so they could be used as counterweights during maintenance work on the nearby Potarch Bridge. Each stone would probably be manoeuvred by two or more men; however, Donald Dinnie, when asked by his father to fetch them, lifted both – 144kg and 188kg – and carried them across the width of the bridge. A festival in Dinnie’s honour is held each year, and remarkably, his silhouetted portrait still adorns cans of Irn-Bru to this day.
We were greeted by veteran stone-lifter Brett Nichol, and Jim and Rosemary Splaine. Jim has been lifting the Dinnies since 1973, and now he and Rosemary act as custodians, documenting every lift. I was moved by their commitment to keeping this tradition alive.
You only get three attempts to put wind beneath the stones, and given the variety of techniques you could employ, this applies serious pressure. I straddled the stones, did my best to get a grip on the thin iron rings, and pushed the floor away with my feet. Not being perfectly flat, the stones lifted in some areas and not others. It felt awkward. The 144kg stone in my left hand lifted from the ground, but the larger stone wobbled, shifting only slightly; it wasn’t quite enough to be considered a lift.
As I rested, my brother managed a convincing lift. I stepped back up and tried a different angle; it felt better, but as the full weight of the 188kg stone peeled off the ground, I felt a strain above my collarbone followed by a popping sound and a searing pain in my upper chest. I dropped the stones and staggered to a bench.
Now injured, and with only one lift to go, I decided to attempt the lift with straps not wanting to risk failing altogether. With a few pointers from Brett, both stones flew up. As I stood tall, holding the stones high, I momentarily regretted the straps – with this tweak in technique, I thought, I could have nailed the lift. My regret was interrupted by a searing pain in my neck. I dropped the stones to the ground and was bowled over as Jim stepped forward to shake my hand, followed by Rosemary. I rewatched this part of the video often, and I was humbled by the reverence the couple had for the lineage of the stones. In the background, Brett could be heard saying, ‘Nice lift, but at what cost?’ Fair question.
Why Do We Still Lift Ancient Stones?
Many gyms around the world have become Meccas for weightlifters, and there’s something cool about knowing you’re training where Arnold built his chest, or Dorian Yates grew his lats. But it’s an entirely different experience to put wind beneath an ancient piece of rock with a storied history. I’ve never bought into the whole ‘test of worthiness’ spiel – the world has moved on, and a man’s worth is not predicated on his ability to move heavy things – but knowing that in order to become part of that story, I needed to earn the right… something does feel hallowed about that.
It would be tempting to lazily chalk up these traditions to manifestations of masculine pride. But, in an era when most of life’s tests were physical, it’s logical that people across the world would create proxies to ensure a level of preparedness.
It may seem reductive by today’s standards, but there’s a kindness and diligence to this tradition; our ancestors knew that life is going to test us, and that we’d better be ready for it. In the age of AI training plans and AC as standard in gyms, stone-lifting represents a very raw and real way to pit ourselves against the rigours of the world. And I think we like that.
You Might Also Like
