Mark annoyingly looked to be in pretty good shape and after a nine hour rest we were given the all clear to proceed - on condition we travelled to the next checkpoint together.
SCROGGIE CREEK TO INDIAN RIVER
Shortly after leaving the Scroggie Creek checkpoint, we dropped down onto a river but after 24 hours of inactivity the body was a little stiff and would need a bit of time and distance to get the muscles warmed up and working.
I was plodding along, breaking trail in the fresh soft snow, when Mark called out and said that he was needed a comfort break. As I waited I could feel the cold trying to creep in. Luckily it was so cold that Mark had no choice but to be bloody quick - a few moments was all it took and then we were off.
Plodding along with someone was a new experience for me. I’ve raced consistently for 15 years and never once had a partner - I’ve always raced on my own, but I fully understood the reasons we were now together. It was different and interesting - two completely different styles. Mark with his faster pace but regular short breaks and me with my slow nonstop plod.
After about four miles, we got off the river, with me still in the front and then like a prat I took the wrong turn. Fortunately for me, Mark was switched on and quickly realised he was following a buffoon. He shouted out, ran up to me and got me back on track. It was only a short distance but I was annoyed with myself (and if I’m honest, a little embarrassed). We were now walking through some very soft and very fresh snow, consequently the going was slow and I was having to work hard.
Late on in the afternoon, we started to see old bits of derelict mining equipment. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. To our left were a couple of old cranes. We decided to have a quick teabreak and got into one them and had a hot drink and a bit of food. After about half an hour, we moved off.
For some reason I was really struggling - the pace wasn’t particularly fast, just the opposite in fact. I was tired and didn’t seem to have my usual oomph. I felt fine, good in fact, but just lacked my usual energy. I could only put it down to the enforced 24 hour stop - that much inactivity during a race would have only ever had a detrimental effect and so it proved.
During the early evening we started to look for somewhere to bivi down when we came across a disused, slightly dilapidated, wooden building. We got inside and in one of the rooms was an old calendar dated 2002 on the wall.We got our sleeping bags out, had a hot drink and some food (of which I was beginning to get pretty low) and then some much-needed sleep.
After several hours, it was time to bite the bullet and get going - today we would be clambering the first of the two mountains: Eureka Dome, not the highest but the steepest.
It was whilst getting ready that I realised I had made a stupid, schoolboy error: I had left my shoes outside of my sleeping bag and now they had frozen solid. Forcing my nice warm feet into the now blocks of ice, was, I, decided not the best way to start the day.
Fortunately, it had finally stopped snowing, the going was still bloody hard work and by late morning we had reached the foot of the Dome. Normally I climb quite well - this mountain, I decided, would require slow nonstop plodding, my speciality.
It was steep and never-ending,. Slowly pushing my way forward with a metronome-like consistency, inch by inch I progressed, then suddenly I realised Mark had caught me up and was asking if I was okay. Unbeknownst to me my pace had been getting slower. I assured him that I was fine but I was struggling. Mark took the lead and I followed, glad of the rest: breaking trail had been bloody hard work.
Eventually we reached the summit. We didn’t immediately start descending, the euphemistically named Dome actually levelled off for quite some time before starting its descent. The views were stunning, absolutely breathtaking (mind you, that might have been the arduous climbing, that had actually taken my breath away!) - so beautiful that Mark was busy taking photographs. When I eventually caught him up, we took advantage of the impromptu break and had a quick teabreak. Mark voiced his concerns about his running low on food, I hadn’t the heart to tell him that he had loads more than me. I tried to allay his worries by telling him that it will be okay and “Whatever happens, don’t dwell on the negative.” I knew from bitter experience that once negative thoughts take hold they often spiral out of control. I also knew that no matter what, we would make it, we would get to Dawson.
We started our descent Mark seemed to be pulling away from me and I had to work hard to keep him in sight. Then, late in the afternoon, I spotted the 5km to go marker. Mark had added an exclamation mark. I smiled to myself and moved on. Three miles to the checkpoint - an hour and a half max - however, the checkpoint proved elusive - it was not where it should have been. Owing to the severe weather conditions, the organisers had abandoned the idea of using a tent (as had been used previously) and instead had decided to use a small cabin a little further along, so the 3 miles became a several mile epic.
Mark was moving well and was ahead of me. I was still struggling, still trying to recover from such a long rest, still trying to convince my old body that we had not quite finished yet.
My feet were sore, the tips of my fingers were numb and my energy levels at an all-time low. We crossed a bridge and then I looked up and Mark was gone - envious of his speed I ploughed on. I continued for the best part of an hour
before the penny dropped: I must have walked past the checkpoint - bollocks, bloody, bollocks. I turned around and backtracked to where I had last seen Mark - the bridge - scouring every inch of the trail, I couldn’t find the checkpoint. When I reached the bridge, I turned around and walked along this part of the trail for the third time and then I heard the most beautiful sound in the world: a snow machine. Kevin, who I had last seen at the Ken Lake checkpoint taking Sam to Carmacks. He got off and explained that the checkpoint was about 2km away, all I had to do was keep going. After about half an hour I arrived and pinned to the cabin wall was a large sign post saying “The Last Checkpoint.”
Once in the warmth of the small but cosy cabin, the 2 race crew went out of their way to make sure I had food and drink - like concerned parents, they made drinks and offered food. I sat next to the small log-burning stove, savouring both the seat and the warmth. As I thawed out and started to remove my shoes and socks, I realised that my socks were in fact frozen to my feet - try as I might gentle coaxing was not going to work, brute force was what was required. I literally ripped the socks off, bits of green sock remained firmly attached to my frozen feet. I threw the socks into the bin. Now, sitting in the corner like a naughty child, I tried to very discreetly look at what sort of damage had been done. I wish I hadn’t: three toes on my right foot were aubergine in colour. I was shocked and now the stupidity of my neglecting to put the bloody shoes in my sleeping bag was confirmed. I’m no doctor but I guessed that aubergine-coloured toes meant only one thing:- frostbite. I did the only thing I could do, I held my frozen toes in my hand hoping against hope that I could thaw them out before anyone spotted them.
After several minutes of covert toe-thawing, Kev became suspicious and asked to have a quick look at my feet. I had no choice but to oblige - (part of the support crew’s duties were to keep an eye out for exhaustion, frostbite etc) I moved my hand away and without missing a beat he said that my feet were frostbitten and that my race was over. I didn’t, couldn’t, argue - I knew that one stupid mistake had cost me.
There was nothing for it, except to get some sleep and eat. Sleep, however, was out of the question. The pain was excruciating, coming in waves, fist and buttock-clenching waves of pure agony. I was reduced to a simpering wimp, lying there waiting for the next jolt of absolute agony. I laid awake, comfort-eating the last of my chocolate, shortbread, crisps and sweets.
I had covered the best part of 400 miles, was in a good position but one lapse, (one silly, preventable mistake) had cost me the race. Those 400 miles were for nothing. I would have been better off bailing out at the first checkpoint. I lay there pondering and realised that I had been fort
unate - fortunate to have seen and experienced so much of the Canadian wilderness: the place was beautiful. I couldn’t regret the past few days, so few people would ever get to where I had been. I had given it my best but fucked it up, no one to blame but me. At least I had a go and would have been annoyed with myself and regretted forever, not having a go.
The morning eventually arrived and Mark was understandably keen to get going. The temperature outside was -46 degrees, which in turn meant that the crew were unable to get the snowmobiles started. Consequently, the crew were not happy about sending Mark off on his own. They would be unable to get to him should anything happen. He just had to wait a bit until the machines could be started.
Meanwhile, Kev wanted to have a quick look at my feet to see what damage had been done. I showed him the wretched things and much to his surprise and mine they were much better: the aubergine colour had been replaced with red, blotchy and blistered toes. I was asked how they felt and of course I lied, said they felt slightly tender but otherwise fine and promptly gave an impromptu demonstration of my walking ability. Confused by this sudden turn of events he said we’ll leave it until midday and see how they are.
Mark finally got the all clear to go at 11:30. I got the all clear, well sort of, after much warning about not letting my now very susceptible feet getting frostbitten again:- the damage, I was warned, would be severe and permanent ie; I could lose bits!
I promised to be careful and check them periodically, uncrossed my fingers and left the Indian river checkpoint an hour after Mark.
As I hobbled off, I was mentally drained. One minute my race was over, now it was back on, I had frostbitten feet, frost-damaged finger-tips, no food and had had no sleep. I needed to finish within 14 hours of Mark to keep my second place and worked out that it would take me (if I was lucky) some 18/20 hours of nonstop plodding to finish - I love a challenge!
INDIAN RIVER TO DAWSON
Leaving the checkpoint I put on an act of bravado - my raw and blistered feet were bloody painful. They hurt with every step, but there was no way, absolutely no way that I was going to let anyone see the seriousness of the injuries, in case they decided to err on the side of caution and pull me from the race a second time.
However, as soon as I was left alone and out of sight, I could hobble and limp away to my heart’s content.
The trail was pretty good and the intense cold ensured that the snow was hard-packed enough for me to walk on as opposed to having to walk through. Walking along, appreciating the beauty and absolute tranquillity, I realised that I had been very lucky:- to be pulled from a race and then reinstated was something I had never heard of in any race. I also was lucky to be back on my own - as much as I like Mark, it was the solitude that these races offered that was one of the attractions.
Lost in my own little world of thought and counting my blessings, I rounded a corner and there in the distance King Solomons Dome at 4000ft - the highest mountain we had to climb, and approximately 20 miles from Dawson. Now, for the first time, I was beginning to think that I might actually reach the finish line.
If I could just keep plodding along, if I could just get to the top, if my feet could hold out, so many ifs. It was now late afternoon and the climbing started, Fortunately, it was not like Eureka where the climb was severe, this was more of a gentle incline. Following the trail was pretty straightforward and I finally reached the summit at 21:00 hours. It was too cold to hang about, so I continued on. A little while later I had a quick break, it was too cold to hang about so got going as soon as I had put on my down jacket.
The trail was changing: old bits of abandoned machinery and signposts were becoming more numerous, then after a few twists and turns the trail widened and became more defined. It was wider, well-ploughed and maintained. I continued on and then spotted some lights, then as I got a little closer I could see the lights belonged to mobile homes or caravans. It was about 03:00 in the morning and my presence had not gone unnoticed: every dog within a 5 mile radius seemed to be barking. Then, I noticed that I was not alone - a few of the more inquisitive among them came out to investigate. I carried on, too tired to be concerned about noisy, nosey dogs. Then a few moments later and with the dogs still in tow, a vehicle approached - I waved, hoping that the thing would stop so that I could ask for directions into Dawson and to my surprise it was Robert the race director - he had been following my progress on the computer (we all had SPOT tracking devices that relayed our position to race HQ) and had come out to give me directions into Dawson.
I removed my goggles and hat while he explained how to get to the finish line. I thanked him and continued off down the road with a spring in my step. Well, I would have if the weren’t so bloody painful.
An hour and a half later I finally hauled my carcass over the finish line, only the 11th person to have completed this epic footrace. The Yukon Arctic Ultra 430 miler is so much more than a race, it is an incredible experience. I honestly - with my hand on my heart, did not enter to race. I entered to finish - yes, once I realised I was in a good position I wanted to remain there but if I had started out to race I don’t think I would have been able to finish.
The final placings were:
Greg McHale in a time of - 200:15 Hours
David Berridge - 249:10 Hours
Mark Hines - 251:55 Hours
Jerym Brunton - 307:00 Hours
The Dog Grave checkpoint at about 64 miles.
Arriving at Braeburn - the 100 mile checkpoint.
Nearly finished - pretending my frostbitten feet don’t hurt.
Spent hours sucking on my icicles.
Left exposed for just 3 hours - that’ll teach me!
4 days after finishing - swollen and blistered, frostbitten tootsies.
Early on in the race -trying to look as though I know what I’m doing.
THE NAMIB DESERT CHALLENGE 2012
What is it: A multi-stage Desert Footrace
When: October and July
Where: Namibia
Distance: 220km (137 miles)
It is: An ideal introduction to Desert running - the fact that you don’t carry your kit and are fed every night makes it ideal - it doesn’t get any better!
See: namibdesertchallenge.com
Flying to Windhoek, the capital city of Namibia, to take part in a multi-day ultra-distance running race, consisting of 220km of desert running. The country of Namibia was a pleasant surprise: green, fertile country with friendly people.
After a long 5 hour drive to the Soussvlei race HQ, it rained - rain I ask you! Pay a bleeding fortune to race in some exotic hot desert environment and it rains and rains.
The usual - it has not rained in theses parts since anyone can remember.
To make matters worse, we were to be lodged in tents. Tents that were designed for hot environments meaning that they were anything but waterproof. We were wet before we started and trying to dry anything in a wet, leaking tent was a bit like poor old King Canute trying to stop the tide coming in!
Meeting the other competitors is always one of the fun bits. A few I recognised from previous races and a some even remembered me!
Our tent area had 5 tents. Richard, a lean looking racing snake type, Jo, a 25 year-old Australian female who was attempting a multi-day running race for the first time, my wife and an old friend called Nic.
My wife and I decided to have a tent each but this idea was soon changed after my tent sprung a leak and got everything wet including (and most annoyingly) my down sleeping bag. Even a decent nights sleep was taken away from me.
After the race briefing, kit checks etc, we made our way over to the tents and tried in vain to get some sleep and tried was (on this occasion) the operative word. The thunderclaps and lighting had other ideas and I am afraid to say that one particular thunderclap made me jump - just a little jump but a jump all the same.
Morning could not come soon enough. I just wanted to get out of the wet tent, the wet sleeping bag and get dressed into my w
et trainers, wet clothes and wet kit, I decided that at least if I was moving I would get warm and if, by some miracle, it stopped raining I might even get dry.
It was not to be:- it rained for the next two days!
DAY 1
Today’s running was to be 42km ie a marathon.
The terrain was not too bad, the rain making it cool, slightly rocky underfoot. I ran alongside a South African - we chatted as we went, it was a nice steady pace and one I felt I could maintain. Patrick eased off slightly, I carried on, my hips started to complain but I put that down to the fact that I had been sat on my arse for so long, and had slept in a wet sleeping bag, and my very old age!
The terrain remained pretty constant - slightly rocky track, climbing occasionally and going through grass. After a while, another runner caught me up, Dave, a guy I had met a couple of years earlier during a race called the augrabies extreme marathon (a race through the Kalahari desert).
We ran together for a while, after approx 30km the terrain changed and started to climb. The grasses were thinning out and were gradually being replaced by rock.
Tricky and technical, we were reduced to walking for fear of injury - my long legs always come into their own when I have to walk over tricky terrain and so it was that Dave dropped behind. I continued on and after negotiating some tricky twisting and undulating sections, I came across a turning. Peering around the thing, I noticed a quite severe descent. Descending always causes problems tired legs: gravity, fear and an eagerness to get down unfortunately leaves me prone to mistakes so I knew I had to switch on and proceed with the utmost caution. Luckily for me one of the race organisers (who had obviously heard about my total ineptitude when it came to descending) had stationed themselves on the very top and was kindly issuing advice on how best to descend. I could see the way down - steep, loose, tricky and a little unnerving, I, like a fool, tried to speed up and very nearly came a cropper, with the loose stuff moving beneath me!
Fartleks & Flatulence Page 20