I carried on and again tried and again failed to pick up the pace but my mind was now, for the first time, beginning to think that I might actually finish the race and with Martin saying the record was a possibility, the thought that I could actually win this race occurred.
At home, when training and planning, I decided that my being able to finish would not be known until I had completed the massive 70 mile section from Inuvik to the Swimming point checkpoint - until then anything could happen.
As I was busy with thoughts of reaching Tuk, another vehicle approached. This time it was Kev, who explained how to get into Inuvik and that he would be waiting for me to guide me in. He confirmed that the chalet had a BED and a shower. I thanked him and watched him drive away.
It was, I decided, a perfect night. I could not only finish the race but I could, with a little luck, WIN and Martin had even said that the record was a possibility. On top of that, I was going to sleep in a bed for at least 6 hours and have a shower!
I spotted the orange lights and roadsigns. I was close, then I saw a sign that stated that Inuvik was 5km. I moved quickly and then spotted the headlights to Kev’s car. He spotted me and flashed his lights. I drew level and he said that I was to follow him. I did. My eyes locked onto his rear red lights and they seemed to pull me along, then suddenly they stopped - we were here. The time was 03:35, it had taken me 9:45 to cover the 30 miles a little over 3 miles an hour, I was pleased with that.
Once in the chalet I was surprised to see so many people there, every inch of floor space was taken up with sleeping bodies and the only other bed had two bodies on it.
My first priority was a shower, then food. Then I sat on the bed sorting out my feet, before finally going to sleep. I had a great 5 hour sleep and woke at a little after 9:00. As I was getting ready, the guys who were no longer in the race were asking a 101 questions about kit, packing, pace and training. I was happy to answer and show them what I had, how it was packed, how I eat and drank whilst on the move, etc.
Once I had filled my flasks and finished packing it was time to go. I left the rather comfortable Arctic Chalets at 10:26.
INUVIK TO SWIMMING POINT - 70 MILES
Lucky for me, a couple of the guys were going to take me down onto the Ice Road. Once on the frozen Mckenzie river, the temperature seemed to drop - it was bloody cold, so much so that less than an hour after starting, I had to stop and put on my warm overtrousers and an extra pair of gloves. Mick and Paul, the two guys that had showed me onto the Ice Road, now left. They were going for a cooked breakfast in a lovely warm hotel, BASTARDS. I could now get on and pick up the pace, I did this mainly to get warm and after a while I came to a wide left hand turn. The moment I turned into it, I was hit by a wind that I had not noticed until now. It was cold enough without the wind and now, with it, the windchill seemed to freeze my bones. Again I stopped and put on an extra layer, my super duper Norwegian windproof anorak. A quick cup of hot coffee, some jerky and I instantly felt better. However, that short stop to eat and drink had allowed the velcro fastening on my face mask to get ‘iced up’ making it difficult to close the thing. I moved off, aware that it was now starting to snow. I hoped it wouldn’t last or if it did the wind would die out.
After about twenty minutes, my worst fears were confirmed: one of the locals that were driving towards me stopped and asked if I was okay and how far am I going? I explained that I was going to TUK, he looked concerned and asked if I knew there was a storm coming. I didn’t and this was the first that I heard of it. I thanked him anyway and continued. Before long, another vehicle stopped and said that there was a lot of drifting up ahead and there were fifty mile an hour winds forecast. He then offered me some hot chocolate, a sandwich and an apple. I thanked him but explained that I was in a race and if I accepted any help (bloody tempting though it was) I would be disqualified. He wished me luck.
Not long after this, another vehicle, a ‘highway maintence’ vehicle approached me and told me that they were the last vehicle through, owing to the very heavy drifting and extremely high winds. Again, I thanked them.
I was now getting concerned (for concerned read scared!). It was getting dark and the road was disappearing. Another annoying problem was that the wheels on my sledge were happy to roll along the ice, but the drifting snowing was so soft that the wheels were not able to roll over the snow. Instead, the, pushed through which was a much less economical way of moving.
I ploughed on (sorry about that) but soon realised that the road had gone. There were no distinguishing marks, no trail markers, the metre high banks had gone. I was in a sea of snow, with no idea which way to go. I scanned the banks but even they had gone I turned around and could just about make out the outline of my sledge - so fast and thick was the snow that the tracks left by my sledge were instantly covered.
It was as if someone had thrown a rather large white sheet over me, a complete ‘whiteout’ - even my feet had disappeared. Though I had raced in heavy, freezing snow in the Yukon, this was different. The Yukon Arctic Ultra is on a well-defined trail and the only real way to get lost is by getting off the very obvious trail and then start pushing through trees. Or, if you are on a river or lake, the moment you step off the hard-packed trail you lose a leg in thigh-high soft snow.
I looked ahead, nothing, not a clue. Rather than waste energy by pushing on aimlessly I decided to do something that I very rarely do: bivi! I figured that I if I saved my energy, had a rest, ate and drank, I would be fresher and a little stronger to tackle the storm and if I was lucky - really lucky - the worst would blow over.
And so I got my bivi bag out, placed flashing lights on my trekking poles and got into my snuggly, warm sleeping bag. One thing I always do when I’m doing these races is to put a bag of treats in my sleeping bag, because I know that by the time I decide to get in the thing I’m tired, fed up, slightly pissed off and usually wishing I was anywhere but here. But a little bag of goodies helps my rather low morale and the good thing is that I have usually forgotten it’s there so to suddenly ‘find’ the bag in my sleeping bag cheers me up no end!
As I lay there like a child greedily eating sweets, I became aware of bright lights just outside. I unzipped my bag, popped my head out and there, parked not five feet away, was Martin Like, the race director, Martin had battled his way through to see for himself the conditions. I asked if he had any news about how long the storm was to last, he hadn’t really, but thought that it might clear in the morning. After checking that I had all the kit required (should my bivi prove to be rather longer than planned), I assured him that I had, but hoped that I wouldn’t have to use it.
He wished me luck and disappeared into the maelstrom. I returned to my sweetie bag and then got some much-needed sleep.
I woke after what I guessed was about four hours. The snowing hadn’t stopped, but at least it hadn’t got any worse.
I lay there for a few minutes, eating and drinking hot chocolate, then I decided it was time to go. I felt refreshed and I’d had a good sleep, eaten and rehydrated. This storm, I decided, could go on for a couple of days or a couple of hours. Me lying in a sleeping bag was achieving nothing. I would move while I felt good and if the storm did get worse, I could always bivi again.
Moving through a ‘whiteout’ in the dark is a bit like trying to walk in a straight line with your eyes closed: possible but bloody difficult. I moved slowly, hoping that I was at least moving slowly in the right direction. Eventually, the daylight appeared and slowly, very slowly, the snowing stopped and the wind died down so that by the afternoon, a calm had returned. This was confirmed by the fact that vehicles started to appear, which for me was an absolute Godsend, as it meant that I didn’t have to concentrate so hard on route finding. I just jumped into the tire tracks they left behind.
I didn’t know how much time I had lost but the one thing I did know was that any chance I may have had of getting the record was gone. I knew that to get the record, I would have had to maintain a fairly
decent and consistent pace. The storm had put pay to that.
As I was plodding along, a vehicle came up behind me - Martin again, checking on us, to see if we were okay. He said that Ian had had a good night and was now only twelve km behind me. I thanked him for the update.
Once he left, I worked out that for Ian to have had a good night, he must have worked through the night, and worked hard, whereas I’d had a good sleep - this little nugget cheered me up no end.
It spurred me on and I pushed hard, setting a good and fairly fast pace and now that I could see for quite a distance, I was able to pick out various land marks and speed up until I reached a certain point. The chosen landmark might be a certain snowdrift, or even a vehicle that was approaching. I would speed up until it drew level, a sort of ‘fartleking’.
Occasionally, a vehicle would stop and ask if I was okay - a couple of them asked if they could take a picture. I enjoyed these little distractions, as they relieved the boredom. It was now late afternoon, early evening. Another vehicle pulled up, only this time it was Scott and Mark, followed by another race vehicle containing Murray and welsh Mark, aka, Clanger! They were going on ahead to man the Swimming Point checkpoint. As they drove away I watched them and could still see them after about twenty minutes.
I tried to speed up and, as usual, failed miserably. Then suddenly I spotted what appeared to be huge storage tanks, these tanks I hoped were part of the disused storage facility at Swimming Point.
I carried on then spotted a couple vehicles parked up. I tried to not get too excited, because, knowing my luck, they would be full of Japanese tourists taking pictures - it was only when one of the vehicles flashed its headlights did I realise that this was indeed the checkpoint. It was now about 20:30.
Approaching the two vehicles I was aware of a taped-off area, just in front of them. I grabbed my flasks and bag of food and First Aid kit. As I got into one of the vehicles I asked what the taped-off area was and was informed that it was where a lorry had recently broken through the ice and was now lying on the bottom of the Mckenzie river. (The driver had apparently managed to get out in one piece).
Clanger came over, grabbed my flasks and filled my dehydrated meal bags with hot water - at 6ft 4 inches and with knackered old stiff legs, the back of the car was not ideal, to say the least, but I was warm and out of the cold, I was also fed and watered and now I desperately tried to get some sleep. I had now been awake and constantly moving, for a little over twenty hours. Sleep proved elusive:- 1 - I couldn’t get comfortable or stretch my legs and 2 - Scott snored.
I was fed and watered, but knackered. I gave up trying to sleep and decided to get going, reasoning that I could, if lucky, cover the last 47 or so miles in about 20 hours. So at 23:33 I left the warmth of the improvised Swimming Point checkpoint, to get back on to the Ice Road!
SWIMMING POINT TO TUK - 47 MILES
Leaving the warmth of the vehicles and stepping out on to the Ice Road was a bit of a shock and it wasn’t long before I had to stop and put on my Arctic down jacket and an extra pair of gloves.
After a couple of hours, I caught sight of some lights coming toward me. It was one of the huge snowploughs clearing a path after the recent storm. These snowploughs are not like the snow ploughs at home - they are huge, the size of combine harvesters. I really hoped that the driver could see me.
I made sure that my headtorch was on full beam and kept moving it, to give the driver every opportunity to see me. It worked - he pulled up, opened his cab and asked the now familiar question:- “Are you okay?” I replied that I was, he then followed his line of questioning with:- “What are you doing?” I explained that I was in a race called the 6633 Ultra and there was a load of us and that we had started at Eagle Plains and were walking to Tuk. The silliness of this conversation was not lost on either of us. Here I was, an Englishman walking along a frozen Canadian river at 03:00 in the morning, telling a slightly bemused snowplough driver that I was trying to walk to Tuk! He replied by stating the bleeding obvious “You’re crazy” and then offered me some hot coffee. When I replied that the race rules stated that I couldn’t, it just seemed to confirm his “You’re crazy” - theory, he wished me luck and informed me that Tuk was about 60 km away.
I carried on and he drove off. I was tired and could now feel the dreaded sleepmonster trying to make an appearance so I stopped, poured myself some coffee and ate some Rolos, Haribos and fruit pastilles, hoping the sugar rush would help me fend off the sleepmonster. I stood around for a few minutes longer than I normally would have, hoping that getting cold would also help keep me awake - stupid, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
It worked, for now.
I finally moved off feeling a little better, but me and the sleepmonster are old adversaries and I knew from bitter experience that it would be back. For now, however, it was gone and if it could remain gone for the next couple of hours, it should be daylight. My mind started to wander, trying to remember Tuk and the hot showers and meals I would have when I got there, then bang - something hit me, a three foot wall of snow, a barrier. Some thoughtless bastard had placed a barrier of snow across the road, but who and why? I looked ahead and nothing, nothing but miles and miles of snow, the road was gone. As I turned to look around I noticed the road, then and only then did the penny drop. I had been sleepwalking and had somehow managed to make a perfect 90 degree turn and walked into the snowbank on the edge of the road.
Time for more coffee and at least it was now getting light. As I was drinking, a vehicle approached, waved and was gone. A few moments later, another appeared - the morning rush hour.
I kept moving, desperately willing the elusive Tuk into view, but nothing. Eventually, I spotted what could have been a tower, I didn’t care what it was, it was something, something to focus on. I kept my eye on it, willing it to be Tuk. I had been watching it for a couple of hours and it just did not seem to get any closer, then heading toward me appeared a car full of teenagers. They slowed down, took some pictures and said that they had left Tuk and had been driving for half an hour. I thanked them and they wished me good luck. As they left, I tried to work out how far they would have driven in half an hour.
I never did work out how far they could have driven. I gave up when I realised it was a bloody long way!
I had now perfected my Ice Road shuffle and was putting it to good use, sort of scooting along the ice (a cross between sliding and running) then I realised that a vehicle was driving slowly along side me - a race vehicle. A few of the other racers were in it and cheered me on, some got out and proceeded to take pictures, pictures of a very desperate racer. Comments were made about the fact that I was STILL running, it wasn’t strictly true, but it was better than limping, hobbling or crawling.
This little distraction cheered me up enormously. I watched them drive off, and followed their progress and again became disappointed at the distance I still had to do. After a while, I could make out buildings and movement, vehicles. I was close, but exactly how close I wasn’t sure, 8 to 10 miles max, which could possibly translate in to 3 hours walking. I was tired and I was desperate, but I was also fed up and annoyed, annoyed that I seemed to be on a treadmill, walking hard but not actually making any progress. Tuk just never seemed to get any closer, then following the road around a bend I spotted a couple of the race vehicles driving toward me. Then another couple, a convoy. The cars full of support crew and racers had come to guide me in, the support was magnificent and very welcome. Slowly, like some slow procession of kerb crawlers, they drove by my side, some got out took more photos and walked with me. Kev, the winner of the 120 mile race walked with me for a while then a small, steep but mercifully short left-hand climb up on to terra firma. Tuk itself, through the small town and the finish line was in sight, right on the shoreline of the Arctic Ocean.
I had done it, it had taken me more than five years to reach the finish line of the 6633 Ultra, and by way of a bonus I had won the race.
; The welcome and congratulations by the support crew and my fellow runners was fantastic and really appreciated.
The 6633 Ultra is a bloody tough race. The distance and hostility of the place commands the utmost respect - it doesn’t matter who you are. Whether you are an elite, experienced Arctic/Ultra-distance athlete or first timer, it is do-able. Make sure that you are physically prepared, mentally prepared (it’s more of a mental challenge than a physical one) and bloody well-organised and if I were to place those three things in order of importance, I would say mental, organised and physical.
Would I recommend it? YES, I would. Would I do it again? NO BLOODY CHANCE!
Fartleks & Flatulence Page 25