24 hours ago the world famous Yukon Quest Dog sled race used this exact same starting line. The atmosphere then was electric. Yellow pee-stained snow, patches of straw and dog poo were scattered all around, spectators pushing and shoving for a better view, cameras clicking away, the overhead tannoy system blaring out information regarding the race, the teams and the handlers.
As each of the teams lined up, the countdown began, hardly audible against the muffled claps of gloved hands and enthusiastic cheers, the dogs sensing the time was rapidly approaching, time to race. As the countdown got nearer the dogs got louder, a mixture of barking and screaming. They each pulled and strained in a desperate attempt to get going, straining so hard that the sledges, anchors (a small spiked piece of metal that is stamped into the snow to either slow the team or hold the team) were not enough to hold them in place. Mushers and race crew had to hold onto the teams, the effort required was enormous. These dogs train by pulling 4x4 vehicles around and now that adrenalin raced through their bodies, the power that they produced was frightening. They pulled and barked, the cold, frigid air catching the breath of spectators, mushers and dogs alike. Plumes of what appeared to be smoke hung lazily for a few seconds before slowly evaporating.
As the countdown got to the 3 2 1, the anchor was pulled from the snow, the mushers gave instructions to the race crew to release the dogs and then, as if fired from a cannon, the whole team shot off at warp factor whatever, with the poor old musher hanging on for dear life whilst - I’m sure - praying and hoping that the dogs were going in the right direction, because if they weren’t, there was precious little he could do about it.
Our start line antics were - not surprisingly - a little more subdued.
For me I was attempting to complete the 320 miles to Pelly Crossing. I was anxious: during last year’s 100 miler I made mistakes and had suffered as a consequence. This year would be different:- I had trained harder, not got so much kit and learned valuable lessons about food, kit and pace.
It didn’t help that because I was seen as experienced (only because I had been here the year before and not because of any impressive racing CV), people were asking me questions. It might have stroked my ego a little but I was still very much a learner, keen to pick up any tips myself.
Standing at the start line with a few minutes to spare, trying to remember details of the route ahead, making a mental checklist of things that I should have with me and things that I should have done, put bodyglide on my feet, Sudocrem where Sudocrem needs to go etc.
And then it was our countdown. The spectators were not as numerous as they had been for the Yukon Quest but they were every bit as enthusiastic - clapping and cheering and, just like the dogs had done yesterday, we all set off much too quickly. Cameras seem to do that to racers and, as usual, as soon as the cameras were out of sight we all settled down into a far more sensible and somewhat sedate pace.
The pace was really dictated to us by the fact that we were on such a narrow little path that ran alongside the mighty Yukon river. The path was well defined and there was really only enough room for one person at a time and no possibility for overtaking: if you strayed off the path you risked going knee deep into soft snow.
After about a kilometre we dropped down onto the river itself.
I was about halfway down the field at this point, moving along quite nicely, when I noticed my sled started to have a mind of its own, trying to move to one side. I did what I usually do at a time like this and carried on, pretending it wasn’t happening. Then bugger me if one of the poles decided to detach itself! I turned to see what had happened and realised that the left hand pole and sledge had parted company. I pulled over into the soft snow to investigate further. A few racers passed by. I unharnessed myself and took a quick look. The connecting piece of hose that joins the sledge to the pole by two jubilee clips had come apart because the clips had not been tightened.
It was a stupid mistake and my own fault for not checking.
I couldn’t believe it - last year this same sledge had got me through 100 miles without a single problem and now, 2 miles into a 300 mile race I was having to make repairs.
I set to work and retrieved my repair kit from the sledge, tightening the offending jubilee clips with my leatherman multi tool, a simple job unfortunately made difficult by the fact that at -22 I was wearing gloves. The dexterity now required left me with little choice but to take them off - I did and I worked quickly, tightening all the clips (just in case).
To prevent the clips working loose I decided to put duct tape over them to hold them in place. It was whilst cutting the tape that I sliced the top of my finger. Now I had a broken sledge and a cut finger, racers were still passing and asking if every thing was okay. Of course I lied and said “yes, no problem” while at the same time trying to hide my now bleeding digit.
It was a deep cut - deep enough to warrant me getting out the first aid kit. I fished around in my sledge, getting blood over my sleeping bag and jacket.
After about twenty minutes I had repaired my sledge and patched up my finger and I was now in last place.
I put a bit of a spurt on. I did this for two reasons:- 1, to catch up and 2, to warm up. It worked on both counts and after about forty minutes I had joined the back of the queue.
After a while we turned left onto a part of the river I remembered from last year - this turning was roughly halfway to the first checkpoint and took us onto the Tahini river and under a road bridge.
The repair to the sledge was holding up but the repair to the finger was not:- it wouldn’t stop bleeding so I wrapped it up in my buff.
Walking along the river it was getting noticeably colder, so rather than stop and put on another layer, I decided to speed up. Eventually the route markers pointed to the right and a small track that would take us off the river and onto the first checkpoint - Tahini Hotsprings.
However, first was the rather tricky task of getting off the river. The bank was steep and required an enormous amount of effort. It was while clambering up the bank that I noticed, just ahead, another British runner, Mark. He seemed to be struggling. I caught him up and he looked knackered.
Back at the Hotel in Whitehorse Mark had explained to me that this was his first Ultra-distance race, he had run numerous marathons but never an Ultra.
Now here he was in the Yukon racing the 320 miles to Pelly Crossing. I really hoped for his sake he had not got his ambition mixed up with his capability - this was, as I found out last year, a tough race.
Fortunately back at Whitehorse he was asking all the right questions, unfortunately he was ignoring all the answers. He looked totally disorganised, even to the point of having no compression straps. These straps, not only compress your sled load but, more importantly, they hold the bag in place. Now, every time he negotiated an incline his bag slipped off the back of his sledge, annoying for him but bloody funny for the rest of us.
We chatted and plodded along together before finally reaching the first checkpoint and the compulsory 4 hour stop.
My first job was to go and see Diane, the Race medic, to get my finger sorted - she took a quick look cleaned it and glued it together.
After a quick bite to eat I found a little spot and got into my sleeping bag - the spot I had chosen was fairly close to another runner who was already sleeping. The thinking was that when they started packing up I would hear them. I set my alarm and promptly fell asleep. 6 hours later I woke up. Bollocks - I never heard my alarm or the other runner.
I quickly packed up, all the time cursing my stupidity but looking on the bright side that I had had two hours more sleep more than anyone else. I went off to inform the organisers that I was now leaving and they thought I had already left!
I lied, as I explained that I had decided to have a good long sleep as there was still a very long way to go.
I left the checkpoint at the same time as Sean and we walked along together. Sean had tried this distance twice before and had failed on both occasi
ons - he was now hoping that it was third time lucky. I admired his tenacious spirit and I did wonder if I would try again should I fail to finish, I honestly didn’t know.
We walked along together for a while and after a couple of hours came across a runner sleeping in his bivi bag and then another and another. There must have been 15 to 20 runners all sleeping within a short 2 mile distance. I couldn’t work out why they were sleeping here:- the first checkpoint was a compulsory 4 hour stop, so why leave that checkpoint only to stop, unpack and sleep just a couple of hours later?
We moved quietly through the sleepers and then Sean said he was going to stop for a while, I told him I would carry on for a bit.
Walking alone through the night in the Yukon is an amazing experience. Beautiful and tranquil, not a sound except for your walking poles hitting the crunchy snow followed by the gentle reassuring sound of the sledge gliding across the crisp surface. On a clear night, glistening trees cast elongated shadows, tiredness and shadows conspire to trick the mind into seeing elaborate shapes and figures, non-existent images entertain you and keep you guessing!
As a new day starts to break and the sun makes a welcome appearance your depleted energy levels get a much needed boost.
Plodding along, I try to remember the route and I recognise nothing. Nothing is familiar, I can’t work out how much further it is to the next checkpoint and then suddenly there it is: the first thing I recognise - a steep, no, a bloody steep hill, not big but bloody steep. However, I know the checkpoint is right on the top and that makes the nasty little climb just a bit more bearable. It’s taken me 12 hours to get here.
As I entered the tent I was met by a familiar face:- Jessica, a volunteer who was here at this same checkpoint last year. She came up to me and said “I’ve got a surprise for you” and promptly handed me a jug.
The story behind the jug was that last year we had all been asked by the Race organiser what could be done to improve the race, a race I considered to be bloody well organised. The only thing I could think of that had annoyed me was the fact that we had to use a ladle to fill our respective camelbaks, bottles etc. As this was done outside and required you to remove your gloves, I had suggested using a jug - a simple solution - you could keep your gloves on and fill your chosen receptacle at twice the speed. And now the jug had made its first appearance.
I stayed for a couple of hours, eating the supplied dehydrated meal of reconstituted sawdust, drinking hot chocolate, and checking my feet - which for now looked to be in pretty good shape.
I was, however, keen to get going. I wanted to get to Braeburn, where I had planned to have a good sleep.
Leaving the tent, I harnessed up and moved off slowly. I remembered this part of the route from last year and was busy trying to work out how long it would take me to reach Braeburn, when I suddenly came across a racer sitting at the side of the trail. Andy was one of the ‘big boys’, going all the way to Dawson, 430 miles. He had got his stove out and was melting snow to make water, a bit confusing because the checkpoint we had just left was only about 3 hours back.
However, he explained that he had had a lot of problems with his sledge and had been so busy fixing it that he had forgotten to fill up with water. Not only that, he had somehow managed to mix up his Sudocrem and suntan lotion bottles, applying Sudocrem to his face and suntan lotion to a place where the sun ain’t going to shine.
As one of the UK’s most experienced cold weather racers and with a quite impressive racing CV I had no concerns about leaving him.
I was tired and keen to get to next checkpoint for some much needed sleep, however, my plans were thwarted when my sledge disintegrated - this time both poles had come loose. I wasn’t angry or pissed off, there was no point. The only thing I could do was fix them and so once again it was out with leatherman and duct tape and as the temperature was hovering around -30 I worked quickly and carefully.
After a few minutes I was good to go. I moved off and, again, looking around I didn’t recognise anything, which was not in the least bit surprising because last year I had done most of this section in the dark.
The one thing I did remember was that the 5km to go marker was in an avenue of trees and as I was now in an avenue of trees and had been for some time, I switched on and scoured the trail, desperately looking for the 5 km marker.
I realised I must have missed it because suddenly there was lots of marker tape and spray painted arrows pointing to the right - the Lake!
I was now only about 3km away from some hot food and a bed. I dropped down on to the lake and moved quickly knowing full well that once off the lake I would be negotiating a challenging last couple of km, more of an obstacle course.
It was as I remembered: horrible, back-breaking, frustrating, gnarly terrain but once done it was out of the trees and then the wonderful sight of the bright orange lights that surrounded the Braeburn Lodge.
As I made my way over to the entrance some people came out and were just about to get into a vehicle. They were some of the 100 mile racers who had finished and were now being taken back to Whitehorse.
Last year I reached this place at 05:50 and now I had got here some 5 hours quicker and I felt a whole lot better.
I entered the warm building, checked in and made way to one of the tables for something to eat. I made my choice and a few minutes later was getting stuck into a huge bowl of moose stew and hot chocolate, perfect.
Once I’d eaten, one of the race crew took me to my room. It all sounds very grand but the reality was that it was a portacabin with a couple of old beds in. I didn’t care - it was warm and it had a bed. I quickly sorted some kit out, hung some stuff up to dry and got into my sleeping bag. Then, bugger me if someone didn’t come in and get into the other bed.
Richard was part of the race crew and his dad was attempting the 320 miler. After 4 hours I woke up and started to get myself sorted and packed things into the sled bag. I then had a quick wash using wet wipes (when using wet wipes in Arctic conditions always have a few in your pocket, they tend to freeze otherwise, and let me tell you there is nothing worse or more shocking than the application of a frozen wet wipe!!!). I was just in the rather delicate process of re-applying the Sudocrem when Richard woke up. All he saw was a grown man with underpants around his knees applying a cream to his nether regions - not a pretty sight at the best of times and even worse when you have literally just woken up next to a complete stranger.
He politely pretended not to notice and rather diplomatically said he was going to get a coffee and did I want anything? I said I’d have a hot chocolate. He disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a large cup of hot chocolate, I finished packing and finished the chocolate, made my way over to the Race HQ and told them I was now leaving.
This time last year I reached Braeburn knackered, I was beyond tired. I remember sitting down and watching as Stuart left to continue on his journey to Pelly Crossing. I was full of admiration and respect. It was beyond me how anybody could do that distance, it had taken every bit of willpower and experience I possessed just to get to the 100 mile mark. I couldn’t have done any more.
Now that I was the one leaving, my thought process was totally different. This time Braeburn was not the finish, it was one-third of the distance done. I didn’t look forward to arriving as I had last year, I looked forward to leaving.
The next checkpoint was Ken Lake some 48 miles away.
On leaving Braeburn I was given instructions to cross the road and follow the markers. After about half an hour I started to climb a beast of a hill and again it was one of those that once started there was no stopping until you reached the top.
On the top I took a moment to admire the scenery: it was beautiful, a tricky drop down onto the first of the lakes. I was now getting a bit warm so stopped for a quick break and took off my jacket.
This lake was the first of a series, one led onto another and so it continued, off the lake into the woods. The only way to get into the woods was usual
ly by way of a lung-bursting energy-sapping climb.
This continued for most of the day until finally I arrived at a huge lake, surrounded on all sides by rolling hills. I was just taking in the enormity of the thing, when I heard the sound of a snow machine - a few minutes later it pulled up. Diane and Thomas were on their way to get the Ken Lake checkpoint sorted out and ready.
Once they left I had the place to myself. Nothing moved, no wind, no clouds, no wildlife, nothing. Everything was static and everything was quiet, not a sound.
I could see for miles ahead - I got my head down and moved quickly. An hour or so later I would look up and still nothing: it was like a dream when you are running away from some hidden danger running as fast as you can but not actually going anywhere.
I carried on and then, to my right hand side, just off the lake and high up on the bank, I could see a small cabin. At last I had something to focus on.
It took me nearly 4 hours to draw level with that little cabin and once I had passed it, it was back to the never-ending vista.
It was now late afternoon and would soon be getting dark so I got myself ready:- warm jacket, head torch on, a bite to eat and off.
At around midnight I spotted what appeared to be an orange light some way ahead and slightly to my left. I kept an eye on it, hoping that 1 - it was real and 2 - it was the checkpoint. As I got close to it I spotted bits of tape that led me up onto the bank and then once on the top, a cabin, a badly-damaged cabin. The door looked as if it had been put together by a four year-old in the dark. I opened the door and there was Diane and Thomas and another racer called Frank. Diane and Thomas looked to be in worse shape than me and Frank. They welcomed me in and offered me a hot drink, I was grateful and needed a sit down. It had taken me 19 hours to reach this checkpoint - it was now 01:40.
As I had something to eat, the whole story had come out that the snowmobile had crashed leaving them both shaken. When they had arrived at the cabin it had been semi-demolished by a hungry bear looking for food, hence the damage and then to round things off Thomas had received a nasty gash on his arm after slipping while drilling for water. (A large hand-held corkscrew device is used to drill through the ice to get fresh water).
Fartleks & Flatulence Page 11