Summit Sandwiches of my Life

Atypically, my running calendar aligned so that I had a rest/recover/rebuild phase from June through August. This was awesome for a couple reasons. One was that without strict daily training goals, I could more flexibly spend a few months being a paraglider driver. Drivers are something most paraglider and hangglider pilots (like my partner) need in order to pursue the most fun in their sport. The other reason this timing was awesome was because I was free to run up as few or as many mountains as I wanted on my North America trip, without adhering to any regimen for time on feet, distance, hill repeats, and the like.

My season's running goals were two: (1) Trial a traditional speed work program to bring down my 5k/10k time, doing weekly anaerobic threshold (AT) and tempo runs. (2) Eat summit sandwiches.

Idaho Peak, BC, Sandwich #7

Put up your hand if you want to read about my sweaty, lung-busting, near-vomit-inducing, way-too-early-morning, precision-based speed sessions.

Right. So let's talk about summit sandwiches! Of course, "running" up peaks to 4,400 metres actually is very sweaty, lung-busting, and near-vomit-inducing. And it sometimes requires very early morning starts. And precision in route-finding and organisation for a day in wilderness at altitude. With bears.

But all that is forgiven because...it's mountains! Between July 11th and August 31st, in the Canadian provinces of British Columbia and Alberta, and the US state of Colorado, I ate 36 summit sandwiches. They were all special. Here are some.

Lowest Sandwich: 946m. Mount Woodside, in the Fraser Valley near the BC coast. That was the second sandwich. A 28km run (partly because of navigation issues trying to find the true summit via logging roads and scrambling and bushwhacking) and required 1,000m of total climbing to get there. This was the summit at which I endured my one-and-only horsefly attack (he didn't get me).

Shortest Distance to Sandwich: 2km. Grouse Mountain, in Vancouver's north. The "Grouse Grind" is a 2km, ummm, grind (what else could it be?) to climb nearly 800m of rainforest trail to the top of a ski hill. That was sandwich #1 and occurred the day after landing in Canada.

Fastest time to Sandwich: Grouse Mountain, above. Less than one hour!

Mt Brent's lessons begin.

Most Lost Sandwich: Mt Brent, BC. In a nasty rainstorm that saw us running in a cloud, we attempted to reach the summit of Mt Brent via the logging roads and trail. Notes and signage weren't great and lack of visibility made things worse. Being soaked and cold compromised my Raynaud's-affected partner. In the end, we had to abort, having our summit sandwiches out of necessity for the metabolic warmth they'd provide more than anything, on what we thought was the saddle below Mt Brent. We later found out we were on the saddle below Sheep Rock! A valiant 22k+800m sandwich.

Most Sandwiches in a Day: Two. Athough on two occasions I attained four summits in a day. One just can't be greedy with the sandwiches. So I split my sandwiches in half on those days. Each of those outings included a climb, then ridge and saddle traverses to gain the other three summits. One was the Mt Glasgow to Banded Peak traverse in Alberta (sandwiches all around 3,000m). We spent the day eyeing the growing instability in the weather and descended the last peak as the thunder started. The other was known as "Decalibron" in Colorado (stands for DEmocrat, CAmeron, LIncoln, and BROss) all 14'er peaks in the Mosquito Range, around 4,300m). Those sandwiches were eaten in 50kph wind, sleet, hail, or at least in a cloud.

Mt Democrat combo sandwich day starts with 50kph sleet in eyes.

Most Time Run to Earn Sandwiches: Almost tied at 8 hours a piece, the Banded Peak traverse (35km +2,200m) and Decalibron 17km + 1,200m). Distance and elevation differences had to do with my different adventure partners on each day and with differing altitude.

Furthest Distance Run to Earn a Sandwich: The 46km Skyline point-to-point trail in Alberta, with over 1,400m of climbing. Though there were two passes plus a climb to a "notch" to reach the high plateau, it was felt the run only warranted one sandwich. Two were consumed, but only one counted.

Toughest Sandwich: Based on my rigorous scientific method (the "this-is-a-slog" feeling), it would have to be Silver Star Mountain, a ski hill near Vernon, BC. Though some people (everyone) would drive from town to get to the ski hill, I ran. Alone, uphill, starting painfully early, in ridiculous humidity for 30km + 1,500m. I inhaled that sandwich so fast I didn't taste it.

Cheekiest and scariest sandwich: Mt Evans

Cheekiest Sandwich: Mt Evans, Front Range, Colorado. Though Mt Evans is a prestigious "14'er" (a mountain that rises to over 14,000 feet (4,267m)), it also has America's highest drive-able road to its summit. So it's a bit hard to get excited about summitting this one, hiking in on a low trail, just to meet the car crowds in the top carpark. I decided to earn my sandwich by doing a 2.5km climb of 430m. Being the day after Decalibron added a bit of kick, as did my choice to scramble to the summit and make it a Class 2, rather than taking the Class 1 walk-up trail. This culminated in the scariest summit sandwich, sitting on a cliff edge with a drop back to the lake where I started! It was also memorable as the first 14'er day I could wear short sleeves at the summit. Briefly.

Highest Sandwich: Mt Elbert, Sawatch Range, Colorado. The highest mountain in Colorado, at 14,433 feet/4,404m and the second highest in the contiguous USA. I actually achieved the summit twice, by running up first, sheepdogging back to Rolf, then hiking back up a second time. Only one sandwich claimed, though ;-)

Saddest Sandwich: The one I forgot in the hotel fridge. Mt Sherman, sandwich #31. After a night spent  hotly debating start time, studying wind direction and speed, temperature, lifted index, cape, and a myriad of other weather factors, and a morning spent hiking up to 4,278m in sleet and snow with wet feet and 200 metres of visibility, I reached the summit in sub-zero temperatures to find I'd forgotten my sandwich. At least I had an espresso gel. I ate that sandwich later, from a hotel carpark in the next valley to the east, looking up at another face of Sherman.

Most Enlightening Sandwich: Cirque Peak, Alberta. I climbed with my partner to the 3,000m summit. There was no one else there and the skies offered a pleasant change with benign weather. There were glaciers and mountains in view in every direction. After a minute, I said, "We should get going." He looked at me in shock. "Where? Back to the ----y hotel room?" It really struck me how Type A I am. Impatient and ambitious and goal-oriented. I need to tick everything off my list in order to relax. Even relaxing.

A view from Cirque Peak. And I want to leave?

Types of Sandwiches: All on gluten-free bread. The first ones were topped with almond butter and raspberry jam. That raspberry jam jar seemed endless. Finally I was on to peach jam. When the almond butter ran out, I experimented with tahini and it was awesome! When peach jam finished, I continued my brave culinary experiment with a blackberry-jalapeno jam (and tahini). Spicy hot summit sandwiches on cold mountains are the best!

Worst Day Ever: Forgetting sandwich #31 (see saddest sandwich)

Best Day Ever: Every day. If I remembered to tell myself.

Descending Castle Peak. The 0.75 summit

Number of Colorado 14'ers Sandwiched on: 8.75. There are 58 14'ers in Colorado, but only 53 are considered "official" because the other five rise less than 300 feet from the saddle that joins another 14'er. I ate a sandwich last year on Mt Sneffels, which isn't included here. This year, I ate sandwiches on Mts Elbert, Massive, Democrat, Bross, Lincoln, Evans and Sherman (technically, a gel there). Mt Cameron is a 14'er that rises only 138 feet above the saddle with Mt Lincoln, so it's one of the 'dodgy' ones. Castle Peak's sandwich represented the 0.75 worth in my total. The huge dumps of snow all week, combined with daytime melting, had left very crampon-able icy conditions near the summit. And my sandwich didn't come with crampons. So I had to abandon 200m below the top and eat my sandwich there.

Summit Sandwiches of My Life was a life-changing journey of discovery. I discovered a thing called the Colorado Monsoon. This is what causes crazy afternoon thunderstorms from mid-July through August and dumps new snow at summits. Late September and early October are much more stable times to eat sandwiches in Colorado. I discovered how much I like thimbleberries (but saskatoons are still the best). I discovered that pikas are called "whistling hares" and marmots are called "whistle pigs" and the latter are related to squirrels. In addition to the pika, squirrels, groundhogs, chipmunks, and marmots, I saw black bear, bighorn sheep, and a red fox (not a scourge in North America, but a beautiful indigenous animal). I was hounded by a few deer flies (small, silent, but painfully bitey things) and one horse fly in Canada, but no mosquitoes anywhere. My most useless gear would have to have been my bug spray - it was the most bug-free summer I've ever spent. The life-changing part? Well, that might have just been for dramatic effect.

Unique Tibetan-style prayer flags on Red Lady/Mt Emmons.

Once again, it was reinforced to me how much planning and good gear make or break an adventure. For every summit, there was between 2 to 4 hours of planning, reading blog posts, drawing mud maps, searching for GPS files, and agonising over weather forecasts. The pack always contained: 2 litres of water, SPOT tracker/emergency PLB, space blanket, whistle, pencil, duct tape, flagging tape, paper towel, anti-chafe lube, Compeeds, compression bandage, painkillers (never used), small torch, sunscreen, bug spray, rain/wind jacket, camera and phone (on airplane mode). It usually also contained: bear spray, spare gloves, beanie, thermal top (if not wearing one already), down puffy jacket, water filter, and knife. Plus food. My favourite gear had to include the UltrAspire Omega 8ltr pack, Udo's Oil the Machine beanie (I wore that thing daily in Colorado!), Icebreaker gloves and thermal, Injinji Trail midweight socks, The North Face Summit Series jacket (bought last year when my suitcase went missing), Garmin 920XT, and Inov-8 x-talons (I wore Salomon S-Lab Speed on some of the more gnarly bouldery mountain runs and I'm happy to say they have finally made a great grippy shoe for wet rock, but for comfort, I can't beat the x-talons. Which have always been grippy, too. Their lugs are just more prone to wear on bouldery stuff.)

To keep healthy day-to-day for big miles at big elevation, we cooked our own amazing food with a portable Coleman stove. Saved money that way, too, and had heaps of easy yummy one-pot curries (great way to get some extra turmeric!) And I'll admit it - I'm way too impatient for restaurants. With our esky/cooler, I could carry Udo's Oil with me and I kept up my daily doses of cinnamon and Race Caps. I found a few fantastic sports chiros along the way to get things moving better, especially after a couple terrible hotel beds. The Lacrosse ball, golf ball, and travel roller earned their keep.

I hoped my summit sandwiches adventures would give me a platform for which to finally answer the big question. The one that sometimes comes out as "What should I do with my life?" but can also be formed in words such as "How can I be happier?"

I can stand on any single summit and usually count hundreds more around me. So many I couldn't eat sandwiches on them all in one lifetime. All summits will not be climbed. The important thing is just to eat a sandwich on the one you have climbed. And taste it.

Revolutions (Guinness World Record Attempt)

Round and round and round she goes, where she stops, no one knows.

Breaking the Guinness World Record for greatest distance on a treadmill in 12 hours was in some ways a waiting game. Spinning, fueling, cooling, toileting, stretching...and waiting. It wasn't going to be until at least the 11 hour mark that we'd know if we were going to achieve our goal.

And any second it could all be gone. A momentary cramp, tripping over my own two feet and coming off the back would mean certain injury and end to the challenge. Losing power to the gym, an a/c breakdown, video recording failure, a witness not showing up... I tried to come up with Plan B's for anything that could happen. But still, we'd have to just keep working away, spinning, cooling, fueling, stretching, timing, photographing, and recording until we could see 118km on that 'mill.

Given my #yogafail broken toe in March and then giardia (if you don't know it, think "nonstop gut cleansing parasite") at the beginning of May, my top-end speed was off. But endurance was there, as far as I could tell. So I wrote a plan for 126km. If the planets aligned, I'd squeeze out a little more. The key thing was not to blow up in the first 6 hours. I had 20 minutes of time-off-treadmill allocated, but I hoped that I wouldn't need all of that. Indeed, the treadmill finished with 11:51:14, which means paused time for breaks totalled 8min46. The extra 11 minutes represented 2km's right there.

As usual, I fuelled on my reliable Hammer Nutrition Perpetuem, with peeled pear every 30 minutes. No nausea and no energy lows. In total, my estimates are about 250 cal/hr, with 90 cal/hr coming from pear. I used the palatability test to confirm whether to continue taking Endurolyte tablets every 30 minutes ("Do salty crisps sound good right now?" If yes, take an electrolyte pill).

Finished. Two kg heavier with the soakings?

Though there were no energy lows, there were mental lows. Of course. There were times I told myself I'd never race again. (Amazing how the brain can believe such lies!) About 4 of 12 hours were spent dug in hard at the "business end" of things, engaging in seemingly constant efforts at keeping my body happy. Mostly, it was an effort to keep cool enough. My poor crew! I developed a bizarre rule about misting me down with the pressurised plant sprayer. Usually I'd insist he start with my right shoulder, then I'd instruct him where he could spray next. The calves were usually last. At the time even I thought it was rather odd, but on reflecting, I think I knew there was a risk I'd get a muscle cramp in my hammie or calf if I had water sprayed on it suddenly. Between all the misting and the wet sponge I used, I looked quite the picture of drowned rat at the end!

Thankfully, there were no cramps. One of my biggest fears. Though on stretching once, doing high knee lifts whilst walking on the mill, I drove my knee right up into the console! Ouch!

In the end, there were revolutions of the treadmill belt totalling 128.62km. And we raised some awareness and funds for mitochondrial disease.

Was there a revolution in my thoughts on treadmill running? Briefly. For a short time, I resolved my fear and loathing of the mill. I thought I might almost like them. But a month later when I jumped on my trusty "Jim" for a 5 minute warm-up, all the old feelings were back. I was dizzy. It felt clunky. The evolution of the mill runner had come full circle.

It was time to gorge on trails and mountains for a few months.

Celebrating the ratification of the record with crew, witnesses, and running friends.

Training for World Record Treadmill? Break Toe, Multi-day Race, Get Giardia

In mid-February, after completing the Montane Yukon Arctic Ultra 300 mile race in record-breaking time, sleeping less than 8 hours in 6 days, I found myself at my Canadian massage therapist's office. I was still trying to get my body clock back into a normal sleep regime. I had very bad neuropathy in my big toes and second toes - a mysterious ongoing numbness, preceded by days of stabbing pain in the feet. I could barely put a sentence together coherently yet.

Dave Proctor obviously sensed my weakness ;) As he dug into my muscles, he told me about the MitoCanada Guinness World Record group challenge that he and about 25 other local runners were doing on May 27-28th. He noted that their female 12 hour runner had pulled out of the event. And then he hatched the scheme....

I was thinking to go fun running in Nepal. Dave had other ideas. They look nothing like this.

So it began. I put in an application to Guinness, not confident there was enough time to get the application approved. I got back to Perth and went out for a secret 2 hour training run on a treadmill, to see if I thought I could get over the insane dizzy feeling when I use a treadmill. (I'd used a treadmill a total of 3 times, with 40 minutes being my max.) I contacted the Mito Australia team (AMDF) and we started conversations on how to coordinate our efforts between both countries. Frighteningly, it was coming together.

In Calgary, Canada, on Friday 27 May at 4pm their time, TeamMito starts running to break the following records:

Greatest Distance solo (male) on a treadmill in 12 hours - Dave Proctor (133km)
Greatest Distance solo (male) on a treadmill in 24 hours - Dave Proctor (257km)
Fastest 50km solo (female) on a treadmill - Arielle Fitzgerald (3hr55min)
Fastest 100km solo (female) on a treadmill - Arielle Fitzgerald (8hr 35min)
Greatest Distance on a treadmill by team of 12 (male) - 350km
Greatest Distance on a treadmill by team of 24 (female) - 317km

And at the same time, being Saturday 28 May at 6am Western Australian time, I start running to break the current ratified record for:

Greatest Distance Run on a treadmill in 12 hours (female) - 120km

The record as I write this is now 110.24km, set by Susie Chan in the UK in January this year. Suzy Swinehart, a US runner, passed that with nearly 118km in March and I'm assuming it will get ratified. So, it's up to me to run at least 120km. Using my energy #runningforthosewhocant

I would like to raise awareness for this little known and poorly understood set of diseases known collectively as one: Mitochrondrial Disease. And I would like to raise some funds to help families. And I will run over 120km on a treadmill in a gym to do that.

I promptly got back to running in early March. I built up to a nice 130k+2400m week. And then on March 21st I broke my 2nd toe. At yoga. Downward dog to warrior. I'm either a dog or a warrior, but nothing in between! Therein began my first lot of true mental training for the treadmill challenge. It was weeks of mind-and-butt-numbing stationary biking, nerve-wracking mountain biking (our pea gravel is nasty!), followed by anti-gravity treadmill running at 65% of my body weight. My quads over-developed, my lungs lost power, my hammies and bottom got sore, and my mind was unsettled.

Rocks? What rocks?

And there was this other matter of a little training run I'd planned in Nepal, on the Nepal-Tibetan high plateau. So with my toe buddy-taped and my roomier Inov-8 Terraclaw 250s packed, I hopped a flight north for the 8-day Mustang Trail Race from mid- to end-April. I ran about 200km + 9,000 metres (mostly 3000-4000m above sea level) in a very stark, arid, windy, and remote part of the world, north of the main Himalaya range. With a need to lose 2kg, I spent the days very calorie depleted. Like almost-in-tears calorie depleted. Despite most of us runners not being there to "race" but to run, learn, appreciate, savour, and strengthen, I found it impossible to get away from the daily commentary on who I passed along the trail or where I ranked overall. #yogafail toe coped amazingly well with the very rocky and often steep terrain, by employing a cautious pace and careful foot placement (where on earth did I get the idea the terrain was smooth?!?), though it spat the dummy on Stage 6 (phantom pain?)

Hey, giardia, are you hiding in here?

I came away stronger, mentally and physically, until that last day back in smoggy Kathmandu. By the time I was home, I had a good case of "Kathmandu lung" and what I thought was a food-borne illness from Singapore. After 9 days of "Singapore belly", I had to give in and accept that it was Nepalese pets I'd brought home. In the form of giardia. Giardia is a nasty zoonotic disease, commonly called "beaver fever" in North America, and commonly passed on through poo (animal or human animal) in untreated water. Only about 50% of people who get it show symptoms. Others just pass it on. Giardia parasites consume the amino acid called arginine in our bodies. That's necessary for producing nitric oxide. And creatine. These things all play a role in healthy bodies, and might be of particular interest to a body that wants to run long and fast. Giardia can therefore not just cause diarrhoea and nausea, but will almost surely increase blood pressure, increase healing/recovery time, decrease immune function, decrease muscle strength, increase ammonia levels in the body, mess with hormones, and limit the formation of ATP for energy.

No wonder my 14km tempo run at half marathon pace this week felt like 14km at 10km pace.

But the good news is that I've had so much mental training now that nothing can stop me from achieving this treadmill goal. It's been the most unique training programme I've ever used. I don't recommend it, but I can say that my 5k PB occurred the same day I had a root canal.

Little human. Big geological scene.

I've had some obstacles along the way, but they are nothing like the people with mito disease. And I have always been able to rest in the mantra that things were going to improve. My sufferings are temporary. I am able to run 120km on a treadmill.

During the event, feel free to check in at the live YouTube broadcast. If you're local to Perth, drop by Zoom Fitness Osborne Park and watch the "Mama Bear" hamster in action. Donate and run a 15 minute segment on the treadmill next to me.

Please give. If not to this, then in some way, in your own way, give some kindness to someone else.

My (Sub)Arctic Gear Review

This one's for those niche nutters who might like to pursue a snowy/wilderness adventure and would find such a gear review helpful. It will at least give you another option for muddying the waters ;)

What follows is the list of gear from my pre-race blog post for the Montane Yukon Arctic Ultra and commentary on what I found useful - or not so much - and why.

My world fit into a 5 foot pulk. The map case eventually cracked from cold.

• Rented Carinthia ECC Expedition 1200 sleeping bag (rated comfort -27C/extreme -65C)
• Sadly, the bags did not arrive from the sponsor in time. I was allocated a brand new The North Face Inferno 800 fill bag, rated to -40C. There was no "comfort" vs "extreme" rating, so one might like to assume -40C is comfort. Of course it's not. Which is what I've found with all sleeping bags over the years. The rating is what you'll stay alive in. Temperatures never dropped below -35C as far as I'm aware (maybe even not quite that low), but even getting into the bag warm (as in my body was warm) and wearing more than base layers, I was shivering within an hour. Putting a down jacket under the bag (on top of the sleeping pad), and wearing another down jacket, made it possible to sleep for up to 1.5 hours. I loved the TNF Inferno bag itself - very well thought out, easy to get in with the centre zip, great draft collar, handy small internal stash pocket. It just wasn't warm enough for this event for me ... likely partly because of my low body fat. I'm not normally a very cold person.
• Exped vapour barrier liner
• What can you say about sleeping in a plastic garbage bag? The liner was robust and did the trick, though I really didn't have to worry about sweating into the sleeping bag, given my issues with the cold!
• Therm-a-rest Zlite Sol sleeping pad



The Zlite Sol

• Closed cell foam is certainly functional for this kind of event. It's given an R value of 2.6, which is decent amongst sleeping pads, but it's still really only functional to around -1C. Even the best down sleeping bags are compromised as soon as you lay on them...because you've obviously squished the air out from between the down. Hence my need for a down jacket under my sleeping bag. I'd love to tweak this sleep system to improve it. On previous winter camp trips I used two sleeping mats - one self-inflating style and one closed-cell foam. Two mats beats one, for sure. The Zlite Sol is bulky, but it's really light - a win for pulks. I'd probably have to add my Therm-a-rest NeoAir next time.

• OR Alpine bivy
• This bivy bag is robust and was roomy enough for me and my giant sleeping bag, my clothes, and shoes. But the single folding pole was a pain in the neck. You don't have to use the pole, but it goes over your face area and keeps the bag from being closed in on you. A rather nice concept. The pole was hard to work into the bag when the bag was warm (the material is very rigid), so when the bag was frozen (more rigid), it was really hard. The cord inside the pole stretched out after the first day, making it very frustrating to get the pole in and out (sections would come apart within the fabric tube). A bit disappointed with the pole thing, but it's likely what I'd take again.
• Rented Northern Sled Works Siglin 5 foot pulk and 250 litre Snowsled pulk bag
• I was happy with my pulk and the pulk bag. Both are slightly unnerving items to rent (well, what isn't unnerving to rent when you're in such an extreme environment where gear is critical?). If a pulk is dragged over gravel or rock, it gets gouges in it and that means it'll be harder to pull. I was meticulous about taking care of my pulk during the event and carried it (loaded, yes) across any scratchy surfaces. They were few - roads in Whitehorse, entrances to checkpoint rec centres. Similarly, the pulk bags are waterproof and have a PVC/polyester surface on the bottom. That's especially good because snow gets into the sled and melts there when you take your pulk indoors at rec centre checkpoints. The water melts all over the floor of the hall (caution walking around in your wool race socks in the rec halls!), but the contents of your pulk stays dry... as long as the bag has not been dragged across any rough surface. It is prone to getting holes like a tarp would if you weighted it and dragged it across your lawn. I bonded so much with my pulk bag by the end I wished it was mine.

  

  I added love notes for myself on my pulk straps ;)

• Silva Trail Speed 400 lumen headlamp (battery pack runs on a long cord so it can be warmer on your chest)
• Long cords are so annoying. The headlamp has a simple one-button system, but I found it hard to tell if it was on max, min, or wide, presumably because of the reflecting action of the snow (and mounting fatigue over days). Given the battery life of only 2 hours on max, and that the device is a battery pig (4 x AA), one doesn't want to accidentally have the thing on high beam. Silva says the batteries should last 7 hours on low, which shouldn't account for use in very cold temps. From memory, I'd guess I was actually getting a bit more than 7 hours per set of batteries - but I was using lithiums. On the last night, I actually pulled out my backup Led Lenser SEO7 (see below) and was so happy with its simplicity. It ran 3 hours on low - with its stock rechargeable battery in it - and had not run out of juice by the time I finished the race at 9:30pm. I doubt I'd use the Silva again....unless I could be convinced in a -40C year that something with a head-mounted battery pack was going to freeze up and not work.
• Backup lamps: LED Lenser SEO7 and Petzl e+Lite
• I used my SEO7 on the last evening, as above. Temperature was -25C to -30C, I think, and it ran fine. Never used the Petzl, as it only puts out 26 lumen. It wouldn't be functional to race with, but it's so small it works as a backup for the backup. The Petzl was originally going to be my sole backup, but I decided that was a poor choice. If the Silva broke or got lost, my race would be over.
• MSR Whisperlite International stove, plus pot and spoon
• I never used my stove during the race, as I planned not to. I'd be tempted to consider the simple alcohol stove systems - even the "tuna-can-with-holes" system, given that my stove is really just an emergency device for making snow/ice into water. I don't need precision heating for simmering or anything. I got myself a long-handled Titanium spoon, which was handy for eating expedition meals from bags. I had some duct tape around the handle with my name on it, which also helped insulate a bit from the cold of holding onto a metal spoon in -30C!

  

  Perhaps the simpler way to melt snow, though I've never tried it

• Evernew Ultralight Titanium double wall mug with lid
• Loved this little cup. I had many "mental health cuppas" with it. Good little insulation on the handles to help keep the cold conduction down when sipping.
• Leki Cressida poles (my old buddies, Nearer and Further, from Bibb FKT days)
• Trustworthy friends. Still ticking. These things are gold. Cork handles, which I'm sure is a bonus in those temps.
• Primus Trailbreak vacuum bottle - 1 litre x 2
• Wicked good. Heavy and crazy expensive but so worth it. Boiling water stayed hot 24 hours, easily.
• Nalgene 1 litre bottle plus insulating bag
• I started the race with a 3ltr Camelbak (see below) on me, plus 3 litres on the pulk. My plan was not to have to take on water between checkpoints, which I reckoned shouldn't be more than 18 hours (but could be 24 hours if it was a tough day). Generally, I was consuming about 3ltrs/day. If I were to use dehydrated expedition meals (I only did the last day), I'd need another 1ltr, perhaps. The Nalgene and insulating bag worked well - I'd always use that water before the vacuum flasks - but I ended up leaving it in a drop bag later because 6ltrs was just way more than I needed.

  

  The blue Osprey pack with extra stash pockets-no need to clasp waist belt

• Camelbak insulated 3 litre bladder (in a dry bag, held in an Osprey Talon 11 pack)
• I liked this system and it worked well, provided (1) I kept the bladder against my base layer, under my coat and (2) the bite valve was tucked into my sport bra. If the Camelbak-and-Osprey didn't fit under the coat (it wouldn't fit under my Montane Extreme Smock), the tube froze within minutes. I tried blowing air back into the tube after drinking, but after a while, that stopped working, too. The Camelbak was most appreciated on day 1 when the temperatures were warmest. Without the bladder on (day 5), I'd make regular stops every 2-3 hours for larger drinks from the flasks. I also liked the waist belt pockets on the Osprey when I wore it - extra storage that was easily accessible!
• SPOT tracker
• I used my own SPOT rather than a rental. It shut the tracker off a few times, which I've never had happen before. The device would still be on, but it wouldn't be in "track" mode anymore. My SPOT lived on top of the pulk so it could beam directly up to the satellites with the best view. It's good to read your fine print and know that SPOT/GEOS doesn't cover you during certain kinds of races and such. It shouldn't be your only form of "insurance" going into an event like this.
• Timex Expedition Shock watch plus a loud digital kitchen timer (for waking when really, really tired)
• The watch was huge on my wrist, but it just made me feel more hardcore. The buttons were easy to deal with, the time readout was big, and the back-light was great. I was afraid of over-sleeping, shutting off the alarm and falling back to sleep. So I got a Taylor kitchen timer with a LOUD alarm! I'd set both in the bivy.
• Garmin eTrex with waypoints loaded
• I fired up my eTrex about five times to confirm I was still headed towards a checkpoint. It lived in my jacket, so was kept slightly warmer than if it was on my pulk. It fired up well each time I used it. The tricky thing about using a GPS in this way is that it only tells you distance as the crow flies. The reality was often much, much further, as the trail weaved through forests and jumble ice.
• Kahtoola Microspikes
• I happily wore my microspikes for the first 8 hours, at least - as long as I was on the big rivers at the start, as there was a lot of ice (rather than snow) and side sloping terrain. After that, I never used them and ended up putting them into a drop bag.
• Julbo category 4 sunglasses. Ski goggles in case of extreme weather
• The sun barely gets above the horizon in February that far north. I rarely wore the sunglasses, but did find them really useful when needed. If I happened to be on a big lake crossing early afternoon, when the sun was at its peak, the glare could be pretty harsh. Ski goggles were not needed - no snow/wind storms. 

The Julbo sunnies and Featherlite Cap on my post-race mushing day

• Head: Montane Featherlite Mountain Cap, Montane Balaclava, ColdAvenger with neck gaiter
• You'd be hard pressed to find a photo of me in the race without my Featherlite Mountain Cap on. I loved it - right down to the little string under the chin. I could cinch it up tight at colder/windier times and could loosen it off to increase venting around the ears when it was warmer. I could also pull it off and let it hang around my neck by the string during a heat-inducing hill climb. The balaclava was never worn, but I was glad to have such a lightweight option available if a storm had set in. The ColdAvenger mask requires compromises/special considerations for its use. The neck gaiter part of it was comfy and warm on neck and cheeks. A win. The nose piece didn't sit really nicely on me, but I could let that go for the benefits of having warmed air hitting my respiratory tract. I don't have asthma, but I still found myself (as did many others) developing a lot of thick mucous, due to breathing in cold air. But the negative side of the mask is that water droplets leave the mask and drop down onto whatever clothing is below. If it's a waterproof shell and the temperatures are extremely cold, you're fine. The droplets will freeze on the jacket. If it's a bit warmer and/or you have a down jacket open exposing your chest base layer (as I did the second time I used it), the water drops onto the base layer, soaks in (due to body heat warming the base layer) and you end up with a very wet base layer/chest. That's a very bad thing. I do like the ColdAvenger, but it should come with a plastic bib ;)

  

  A drop of water about to fall from the mask

• Hands: Mountain Equipment Redline Mitts (for extreme cold), Montane Extreme Mitts, Montane Resolute Mitts, Montane Prism gloves, Montane Primino 140 liner gloves
• Thank goodness the Redline Mitts just got dragged for 300 miles. I'm okay with that. I never thought of myself as having warm hands - in fact, I used to have Raynaud's up until my 30s - but I found I could wear the Primino liner gloves without any overglove some days (during the day). I was using poles all the time, so that presumably helped keep my hands warmer (i.e., arms were active, not passive). At night and at other colder times, I wore the liner gloves under the Extreme Mitts. In fact, I just wore the fleece liners of the Extreme Mitts, as they were warm enough and they are crab-claw fashion. On a few occasions, after stopping, I'd have to scrunch my fingers into a tight fist in the crab mitt to get them warm again. I wore out the Primino liner gloves after the first two days (little holes developed in the fingertips, which was fair enough). So I started using the Prism gloves as my daily wear. They were awesome. If it was very cold, I put the Extreme Mitt over the Prism. The Resolutes never got used, either.

• Leg layers: Montane Primino 140g Boy Shorts, Montane Primino Long Johns, Montane Power Stretch Pro pants, Montane Terra Thermo Guide pants
• I was concerned the seam on the back of the boy shorts might chafe my back, but it was okay. I wore boy shorts with the long johns and the Power Stretch Pro pants on top. It was warm to around -20C when moving. The first time I got cold enough to put the Terra Thermo Guide pants over top of the other two layers was around the third day, from memory. From that point on, the weather stayed cold enough to leave them on. I had a fresh pair of boy shorts at each of the three drop bags. The Power Stretch pants have a nylon face to increase durability, but they still aren't meant to have something rubbing on them 24/7. I had a small pouch on the front of my waist harness and that rubbed the upper thigh with each step. I didn't even notice the rubbing, but after a few days, I had a small hole there. A shame, as the pants are wickedly warm and comfortable for active pursuits. The Thermo Guide pants were also really comfy, and the lower leg zip and ankle snaps were brilliant, but they were extremely awkward for cold-weather use. Which is presumably what they were designed for. The reason was the belt. The pants come with a belt. Every time I had a toilet stop, I had to fight with the belt. It would invariably "retract" itself past the front belt loop, so I'd have to try to re-thread it (meaning gloves off, potentially). The clasp was very hard to work in cold and with gloves. Maybe a bloke with a belly could throw the belt away, but I needed that belt to keep the things on! Not sure what I'd do next time...try to find a simpler belt system or choose an entirely different layering system, I guess.

• Chest layers: Champion seamless sports bra, MEC Merino T2 Zip (180g), Montane Extreme Smock, Montane Black Ice 2.0 jacket



Beloved Black Ice jacket, accumulating moisture through the night

• My Montane Primino 220g zip top base layer got lost in the post, so I picked up a Mountain Equipment Coop Merino T2 Zip that was slightly lighter. The zip is non-negotiable, I reckon, for venting. And for tucking a hydration bladder bite valve into. The Extreme Smock was a great disappointment. It was lust at first sight, but we got into a lot of bitter fights every time we tried to go out together. The smock has a horizontal front pocket/pouch, which seemed a great idea - gear won't fall out of that unless I do a handstand. The fleece lined side/hand pockets went right through - it was one giant pocket. The result of having that pocket on the front as well as the pouch one meant a tendency to put waaaay too much stuff in the pockets and feel like a pregnant penguin. If you can avoid the desire to actually fill those pockets, it would feel a whole lot better on. The side sleeve pocket was a great stash place for emerg firestarter supplies. The hood and chin guard were well designed, soft, and warm. There are side vents ... in theory. Half zips from the waist up on either side. However, in reality, they are not functional when wearing a harness/waist strap - it really precludes the ability to get air through the side when there's a harness there. Finally, the smock was just ridiculously warm. So warm that the snowmobile drivers in the event were wearing them. Keep in mind that they aren't exercising and are creating quite a wind chill as they ride speedily along the trail. I think in the -50C year last year, the racers loved the smock. The other deal-breaker for me with the smock was that it was too tight to fit my pack and hydration bladder under. I still love the smock, but I'll be looking for better ways to use it. The Montane Black Ice 2.0 jacket was my favourite jacket. It was an all-rounder. Well-placed and numerous pockets, a great adjustable hood and chin guard. The only down-side was literally that - the down. It tended to get moisture-laden after 24 hours of use. A few hours at a checkpoint near a hot stove would do the trick...but on the last day I didn't have that option and had to revert back to my smock. Which I rejected within minutes and ended up draping my Deep Cold Down jacket over me instead (see below for more on that jacket).

  

  A glance at other pulks and shoes at the start (100 & 300 mile racers)

• Feet: Injinji Performance Liner Crew socks, Icebreaker Mountaineer socks (alternate socks: Woolpower 400g & 600g)
• Don't confuse the liner socks with the regular ones - these are really, really thin. I normally use Injinji's for daily running and races, as they reduce chances of blisters for me. So I had the liner plus an Icebreaker Mountaineer over top. I've used Icebreakers for my wetter events with great success. I changed the liner and oversock at each of the three drop bag points. The Woolpower socks seemed to work as well as the Icebreakers. I can't recall now whether I actually used both the 400g and 600g - I know I kept one pair spare on my pulk. (Things were a bit hazy out there!) I wouldn't change a thing about these sock combo's. I did sometimes use chemical toe warmers, particularly because I was concerned I might not feel the beginning of frostbite, given my neuropathy in the toes. The toes were never cold. There were cases of frostbite and immersion foot/trench foot out there this year, but I wasn't one of them.

• Shoes: Inov-8 Roclite 275 GTX (one size big, extra insoles to help them fit until feet swell). Backup shoes in drop bag at 100 mile point: Hoka Tor GTX.
• I wanted to love the Inov-8 so much. Most of my running shoes are Inov-8 - they work for me. The extra insole added some cushion and a surprising amount of cold protection. I'd do that again. Unfortunately, there was an issue. Snow would pile up on top of the toe box and melt into the shoe because of heat coming off my foot. It couldn't get all the way down to the sock because of the GTX membrane. So it would sit there until it froze again as a little ice dam between the GTX layer and the top layer of fabric. If the shoe had a solid upper, that would be prevented. But it's fabric. So the ice dam formed and there it sat, pressing down on my toes. I was quite concerned for increased risk of frostbite - my toes were constricted by the ice putting pressure on them. I heard later of a couple other guys having the same problem with this shoe. Thus, at the 100 mile checkpoint, I switched to the Hoka's. I've never been a fan of Hoka brand and I have tried a few models. But these had the most potential for me. They were, however, even bigger and they were high tops (ankle high). Given that my feet weren't really swollen enough to fit them, I knew I was headed for blisters due to excess movement. Terrible blisters, which I had to stop to treat several times over the next 200 miles. The high tops also caused grief to one Achilles, which I fortunately noticed during a blister stop, so I could re-lace the shoe to relieve pressure. Had the Hoka's been a better size, maybe I'd have a better review. And maybe they would have made it back from Pelly Crossing. But I hope there's a First Nations person out there right now enjoying the northern lights and getting some great use out of them.

• Overboots: NEOS Adventurer (for crossing water/slush/overflow)
• The overflow sections I crossed were frozen or only a wee bit slushy. Time of day can make a difference. So the NEOS never went on. But I'd have them again, for sure. And that style, as I wouldn't want a lower height one.

  

  Rocking the cap, Black Ice 2.0, Prism pants, and Roclites post race

• Extreme weather outer and for stops: Montane Prism pants and Montane Deep Cold Down jacket
• The Prism pants were uber lightweight, so worth carrying, despite my not needing to use them. When I stopped to bivy, I was into the sleeping bag within minutes and stayed warm getting things organised before I climbed in. I didn't sit around making tea or anything sedentary or I surely would have needed them. The Deep Cold Down jacket made appearances as mentioned above. It became my extra layer for my sleeping set up and was also my jacket on the last night, when the Smock was grieving me. It's wickedly warm, that's for sure. I couldn't put it on and zip it at -30C without getting too hot moving. Very well thought out details, just like the Black Ice 2.0.

• Wind weather outer: Montane Astro Ascent eVent trousers and Montane Direct Ascent eVent jacket
• These were never pulled out of their stuff sack. I don't think I'd take them again, as I can't really see them being useful. There's always a down jacket option for wind. And the eVent gear gets really brittle feeling in extreme cold - not a nice feeling at all. (The Alpine bivy also gets that same rigid feeling.)

• Misc included: compass, folding saw, sunscreen, scissors, teatree foot powder, SportShield towelettes, space blanket, antiseptic wipes, multi-tool, cable ties, duct tape, whistle, windproof lighter, waterproof matches (several, stored in multiple locations), fire starter, Sea to Summit dry bags and stuff sacks. Food for 48 hours at a time (approx 9,000-10,000 calories, which is supplemented by 2 aid station meals in that timeframe).
• Mandatory gear included the compass and folding saw. I used neither, but also wouldn't scrimp on either, as they are emergency items and you want something that works. 
• I got the Mawaii winter sport sunscreen and lip balm recommended by the RD and it was brilliant. An absolute ordeal to get shipped to Australia (via someone in England), but worth it. I should have applied it on day 1, though! Oops. The chapped lips I got were awful.
• Foot powder was a new one for me - the idea was to avoid moisture build-up (sweat) in the socks. I used too much. Don't use too much. It cakes and hardens and makes little ridges between toes that I think helped blisters form. There's a reason why they say moderation in all things!
• 2Toms SportShield towelettes (body lube) were great, as they didn't freeze. I tended to use one at least every drop bag stop - I'd apply it to my sternum, shoulders, hips (for the harness), and feet/toes when I re-did my socks. Last of all, I'd run the towel over the nether regions. A must-have.

About the best a space blanket can do. Mild AUS temps and a jacket over.

• Space blanket was mandatory - it's probably pretty useless in that kind of cold, to be honest. But it takes up little space and any help with heat would be good if in an emergency situation. But hopefully you're carrying a change of dry thermals in a dry bag on the pulk, which would be a much wiser choice than relying on a piece of aluminium foil to save your life.

• A whistle was also mandatory and I have yet to have a whistle (even those that promise the loudest blast) work when I've wanted to attract someone's attention out running or racing. But maybe one day there will be a situation where it comes into its own.
• Antiseptic wipes - I had little individual povidone-iodine swabs, which work well because most options will freeze. I used a number of them over the last 200 miles with my blister issues. Another must-have. 
• For firestarter, I had dryer lint as well as cotton buds soaked in candle wax. These were stored in several locations, along with matches.
• I brought a waterproof notebook and pen so I could write reminders for myself and not have to rely on a shattered brain. It really took the pressure off to have it.

Bibbulmun 2011. Give me a whole bin of food and I can reject it all.

• Food. What can I say? I get so food-weary in events like this. I'll be hungry, but nothing sounds appealing. I just have to force it down. Sugary foods were evil and gave me canker sores within 2 days. That made eating even less desirable. My favourite items were (1) oatmeal, (2) Fruit-to-Go (for the first 3 days, then I grew weary of them, as I'd eaten so many), (3) Rolos (a suggestion of Mark Hines and nothing I have eaten since I was a kid - they went down far better than other chocolate items I had), (4) gluten-free pretzel balls (tiny little balls, not actually pretzel shaped), (5) dried mango slices, and (6) Primal Strips vegan (soy) jerky.

Montane Yukon Arctic Ultra: A Doggone Long Way

I stood looking out the window of my hotel room in Whitehorse Thursday morning at 9.30 am and felt a little rise of panic. I questioned why. The answer came clearly: the suffering. The feet remembered the days of battering on the Bibbulmun track in 2011. The stomach remembered being forced to eat high energy processed foods to meet caloric needs. The mind remembered running with eyes nearly closed in a sleep-dep fog.

So I reassured myself. I didn't have to suffer. It wasn't a necessary thing. I could choose to slow down at any point, to get more sleep, to stop, to rest. Even to quit. I had to remember that I was the boss of me.

And with that, I headed to Shipyard's Park for the 10.30 am start.

I'm in black, far right, behind the canicross girl (runner with dog and pulk)

I knew before race start and it was confirmed soon after that having 15-20 cm longer legs would be a definite asset in a long expedition-type race like this. Next year I'll train up for that ;) Blokes could stride along past me at a nice easy walk whilst I had a Marvin-The-Martian continuous shuffle-jog going. My best estimate was my pulk weighed 30 kg with all the gear, vacuum flasks of water, and 48 hours of mandatory food to get me to the first drop-bag point (Checkpoint 3, Braeburn 100 miles).

Race start was a balmy -9C with a wind chill that made it feel like -20, but it was fortunately at our backs. So it was altogether a very nice start in my base merino wool thermal. We had been warned the first 50 km along the Yukon and Takhini Rivers had more overflow than usual (slushy water over top of the ice layer that could result in wet feet - a definite no-no). To avoid the worst of the overflow and the outright open flowing river water, we were going to be running right along the edge on icy cambers. I chose to start in my kahtoolas and was glad for it. Shuffle-running along the rivers was fantastic and I enjoyed looking at the cliffs, the surrounding mountains of the Miners Range, and the  ravens circling above.

Map sections with notes

I reached Checkpoint 1, Rivendell, roughly 40 km, in very good time. Before 4 pm, in fact. I had reckoned on arriving there after dinner. I have a feeling it's closer to 35 km than 40 km. Anyway, the rest of the course gave us ample opportunity to ensure we'd get our 300 miles worth of racing. I filled my hydration pack and declined the offer of soup and sandwiches. Gluten and milk/butter don't agree with me and I'm usually vegetarian. And I didn't need a rest yet.

As I was leaving, a photographer asked, "Do you know what's coming next?" I replied, "Sure, I think so. About 480 km more of this." He told me the course would finally turn off the big rivers and become "purposeful." I was confused, as I felt it had been a nice route, certainly purposefully taking me north and west towards Pelly Crossing. He apparently didn't really like the starting river section (he has done the race before). The result of this conversation was that I found myself back on the river but suddenly frustrated and looking for the trail that was going to leave the river and start taking me "purposefully" to Pelly Crossing. Suddenly, I disliked this river section and needed to be on the overland trail, where things were "purposeful." I grew more grumpy as the minutes ticked on and I saw no trail. I saw how easily my mind had done an about-face from enjoying the river to disliking the river! Perspective is everything.

Once onto the Dawson Overland Trail (whew!), I continued northwest towards Checkpoint 2, Dog Grave Lake. As the route climbed off the river, I passed a couple competitors travelling together, in single file on the narrow trail. I announced that I'd pass on the left. Rather than pull to the side for me, as had been discussed at the race briefing (part of good trail etiquette), they stayed on the groomed trail, kept moving ahead, and made me go around them in the deep snow. Of course it's a lot harder to pass uphill in deep snow...especially with my short legs compared to their long ones! And it's a long pass, given that we all had pulks behind us. It's like 3 semi-tractor trailer units passing in slow motion. When I got to the one in front, he sped up - I couldn't believe it. I smiled to myself at how silly it was to be this competitive so early in such a long multi-day race (though knowing I would have felt pangs of angst if I was the one being passed). I wanted to say something, but thought it might be lost in translation, given they were Italian speaking. I did make a joke about them being able to rescue me when I fell through the ice later, but it wasn't well received - for language, I'll presume. I made sure to create some good space between us from there so that we could all just get some peace in our minds, stop thinking about each other, and just focus on our own bodies and races.

I arrived at CP 2 Dog Grave Friday at 2:30 am. Dog Grave consisted of a tent for staff/vollies and a campfire. Competitors were not allowed in the tent unless we were quitting. My first opportunity to go indoors would be at CP 3, Braeburn. I took up the offer of split pea soup, handing over my bowl to be filled. I sat by the fire, smiling at my good fortune to get a nice vegetarian soup in such a remote place. And slurped up a bite of ham. Hmmm. Time to practice flexibility. After a water refill and moving some more food from pulk to body, I was moving north again at 3 am.

Elapsed time: 16.5 hours
Distance: ~101 km
Sleep: 0

What? You can't see the ducks and aliens reaching out to you? Who needs drugs.

Over the next few hours, the hallucinations started. I'd never experienced this in any race before, nor during the Bibbulmun 15 day FKT. They seemed to be aided by the snow hanging from the trees and the effect of headlamp, with distorted depth perception. I saw ducks hugging things, aliens, people,...things were moving and reaching out to me. To say it was highly disturbing was an understatement. I'd been told that if I ever wanted to do LSD, it was important to have a babysitter. Well, here I was on a trip with no sitter! I had to work very hard to keep rationalising that they were hallucinations. Around 6 am, knowing my feet could benefit from a break (and perhaps my mind!), I decided to take a short bivy. I believe it was about 1.5 hours in total, with 1 hour actually in the bivy. I was cold and shivering, as my rented -65C extreme sleeping bag hadn't been delivered in time to the race director and I had been given a -40C bag. Nonetheless, I wasn't really tired yet, so the brief stop left me energised.

Unfortunately, the hallucinations were set in and from that point on, day or night, I could often count on them! On the way to Braeburn I clearly saw a vehicle and two people up ahead. Clearly in a delusional sort of way, that is.

I was a bit confused about the directions into CP 3 Braeburn, as I'd come out alongside a road and powerline. I pulled out my race notes and found no reference to this bit of trail. All I had were a few shoe prints leading me on (though there were a few others going the opposite way, which had me wondering if the leaders had turned back after taking a wrong turn, too). Soon enough, though, the roadhouse/restaurant appeared. It was 4.45 pm Friday. I found out later that just two people in the 300 mile race had arrived in front of me. Jan (USA, male) was already out again and Gavan (IRL, male) was just leaving. I also found out that only one 100 mile foot racer had finished - in a truly amazing time, but had missed the course record by just 10 minutes!

The famous plate-sized cinnamon rolls at Braeburn. More sugar? I'll pass.

I grabbed my drop bag with my pre-written "to do" list and set about following the orders I'd written for myself when I still had a brain. Change socks and undies was top of the list. I also decided I had to change shoes. I had very mixed feelings about this. My Inov-8 Roclite 275 GTX with an extra insole had been very comfy and warm. But they'd developed an "ice dam" above each set of toes. The snow accumulating on top of the shoe had melted into the shoe, but was unable to permeate the Goretex layer. There, it had frozen. This was putting pressure on my toes, which posed an increased risk of frostbite and blisters. The Hoka Tor's that were my backups were slightly larger and loose in the heel cup. I was pretty much guaranteed blisters around the heels, though I tried to tape well. They were also high-tops and I wasn't used to those. I didn't know if it would work out well or badly.

Chores done, food eaten, I looked at my race-distance sheet. Next up, CP 4, Ken Lake. 71 km away! Given that 50-odd km sections were taking about 12 hours, this looked like an 18 hour section, with a bivy on the cards for sure. No wonder the restaurant seemed to be filling with people, including a few DNF's, with no one looking in a hurry to get out there again! I shook my head at myself as I headed out into the cold night's air, departing at 6.23 pm Friday. Temperatures likely wouldn't get above -20C now as we headed north.

Elapsed time: 32 hours (1 day 8 hours)
Distance: ~157 km
Sleep: 0

Crossing Coghlan Lake at night.

The section to Ken Lake had been described in quite glowing terms as "lake-woods-lake-woods" alternating. They had warned us not to bivy on lakes, though, because they're colder. The sleep monsters started to take hold around 10.30 pm and I found the hallucinations getting worse, as I weaved back and forth on the trail. I started watching for a good spot to have a dog nap. I found one along a high point in the woods and it seemed relatively warm. I was there from 11:30 pm to 2:30 am, which included time for set-up, tear-down, plus other chores like moving food into jacket, replacing batteries and hand-warmers, etc. The alarm was set for a 2 hour sleep, but I woke before it as the chill seeped in. I'd worked out a method of increasing my warmth by putting my Montane Deep Cold down jacket under my thighs to shoulders and wearing my Montane Black Ice 2.0 down jacket.

Headed out again, I almost immediately dropped down onto Coghlan Lake, which I think was at least 10 km long. It was fantastic to travel such a great distance on a frozen lake, looking at all the wolf prints and hearing them in the distance. I had convinced myself of another hallucination on the lake, only to finally figure out that it really was a MTB competitor camping with his tent on the lake. Brrrrr! I fully expected him to cruise past me later that morning, as the lakes are fast travel for fat tyre bikes, but he had a good, long sleep. The bonus of a MTB on a low-snow year. Though I was sometimes feeling a bit jealous of their long sleeps and quick travel time, I knew I didn't really want to be on a MTB. And I enjoyed having Wolfgang (GER) and Tim (AUS) come past me once each day after their long bivvies. They were typically the only people I'd see for a day, other than the CP vollies, because I kept somehow missing any snowmobile vollies out there after the first day.

Good morning Saturday! Enroute to Ken Lake

I arrived at CP 4 Ken Lake at 2 pm Saturday, feeling a bit like a battered and wounded animal. 19.5 hours on the trail. Though it had been a beautiful section, I found the last 10 km hard, as I expected to see the checkpoint around any corner and my toes were throbbing with the neuropathy I get intermittently since the Bibbulmun FKT. The best explanation of it is the feeling you get right after you hammer your thumb or slam it in a door.

We had been told we couldn't go indoors anywhere here, either, but there was indeed a large canvas tent with wood stove set up. I nearly collapsed going from outdoors to that "sauna" though! I had to run back outside for a minute! It took 1.5 hours to give my battered feet plenty of love and to do the other chores to see myself out for the next section to CP 5, Carmacks, 56 km away. By now, canker sores had taken over my mouth because of all the sugary foods (I never eat biscuits, cookies, etc) and I was finding it hard to chew and swallow and was grossed out by most of my foods. The stew was welcome as a savoury item and even more welcome was the half avocado and apple they gave me when I said I didn't eat bread. After that, I guess every competitor got an apple, to be fair. Yay for real food!

Elapsed time: 53 hours (2 days 5 hours)
Distance: ~228 km
Sleep: 1.5 hours

Chain Lakes to the long traverse of Mandanna Lake

After Ken Lake, we were to get onto Mandanna Lake, which was again at least 10 km long by my reckoning. We'd been warned that it was prone to wind, which blew in the trail and made navigation tricky, particularly at night. I was quite motivated to be off that lake by dark if I could do it without straining too hard or breaking a serious sweat. I literally reached the far north shore in the last bit of twilight.

The woods section towards Carmacks village was beautiful and included some fire-burnt parts. However, I was again duped by how close/far things were. I had understood from the briefing that we would drop onto the Yukon River again and then follow it through the jumble ice to Carmacks, going under a bridge as we arrived in town by the rec centre. Local First Nations kids were known to amuse themselves by moving/removing markers, so we were to be vigilant (good luck with that, little sleep-dep brain!). The course dropped down to the river and I set it in my mind to do the Marvin-the-Martian river shuffle-jog to the CP. I couldn't see a bridge, but thought it could still be 10 km, for all I knew. The trail then took me back to the bank, climbing back to the ridge above. I got unnerved with that, coupled by the fact that there was not a single marker for the next 5 km. And this wasn't close enough to town to have been tampered with, as far as I could reckon. There was nothing around. I became concerned. It was foolish to merely follow the shoe prints of Jan and Gavan in front of me. I remembered all my own race director's admonishments to racers, "The worst excuse for getting lost is saying you were just following someone else." Plus I was so tired again, I feared I could fall asleep on the trail and wake up completely disoriented. I started talking to myself, confirming what I was doing. "Following the shoe prints to Carmacks," I kept repeating.

I took out my Garmin eTrex. Though it didn't have the whole course on it (there was no course given, due to its changing nature), I had the CP waypoints. I checked that Carmacks was indeed in front of me, though still 15 km away. As the crow flies. And I was a dog, not a crow. So it was back down to the river for more jumble ice. Then back up to the ridge. Then back down to the river. We did that 4 times. Hello Acceptance, I see you're back for another lesson :) The last of the climbs was spectacular, as I was literally on all fours, grabbing at branches and digging my knees and toes into the snow, dragging my 30kg pulk up behind me. I realised then why it was not only billed as the coldest ultra but as the toughest! I had an image of myself as some 1800's gold miner with a giant nugget in my pulk that I was trying to get to town to cash in. Why else would I possibly be there in the middle of the night doing what I was doing?!? I have no idea how those Yukon Quest dogs would go down that hill - and with a sled careening behind them (since they travel in the opposite direction to us foot racers).

How do the Canadian Rangers carve out this jumble ice? Looks tough.

CP 5 Carmacks rec centre was finally at my feet at 4:40 am Sunday. A 13 hour section with no bivy. The medico/volly Diane greeted me right away and said something like, "We have food, toilets, showers, beds, and drop bags. What would you like first?" I think I just drooled and sat down. She didn't mention chairs, but they had chairs, too :) Footracer Jan had left already and Gavan was sleeping upstairs. Wolfgang, on the bike, had passed through, planning to bivy on the trail ahead. Tim, another MTB'er, was hanging out at the CP, with a chest full of phlegm. My chest had filled, too. It didn't seem to be a cold virus, but something to do with high humidity cold air. It didn't seem to be affecting my energy or breathing at all, but Tim was feeling like he had asthma or bronchitis. I had a go at sleeping upstairs on the floor and although it took an hour for the elevated feet to stop screaming about their "hammer-smashed-on-toes" feeling and for me to find the right sleeping temperature, I dozed for a couple hours, as hoped. By the time I got my chores done, it was 9:30 am when I was ready to head out. The longest stop, at nearly 5 hours, but I felt it was much needed, being just over the halfway mark. There was a lot of race left to set myself up for.

Elapsed time: 71 hours (2 days 23 hours)
Distance: ~284 km
Sleep: 3.5 hours

Hills allow views :)

Leaving Carmacks for CP 6, McCabe Creek, I dropped onto jumble ice on the river and after about 1 km, climbed onto a seemingly unused small road. It was hilly but I didn't mind at all, as it was beautiful and gave great views of the surrounds, with variety in the ups and downs. I passed Wolfgang packing up his bivy. Some time in the afternoon, the road turned left and I carried on straight onto a single track type trail, which started a slow easy descent towards the Yukon River again. Unfortunately, it snowed a bit through here and it was a warm sticky type snow, which really hampered my pulling. Though I was going down, I had to pull harder than on flat sections earlier. I actually picked up to a pretty steady run for a while, as I was frustrated with the friction of the pulk on the sticky stuff and the extra work required.

Great history. Trail built in 1902 to reduce some of the winter river ice travel

I was lucky to see this section in the light, as the view in front of the Wood Cutters Range and the descent to the river at the site known as Yukon Crossing was really pretty. I decided it was a special opportunity, so could at least take a minute for a photo and to read the historical sign. Then it was back to the business of getting to CP 6 McCabe Creek. I'd told myself I needed a 4 hour sleep, as the 2 hour ones would be catching up on me now. I was hoping I might be able to sleep inside, since I reckoned all the (snoring and farting) blokes should be past McCabe and enroute to Pelly Crossing. I was wrong. But first, I had a few more hours with Teacher Acceptance, as the trail weaved around and around and back and forth between river ice and woods until the farm/ranch appeared at 12:45 am Monday. We'd been given the use of the wood-heated shed, which worked well and I set about to turn myself from wounded, scared animal back into fierce trail warrior with the help of the vollies. One of whom had earplugs! With clothes drying by the very hot wood stove, I hit the mattress between snoring Wolfgang and tossing, hacking Tim. I hoped he wasn't contagious. But I had a bit of my own phlegm hacking to do. The vollies checked the SPOT trackers and saw the next competitor was at least 30 miles behind me. So they took the chance to get a snooze, too. I jumped up after a few hours and checked my clothes weren't burning, turning them over to dry the other sides. Then I laid down again and started thinking...maybe I'm ready to go. Feel pretty good after a few hours.... I started dressing my feet, which really had started blistering badly due to the loose fit shoes. I filled water flasks, had a quick cup of comfort tea (Earl Grey) and departed McCabe at 4:45 am Monday, the beginning of the coldest part of each day (~5 to 9 am).

Elapsed time: 90 hours (3 days 18 hours)
Distance: ~346 km
Sleep: 5.5 hours

The sun doesn't rise much higher in February. A quick sunny coffee to be had!

The next 10 km ran along a powerline near the Klondike Highway and I could occasionally hear a truck in the distance. The powerline section was described apologetically in the race briefing, but I didn't mind it, being in the dark. I couldn't see the long straight-away that might have been demoralising during the day.  There was a big climb off that section as the trail changed from a northwesterly to northeasterly heading into Pelly Crossing. I passed a creek section prone to overflow and got some slightly slushy stuff, despite the -30C or so temps. I'd been warned at McCabe that the lead cyclist Florian had gone through overflow somewhere enroute to Pelly and had arrived very cold, though not injured. He spent the night there warming up before heading out on the last out-and-back section to Pelly Farm. He was so far ahead of Wolfgang and Tim, the other two riders.

It was around sunrise - 8.30 am - I started to pay for my shortened bivy at McCabe. The sleep monsters came in big time. A whole carnival circus of them. I kept forcing the food down to fend off the chill and tried to keep up a good pace, but I'm sure I was adding a 200 metres to every kilometre for my weaving back and forth on the trail! I finally stopped and made a cup of instant Starbucks coffee. It was far too cold to sit on my pulk at all and I knew the caffeine would dilate the blood vessels, making me potentially colder. But I needed the physical and psychological boost. I chomped on some chocolate something-or-other crud at the same time to assist in the warming and broke into a pretty hard run for 5 minutes after the stop to get the hands and body properly warm again.

Greedy greedy never gets. Who should have slept more at McCabe, hmmm???

The story for the rest of Monday was similar - beautiful terrain with a mix of lake traverses and short woodland sections, seeing no one, utter silence when the pulk stopped. But I was in a bit of a sufferfest with the sleep dep, paying for my greed in not stopping long enough at McCabe. The last 7 km into Pelly Crossing through the woods would have been a spectacular recording with a GoPro. I ranted and raved at the woods, begging for a glimpse of any sign of humanity - a fence, a powerline.... I felt hemmed in by the woods and longed for an open clearing with a view. When I finally started descending and came to a small one, I christened it the Benson Clearing. I reckoned that someone just like me had come along in the night and hacked down trees, just so that there could be some space. I vowed to come back and hack another clearing. I had an image of myself coming into Pelly Crossing with little First Nations kids curiously checking out the weird woman pulling the pulk. But the reality was that I walked through the village alone and saw two teen girls from a distance and that was it. Then the rec centre, CP 7 Pelly Crossing, was upon me.

A volly met me outside and helped me bring my pulk in. It was amazing how well they knew from the SPOT trackers when we'd arrive. He did the usual efficient volly thing and immediately tried to help remove harness and over-clothes and offer me food. I stood dazed. Then I saw MTB'er Tim laying on the floor. That looked like a fantastic idea. I laid down on the floor. If I needed time to decide what I wanted to do first, at least I could decide from the comfort of the floor! I put my feet up a wall and the volly brought me a bowl of stew, which I ate from the floor. Over the next few hours, I slowly went through my chores, preparing for the last out-and-back leg to CP 8 Pelly Farm and back. About 52 km each way. I was tired, but it was still light and there was enough activity around that it just didn't seem like sleeping time. Wolfgang and Tim energised me with their determination to get out onto the trail again, which made me feel a bit soft. Of course I'd completely forgotten they'd had hours and hours longer to rest at McCabe than me. I headed out at 6:20 pm. It was still Monday. The longest Monday in the history of the world.

Elapsed time: 104 hours (4 days 8 hours)
Distance: ~391 km
Sleep: 5.5 hours

She's not bulky, she's my pulky. With helpful tips written on the straps.

I can't remember exactly what time I decided to bivy, but I think it was around 10 or 11 pm. I'd been falling asleep walking, weaving all over the track. I think stopped time was about 1.5 hours, but I managed only about a 1 hour sleep before the chill started to creep in. Hoping I'd gotten a reset, I headed out again. But within another hour, I was back to falling asleep walking. I'd wake up standing still with my right pole on the ground beside me. I was slightly worried about the occasional cliff edge on the left side, but most of the time there was a nice snow mound there that I reckoned would make an adequate bumper guard :)

I was fortunate to get the distraction/activity of all the guys coming back from the farm. First, the lead cyclist, Florian, who'd gotten into the overflow. We exchanged words for a minute and I told him I'd been having a pretty long tough day. A few hours later I saw Jan, the lead foot racer. Though I was tired, I knew he was on track for the overall/men's course record, so I was touched that he took the time to stop and talk for a minute. We talked about the course record and then he said he should get back to it, as Gavan was trying to hunt him down. I remember that distinctly as 3:30 am, as I looked at my watch so as to see when Gavan would pass. At 3:45 am I saw the next set of lights and it was MTB'er Wolfgang on his way back. After his uber long rest at McCabe, he'd decided to make one long push of Pelly Crossing to the farm and back without a bivy. He was excitedly hunting down Jan. Though they were technically in separate events, I guess it gave him something interesting to keep his attention and enthusiasm through the night. He mentioned losing his "hand shoes" about 5 km back. It was hard for me to understand his English, but would have been harder for me to understand his German. I reckoned hand shoes could only mean gloves and I thanked him in my mind for giving me something small to keep my attention on. Plus I was still waiting to see Gavan. I thought it was quite funny that Jan thought Gavan was chasing him down and as it turned out, Gavan was nowhere near him. Finally, Gavan appeared. Gavan is Irish. As such, that makes him incredibly likeable and endearing. Well, that's my view of Irish...but I also have a wee bit of Irish blood, so maybe I'm biased ;) We were able to exchange a few profanities about our insane hallucinations and sleep walking and the parts of the course we'd found toughest. He'd explained that he had tried to chase Jan down, but his own sleep monster attack meant a bivy on the way back from the farm.

My favourite race jacket - the Montane Black Ice 2.0

Once Gavan passed, that left only MTB'er Tim to come back towards me. But he didn't and I arrived at CP 8 Pelly Farm, at the end of this road at 8:15 am, not long after sunrise, coming into the most amazing huge farm in a valley in the middle of nowhere. I had so many questions such as, What do you farm? and Who ploughs this 50 km road? But I had no energy for superfluous questions. Or for processing superfluous answers. I ate some lasagne, gave the owner my clothes to hang, and hit the bunk bed in the spare room. Earplugs in, I set my alarm for 2 hours and I was out. I woke before the alarm went off, but got the sleep I'd denied myself at McCabe and felt alive again. I finished my giant lasagne, though each bite and swallow were painful with the canker sores. Then I tended the feet and was on the trail again at 12:00 pm.

Elapsed time: 121.5 hours (5 days 1.5 hours)
Distance: ~444 km
Sleep: 8 hours

The run back to Pelly Crossing was a joy. It wasn't just because I was close to the finish. Because 52 km is still a long way in sled dog years :) I was energised by the sleep. It was daylight, so I was enjoying the sights. And there was a bloody long climb back out of this valley. The first climb was 5 km, I thought the farm owner said. Then there was a shorter, steeper one. I love hills. It was grand. I couldn't stomach much of the biscuits and other sugary or processed foods (e.g., GF pretzels), either, so I formulated a new plan for the day. I'd run/powerhike 3 hours, then stop in a sunny spot and make a cuppa (tea) and an expedition meal, resting my feet for 20 minutes. Then I'd run/powerhike again for 3 hours. This worked beautifully. I didn't need so many regular water sips because it was so cold. I could drink in bulk. Around 3 pm I saw the first competitors coming towards me headed for the farm. Three were within 30 minutes of each other. After dark, I passed two more on their way out. I retraced my steps carefully back through the village, trying to spot the reflective wooden stakes. I crossed the jumble ice one last time. I turned off my headlamp and looked up for the northern lights, which had appeared every single night. I listened to the silence. This was it. It was going to be over. My feet were grateful, but I was a little sad. At 9:25 pm I was greeted outside by the race director and the medal was placed around my neck, as simply as that.

18 of 29 starters in the 300 mile footrace finished, plus the 3 MTB'ers

Elapsed time: 130 hours 55 minutes (5 days 10 hours 55 minutes)*
Distance: ~496 km**
Sleep: 8 hours


1st female

5th woman ever to finish the 300 mile event (inaugural race 2003)

3rd overall

New course record by over 24 hours

*That's 38 days in dog years ;)

**Informed later by guys with barometric pressure GPS watches that the course was over 520km +4000m this year.