Have Dental Floss, Will Travel

Mapping the world, one waxy strand at a time…

Tag Archives: Untamed New England 2012 race report

Untamed New England, Legs 6 and 7: Escaping the Flood

5 Comments Posted by on July 23, 2012

Posted by Brent (also published on his blog here!)

In case you missed them:

Leg 1 Report
Leg 2 Report
Leg 3 Report
Leg 4 & 5 Report

Leaving the transition at Sugarloaf was bittersweet; we had turned in a strong showing on the alpine trek and felt like we had regained a fair bit of momentum heading into the final stretch of the race. That said, we also were setting off on the short course despite feeling we had plenty of time to finish the full one. There was nothing to be done, however, except revise our goals to finishing strong and making a run to be the first of the short course field. This seemed a reasonable goal, as we had passed or made up time on a handful of teams at Sugarloaf, and we were only behind Rachel and Michael from Bushwhacker on the short course.
After a relatively quick ride, we pulled into another of the wonderful Maine huts. This one had a large lodge and several bunk houses, one of which had been set aside for racers to sleep in during the orienteering relay. We were surprised to find Yogaslackers still at the hut (the last of the full course teams), and we quickly checked in and started the relay. Mark set off first, tackling the long-difficult course. I would go second on short difficult, Abby would then head out on the short, easy course with the waning daylight helping her, and JP would serve as the anchor on short long. Only one racer could run at a time, so we had the opportunity to rest our feet and recharge before setting off for the final night of the race.

Rachel from Bushwhackers at the O-Relay

The relay went well enough, and while we don’t know the actual team splits, from what we could gather from the volunteers, we turned in a strong showing. The relay served as a nice break as we each banked various amounts of sleep. Once again, we were treated with food from the hut staff, this time a collection of fresh fruit, brownies and various other treats that helped us recharge as we waited for our teammates to complete their various legs.
An hour or so after dark, after we each spent time out in the open woods, scrambling past beautiful waterfalls and crossing paths with other lone racers from the handful of other teams at the relay, we set off on bikes, headed to the final leg of the race, another packrafting-trek leg to the finish. We had watched Bushwhacker pull out an hour or so before, so we knew we were closing in on them, and NYARA, the Daredevils and Calleva had arrived a while after we did, meaning we were opening up our lead on the rest of the short course teams.
The bike to the final TA was straightforward and mostly on various dirt and paved roads. As we neared the TA, JP leading the way, we were startled by a female moose, darting across the road. JP, startled by the large shadow and gleaming eyes, swerved a bit, and we all laughed with relief. A second or two difference would have inevitably meant a collision with the moose, but thankfully we biked on, Abby cheering, all of us smiling as we finished the bike.
It was a bit before midnight, and I quietly lit a handful of candles and pulled Abby’s birthday “present” out of my bin (presents in an adventure race should be edible; so I stowed some chocolate covered pretzels and cranberries in my bin). It was still June 22, and after a hoarse and weary round of happy birthday, we finished our transition and set off for a third Maine hut, back by Grand Falls, the site of the ropes from day one. There we would get instructions for the return to the Northern Outdoors lodge and the finish line. As we trekked off from the TA, we turned out lights off, hiking along the dark shadowed roads amidst thousands of fireflies and one of the starriest nights I have ever seen. It was finally cooling off a bit, and we were in high spirits as we went.
Over two hours later, we stumbled off the long, flat trail, our energy gone from the monotonous slog through the woods. Some teams elected to packraft the quiet river alongside the trail, but for reasons unclear in retrospect we elected to trek. Maybe it had something to do with my packrafting abilities? I don’t know…
Anyhow, after navigating a handful of final trails after the falls, we checked in at the hut, were given our UTM coordinates for the final eight points and then decided to sleep for half an hour before the final stretch. A few other teams were sleeping about the grounds of the hut (we were not given access to this one), and when we awoke, team Untamed New England (the fifth place, full course finishers) had just checked in.
For the first time in the race we were cold, all shivering and unsure of what was in store. The eight points were scattered along the Dead River, the junction of the Dead and the Kennebec, and then south on the banks and hills of the Kennebec to Northern Outdoors. We had heard plenty of information since before the race started about the Dead.
“Class IV and V water. No way you will want to packraft that”.
“No water at all if you hit it at the wrong time. There’s a dam and they only release the water at particular times.”
OK, but no clear idea of what times there would be water in the river.
The first point was four or five miles downriver, and we could either drop from the lodge and try the river, or we could trek the winding technical trail to the control and drop a couple hundred feet to the bank and assess the river at that point. After discussing our options we elected to trek first, worried that we’d waste time heading to the river if there was no water and also concerned about getting on the river in the cold.
We made good time and dropped to the riverbank, a very steep, climb down. By this point the sky had fully lightened and what we found was breathtaking. A narrow river, meandering through dense wilderness, surrounded by high, steep, forested slopes, a foggy haze blanketing the river giving the river a fairytale shimmer in the morning light. The river, filled with rocks, was a steady stream of whitewater, but the rapids, while often long and sustained, looked manageable. We couldn’t see the checkpoint, but we knew it was down river, so we inflated out boats and set off, Abby once again in Mark’s boat, JP and I in our own.

We don’t have a picture of the river, but Kristin Eddy from Team SOG, snapped this one of Abby and Mark’s rafting. Mark isn’t THAT tall!

I had been concerned about this final rafting section because of my previous experiences in the raft and because of the potential nature of the river and its rapids, but ultimately, the section would go down as my single favorite leg in a race to date. Not only was the scenery breathtaking, but I found that I could paddle whitewater far better than I could flatwater in my raft. The rapids just kept coming, and while there were hairy moments with my boat being swamped in endless stretches of white water, navigating the ceaseless ripples, rapids, rocks and falls was exhilarating and unlike anything I have ever done (and will likely do again).

Down toward the confluence of the Dead and Kennebec. Not as dramatic as what we saw further upriver, but still a sense of the morning mist.

We found the first point after launching, and continued downstream where we finally caught up to Bushwhacker. We found the second point together and then settled in for a long paddle downriver, several hours of rapids and fun. Aside from the scenery and paddling, the section was also highlighted by the most amazing wildlife sighting of my racing experience. As we paddled around a bend, Mark and Abby slightly ahead of JP and me, we heard the following:
“There’s a moose swimming in the river!” Abby shouted. JP and I came around the bed, and I saw a…deer? Swimming across the river. Not a moose, but still a cool sight.
“There’s a bobcat…with a fish!” I heard Mark shout, and looking over at the bank, toward which the deer swam, I did indeed see a bobcat (though we later learned that it was probably a Canadian Lynx) chewing on…not a fish.
We all had stopped paddling, our mouths hanging open as the scene came into clearer focus. The Lynx’s jaws were locked around the skull of a fawn, one of the smallest fawns I have ever seen. The mother was swimming across to aid its offspring, and the combination of angry mother deer and three colorful boats floating downriver spooked the lynx, which proceeded to toss the fawn into the air and dart back into the woods. The doe emerged from the water and crashed off into the woods after the cat, and the fawn paddled frantically back across the river, straight toward me. As it neared, I could see it bleeding from its scalp, but all in all, it looked in decent shape considering its ordeal, and before long it made the far bank and stumbled from the water.
We all gaped at each other before paddling on, in awe of the Dead River and its many surprises. While a long paddle, the rest of the leg was a bit less amazing, with JP and I struggling to keep out boats afloat in some of the more difficult stretches of whitewater. We stayed together, JP saving my gear in a near disaster that saw me balanced precariously upon a boulder after being monetarily submerged in a hole)at which point my gear had popped out and quickly floated away). We would periodically have to pull off the river to empty our boats, all the while leapfrogging Bushwhacker in their two person raft.

Teammate Jonathan Neely who raced with Amy, Pete, and Rodney from NYARA.

Finally we emerged in calmer water above the confluence with the Kennebec, and we bagged a few more points before heading down the final stretch of the Kennebec. As we neared the second to last point, Bushwhacker, who had fallen behind us on a point or two we had to trek to from the river’s edge, caught up to us, and we made a pact to cross the finish line together, though their higher time credit would guarantee them a higher overall finish. That said, we gladly agreed to stay together and before long we beached our rafts on the river bank to nab the final point on the river. With gear and boats safely up on shore, we headed into the woods along a stream to the point, and of course it was an “all-punch” meaning every team member had to punch his or her wristband. We laughed and were in high spirits as we made our way back to our boats, the finish line practically in sight.

Rodney and Amy from Team NYARA
JP and I were bringing up the rear, and I was in the process of explaining that all we had left was 100 meters of paddling to the opposite side of the river and a 3 mile trek with one more checkpoint to the finish line, but as we emerged from the woods, we were greeted by pandemonium. Rachel was in the river, waist-deep, holding onto my boat. I was puzzled, but even more confused when I looked downriver to see Michael swimming frantically around a river bend, his and Rachel’s boat vanishing ahead of him with all their gear. Mark and Abby were hurriedly shoving off in pursuit, and JP ran up the shore to grab our gear bags which were floating away.

The Yogaslackers unique method of paddling packrafts. They have been doing this a lot longer than I have!

The Yogaslackers paddling down the Dead.

An unidentified racer without her raft.

A long ways upriver, someone decided to release a dam. I don’t know when they did it, but the timing was about as close to catastrophic as it could have been. A torrent of water flooded the river, and the surge rapidly elevated the water levels, sweeping our gear off the shore. Had the deluge hit us a minute or so earlier, we would have lost all of our gear to the river, but thankfully we managed to successfully salvage everything. When Mark and Abby took off, he dumped her on the far side and then set off to save Bushwhacker’s boat, which he did, though he was swept a long ways down river. He and Michael somehow ended up together and they made their way back up shore to meet the four of us who had broken down what gear we had as we waited.Before we knew it, Rachel, JP, and I were alone on the river bank with 1 ½ rafts (JP’s floor had ripped out not long before). After a bit of discussion and some scouting around the river bend to see what was happening with our other teammates, we set off, Rachel in my boat, JP following. We made the other side where we found Abby at the take out. So what happened?

 

Disaster averted, we set off on the trek, remarking on the final adventure of the race, yet another moment that will live in our collective race memories. Ironically, Mark had been commenting before we had landed our boats for the checkpoint about how the wheels can come off right before the end, a bad omen to be sure. Thankfully, the final trek went far smoother, and before long we were trekking into the Northern Outdoors lodge to cheering volunteers and guests, 77 hours after we had started.

77 hours after the start.
Ultimately we finished tenth in the premier category and tied for eleventh overall with Bushwhacker, an agreement we had arranged with them after our fiasco on the river. We asked Grant to adjust our respective time credits to equal out, and then it was off to sort out our post-race adventures, namely eating, cleaning up and finding a place to sleep. While we were still bummed knowing we could have finished the whole course (we finished with 21 hours of race time still on the clock) we had a great experience, as always, at Untamed New England and were pleased with our result.
I for one came out of this race with more unique memories than I have from any other event. Sinking in my raft, the packrafting across Flagstaff Lake in the lightning-lit night, my dissolving drivetrain, the great Alpine Trek and Dead River float. The Maine huts, the Lynx and Deer, racing alongside so many great friends and teams throughout the race. Having two new great teammates in JP and Mark, and of course the final flood. It was a race to remember, and I’m only disappointed to know that Untamed 2013 will likely by in the fall, meaning after three straight editions I will be unable to race due to my teaching responsibilities. That said, a month after the race, I still find myself smiling when thinking about the blue lakes and green mountains of Maine, memories of Untamed 2012 will have to sustain me until the next I can go race in Untamed New England.
Uncategorized , , , , , , , , ,

Untamed New England, Leg 4: The Agony and the Ecstasy

6 Comments Posted by on July 16, 2012

In case you missed them:

Leg 1 Report

Leg 2 Report

Leg 3 Report

It was roughly 6 pm when we arrived at the Sugarloaf ski resort, where we’d be spending the next half day of the race.  Out of Sugarloaf we had two legs to complete – each bookending a short conservation project – and we had 15 hours to get through it before a prescribed cut-off would knock us off the full course.

First up: the mountain bike-O.

The TA – described in the race briefing as the Nemo “tent oasis” – was equipped with several communal shelters for teams wanting a bug-free snooze, and as we transitioned from foot to bike, we thought briefly about pausing for a short nap before heading out onto the trails.

Just a small section of the Tent Oasis

But even though we thought we had a comfortable window of time for the next two sections, we opted to push on, reasoning that (a) we all felt awake enough, and (b) it was too hot to sleep inside a tent.

Instead, we pulled on our bike shoes, downed as many calories as we could take in (I was on the verge of a pretty serious deficit by that point, and the PB&J sandwich that I had stashed in my bin was like nectar of the AR gods), and after losing a bit of time on some unexpected map issues, we set off back into the woods.

Recently, the resort’s winter nordic trails had been converted to summer mountain biking trails.  We would be covering roughly 20-25 miles here, and we estimated that we’d be out on the course for roughly 4-5 hours.

With Mark and Brent negotiating the complicated networks of trails, we found the first CP with relative ease.    From there, we opted to ride to the furthest point from the TA and then collect the remainder of the flags on our ride back.

We moved steadily enough on the bumpy terrain for several miles – until we heard a pop.

Brent looked down to find his rear derailleur hanger, um, hanging off.  He and Mark tried to replace it with the spare that JP had brought, but they weren’t compatible.

We dropped our bikes and settled in.  For the next several minutes, Mark attempted to turn Brent’s bike into a single-speed.  And as we stood there in the damp woods, the mosquitos orchestrated a full-on coordinated assault.

Never before had any of us experienced the buzzing and biting that we did in those 45 minutes.  These bugs took the unrelenting bombardment that we’d experienced throughout the race to that point to a whole new decibel.

Finally, after a fair bit of trial and error, Mark had jimmied Brent’s chain to run sort-of-smoothly, enough so that he could pedal through flats and gentle inclines.  On the sharper climbs, he resorted to hike-a-bike.

This worked well enough for a little while, but as we continued on, the bugs, the heat, and the lack of sleep began to take a toll.  We paused to cool off.  We had a small gaff at the next CP.  It was becoming clear that morale was beginning to lag.

And then, our race nearly ended.

Right after CP 2, Brent began to notice a rattling in his drivetrain.  At first, we thought perhaps the chain had slipped.  It hadn’t.  Then we wondered if the chain was loose.  It wasn’t.

Then, Brent heard a loud pop.  We all looked down expecting to see a broken chain, and instead found ourselves staring at his largest chain ring, sliding down the crank.

The middle ring wasn’t far behind.

When he bent down to investigate the damage, he found that one of the bolts holding the drivetrain together had completely sheared off.

The other three?  They were nowhere to be found.

At this point, we were at the farthest end of the section and had several checkpoints left to collect en route to the TA.  We had no choice but to push our bikes for the next 7 hours.

Well, let me back up…

For the first bike leg of the race, I made the mistake of wearing bike shoes that were far too big.  While they were great for riding, they had no business hike-a-biking along that technical trail that paralleled the river.  What’s more, with quick release laces, I was unable to find the right balance that would keep my feet in place without binding them into numbness.  So, by the time we reached the long trek on Day 2 of the race, the bottoms of my feet were a blistered mess.

This mountain bike section was a welcomed reprieve, and I knew that to preserve my soles for the remainder of the race, I needed to avoid pushing my bike as much as I could.

So with the guys alternately hiking and coasting, I shifted down into my lowest gear and spun slowly next to them.

By 1:30 in the morning, we’d been out on this section for 7 hours.  We were all dragging, mentally as much as physically, but with only two more CPs to go, both relatively close to the TA, we thought we still had a chance to make the cut-off.

Then came CP 7.

To this day, I still have no idea what happened at CP 7.  I’m sure that the gentlemen with the maps could offer much more color commentary here.  From my vantage point, we dropped our bikes and set off through the woods on foot, and I found myself stumbling along, eyes fluttering.  Well past the point of exhaustion-induced sleep monsters (remind me to tell you about 200-pound badger-mole I spotted at Untamed 2010… and the time that Brent saw a kitten in his soup).  I was downright sleep-walking down the trail.

We ended up spending 90 minutes in search of #7.  I have no recollection of those 90 minutes, other than stumbling around in the dark.

Somewhere, sometime, someone on my team spotted it.  They punched our passport, and we headed back down the trail to nab the final flag en route to the TA.

At 3:30 in the morning, 9 hours after we set out, we finally saw the lights of the Tent Oasis.  We trudged in, dropped our bikes, and essentially stood in place for 20 minutes or more deliberating on what to do next.

By that point, we felt pretty certain that we wouldn’t make the cut off.  We were exhausted physically and beaten down mentally.  We couldn’t decide between sleeping, eating, or knocking out the conservation project.

Finally – finally – we landed on conservation.  Someone had built an illegal trail below the outdoor center, and it would be our job to ‘erase’ the trail by covering it with leaves and sticks.

We dragged ourselves the 1/2 kilometer to the site and found a cheerful race volunteer, who instructed us to pick up two tools and find our pre-apportioned section of the renegade trail.  We walked down, lifted our rake and our spade, and five minutes later, we’d transformed our designated area into a veritable wilderness.

This entire section should have taken us 15-20 minutes, including the trek in and out of the TA.  Instead, it took upwards of an hour.  By the time we returned to our bins, though, we had made a plan.

We would sleep until 7:30 AM, eat a hot meal (all hail Mark’s jetboil stove, which boils water in 90 seconds), and then set off for the Alpine Trek.

We laid down in the tent at 4:30 and within minutes each of us was dead to the world.  Though I’m certain that I set my watch correctly, 2.5 hours later, the alarm chimed, and we awoke to our third morning of the race.

Mark, the next morning – bright eyed and bushy tailed

And this was a special morning, the one I’d been looking forward to since the race dates were released last fall.  It was my 31st birthday – and I was determined to celebrate in style.

We climbed out of the tent and began to repack our bins.  As I was preparing for the next trek, Randy Erikson, acclaimed adventure photographer, came over and handed me four pieces of chocolate.

“It doesn’t count as outside assistance if it’s your birthday,” he said.

Awake for fifteen minutes and already eating chocolate?  I knew it was going to be a good day.

Though we were fed, changed, and packed by 7:30, we opted to wait an additional half hour for the new bike rental shop attached to the outdoor center to open.  Team DART/NUUN, who cracked two frames earlier in the race, had borrowed new bikes from the outfitter the night before, and we were hopeful they would have something that Brent could use.

For us, it was rental or bust.

45 minutes later and we were in business.  All that was left was handing over a credit card to use as collateral.

Except, of course, none of us had a credit card with us.

I ran frantically through the TA, checking in with all of the racers I knew until Team Calleva’s Marcy - who we’d only met once this past May at NYARA’s The Longest Day – handed over her card without hesitation.  Seriously, adventure racers are the most generous people in the world.

I ended up returning the card a few minutes later when the shop owner suggested that we leave Brent’s broken bike instead.  He took off the front wheel and handed it off to Team SOG, who was in search of a spare front tire after suffering a tear the previous day, and then we were off for the much-anticipated trek.

This section would have us ascending through the woods to one summit, and then making our way above treeline through a saddle and up to the top of the famed Sugarloaf Mountain.  We had heard that the trek was taking teams upwards of 9-12 hours, far longer than anyone had anticipated.

Still, we traipsed happily into the woods, quite literally buoyed by our near-empty packs.  It was the first time since the race began that we weren’t carrying pounds and pounds of gear, and I felt wondrously light.

We made quick work of the first climb, pausing briefly to search for CP 21, nestled near ground-level on a small stream.  We passed our friends on Team Calleva and caught a quick glance of the Danes of Team Daredevil not far behind us, but otherwise we were on our own.

As we reached Summit #1, we paused briefly to take in the view.

This was, without a doubt, one of my favorite treks in any adventure race.

Our friend, Luis Moreira, a photographer from Breathe Magazine, hiked with us for awhile as we made our way to the next CP, in the saddle between the two peaks.

     

This was the toughest section for me mentally, as we descended the steep, technical terrain – always a struggle for me.

“Sorry for slowing down,” I said to Mark as we negotiated the rocks.  ”These types of sections are…” I paused. “The sections that I’m the least good at.”

“I love how you said that,” Mark replied.  ”A lot of people would say that they hate this type of terrain, or it’s the worst part of a race, but you painted it as room for improvement.”

“That’s funny,” I said.  ”I never thought about it that way.”

A new way to conceive of perceived weakness.

From that CP to the next one, we knew we had some choices to make.  Teams had offered all sorts of stories of this stretch back in TA.  We could either drop in elevation and take the ski slope up, or bushwhack through the woods toward the summit, or try some combination of the two.

Or we could get really lucky, find a freshly cut trail at our exact elevation, and have two strong navigators both confident enough to improvise.

We followed our logging trail around to the ski slope just below the final push up Sugarloaf.  We climbed the last hundred-or-so feet, and in under five hours we were at the final CP, greeted by our other Breathe Magazine buddy, Joel Perrella.

By this point, the sun was high and the temperatures were climbing.  We paused briefly at the top to cool off and refuel, answered a few questions for Joel’s camera, and then began the steep descent down the ski trails, alternately shuffling and trekking as our knees (and my feet) would allow.

Shortly before the bottom we passed by a small cafe, and since everyone but JP had run out of water on the ascent, we made a quick pitstop.  Brent went straight for the hose (where the water ended up tasting like rotten rubber) but Mark, JP, and I indulged in a detour to the drink counter, where I got my first taste ever of icy cold Orangina.

I had no idea what I was missing.

From there,we returned to the dreaded bike trails – site of the absurdity that was the previous night – and before we knew it we were back in TA, only 6 hours and 45 minutes after we began.

And even though we’d missed the time cutoff and were detoured onto the short course for the remainder of the race, we were all in good spirits as we bid goodbye to the amazing crew of volunteers at the Tent Oasis and set off on a gloriously smooth road ride toward our next destination: the O-Relay.

It was now early afternoon.  I had about 10 hours left in my birthday and three more goals to accomplish before the day was out:

(1) To get some high-calorie food into my body.  I’d been doing a dismal job of fueling for much of the race, and it was only a matter of time before it bit me in the butt.

(2) To not totally screw up my “short easy” leg of the O-Relay.

(3) To see a moose.

1.5 out of 3 ain’t bad.

Uncategorized , , , , , , , , ,

Untamed New England, Leg 3: Pancakes in Paradise

7 Comments Posted by on July 9, 2012

Posted by Brent (also published on his blog here!)

In case you missed them!

Leg 1 Report
Leg 2 Report

After transitioning from bikes and repacking for more packrafting (now down a raft and heading into a night crossing of Flagstaff Lake with only three boats for four people) we shuffled off into the darkness for our first Maine hut and the “Pancake Paradise”. This would be our first time at one of the amazing huts in the Maine Huts and Trails system, an amazing network of trails with a handful of first class huts. We made quick work of the trails leading into the hut and were a bit in awe of what we found.

The Pancake Paradise, waiting for us to arrive

Expecting a dark, damp shelter, we were greeted by a brightly lit and airy structure of pine and glass, air and water tight, and as accommodating as one could ask for under any circumstances. In our situation, a couple of hours from daylight after 16 or so hours of racing, it truly was a paradise in the wilderness, and the three staff members managing the hut warmly welcomed us with pancakes, tea, coffee, various deserts and who knows what else. I was frankly feeling the heat and a bit spacy at the moment, confused by the luxurious setting, one that is rare to say the least in the sport of adventure racing.

Imagine this all lit up, glowing in the night. Paradise indeed!

We took our time in the cool air of the hut, a welcome reprieve from the humidity and heat that had been threatening me since the race began. We would be setting off in our rafts once we departed the hut, so we elected to inflate our boats and get set inside, safe from the mosquitoes and aided by open space and light. We also took the opportunity to eat an actual meal, paying a small fee for an all you can eat spread. And while we all struggled a bit to eat considering the heat and our churning metabolisms, we took in a good bit of sustenance before setting off into the night, grateful for the short break and good vibes and conversation from the folks in the hut.

We didn’t stop to sleep, but we heard other teams fell victim to the comfy couches

As we set off from shore, Abby now in Mark’s lap in his superior boat, me paddling her boat after sinking mine, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed as rain spattered down upon the glassy surface of Flagstaff Lake. Following a compass bearing, we floated off into the night, making our way 2k across the lake, hopefully heading straight toward the cove on the opposite shore where the next checkpoint waited. We could see lights from other teams far across the water, and in the flashes of lightning we could make out the shoreline and the point of land, around which lay our cove. Strangely enough, despite my packrafting woes, we seemed to make good time and when we came into the cove we saw several teams setting off into the woods, Team SOG remaining behind as they continued to pack their gear. As we landed they set off into the woods, leaving us behind on the mosquito-infested shoreline as the night rapidly turned to day.

Another team examining the lake crossing the following morning

After splashing through the marshy cove to find the checkpoint, we had a good debate over whether we should packraft around to the next control or attempt to bushwhack our way out to the road paralleling the lake on the foot. If we nailed the nav and found the right tracks through the woods, we would likely travel faster than by paddling, but if we struggled with the nav or the bushwhacking went south, we could wander for hours before getting out. Ultimately we decided to pack up the boats and trek, and thankfully it turned out to be the right call. The mosquitoes were ferocious, but otherwise, we made good time, and before we knew it we were paddling once more, having traveled two hours along the shoreline, primarily by trail and road, toward the next control.

As we put in, we realized we had somehow passed SOG, but before long, they came skimming by in their two person Alpaka rafts, and our paddle quickly went downhill as I struggled to keep up with my teammates. The wind kicked up as we headed for our final checkpoint on a small island, and instead of paddling the half hour or so further along the shoreline, I called uncle and made my teammates pull over. We deflated our rafts, packed up and shot off for a bushwhack over a hilltop toward the first of four controls on the long trek to the next transition.

Had that bushwhack been a difficult one, my teammates would have likely left me in the woods for my miserable rafting skills. By paddling further up the lake, we theoretically could have found a trail that would have led to the control, but the woods proved easy to traverse and within an hour we had punched the control and turned toward the crux of the hike, a long climb up to the Appalachian Trail and then a steep descent down the backside of the ridge. The trek started off easily enough, and while the map suggested we were in for a long bushwhack up the slopes of the ridge, we found the trail heading toward our checkpoint continued for several hundred unmapped feet.

When it finally turned off our compass bearing we continued along one of several creek beds. We worked our way along the mountain side, and after we had identified what we thought was the correct stream (the next checkpoint was located on one of them) we hit an unmapped trail. While it veered off from our creek, we decided to follow it and we soon came upon our friends from NYARA, Bruce and Chris, who were racing as a two person team. Not long after we also came across Michael and Rachel from Bushwhacker, another strong two person team. Both teams seemed confused by the trails, but our altimeter suggested we still had to climb for several hundred feet.

Before long, we all decided to travel together, and when the trail turned even further to the west, we shot off along the mountain side, side-hilling to our creek and right onto the flag. The heat had once again crept up on me, and we halted for a moment, allowing NYARA and Bushwhacker to continue on without us before I finally waved my teammates on. Here was the fun part, a massive climb up an ever steeper slope. We followed a rough compass bearing, but unlike many teams who seem to have stuck to their compass, enduring hellacious bushwhacking on their way to the summit of the ridge, Mark improvised leading us well, drifting as necessary to avoid the thickest growth.

Unfortunately, I struggled mightily with the heat as we slowly climbed, but before long we met up with Bruce and Chris again. We settled into a routine: ascend 200 feet, pause, drink. Ascend 200 feet, etc. Even with the regular breaks, I wasn’t recovering, and finally Mark shouldered by 25-30 pound pack (in addition to his own) and we set off once more. For whatever reason, this break saved me, and even though I took my pack back 10 minutes later, that 10 minutes of relief allowed me to finish not just the ascent but the rest of the trek without issues.

We finally broke free of the trees on the AT along the ridge line. We had drifted far enough to the west that we were a couple hundred feet above the saddle, from which we would attack the next control, but again, this was better than the dense thickets other teams seemed to encounter by traveling more directly. When we reached the saddle we dropped down the backside of the ridge, looking for another stream and another flag. It took a bit of sleuthing, but before long we oriented ourselves correctly, found the trickle of water that was the “stream” and dropped a thousand feet or so to the flag.

Relatively speaking, the remainder of the leg was uneventful. One more control and then just a lot of trails and pavement to get to the massive transition area at Sugarloaf, a popular ski mountain with a network of mountain bike trails as well. We arrived in the early evening, just past 6 PM. We had until 9 AM the next morning to complete a 15 mile mountain bike loop and a similarly long alpine trek which would have us trekking, bushwhacking, scrambling, and scaling to the lofty summit of the ski slopes, though most of the trek would be anything but clear-cut ski slopes. Still, this all seemed manageable, and we felt that we were in a good position to make that 9 AM cutoff and continue on the full course. We transitioned relatively quickly, jumped on our bikes and set off for the bike loop, eager to take advantage of the last hour or so of daylight before the darkness of night two settled in. What a night it would turn out to be.

Uncategorized , , , , , , ,

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 28 other followers

%d bloggers like this: