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britttracey · 7 years

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Sinister 7 Ultra 2017 report

Sinister 7 ultra Ladies and Gentlemen make yourself a snack and prepare for the longest fucking thing you'll read all day! 100 mile relay, 7 legs, 7 runners. This was my second year running this race, last year really set the hook and now there's no way I can't be a part of it in some way. It's just so well run and the atmosphere is everything you could expect from a trail race. Even though it's grown quite large and popular it still feels really down home and chill. It's just a really great race to be a part of. This is a race that I one day hope to run solo. Although after this year, my views on when that might be possible have shifted. This was Sinister's 10th anniversary and the race director decided to change things up and re-route some of the legs to have more single track and climbing. My team, Jugs'n'Thugs, was different from last year, we lost three runners and gained three new ones, but the spirit and drive to finish the damn thing was still there. My training was posted weekly in the training thread, and a lot of you follow me on strava but feel free to ask any questions you might have! Sorry this has taken me so long to write by the way, I've been really busy lately with a backpacking trip and prep for my race this Saturday. *Friday July 7th* I headed over to the Coleman Sports Center to start my volunteering shift. Any teams that volunteer a certain amount of hours receive early entry into the next years race. Considering the race sells out of team spots in minutes every year I figured volunteering would be an excellent idea. I forgot exactly how many hours were needed so I volunteered a solid 12 hours. 8 am to 8 pm. I started out by putting together the swag bags and then worked the registration table for the rest of the day, checking in teams and changing team lineups for people. It was honestly exhausting but worth it as I now have early entry for 2018. I finished the day and headed home where I actually had a really solid sleep. *Saturday July 8th* The race starts at 7 am and I was the by 6:15 to meet up with my team mates for a pre race hang out. We took a [before team photo](https://imgur.com/a/b1cXt) minus one thug, and got our leg one runner ready to head out into the wild! **Leg One** Frank slide: 18.3km, 535m of gain. Difficulty 2/7. One aid station on course. Our runner put out a really hard effort and bought us a really nice time deficit on this leg. He cruised in with a time of 1:58:30 earning us 45/206 team time on leg 1. He [handed off](https://imgur.com/a/gVRK1) the timing chip to our leg 2 runner and she was off. **Leg Two** Hastings Ridge: 17km, 852m of gain. Difficulty 3/7. One aid station on course. This is one of my favourite legs view wise. Our runner gave it her all as the sun started to really heat things up. We all moved down to the next transition area to anxiously await our leg 3 runner to show up and our leg 2 runner to come in. She came in with a time of 3:21:35 earning us 137/206 for a really difficult leg 2. Our leg 3 runner had showed up 20 or so minutes before and [he headed out](https://imgur.com/a/frXy0) into the ever intensifying heat. **Leg Three** Willoughby Ridge: 31.4km, 1,357m of gain. Difficulty 6/7. Three aid stations on course. While our runner was out I decided to head home to get a nap in my cool basement as it was so hot I couldn't stand just sitting around in the sun. According to what I heard and read it hit 40 degrees Celsius in some places on course. Runners were dropping like flies, and I was drinking so much water to stay hydrated that I had to pee every 15 minutes. Our leg three runner survived the heat and came in at 5:03:04, earning us 119/206 for the leg. He [handed over the timing chip](https://imgur.com/a/h8whp) to our leg four runner and then swore he wasn't going to run again for a couple of years. **Leg Four** Saddle Mountain: 23.4km, 974m of gain. Difficulty 4/7. Two aid stations on course. While our runner was out on what would later be described to us as a horrific new leg 4, we shuttled our vehicles up to the transition area we would be at for most of the night. I crammed in two sandwiches and some fruit and beef jerky and fell asleep on the ground in a patch of shade outside of my car. It was a restless 10 minute sleep but it was better than no sleep at all. We grabbed our leg 5 runner and headed down to the transition from four to five just as it finally started to cool off a bit. Our runner came in after struggling with the heat and the added climb from last years course. She put out a solid effort of 4:58:54 earning us 154/206 for that leg. [We sent out our leg five (https://imgur.com/a/1g6Dr) my training partner, and I prepared myself mentally for leg Six. **Leg Five** Mount Tecumseh: 27.4km, 962m of gain. Difficulty 5/7. Two aid stations on course. After driving back to where all our vehicles were parked I asked my team to wake me up at 1 am. I figured I'd try to sleep. I got changed into my race gear in my car as what seemed like a million people decided to walk by. I tossed and turned on my reclined seat till my alarm went off and I got up to pee for the 3000th time of the day. I had run leg 5 last year and I knew much training partner would just fly through it like nothing, which she did. I wasn't standing long in the chute, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and shivering, before she came flying in yelling my name. I dropped my blanket on the ground and ran to her. She later told me I looked shocked and confused as she handed me the chip. What it actually was was terror. She came in at 3:36:45 bring us to 137/206 for that leg. **Leg Six** Crowsnest Mountain and the Seven Sisters: 31.9km, 1400m of gain. Difficulty 7/7. Three aid stations on course. Km 1-8: resignation I clicked my headlamp on and ran off into the night just before 2 am, scared fucking shitless. The first 8 or so km to aid station one is all dirt road with a gradual incline. A race photographer caught a pretty [sick shot](https://imgur.com/a/E0F6E) of me here. I was warned going in that I would get wet and that it was unavoidable. I figured I'd show those fuckers that I was capable of avoiding water crossings without hurting my time. Boy was I wrong. Right before Aid One, the road itself actually turned into a river, which I had to continue running up. This was the point where I said fuck it and resigned myself to wet feet. I hit aid station one, happy to see human faces and continued through without grabbing anything, I knew the climb was coming. Km 9-15: fuck you, you fucking hill. Just after aid station one was a giant rock and mud slide. It was flagged. I believe I yelled out "Are you fucking kidding me?!?" As I crossed it by headlamp with wet feet. I'm almost positive I could hear aid station volunteers laughing from behind me. We started climbing right around km 9 and it didn't stop. I feel like I'm still climbing up that god awful hill. There were no switch backs, only hip deep ruts and loose powdery dirt. I'd look up and see headlamps a million meters above me, finally get to where they were only to look up once again and see more headlamps up in the sky. I ended up joining forces with Chatty Dude and a solo female runner who I will refer to as Badass. The three of us finally reached the top just as the [sun was starting to peek out](https://imgur.com/a/YB7f4)far off in the distance. Chatty Dude and I dropped Badass here. She was doing really well and would go on to be one of the few solo finishers. Km 15-24: Chatty Dude. There were some very steep, loose bouldery descents in here, mixed with the strange light of dawn it made for some really potentially ankle breaking running. Chatty Dude got even more chatty as I started to get quieter and quieter. As the descent evened out I picked up into a run. This whole section was just quad road with water crossing after water crossing, I grabbed a few pretzels from the aid station in here, cursed my way up another gnarly hill and learned Chatty Dudes life story. I blew through knee deep rivers while he picked his way around, chatting away and slowly driving me to the brink of insanity. The company was nice to keep my mind off of things but I couldn't get a single word out. Km 24-32: The never ending road The last aid station was being worked by Joanna Ford. Last years female solo winner, whom I know from instagram and a random group run in May. It was really nice to see a familiar face and know I was getting close to the end. The road seemed to go on forever and ever. I finally hit the thing known as "the ditch", a steep loose rocky downhill with a river crossing at the bottom and then a steep uphill on the other side. This thing is gnarly but I knew I only had a few km to go at that point. I informed Chatty Dude that I knew how far was left and that I was just going to put my head down and go for it. Which I did. Finally dropping Chatty Dude after hours and hours. I came in to the aid station at 6:09:24 dropping us back a few places to 160/206. I handed off to leg 7 and sat down on the ground. My friend who did leg 6 for us last year and his wife who did leg 1 last year were waiting there. "That climb is no fucking joke." I yelled from the ground, "There's no way I can solo this monster." **Leg Seven** Wedge Mountain: 10.9km, 321m of gain. Difficulty 1/7. One aid station on course. Our leg Seven runner had been braving night training runs with me in hopes we'd be quick enough to finish in the dark. That did not happen. Instead she got some nice late morning heat as she powered her way through leg seven to get us to the [finish](https://imgur.com/a/gk6dA). She finished her leg in 1:32:24 bringing us to 157/206th team for a total time of 26:40:40. *Post Race* We got our team [after](https://imgur.com/a/BksVO) photo, once again, minus a thug. And went our separate ways. I had a drive to make, a 12 hour drive to Vancouver to catch a ferry to hike the Juan De Fuca trail, to be exact. I was really knocked back a bit by leg 6 and my dreams of soloing will be pushed back another year. But next year, me and my fast buddy that did leg 6 last year are going to put together a two man team and tackle it that way. Why do I do this stuff?

#race report #sinister7ultra

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janetgannon · 7 years

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700 miles downwind to Alaska

Pardon my lack of posts lately. We did a bit of sailing this week.

It started last Thursday (4/20) when we caught an extremely favorable southerly wind for a 160-mile overnight passage from the northwest corner of Vancouver Island to the bottom of Haida Gwaii. Continuing north with the breeze, we went up through incredible Gwaii Haanas National Park before sailing across Hecate Strait to the northern BC coast. Then on Tuesday afternoon we made the hop over the border under a shining sun and our bright blue spinnaker to Ketchikan, Alaska.

Pulling into Bar Harbor Marina here in Ketchikan and checking into the USA was a wonderful feeling. Greeted with the last sun rays of the day, snowcapped mountains and friendly locals, it was exactly a month to the day since we departed Victoria with a simple plan to head north under sail. In that time we’ve put over 700 miles behind Yahtzee’s stern and only 90 of those — 90! — have been upwind.

But it was never really been about the miles. It was all about the sailing. From day one until crossing the border, our goal in reaching Alaska was about sailing as family. Not pushing it, but waiting for it and living it — and we’ve done that.

Sailing downwind to Alaska. Yep, it was epic. Here’s how we made it happen.

North to Alaska: The Plan

Over the winter when Jill and I started setting our sights on sailing to Alaska, we laid out large planning charts of the Inside Passage and began pouring over our options. The route, which covers hundreds of miles of water lined by mountains, forests, islands and rocks, is typically transited by heading up the east side of Vancouver Island and then up the central and northern BC coasts.

Two common gripes about voyaging from Washington to Alaska on a sailboat along this route, though, are that you motor a lot and sail a little. And when you do have wind to sail, it’s on the nose — which makes sailing less possible, difficult or uncomfortable.

Looking to completely turn that narrative upside down, we hatched a loose plan to use spring southerly winds to work our way up the outside of Vancouver Island. Then once at the top, we’d make a decision on which way to go. Besides a few general parameters, there was no timeline of when we wanted to arrive in Alaska or on what exact route. If we had to wait for wind we would. If the sailing was too much too fast, we’d slow down. But if the winds were good and in our favor, we’d keep going.

That’s it. That was our whole plan.

The Actual Route

After reaching the top of Vancouver Island in several glorious downwind leaps, it became time to set our sights farther north and the main goal in our minds was Alaska. To us, it didn’t really matter how we got there, we just wanted to keep going with the wind. Once we left Quatsino Sound, our options were to turn northeast and hit the central and north coasts of British Columbia, weaving our way up through the narrows of the Inside Passage. We could whet our appetite for more days of ocean sailing by hopping out into the ocean, leaving Haida Gwaii to starboard and after three or four days and nights, checking into Alaska in Sitka. Or, we could make an overnight passage to the bottom of Haida Gwaii, move through the islands and then hop over to the north coast of BC, which would put Ketchikan in easy reach.

What came of it was a free-flowing journey that had us moving with the wind and our attitudes, and changing our minds several times along the way. Many days we’d leave port without a set destination and let the wind sort it out as we went.

But there were other factors at play, too. When we called U.S. Customs & Immigration in Sitka, we actually got ahold of someone in Arizona who said that he was dispatched there to protect the southern border and wouldn’t be back in Alaska until May. So that was out. Also, the weather always gets a huge vote, and in watching the forecasts, we saw a couple favorable windows forming that would allow us to jump straight north, wait, and then jump north again. That’s what we did.

Sail On

Me and the boys hanging out on the foredeck, watching the waves roll by.

With full sails drawing, Yahtzee ripped off the miles northward and Vancouver Island was quickly in our wake. The excitement of being on the ocean again after a week in Quatsino Sound was evident among our whole crew and we were all looking forward to a night at sea. Nobody more so than Porter.

He was thrilled at the proposition of standing his first night watch, which we’d talked about with him on and off throughout the day. When his watch came, he was out of bed, in his gear and popping out of the companionway with a zeal I wasn’t expecting. He diligently stood watch for two hours while drinking tea, gazing at the stars and planets, and talking to Jill nearly the entire time. And when it was his turn to retire, he said I could have the remainder of the night’s watches.

Porter up and ready for his first night watch.

By morning, Haida Gwaii was on the bow and the wind was fresh. We sailed fast towards Anthony Island on the southwest corner of the chain and were greeted by humpback whales just miles from our anchorage. Anthony Island, or SGang Gwaay, is a UNESCO World Heritage site and to say the area is breathtaking is a gross understatement. It is a very remote place and certainly feels that way while navigating the waters and walking the trails and beaches, especially this time of year.

Carved cedar mortuary and memorial totems stand tall in a grassy cove here, and according to the UNESCO website, the island and totems “…illustrate the art and way of life of the Haida. The property commemorates the living culture of the Haida and their relationship with the land and sea.”

The totems at SGang Gwaay.

We made two more stops in Haida Gwaii before jumping across Hecate Strait and it really left us yearning for more. Though it is similar in many ways to other places we’ve cruised to in the Pacific Northwest, it truly is unique in an indescribable sort of way. We’ll be back.

Sunrise over Hecate Strait.

From the east side of Haida Gwaii, our next big push started early in the morning and with a forecast that flip-flopped more than a politician, it was really anyone’s guess as to what we’d get. The morning started with a following breeze that turned into a solid westerly, putting us on a beam reach sailing northward at a good clip. Thinking the wind might go north, we stayed close to the islands and then when it did slowly veer, we cracked off to the northeast and close reached for a while before making it to Stephens Island motor-sailing close hauled in a light wind.

Stephens Island off the bow.

What was left to Alaska was another big day from the northeast coast of BC up to Ketchikan. Fortunately, it was sunny and windy for most of it, and to cap off our run from Vancouver Island to Alaska under spinnaker was something I’d dreamed of. It was awesome.

Flying the chute across the border! WhooHoo!

All along, Jill and I said that if it seemed we weren’t handling all the miles and long days well as a family that we’d slow it down. But we were in a sailing groove that we seemingly couldn’t shake and we didn’t feel like we were rushing. It was also very helpful that the breezes were good, the rain stayed away and that we had more consistent sunshine than we’ve seen since last summer.

By the end of our monthlong voyage north to “The Last Frontier” we began to realize that, even when we have a plan and end destination in mind, the journey to get there is what matters most. This past month of cruising has proven that not only be true, but to be what we love about our life under sail.

Now it’s time to enjoy Alaska.

If you enjoyed this article, please feel free to share far and wide. Thanks!