A Baker's Dozen: Things MUT Runners Should Know

Things I've learned over more than a decade of Mountain-Ultra-Trail Running:

1. There's value in a rest season. But if you've forgotten how to turn on or off your Garmin, you've had too much time off.

Rest doesn't mean you have to go at a snail's pace. Just give yourself a season to recover before you fall down that steep overtraining cliff of doom. Think about the big picture.

2. Carry a collapsible silicone cup. In hot weather, if you have access to a tap, you'll rehydrate much better taking gulps from a proper cup compared to sucking through a bite valve. Plus there's nothing better than stopping halfway through a long run to grab an espresso!

Cheers to hydration!

3. You can't outrun a bad diet. You can't recover well on a bad diet, either.

A horrific breakfast at a private hut in Switzerland during a multi-day solo run
vs an easy travel-friendly yummy and nutritious lunch option

4. "Tailgate" with your running mate(s) at the end of a run. Not only is it smart recovery to get your 15g of protein and 60g of carbs in straight away, communing over food is a way humans have bonded since we became a species.

Avocado cacao mousse has been a staple!
Easy to add Hammer (Vegan) Recoverite to, as well.

5. Running on an injury that hasn't healed is like picking a scab before it's ready. Or worse, because the setback will make your heart bleed, too. Don't pick the scab.

Feeling rather Johnny Cash with an injury I don't understand. I seem to "pick the scab"
without even knowing it. The setbacks are mentally exhausting.

6. Run for time over distance. Monitor time on feet. Running 60 or 100km per week on hills could have you running 20% more time. That requires more maintenance and better (more) recovery.

Eight hours of activity is arguably more meaningful than simply saying 50km or 61km,
 which could be almost half that time on the road.

7. On the trails, carry emergency supplies - a tiny torch (Petzl e+lyte, Maglite Solitaire), a long piece of flagging tape, a flint, and a decent first aid kit (absorbent non-stick pad and crepe bandage, strapping for snake bite or sprain). I also carry a short pencil and mini knife with serrated edge, which have proven their value many times. These combined items weigh less than 200g. If you can't handle carrying 200g, consider a strength training program. Surely you can work up to it ;-)

All this might make a night out in the bush more enjoyable,
but 200g of essentials could make it survivable.

8. When you're hot, take any opportunity to soak down. Use your hat or tubie ("Buff") to pour creek or fountain tap water over your hammies, quads, and calves. The shock of cool will also allow blood that's been at the skin level (trying to cool you) to go deeper back into your core. That means more blood (oxygen) circulating for your muscles and for digestion again. Taking the extra few seconds during races to soak myself at creeks, hoses, sponges, and whatever else comes my way has paid off in my performance.

7th place finish at a  hot year at UTMB in 2015. I took 'precious seconds' in the race to stop and take advantage of all the soak opportunities along the way

9. Run 85-90% of your time easy, 10-15% very hard. Unless you're still developing a base. Then just run easy. Run more days than you don't. Run easy and focus on consistency and giving yourself a big, fat base of musculoskeletal adaptation to build on.

A summit sandwich stop on a long run is part of the fun and helps keep easy runs easy.
 You can take liberties with "summit" if you live in a vertically challenged area :)

10. If someone offers you "vitamin i" (ibuprofen such as Nurofen/Advil) or a patella-femoral strap for your niggle, seek better advice.

2009 knee surgery after a solid year or so of patella-femoral
straps and other poor treatment of my "niggles."

11. Fuel on carbs or simply run easy on your fat stores. Fat and fibre are unhelpful when running. You already have fat on your body, which is harder to convert to energy. Things that don't work include almonds and dates. Been there. If you are opposed to maltodextrin fuel because you want "real" food, think white rice sushi, (sweet) potato without the skin, or white bread sandwiches with jam.

I've been running and racing puke-free and strong since 2010 on Hammer Nutrition's
range of (GF) carb fuels.

12. Do strength work. Lift heavy things (under good supervision to start). I couldn't believe my first injury in 2007 when the physio told me I had no glutes. She was right. So I started some token exercises. I was afraid I would bulk up doing heavy weights and that weights weren't "running specific," because "runners should run," right? Runners SHOULD run. AND lift weights. And get massage. And sleep. A lot of sleep.

The change to my running form around 2013 was remarkable after getting into proper strength work. No more hunched over "ultra shuffle." It contributed massively to my staying injury-free, too.

13. Sheepdog. When you're running with others, but faster than some of the people in the group, turn around regularly and run back to the last person. It's better for your fitness than just waiting at the junction and it's better for the morale of the group. Don't just catch sight of the "caboose" runner and then start sprinting off again - what if they needed to tell you something? Like that they never want to run with you again cuz you're a self-centred jerk?

Sheepdog is an honourable title worldwide :)

My Love Letter to Western Australia

Dear WA,

In the early 2000's in Calgary, I needed a change. I was working too much and life was too predictable. I needed to set out on an "Expotition" as Winnie the Pooh would say. 

Chapter 8 excerpt from "Winnie the Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner" by A.A. Milne

In May 2008 I landed in Perth with three suitcases and an old bicycle. I loved the beautiful green UWA campus and the fact that the staff and PhD students like me stopped for "morning tea" each day. My first piece of furniture was a 4WD camping mat and my second was an outdoor patio set (yes, it was almost winter in Perth, but that was nothing compared to Canada). 

I learned about snakes and pea gravel on your trails and that buying a canoe would be money poorly spent. Instead, I got a BMW650GS and learned that I didn't like riding in sand or pea gravel! I learned about Christmas on a beach in summer (still weird) and that there can be nothing more beautiful than a sunset over the Indian Ocean.

I met my partner of now 11 years in WA. Perth's road running community taught me what "Comrades" was and I taught them what "trail running" was ("8.45 pace?!") I found myself as owner and race director of the Perth Trail Series and saw hundreds of people discover that Perth really does have hills :) I joined the amazing collaborative outdoor recreation sector in a volunteer capacity in order to help guide trails development and maintenance at a State level. I met people who became my trail running family. Some of us have travelled the world together.

Wallygrunta race February 2012

I learned not to "till" WA soil in a garden like we do in Canada and that cockroaches and huntsman spiders can be caught and released. I learned to run at 6am (or earlier) to beat the heat - and even to enjoy those early mornings (that took a decade!)

I camped with Noel Nannup and tried to learn from him and other First Nation elders about the Wadjuk Noongar Boodja upon which I was privileged to live. I developed my running skills and endurance and represented my new adoptive country on the world stage. I learned words like "doona" and "sanga" and phrases like "spit the dummy" and "she'll be right."

Digging for native yams on an Aboriginal led "Journey on Country"

Now, it's time for me to take my Canadian "roots" (which are really European) and my WA Sandgroper "tree trunk" and grow some new branches in the mountains of Victoria. It's time for another Expotition.

I am wary of complacency, mediocrity, and insularity. Wherever I am, may I be willing to learn. And to support a fair, just, and thriving world.

The point is not to move because I think the grass is greener. The point is to see whether there is even grass. Or something else I never knew existed. And whether any of that even matters.

The Expotition east.

The Forgotten Rest (Didn't See the Forest for the Trees)

I'm having my rest month. It was a bit late, though, so my body told me by way of my second toe.

Taken from the sole of foot, looking up. The bone should be black, not white, on the MRI

Ironically, just two weeks before this image was taken, I had given a talk for the North Star Trail Running Festival, where I noted that I hadn't sustained an injury that sidelined me in over 8 years. I credited this in large part to the fact that I always schedule rests into my program. I know damage is being done all the time when running and we can't outrun our body's ability to heal. Scott Jurek, a phenomenal ultrarunner, was one  athlete I looked to when I took this advice on board many years ago. He routinely scheduled month-long rests. This made sense to me. Rather than waiting for my body to break - and getting an unplanned rest - I would schedule them around my races, training, and personal life. Combined with a great plant-based diet, strength training, good sleep, and all those other helpful things, it worked great for 8 years.

Until I inadvertently erased my rest from my program.

Covid "erased all" but I should have kept my plan!

My program for March through June included the Sri Chinmoy 24hr race on 22 March, which was to be followed by a short rest and then building back to the Emu 6 day race in Hungary from 7-12 May. I had then programmed myself to have mid-May to mid-June off. It's my usual system of having periodic big rests after 6 or 8 months of training and racing. My next season race was to be the 100km World Championships in the Netherlands in late September. (Obviously cancelled.)

Covid hit Western Australia in mid-March and my March race was cancelled 3 days before the event. Instead of going to the race in Canberra, I drove a few hours south in WA and set a female FKT on the Cape to Cape Track over 19.5 hours. I gave myself a good rest the following week and then started building my mileage again. When the Hungary race was cancelled, I erased my program. Let me make that clear. I erased my program.

I ran. I created my #RunEveryStreet project and ran. I ran road and trails. I had no program. I simply recorded mileage after I completed it. Between 100-150km/week. I went to the gym for strength training and recorded that, as well.

In mid-June, I spontaneously decided to do a virtual vert race (All About the Vert) and tied it in with a Half Everest ("Base Camp"), becoming the first woman in Australia to do it. To get my 4424m of vert for the Half Everest, I had to do 72km (26 repeats) of a local hill! I approached it as a "Type 2 fun" adventure and kept myself at cruisy pace, so it took nearly 12 hours.

Coming into my 'aid station' about 8 hours into the Vert Race/Half Everest.

The next week, I was back running. Normally, that's not a big deal for me, because it was just "cruisy pace." I had DOMS in my quads, but no niggles.

But four days later, I thought I was getting arthritis in my second toe. The joint hurt, but warmed up after 10-20 minutes of running. Coincidentally, I had arthritis flaring up in the index finger in my right hand. A few years ago, I'd had a month or so of swollen thumbs, which I was told was arthritis.

I went scrambling the next weekend and had no toe pain at all.

The following week the toe was on and off with discomfort. I booked in with my podiatrist, in case my assessment was wrong. Tenosynovitis, perhaps? And then on Saturday - two weeks after the Half Everest - my toe symptoms changed. The toe was grumpy for nearly the full two hours of my run. It didn't "warm up" until the very end. The next day, when I changed to go to the gym, I noticed the top of my foot was a bit swollen. Oh dear! That stopped me in my tracks! I changed back out of my gym clothes and got a cancellation appointment with the podiatrist. I had an MRI within two days. Advanced stress reaction - the beginning of a stress fracture.

I racked my brain for the next few days as I sat with a carbon plate in my shoe. How? How did I miss it? Yes, it did seem that my symptoms were rather odd for a stressie ("warming up" rather than increasing pain during a run) and I was surely thrown off by having an arthritic flare up in my finger at the same time. But what else? I was definitely running a lot of road, but I had lots of new shoes (thanks to the 6 day race I didn't go to) and was varying them up. What else??

Then it struck me. I erased my program. I wiped out the month long rest I had scheduled.

Resting during a 2.5 hour "RunEveryStreet" #res run. Not long enough ;)

I had gotten so focused on running, day after day, I was just looking at each "tree," without stepping back to see that I was in a "forest" of trees. I lost sight of my big picture. I simply outran my body's ability to heal and I had dropped the system that had always protected me from doing that.

I admit, I shed a tear when I got the news, expecting it to be a terrible loss. But within two days, I was settled. Work and my volunteerism in Western Australian trails (boots-on-the-ground as well as advocacy) has been intense since Covid hit. I thought running was giving me my mental health time, but in reality, I was pretty exhausted trying to do it all.

It turns out, I've been having a fantastic month. I am getting into wilderness for many hours several times each week, pounding metal posts in on a 30km trail I'm reviving.

I can see the forest AND the trees now.

The 30 year old marker in a tree (trees grow!) and a new post just put in.

Run Every Street (RES) Project

I live in Kelmscott. It's a suburb of the City of Armadale. If I go abroad, I just say, "I'm from Perth."

Sunset over the Indian Ocean from my local Kelmscott trails - the long, narrow Champion (Wright) Lake reflecting

The reality is that Perth is actually only 20 square kilometres. It's basically the central business district - or the "downtown area" as a Canadian would call it. There's a population of about 22,000 there. Abutting Perth are several cities and towns. To get from 'downtown' to my home, I drive through at least two other "cities" before I reach mine. It's just one suburb after another, so you can't even tell.

My city covers 560 square kilometres. It's more than half forest, which makes me even more appreciative of it. There are about 91,000 people.

Australia is heading into autumn and winter. Ten days from now, before the end of April, I was to be flying to Europe for my annual migration. I was to do a 6 day race in Hungary in May, a mountain race in Switzerland in August, and the 100km World Championships in The Netherlands in September. I was to travel to Canada to see family and friends.

Most of us have a long list of what we "were" to do.

Now, it's time to make some other choices. It's time to get creative.

I have not spent a winter in Perth since 2009. If I'm going to be here - and encouraged (if not downright mandated) to stay local - well, I need an adventure.

My goal is to run every bituminised street in my city. I will still break it up with hilly trail runs. I haven't decided if I'll add the trail runs to my map or not. If I do, I will categorise them separately.

Looking NW from Armadale Settlers Common trails towards Perth, with most of Armadale streets in front

I have no idea how long this will take. Several months, I expect. That's fine. I've got a few seasons ahead to get to know my city!

I call it my "Run Every Street (RES) Project." It's also about RESiliency, being RESourceful, RESponsive, and making RESolutions!

You can follow my progress here.

Cape to Cape Track - Setting the Fastest Known Time (FKT)

It took a pandemic to get me to do the Cape to Cape Track FKT.

I guess that says just how daunting I expected this would be! Primarily, I'm rubbish at running on sand. It's not that I dislike it, I'm just very inefficient.

So gorgeous. What's to be afraid of?

Having spent most of four extremely hot and often humid months in Western Australia over summer, training for the Sri Chinmoy 24 Hour race to be held on 20 March, with Covid spreading throughout the country, I suddenly found myself with no endurance event.

On Tuesday afternoon my race was cancelled. Tuesday night I messaged a running mate to see if he still had a few days off work and could crew me. Wednesday was a flurry of preparation. Thursday at 1pm we were in a car headed south. Friday at 4.30am I was running. That escalated quickly.

The Cape to Cape Track is a 130km + ~2500m point-to-point track in WA's southwest, running between Cape Leeuwin lighthouse in the south and Cape Naturaliste lighthouse in the north. The spectacular Indian Ocean is visible off your left or right shoulder much of the time (depending on your direction of travel, of course). It takes an average of 6 days to hike it with a backpack.

When I moved to Perth in 2008, I eagerly bought several trail maps. The Cape to Cape maps were amongst them. As I settled in, I started to gather local "intel." In 2010, one of my running mates at the time (Mr Minnesota, I hope you're well and happy) posed the idea of an ultra running event on the track. A few locals to the Southwest region expressed that they thought it impossible to do it in under 24 hours. And that an event in an area so rugged and remote, and on a poorly signed track, would be a race director's nightmare. The "race" idea was squashed.

-Andrew Cohen, 2010, excerpt from CoolRunning Forum

In November 2011, I ran the 1000km Bibbulmun Track supported to set the female (and overall at that time) FKT. In 2012, I started musing about the Cape to Cape idea again and that's gone on for 8 long years. Much as I wanted to see the track in all its unique and intense beauty, every single time I thought about it, I recalled how slow I am on sand. How the white coral-like rock makes a normal stride impossible. And how hot the sun feels reflecting off white sand.

November 2012 I ran the 14km northern-most section, which was "easy"

But suddenly, the pause button was hit on "The World As We Know It." Most paths in my future were suddenly road blocked. No 24 hr race. No trip "home" to Switzerland. No trip "home" to family in Canada. No 6 day race in May. No ability to work doing face-to-face assessments of children. No face-to-face German classes. Yet there was one path, a 130km one, I could take, if I was willing!

All day Wednesday I studied the paper maps, combined with the recorded men's FKT posts and their Strava and Garmin files. I figured out where a car could meet me and jotted down some very rough estimated times. 

"Woohoo," I thought! I have Raidlight sand gaiters. I pulled them out and looked at my stock of shoes. I would need to glue velcro to the shoe to form a seal all around it. I had absolutely nothing appropriate for sand. Vehicles lower their tyre pressure on sand to lengthen their tread. They avoid knobbly tyres so they can have more surface contact. Runners should have similar on their feet. I had road shoes with mesh tops (i.e., sand-insertion holes) or my super-knobbly Inov-8 x-talon 212 trail shoes. They come free from sand-insertion holes, but are also free from plush cushioning. Running on rocks in those shoes = spikey-ball foot massage. I don't mind normally, but over 130km, it's a bit too much, to say the least! The shoes are like ballet slippers and bend in all directions. There was no way to afix the sand gaiters, as the tension pulled the shoe into a U shape, pulling my toes upward. Oh, well, when you've got one path forward, you wear whatever shoes you have, right?

Thursday morning I charged the Delorme inReach and my Led Lenser headlamp, put the course on two Garmin Forerunners, threw everything in some bags, and jumped in the car with an instant coffee. I wrote the basic crew plan out as Stephen drove.

Given Covid, we both kept up our hand sanitiser habits, despite knowing our proximity in the car over hours meant we could only hope neither of us had it and just try to avoid contamination with others.

Practicing "physical distancing" (I'm still a social/societal being, after all)

Stephen is no novice to adventure, being from rural Queensland, having lived all over the country, and being ex-military, but he was a crew novice. I was already asking him to take a few days out for this, do all the driving, get up before 4am and chase a stinky runner all day until midnight, then drive home the next morning. In the midst of it, try to avoid catching/spreading Covid at any petrol station or cafe. So I tried to minimise "demands" on the day. It cost time, but I am sure it kept the stress down for both of us. And with the high cognitive demand that Covid has placed on all our brains, that was the sensible way to have this adventure.

So at 4.30am, in a howling wind, I set off in the dark, with the eerie flashing of the Cape Leeuwin lighthouse behind me. I've had a lot of adventures over the years, but that first hour in the dark, with the lighthouse, the sound of a strong wind and crashing waves I couldn't see... it was oddly quite unnerving.

The wind was gone the moment I had bushes around me and that was the case for the rest of the day. Whilst at most crew points Stephen battled to try to light his stove or keep his crew sheet from blowing away, and he found himself rugged up in a jumper all evening, I was sweltering from early afternoon on. Even on the exposed beach sections, the wind was behind my back, so gave no relief. I doused my hat in the two creeks and at the one water tank I found and used it to soak my CEP shorts and calf guards down. 

Trail? Straight on. Go on, run!

I had done my maths in two ways to come up with a projected time. The best case scenario was 18 hours. So I threw 30 minutes in to the plan for my less-than-perfect arrangement and warm forecast. The A goal was 18.5 hours. B goal was sub 20 hours. C goal was to finish, uninjured, of course. 

After halfway (by distance), at Prevelly's Margaret River mouth crossing, it was 1.30pm and I was on track for 18.5 hours. But as soon as I left the protection of the gazebo and the sun hit me again on that sandbar, I knew I had to slow down. For the next several hours, I played head games with myself. Just do a sectional end-to-end. No need to do it all in a day. Just let it go. It's my adventure, after all. Look at that couple sitting in their camp chairs with their beers and their 4WD setup on the beach, wouldn't that be nicer? I'm doing this all wrong!

But on I went, eyes to the ground, looking for the easiest place to put my next footfall. One footfall after another. Every step was one step forward. 

A southern heath monitor lizard (small dinosaur) and I came face to face around a bend in the trail. Fortunately, we agreed he wouldn't run up my leg. Good on 'im. I saw many bright green rock parrots. And two baby dugites - one at dusk I got to move by thumping the ground with my foot a few times and one I noticed as I jumped over him in the dark. A rabbit, three golden orb-weaving spiders (spread over the trail as they do), and one tiny neon green one. During the day I passed amazing limestone cliffs, one of which bore a metal gate covering a cave entrance (entry by permit). 

This track answered every one of my prayers for change. That adage "Be careful what you wish for" was proven true again and again for me as the evening wore on. Sick of gnarly boulders? The track dropped me onto a soft sand beach. Sick of soft sand? Great, here's a boulder scramble uphill in the dark with no markers. Yup. Sick of that? Wishing for a change? Awesome, time for that white pokey coral rock. Oh, wait, is that the last three kilometres and it's bitumenised?! I'll take it! Yee-yaw! Wait... it's ALL uphill?! 

One of the steeplechase sections with gorgeous little hoodoo-like formations to leap, climb, and stumble over

And then 200m from the finish, a trail sign "The Cape to Cape Track." A boot marker on it pointed left. My gpx file told me to go straight on. It was 11.57pm. My time had blown out to nearly 19.5 hours and I was determined to finish before midnight. I cried out, "I don't know where to go!" I took a left. As I ran, I thought, "No, it was a boot marker, not a Cape marker. It must be for another trail. They put the marker on the sign simply because the sign was there." I ran back, rounded the bend, saw Stephen's headlights and heard his laconic voice, "This is it, b." And then I ran through his toilet paper finish line. How perfect. 19hr 27min 22sec.

So, ladies, how could you make it faster? Choose a cool day. Alternate running packs, having a "full" one ready to pick up at crew points. Wear the right shoes for the job. Know the route or have pacers who do and can direct you.

Fuel: About 26 scoops of Perpetuem (~3100 cal), 2 Hammer chocolate gels (180 cal), 2 Nudies (180 cal), 1 apple (90 cal), 1 gluten-free jam sandwich (~220 cal). Roughly 200 cal/hr.

Supplements: Fully Charged every 4 hours or so, Anti-Fatigue Caps, No Doz caffeine pills

Water: ~14 litres (~700ml/hr on average, though it was more like 500ml/hr in the morning and got to a high near 900ml/hr in the heat). Plus 1 small kombucha and 1 instant short black coffee.

Recovery: Lots of whole foods with colour, including some berries. Water. Loads of sleep. Omega 3-6-9. CEP Full Tights (so far, for 3 nights straight, as they reduce the ache in my legs so I can sleep.)

Logistical challenges on the track as of March 2020: Massive volunteer effort was put into re-signing the track over the past year and more markers were put in place. However, the glue has failed and perhaps as many as 1/10th of the reflective markers have fallen off. That's definitely no good in the dark. Even by day the short pale wooden posts blend in and are hard to see at times. Many junctions remain unmarked. There are often no markers within the villages (Prevelly, Gracetown, Yallingup). Scramble sections were often not marked, nor were beach exits. Without a gpx course to follow, one simply could not know where to go at times. I spent 10 minutes "lost" in a few places - one of which was simply when a truck at Gracetown parked right in front of the trail marker and trail, but left a very visible alternate track (which was simply the surfers' route to the beach). It would be totally unnerving without a gpx file to hike or run a beach that could be kilometres long, not knowing which track up was the right one.

Southern terminus, the evening before

Running From America: The Chilkoot Trail

I fell in love with the Yukon Territory's winter beauty in February 2017, racing the Montane Yukon Arctic Ultra 300 mile event, where I pulled a pulk for 5 straight days (with less than 8 hours' sleep). In February 2018, I went back to thru-hike that same Yukon Quest route from Whitehorse, Canada to the Alaskan border solo and in my own time.

Enroute to Alaska, one follows the route of those who came during the Klondike gold rush of 1896-1899. Those seeking adventure and fortune came north a few ways, but by far the most popular was by ship to Skagway, Alaska. Just a few miles out of Skagway, they set up camp at Dyea (pronounced Dy-ee), at the foot of the Chilkoot Pass. After negotiating this pass, 53km later, they arrived at Bennett Lake, British Columbia. There, they cut down every tree to build boats and headed downstream, joining the Yukon River, headed for the Bonanza and Dawson City area. It was very tough going. The Canadian mounties saw starvation looming, with tens of thousands of ill-prepared people arriving, so instituted a "one ton of food" requirement. This had gold rushers going up and down the pass numerous times to haul 900kg of food - I can't imagine this!

The Chilkoot Trail is a well-maintained and well-used multi-day point-to-point trail, jointly managed by the US National Park Service and Parks Canada. Most people take 3 to 5 days to hike the trail. A few ultrarunners do it in a day. After my "run", I met a woman who had hiked it in a day - 12 hours was her time. Considering 10 to 12 hours seems to be the norm for "runners," it highlights the technical nature of the trail - fast hiking and slow running merge!

Although it looks like it should be much faster the other way, I doubt it is, given the terrain between Sheep Camp and Stone Crib.

For me, running the Chilkoot would be like putting the "Preface" on my Yukon winter book of experiences. Of course, I worked out-of-sync to most prospectors! I ran in the autumn (September 8, 2019) and pulled a pulk over frozen rivers and lakes to Dawson City in the winter. Most prospectors aimed to come over the pass in the winter and have their boat built for spring breakup on the river, so they could paddle downstream, arriving in time to prospect before the ground was frozen by winter conditions again.

That 6km to the summit packs a punch.

Preparing to do the trail is an endurance event in itself. The Chilkoot is a long point-to-point run, coordinated between two countries, in areas where the "bush telegraph" is almost your only means of communication.

Runners and hikers most often go west to east, the same direction as prospectors. This means a net uphill. I got ~2010m up and ~1350m down by going west to east. There's little to be gained in speed going the other way, I expect, as the boulder section around "The Scales" and the international border take a significant amount of time and wouldn't be any faster down climbing than scrambling up (unless you were racing, perhaps). And by "border," I don't mean there is anyone there checking passports. You have to call in to Canada Border Services Agency when you get to civilisation after your adventure.

Everyone needs a permit to day run on the Canadian side. At the time I did it, permits were only required in summer and early autumn. Check with Parks Canada, as you need to have the permit attached to your pack. It was less than $10 CAD. If you run only on the US side for the day (e.g., out and back from Dyea), you don't need a permit from the Americans. We arrived in Whitehorse on the weekend (Whitehorse Parks Canada office closed), so were able to get our permit from the US Parks Service Chilkoot Trail Center in Skagway on Saturday - they even charged in Canadian dollars, as it's a service for the Canadian side of the trail. Nice teamwork!

Going point-to-point requires getting to the start and getting out at the finish. The start - Dyea - is really a ghost town. There's a basic US Parks campground nearby. The only other accommodation nearby is a private operator with some cabins for rent. Dyea is about a 20 minute drive out of Skagway.

I didn't know a local available to get us from Whitehorse to Dyea, so we took the one-and-only bus (which I think only runs in summer, linked to the White Pass tourist train) at 8am Saturday morning from Whitehorse to Skagway. Crossing borders on the bus means a stop with passports handy.

Skagway - a touristy place, given cruise ships can dock. Here we have a backpacker and a fastpacker, obviously :)

We spent a few hours wandering Skagway, purchasing our permits at the Trail Center and getting food for the evening ahead. Given that everything we took with us on the bus had to be carried back whilst running, I chose to get a $7 outfit at an "op shop" (second hand/charity store) in the days prior, which I left at the rental cabin on the morning of the run. Our full luggage was left with a hotel in Whitehorse.

A private shuttle driver took us from Skagway to the cabins at Dyea. We were fortunate that the owners agreed to have us for one night, as their policy is a two-night stay. It was autumn, so they were less choosy. We found out by fluke conversation with a hiker who'd just finished her multi-day, that the shuttle driver might have extra spare bear spray she would lend us for free. That saved us a ton of money! We couldn't fly with our bear spray from Calgary to Whitehorse and we couldn't legally carry bear spray cross-border on the international bus to Skagway. We were able to use the "friend of a friend" type thing to get the shuttle driver's two cans of bear spray back to her after we finished.

Getting "out" at the end of the trail at Bennett Lake, BC, also posed a logistical challenge. Bennett Lake has a nice little town called Carcross on its shores. The problem is that Bennett Lake is huge and Carcross is at the other end of that lake. When you come off the trail, you are probably at least 40km from Carcross. Your options are (1) hire a float plane with a pre-arranged pick up time, (2) hire a boat (same thing) or (3) arrive in time to get the White Pass tourist train back to Carcross. There is no village in Bennett Lake - just the tourist train station, a backcountry campground, and one private home.

The train only runs in summer and I believe at time of writing, the train leaves Bennett Lake for Carcross at 3pm. Thus, runners aiming for this train tend to start from Dyea at 4am! When we left Dyea at 7am, the owner said we were the latest leaving runners she'd ever seen. But we'd hired the float plane for a 6pm pickup (the latest time they would agree to).

Very happy to see our float plane arrive - 1.5 hours late, but it arrived!

In my online searches, I came across mention of runners or hikers going out via "Log Cabin." This option misses the end of the trail. At the last campsite, Bare Loon Lake near Lindeman Lake, there is a right fork that takes you to the railway line. From there, people follow the railway track out to the Log Cabin, a day use area along the highway. A pre-arranged vehicle can pick you up there. Don't count on having any cellular signal. A satellite phone/Delorme inReach is awesome in these remote places.

If you take the Log Cabin exit, not only do you miss the purity of going all the way to the end of the trail, you trespass illegally on railway right-of-way. The signs are clear that they don't want pedestrians on the railway and they have the right to charge you with an offence. Just saying.

Going east from Alaska, there's a time change, so our 7am start was really 8am. We had 10 hours for a day that takes most runners 10-12 hours. And we got held up at check-out, so our start was closer to 7.10am (8.10). Tick tick tick.

The campgrounds come regularly and provide neat little ways to "compartmentalise" the journey. There are great setups at most camps - basic sites, firewood, maybe a shared-use walled tent or log cabin with pot belly stove (I didn't note if there was a cabin at every site). We were at Canyon City (second campsite, 12k) in 2hr08.

The terrain from the start to Sheep Camp (fourth campsite) had little variation on the theme of rainforest running in autumn - gorgeous colours, and technical terrain with slippery tree roots and rocks. Water was plentiful. So was bear scat. At our briefing with the ranger the day before, we were basically told about a bear hanging around every campsite. One camp had a "habituated bear." Not a good thing. But the scat on the trail every few kilometres told us that the bears were not just at the camps!

We caught up with three multi-day hikers having a break. The fellow enthusiastically offered me some beef jerky. I politely declined. When Rolf arrived just behind me, he was offered the same. Very kind to share one's trail food, but besides the vegan thing, I really wasn't keen on the idea of smelling that good to a bear for the next 7 hours!

I had some rough splits to work off of, but didn't know how "bad" (slow) the Golden Staircase/Scales area would be. It took ages. And the boulders were solid, not those loose things that move underfoot. But it was just slow terrain. I had drawn up a 9hr15min plan, although I expected we'd need the full 10 hours.

We were at Sheep Camp, the fourth one (20km), in 3.5 hours. Just where I hoped for time. But we took about 20 minutes there, changing out layers of clothes and repacking everything.

At the summit (~26km) with 5hr47min on the clock, we were 45 minutes behind my hopeful estimate. That meant we had no more cushion left. It had taken 2 hours to travel 6km. Granted, Rolf had been having shoe and foot issues - he had expected cold, wet terrain, so wore his European mountain-glacier shoes. They were a half size big to accommodate big socks. The shoes were sloppy and awkward in the technical terrain and his feet were moving inside, making him prone to blistering. Plus, his feet were sweltering hot and soaked in the big socks. We had a wonderful 18C calm autumn day! Wonderful, except when you wear black Goretex light mountaineering shoe-boots.

With no time to sit and enjoy a "summit sandwich" at the high point, we cheered our arrival into Canada and carried on, eating on the go. I had expected the Canadian side to become more runnable. I had read much about the American side being a wet rainforest and the Canadian side being a "lunar landscape." Certainly, the landscape changed, the valley was more open and vast, but the terrain was still markedly undulating, with many tree roots, rocks, and wet areas. Tired legs make for less agile movements in such terrain.

I had the only water filter between us, so stopping for water took twice as long. A mini-Sawyer weighs less than 150 grams. I have to admit, I'm over carrying the one-and-only filter for everyone in my group and spending all my "break" time filtering water for people. The mini-Sawyer is so small, light, and inexpensive that there's really no good reason for everyone not to carry their own now. Heck, I'd even carry the filter for others if they would only just gather their own water. This trip sealed it. Rant over.

The terrain on the Canadian side really was gorgeous in a different way to the forested US side and despite the pressures of time, we made sure to enjoy it. I broached the subject of our average pace and the looming deadline for the float plane. I suggested that we might have to consider the difficult decision of taking the fork out to the railway line and the highway, in order to hitchhike back to Whitehorse. We had continued to travel slower than projected for the Canadian side. We needed to start running an 8min/k average and we were lucky to do anything sub 11min/k.

The "Golden Staircase" - part of "The Scales" section near the summit. Goes on forever. That is a false summit. Very fun in the dry.

We knew there was plenty of daylight for a plane to fly well after 6pm, but we did not know whether they would wait at all. Rolf was very keen to take a chance on it. I silently contemplated the implications as we ran on. Likely at Bennett Lake, as there had been at other campsites, there would be a walled structure of some sort with a pot belly stove. (Though not guaranteed!) If necessary, we could keep a fire going and stay warm, if not fed, for the night, and see if a float plane would show up in the morning. Doubtful they would just take a chance to show up in the morning, doubling their costs. But there was the tourist train at some point the following day.

A major change in landscape on the Canadian side.

Then I remembered my Delorme inReach - my way to contact the outside world! I fired it up and pulled their email address from my phone. I sent a message indicating we would be late, but hoped for a 6.20pm arrival. We were hoofing it, knowing we were on a much bigger adventure now, but we stayed in good spirits. It makes all the difference to an adventure to have everyone in the team rational and clear-thinking, whilst maintaining some sense of humour.

Totally runnable. Bahaha. Well, totally gorgeous, anyway!

With 2km to go, it was 6.20pm. I was listening intently for the sound of a plane. Then we hit sand! How cruel! Carcross is known for its sand dunes, but I didn't know the sandy ground extended so far. It was brutal. Rolf was out of water and I was giving him sips of my last bit. I couldn't afford to stop to filter any more. We had stayed close together for bear (and general) safety, but with 1km to go, I bolted ahead. I couldn't bear the thought of hearing a plane fire up and see it fly away!

As I got to Bennett Lake, the trail divided. Left down to the campground. Right down to the train station. Both ways had lakeside access. Which side would the plane be on? I couldn't choose one trail without Rolf knowing where I'd gone. I tried glimpsing between the trees to the shoreline both ways. Nothing visible. Rolf arrived and we split up. I went left down to shore, he went right and down. A few minutes later, we met up again at the junction. Nothing. We saw a family going into the one and only house there - and signs indicating private property. I'd had no reply to my satellite message. I sent another.

Glaciers everywhere. We were at 900m, so they might have been at 1400m. Seems crazy, but it's latitude, I guess.

"We're here, but can't see a plane. Did we miss you?" Nothing. We walked down towards the shore at the train station. I was recalling the small cabin I'd seen 1 or 2km back, which appeared to be privately owned, but open for anyone to use when the owners weren't there. Would that be tonight's lodging?

A few minutes later, a woman with a satellite phone approached. She was a Parks Canada ranger. She had brought her boat up from Lindeman Lake to visit the family, who had remarked that they had just seen a couple with "very small backpacks." She was able to call the aviation company. They informed her that they'd been delayed by several other clients over the day and wouldn't arrive for us until about 7.30pm.

Whew! Time for high-fives and hugs. We snacked in relaxed luxury by the river as I filtered a bit of water and contemplated the incredible day we'd had.