The 2012 FAT DOG 120 Trail Ultra

British Columbia, Canada

The windows started a frenzied rattle as we hit the dirt road & revived me from the stunned mullet fixation I had on the blackness whizzing past outside. We had just left the small farming community of Keremeos & I’m sure there was some deep contemplation amongst us about how long the next couple of days were going to be. Every now & then a branch would scrape down the side of the old yellow school bus as we hurtled into oblivion. The Ashnola River caressed the landscape somewhere out there beside the track.

It’s just after 3am & I watch a sprightly, elderly lady man-handle the bus as it dances on its springs, the yellow luminosity of the headlights exposing bugs & moths as they part for our inexorable advance. Muted chatter starts up among the group onboard. Around 30 of us are spread across the bench seats, hanging onto the seat rail in front of us & decked out in the gear that is to assist us in getting through the next 120 miles on foot. The FAT DOG is calling & we obey the bark in the dark…

Hissing brakes signal our arrival as the doors swing wide after a lurching stop. “That’s about as far as I can get this thing. I’ll never be able to turn her around if I go down there” the driver states matter-of-

factly as she wishes us all luck & we are shooed into the dark. We traipse about a half mile down a dirt track to the Lakeview Creek campground, the official start line, with the glow of headlamps a comfort in the pitch black, a clear sky above heralding a beautiful day to be in the mountains.

The FAT DOG 120 begins on August 18th, starting near Keremeos & ending at Lightning Lake near Manning Park which is about a 3 hours’ drive East of Vancouver. It’s beautiful country dissected by raging rivers & overshadowed by imposing mountains. The race has a number of events including the 120 mile Solo, 120 mile Relay, 70 mile Solo, 50 mile Solo, 30 mile Solo & 18 mile Solo. The course elevation & profile is demanding so there are plenty of opportunities to pick the distance you feel comfortable tackling. 2012 is only the second running of the event as 2011 had to be cancelled when the pre-race trail breakers came across 15’ high walls of snow & ice on the high passes & figured that the FAT DOG’s could sleep for that year.

Mountain Madness of North Vancouver is the instigator of the event & proved a formidable organizing force for such a long & remote ultra event. The race tech-shirt states on the back, “Suck it up whiny baby...” and that pretty well sums up the can-do attitude at FAT DOG. The trail marking was excellent, the aid stations like the oasis you hope for & the volunteers caring & worth many kudos. Race Director Heather MacDonald commanded a tight ship & her team worked like Trojans to keep the gears turning smoothly. On the ground, Peter Watson amazed all the runners by turning up at remote locations hauling huge jugs of water & cold soda & handing out encouraging words to the wayward field. It became commonplace to make it to the top of a demanding climb & see him standing there ready to assist your pit stop in the boonies even though there was no way in but to hike or run. Most endearing was the typical Canadian humour & aplomb shown by race officials, volunteers & runners alike.

At 4 AM, after being checked off as being present, a loud bang heralded the start of FD 2012. As the report echoed off the surrounding geology, the group of solo & relay runners pushed into their first climb…about 3 steps from the start line. There was over 5000’ of upward trail in front of us to the col over Red Mountain; the puffing began early & the group of headlamps snaked upwards like stars making their way up to join the real ones above us. After half an hour the group began to spread apart as people found their own pace; the early chatting had died down & heads & bodies were bent low soaking up the incline. The darkness was thick & I strode into the round glow of my headlamp, excited to be moving but cautious of the vision of the course elevation profile burnt into the back of my brain; it looked like some wild cardio readout of a dude on Red Bull riding an octane-fuelled rollercoaster…no flat-lining, just amped. There are 4 major climbs & descents & numerous false climbs during the 120 miles that equal around 27,500’ of elevation change. That’s a lot of up & down for someone that’s been training in flatsville Florida & the Bahamas so I felt I needed to rein in any early enthusiasm & stick to a steady diet of steady. But as always, at the beginning when you feel “strong-like-bull” you tend to give a bit more than you should, so I stayed in stride with the front pack & breathed deeper. The first hours passed quickly & soon there was the dull glow of ambient light above the trees as daybreak drove us on & as we got higher the trail became more technical & one section lead downhill. The daylight was still muted & the trees kept the trail in shadow so a headlamp was still needed to navigate the decline. I have a difficult time in low light due to lack of depth perception from being blind in one eye so my pace slowed to a crawl as the others bounded down & soon I was alone taking the trail a step at a time but

still tripping over roots & rocks. Sunrise was soon on me & that glowing feeling of being in the mountains pervaded my veins; the crisp morning air mixed with the smell of woods & foliage a perfect partner to the opening views. I stopped briefly to chug from a water bottle & that was the only sound…

As elevation increased and the trees began to thin out, the sun felt warm & the sky was cloudless. I lifted my head to view the trail & there stood an aid station table & a couple of chipper ladies manning it. They had camped there the night near Cathedral Lakes, ready for the raging horde in the early hours. They checked me off, filled my hydration, fed me & wished me luck. I climbed higher, out of the tree line & over a rise onto the col of Red Mountain. You could tell it was a high pass from the sparse & denuded vegetation, lack of trees & patches of snow. The rocky terrain & scree gave the whole landscape a daunting attitude but the views in every direction were jaw-dropping. Early morning on top of a mountain with cloudless skies defies most descriptions so I’ll leave you with the advice to just go there & feel it yourself; it’s very empowering.

Moving over the col, the temperature was a lot cooler with a slight breeze coming up the face of the mountain & drying the climbing sweat. The route joined Centennial Trail & passed over a wide scree field of difficult rocky terrain as it started a circuitous route downward. Some of the trail was unrecognizable except for the well-placed trail marker ribbons set at frequent intervals. At some points I had to stop, spy ahead for the next marker, then make my way over the uneven footing in the general direction of the ribbon. I was still alone at this point & soon the trail became easier & faster; it wound down through beautiful green meadows & back into the tree line, the temperature warming as the sun got higher & the elevation lower. As I jogged past wildflowers & berry bushes I started to wonder about the chances of running into bears out here. The race guide had suggested that they were out here & if concerned, one should carry a bear bell or pepper spray. Most Canadians I have met don’t seem overly concerned about bears but give them their due respect nonetheless. Being an Australian, I guess I should be used to living around plenty of critters than can kill you in a heartbeat, but I also like to show my respect for local wildlife & any impromptu meetings in the bush, so I had picked up a nice yellow bear bell at the local outdoor store & stopped briefly to fish it from my pack & fasten it onto the front strap of my pack. I bounced onward to the steady, metronomic cadence of the ringing pea inside, hoping that my bear friends would hear of my imminent arrival & not be ticked off enough to take a swipe at me. This happy picture lasted a few hours until the incessant ringing of that bloody bell almost drove me to poke my own eyes out so I stuffed it down the bottom of my pack where that small innocuous pea continued to rattle & chime, albeit muted, until I nearly screamed & dug it out to stuff a used gel wrapper into the bell & silence it for good. Later, I validated my hasty decision when I overheard a Canadian runner comment to an aid station volunteer: “How do you know when you’re looking at bear poop? “It’s full of bear bells, tech shirts & running shoes.” He chuckled as he ran off & I nodded like a wise sage.

From the start line we had slogged over 5000’ upward & now the field was rumbling down the entire 5000’ the other side, making for the Wall Creek Bridge & the next aid station. The rugged trail hugged the side of a mountain spur & the raging waters’ thunder got louder as everything became compressed into a canyon. Parts of the trail were sketchy as it was barely wider than two footprints & was off-cambered & slippery with shale & dust. My downhill is something I really need to work on so I was

cautious & focused. I felt my speed was pretty good until I was passed by three guys who literally floated over the terrain looking sure-footed & confident then disappeared within moments of me hearing them come up behind me. The terrain was so steep that to get out of their way I had to literally fall to the high side & hug the dirt so that they could squeeze past.

The next aid station was welcome as the day had begun to heat up & it had been a hectic start with a big climb & descent back-to-back & we were already 20 miles into the race. Due to the remoteness of some of the FD course, some of the aid stations are a long way apart so you really need to carry enough hydration & gear to make the long legs (the longest gap between stations is around 14 miles & in the hottest part of the day).

Straight out of the Wall Creek station it was a steady climb on a dirt road before branching off into the scrub a mile later; then the next climb really began. The sun by then was scorching onto the side of the mountain & some sections were steep enough to have you toe into the trail like you were climbing a ladder. There is 4000’ of sweating uphill to the crest of Flattop Mountain as it winds upward through bristling pines. Every time I thought I could see the ridgeline above it would never seem to get closer (it took me 7 hours to do the first 26 miles of this race so that may give you an idea of the terrain & elevations involved). I stumbled out of the bush to the next aid station caked in sweat & dust, my shirt adorned with pine needles. I was on the top of Flattop & took my time making sure I had all I needed for the long 14 mile leg ahead to the next aid station. As with all the aid stations at Fat Dog, the volunteers can’t do enough to get you sorted out so you can relax for a few moments; filling hydration, pouring you drinks & making sure you take some calories in to stay on top of the decimation your body is going through. When gearing up for the race I thought I might be carrying too much but during the next leg I was glad for every ounce I dragged up & down those mountains. Because of the distance between some aid stations, I chose to carry a CamelBak “Octane” backpack that has a 2 litre bladder. The water is carried around the lumbar region as part of the waist belt so I cannot even feel that weight when it’s full. I added a thermal protection hose assembly to keep water in the tube cool as I find when sipping at regular intervals you only get the hot water left in the hose from the last sip. The neoprene hose cover & rubber valve case worked great & helped keep dirt & insects off the mouth valve as well. The pack also has handy side pockets on the waist belt to hold gels & electrolyte caps so that you can keep moving between stations without taking the pack off. The upper backpack has enough room for more calories, headlamp, rain jacket, etc. As an extra precaution I also carried an Amphipod handheld bottle with a neoprene sleeve to keep the contents cooler. I would fill the bottle with electrolyte drink at aid stations & keep the CamelBak for straight fresh water; nothing better for quenching. After the bottle was empty I would hook it onto the front of the pack. I found my hydration gear during this race to be just right; after sipping electrolyte drink I could then suck down plenty of fresh water on those long lung-busting climbs in the heat knowing that I didn’t need to conserve to make the next station.

I pushed on towards Trapper Lake & the long descent to the Pasayten river valley. I was passed by two runners using trekking poles (allowed in Fat Dog) & had noticed several participants earlier in the day also using poles; it looked like a definite plus for climbing but also for some descents & the uneven muskeg terrain coming up around the lake. The ground became quite boggy at one point & I recall bush-bashing through some sections & looking ahead to find the pink marker tape & making a general

beeline toward it as I couldn’t discern an actual trail. I found the terrain very difficult to negotiate while circling Trapper Lake; the footing was slippery & the muskeg full of hidden holes & bogs. I was continually rolling my ankles & stumbling along which is very tedious work when you are fatigued, & I was glad to start climbing again onto drier ground. The view above Trapper Lake was gorgeous; huge rolling hills that looked like they had just been mowed & sprinkled with vibrant wildflowers. The sky was still cloudless & the elevation made for a comfortable temperature. At the apex of the climb more panoramic views were spread over the horizon & it was impossible not to stop for a bit & take it in. No matter how wasted I was starting to feel, just being in that location gave me a shunt as I started the descent on tired legs; the trail looked like it had been hand-drawn on a postcard and I could spy it through the trees for at least a mile as it wound down to the river valley. I tried to get into a consistent cadence going down & land lightly on my feet but the miles were drawing me out; my legs were burning & the afternoon sun was starting to scorch me. I had plenty of protection from the sun on my head, neck & shoulders & loads of refreshing water so I plodded on & practiced those mental games you play in an ultra to keep you going. I had chosen to wear Hoka Stinson Evo trail shoes, which I find remarkably comfy but was finding some shortcomings on this terrain, mainly to do with rolling my ankles on the stony or root-strewn trails. The shoes have a really thick sole & the ones I wore were quite large on my foot, having been purchased for running in very hot, humid weather in the South when my feet swell a lot. This became unbearable as I got more fatigued & I had already made the decision to change them out when I reached my drop bag later on. As the elevation dropped into the valley the bush became thicker & blocked any breeze and even the shade became stifling. The ground was very dry from a hot summer & my footfalls left puffs of dust but the shorty gaiters I wore stopped any debris from getting into my shoes. I still had water & was chugging regularly but was getting keen to see the next aid station. The ground leveled out & I came around a corner to see a fellow runner doubled over & dry heaving. I asked if he needed anything & if he wanted some water and he replied that he would be okay so I gave him a guestimate of a mile to the aid station & pushed on. Pretty soon I saw a blue tarp through the scrub & came out of the bush to the aid station at Calcite, which is nothing more than a barren dirt road with no shade. The volunteers had rigged up the shade tarp on the back of their car to give us some respite & set out some chairs. Nothing felt better than their ice. I advised them of the guy not far behind having stomach issues, filled my hydration, threw down a cold cup of Coke for liquid calories & made off for the river. I missed the trail turn-off from the dirt road as I was in a daydream somewhere & luckily a couple guys coming up behind gave me a shout. I talked to another guy later who said he ran for a couple miles after missing the turn before realizing there were no more markers. Back on the trail, it headed down further & I could hear the river below somewhere. I stumbled down, tired & hot trying not to think that I wasn’t even halfway through the race yet & still had 2 humongous climbs to do. A very steep, scrappy final section spat me out on the banks of the Pasayten river crossing and a couple of guide ropes spanned the river to hold onto as the current was quite strong; it wasn’t very deep but footing was on slippery round river rocks. I plunged in, groaning in ecstasy as the frigid mountain water soothed my sore feet and hung out for a while. My wife, who I hadn’t seen for over 12 hours since skipping out of the hotel room near the start, was waiting on the other side with fresh shoes, socks & assorted goodies. As I didn’t have time to be part of the trail maintenance requirements for race entry due to work obligations, I pressed my wife into forced labour as a race volunteer to serve my selfish agenda & get me off the hook. She had never had a chance to be at an event with me before

so this was a perfect opportunity to show her what sort of crazy shit I got myself into. I sat down for the first time since the bus ride & peeled off my wet shoes & socks. I don’t like sitting during an ultra as I get all tight but I needed this shoe change. During foot care & fresh socks I sucked down an Ensure & some chocolate soy milk, babbled some nonsense to my wife & laced up a pair of Brookes Cascadia 7 trail shoes. The crossing was private property and the ex-forestry worker who owned the riverside cabin had quite the location. His old chocolate Lab snoozed under a shady tree & was probably scoffing at the crazy bipeds splashing past him. Canines have it all figured out…

I checked out & ran the dirt road until it reached the main tarmac road through this area that led to the EC Manning Provincial Park. It felt strange running on solid, smooth footing for a change and at least I didn’t have to scan every footfall for a hole or root & could just zone out & run for a while. It was only about 3 miles until the next aid station & turnoff for the bush, but a critical one for timing; the Bonnevier station has a cut-off time of 3pm, which was extended an hour this year because of the heat index. Runners that can’t make it to the aid station by this time have to drop because of concerns of climbing in the dark & not being able to make it out of the mountains by the finishing time of 42 hours. I was only 11 hours & some into the race so the thought that it might take me another 30 hours or so to finish was something I didn’t want to dwell on. You must show that you have a headlamp at Bonnevier before you are checked off, there is another daunting climb in front of you, the day is drawing down & you know it’s going to be a long night up there crossing the high plateau before the punishing descent to the next river. I checked that I had fuel, hydration, lights & warm clothes, put my head down & started putting foot in front of foot. The dirt road climbed into the forest & made for good progress but I knew it was inevitable that soon I would be on the track again & digging deep. The Bonnevier Trail cut off the road into the scrub & started climbing up the escarpment under the gloom of heavy foliage. The sun was now just below the rim of the ridgeline above which gave more soothing temperature. My plan was to kick into the climb to get to the top of Three Brothers before the sun set; that way I could have light going up but not too much heat & then at the top still have ambient light for some time on the plateau. I pushed up steady & felt good; my hydration intake had been adequate for the day though I had slipped on some calorie intake but still felt strong. There was about 4500’ in this climb & I heaved a sigh when I could see the ridgeline above me through the trees, foolishly thinking I was almost to the apex. Then the trail led off to the left, downwards into the thick forest and I picked up speed feeling relieved that it may be leading to a lower col to cross over the ridge. It kept going down and the light was gloomy now, with huge tree trunks & ferns obscuring the trail; it started to spook me as I couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t leading the way I thought it should. As a seaman I have a pretty good nose for direction so I was starting to ask questions but I soon had my answer as the trail veered sharply to the right again & I looked up at switchbacks leading up into the trees. It was just a little demoralizing to lose all that elevation only to have to climb it again but such is geography…

My second wind had worn off & my head was constantly pointed at the ground in fatigue. I hardly noticed that the trees had thinned & the grade had started to recede; the ground became rocky, interspersed with high alpine shrub. The thing that brought me back was a chill wind coming up the face of the opposing escarpment of this endless climb and I came onto the ridgeline just as the sun, now below the horizon, had bathed the vista beneath me in muted hues; the valleys a deep Humboldt blue,

saw-tooth ridgelines on the horizon lying like sleeping dinosaurs, airbrushed in lavender. The Western skyline lay below my tired bones & I soaked in the moment…

As I moved along the spur towards the main plateau I was reminded that mountains can have a beguiling allure to the unwary. I was bent with fatigue, undernourished & the light was disappearing. My sweat-soaked clothing from the climb was starting to chill me as my exertion slowed & the wind whined up the cliffs. It felt lonely up there; I hadn’t seen a soul since the last aid station many hours before & even the wildflowers didn’t take away the feelings of this bleak, wind-swept spine. I worried about my oversight in finding out how far it was to the next aid station and knew it was going to be a long, difficult descent on the other side in the dark & fretted that I had to go through that before I reached the next station; it ate at me as I stumbled on, the alpine grass rustling as I pushed through it. I needed to stop somewhere with some shelter, get some warmer clothing on & rig up for the night shift. I was on a high meadow & couldn’t make out any features in the distance so pulled my head further into my shoulders & made relentless forward motion. I heard a noise like, “whoop”, but didn’t look up from under my hat. There it was again; what the hell is that? I crested a rise & there stood an aid station table under a rigged shelter with the crew hooting me in: “Welcome to Heather station,” I thought, to palpable relief.

The smiling volunteers included two young kids decked in outdoor gear; they had helped their parents mule in the supplies by backpack. My perplexed look got the rundown that there was a fire road further to the South & then it was a six click hike in from the trailhead to our bustling little metropolis. As I took this in, a face popped up from behind the table to ask me if I would like avocado on my quesadilla. His nonchalant expression suggested that it was quite normal to get home-cooked Mexican on the top of a mountain at sunset in the boonies. The relentless Peter Watson was also part of the crew, taking my pack for refill & pulling out supplies I would need for the night ahead; he laid them out meticulously like combat gear for the frontline, which wasn’t far from the truth. It wasn’t the first time I would run into him on some obscure ridgeline a long way from nowhere where he would hustle me into gear like a concerned commander looking after his platoon. The kids brought me M&M’s & gel supplies as I munched a second quesadilla from my dirty paw. After the feasting, I donned a warm shirt & pulled a Petzl headlamp on and also fastened a Surefire 200 lumen torch to the top of my left hand using my own modification of an iPod armband; I had fixed the torch on with Velcro straps & rubber bands then the arm band wrapped around my hand so I didn’t need to hold it (or drop it). On rough trails at night I use the headlamp for general light & spying the trail markers ahead & the torch lights up the immediate area where my foot falls, giving better discrimination of rocks, roots & holes.

I bid adieu to the Heather aid station & made off across the plateau as night began to lay its dark blanket over the landscape. I began to psych myself up for the coming leg; a long sleepless night, a difficult descent in the dark & a fatigued body. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I talk to myself during Ultras; it’s generally short & concise details about what I need to do, future arrangements, health checks, etc. I find that it’s part of the mental strategy that helps me focus & get to the finish. Like most, thoughts of DNF (Did Not Finish) do cross my mind at low points but I figure if I can still crawl, I can still make “relentless forward progress”. I also play mental games of debate where I try to explain to myself what exactly is the feeling of pain & how does it really differ from other, more pleasant feelings. If my knee

hurts I try to relegate that area to a persona non grata status until it redeems itself. This grey-matter exercising served me well in my first 100 miler when I had a big toenail floating around my sock at mile 60 (& subsequently lost 8 nails after); my feet were excruciating during the race so I just disowned them & plodded on.

The first couple of hours across the plateau on the Heather Trail made for good progress, the trail not too technical & some stellar views before total dark. A shallow descent started when joining Grainger Creek Trail & after there were some muddy sections where rivulets cascaded across the trail into the darkness; a quick scope-out of the best section to cross was necessary before plowing through & hoping that you didn’t find the holes. There was about 9 miles between the aid stations up there & I whiled away the time thinking about everything & nothing before I saw a glow emanating through the trees & smelled wood smoke. I came into the ring of warm light at Nicomen aid station where two hardy volunteers were camped out & ready to pit stop me. Fueled & watered, I slipped into the darkness again, leaving their cozy oasis a faint radiance behind. Soon after, the real downhill started; I stood at the top of a stony ridge as the quartz-coloured rocks soaked up enough moonlight to show a thin ribbon of trail switch-backing down into the black hole of oblivion. With only one way to go I stepped into the void & remembered the tech shirt, “Suck it up whiny baby”…

“THWOK!”…”Ouch!” Another toe punt into an unforeseen root. I looked & double-looked as I slipped & stumbled down Hope Pass Trail but I guarantee every root & rock caught my toes & tried to launch me headlong for a face-plant. It took all I had to recruit sore muscles to stop myself from falling, then mumble a few expletives just in time to catch another toe & go through it all again; man, was I getting irritated! The endless concentration of squinting at the ground & trying to find the best route was exhausting. My pace was at a crawl but I couldn’t do anything about it without risking a swan dive onto my head. I slipped off the side of the track at one point & clung tenuously to the dirt for a moment before hauling myself back onto level ground. I don’t know how far the drop was but probably a good thing that it was dark? It was probably also a good thing that I didn’t know beforehand that this descent was going to take me nearly 8 hours…

About 1 AM my headlamp went out so I felt relieved that I had the torch & spare batteries, though this didn’t make progress any easier. I thought that it might get warmer as the elevation dropped but found it getting colder in the early hours, most likely as I was descending into a valley. My little world revolved around what I could see in the circle of light from the torch, my heart skipped as I suddenly saw a pair of legs in my periphery. I had been daydreaming & zoning out in general & hadn’t seen anyone for many hours so it came as a bit of a surprise, especially as he had his lights out. I recognized a runner from earlier on who I had spoken to up on top. He had mentioned his fatigue & was thinking of calling it quits when he got to the next station. When I asked him now what he was up to he said he was just taking a break & just wanted to get to the next aid at the river. After making sure that he didn’t need anything else, I got going and he decided to stay put for a while longer. I don’t like stopping for too long as it’s too hard to get going again & I was getting cold.

I zoned out again & moved on. I didn’t feel sleepy but was in a kind of numb state; funny how you can pass that many hours in the dark by yourself. I wondered what all those critters out in the bush were

thinking of me as I wandered past in the glow of my torch, grunting & cursing as I smacked my toes again. I pointed the torch down the trail looking for the next trail reflector or ribbon & saw something different: it was a green glow, faint & alluring but I was sure it wasn’t an apparition. As I got closer I realized that it was a glow stick and this could only mean one thing; I was getting close to the aid station. At the bottom of a steep, rocky section I brushed some ferns away & saw a mesmerizing line of glow sticks winding through the trees. The sound of Grainger Creek thrashing its way down the canyon suddenly jumped out at me. It had been in the background as white noise for hours, emanating from below but now it was right next to me before I realized it. I shivered & wandered down the green highway, then the glow sticks stopped, but as I glanced right I could see many more lined up geometrically into the distance & no doubt leading to the aid station. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on because the lights were above me, & then I worked out that I needed to climb up onto two huge logs; these impressive timbers were felled across the creek & this was the crossing. I hauled myself on top & stared a moment across. With a foot on each log, a shuffle of unease & a green glow of confidence, I inched above the creek as the cold mist of white water breezed my legs. I laughed & shook my head at the same time (who said men can’t multi-task?) & wondered what other people were doing around 3am on a Sunday morning?

Cayusa Flats aid station lay at the end of the green mile & I trudged in, happy to be off the mountain & ready to refuel. The volunteers were sitting cocooned in sleeping bags to ward off the valley chill as I came in, but jumped up on my arrival to provide me the succor I needed after a long haul night. Hot chicken broth was handed to me as another took my pack for refilling. I noticed 2 runners sitting to one side wrapped in blankets. One guy had a knee injury from the descent & was pulling out and the other was taking a break & getting reorganized as it looked like a long arduous day still to come for the Fat Dogs…

It dawned on me that this is where I was to meet my wife but I didn’t see her. A lady volunteer already had this sorted out & informed me that she was sleeping in the back of our Subaru Outback. She handed me my drop bag then walked me to a trail intersection that led to the car park. I dropped down the incline & came out on a tarmac road just as a log truck thundered past in a maelstrom of wind, dust & twigs. The intense cacophony of this chance meeting kind of freaked me out after the subdued noises of the bush all night. As I reached the car park another vehicle was pulling up & out jumped Pete Watson. He saw me walking over & asked me, “What the story was?” I don’t know for sure but the tone sounded like he was wondering if I was pulling out of the race, as why else would I be off the trail & walking with my bag to the car park? After assuring him I was just looking for my other half somewhere in the general area he ran to his vehicle, grabbed a chair for me then sprinted into the dark to hunt down our car. After this was settled he hung around & helped me change my socks, lent me another headlamp & did those little things that are appreciated by tired runners like making sure I had everything I needed for the next leg so my frazzled brain didn’t need to work too hard. My wife, who had been up since 3 the previous morning, driving dirt roads in the mountains to volunteer at remote aid stations dealt with my spaced-out grumpiness with aplomb even though I had woken her from the luxurious experience that is a car snooze in the bush.

Fresh socks, beaming headlamp & a full belly, I was on my way again along Skagit Bluffs. I could see the road occasionally through the trees, glowing down below. The early morning chill was in my bones & I pulled the beanie down over my ears & tried to work harder to get the coals burning. Some hours later I came down out of the bush again into a car park. The dull glow of my second morning running the Fat Dog showed misty folds across a park & the Cascade aid station waiting on the other side. As I fronted up, the volunteers, who had been waiting most of the night for runners to come through, ladled out hot chicken broth & saw to my needs before I hustled off further down the valley to the Skagit River.

I had entered the bush again after Cascade & was plodding along beside a creek for some time before I realized I hadn’t seen a trail marker in a while & the overgrowth was becoming quite thick. Moving ahead a little more I became convinced I was on the wrong route. There is nothing worse than moving backwards in an ultra unless you keep going stubbornly forward the wrong way, so I about-faced & made my way back, looking furtively for trail markers. 15 minutes later I spotted a pink ribbon in the trees at an intersection I had gone straight past; again it was on my left but I knew my concentration was frazzled without sleep for the last 2 days (nobody sleeps the night before a race do they?). Feeling relieved to be back on the trail I moved through the trees & welcomed more light as the sun came up. It looked like another cloudless day ahead. Soon the trail spat me out beside a tarmac road and I followed the markers & crossed over. Making my way down the side of the road, I spotted a ribbon in the bush & made for it. The embankment off the road was so steep that I had to slide down it and at the bottom I pushed into the foliage looking for the next mark. It didn’t really look like a trail so I moved in another direction, then another; I was bush-bashing now, this couldn’t possibly be the trail? I headed back to the road & scrambled up the embankment and there was a marker at the roadside & I could see one in the bush and I looked further down the road but couldn’t see the next marker? Back into the bush I plunged and, getting frustrated, I thrashed about for some time before I came to my senses & went back to the road. I was totally pissed by now and ran down the road a small way but still couldn’t see a marker. I might have yelled WTF! but I’m not sure. I turned around & jogged back up the road. Now, I mentioned that there is nothing worse than going backwards in an ultra, but going backwards uphill is the pits! I looked up & saw another runner coming out of the bush & crossing the road. He jogged towards me & must have been wondering what the heck was going on with me so I explained that I couldn’t find the next marker & had been off in the bush looking for it & down the road a bit messing around for the last 20-30 minutes & still came up with nothing. Lucky for me he had done the race before & directed me down the road about 3 miles to the entrance for Sumallo Grove & the next aid station. Once again relieved, I made off on a downhill trot & soon spotted a pink ribbon leading me on. I ran on the gravel beside the road as the tarmac felt brutally hard but it was nice to be able to run without checking every footstep for a hole or root to trip over. The entire run down to the Skagit River was a gentle downhill & as happens at times in ultras, I found a second wind (or this may have been the third or fourth?). I started to quicken the pace and lift my frame up into some sort of running form, push my shoulders back & lift my chin. It felt good; I was sore, no doubt, but empowered by the morning sun, the grandeur of the location & the fact that I was still going some 27 hours after the start…

Leaving the tarmac onto a gravel road I could hear the Skagit River flowing hard from behind huge forest trees. The soft morning light filtered through them in beams as through venetian blinds, giving a strobe

effect. The smell of vegetation on the cool air came with every breath & chattering birds had begun their day far up in the branches. The crunch of gravel under my footsteps sounded intrusive but I couldn’t stop as I was on a mission to finish, & today would be an extreme test of my own physical & mental capabilities & how I could coax them into doing what I wanted of them, even if against their will. The next aid station stood at the 81 mile mark; that left only 39 miles to cover but those last miles were humdingers, for looming out ahead somewhere in my future was the mighty Skyline, a steep 5000’ accent after the 100 mile mark. On reaching the top there was still a hellish traverse of the high plateau before being granted the 2500’ descent to Lightning Lake…but more on that later. I needed to make the Skyline aid station at the base of the climb by the cut-off time of 12:15 or risk being dropped because of concerns about being up there somewhere in the night & not feasibly making the race finish time of 10 PM Sunday night. I didn’t have much leeway so I needed to boogie to make the 20 miles to that aid station & I didn’t know how technical the terrain was going to be.

I pulled into Sumallo aid station feeling perky & downed some quick calories while ditching all my night gear & putting on sunscreen & hat ready for a hot day. I didn’t stick around & yelled thanks to the volunteers as I put my nose to the grindstone. The trail led to the side of the Skagit River, over a wooden bridge & onto well-groomed & maintained day hike trails. They were perfect at this time to eat up some miles & I was still feeling strong & keeping what felt like a decent pace for a flogged-out old Fat Dog. The temps were comfortable under the trees but I knew it was going to heat up again. The day before had been around 104 F(36 C) & today was to be similar, and unfortunately for my timing, the hottest part of the day would be when I was climbing Skyline & the trail led up the Western face that would have been baking under the afternoon sun for hours by then. All of the hours ahead would be used for not just making it on time to be allowed to continue, but in psyching myself up for the grind-fest to come.

For a lot of miles the trail ran down the side of the Skagit River, the wide waters rumbling over huge boulders & fallen timbers. Foam frothed around these obstacles & floated downstream before settling back into a deep cobalt blue. As could be expected, the manicured trail didn’t last forever & soon it was climbing over rocks & fallen trees, across creeks & leading up into the scrub then back down to the river again. I heard a noise & looked up to see a runner just ahead; soon I was behind him & had a good excuse to slow down for a break & a chat. We power-hiked for some time & traded each other’s time & mileage calculations on making it to Skyline before the cut-off. Both of our theories indicated that we would make it but it would be a tight schedule so we picked up the pace as much as we could & went over the numbers again & again in the back of our minds, occasionally making comment on something or other to pass the time. The next aid was only a water drop almost 10 miles from the previous station so we wanted to get to that to narrow down our figures for timing. When we expected to see it there was nothing there. Doubt started to creep in & we both got quiet; were we going too slowly, did we miss it; will we make it in time? Ultra runners know that a race has a few ups & downs in temperament & moods; the general consensus is that if you feel down, hang in there for a while & it will get better, don’t just quit because you’re depressed. So on we went, looking & hoping. After scrambling down a very steep, rocky section we came to a glade & could see the trail for a long way ahead in a straight line leading through the trees. Now is the time I should bring up about seeing things; apparitions,

hallucinations, mirages, whatever you want to call them, the eyes can be tricked & this particular day I would see more “things” than I have ever before. Naturally, when fatigued, sleep deprived & having the thousand-yard-stare going on you could expect to be fooled by your fizzed brain activity. Add the multi-dimensional geometry & colours of the bush & it makes for a pretty wild cocktail. I have heard that the vapors of vegetation can assist in the vision of colours & shapes. There are a bunch of mountains out the back of Sydney, Australia called the Blue Mountains which look, well, all blue ‘cause of all the eucalyptus vapor rising off the thick bush. That’s probably what all the Koalas get stoned on as they munch down leaves between naps in the branches? I don’t see pink elephants or ghouls flying past but I would look down a straight trail & see things like a perfectly groomed car park at the end of the track, with cut log barriers, cars, ranger’s huts & kids running past. This was a common theme, but on arrival at said spot there would be just more trail? Signs hanging from trees were also many. A slot machine beside the track or one of those red London buses up ahead turned out to be a fallen tree or just a bunch of leaves. What got me was how vivid in detail & colour they were. At times I would look away from the spot then look back & see exactly the same thing even though I knew it was a false vision. I found it satisfying to tell myself “you are seeing an apparition” while studying the detail & being fully aware that it was not real.

I could see something blue up ahead, or was that just leaves? A few minutes later I could still see something blue but didn’t want to be fooled, and then we were staring down at a blue tarp covering a bunch of large water jugs. The water drop & it was real! You could hear the gears whirring in our brains doing more calculations on time & distance to Skyline. My friend went on without re-filling but I stopped to top up & eat & was duly eaten by the swarm of mosquitoes that now appeared for their own refill. These annoying bastards would continue to drive me loopy until I reached higher elevations many hours later. They were thick & invaded any available orifice in a constant whining drone akin to the best Chinese water torture. Stopping was an invitation to be sucked dry, batting them away while running was an excellent way to bash yourself in the face with a hand-held water bottle. They didn’t shy away from being called any derogative term, even if screamed. I turned & fled…

Whether from the mozzies chasing me or the calories I had just taken in, I kicked up the pace & could see my friend just ahead jogging through a beautiful glade of tall timbers. By the time I had chased him down I was feeling strong again & didn’t want to slow down until my body made me. As I moved past him we both made a mumble about “See you at Skyline” & then drifted back to our own thoughts & efforts. The trail was easy going & fairly straight for quite a few miles. The trees were gigantic with a long strip of blue sky between them that I followed to the horizon, grass whipping my shins as I bounded past & sweat dropping off my nose. It was one of those run-reveries where you zone out, the brain is blank & you don’t feel anything whether good, bad or otherwise then all of a sudden you’re at the next aid station. I looked up & saw a plastic inflatable palm tree go past, “that was real” I concluded as my elbow brushed it, proud of not being fooled. Before I had time to ascertain what the hell it was doing there I ran into a real car park with real people that wanted to know what I wanted or needed. Hello Shawatum aid station. I moved quickly through my refilling & stock-up as I didn’t want to lose this energy burst I still had. Skyline was the next aid station but still 9 miles away. My time was good for making the cut-off & I wanted to keep it that way as who knows what was up ahead? I thanked the

hosts & made an exit, only just now noticing a few other inflatables that populated the area. “That’s pretty cool!” I remarked out loud as I disappeared into the scrub. Volunteers & staff help make a race like this memorable & every stop had been humbling. When in a depleted state, sometimes you feel you may burst into tears when an aid station volunteer shows an act of kindness & caring to a total stranger who is involved in their own selfish masochism. When I ran my first ultra, the 100km Palm100 in South Florida, I came to the last aid station a couple miles from the end & a wonderful lady washed down my hands & arms using her own hands to wipe off the road grime, gel & drool then wiped my face clean like a mother does to a baby, all the time purring how I had done a good job but needed to look good for the finish. The other lady filled my bottle & cared for every other need before they shooed me off with calls of good luck. I felt like crying…

It was coming down to the wire & the last station had been at the 92 mile mark. There were a few unknowns out there itching my curiosity; I’d never run a race over 100 miles before, I’d never run this extreme of elevation changes before or this length of time in the field. I was still going, which thrilled & surprised me, but I so wanted to get to Skyline & start climbing just to see if I could do it. It was going to hurt & I would suffer but I needed to know the answer, it was eating me up. I felt that I had done the job on the psyche up over the last hours as I was chomping at the bit to get there & start feeling the pain. As strange as that sounds, that’s what I wanted because I knew there was no way around the situation. To get to the finish I had to deal with whatever there was between me & the clock at the end…

Making progress is infuriating when your pace slows. The trail had turned into technical root-riddled, rock-strewn switchbacks. The mosquitoes were relentless in their blood-fest & the breezeless sauna under the canopy was oppressive. Just when I needed to make good time I was reduced to a crawl. All my gear hung from me in sweat-drenched, dirt-encrusted filth. The stench was getting ripe & I just had to turn off from all the discomforts & effort, telling myself, “this is what you wanted to do, you wanted to be here, and you said you could handle it, suck it up whiny baby”…

I swear that was the longest leg of the entire event, racing the clock to Skyline, digging more coal when I didn’t think there was any more left. The afternoon sun was blazing down & the distance didn’t get any shorter but it sure felt longer. I literally stumbled down a steep, gravel switchback, sliding & kicking up dust. Half a dozen backpackers hauled up the grade. With only room for one on the trail they fell to the high side as I barreled past apologizing for not being able to stop, (which wasn’t far from the truth). They wished me luck, as they had heard about the race going on & we parted ways in a cloud of mosquitoes & dirt. At the bottom I jumped a creek & looked further down the trail to nothing but bush. I felt anger welling up, it seemed like I wasn’t getting anywhere, surely it’s been 9 miles already? My wrist GPS said otherwise but what did it know? My water was getting low & was becoming warm. My teeth were coarse from dirt & my parched mouth tasted like a half-dried mud hole. I swallowed another mosquito & forged on, there was nothing else but to go forward.

Another apparition? It looked like a square-topped Mayan pyramid looming out of the scrub. I ran up to it & it was still there. It was a tented mosquito enclosure…

”You made it to Skyline!” said the mysterious Mayan King or whoever behind the mesh. The royal zipper came up & I was ushered to the inner sanctum. A coil of smoke rose from a mosquito coil in the center & the 2 volunteers & my wife hustled to prepare me for the journey ahead, which was 5000’ above us. The beast waited for me out there & I re-checked all my gear with a nervous, hyperactive focus. I sucked down liquid calories from Ensure & choc soy milks, stocked more calories in my pack & filled hydration to the brim. I loaded a headlamp & torch. Even though I had ambitious plans to be at the finish before night fell I certainly did not want to get caught out on high ground & try to descend in the dark. It was extra weight to haul but a preferred insurance. All the time the 2 volunteers asked me casual questions about the run & how I was feeling & dealing with it all. I didn’t realize it until later, but I think these 2 experienced ultra-runners were sizing me up to see if my faculties were ok to continue on & tackle Skyline after running 101 miles. Nobody wanted a burnt-out runner somewhere on the mountain unable to go on. I buckled up & looked around, all was quiet now. “You ready?” I heard, but was already nodding. The zipper came up & I squinted in the sunlight. The Fat Dog was out of the kennel & the Mayan temple closed behind me…

I worked up to a jog, trying to loosen tight muscles from even a short stop at the aid station. I was amped up, talking to myself, running through checklists & time calculations, re-assuring myself, doubting myself, again reassuring myself. Before I had a chance to doubt myself again I looked up as the trail snaked skyward. This is it: Skyline. There would be no down for quite some time…

I struggled upwards in the muggy heat with labouring breathes & burning legs, there was no respite; it was up & more up. I started to break it down into manageable chunks, “When I get to that big tree up there I can have a sip of water”, “Do 100 more steps then break for a few seconds & let the lactic acid recede.” The big picture was way too big; my shriveled brain could only take in bits at a time. I started on a breathing routine which coincided with my footfalls & proved to be so successful that I continued it on every climb until the end. I would breathe hard in through the nose during 2 steps then exhale loudly during 4 steps. If my pace quickened or slowed I would adjust the breathing to match. The sound of the breathing & footfalls was very percussive & sounded a bit like Darth Vader laying down a funky Rap beat. It helped to take my mind off the pain of the climb & the nose breathing was very good at keeping the mouth moist. Climbing Skyline at this time in the race is most certainly a physical task but the driver of this bus is your mental resources. You find the biggest shovel you can & start digging into deep & dark recesses. If you are a tenacious forager you will find all sorts of bounty behind cobwebs & unopened doors. You put it all to the flame & drive on. Is it a game to see what your flesh & blood can do? Is it necessary? Is there a point to prove? I don’t know, I’m too busy going forward…forever forward…

Large trees afforded shade for the first part of the climb, their roots clenching the side of the mountain in defiance of the steep grade. As the trail led higher they became smaller & sparser, allowing the sun to batter me relentlessly. My forearms were red with sunburn; rivulets of sweat had coursed over them leaving trails in the dirt that caked my skin. They looked like a map of back-roads through a desert. I broke through the tree-line & chanced a look up. I’m not sure if I really wanted to know how far there was to go; the answer might be too depressing. The top of the mountain was beautiful swathed in the afternoon light & was covered with what appeared to be rolling green pastures sprinkled with

wildflowers. It looked as if a tenacious greens-keeper had been working overtime up there. It was a long way away & I wasn’t sure if the trail led over the very peak or whether there was a lower saddle to cross to the other side? I didn’t dwell on the thought too long as it wasn’t going to change anything, and I had to go where the trail led me. I pushed on & came to a long gravel & scree ascent. It was so steep that I could feel the heat radiating off the stones as my face was so close to the ground. A planted foot slid backwards before the next foot could help brake reverse motion; it was like trying to climb a sand dune. I switched off my faculties & got on with it, one step, slide. Two steps, slide… Again I was fortunate to just totally zone out & get through it. The next moment the trail became more stable & easier to climb and my head was still pointed at the ground watching my shadow. Sweat rained dark spots into the dust so it looked like my shadow was sweating too. A shoe suddenly came into my view & I looked up in surprise to see a runner standing on the trail. I had no idea he was there until I literally walked over him. He had trekking poles which I looked at enviously. Apparently they make for more efficient climbing as they distribute the load on the body better. I wondered how much better & why I didn’t have any? We greeted each other in that slurring sort of way that is normal speech when well into an ultra & both made comments along the lines of: “S*%#, this is some climb alright!” It was a short meet & greet. I was straight up that I needed to keep moving or it would be way too hard to get going again. Later I wondered if a tiny speck of competitiveness didn’t dribble out of my roasted grey matter to tell me, “Hey, you just gained a position while on the Skyline climb”. Whatever it was I suddenly found it necessary to find those last skerricks of coal to put in the furnace so I didn’t get passed before the finish. I put my head down, went back to DJ Darth’s sound beat & motored on. The trail was pretty well unshaded now & I stole glances at the vista lying off my right side thinking how nice it would be to really stop for some time and appreciate it but I needed to get ducks-into-rows, dot i’s & cross t’s. There was a job that needed finishing.

The top still looked a long way above & the trail started to hug the side of the mountain as the grade receded. Without warning I popped over a saddle & the trail went down through shady scrub. “Wow!” I thought foolishly, “Could this be the final descent?” I rose to the occasion & started a poor jog, the downhill steps battering my quads now & making me wince & groan with each thud. As it wound down I picked up some noise emanating from somewhere ahead. I was concentrating on not tripping so put it to the back of my mind until it got louder & I realized it was music...a Tragically Hip song was coursing up the valley. I came around a corner of the trail & into a clearing and there was a tent & a small wooden shelter planted in the middle. A fallen log held water containers & a precariously perched boom box. The two volunteers saw me as I stared numbly at the music & grabbed my bottle & pack to refill. There we were, somewhere near the top of Skyline & race volunteers had muled in these big water containers & camped out up here to replenish us as we passed through in a fleeting haze of sweat & mumbles.

I felt anxious to get going & finished off refueling just as the runner I had passed on the ascent came into the station. He was going at a good clip coming down the last hill & my confidence went down a gear. “This guy is going to dust me up on the final leg,” I thought, damn it! I turned & went for the trail. “Thanks volunteers” I spurted out, “You are….well, epic! The Tragically Hip played on…

The trail led up & across, the grade not so difficult but the vegetation was in full summer bloom so parts of the trail were totally covered by it so you couldn’t see what you were putting your foot on;

sometimes you went down a hole or kicked a root for a field goal. I crashed through it like an escaped convict. Pushing forward with no form, I didn’t even chance a glance behind to see if the other runner was on my heels. That’s all I could think of, the specter of heavy footfalls behind me. It helped drive me on with adrenaline & paranoia. Eventually I came to a crest; panting & slumped over I turned to look back down the trail…nothing! In a couple of breaths I was gone again. The route now paralleled the side of a spine leading to the East and I could see it winding across open faces of terrain. I hustled, tripping on my feet, dropping my water bottle & mumbling things that I didn’t even know what I was saying. Sections became very sketchy with loose gravel making me slide down on the right. My arms flailed to keep balance & my co-ordination at this stage of the game probably made me look like a baby giraffe having its first walk. The grade was quite steep & I kept glancing furtively down when I should have been focusing on ahead. If you tumbled off the side you were in for a long, bone jarring ride to the valley. I didn’t like these sections, just didn’t feel totally in control of my body & balance, but I had to bite my lip & put the worry elsewhere. The trail led across these exposed scree fields then ducked behind bushes where it felt safer, then out into the sunlight again slipping & sliding for the next haven of scrub. My ankles ached from the uneven ground & felt like they were rubberized & not giving me much support. Being on my feet for the last 110 miles or so probably had something to do with it as well. Considering what it had been through my body seemed to be standing up to it fairly well. I was sore, oh yes I was sore, but all those joints, tendons, bones & ligaments were still moving in some kind of harmony to carry me over the landscape like a creaking jalopy. There was some chafing going on in the nether-regions which required some fairly astute mind power to push to the back of the mind. I was covered in sweat, dirt, snot, scratches & energy gel & my hair felt like it could wire brush rust off a ship but apart from that I felt fairly normal though I was having some bi-polar-like mood swings: happy, sad, angry, depressed, happy… The finish line was somewhere over the other side of this mountain & it was eating me up trying to get there in this long final & cruel stage.

I came onto a rock-strewn plateau & sighed some relief at not being so exposed as on the last sections. It was fairly easy going for all of a few minutes until the trail started to climb & get steeper. I started to wonder if I was on the right route? Why is it going up & why does it have to be so steep? I passed a pink marker & got my answer. I willed those legs to take me up again & off we lumbered, lactic acid burning like fresh larva & DJ Darth ramping up the beat & sounding like a vintage vacuum cleaner. At the top of the climb was another rocky trail, winding across an open rib of the mountain. The track started to roll off the flat & then dropped down & down. Hanging onto shrubs or rocks to help lower myself down some of the larger steps of stone I found myself actually sitting for brief moments which was quite a novelty though I dared not to hang around & enjoy it as I might not have been able to get up. At the bottom of this twisted descent I looked up & there was the trail going back up through boulders & scrub. I paused & shook my head before shuffling up to the task. It was brutal now, not just the physical effort to pull myself up these grades but mentally I knew the final descent to the finish was along this spine somewhere but the mountain just seemed to keep rubbing my nose in the fact that it wasn’t quite over yet.

After the race I looked closely at the elevation profile again, zooming in to the Skyline Ridge. I had heard people talking about the “false starts” or “false climbs” but it went over my head what it meant. Now I

could see these nefarious scribbles of line that haunted me near the end; peaks & troughs of torment. Climb then descend, only to have to climb again…& then descend, but wait….you need to climb again. It went on, not forever, but shit it felt like it. I don’t recall how many major up & downs there were up there but if I said about ten then I think that would be close. Each one dragged me a little further into anger or depression…or maybe both? I felt totally depleted in mind & body, sucked tinder dry like a brown leaf. I heard myself mumbling questions, mostly incoherently but I still expected answers. Another descent spat me out in a dusty basin & I knew where the trail was going without looking up. It led like a jagged fissure up through the rocks, taunting me, seeing if I had anything left. I let out a “WTF!!!” that probably scared away any small, furry woodland creatures that may have been in earshot. I stomped over to the base of the climb, snorted like a rabid dog & kicked my foot into the climb.

As I came over the crest of the latest climb I felt pretty out of it, just numb & moving along like a sloth. I heard some sort of hoot in the distance & wondered what sort of high alpine bird that was. Maybe it was a Pterodactyl & I had reached the Lost World, I certainly felt like a Neanderthal the way I was dragging my knuckles through the dirt. The trail didn’t go down this time but went up again. “Like…Whatever!” I may or may have not said, to no one in particular. I grabbed rocks to haul myself up, the skin on the fingertips already raw from abrading them on countless rocks already. Feet searching for a toe-hold on anything to complete the maneuver, move up, then do it all again. Another hoot recoiled across the mountain, another foot of elevation climbed. I wasn’t angry now, I was in the acceptance phase after coming full circle; this is what I had to do to get to the end, hell, even if I wanted to quit I would still have to do the same thing to get out of there. I pawed at the dirt with my hands & kicked my toes in, lifting myself bodily up the grade one step at a time, it was coming together, I was going up & I wasn’t stopping, just a constant motion, almost robotic. “You’re still climbing strong, Aussie. That’s a good sign”… I knew I didn’t say that, but where then did it come from? Raising my eyes to the heights above me there stood the indomitable Peter Watson, his figure outlined against the sky, his feet planted confidently on the jagged terrain. With hands perched on hips he looked down on me like an approving trainer. The hooting, now it made sense...”How did this bloke get here?” I pondered. (I had visions of him rappelling out of a helicopter). As I dragged myself up next to him the first thing I noticed was how clean he looked compared to me. It was like a Wall Street Broker standing next to a homeless guy. He was all business, he had my CamelBak in his hand but I don’t remember taking it off. There was a large container of water on the trail, about 20 litres. Somehow he managed to squat on the edge of the steep grade, haul the water container onto his knee, open the valve at the bottom, and fill my pack, which was in his other hand, close the valve, set down the container & close off my pack before I had even licked the dirt off my lips. I made a quiet grunt at this impressive display. “Hey, you want an ice cold ginger ale?” he piped up, thrusting an ice cold ginger ale into my now outstrecthed paw. I made a louder grunt as this was even more impressive. “Where did this stuff come from? I figured was a coherent question & would make me appear coherent. “I carried it up here from Lightening Lake”. His backpack lay beside the trail with other ice cold beverages entombed inside. If this had been the first time I had come across this guy I would have been dumb-founded but in the last 2 days he had popped up in the most obscure locations like a groundhog on a travelling sabbatical. It now seemed de riguer behavior & elicited no complaints from my end as that cold fluid ran down the back of my dust-caked throat. Nothing quite like an aid station in the boonies I reminded myself. Later I tried to remember if I asked him or whether

he told me how far it was to that final descent that taunted me. As I walked off looking for it I don’t recall if I got an answer or I just forgot about it as being an abstract piece of information that didn’t mean anything because it will be where it will be, no closer & no farther. I’m going all the way to the end of this race I told myself so I will come across it in due course. I wandered across that mountain now feeling pretty content with myself as the shadows grew longer & the light began to wane…

I had a vista on three sides of me: deep valleys overlooked by steadfast mountains all the way to the sky. I surveyed the world laid out before me like I was standing on the Pantheon. I could feel my breathing & not much else. The trail led down steeply in front of me in a jumble of boulders & roots. There didn’t look like there was any way it could go up again, the spine of the mountain was receding into a valley. I took one last look then lowered my bones off the first big rock then reached for the next one & the next one. I was going down & the end was down…

As I got into a rhythm of down-climbing I tried to push all those aches to the back of my conscience. Going down I find very hard on the body, the thumping & jarring as your legs get pushed up into your torso. When you commit to going off a step gravity takes the initiative & there’s no way to stop the thump at the end. My quads were very sore as well as ankles & knees from just moving for the last 2 days. However, if this was the final descent I didn’t want to slow up now. I wanted to finish this journey in some kind of form so I pretended that nothing hurt & pretended that I was moving normally. I also still had a ghost in the back of my mind, the runner that was somewhere behind me. I wondered & fretted that all of a sudden he would clomp on by me on the downhill run for the finish. It was a good enough initiative to get on with it & push all the way to the end. An aid station volunteer had told me that once you got off the heights of Skyline there was a very nicely groomed trail at a shallow angle that you could run down quite comfortably. As I looked down at the rock pile below me I wondered if he meant another mountain? Hand over hand, foot over foot, still going down. To my utter surprise, as I reached the bottom of this jumble of stone the trail lead off in another direction, still going down but in much better condition. My step quickened & I felt some imaginary load being released. The mood lightened & I think my chin came up a bit? I headed off down this “path” noting that the trees were getting taller & more prominent as elevation dropped. I didn’t need to look at every step in front of me as the trail wasn’t so littered in rocks & roots. Taking in some calories I felt stronger, the sun was very low but I hoped I could still get down & to the finish before darkness. Rounding a switchback I was greeted with what appeared to be a highway compared to what I had been navigating. The trail was getting wider & better groomed, the angle, though still fairly steep looked runnable so I mustered up the horses & took a few tentative steps. Those first ones to get going late in an ultra take a lot of willpower. Everything is tight & seized up, you need to work through those first aches & pains until things start to flex. Anyone that happened upon me then would have thought Frankenstein was coming down the trail with that stiff leg, grimaced face form but after a few minutes I felt I had developed a sufficient style to pass as a runner. Each step down jarred up through my body but again I just relegated the feeling to a backroom of the brain & thought about happier things, like finishing...

The trail got better & better, just as the guy had said. The angle eased off, the trail looked wide enough to ride a quad bike up & was in very good condition. It looked like it had been groomed for day hikers. I now had a good downhill rhythm up & had been running for what felt like a couple miles. I had chanced

a few glances back to see if there was anyone behind me but all was empty, this gave me even greater confidence & I picked up the pace a little more. I knew I was on the home leg, this had to be it. The trail brought me to what appeared to be a jeep track. This could only be better news of the impending end. The trees were very tall & the shade was getting dark underneath the leaves as the sun kept receding, it was like I was racing the sun to see who could cross their respective line the first. I tried to work out how long I had been at it since the start but had trouble concentrating on the calculation so I kept thumping down the trail thinking of all those things you tell yourself you’re going to do when you get to the end & all those frosty cold drinks you will have & yummy foods to fill your depleted void of a stomach. Strange that no matter how wasted you are, when you near the end of a race you can always rustle up a little energy from somewhere that an hour ago would have seemed like a distinct impossibility.

As I passed a break in some trees a bright reflection lasered through the branches. Glancing off to the side I could see a space in the distance. I couldn’t work out what it was, maybe a field. With the fading light it was hard to pick up detail, I squinted ahead to pick up trail markers & kept on. I could see the trail ahead coming to an end or a corner & jogged down looking all around for markers. As I reached the spot I turned left, following the route. As the trees thinned I tried to comprehend what I was seeing. Its sparkle reflected light back at me, it was water! A lake! I heard race director Heather MacDonald’s final words at the pre-race briefing which now seemed eons ago: “When you get to the final corner & see the lake, you know then that you are a Fat Dog”…

I ran to the edge, pink trail ribbons still guiding me on as I paralleled the silver sheen of water. I think I was smiling but I didn’t stop to check my reflection. Ahead rose a small bridge. I could see a pink ribbon hanging limply from the handrail & made up the bank for it. I could see the lake continuing on past the bridge as my foot struck the first wooden plank with a resounding clomp. A voice came up to me from a grassy patch below; “Hey Fat Dog, you have about a kilometer or so to go. Congrats, Man!” I stared briefly at the stranger who bore this news & waved. The clomping echoed around me & I could still hear it when I jumped off the end step, turning a hard left onto the trail that ran just above the lake-side. The water was smooth & looked like mercury. Reflected light would zap the trail ahead of me as it found a gap in the trees. Big timbers overhung the lake & the trail rolled up & down in an easy motion like a swell at sea. My inner feelings were a cocktail of happiness & relief. Soon I could stop. I tried to run harder but it hurt, my body was telling me to wake up to myself, it was in self-preservation mode. White noise invaded my senses again, a strange staccato rattle. I still had to get there; it wasn’t over until it’s over. Passing a gap in the trees, the noise drew my vision over the lake to the far shore. There were some large tents over there, people milling about. They disappeared behind the trees again, the rattle kept bouncing between my ears, the sound didn’t fit the scene of quiet lake & serene sunset. Coming out of the trees it drew my attention again & glancing over I slowed & looked closer. The people were still there, they are all looking over this way, what are they looking at? A whistle rang out piercing the solitude, a hoot, and then some sort of wooo! The white noise, the rattle, it was clapping, all these people were clapping & they were looking at me. They were bringing one of their Fat Dogs home & my tail began to wag…

Rounding the end of Lightening Lake I reached a tarmac path. Welcome back to the world. The clapping didn’t stop & I used it as a beat for my footsteps until I went faster & faster. It felt like I was sprinting but I’m sure I just looked like some broken down caveman hobbling into the future. The people crowded the path, they were happy that one of their pups was back. They ushered me in & showed me the invisible line that was the finish & even the big red digital clock smiled down at me as I crossed the end zone. “39 hours 23 minutes” he said & I knew he wasn’t lying. I stopped. It seemed silent? I could hear all the “well dones” & “Congratulations” but they seemed on the other side of a bubble. I smiled as I do at the end of an event. I could stop for as long as I wanted now……This Fat Dog was home.

With Race Director Heather MacDonald at the finish. That’s a 120 mile smile….