Peter Fish
November 20
Jamil & everybody, thanks for a memorable race! Here's my account:
Geezer Slam update: (warning: if you read to the end of this, you risk incurring permanent brain damage)
The G.S. is still proceeding, although it has deviated from its original plan, which was to be four 100Ks in 2016, the year I turned 80: Born 2 Run, Elijah Bristow 24, Kat’cina Mosa, and Javelina. Due to illness and schedule changes, I had to drop two of these and replace them with two more in early 2017, but still within the span of one year. These will be Bandera on Jan. 7 and the Pacific Rim 24 in March. In the interest of having mostly races at the actual distance, I also signed up for the Zion 100K, which comes on the day before my 81st birthday, 4/7/17, so if I make all the cutoffs I’ll be up and running early in the morning of my birthday. I finished 100K at Bristow in June, and the JJ 100K last month. My daughter posted a picture taken after that race, and I’ll just add a brief (!) account of how it went.
This was my 13th encounter with the desert trails of McDowell Mountain Park. The first time, in the inaugural race, I managed only 3 laps (about 46 miles) in my first attempt at 100 miles, and told my wife over the phone afterward not to let me ever do anything like that again. The next year, emboldened by a finish at Waldo in August, I decided to give it another try, and unwisely celebrated about halfway by chugging Ensure and NA beer, thereafter spending most of the night trying to ignore a riotous abdominal rebellion, and crossed the finish line in 28:40 for my first and only 100 mile finish. Since then, I’ve done 46 miles (2x), 77 miles (twice), and run 100K six times, some official, others as DNF (due to the separation of the 100K and 100M in the last few years). This was my first time as an actual 100K entrant.
Until this year, the course had changed very little from the original, the main difference coming a few years back when the date, which used to follow the full harvest moon, was fixed at the Halloween weekend. I can understand the change, because it makes the scheduling much simpler, but I miss the full moon, which shone so brightly in the desert night that many people chose to run without lights, greatly reducing the glare from oncoming traffic during the night.This year, the course had a new Jeadquarters at the equestrian staging area, encompassed by a horseshoe-shaped finish route about 1/4 mile long, carrying the finishers past cheering crowds and boosting the morale of at least one tired runner! It also featured two new trails of 4 and 6.5 miles, exploring the Lousley Hills in the eastern part of the park, resulting in a course of 5 loops of around 20 miles each, with 4 aid stations between 4 and 6.5 miles apart.
Three of these loops made up the 100K course, and to me they seemed much longer than the 15.3 miles of the old course. The placing of the 4 aid stations made much more sense than it did on the old course, and I guessed that the addition of the 4th AS a few years ago may have been part of the transition to the new course. Being unfamiliar with the new course, I pretty much guessed at the time it would take for the first loop: I estimated a little under 6 hours, and it took about six and a half before I got back to JQ, with most of the slowing down coming near the end, as the heat built up. Having lost half an hour, I took another half doing all the things one does in an aid station while the clock runs relentlessly on.I took off, still in good shape, a little after 2 PM. I believe the temperature got into the mid-nineties that day, and I was staying pretty well hydrated, carrying three bottles (2 in a UD vest and 1 hand-held). My nutrition was mostly from Ensure at JQ, and flasks of Hammergel which I carried in a fanny pack. I started losing time due to the heat, mostly in aid stations where I spent about 1.5 hours on this lap, so the pace was about the same as the first, for about 8 hours altogether. Starting on the third loop, I dropped the hand-held bottle, figuring I would need to drink less after dark, and took my trekking poles for more assurance negotiating the rocky trail in the dark. So far, my energy was good and I had no stomach issues (my worst plague on longer runs). That all changed in the hour and a half it took me to get to Coyote. Shortly before reaching the aid station, I felt an alarming onset of nausea, and my gut yielded up what looked like half a gallon of water on the side of the trail. I continued into the AS and lay down on a cot for nearly an hour. Another hour would pass before I felt well enough to continue, and I learned from one of the women at the AS (whose name I didn’t catch) that the villain in my stomach may have been the electrolyte caps I had been taking, once an hour at first and then on the half hour as the heat increased. She told me that the caps tend to draw all the salt in your system into the stomach, producing the symptoms I was showing. I stopped taking them immediately, and although I had to take another break at Jackass AS, I finished with good energy and relative comfort. I left the station just before dawn, with two runners from the 100M race, Robin Phelps and Bryan McKenney, whose company I enjoyed through a splendid sunrise, at a brisk walk, as far as the Rattlesnake AS, when they went ahead and I continued on my own. I was pleased to discover that my time for the last 4 miles, 1:15, was only a minute slower than what I had budgeted for that section, even though the total time for the loop, with nearly 3 hours in aid stations, was over 11 hours. All in all, I felt very good about this race, mostly because I felt well at the finish and felt I had learned something about my nausea problem that could be of use in future races. I finished third from last, with a M80+ course record, and in good enough shape (after waiting an hour or so for the Jackass drop bags to come in) to drive the 30-odd miles to my daughter’s house in Tempe. She was wondering what had happened to me, as the temporary results listed me as dropped, but I assured her that I had finished in front of several hundred witnesses!
Friday, December 30, 2016
JAVELINA 100K, Fountain Hills, AZ, 10/29/16
Peter Fish
November 20
Jamil & everybody, thanks for a memorable race! Here's my account:
Geezer Slam update: (warning: if you read to the end of this, you risk incurring permanent brain damage)
The G.S. is still proceeding, although it has deviated from its original plan, which was to be four 100Ks in 2016, the year I turned 80: Born 2 Run, Elijah Bristow 24, Kat’cina Mosa, and Javelina. Due to illness and schedule changes, I had to drop two of these and replace them with two more in early 2017, but still within the span of one year. These will be Bandera on Jan. 7 and the Pacific Rim 24 in March. In the interest of having mostly races at the actual distance, I also signed up for the Zion 100K, which comes on the day before my 81st birthday, 4/7/17, so if I make all the cutoffs I’ll be up and running early in the morning of my birthday. I finished 100K at Bristow in June, and the JJ 100K last month. My daughter posted a picture taken after that race, and I’ll just add a brief (!) account of how it went.
This was my 13th encounter with the desert trails of McDowell Mountain Park. The first time, in the inaugural race, I managed only 3 laps (about 46 miles) in my first attempt at 100 miles, and told my wife over the phone afterward not to let me ever do anything like that again. The next year, emboldened by a finish at Waldo in August, I decided to give it another try, and unwisely celebrated about halfway by chugging Ensure and NA beer, thereafter spending most of the night trying to ignore a riotous abdominal rebellion, and crossed the finish line in 28:40 for my first and only 100 mile finish. Since then, I’ve done 46 miles (2x), 77 miles (twice), and run 100K six times, some official, others as DNF (due to the separation of the 100K and 100M in the last few years). This was my first time as an actual 100K entrant.
Until this year, the course had changed very little from the original, the main difference coming a few years back when the date, which used to follow the full harvest moon, was fixed at the Halloween weekend. I can understand the change, because it makes the scheduling much simpler, but I miss the full moon, which shone so brightly in the desert night that many people chose to run without lights, greatly reducing the glare from oncoming traffic during the night.
This year, the course had a new Jeadquarters at the equestrian staging area, encompassed by a horseshoe-shaped finish route about 1/4 mile long, carrying the finishers past cheering crowds and boosting the morale of at least one tired runner! It also featured two new trails of 4 and 6.5 miles, exploring the Lousley Hills in the eastern part of the park, resulting in a course of 5 loops of around 20 miles each, with 4 aid stations between 4 and 6.5 miles apart.
Three of these loops made up the 100K course, and to me they seemed much longer than the 15.3 miles of the old course. The placing of the 4 aid stations made much more sense than it did on the old course, and I guessed that the addition of the 4th AS a few years ago may have been part of the transition to the new course.
Being unfamiliar with the new course, I pretty much guessed at the time it would take for the first loop: I estimated a little under 6 hours, and it took about six and a half before I got back to JQ, with most of the slowing down coming near the end, as the heat built up. Having lost half an hour, I took another half doing all the things one does in an aid station while the clock runs relentlessly on.
I took off, still in good shape, a little after 2 PM. I believe the temperature got into the mid-nineties that day, and I was staying pretty well hydrated, carrying three bottles (2 in a UD vest and 1 hand-held). My nutrition was mostly from Ensure at JQ, and flasks of Hammergel which I carried in a fanny pack. I started losing time due to the heat, mostly in aid stations where I spent about 1.5 hours on this lap, so the pace was about the same as the first, for about 8 hours altogether.
Starting on the third loop, I dropped the hand-held bottle, figuring I would need to drink less after dark, and took my trekking poles for more assurance negotiating the rocky trail in the dark. So far, my energy was good and I had no stomach issues (my worst plague on longer runs). That all changed in the hour and a half it took me to get to Coyote. Shortly before reaching the aid station, I felt an alarming onset of nausea, and my gut yielded up what looked like half a gallon of water on the side of the trail. I continued into the AS and lay down on a cot for nearly an hour. Another hour would pass before I felt well enough to continue, and I learned from one of the women at the AS (whose name I didn’t catch) that the villain in my stomach may have been the electrolyte caps I had been taking, once an hour at first and then on the half hour as the heat increased. She told me that the caps tend to draw all the salt in your system into the stomach, producing the symptoms I was showing. I stopped taking them immediately, and although I had to take another break at Jackass AS, I finished with good energy and relative comfort. I left the station just before dawn, with two runners from the 100M race, Robin Phelps and Bryan McKenney, whose company I enjoyed through a splendid sunrise, at a brisk walk, as far as the Rattlesnake AS, when they went ahead and I continued on my own. I was pleased to discover that my time for the last 4 miles, 1:15, was only a minute slower than what I had budgeted for that section, even though the total time for the loop, with nearly 3 hours in aid stations, was over 11 hours. All in all, I felt very good about this race, mostly because I felt well at the finish and felt I had learned something about my nausea problem that could be of use in future races. I finished third from last, with a M80+ course record, and in good enough shape (after waiting an hour or so for the Jackass drop bags to come in) to drive the 30-odd miles to my daughter’s house in Tempe. She was wondering what had happened to me, as the temporary results listed me as dropped, but I assured her that I had finished in front of several hundred witnesses!
Saturday, January 18, 2014
NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN? BANDERA 100K, 1/11/2014
After I turned 70, nearly 8 years ago, I figured I was past doing 100 milers (after DNFs at WS, Cascade Crest, and Rio del
Lago), and decided to do all the US trail 100Ks, including those attached to longer races, such as HURT and the Barkley fun
run (!). At that time, there were only about 12 of them, but the number goes up every year, and now that the baby boomers are
in their late 60s and, possibly (as I was), looking for an honorable substitute for the 100M, this trend will probably continue.
Time passed, and the only 100Ks I finished were at Javelina, year after year, until I finally broke through in 2011 with an
overtime finish at Waldo, after three earlier attempts. The year before, I had done the Squaw Peak 50M in Utah, and I was
confident that, however much I had slowed down in recent years, I could still get through the tough ones as long as I could
make the cutoffs. So Bandera, with its remarkably generous 24-hour limit for the 100K, seemed more attractive than ever.
TRAINING
According to Ed Whitlock (only M70+ to break 3 hours in the marathon), when you get older, you have to work harder, and I
have found this to be true. Accordingly, I logged a total of 3165 miles in 2013, the first time ever over 3000 miles, and
recorded a total of over 200,000 feet of climb. At Javelina in October, I thought I had a chance and the 100M, but the heat did
me in (as usual), and I timed out after 5 laps, at 77 miles. Still, that was an auspicious beginning, 12 weeks before Bandera.
Here is an outline of this interim period (hope the tabs survive):
WEEK DATES MILES LONG CLIMB ft RACE
1 10/21 99 77 3500 JAVELINA
2 10/28 40 7 990
3 11/4 50 10 800
4 11/11 52 11 720
5 11/18 61 11 2640
6 11/25 72 13 3645
7 12/2 60 12 4445
8 12/9 44 8 4130
9 12/16 55 10 4790
10 12/23 50 10 4440
11 12/30 54 11 2450
12 1/6 86 62 12250 BANDERA
During this time, I tried to keep my mileage up and to find a sustainable pace around 4.5 MPH, without worrying too much
about either long runs or climb. I got to the starting line rested and in good health (notwithstanding the stress of getting lost
trying to get out of the San Antonio Airport Thursday night). I stayed at the Silver Spur dude ranch, conveniently located just
outside the Hill Country park entrance.
GEAR
I was a bit dubious about the weather, as reports from previous years showed various conditions including sub-10-degree
starts and continuous rainfall. I had a variety of warm clothes in my drop bags, with a light raincoat at X-Roads and a serious
one along with a fleece vest and gloves at the Lodge. Those were my only drop bags, and each one contained lights
(Streamlight handheld and Black Diamond headlamps), and a couple of food bags with Ensure, cracker sandwiches, ginger, a
flask of Hammergel, and trail mix. At the start, I was wearing (from the bottom up) Inov-8 Terrocs, Thorlo crew socks over
Injinji mini-crews, tights, Race-Ready shorts (with Saltstick caps in a container), a long-sleeved Columbia shirt with some kind
of metallic thermal lining, a Timex Ironman watch, a Polar heart monitor, a UD lightweight vest with 2 bottles in front (water at
the start, mixed with some Gatorade later on), and a fanny pack in front, replenished with food from my drop bags. All this
worked out very well, with only the addition of the fleece vest and gloves part way into the second lap. I didn’t eat any of the
trail mix, and in the second half relied mostly on those indispensable substances, chicken noodle soup and hot chocolate.
THE RACE
(I had a hard time finding splits to use as a guide, and the ones I used were from a report by an overall winner, who recorded
splits for only the first loop. I pro-rated them for loops of 9 and 11 hours, and I’ll show my projected time and the actual time,
which are pretty close, especially for the first loop)
On Friday afternoon, when I was getting my packet, I learned that I was the only person over 70 in the 100K, hence would be
eligible for an award in the USATF National 100K championship. If I finished, that is! So I paid my $30, providing myself
with anti-quit insurance, and adding to my outfit a sign with the number 70, pinned to the back of my shorts. This was also an
incentive, because innumerable 50K runners cheered me on as they passed me during the first loop. I wondered why they all
said “Good job, SIR,” until I remembered the age ID on my back. Still, they didn’t need to rub it in!
LODGE
The race shows its character very quickly, within the first couple of miles, with a rocky climb to The Island, and even rockier
descent to a series of draws meandering westward to the Ice Cream Hill and back over some easier terrain to the first aid
station. 5.6 miles, 1:41 (projected 1:40), 9:11 AM, HR avg 126.
NACHOS
The next section is pretty straightforward, with no major hills, and one fairly nasty section on a power line cut. At this point, I
should mention that the entire course is very well marked, with reflective tape thoughtfully attached to the vegetation with
clothespins (where do you get those any more?) to avoid the damage that usually results from pulling the tape off. I was never
in doubt about where the trail was, which is not a given, considering how intricate the layout is and how many side trails and
roads go off in all directions. If you don’t know the course, the hills all tend to look similar, and there is a shortage of obvious
landmarks. From time to time I heard people express concern about not having seen a tag for a while, but these were all in
places where there was only one possible trail.
5.4 miles, 1:26 (pro. 1:21), 10:37 AM, feeling good, HR 136 (higher than I would have liked at this point; I took the monitor
off because the chest strap kept slipping down).
CHAPAS
This is the longest section, and also the easiest, being mostly flat. I made up nearly 20 minutes off my projected time, coming
into the Cross Roads station (5.9 miles) in 1:26 (projected 1:47), 12:03 PM, ready for my first bag of food, and chugging an
Ensure.
CROSS ROADS 1
This is the “inside loop” in which the course sort of swallows itself, coming back to the Equestrian Camp four miles later, after
a traverse of the Three Sisters. I probably spent too much time at the first X-Roads AS, because I wound up giving back most
of the 20 minute gain.
4 miles, 1:36 (proj. 1:19), 1:39 PM
CROSS ROADS 2
Things get serious again here, with the ascent of Lucky, way to the north. I believe this is where a waist-high wall appears in
the middle of the trail, a high ledge that must be gotten over somehow, and quite a few more of the same, both going up and
down. This section was much harder the second time around, in the dark, but this time I got through right on schedule, within
a minute of my overall projected time. This was also when the passing of the 50K runners finally let up, only to be replaced by
the unbelievable front-runners who were lapping me, gliding and skipping over the rocks as if they were running on air.
4.3 miles, 1:18 (projected 1:19), 2:57 PM (projected 2:56 PM)
LAST CHANCE
The last five miles are definitely the hardest part of the course, and I had some misgivings about making it through here a
second time. I had been pretty much alone during the first half, except for one older gentleman whose name I didn’t get, who
kept leapfrogging with me after X-Roads. I was hoping to have his company for the second half, especially as the descent
from Cairns looked like the trail would be hard to follow in the dark, over the rock slabs which showed very little dirt.
However, he said he was running on an artificial ankle joint against medical advice and didn’t want to risk turning his ankle on
the uncertain footing in the dark. I began to think of possibly picking up a pacer at the lodge, but wasn’t sure if that was
permissible by the rules of the championship. The climb up Boyle’s Bump is long, but much gentler than the ones preceding it,
and eventually I was treated to the welcome sight of the bench at the overlook, a mile or so from the lodge, a fairly easy
downhill to the turnaround.
5 miles, 1:36 (1:44 projected), 9:03 for loop 1, 4:33 PM (4:40 projected)
LODGE
I spent 28 minutes in the AS, eating, sitting, visiting with Mike Dobies, who I knew from Barkley, and who said he might be
able to meet me later and pace me from Cross Roads. As I was leaving the AS, I saw only two people coming in, one of
whom said he was going to quit. I was still under the impression that I was in last place, and as my energy was quite low, I
took the first hills at a glacial pace. Heading up the Ice Cream Hill, I started to feel better. I met a couple coming back toward
me; they were feeling insecure about the trail because they hadn’t seen a tag for some time (it was dark by then). I told them I
was quite sure there had been no side trails since the Ice Cream turnoff, and after about half a mile we spotted a tag. I went by
them, and soon found myself in the company of three or four others, so the second half was turning out to be quite an
improvement, socially, over the first. They all went ahead except one woman, who later identified herself as Donna Squyers,
who turned out to be a serious veteran of the course, having finished all the races several times, so I was in good hands for
staying on trail. We went along at a comfortable pace and had a very enjoyable conversation, which made the tip to Nachos
seem short even thought it took a good deal longer than the first time around.
5.6 miles, 2:14 (2:02 projected), 7:15 PM
NACHOS
Continuing the conversation, we made our way through the 8/9 loop and the power line rocks without incident.
5.4 miles, 1:53 (1:40 projected), 9:08 PM
CHAPAS
I spent some time at the aid station eating and getting my fleece vest untangled from where it was fastened behind me, as things
were cooling off. When I looked up, I didn’t see Donna anywhere and started up the trail at a good clip, assuming she had left.
I didn’t see her for a while, and began having doubts that she might have been in the drop bag area when I left. I continued to
run at a pretty good clip, and soon caught up with her, only to have her warn me almost immediately about a turn I was about
to miss! This section could be difficult to follow if one’s attention wandered, because the direction changes are often counterintuitive;
you can see the Equestrian Camp (Cross Roads AS) from a distance, as you seem to be heading away from it.
5.9 miles, 1:48 (proj. 2:10), 10:56 PM
CROSS ROADS 1
After replenishing my food supply from my bag, I wandered away from the AS looking for a dark place to pee. There didn’t
seem to be one, and I finally realized that my own headlamp was the source of the light! I believe a few brain cells may have
been malfunctioning at that point. Seeing Donna and her pacer (Charlotte) on their way out of the AS, I caught up with them
and we continued. The next part was troublesome for me. The two women were having a lively conversation ahead of me,
and going faster than was comfortable for me (probably owing to the introduction of a fresh runner). After a mile or so, I was
about to tell them that I would have to drop back, but they backed off the pace a bit as we climbed the Three Sisters, and I soon
got my second wind. This leg is the shortest on the course, but it seemed to take forever before we finally got back to the
Equestrian Camp.
4 miles, 2:09 (1:37 projected), 1:05 AM
CROSS ROADS 2
Charlotte turned over pacing duties to her sister (whose name sounded like Doy), and we approached the last 9 miles with a
sense of dread, at least on my part. The ledges in the Lucky climb, which had been hard enough the first time around, were
demonic in the middle of the night. I know that hill was not really 2 miles long and 4000 feet high, but it seemed like it. The
way down was even worse. I had gotten over 50 miles into this course without so much as a serious stumble, and suddenly
found myself falling backwards three times in less than a minute, getting down one ledge.
4.3 miles, 1:56 (projected 1:37 - hah!), 3:01 AM
LAST CHANCE
This part is as hard as any other on the course, but for some reason it didn’t seem as bad as I had expected, perhaps because we
were down to single digit miles. We took it slow going up Cairns, and the trail going down was easy enough to follow.
Going up Boyle’s, I was cheered by the realization that I was actually going to finish this monster, and well ahead of the cutoff.
I had come up as far as the bench on Friday, so when I saw it, I knew that we were nearly there. A brief pit stop just before
the finish, while Donna and her pacer went ahead, and I actually found myself running the last quarter mile or so.
5 miles, 2:18 (proj. 2:07), 5:19 AM. 21:49 (20:23 projected)
First (only) place, M70+
USATF Championship, 1st (only) M 70-79 (age 77 and 9 months)
I was greeted at the finish line (by Joe?) as what sounded like “The last runner” but it turned out that he said “The lost runner.”
Evidently I had not checked out at an aid station (probably Cross Roads 1, where I had gone off to pee and left without
returning to the AS). I know that I had checked in to all of them. Anyway, I was horrified to find that they had called my
wife, back in Oregon, when I failed to answer my cell phone (which was back in the hotel room), so I had to wait around for a
bit until they could connect the phone and I could call her. Fortunately, she wasn’t especially worried, just glad I had called
back, even though it was 4 AM in Oregon. It would be no joke to be really lost on that course in the middle of the night. You
might wind up crossing the Rio Grande and getting jailed as an illegal alien.
I got back to the Silver Spur in time to go to bed at 7 AM, with the alarm set for 8 AM in order not to miss the ranch breakfast,
the only food I was likely to get without driving into Bandera. This was ample, and there were quite a few other survivors of
the monster, all much fresher than I was.
A great race, well run, on a great course. I told Joe that at Javelina the bikers had thinned out the rocky sections, but he said
that wouldn’t happen at Bandera, because the rocks go all the way down.
Monday, May 6, 2013
The Trial and Terror Method: Barkley 2013
There's a dearth of reports this year, only seven on Matt Mahoney's site, as compared worth over twenty from last year's race. This may be an effect of the weather: twenty-three starters finished a first official loop, and all but two of them started a second one, but only five of these managed to brave the rain and fog and finish the loop.
I'm posting a short account of my two-book DNF in the hope of encouraging some others to come forth with their accounts of failure. I am as much of a Barkley junkie as my age, time and pocketbook allow, and have read with interest every report I have been able to locate, because each story is unique. So far, I have not seen one that says "I just sailed through five loops without the least complication." All Barkley stories are intrinsically interesting, but the only people who will ever understand them are other Barkley participants, past or present (and possibly future), so this list is the place to record them.
Last year, in my first venture to Frozen Head, I drove all the way from Oregon because I had too much gear to take on a plane, and as a result I had to leave on Sunday before the race was over, and missed the sensational triple finish. This year, realizing that all I needed was what I could carry, I flew out and stayed to the end, which I wouldn't have missed for anything.
I was pretty well trained last year, but figured, as the oldest entrant ever, that I would also be one of the slowest, and I threw my lot in with the very veteran Stuart Gleman, who was contemplating an 18-20 hour loop and had been on the book-setting operation. As the daylight began to fade after surmounting Testicle Spectacle and negotiating the Neo-Buttslide, we wound up lacking the will to continue at Raw Dog Falls (probably the worst possible place to drop) and managed to get a ride to camp from Petros (we agreed later that it would have been better to hike up to Armes Gap and take the Tower Road and one of the Old Mac trails). I had figured, at my age (just short of my 76th birthday), to have only one shot at Barkley, but in retrospect I could see how I might have done better, so I applied again for 2013, and was surprised to be readmitted. I had expected to be well down on the weight list, but planned to come out anyway if I could manage it.
My strategy this year was to use as much speed as I could on the C-A trails to the Garden Spot, with the object of keeping up with someone who knew the course beyond there, and getting up to the Tower, if possible, with some daylight to spare. I got to Frozen Head on Tuesday and spent a couple of days hiking around to places I hadn't been. Wednesday I went up the Tower Road from Armes Gap to check out the Coal Mine Road and look up Rat Jaw (brrr!), out to Indian Knob (lots of snow), then came back on South Old Mac. My plan on Thursday was to hike out Bird Mt. and the NBT to the Garden Spot and return via Chimney Top. I ran into Rich Limacher in the morning and he had planned to climb Rat Jaw, so we did that instead. It was hard, but not as bad as I had feared (Wednesday's snow had melted), which gave me some confidence. In retrospect, however, I might have been better off locating the Garden Spot.
On Saturday, my plan for keeping up with the pack fell apart almost immediately. Stuart, Rich, and David Hughes were behind me, but everyone else was out of sight by the time we hit the single track, even though I was moving as briskly as I dared. About half way up, David caught up with me, and we stayed together all the way to Book 1. He waited for me a couple of times, and as he had caught me on the way up, I figured he would probably move ahead, which he did shortly after the book. I managed to keep him in sight briefly, then lost him going down Jaque Mate ridge (after that, I was alone for about 7 hours). I was staying north of the creek, but perhaps not far enough north, as I missed the buttslide entirely. However, there were many footprints going down, big messy ones, so I knew that someone else had preceded me (I realized much later that it was probably pigs), so I bushwhacked down and with a little maneuvering merged with Phillips Creek and the NBT. From Shannon's report, I believe she must have passed me while I was off course between Book 1 and Phillips Creek.
On the map, the NBT proceeds due east for about 3 miles (as the crow might fly if it cared to) along the northern edge of the park. By the compass, however, you're mostly traveling either north or south, and the orange boundary markers draw a skewer-like line through the numerous switchbacks, appearing on one side or the other of the ridges. The trail is well-marked with orange blazes, which peter out as the coal ponds begin, which is where Peter also petered out. I remembered the coal ponds well from last year, but must not have been paying attention to the location of the switchback trail to the Garden Spot. Near the beginning of the ponds there was a trail going upward to the right, marked with the same white tags as the Cumberland Trail before Book 1. I took this to be the new trail which the directions told us not to take. There seemed to be more water in the ponds than last year, and the "ancient mining road", if that's what it was, appeared to be under water, but I stayed on that bench until it began (as described) to swing to the north, but I could see no signs of a switchback, or of runners' tracks, anywhere. I wandered up and down here for the best part of an hour, looking for a way up, but didn't find anything. I did spot what appeared to be a landslide, extending several hundred feet up the hillside to my right (east), and it was in the right direction so I climbed up it. If Laz is looking for a variation for next year's race to make it harder, this would serve nicely!
When I got to the top, there was a road heading roughly east and west, and I went east at first, and found myself circling south and then west around a clear level area with a sleeping bag in the middle of it. There was a smell of natural gas, which seemed to be emanating from a blue tank on the side of the road. A quick check to the east led to a view of a valley with some power lines, obviously not part of the course. A bluff about 80-100 feet high loomed over the west side of the open area, with a park boundary marker at its foot. I was fairly sure I had come too far east, but was confused by the boundary marker, as it seemed to lie to the east of where I thought the Garden Spot must be, up on the high ground. Following the road westward, I came upon an overgrown road heading upward on the bluff, and climbed up it to see if I could hit the Garden Spot trail, without any luck, so I returned to the road. At this point, so much time had gone by that I was in danger of being in the dark before even locating Book 2, so I decided to continue westward on the road, figuring that it would intersect with the Coffin Springs trail and Quitter's road.
I had only gone a few hundred yards (I believe -- my perception of distance may have been off by this time) when I spotted an intersection up ahead, and the first humans I had seen in 7 hours approaching from the west; these turned out to be Rich Limacher and David Hughes. They expressed relief to see that I was still in Frozen Head Park, and said that they were planning to drop, but were returning to the Garden Spot to scatter some of Kerry's ashes. By an amazing coincidence, I had a small amount of my late son Tom's ashes, which I had intended to scatter at some point, so we made a joint mission back to Kerry's Overlook, a very beautiful place, where David provided a brief invocation. On the way there, I finally picked up my page from Book 2, over 8 hours into the race.
After getting some water, we returned (I believe) to the Coffin Springs turnoff, where we met Shannon, Mike and Catherine, and a lengthy discussion ensued about the best way (or any way!) to get to the Buttslide and Book 3. They wound up going back the way they had come, still in some doubt about the route. Much later, I realized that that had been an opportunity to continue in the race, but having read Shannon's report, I believe the outcome wouldn't have been much different if I had.
Rich, David and I continued toward Quitter's Road, and soon saw another figure limping in our direction. This was Stuart Gleman, who was headed for the Tower, where he intended to phone a runner who was going to meet him there, to tell her that he was dropping. He had fallen several hours before, and had a bad bruise on his hip and upper thigh. After some conversation, Rich and David headed back to camp on the road, and Stu and I hiked to the Tower (about the only place on the course with a phone signal), he made his call, and we headed down North Old Mac toward the Yellow Gate. We arrived without incident (beyond a fairly large number of pig sightings) around 13 hours after the start, arriving in time for the bugle concert, and missing the worst of the rain and all of the fog.
In retrospect, I felt better about this year's effort than the number of books (only 2, compared to 6 last year) might indicate. For one thing, I was mostly self-navigated. Last year's map and directions were almost pristine when I finished; this year's are creased, torn, and covered with blood, sweat, tears, and mud. It was unsettling to be lost -- I was in Baglione country, and without the map and compass I would have been toast -- but it was rewarding to the spirit to get unlost without aid. Learning the course from veterans is part of the Barkley tradition, but realistically there are few veterans that I would be able to keep up with for a whole loop, so doing it on my own is pretty much a requirement. The problem is, that using the tools -- map, compass, and directions -- can take a lot of time, which means that my chances of finishing even one official loop are marginal, hinging on things like a really early start or ideal weather. I was also encouraged by my pre-race climb of Rat Jaw, so that with last year's ascent of the Spectacle, I have managed to get up two of the five major climbs in the clockwise direction. In this respect, I believe my training (a year-round base of 50+ miles/week and about one vertical mile a week) was adequate for a single loop.
What it boils down to, then, is solo navigation, where the main limiting factor is daylight (there is, apparently, no time limit for an unofficial loop, as long as one is known to be on the course), and the willingness to be on unknown parts of the course after dark (with possible contributing effects of weather, food supply, equipment problems, etc.). What an opportunity! I hope to see it again!
I hope to read some more accounts of others' experiences this year. Courage! You can hardly have done worse than I did!
Peter Fish Gold Hill, Oregon wtc48@charter.net
I'm posting a short account of my two-book DNF in the hope of encouraging some others to come forth with their accounts of failure. I am as much of a Barkley junkie as my age, time and pocketbook allow, and have read with interest every report I have been able to locate, because each story is unique. So far, I have not seen one that says "I just sailed through five loops without the least complication." All Barkley stories are intrinsically interesting, but the only people who will ever understand them are other Barkley participants, past or present (and possibly future), so this list is the place to record them.
Last year, in my first venture to Frozen Head, I drove all the way from Oregon because I had too much gear to take on a plane, and as a result I had to leave on Sunday before the race was over, and missed the sensational triple finish. This year, realizing that all I needed was what I could carry, I flew out and stayed to the end, which I wouldn't have missed for anything.
I was pretty well trained last year, but figured, as the oldest entrant ever, that I would also be one of the slowest, and I threw my lot in with the very veteran Stuart Gleman, who was contemplating an 18-20 hour loop and had been on the book-setting operation. As the daylight began to fade after surmounting Testicle Spectacle and negotiating the Neo-Buttslide, we wound up lacking the will to continue at Raw Dog Falls (probably the worst possible place to drop) and managed to get a ride to camp from Petros (we agreed later that it would have been better to hike up to Armes Gap and take the Tower Road and one of the Old Mac trails). I had figured, at my age (just short of my 76th birthday), to have only one shot at Barkley, but in retrospect I could see how I might have done better, so I applied again for 2013, and was surprised to be readmitted. I had expected to be well down on the weight list, but planned to come out anyway if I could manage it.
My strategy this year was to use as much speed as I could on the C-A trails to the Garden Spot, with the object of keeping up with someone who knew the course beyond there, and getting up to the Tower, if possible, with some daylight to spare. I got to Frozen Head on Tuesday and spent a couple of days hiking around to places I hadn't been. Wednesday I went up the Tower Road from Armes Gap to check out the Coal Mine Road and look up Rat Jaw (brrr!), out to Indian Knob (lots of snow), then came back on South Old Mac. My plan on Thursday was to hike out Bird Mt. and the NBT to the Garden Spot and return via Chimney Top. I ran into Rich Limacher in the morning and he had planned to climb Rat Jaw, so we did that instead. It was hard, but not as bad as I had feared (Wednesday's snow had melted), which gave me some confidence. In retrospect, however, I might have been better off locating the Garden Spot.
On Saturday, my plan for keeping up with the pack fell apart almost immediately. Stuart, Rich, and David Hughes were behind me, but everyone else was out of sight by the time we hit the single track, even though I was moving as briskly as I dared. About half way up, David caught up with me, and we stayed together all the way to Book 1. He waited for me a couple of times, and as he had caught me on the way up, I figured he would probably move ahead, which he did shortly after the book. I managed to keep him in sight briefly, then lost him going down Jaque Mate ridge (after that, I was alone for about 7 hours). I was staying north of the creek, but perhaps not far enough north, as I missed the buttslide entirely. However, there were many footprints going down, big messy ones, so I knew that someone else had preceded me (I realized much later that it was probably pigs), so I bushwhacked down and with a little maneuvering merged with Phillips Creek and the NBT. From Shannon's report, I believe she must have passed me while I was off course between Book 1 and Phillips Creek.
On the map, the NBT proceeds due east for about 3 miles (as the crow might fly if it cared to) along the northern edge of the park. By the compass, however, you're mostly traveling either north or south, and the orange boundary markers draw a skewer-like line through the numerous switchbacks, appearing on one side or the other of the ridges. The trail is well-marked with orange blazes, which peter out as the coal ponds begin, which is where Peter also petered out. I remembered the coal ponds well from last year, but must not have been paying attention to the location of the switchback trail to the Garden Spot. Near the beginning of the ponds there was a trail going upward to the right, marked with the same white tags as the Cumberland Trail before Book 1. I took this to be the new trail which the directions told us not to take. There seemed to be more water in the ponds than last year, and the "ancient mining road", if that's what it was, appeared to be under water, but I stayed on that bench until it began (as described) to swing to the north, but I could see no signs of a switchback, or of runners' tracks, anywhere. I wandered up and down here for the best part of an hour, looking for a way up, but didn't find anything. I did spot what appeared to be a landslide, extending several hundred feet up the hillside to my right (east), and it was in the right direction so I climbed up it. If Laz is looking for a variation for next year's race to make it harder, this would serve nicely!
When I got to the top, there was a road heading roughly east and west, and I went east at first, and found myself circling south and then west around a clear level area with a sleeping bag in the middle of it. There was a smell of natural gas, which seemed to be emanating from a blue tank on the side of the road. A quick check to the east led to a view of a valley with some power lines, obviously not part of the course. A bluff about 80-100 feet high loomed over the west side of the open area, with a park boundary marker at its foot. I was fairly sure I had come too far east, but was confused by the boundary marker, as it seemed to lie to the east of where I thought the Garden Spot must be, up on the high ground. Following the road westward, I came upon an overgrown road heading upward on the bluff, and climbed up it to see if I could hit the Garden Spot trail, without any luck, so I returned to the road. At this point, so much time had gone by that I was in danger of being in the dark before even locating Book 2, so I decided to continue westward on the road, figuring that it would intersect with the Coffin Springs trail and Quitter's road.
I had only gone a few hundred yards (I believe -- my perception of distance may have been off by this time) when I spotted an intersection up ahead, and the first humans I had seen in 7 hours approaching from the west; these turned out to be Rich Limacher and David Hughes. They expressed relief to see that I was still in Frozen Head Park, and said that they were planning to drop, but were returning to the Garden Spot to scatter some of Kerry's ashes. By an amazing coincidence, I had a small amount of my late son Tom's ashes, which I had intended to scatter at some point, so we made a joint mission back to Kerry's Overlook, a very beautiful place, where David provided a brief invocation. On the way there, I finally picked up my page from Book 2, over 8 hours into the race.
After getting some water, we returned (I believe) to the Coffin Springs turnoff, where we met Shannon, Mike and Catherine, and a lengthy discussion ensued about the best way (or any way!) to get to the Buttslide and Book 3. They wound up going back the way they had come, still in some doubt about the route. Much later, I realized that that had been an opportunity to continue in the race, but having read Shannon's report, I believe the outcome wouldn't have been much different if I had.
Rich, David and I continued toward Quitter's Road, and soon saw another figure limping in our direction. This was Stuart Gleman, who was headed for the Tower, where he intended to phone a runner who was going to meet him there, to tell her that he was dropping. He had fallen several hours before, and had a bad bruise on his hip and upper thigh. After some conversation, Rich and David headed back to camp on the road, and Stu and I hiked to the Tower (about the only place on the course with a phone signal), he made his call, and we headed down North Old Mac toward the Yellow Gate. We arrived without incident (beyond a fairly large number of pig sightings) around 13 hours after the start, arriving in time for the bugle concert, and missing the worst of the rain and all of the fog.
In retrospect, I felt better about this year's effort than the number of books (only 2, compared to 6 last year) might indicate. For one thing, I was mostly self-navigated. Last year's map and directions were almost pristine when I finished; this year's are creased, torn, and covered with blood, sweat, tears, and mud. It was unsettling to be lost -- I was in Baglione country, and without the map and compass I would have been toast -- but it was rewarding to the spirit to get unlost without aid. Learning the course from veterans is part of the Barkley tradition, but realistically there are few veterans that I would be able to keep up with for a whole loop, so doing it on my own is pretty much a requirement. The problem is, that using the tools -- map, compass, and directions -- can take a lot of time, which means that my chances of finishing even one official loop are marginal, hinging on things like a really early start or ideal weather. I was also encouraged by my pre-race climb of Rat Jaw, so that with last year's ascent of the Spectacle, I have managed to get up two of the five major climbs in the clockwise direction. In this respect, I believe my training (a year-round base of 50+ miles/week and about one vertical mile a week) was adequate for a single loop.
What it boils down to, then, is solo navigation, where the main limiting factor is daylight (there is, apparently, no time limit for an unofficial loop, as long as one is known to be on the course), and the willingness to be on unknown parts of the course after dark (with possible contributing effects of weather, food supply, equipment problems, etc.). What an opportunity! I hope to see it again!
I hope to read some more accounts of others' experiences this year. Courage! You can hardly have done worse than I did!
Peter Fish Gold Hill, Oregon wtc48@charter.net
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Barkley report 2012
Peter Fish, Barkley 2012: The Rape of the Watch
This report is aimed primarily at runners who will never see 65 again, who may be considering attempting the Barkley Marathons. Those who don't expect to be still running at 75 can ignore it at no risk. Samuel Johnson's characterization of a woman preaching -- "what is remarkable is not that it's done well, but that it's done at all" -- comes to mind.
My addiction to Barkley began in April, 2000, when I read a cryptic remark on the ultra list, which said "Blake went out on #5," or words to that effect. Before long, I learned a bit more about the context of that statement: the event was Barkley, and Blake had ventured where only one person had gone before in the 15 years of the race's existence. A few days later, I read his entire report, which ended with his turning back mid-loop from the swollen and impassible New River. Since then, I have applied for entry, and been accepted, nearly every year since 2005, and have a collection of condolence letters from laz pinned to the wall above my bed, in a spot often reserved for crucifixes or portraits of illustrious ancestors.
What has taken me so long to get there?
Three things come to mind: age (I turned 76 nine days after the start, making me the oldest starter ever), distance (2730 miles by car from Gold Hill, OR), and circumstances. The distance is hardly worth mentioning, as there have been many starters in recent years from as far away as Ecuador, Italy, and even Antarctica. As for circumstances, my life seems to involve recurring crises, either business or personal, in the late winter, and this year I had to assert firmly that nothing short of alien abduction would prevent me from going to Frozen Head for Fool's Weekend.
The age factor imposed some limitations. I have never entered a race I didn't think I could finish (although I have an impressive list of DNFs, especially at 100 miles). Barkley is a special case, as you're not meant to finish it; in fact, a finish almost amounts to a demerit against the race director, which he will, notoriously, attempt to rectify before next year's event.
The conditions for entry that I came up with were:
1) having at least two weeks available to explore the allowable parts of the course at Frozen Head, and
2) believing that I was capable, on paper, of a Fun Run finish.
For the first condition, I set aside two and a half weeks for the trip, which was achieved with my wife's blessing, largely, I think, due to the appearance of the adventures of Big in book form, which she has followed avidly since they first appeared in the ultra list. The second condition requires a little bending of the mind. In August, 2011, on my fourth attempt in 7 years, I got to the finish line of the Waldo 100K in central Oregon for the first time since 2004. A couple of months before that, I did a solo fundraiser for our local skatepark, doing my age (75 miles) in under 24 hours on the middle school track. These two things gave me the confidence that my chances of getting through at least one loop were, though barely possible, yet not altogether laughable.
Preparation
I'm not a high-mileage runner, but I stay pretty consistently around 200+ miles per month. In the last couple of years, with Barkley in mind, I have put more stress on hills, doing at least a vertical mile a week, and up to about 12,000 feet. I think this is what got me through Waldo, and the Barkley training has probably extended my running career by several years.
The first day I was there, I did an out & back to Philipps Creek, inadvertently discovering part of the new section, the aptly named Pillars of Death on the Cumberland trail, which I started up by mistake. When I saw that formation, I decided that it couldn't be part of the course, because if it was, it would have had a name. The next day I took the Chimney Top trail to the fire tower and came back on S. Old Mac. If I'd had another day available, I would have taken the N. Bird trail to the Garden Spot, and perhaps have come back by the Coffin Spring trail and N. Old Mac. Rich Limacher very kindly drove out with me to the east side of the course, and helped me locate the river crossing after the descent from Stallion, and both ends of the Testicle Spectacle, with the beginning of the Pig's Head trail.
Gear
Trying to be sure that I would have equipment and apparel for all the unpredictable conditions at Frozen Head led to my packing everything but the kitchen sink, resulting in a decision to drive rather than fly. In retrospect, it would have been better to fly, rent a car in Knoxville, and spend more time exploring the park. A week of exploration and a week of rest would have been more beneficial than four days to explore and two days rest, in the middle of 9 days on the road (for the homeward leg, I am claiming the M75-79 record for 2730 miles solo and unsupported in a 4-cylinder sedan: 100 hours flat). At least 3/4 of what I brought was never used.
During the race and training runs, I wore my standard outfit for working in poison oak at home: light T-shirt under a long-sleeved cotton dress shirt, jeans, Thorlo crew socks over Injinji toe socks, and Inov-8 Terrocs. I carried an old Camelbak 70 oz. pack full of Gatorade (with additional powder in a baggie), containing a light rain jacket, an extra bottle (empty), iodine pills, 2 or 3 pounds of trail mix (salted cashews, dried apricots, Craisins), two bottles of Ensure, 3 Trailmix bars, a flashlight and two headlamps (I don't trust headlamps), a pair of leather gloves, a pocket knife, and a lightweight thermal blanket. On the front, I had a waistpack with the map and directions (in a Ziplok with the pages), S-Caps, and the all-important compass. I had trekking poles, with some light gloves to prevent blisters. I had a lot of stuff at camp in my car, in case of another loop. I also carried a camera, which wound up in my pants pocket, which I don't recommend, as it may be a total loss (I did get about 40 pictures, though, which I will try to put up). All of this seemed useful and appropriate, especially the jeans, which were better protection against the briars than they are against the blackberries at home. I use Ivy-X before exposure to poison oak or ivy, and shower with Tecnu afterwards, which has always worked for me. This time, I actually hada few mild spots of rash, an indication that I'm still allergic to it.
The Race
I had a chance to meet a lot of people on Friday, but neither of the veterans I saw the most of, Rich Limacher and David Hughes, were entered this year. I got to talking with Stu Gleman, who said he was thinking about a 20-hour first loop, and was planning, if he was alone at that point, to drop at Rat Jaw. Despite his low expectations, due to health issues and lack of training, he was about as well acquainted with the course as anyone, having set out the books. I decided to start out with him, and see what happened, and with the 20 hours in mind, threw some extra food into my pack.
The rest of the field were out of sight very quickly, and Stu told me to forge ahead if the pace was too slow. Despite what he had told me about his health problems (chemo and low hemoglobin), it felt like a good pace to me, so we continued up to the top and veered off on the Cumberland trail, squeezing through the "stepping stones" and continuing through Hiram's Gambit and Fangorn until we heard voices, just before reaching Book 1, where we found Matt Mahoney, Naresh, and a couple of others. With them, we followed the Jaque Mate Ridge (largely a buttslide) down to Philipps Creek, where (after a brief episode of roving about) we found Book 2. The others went ahead after that, and we didn't see them again (although Matt hollered to us from above on the way up to Bald Knob). We didn't clear SOBD in a single bound as instructed, in fact Stu took a whole series of pictures of me climbing out of there.
In most of this section, the trail was very well marked. The frequent blazes on the trees are quite different from what I am used to on western trails. On these (e.g. the Pacific Crest Trail) the trail itself is generally more visible, and there are few if any additional markers beyond the temporary ribbons used during races. On the Bird and Chimney Top trails, often it would be very difficult to see the trail because of leaves or rocks, but the blazes make it easy to follow. For the most part, I was following Stu, who would point out useful landmarks, such as boundary stakes or the evergreen hemlocks, which he called "Christmas trees," which stood out from the rest of the forest.
The section between Bald Knob and the New River (books 3, 4, and 5) is the most difficult to navigate of the part of the course I saw. I have mixed feelings about this. If I had been on my own, I would have gone much slower, because I would have had to consult map, compass, and directions continually. Even with the relatively late start (9:11 AM) there was still plenty of daylight left. I don't know if I would have been able to do the Prison and later sections on my own after dark, but it would have been more satisfying to make it up Rat Jaw to the Tower.
Anyway, to return to the course, we were doing quite well timewise after the Garden Spot (Book 3), although we hadn't caught up to anyone else. We found Book 4 readily enough and followed some discernable trails pretty easily through the high grass (I was leading there for a while). After Fyke's Peak we got on a road that seemed to be going in the right direction (slightly east of south), but after a while it became clear that we were not heading where we needed to be. At around this time, we both had our compasses out, and discovered a 90 degree discrepancy between Stu's and mine.(!) We weren't seeing the park boundary markers, and this was one spot where an altimeter would have been very helpful. We had evidently missed a point where the trail (if there was one) had left the road. After a certain amount of bushwhacking (literally), Stu was satisfied that we were in the right place, and very soon we emerged at the river, at the very spot where the log crosses it, that I had seen with Rich a couple of days before.
After collecting the pages from Book 5, I needed to do some serious eating, so Stu started up first, saying that I would certainly catch him before the top. After loading up, I set off after him. I could see him quite a ways off up the hill, but he soon disappeared into a dip in the climb. I don't know whether I was on the usual trail or not, but someone had certainly climbed it recently, as there were many marks of slipping feet. I added more of mine to these, as I fought for traction in many places (and this was in good dry weather!). Pretty soon, I was on all fours, down where the briars got hold of me more and more. I had been feeling fairly fresh at the beginning of the climb, but by the time I reached the top where Stu had been sitting for a while, I was exhausted. "Barkley 1, Peter 0," I said. Stu assured me encouragingly that there were three more climbs that were worse than that. He said he hated the down side, although it seemed easy enough at first. I saw what he was talking about when we came to the Neo-Butt-Slide, although that was not too bad if you took it a little bit at a time.
Between there and Book 6 (which we located with no trouble) I discovered that my watch was missing. Somehow the brambles on the ascent of the Spectacle had taken it off my wrist without my even noticing. For a moment, I felt like someone whose pocket has been picked, as if I had somehow been raped by the trail. We got a laugh out of this authentic case of trail rape, perhaps a defining Barkley experience. I told my daughter about this later, and she sent me a poem by Wallace Stevens that seems to capture this incident, with a little substitution:
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
At that point, talk of quitting came up for the first time. Stu had been testing his hemoglobin from time to time, and found that it was quite low, and I think he had been disheartened somewhat by getting off course getting to the river. Testicle Spectacle had taken a lot more out of me than I expected, and I certainly needed at least a brief rest to recover for another hard climb. I think the problem at that point was that we didn't know each other well enough to make a good decision. I had no way of knowing how serious his physical situation was, and he had no way of knowing whether I could recover well enough to continue. We were in what may have been the worst possible place to drop, at Pig-Head Creek. In looking through my notes, I came across two pieces of advice by Stu himself (ca. 2007) that pertain to this situation:
"(1) know the course cold, day or night, rain or fog,
just absolutely know the course, and (2) run alone as in stay the
hell away from other people because the decision to quit is usually a
group decision."
At any rate, we elected to quit, and sealed the decision by taking the wrong way up to the road. Then we hiked down to the prison and spent about half an hour while the guard there, instead of shooting us, very kindly called some relatives about a ride, without success. So, it being dark by then, we got out our flashlights and hiked down to Petros, where by luck we found a store open and customers inside. Stu impressed a lady sufficiently with our civility and harmlessness that she and her husband offered a ride, not only to Flat Fork road, but all the way to the campground, refusing all offers of payment for the favor. On the way there, they discovered that they and Stu had a mutual friend, about which there was much conversation.
So we arrived at the Yellow Gate for taps, almost exactly 12 hours from when we left, and just in time for Frozen Ed to finish his first loop, looking far too chipper and ready for another one.
It wasn't until several days later when I got a look at the results, and found that Matt, Naresh and one other person finished loop one in about 18 hours, and realized that they couldn't have been far ahead of us the whole time.
So, I have written far too much about too little, but I wouldn't have missed a minute of it.
Six books
Six thousand miles
Twelve hours with Stu Gleman on (and off) the Barkley course
Priceless!
This report is aimed primarily at runners who will never see 65 again, who may be considering attempting the Barkley Marathons. Those who don't expect to be still running at 75 can ignore it at no risk. Samuel Johnson's characterization of a woman preaching -- "what is remarkable is not that it's done well, but that it's done at all" -- comes to mind.
My addiction to Barkley began in April, 2000, when I read a cryptic remark on the ultra list, which said "Blake went out on #5," or words to that effect. Before long, I learned a bit more about the context of that statement: the event was Barkley, and Blake had ventured where only one person had gone before in the 15 years of the race's existence. A few days later, I read his entire report, which ended with his turning back mid-loop from the swollen and impassible New River. Since then, I have applied for entry, and been accepted, nearly every year since 2005, and have a collection of condolence letters from laz pinned to the wall above my bed, in a spot often reserved for crucifixes or portraits of illustrious ancestors.
What has taken me so long to get there?
Three things come to mind: age (I turned 76 nine days after the start, making me the oldest starter ever), distance (2730 miles by car from Gold Hill, OR), and circumstances. The distance is hardly worth mentioning, as there have been many starters in recent years from as far away as Ecuador, Italy, and even Antarctica. As for circumstances, my life seems to involve recurring crises, either business or personal, in the late winter, and this year I had to assert firmly that nothing short of alien abduction would prevent me from going to Frozen Head for Fool's Weekend.
The age factor imposed some limitations. I have never entered a race I didn't think I could finish (although I have an impressive list of DNFs, especially at 100 miles). Barkley is a special case, as you're not meant to finish it; in fact, a finish almost amounts to a demerit against the race director, which he will, notoriously, attempt to rectify before next year's event.
The conditions for entry that I came up with were:
1) having at least two weeks available to explore the allowable parts of the course at Frozen Head, and
2) believing that I was capable, on paper, of a Fun Run finish.
For the first condition, I set aside two and a half weeks for the trip, which was achieved with my wife's blessing, largely, I think, due to the appearance of the adventures of Big in book form, which she has followed avidly since they first appeared in the ultra list. The second condition requires a little bending of the mind. In August, 2011, on my fourth attempt in 7 years, I got to the finish line of the Waldo 100K in central Oregon for the first time since 2004. A couple of months before that, I did a solo fundraiser for our local skatepark, doing my age (75 miles) in under 24 hours on the middle school track. These two things gave me the confidence that my chances of getting through at least one loop were, though barely possible, yet not altogether laughable.
Preparation
I'm not a high-mileage runner, but I stay pretty consistently around 200+ miles per month. In the last couple of years, with Barkley in mind, I have put more stress on hills, doing at least a vertical mile a week, and up to about 12,000 feet. I think this is what got me through Waldo, and the Barkley training has probably extended my running career by several years.
The first day I was there, I did an out & back to Philipps Creek, inadvertently discovering part of the new section, the aptly named Pillars of Death on the Cumberland trail, which I started up by mistake. When I saw that formation, I decided that it couldn't be part of the course, because if it was, it would have had a name. The next day I took the Chimney Top trail to the fire tower and came back on S. Old Mac. If I'd had another day available, I would have taken the N. Bird trail to the Garden Spot, and perhaps have come back by the Coffin Spring trail and N. Old Mac. Rich Limacher very kindly drove out with me to the east side of the course, and helped me locate the river crossing after the descent from Stallion, and both ends of the Testicle Spectacle, with the beginning of the Pig's Head trail.
Gear
Trying to be sure that I would have equipment and apparel for all the unpredictable conditions at Frozen Head led to my packing everything but the kitchen sink, resulting in a decision to drive rather than fly. In retrospect, it would have been better to fly, rent a car in Knoxville, and spend more time exploring the park. A week of exploration and a week of rest would have been more beneficial than four days to explore and two days rest, in the middle of 9 days on the road (for the homeward leg, I am claiming the M75-79 record for 2730 miles solo and unsupported in a 4-cylinder sedan: 100 hours flat). At least 3/4 of what I brought was never used.
During the race and training runs, I wore my standard outfit for working in poison oak at home: light T-shirt under a long-sleeved cotton dress shirt, jeans, Thorlo crew socks over Injinji toe socks, and Inov-8 Terrocs. I carried an old Camelbak 70 oz. pack full of Gatorade (with additional powder in a baggie), containing a light rain jacket, an extra bottle (empty), iodine pills, 2 or 3 pounds of trail mix (salted cashews, dried apricots, Craisins), two bottles of Ensure, 3 Trailmix bars, a flashlight and two headlamps (I don't trust headlamps), a pair of leather gloves, a pocket knife, and a lightweight thermal blanket. On the front, I had a waistpack with the map and directions (in a Ziplok with the pages), S-Caps, and the all-important compass. I had trekking poles, with some light gloves to prevent blisters. I had a lot of stuff at camp in my car, in case of another loop. I also carried a camera, which wound up in my pants pocket, which I don't recommend, as it may be a total loss (I did get about 40 pictures, though, which I will try to put up). All of this seemed useful and appropriate, especially the jeans, which were better protection against the briars than they are against the blackberries at home. I use Ivy-X before exposure to poison oak or ivy, and shower with Tecnu afterwards, which has always worked for me. This time, I actually hada few mild spots of rash, an indication that I'm still allergic to it.
The Race
I had a chance to meet a lot of people on Friday, but neither of the veterans I saw the most of, Rich Limacher and David Hughes, were entered this year. I got to talking with Stu Gleman, who said he was thinking about a 20-hour first loop, and was planning, if he was alone at that point, to drop at Rat Jaw. Despite his low expectations, due to health issues and lack of training, he was about as well acquainted with the course as anyone, having set out the books. I decided to start out with him, and see what happened, and with the 20 hours in mind, threw some extra food into my pack.
The rest of the field were out of sight very quickly, and Stu told me to forge ahead if the pace was too slow. Despite what he had told me about his health problems (chemo and low hemoglobin), it felt like a good pace to me, so we continued up to the top and veered off on the Cumberland trail, squeezing through the "stepping stones" and continuing through Hiram's Gambit and Fangorn until we heard voices, just before reaching Book 1, where we found Matt Mahoney, Naresh, and a couple of others. With them, we followed the Jaque Mate Ridge (largely a buttslide) down to Philipps Creek, where (after a brief episode of roving about) we found Book 2. The others went ahead after that, and we didn't see them again (although Matt hollered to us from above on the way up to Bald Knob). We didn't clear SOBD in a single bound as instructed, in fact Stu took a whole series of pictures of me climbing out of there.
In most of this section, the trail was very well marked. The frequent blazes on the trees are quite different from what I am used to on western trails. On these (e.g. the Pacific Crest Trail) the trail itself is generally more visible, and there are few if any additional markers beyond the temporary ribbons used during races. On the Bird and Chimney Top trails, often it would be very difficult to see the trail because of leaves or rocks, but the blazes make it easy to follow. For the most part, I was following Stu, who would point out useful landmarks, such as boundary stakes or the evergreen hemlocks, which he called "Christmas trees," which stood out from the rest of the forest.
The section between Bald Knob and the New River (books 3, 4, and 5) is the most difficult to navigate of the part of the course I saw. I have mixed feelings about this. If I had been on my own, I would have gone much slower, because I would have had to consult map, compass, and directions continually. Even with the relatively late start (9:11 AM) there was still plenty of daylight left. I don't know if I would have been able to do the Prison and later sections on my own after dark, but it would have been more satisfying to make it up Rat Jaw to the Tower.
Anyway, to return to the course, we were doing quite well timewise after the Garden Spot (Book 3), although we hadn't caught up to anyone else. We found Book 4 readily enough and followed some discernable trails pretty easily through the high grass (I was leading there for a while). After Fyke's Peak we got on a road that seemed to be going in the right direction (slightly east of south), but after a while it became clear that we were not heading where we needed to be. At around this time, we both had our compasses out, and discovered a 90 degree discrepancy between Stu's and mine.(!) We weren't seeing the park boundary markers, and this was one spot where an altimeter would have been very helpful. We had evidently missed a point where the trail (if there was one) had left the road. After a certain amount of bushwhacking (literally), Stu was satisfied that we were in the right place, and very soon we emerged at the river, at the very spot where the log crosses it, that I had seen with Rich a couple of days before.
After collecting the pages from Book 5, I needed to do some serious eating, so Stu started up first, saying that I would certainly catch him before the top. After loading up, I set off after him. I could see him quite a ways off up the hill, but he soon disappeared into a dip in the climb. I don't know whether I was on the usual trail or not, but someone had certainly climbed it recently, as there were many marks of slipping feet. I added more of mine to these, as I fought for traction in many places (and this was in good dry weather!). Pretty soon, I was on all fours, down where the briars got hold of me more and more. I had been feeling fairly fresh at the beginning of the climb, but by the time I reached the top where Stu had been sitting for a while, I was exhausted. "Barkley 1, Peter 0," I said. Stu assured me encouragingly that there were three more climbs that were worse than that. He said he hated the down side, although it seemed easy enough at first. I saw what he was talking about when we came to the Neo-Butt-Slide, although that was not too bad if you took it a little bit at a time.
Between there and Book 6 (which we located with no trouble) I discovered that my watch was missing. Somehow the brambles on the ascent of the Spectacle had taken it off my wrist without my even noticing. For a moment, I felt like someone whose pocket has been picked, as if I had somehow been raped by the trail. We got a laugh out of this authentic case of trail rape, perhaps a defining Barkley experience. I told my daughter about this later, and she sent me a poem by Wallace Stevens that seems to capture this incident, with a little substitution:
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
At that point, talk of quitting came up for the first time. Stu had been testing his hemoglobin from time to time, and found that it was quite low, and I think he had been disheartened somewhat by getting off course getting to the river. Testicle Spectacle had taken a lot more out of me than I expected, and I certainly needed at least a brief rest to recover for another hard climb. I think the problem at that point was that we didn't know each other well enough to make a good decision. I had no way of knowing how serious his physical situation was, and he had no way of knowing whether I could recover well enough to continue. We were in what may have been the worst possible place to drop, at Pig-Head Creek. In looking through my notes, I came across two pieces of advice by Stu himself (ca. 2007) that pertain to this situation:
"(1) know the course cold, day or night, rain or fog,
just absolutely know the course, and (2) run alone as in stay the
hell away from other people because the decision to quit is usually a
group decision."
At any rate, we elected to quit, and sealed the decision by taking the wrong way up to the road. Then we hiked down to the prison and spent about half an hour while the guard there, instead of shooting us, very kindly called some relatives about a ride, without success. So, it being dark by then, we got out our flashlights and hiked down to Petros, where by luck we found a store open and customers inside. Stu impressed a lady sufficiently with our civility and harmlessness that she and her husband offered a ride, not only to Flat Fork road, but all the way to the campground, refusing all offers of payment for the favor. On the way there, they discovered that they and Stu had a mutual friend, about which there was much conversation.
So we arrived at the Yellow Gate for taps, almost exactly 12 hours from when we left, and just in time for Frozen Ed to finish his first loop, looking far too chipper and ready for another one.
It wasn't until several days later when I got a look at the results, and found that Matt, Naresh and one other person finished loop one in about 18 hours, and realized that they couldn't have been far ahead of us the whole time.
So, I have written far too much about too little, but I wouldn't have missed a minute of it.
Six books
Six thousand miles
Twelve hours with Stu Gleman on (and off) the Barkley course
Priceless!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
75/24/75
(The following was the text of a press release, which accounts for its being in the third person)
On June 4, during Gold Hill's annual Gold Dust festivities, Peter Fish, a 75-year-old resident of that city, will begin a 24-hour run in the hopes of running his age in miles.
Fish, a veteran long-distance runner, has accomplished this feat before, at the 2004 Medford Relay for Life, at the age of 68. This year it will be 7 miles harder.
His accomplishments include age group records in the Pear Blossom 10 mile, the Avenue of the Giants Marathon, and the Siskiyou Out Back 50K, as well as a 1350 mile journey run across the eastern United States. But this time he is not running for records. He is running to raise money.
Peter and his wife, Jan, have been spearheading a project to build a skate park in Gold Hill, in memory of their son Tom, who passed away in 2009 at the age of 27. Tom was an avid skateboarder, and nothing would have pleased him more than the creation of a park in his home town.
As it happened, the master plan for Gold Hill's beautiful sports park on the Rogue River already provided for such a feature, and the Fishes were able to get the city's approval to launch the project on an excellent site near the south end of the park. They were also fortunate in getting the fundraising for the project under the umbrella of the Gold Hill Community Development Organization (Can-Do), a 501-C-3 organization.
Design for the park is being handled by Liquid Stone Designs of Gold River, Oregon, with the collaboration of a group of local skaters. The cost is estimated at approximately $100,000, of which Can-Do has already received about $24,000 in donations, mostly from family and friends. Grant applications are now under way, and donations from the community will be of the utmost importance for acquiring matching funds. This project is to be wholly paid for by donations and grants, and will not result in taxation of any kind.
Peter will start the run at 10 AM in conjunction with the parade, and then will walk up the bike path to the site (about 1/2 mile) with anyone that wants to see where it will be. Then he will return to town and proceed to the Hanby track, next to Patrick Elementary School, where he will run until 10 AM Sunday. The pace will be slow (mostly under 4 MPH), and people are welcome to participate if they so desire (especially during the night!). There is no fee, but donation boxes will be at the track and at an informational booth in the town, which will also have Skate Park T-shirts. There will be donation boxes and flyers at local stores for the week before the event.
For donations:
Checks may be made out to Can-Do, P.O. Box 1009, Gold Hill, OR 97525 (write"Skate Park" in the memo field).
For online donations, go to http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/peter-fish/gold_hill_skatepark
Contact:
Peter Fish
603 Dardanelles St.
Gold Hill, OR 97525
541-944-6970
wtc48@charter.net
http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/peter-fish/gold_hill_skatepark
On June 4, during Gold Hill's annual Gold Dust festivities, Peter Fish, a 75-year-old resident of that city, will begin a 24-hour run in the hopes of running his age in miles.
Fish, a veteran long-distance runner, has accomplished this feat before, at the 2004 Medford Relay for Life, at the age of 68. This year it will be 7 miles harder.
His accomplishments include age group records in the Pear Blossom 10 mile, the Avenue of the Giants Marathon, and the Siskiyou Out Back 50K, as well as a 1350 mile journey run across the eastern United States. But this time he is not running for records. He is running to raise money.
Peter and his wife, Jan, have been spearheading a project to build a skate park in Gold Hill, in memory of their son Tom, who passed away in 2009 at the age of 27. Tom was an avid skateboarder, and nothing would have pleased him more than the creation of a park in his home town.
As it happened, the master plan for Gold Hill's beautiful sports park on the Rogue River already provided for such a feature, and the Fishes were able to get the city's approval to launch the project on an excellent site near the south end of the park. They were also fortunate in getting the fundraising for the project under the umbrella of the Gold Hill Community Development Organization (Can-Do), a 501-C-3 organization.
Design for the park is being handled by Liquid Stone Designs of Gold River, Oregon, with the collaboration of a group of local skaters. The cost is estimated at approximately $100,000, of which Can-Do has already received about $24,000 in donations, mostly from family and friends. Grant applications are now under way, and donations from the community will be of the utmost importance for acquiring matching funds. This project is to be wholly paid for by donations and grants, and will not result in taxation of any kind.
Peter will start the run at 10 AM in conjunction with the parade, and then will walk up the bike path to the site (about 1/2 mile) with anyone that wants to see where it will be. Then he will return to town and proceed to the Hanby track, next to Patrick Elementary School, where he will run until 10 AM Sunday. The pace will be slow (mostly under 4 MPH), and people are welcome to participate if they so desire (especially during the night!). There is no fee, but donation boxes will be at the track and at an informational booth in the town, which will also have Skate Park T-shirts. There will be donation boxes and flyers at local stores for the week before the event.
For donations:
Checks may be made out to Can-Do, P.O. Box 1009, Gold Hill, OR 97525 (write"Skate Park" in the memo field).
For online donations, go to http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/peter-fish/gold_hill_skatepark
Contact:
Peter Fish
603 Dardanelles St.
Gold Hill, OR 97525
541-944-6970
wtc48@charter.net
http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/peter-fish/gold_hill_skatepark
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Web page for Russ2001
The website for my run in 2001 is still functioning, at:
http://www.birdcat.com/russ2001.html
The only thing missing on that is the trip log, which is reproduced here, minus most of the photos.
http://www.birdcat.com/russ2001.html
The only thing missing on that is the trip log, which is reproduced here, minus most of the photos.
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