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maupuia · 1 year

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More Than A Feeling - a tramp along the Travers-Sabine circuit

The lead up

"I'm thinking of hiking the Traverse-Sabine next holidays if anyone's keen. Sometime late September to early October." messaged Mark, and having recently done an overnight trip in the Tararuas and therefore totally in shape, I was in. It wasn't an area I'd tramped in before, so I was keen to see if it lived up to the hype. We'd be joined by Steve, an old friend of Mark's.

Having not bought any gear for a while, I immediately went out and bought a dehydrator and started going down the rabbit-hole of DIY dehydrating. For the trip I dehydrated both full meals - bolognese and vegetarian chilli - and various fruits, vegetables, pasta and mince which I combined into meals. Yes, you dehydrate cooked pasta - it means that you just need to rehydrate again, no need to cook it on the trip.

The weather in the week prior to the trip wasn't great and we debated the gear we'd need, essentially ice axes and micro-spikes. Thank you Dom for the ice axe - it was needed, albeit briefly.

However, things looked to be on the improve for the week of the trip and on Sunday I arrived at the airport ready to take the very small Sounds Air plane with the very young pilot across to Nelson. Just about to walk into the terminal, I turned back to the car just as Deb was jumping out of the driver's seat.

Deb: "You walked away with the car keys!" Me: "I left my raincoat at home!"

It's a good thing we live close by.

All trips should start with being met at the airport in a gold Mercedes.

The drive from Nelson to St Arnaud of course included a stop for a pie along the way. Steve has a bach there so we dropped our gear, went for a little walk to the lake and then to the Alpine Lodge for a couple of pre-trip beers. The forecast was wet and cold for Monday, but clearing after that.

Day 1 - to Lakehead hut

Packs were packed. And compared. Steve had the heaviest pack and the most food. Mark had the oldest pack - his Father's wooden H-framed canvas pack. No hip-belts to relieve the loads on these. I had the lightest, most colourful and most expensive pack. A big breakfast at the Alpine Lodge and we were ready to leave the top Mt Robert carpark just after 9am. The skies were dark and lowering. The first rumble of thunder happened about 20 minutes in. It started raining soon after that.

The plan was to lunch at Coldwater hut and then head onto John Tait hut for the night. Coldwater hut was cold. It had been raining since we left. Mark was wet. Mark was cold. Mark also had a cold. The thought of another 5 hours to John Tait hut was not appealing. Coldwater hut, with the stone floor and no firewood and the wind whipping off the lake was not appealing. Mark was coughing and spluttering. Caught between a stone floor and a cold wet trek, Steve had the frankly brilliant idea of sidestepping 50 minutes across the river to Lakehead hut - much nicer, firewood, dry. It meant a change of plans, and Mark put up some token resistance, but a couple hours later, we were warm, dry and looking at the weather coming down the Travers valley.

So, did I mention I have a very expensive, very lightweight pack? It leaks. Three hours walking in the rain and the back panel was soaked and there was a puddle of water in the bottom of the pack. I was not entirely happy. Photos were taken and emails have subsequently been sent.

Day 2 - to Upper Travers hut

The day dawned clear, calm and cold, with a dusting of fresh snow on the hills. It was to be the first of four days in a row of glorious weather. The walk up the Travers valley is just stunning. Easy walking, little bubbling side streams, mountains coming into view. As Mark and I kept mentioning, the Tararuas it is not!

We had a late lunch at John Tait hut before the final push to Upper Travers. Arriving there, a little before dusk, in the cool calm, with a ring of mountains around us was magic. I'll admit to being pretty tired by that stage, but also to wanting to be nowhere else.

On 1 October, the day before we started our tramp, DOC switched rules over for hut passes. No longer were annual hut passes valid, but you needed to buy a $25 serviced hut pass for each of the Nelson Lakes huts. Having possibly misread the DOC website, I'd purchased an annual hut pass a couple of days before we left. ( Yes, this was also an act of faith in my body holding out! ) Mark had done the same. Steve, bless him, informed us on the Friday before leaving of the new rules. I decided to just go with what I had, whereas Mark went into the Nelson DOC office to try and refund his annual pass and buy hut tickets. He left with both the pass and new hut tickets. DOC 1 - Mark 0. He was not happy to find no firewood at Upper Travers hut and in a "rage against the machine" moment, did not use his hut pass that night.

Day 3 - to West Sabine hut

There were four keas waking us up in the morning!

We had intended to have been at West Sabine hut by now, and to have had a short day to Blue Lake hut. As we were behind schedule, the plan was to get to Blue Lake hut today.

The walk up to Travers Saddle was why you do these trips.

It's so long since I've been in the South Island mountains like this, it was all I could do not to just sit down and take in the scenery for an hour. The final approach up towards Travers Saddle steepened, with snow. We were following the footsteps of someone who'd gone through the previous day, but later in the day and their footprints had sunk deeper into the softer snow. We decided to don micro-spikes, break out the ice-axes, and cut some steps up the final steep pitch. Well, Mark and I did. Steve, wearing boots and not trail shoes, let us do the hard work and just clomped on up behind us.

No wind on Travers saddle. Views all around. Fresh snow. What more could you ask for?

Less snow on the other side, but glorious long views down the East Sabine river.

It's a long descent down to the East Sabine river. I went down slowly and carefully, tending to my knees and found Mark at the bottom, lying back on the soft grass in a sunny spot, having a cup of tea. He'd been there a while. Steve arrived a while later and I was very appreciative of the rest it allowed me. Mark was still coughing and suffering from his cold and at times meant we could almost keep up with him. I made the mistake of trying to sympathise and saying it must be tough going to do all of this with the cold. Mark responded, "To be honest Mike, I'm not going fast enough to notice it." Ouch!

I arrived at West Sabine hut sometime around 2pm. My first words to Mark were, "I'm not going any fucking further today!". And that was Blue Lake hut crossed off the itinerary. There were two hunters in the hut already and this is a story worth telling.

It was a father and son. The son was 59 and the father 83. They had set off the day before around midday from Sabine hut for the - DOC timed - 5 hour trip to West Sabine. They had a boat which they've left at the Sabine hut jetty. The son said he usually took around the DOC time for a trip, so didn't think anything of leaving his Dad behind after about 6 hours so as to get to the (presumed nearby) hut and get the fire going and dinner on etc. When his Dad hadn't arrived by a little after 8pm, he went back along the track till he found him, took his pack and then both arrived at West Sabine around 11pm. So 11 hours for the 5 hour walk. They were having a rest day when we arrived. Understandably.

The first thing we noticed was an explosion of dehydrated food packets spread out on the bunk. The son said he was trying to get to grips with dehy food and what was needed. They had 8 main meals and various desserts and such between them. The two of them. For a 3 night trip. That was the dehy food. They also had fresh steaks, and bacon, and eggs, and meat patties. The latter of which they gave to us, so we had a pre-dinner snack. They had a goddamn bag of potatoes! They had two cookers and various pots and pans. The son carried a rifle. Just in case they saw something. Somehow we got around to asking the son how heavy his pack was. Reader, it was 35kg! On seeing our look of astonishment, he was quick to point out that one reason it was so heavy was that they were carrying 10 litres of bottled water between them. 10 litres! For a supposed 5 hour trip! Beside a river! With lots of lovely side streams along the way! They weren't sure it was safe to drink the water along the way.

We had a great time and conversations hanging out with them that night! Everything aside, I'll be very happy to be still tramping at 83.

Day 4 - to Sabine hut

The plan was to make it to Speargrass hut and so leave us with a very easy walk out on the final day, and time for wine, women and song at the Alpine Lodge.

Plans, amirite? I'd hoped, every morning on waking up and getting underway, that my legs would have gotten stronger and found their true tramping rhythm. Spoiler: they did not.

Mark, sometime on the final day, "I'll be honest Mike, you were both getting slower each day." He values honesty, does Mark!

Twenty minutes into the day and Mark catches me and says, "How about, instead of going to Speargrass, we head up the Mt Cedric track from Sabine hut, and get to Angelus for the night. Then head out along Robert Ridge." I told him I'd take the suggestion under advisement. [ Editor's note: At Sabine hut, there's a sign that says, basically, "the Mt Cedric track is very steep, takes about 6 hours, oh, and there's no water sources along the way." ]

Forty minutes into the day and I told Mark he could fuck off with his Mt Cedric track idea and do it by himself if he wanted. Steve and I would not be partaking.

It's actually a lovely track down the Sabine river.

Steve and I arrived after about 5 hours. Mark was drinking a cup of tea. Having told him Mt Cedric was not happening, we looked at how far it was to Speargrass hut. Another 5 hours. "Fuck you, Mark. We're not doing that either!" We spent the rest of the day enjoying the sunshine, sandflies and stunning lake views at Sabine hut.

Day 5 - out to Mt Robert carpark

We a final 9 hour day beckoning, we were out the door at 7am on a lovely cool calm morning.

There's a steady climb from Lake Rotoroa, then a long sidle around to Speargrass hut. I was… getting slower. Steve asked me a couple of times where I was hurting. "Everywhere!" But, as always on this trip, the bush and trail were just lovely.

For 4 1/2 days of the tramp I'd had an earworm. I've been listening a lot to a wonderful album by this country singer - don't worry, she's quite obscure, you won't have heard of her - and snippets of the songs from the album had been in my head. Constantly. Every step. When I tried to sleep at night. On waking up. It's a sign of a great album but also, gimme me a break!

I was walking along on the final day, tired, sore, head full of these incessant songs, and then suddenly… like the sun breaking through the clouds; like manna from heaven; like the hallelujah fucking chorus… the song "More Than A Feeling" by Boston, came into my head and swept everything else away. This song is a classic 70's banger and officially the best song in the world.

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Speargrass hut in 5 hours for a lunch stop. Then the final 3 hour walk out. Halfway along this, Mark finally snapped as Steve called for a rest stop. "I'll see you down the track", said Mark, striding off. Spoiler: we didn't. We'd been passed earlier by a young French guy who left Speargrass hut a little after us. I think someone's pride was hurt. The French guy never stood a chance. Apparently he told Mark, who was waiting at the carpark, "You walk very fast! I couldn't keep up."

It was a wonderful trip! I think right on the edge of what I can do at the moment, but my knees seem to be ok, and 3 days later I'm almost walking normally. Great company. Beautiful track. Would do again!

A fuller selection of trip photos is available here.

#Youtube

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maupuia · 8 years

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Mike goes to Tennessee - an account of the 2016 Barkley Fall Classic

The Preamble

I mean, it’s not a bucket-list race, because, honestly, it’s an impossibility. Right? Trust me, it is. More people have walked on the fucking moon, than have finished The Barkley Marathons. (Ok, not strictly true, but close!) But ever since I read this, and I read it before I even started running (at 50, not a mid-life crisis, but still, at 50. I know), The Barkley Marathons has captured me. If I could get entry to, and be strong enough to run, any race, it wouldn’t be Western States, or UTMB, or Hardrock, or anything else. It would be Barkley. Even knowing I’d never finish.

And then I came across the Barkley Fall Classic.

The Ultra Signup page said it was sold out and had a waiting list. The blurb for the race said, if you signed up now and got on the waiting list, you were pretty much guaranteed an entry. I hesitated. It’s a long way from New Zealand to Tennessee. But it’s pretty easy to click a button on a webpage. And then the email came saying, “Did I want to accept entry into the race?” and HELL YES I DID. So that was that. Tennessee in September.

I Googled all the race reports I could find. It wasn’t a mistake, exactly, to do that, but… what the fuck was I thinking? I had run precisely two ultras. Of 60km. And finished near the back both times. People way more accomplished than me had not finished, or struggled to finish, the Barkley Fall Classic. What the fuck was I thinking?

To digress slightly, but with a purpose. We ran Runfest in February. We asked Heather (Anish) Anderson to come and speak. And, amazingly, she agreed to do. So I got to meet an inspiration of mine. Who had, you know, run the Barkley. And held self-supported FKTs for the Pacific Crest and Appalachian Trails. And was a trainer/coach.

I figured if anyone could help me train for the BFC, it was Heather. I asked her and luckily she agreed. Well, luckily, until I saw the first training schedule and I appreciated that shit just got real.

I only told a few people I had entered the BFC. It seemed such a reach for me, that I didn’t want to put it “out there”. (Pun for Barkley aficionados). To tell everyone about it would be to tempt fate. Or hubris. So I only told a few, and kept training through the New Zealand winter.

I ran hill repeats and intervals and tempo runs and downhill sprints and long runs with lots of hills. I did lunges and stretches and hip flexor exercises and Pilates. I treated myself to a heavenly massage every couple of weeks. I tried not to think too far ahead, but of the week ahead, of the day’s training that I needed to do. Put on shorts, lace up shoes, go do it. I formed my invisible peloton in my head for when the going got tough. I even come up with a mantra for myself - it’s goofy, I’m not saying what it is, but yes, I used it lots during BFC.

And I got stronger and better as a runner. Not so much that I did things faster or longer, but that I could do more. Recover better. Feel more in control. My only injury was a pulled back - bending over to dry my foot after a shower! I did a two-day fast pack in the Tararuas and run the inaugural 60km Wellington Urban Ultra in July.

I re-read the BFC race reports. Folks who had run in the actual Barkley had found it tough. Chris Gkikas had got heat stroke. Kimberly Durst talked about the ‘the complete and utter misery and horror’ of Rat Jaw. And then folks on the Facebook group started posting photos of snakes! Fucking snakes. On Frozen Head trails. There are NO SNAKES in New Zealand. I went back to training. One day at a time. Not everyone dies from a snake-bite, right?

I did a final run the day before I flew out with some running buddies. At a cafe breakfast afterwards, they presented me with: vodka, for a pep-up during the race; gin, for the traditional post-race G&T (trust me, it works!); and a small bag of cement powder - to mix with water and drink when the going got tough so I’d harden the fuck up.

In Tennessee

A flight to Auckland then direct to Houston. I sat down and checked the flight information. Flight time - 13hr 20mins. (For those who need explaining, that’s the cut-off time to finish the BFC. And the time you need to complete a Barkley Fun Run loop in.) It was either a sign from the gods, or a cruel coincidence the universe was playing with me. 13 hours and 20 sleepless minutes later, I figured it was the latter. TSA in Houston and then a short flight to Nashville to pick up a rental car.

I’d asked in Facebook if there was anyone in Nashville willing to put up a tired and jet-lagged Kiwi for a night, before I drove to where I was staying in Oak Ridge. Someone called Laz offered. He lived an hour’s drive out of Nashville, but if I wanted to stay with him? Ummmm??? HELL YES! I’d expected the directions to his place to be somewhat vague and involving stopping to find hidden books and rip out certain pages along the way. But they were surprisingly and pleasingly clear, and just on dusk I drove up a long driveway to a house in the rural Tennessee woods. I knocked on the door and these three dogs started barking and yelping before Laz let one out (Big!) and came out himself. I stood there with my hand out and introduced myself and… clearly he’d totally forgotten I was arriving! But he recovered well, and I was soon inside and chatting with Laz and Sandra, and his daughter Aimee and the three dogs - Big, Little and Sophie - were trying to climb all over me, and the surreality of being in Tennessee and chatting with the Barkley creator was soon lost amongst the conversation. I slept like a baby and had a lovely next morning with Laz and Sandra before setting off to Oak Ridge.

The sign just out of Wartburg indicated the turn-off to Frozen Head State Park and I drove slowly down, past the prison, past the park entrance, and to the Rangers’ station where I picked up a park map. It was just after 4pm and I rolled down the road and across the bridge to Big Cove Campground and parked just before the yellow gate. It felt like ultra-running hallowed ground as I wandered, wide-eyed and excited, up to the Bird Mountain turnoff and back. I’’d set foot in Frozen Head.

My Air BnB in Oak Ridge was lovely. A cottage built during the secret atomic programme of World War 2. And the area of Oak Ridge I stayed in was like a quintessential US movie/tv small town. A football game on Thursday at the park.

An ice-cream palour I walked to one evening. Big Ed’s pizza and Dean’s Southern Soul restaurant. Monday night, my first in Oak Ridge, I went to Dean’s. The waitress heard my accent and asked where I was from and what I was doing in Oak Ridge. “Well, I’m here to run a race in Frozen Head State Park of all things.” “Oh. That one … the Barkley!” “Uhhh, not THAT one, but one in same place and put on by the same guy. Kind of a very cut-down version.” “I was there for the Barkley this year.” I looked at her. “Huh. Really? Actually watching it?” “Yes. I was there at the campground. I knew one of the runners. He got onto the 5th loop.” My jaw may have dropped a little. “Ahh… the local guy? John… John Kelley?” “Yes! My boyfriend was best friends with him at high school. We went there to support him. We got to meet that guy Jared, and Gary. And saw John.” Huh. Small world!

Tuesday morning I drove out to Frozen Head for a first run on the trails. I started jogging up Bird Mountain. It was hot! This was one of my pre-race fears, how I’d handle the heat and humidity. It felt a little like running through a physical substance. On the other hand. I was running in Frozen Head. Actually up a trail that was part of the Barkley.

Heather had told me, “You’ll be surprised at how runnable the trails are Frozen Head.” And Bird Mountain was about the gradient and effort of Transient, a local Wellington trail. Hmmm… I can do this! It was hot though. At the bottom again, I used a tap and drenched my head and chest with water before taking a little run up Spicewood trail and heading back to Oak Ridge.

I’d read about using a cotton shirt instead of a technical running shirt in hot weather. The theory being it gets soaked with sweat and water and acts as a cooling fabric against the skin. It does not get that hot in Wellington, but here? I made a trip to the local Goodwill and bought a genuine hipster Dickies short-sleeved, button-up shirt for $1.50.

Wednesday saw me back at Frozen Head, hiking up Rough Ridge and down the other side to the start of the climb up to Chimney Top. A little steeper maybe than Bird Mountain, but not that steep. It all seemed runnable, even if I might not actually run it in the race. On the way back I took a detour to Petros and Brushy Mountain State Prison. The prison was deserted, eerie and desolate, even in the bright midday sun. You knew bad things had happened there.

I walked around a little, went down and looked at the tunnel than ran along beside the prison, and checked out the steep scramble to start Rat Jaw.

Back at the cottage in Oak Ridge I was starting to get worried that I wasn’t worried enough! How hard could it be? Why did it take people so long? The trails I’d seen didn’t seem that bad at all. Then an email arrived from Laz, did I want to come out the next day and help them mark some of the course? Uhhhh, kinda! It’s not like I had much else to do!

Jenn Pasiciel arrived Wednesday night. She’d posted about looking for somewhere to stay and since I had a spare room, I’d offered it. Turns out she was as big of a Barkley geek as I was. We’d both brought Frozen Ed’s book. We compared notes and maps and training. I mentioned I was getting worried that I wasn’t worried enough. She just looked at me.

Thursday morning, 8:30am, saw us at Coalfield High School, waiting for Laz, Sandra and Steve Durbin. We followed them in a little convoy up Highway 116 towards Petros, suddenly stopping on the side of the road. Laz got out of his car and came over, “You see that?” Pointing to a long, steep, vertical cut down a hill. “That’s a Barkley hill”. Meth Lab Hill. Okaaaaay. We drove past Petros, past the prison, over Ames Gap and down to a little church on the side of the road. Here we waited for Mike Dobies - long time Barkley runner and fun run finisher - to join us.

We collected signs with arrows pointing various ways and started walking back up the road. About a 1/2 mile up, Laz stopped, turned to the bush and said, “You see the trail there?”. Yeah, not so much. He headed off into the bush. We followed along, and yes, I could kinda see it was a game trail, and yes it was possible to follow it, or at least follow someone leading us along it, but how one might find and follow this at night, after 24 plus hours of moving, that I had no idea of. “Yeah”, said Steve, “this is one of the Barkley trails. I remember this.”

We came out near the bottom of Testicle Spectacle and looked for somewhere to place a sign. It was hot. There were briars. The top of Testicle looked a long way off. We turned and headed to the bottom, pushing through undergrowth, across a trickle of water and scrambled up and across a dirt bank. This terrain wasn’t the easy, runnable tracks of Bird Mountain and Rough Ridge. I was starting to appreciate why the race took so long to finish. I was starting to get a little worried.

It was fascinating to see Laz, Steve and Mike at work. “Shall we send them down here?” “Nah, that’s not hard enough. Maybe down a little more we get them to turn off?” Mike took off to the left, through the bush. “Yeah, let’s send them down there, following that draw. It’s going to screw with a lot of people when they realise there’s no track!” We crossed New River and came back out on the road, turning left to head back to the church. We made sure to put an arrow on the big leading over to the church, just in case people got lost at that point!

We drove back up to Ames Gap, and Steve, Mike, Jenn and I walked up the dirt road to the saddle at the top of Spectacle Testicle and Meth Lab Hill. Mike took us on a little expedition part way down Spectacle, just to the part where it got REALLY steep.

Coming back up, I asked if there was one piece of advice he’d give me for Saturday, what would it be. “Good question.” Pause. “Don’t quit.” Okay then! I realised later that the advice I’d needed happened just prior to that. We reached a point going down Spectacle where it was steep and not obvious where to go. I looked left at the briars and thought about sidling through those. Jenn looked right at the rocks and started heading that way. Mike just slid down the dirt face directly in front of us. That was the key - don’t hesitate. If it’s steep, you just go down it.

Back at the top, Steve had put an arrow somewhere down Meth Lab Hill. He told us, “Going down through the brush, I kept having a feeling that there was a snake there, just waiting.” This was not helping my confidence.

Next stop was Petros, putting some signs at the bottom of Meth Lab Hill. We left Steve and Mike to find the local land-owner and confirm permission and everything for Saturday and headed off up a trail with Laz and Sandra.

Every few minutes Laz or Sandra would look around. “Does this seem right to you?” “We came down the opposite direction last year, I can’t remember.” “There should be a trail off to the left.” We kept walking up the trail. Laz turned to Jenn and I, “Did you see a trail off to the left earlier?” “Nope. Pretty sure we didn’t pass one.” In our defence, we’re from New Zealand and Canada and had never stepped foot in these woods before. We kept walking. It got a little steeper. After about 20 minutes we stopped. I went ahead up a slope to see if I could see Meth Lab. Nope. We conferred. It became clear that we were walking in Frozen Head State Park. With Laz. Looking for a Barkley route. AND HAD GOT LOST!

We started walking back. Sandra got some cell reception and texted Steve and Mike to come find us. They didn’t believe her. We eventually found the trail that was on the left and hundred metres or so along it, we were at the bottom of Meth Lab Hill. It surely was steep! I looked for possible routes down it. Nothing really obvious there.

It was mid-afternoon now. It was hot. We were hungry. Everyone agreed that was quite enough signage for the race, and we headed to Warburg to drop some equipment off at the Foreign Legion hall for registration, and then a late lunch at the Mexican restaurant. More Barkley and ultra tales told. This day had been wonderful. The opportunity to walk on some of the Barkley trails with the creator of the race, and two who had run it numerous times, was something very special.

Friday. One day to go. The Thursday adventure had cured me of my “I’m worried I’m not worried enough” state. Now I was just plain worried. Then I checked on Facebook and saw this:

“Great New Zealand runner”. “Under 4 hours”. Well, crap! There went my race-winning strategy of being under the radar, holding back just behind the lead runners and making the decisive break near the end. Talk about being thrown under a bus by the Race Director!

We drove back out to Frozen Head so Jenn could finally get a look at the famous yellow gate. There were already runners milling around. We said hi, swapped names and wished each other luck for the next day, before going on to Warburg to help with the registration. Andrew Readinger was manning the registration desk and commented on the Neutral Milk Hotel t-shirt I was wearing. A fellow fan! He heard my accent and it turns out he’d being in New Zealand a couple of years previously. He asked if I’d run the Northburn 100 miler - tagline, “You don’t race it. You survive it.” Uhhhh, no I had not! Northburn is New Zealand’s toughest 100 miler (ok, ok, there are only two hundred mile races in New Zealand, but still, it’s tough!) and Andrew had run, and finished it, while there on holiday. My thought process went something like, “So someone who finished this really tough 100 mile race that I can’t really imagine how hard it would be and he’s here to run the BFC, and how hard is this going to be that folks who’ve run 100 miles are here doing it and what the hell was I thinking signing up for this damn race!”. I smiled at Andrew and said “Good job” and slunk off to help Jenn sell race shirts from previous BFCs.

Dinner at the American Foreign Legion in Warburg was great, and whilst I have to admit to not actually swearing allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, the whole experience and hospitality of being there was something I’m glad I had. The dinner table conversation was mostly nervous chatter about what it would be like tomorrow, and would we need maps, and what would the heat be like, and had we done enough training. Luckily we got to watch the Barkley Marathons documentary before everyone got completely psyched out. A small highlight of that was having one of the State Prison guards who was there when James Early Ray escaped talk to us about that and how they captured him.

Then it was back to Oak Ridge to get our gear together for the race and try to get some sleep. Which I didn’t do. Not one minute of sleep. I didn’t feel too nervous, or too worried. I just couldn’t sleep.

The Race

Up at 4am for a cup of tea, scrambled eggs and packing.

For nutrition I was going with Perpetuem every 30 mins, supplemented by some protein bars and Snickers bars. I planned on two electrolytes capsules every hour and carried two bottles of water. There was no compulsory gear for the race - I carried an extra shirt in case there was chafing with the cotton shirt, some sun cream and body glide. We were allowed a drop bag at 22 miles, I had some more food and my poles waiting with that. I wore Lone Peak 3.0 shoes, Injini socks, and Dirty Girl Gaiters. I had a cap for the sun later on. Here’s me before the start:

Twice before I’d managed to steer Jenn wrong, driving out of Oak Ridge, but this time we made it, arriving at the start/finish field around 6am, for the 7am start. We parked, left our drop bags and looked around. “Everything looks really elite”, said Jenn. We didn’t. We chatted to a couple of folk, including one who’d run it last year. He found out I was from New Zealand and asked, “Had I heard of this?”, pulling out a bottle of Gurney Goo! As start time got closer we got more nervous. We hung out near the back of the crowd, then I suggested we move a little closer to the front - I’ve read about getting stuck too far behind in the conga lines going up Bird Mountain. We saw a guy wearing Luna Sandals. Respect! A good luck handshake with Jenn. We didn’t see the lighting of the cigarette, but suddenly we were off. Shuffling. ((What’s the collective noun for a group of ultra-runners? A shuffle.))

I wasn’t sure about quite how to run this race. I at least had some idea of what was ahead from Thursday’s route-marking, but what shape was I going to be in when I reached that section? And there were cut-off times to be aware. I figured the keys for me were: keep moving, don’t hang around at aid stations and run what I could without blowing up.

There was a couple of kilometres of flat along the road to the yellow gate and the start of Bird Mountain track. I ran slowly and steadily, listening to the nervous chatter around, passing a few folk, wondering about those already walking, and kept running up until the switchbacks of Bird Mountain. I’d counted 15 of these on my run up there Tuesday, and commenced a steady walk upwards. It was basically a long conga-line of runners - walking! Occasionally someone would try and cut past, but there really was nowhere to go. The lines started to split a little towards the top, but I was happy with the pace and group I was in. Over the top and onto the first downhill. The track got rougher after the top, cambered quite a lot to the downhill side, narrower. I’d rate it as similar to a moderate Tararua’s track. About a 1/3 of the way down things got frustrating with a slow downhill runner holding people up. Luckily he stepped aside at a switchback and a group of about 10 of us passed through. I hung on the back of this group and really enjoyed it through to the first aid station - we pretty much stuck together, went at the same pace, reeled in and passed a few people along the way. I *think* it was two ladies from Huntsville, Alabama who set the pace for our little group. I actually stuck with them right through until just after Garden Spot, way past the first aid station, enjoying the southern twang of their accents. Two ladies from Huntsville, I salute and thank you for pacing me through this section!

After dropping down from Bird Mountain, we hit Phillips Creek and headed up Jury Ridge and along the North Boundary Trail. It wasn’t that the climbs and descents along here were especially long, or especially steep. It was just that you were ALWAYS either climbing or descending. I was feeling in good shape though, taking my Perpetuem, drinking water and had my first bite of solid food.

Our little group of 10 was heading down towards the start of the climb up to Bald Knob, when we heard a scream from a runner just up ahead of us, and the cry of “Bees!” In one of the smartest pieces of running I saw that day, our leaders took off to the right, off trail and up a bank, skirting around and then down past the bees - actually Yellow Jackets. I think the same as NZ wasps. Halfway along this small sidle, I saw a bare-chested guy start sprinting through that spot, yelling, “I’m just running through this.” His screams started soon after that. We got back on trail, but there was too big a gap back to warn upcoming runners. For the next 10-15 minutes, we kept hearing screams. And cursing. And screams. It was like a horror movie. I read later that people were getting stung 20, 30, up to 70 times. Everyone was somewhat chastened going up Bald Knob and into the first aid station. The cut-off for this was 3hr 15mins and I think I was there with around 45mins to spare.

Up and down and ups and downs, all the way along to The Garden Spot and the next checkpoint. Our race bibs had hole punches and we had to get one punched at each checkpoint. The end result would spell out a phrase, and prove we’d completed the whole course. Walking the ups and running the downs. There were no flat bits. I believe we passed over Son of a Bitch ditch along this section.

I was still feeling good at Garden Spot and soon after we hit some jeep roads - flat for a while, then a gentle uphill to the next aid station at Tub Springs. I ran all of this, except for a couple of small hills, only getting passed by a couple of people and not really seeing anyone behind me. I tried eating a little more solid food and then gave up. I realised it wasn’t going to be a day for food for me. Temperature-wise I was feeling fine. It was cooler under the trees than out in the open. My shirt was wet with sweat, and before each aid station, I’d pour any spare water I had over my head, letting it drip down to my shirt and body. It felt like this was working well.

I passed through the Tub Springs aid station and then down the long jeep road to Ames Gap. The whole jeep road section felt a little like running Karapoti (iconic Wellington loop). I ran for a while with a guy using BFC as his last big hit-out before a hilly 100 milers in three weeks time. Got to Ames Gap and then walked up the dirt road to the top of Spectacle Testicle. Still feeling good, but conscious of cut-off times. I was well ahead of cut-offs at Tub Springs, but this next section - Spectacle Testicle, Meth Lab Hill and Rat Jaw - was the key to the race. We had to be at the next cut-off, just over the top of Rat Jaw within 8hrs 01mins. That 01 minute!

I stopped briefly to apply some sun-cream, get my hat out, and then down down down Spectacle. It wasn’t quite as bad as I feared. I was following folks down, so knew where to go. Earlier runners had mostly formed a faint path to follow. And I knew from Thursday, you just slide down the steep bits. There was a steady stream of runners walking back up - I guess these were among the leaders. Pretty much without fail, they’d all look at those of us coming down and say, “Good job”, “Well done”. The bond of people doing hard stuff.

Right at the bottom I had my little hero moment for the race. We’d placed a marker arrow so it could be seen from quite a ways back up the hill. Up close, though, it seemed to point straight up a 20-30 ft bank. There was a line of people scrambling up this and more waiting their turn. I arrived and kept running around the edge of the bank to the left, shouting, “No, that’s wrong. It’s this way!” They all turned to look at the guy with the funny accent. “No, trust me! It’s this way. I helped mark this part of the course.” Most followed me and we came around the corner, ahead of those scrambling down the other side of the bank. I led a little group down to the left hand turn into the bush and headed in.

At New River, I stopped for a few minutes, dropped my running vest and poured a few bottles of water from the river over my head in preparation for the heat and sun of the climb back up Spectacle. At the church aid station, I hung around a little while, refilling water bottles and mixing some more Perpetuem. There was some food at the aid stations, but I never tried it and knew by now I didn’t want anything solid. The aid stations also provided Sword, and I cautiously tried a fews sips of that here.

The climb back up Spectacle was hard, but manageable. Lots of scrambling, a detour into the woods at one stage, but mostly head down, keep moving. I knew that however long this climb was, Rat Jaw was 2 1/2 times longer. Better not panic too much on this climb!

A brief stop at the top, looking down Meth Lab, and then plunging down it. For most of the first half, there was a sort of dirt road. Perhaps a little rougher and as steep as the steepest part of the Tip Track, known as the steepest trail in Wellington. I’d run Tip Track so many times in training, this almost felt like home. Until the road stopped dead. I peered left - steep bank, lots of briars. I looked right into the bush, but couldn’t see anything. A group of 3 or 4 caught me then, and they explored the bush on the right. Yup, people had slid down a bank here. Let’s do that! We climbed down that, then across Meth Lab and down some more bush on the left hand side. Here I ran straight through a big briar bush and got cut all across my thigh. I was almost happy at this - I wanted some Barkley briar scars!

A flat dirt road covered in leaves, and then out into Petros and a short open road run up to the prison. I started to feel it on this stretch. It was open to the sun and heat and I found it tough to run. I was getting more conscious of the cut-off time. There was probably slightly over 2 hrs to go, but I’d read about people taking up to two hours just to climb Rat Jaw. The aid station just before the prison was from heaven. I tried a little more Sword and then had my bottles filled with ice and water. An angel lady filled my cap with ice and I put that over my head. Instant cold headache, but so so wonderful for the next 20 mins.

We entered the prison and walked through to the courtyard field, following that to where the Petros Fire Brigade had set up a ladder against the far prison wall. Yup, we got to climb the walls of Brushy Mountain State Prison to escape! I have to confess to not focusing too much on the prison - I was struggling just a little and knew I needed to keep moving to beat the cut-off. However, I did have the presence of mind to thank Keith Dunn (punching bibs outside the prison wall) for his live tweeting of the Big Barkley race. We cut down to a creek and then followed that through the tunnel beside the prison. Walking through was a nice respite from the heat and sun, but really, all I was thinking about was Rat Jaw.

[photo credit: Misty Herron Wong]

2,000 ft in just over a mile. After running for around 6 hrs. Last year’s BFC had featured briar patches up to 10 ft tall all the way up Rat Jaw. There were reports of people tunnelling through, getting lost, getting snagged. It did not look fun. Still, all of the runners were “looking forward” to this briar experience. To digress just a little… The head ranger at Frozen Park is Ranger Dave. There is a history between him and Laz and Barkley. He’s not a fan. In fact, it seems he’s not a fan of anyone really using the park. There have been issues between him and Laz over the years. Two or three weeks before this year’s BFC, it seems Ranger Dave ordered the briars on Rat Jaw to be cut down. Laz thinks as “screw you” to the race.

Reader, let me tell you - I said a few little prayers of thanks to Ranger Dave while climbing Rat Jaw.

Of course, the briars having been cut, just meant you were exposed relentlessly to the sun. Rat Jaw was as hard as they promised. It was impossible to get any momentum as it was too steep. There was many patches of somewhat flat ground, and you’ve arrive at these to see runners sprawled on the ground, or standing, hands on knees. You didn’t make much eye contact, everyone was in their own world. You’d promise yourself a rest at the top of this stretch, only to take that rest halfway up. You couldn’t see the top. It bent around to the left, and then to the right again. You’d hear the occasional exhaled “Fuck”, but there was no one that could help you. I confess to having a few thoughts about missing the cut-off while climbing Rat Jaw. My reasoning went, “If I gave it a good shot climbing here, but still just missed the cut-off, and so wasn’t ALLOWED to go on past the marathon, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I would have tried hard, but it would be out of my control.”

One section, there was a downed power line and you had to grab it and pull yourself, hand over hand, up the slope. Someone yelled, “Yellow jackets” and two of us turned left into the briars to avoid them, cutting back on the track a little way higher. There was a rock formation, maybe 2/3 of the way up and we tried skirting around it. It didn’t look promising. Then I noticed a small cut in the rocks and a couple of runners resting up there. We cut through, lucky to have seen them. Finally, a few yells in the distance and the turn of a corner and we could see the top and the fire tower. The final third was probably the “easiest” of the climb, but everyone still stopped at some stage to rest.

A little dazed, I climbed up over to the top and stopped to take a photo with my WoRM (Wellington Running Meetup) badge:

Heather had taken one with the WoRM badge we gave her during the Big Barkley, so it seemed the thing to do at the top of Rat Jaw. We had to climb the fire tower for another hole punch, then a short downhill run back to Tub Springs aid station. I arrived 15-20mins ahead of the cutoff.

From here it was a nice runnable downhill trail - North Old Mac - to the final important cut-off where Laz was waiting. You had to arrive there within 9 hrs 30 mins, or else have to take the marathon finish option. If you arrived before then, you could choose. I started walking down here to give my stomach a chance to settle, but soon started doing 8 mins running and 2 mins walking, which seemed to work well for me. Soon enough, I rounded a final downhill bend, and turned into the straight leading up to the Trail exchange aid station. I was in ok shape. Hurting a little, but not injured. Not wanting solid food, but still managing the Perpetuem and, now, some Sword. I found my drop bag and dumped into it all of my solid food, my spare shirt, sun-cream and body glide. I filled up one water bottle and the other with Sword, grabbed my poles, said ‘Fuck no!” to Laz when he asked if I was going to drop the marathon option and started walking along to the base of the Chimney Trail track.

It was a little bit of a show of bravado. Once I reached the base of Chimney Top trail, I promptly sat down on the track for a 5 min rest. 3 or 4 people passed, “Was I ok?” “Yeah. I just didn’t want to sit down in front of Laz!” I knew I was going to finish at this stage. I had enough time. I wasn’t wrecked. But there’s knowing you’re going to finish, and still actually finishing.

I got back up and started the walk up Rough Ridge. It was slow, I had to force myself to keep going a little. Just past the top, I saw three guys sitting down on a big rock. “Mind if I join you?” I sat down for another 5 min rest, some more Perpetuem, some water. Got up and started a very slow run down to the bottom of Rough Ridge. I got passed by a group of 4 or 5 going down here, but caught onto the back of them for the first climb up Chimney Top. I was telling myself, 25 mins walking, then a 5 min rest. Occasionally, I’d just stop dead on the track, bent over my poles, counting to 20 before carrying on. Chimney Top wasn’t Rat Jaw steep, but after 10 hrs moving, it was plenty tough. And it was long. I kept leap-frogging with a few folk, but getting passed more than I caught up to people. Undulating after the top, then a final climb just before Mart Fields campground. I was done with climbing.

And then… running along and down from Mart Fields, and around and down to the Spicewood aid station, I got a second wind. I was fast-walking, interspersed with running, and it felt good. I was enjoying this last section, knowing I would finish, feeling in ok shape, telling myself to enjoy the whole experience. I rolled into the aid station and took a short break to pour more water over my head, drink a complete bottle of Sword and refill with Sword and water. One runner was sitting there, clearly in some distress, head between his legs. I thanked the aid station guy and took off for the final 5-6 kms down Spicewood trail. Running and walking, hoping I’d finish before dark. It was quiet in the woods. There was a brief shower of rain. I was running at Frozen Head and about to finish.

I made it back down to the Trail exchange aid station for the final time. I’d promised myself a photo with Laz, but only if/when I got to this stage. There was just enough light for one.

Laz asked me how I’d feel about attempting the Big Barkley. I just looked at him. “I can’t comprehend how anyone could do 5 loops.” I asked him if what we’d just done at the BFC was roughly equivalent to a loop of Barkley, expecting that it probably was. He just looked back at me, laughed, and shook his head. “Not even close!” Welp!

Andrew Readinger caught me at this stage and walked some of the way down the road together to the finish. I said I’ve been pretty happy with my nutrition and asked him what he ate for the day. “Water and salt tabs”. Ok then!

I ran it in the last few hundred metres, not in tears, but emotional and happy. I saw my friends, Steve and Heather, who’ve driven over from Raleigh, NC to see me finish and hang out for a couple of days after. I crossed the line, 12 hrs, 24 mins 46 secs. Steve Durbin was there, and I shook his hand and claimed my Coix de Barque. Jenn had finished about an hour before me and come over for a hug. Steve and Heather had brought a cold Coke, which I stood around drinking, watching some of the other finishers, buzzing inside and out. As I said to Laz at the final checkpoint - “I’ve fucking done it!”

A week later, I signed up for BFC 2017.

Thanks to

My family - Deb, Matt, Josh and our cats Badger and Cody for putting up with my running and training

Heather Anderson for being the best coach for me

Mark Greig for joining me on secret training missions and run after run after run

Ewa Kusmierczyk for support, encouragement and mantras

Everyone at WoRM for support and company

Laz, Sandra, Steve and Mike for a magical day out and hospitality

Jenn Pasiciel for great company

Heather and Steve for coming out to see me

Everyone who ran, volunteered, supported and helped out at the Barkley Fall Classic 2016

#barkley fall classic

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