Chapter 5: Restart to TA 5 (It took us a little while)

Around 5 AM we started out with several other teams on a 40 plus mile mt bike ride. It had been raining steadily since the night before and showed no signs of letting up. Since the course had to be redesigned, the first section of our bike ride was on pavement, which made the miles fly by. A few teams joined in with us and formed a nice pace line.

As the sun rose, we biked through Darrington and on to CP 24. The rain eventually stopped and was replaced by thick ominous looking clouds. Somewhere along the way the road turned to dirt as we made our way along a river. A few sections of road had been washed away by past floods and a few trees lay across the road. Both of which gave us a chance to get off our bikes and walk a few feet, but besides that, the ride was uneventful. We soon hit CP28, which was the bike drop.

Throughout the race we tended to have slower transitions than any of us would like for one reason or another. The transition at CP28 was no different and many of the teams we had pulled away from during the biking section caught up to us. After a nice couple thousand foot climb up a fire road and then a trail, we hit CP29. On the way up the hill, we had noticed some teams running back down the fire road. At the CP, we checked the map once again to see which way they were going. It turns out that a few teams decided to backtrack and skirt the edge of a wilderness boundary area that was out of bounds. This was a tempting idea, but if you went into the wilderness area you were DQed.

It was during the discussion of which route to take that I noticed I had forgotten the 1:24,000 maps for this section. Oops my bad and a big no-no when racing. Lucky for me, we did have the 1:40,000 big map, so we knew where we had to go. However, we did not have the greater detail available from the other maps. Because of the lack of detail of the big map, I decided that we were going to go the way we had originally chosen. This route choice should not take us near the wilderness area and also happened to be the recommended route.

So it was time to start bushwhacking again. At least this time we were not carrying our bikes, but we were carrying all our climbing gear so our packs were not what I would call overly light. The first few hours of the trek were spent climbing over a ridgeline, down to a small lake and then around Devils Thumb. Devils Thumb was a distinct high point on a ridgeline leading down from Devils Peak. Looking up at all the cliffs and gagged rocks, I could see where the area got its name. Many of the rock ledges were not only steep, but also looked very unstable. I was very glad that we had passed on a third route choice which would have taken us along the ridgeline.

After getting around the Devils Thumb, we climbed to a nice viewpoint to scout our location. At first all I saw were clouds, but they were in the process of breaking up. We stopped to eat for a few minutes and watched as the clouds dissipated. I then saw the two things I was looking for, Helena Lake and the creek that ran into it. The goal was to reach the lake and follow the creek up a steep ravine. Near the top there was break in the cliffs that encircled the southern half of the valley we were about to enter.

The bushwhacking near the lake made travel slow going, but at least we were putting miles, or feet I should say, behind us. Once we hit the south side of the lake, we ran into a multitude of swollen creeks thanks to the rain earlier in the day. A quick note to self for future reference, when crossing creeks do not use wet, slippery, moss covered fallen log as a bridge. I was almost across when I switched from the reliable and working shuffle the feet technique to actually trying to walk normal. Since I am writing about it, it should be obvious the change did not work. The sequence of events went like this.

It started out with a sudden realization I had lost my balance. With my left foot swinging in the air, my right went down the side of the log. This lead to the always pleasant quick drop to a straddling position. I immediately followed this by spinning around the log. My half flip in the air might have scored me a few points in the Olympics, but all I got was a nice freefall of five feet or so. Lucky for me, the rock that ended up under my left leg and my elbow into my ribs broke most of my fall. The side of my face did the rest. I am not sure if the fact that I had already crossed the deepest part on the creek was a good thing or not. Had I landed more in the water it might have broken my fall a little more, but I would have ended up completely soaked. Needless to say since I had been the first one across the log, the rest of the team choice an alternate route.

So with a mild headache and a knot in my leg we started climbing out of the valley. We notice the sun was moving ever closer the horizon and the shadows were growing longer as we made our way up. The creek bed we were hiking had been filled with rocks and boulders of all sizes from rockslides. The higher we got up the hill, the smaller the rocks became, but also more unstable. At the same time, the grade of the hill became steeper. All the time the sun continued to drop. The call of, "ROCK", was common from not only us, but also from the teams climbing around us. Reed happened to send a rock down the hill that hit Susan in the leg. I sent a nice size one over my own foot. We decided it was time to dawn our helmets.

We were three hundred or so vertical feet from the summit the last affects of dusk could be noticed. We then heard a loud yell. ROCK. This was followed by 10 to 15 seconds of listening to a large rock tumble, clank and chatter down the steep narrow creek we were climbing up next to. ROCK. Then next stone came tumbling down. We got a few more feet up the hill. ROCK. We finally got to a section where the vegetation began to thinking up and there were actually trees to grab onto. Using small weeds and grasses that were easily ripped out of the ground for hand holds had gotten real old as soon as the sun set, or possibly once the grade of the slop became steep enough that if you lost your footing serious bodily damage awaited you. ROCK.

Once into the trees we saw Team Canada Post sitting around waiting their turn to go up the final 150 feet of the creek. Next to them was Team Towanda. ROCK. Cliffs buffeted both sides of the creek at the top, so there was pretty much only one way up the hill. ROCK. Team PoliceDefenders.com had arrived at the waiting spot before Towanda, so they were making their way up the creek one at a time. ROCK. It was obvious why teams were going up one at a time. ROCK.

Another team had decided they were not going to go up the creek and risk getting hit be falling rocks, nor were they going sit around a wait. So they went up some very steep bank to the other side of the creek. Two members of the team made it to the top, but SPQ almost suffered another catastrophe when the third member of the team slipped and started sliding down the steep embankment. Lucky for him and all others who were present, his slide stopped a little over 20 feet down the hill and just before he could pick up too much speed to stop himself. His stopping point was a tinny ledge wedged between a tree and a rock face. As the fourth teammate attempted to go help his friend, he too became stuck. Once it was obvious that he would not be able to reach his teammate, he attempted to make his way back down to where the other teams were hanging out, but that route was too dangerous at night.

With two members of a team were stuck on the side of a near cliff and the memories of Nigel in all our thoughts, teams in the vicinity began attempting to call HQ on their satellite phones. Due to the steepness of the hill and the fact that we were on the north face, no one below the summit could reach HQ, but a team on the summit successfully made contact. They were informed that it was impossible for the helicopters to reach our location because the sun had already set and that a rescue climber was going to head our way from CP30, but it would take him several hours to reach our location. What followed was the most ironic conversation I have ever heard during a race.

From the top of the hill came the question, "do you have your harness?" This was required gear for the upcoming ropes section.

"No, it is with my teammate on top." The answer came out of the darkness.

"Do you have you space blanket?" This too was a required piece of mandatory equipment.

The same answer echoed off the exposed rock, "No, it is with my teammate."

Then Reed inquired, "What is your team name?"

"Mandatory Gear".

The seriousness of the situation was lifted as we all shook our heads.

I found a nice log to sit down on and since I knew we were not going anywhere any time soon, I started putting my dry warm clothes on. Since I had figured we were going to be sitting around back logged at the ropes section, I had packed extra clothes and borrowed Reed's space bag. Ten minutes later, I was sound asleep tucked in between a fallen tree and the damp ground.

At dawn my teammates, who had huddled together for warmth, stared down the hill at me with resentment in their eyes. Apparently my snoring had distracted them from their continuous shivering all night. A Space bag and warm clothes really make a difference when sleeping on a damp hill. Since my choices where to either shiver in the cold all night or sleep, I choose the latter because it made the night go by faster.

Once the sun had come up enough to see by, the two stuck members of Mandatory Gear began to make their way down and across the hill towards us. During the night, maps had been used as their blankets, so I knew they had had a long night. A quick look at the tired eyes of Teams Towanda and Canada Post and I knew I was the only person on the hill who had actually had a good nights sleep. Well at least I felt rejuvenated and ready to go. We would end up sitting around for at least another three plus hours.

In morning light, we could see where all the other teams had made there way up the last 100 feet to the summit. The fact that so many people had gone up that same route had turned it from a lush creek bed filled with rocks and vegetation into a barren strip of dirt with nothing to grab onto. The Leave No Trace people would not have been happy with our minimal impact attempt there.

We pooled all the climbing gear and thanks to a member of Towanda who happened to be a climbing instructor we were able to build a rope/ladder system that would allow everyone to reach the summit. The first person started up. ROCK. I think that was the last one on the hill. When she neared the summit a helicopter showed up. After circling around for a few minutes Dan, the race director, tossed out a rope. He must have been relieved to see that everyone was ok and making their way up the slope. Thanks to the new rope, we got to sit around for even longer as it was put into place and the makeshift system was dissembled. Now we put on our harnesses, got out a jumar and started going up one at a time. As soon as the first person reached the summit, the helicopter was back with another new rope. Time to sit back down. But once both ropes were put into place we started going up two at a time. This greatly sped up the process.

Once everyone was on the summit, we all started on toward CP 30. A total of 14 hours had passed since I had sat down on the log the evening before to have a bit to eat and find out what the hold up was. The event had changed from an adventure race to a true expedition and an adventure.

A few hours later we were at the rope section. Due to sore feet, blisters, sore leg, swollen feet and ankles, and slow bushwhacking we had reached the rope section in second to last place. Team BARK was behind us somewhere, but they were suffering from a seriously sprained ankle and finishing the race for them was unlikely. They would push on hard for the next two days, but in the end, they were pulled from the course.

It took most teams between five and six hours to do the rope section and we were no different. The ropes section started out with a 1500-foot fixed rope assent up the less the vertical Granite sidewalk. Next came an 800-foot plus vertical or near vertical assent. With the sun sinking low, we started up. Half way up the vertical assent, I got to watch the sunset over the western Cascades. That also meant I got to repel back down in the dark. For most people the rope section was their favorite part of the race. For me, it came in a close second. It is hard to beat ocean kayaking in the San Juans.

After the ropes, we still had to embark on a ten plus mile trek on old fire roads. My feet and ankles had swollen to the point that I had grown cankles. The blister that started between my big toe and ran to the ball of my foot split completely open sometime during the rope section and oozed for the entire hike.

I apologize for the length of the report, but if you think reading it was long, imagine what it was like being out there. It had been nearly 48 hours since we had last seen our support crew when we finally stumbled into TA5 a few hours before the sun rose. All we had left was some short bike ride, some downriver kayaking, a quick portage, and an ocean paddle back to Orcas Island. That should not take us that long we figured as we decide to catch a few hours of sleep. Boy, were we wrong, but that will be another story.