Wrap Up

Finished (Photo: Greg N)

So that was that.
A year of planning.
A thousand miles of training.
My first visit to The Rockies.

The trip was a lot of fun, and I'm lucky to have the kind of friends who were keen to run this. Not finishing as a trio sucked, especially to get so close and then get separated in the middle.

Being under time pressure for most of the race was particularly draining. This is the hardest event I've done physically and mentally.  Running together made it easier.  Doing the whole thing truly solo is another level. Even with the best crew in the world I'm not sure how anyone runs this in under 13 hours.

The event was excellent - in particular the community feel (like everyone in Grande Cache was supporting and contributing to race weekend), a well marked challenging course, and great volunteers - upbeat and high energy around the clock and in all weathers. The trail conditions were hit and miss, but I'm not sure if that's down to the record-breaking rainfall, the true wilderness factor, or maybe we just take the NCC efforts for granted in the Ottawa/Gatineau area.

Each of the stages had something memorable (and aspects you'd rather forget).  For me Leg 2 was the hardest technically - with the gradient and the overall elevation.  I think Legs 4 and 5 are shorter than advertised, judging by the Strava results of people who were able to record the whole thing - total distance seemed to be closer to 119 km. This was a factor in us suddenly going from edge of the cut-offs to finishing with over half an hour to spare - so I'm not complaining!

A few people asked how you train in Ottawa to prepare for the mountains... With hindsight I would have made more effort to do some mountain training weekends, either in Quebec or just over the border. Overall I felt well prepared from following a steady training plan and getting in as many trail miles as I could, including practising running all night. The 48 hours after the race were pretty sore, especially the long drive and flight back to Ottawa. A sports massage definitely helped, and within a few days I was thinking of future races.

Ultimately I went to the Canadian Death Race to see where my physical and mental limits were and to find out if I was capable of finishing it. Maybe I'll go back one year and see what a difference it makes knowing the course (and knowing it's possible), but there are plenty of other races to experience too, including plenty I haven't heard of yet.

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. T.S. Eliot

Leg 5: The River Crossing (18km)

Racers were told to check in with a volunteer before starting Leg 5.

“Reports of a cougar on the trail between here and the river, buddy-up for this section, stick together, don’t run it alone”.

Not exactly what you want to hear as you set out into the darkness on unknown trails - but it least I had a buddy with me! We got going around 3:30am, still not sure if we could make either time cut, for the last boat (6:30), or the finish (8am).

Leg 5 turned out to be a lot more technical and hilly than I had realised. The single track was overgrown with ankle to knee height bush on both sides. Perfect for a stalking cougar. 

©2019 Government of Alberta 'BearSmart Guide'

It felt claustrophobic after the heights of Mt Hamel and the wide logging roads of Leg 4. Fresh batteries in my headlamp didn’t help much, with lots of trees on both sides. I was extra conscious of the quiet and kept checking over my shoulder expecting to see a pair of eyes reflected behind me.

Tony was setting the pace and we felt like we were making good progress, although with dead watches it was hard to tell how close our perceived effort was to reality. Somewhere in the woods I lost my footing and twisted my knee in a fall, probably a mix of fatigue, terrain, and the half-turns to check for wildlife!

It took us an hour and a half to get to Hell’s Gate (just before the boat).  I was so focussed on getting across the river on time that I'd forgotten about the grim reaper. Seeing 'Charon' stood silently blocking the trail, palm outstretched, stopped me in my tracks. After a panicked rummage for my coin I was in the boat and just about able to see the canyon walls in the first dawn light as we crossed.

Now we were on the home straight, although we weren't quite sure how far we had left to go. Officially Leg 5 is 22km. Each time we asked a volunteer or runner how far we were from the finish we got a different answer. Straight off the boat we were into another gruelling uphill (the finish is about 1000ft above the river) but we were determined to give it everything as the chances of finishing in under 24 hours were dwindling.  When the trail flattened out we were doing a solid shuffle and were overtaking a number of other runners.  Everyone was on their last energy reserves by now.

Suddenly I had a nasty blister pop and I couldn't put my weight on my foot. I was forced to sit on the trail and patch it up as the mosquitoes feasted, and all the runners we had passed in the last few km's came by. Luckily the rough strapping was ok to run on and we were able to get back to our solid shuffle pace (I'm not sure if it qualified as running at this point).

When we thought we must still have 6 or 8 km to go, someone told us we were only 4 km from the end - which meant we might finish half an hour before the deadline instead of half an hour after. The trail turned into tracks and you could tell we were getting close to town, we didn't slow down.  Even as we arrived back on the side streets we could hardly believe it. Then there were residents and spectators cheering; there was the finish; there was Greg; we had done it: 23 hours and 21 minutes (just 10 and a half hours behind the winner).

© Raven Eye Photography

Death Racer (Photo: Greg N)

 

Leg 4: Hamel Assault (34km)

I only knew a couple of things about Leg 4:

• It has the longest climb + highest peak of the race; and 
• We would be doing a lot of this stage in the dark.

It felt pretty awesome to be running together again. Almost enough to dull the over-exertion from Leg 3. We set out from the transition area still sorting our kit and going over what had happened since the end of Leg 2. I just about had time to finish an energy drink before the climbing started, and after the relatively solid logging trails and old mine road we found ourselves back in the mud. Thick in places, the trail felt greasy. Step and slip, step and slip, left leg, right leg, left, right. 

Mt Hamel is 6986 ft high (2129m), and around 3836 ft/ 1123m above the transition area. The climb is 10 km long. There was nothing much to do but set shoulders and keep stepping.  The path was narrow and steep, and about 8 of us were in single file for the first couple of k's - everyone was relatively quiet as we saved our lungs for the mountain. As we got higher up, the trail started to dry out, and we also started to get some beautiful views, especially with the sun going down.


Sunset from Mt Hamel

I don't mind the uphill. We weren't going fast but we were getting it done. After the pressure of the previous cut off this felt a lot more relaxed. A pleasant hike in the Rockies... the mountains looked incredible. Just ignore the fact that you're still going up, it's starting to get dark, and you have a marathon left to do.

We were speculating with other runners about whether or not there was an aid station on the way up (we had heard a rumor that the 'Hamel Escape' was just an emergency pick up point this year) so it was a nice surprise to find a well stocked respite at around 6000 ft. We took the time here to dig out headlamps and I got my gloves and hat on, then we pushed up past the tree line. 

Into the night

The wind started to get a lot stronger once we were out of the trees, and I was grateful for my solid windproof jacket. We summited Mt Hamel at last light and the wind at the top was crazy. There is a short out and back to retrieve a 'prayer flag', and the whole way along I was having to walk leaning sideways into the wind, and the stronger gusts kept pushing my poles around.  I started to wonder how fast the wind would have to be to knock me off my feet... it felt pretty close.

I don't mind the ups, but I don't like the downs. My knees and quads were hurting more and more as we worked our way down off the top - but by now I was just keen to reach the trees and get out of the wind. The poles were invaluable here for saving my legs.


© Raven Eye Photography

Around halfway down we got to Ambler Loop which is a 4-5 km circuit on mainly logging roads (with some extra muddy bits for fun) and an amazing aid station. My watch died here around 90 km/ 18 hrs after the start (a little annoying after it lasted nearly 24 hrs for a previous event). In the middle of the night the circuit was eerily quiet, and in complete contrast to the aid station: bonfire, broth, noodles, hot chocolate, instant coffee - and the excellent volunteers.

From Ambler it was down the Beaver Dam Road, which we were told was 6km but felt like at least 16, especially without being able to see the distance ticking by on the watch. Luckily the gradient was gentle enough to be able to do a decent pace (which still felt endless) and we felt like we were doing ok for time.

With a km or two twisting along the roadside trails we were finally at the last transition area. Tired and sore but feeling like the biggest obstacles were behind us (other than the grim reaper and the Smoky River of course).

© Raven Eye Photography

Leg 3: Old Mine Road (19km)

What just happened?
As I ran through the side-streets and back out of Grande Cache I tried to process the last few minutes - physically I hadn't expected to run so hard just to finish Leg 2 (this turned out to be my fastest km of the whole race); emotionally it felt crappy leaving Greg when we had been so close; mentally I wasn't even sure that I had made it out on time, maybe I had just DNF'd...

While I still had phone signal I tried checking the live results to see my status. I was able to exchange a couple of texts with Greg and confirmed he'd been pulled for being 6 minutes over cut-off.  My time was listed as 09:02. Two minutes over time, but not flagged as DNF.  I wasn't sure what that meant, maybe the sprint had saved me, or maybe I'd get pulled from the course at the next checkpoint or transition area.

I realized that I didn't have a lot of time to think about it. We had been warned that the cut off at end of Leg 3 was the hardest one to make and I literally had no buffer left. I was in a daze as I left the town. Three of us had planned this race for over a year, now only two of us were left in, and I was running alone.


© Raven Eye Photography

The next volunteer I saw warned "bears in the area - stay alert", making me even more aware that I was by myself. Without the marathon runners, and at the back of the pack, the trail was much quieter. I made a conscious effort to noisily clear my throat and talk out loud. Catching up to a couple of runners, I overheard them talking about the grizzly and cub they had seen along this section last year - it turns out that Leg 3 passes the rubbish dump and local bears regularly hang around looking for scraps.  My talking got louder and I ran faster.

I guessed that Tony couldn't be too far ahead of me so I should try and catch him up, but the pace felt unsustainable. Every time I caught up with other runners we would exchange a few words about how tough the time cut was on this leg, and I would push on, knowing that this stage was going to be all or nothing.
Leg 3 is flatter but very rocky, so going fast was punishing my feet and knees. At this rate I wasn't sure I would have anything left for Leg 4, but I figured I would need to beat the cut off before I needed to worry about Mt Hamel. Run the stage you're in.

©2019 Government of Alberta 'BearSmart Guide'

I hadn't bothered to refill my hydration pack at the first transition area, and hadn't stopped at all in the second, so about halfway along the third stage my water ran out. I also had no solid food left - just some salted maple syrup, but I was craving something more substantial.  At this point I figured my race might be over at the next transition area. Unless I got there with a good 10-15 minutes to refuel and grab overnight kit then there was no way I could get through the night (if I even had the legs left to get up the mountain).

Eventually the course trail turned into track, and then road and crossed the river.  A last bit of technical trail before a couple of kms along the roadside (because the trail had been washed out by a landslide). I was done. I couldn't wait for it to end, but around each bend the course just kept going. Until all of a sudden there was the transition area, crowds of people and cheering and noise. I was running through the flags and choking up. Physically, emotionally, and mentally spent - but within the cut off - a whole 12 and a half minutes to spare!

I was a overwhelmed and a bit of a mess. A special area was set up for soloists running without a support crew. The volunteers were angels.  Like a formula 1 pit crew they got me to a chair, immediately gave me some electrolytes and fruit, took my hydration pack to refill, and brought my drop bag over.  And there in the chair in front of me was Tony: he'd arrived 5 mins earlier.

We were both pretty happy to be reunited, but we didn't have much time. "8 minutes to cut": the announcement spurred us to start sorting out our night-running kit. "4 minutes": I hurriedly closed my drop bag and shouldered my pack and, still just scraping ahead of the cut, we were on our way. Just 50-something kilometres to go, and a bit more than 12 hours left to do it.

Leg 2: Flood & Grande Mts (27km)

As we got underway on stage 2, I realized that I’d forgotten my Clif Bloks so would have to rely on aid station supplies for electrolytes. We had left the sunscreen behind because the sky was still overcast - so pretty quickly the sun came out and the temperature jumped; just in time to start climbing Mt Flood.  
 
The first half wasn’t particularly steep but it was continuous. This was definitely not the Gatineau hills. We weren’t going as quickly as we had hoped, and less than an hour into the stage, at around 25 km, our race plan was starting to look over-optimistic. Our pace estimates had forecast a finishing time of around 23h55 - just 5 mins before the end of the race - so it was a bit concerning to start losing our buffer with 100km to go. This would put pressure on for later stages.
 
It got steeper as we moved through the last of the tree line, and we were spread out as we got to the top, about 2000 ft above the start line. We regrouped and caught our breath before heading down the other side.


Top of Mt Flood

The dip between Flood and Grande mountains includes the Bum Slide down to, and the Slugfest up from Washy Creek. The Bum Slide is an almost vertical ‘trail’ that was near impossible to do without sliding or slipping. The photos don’t do the gradient justice. Lots of people trip and fall here but we got through it ok although slowly.

Steep

Washy Creek was a swampy mess, especially after all the runners had churned through it. As we crossed it started to rain a little, and then a lot, and then it turned to hail.
We put our jackets on and started up the Slugfest.  In dry summers I guess this bit is a muddy staircase leading away from the creek.  This year, in this weather, it was a thick oozing stream that threatened a faceplant with every step. 

As we got past the worst of the mud the rain got harder and it was nice to take a 5 min pause under shelter at the aid station halfway up Mt Grande.  The rain eased off as we got to the top, but it was windy and cold.  We celebrated the top of the mountain with a quick photo, but needed to keep moving to avoid getting cold and stiff. 

Top of Mt Grande

On the race elevation profile there is a little 'bump' on the way down Grande Mt. On the ground this is a significant down & up which I think is called the Powerline.  This was another muddy mess and it became increasingly difficult to stay upright and the priority was avoiding the sharp rocks and trail edges if you lost your balance. 
It was easier to lean downhill and go with the gravity, but that came with added risk of wiping out at speed. After this up & down we were roughly a third of the way through the course, and my knees and ankles were starting to feel a bit sore.

Powerline (Photo: Tony M)

From the top of this hill we could see Grande Cache and the end of the stage, roughly 5 km away, and almost all sharp downhill. The bad news was we had lost even more of our buffer and there was a chance we might not even make it out onto Leg 3.

We got separated on the last descent. Tony was out in front, and Greg was somewhere behind me; it  looked like it would be 'every man for himself' to finish. I kept looking ahead and over my shoulder trying to spot the others, and with maybe a mile to go I saw Greg a few hundred metres back.
He caught me up and we knew we had no time to spare so we pushed hard into town.

In the last km we realized it was going to come down to seconds and Greg wasn't sure he could make it, and with around 800m to go we were yelling at each other but he urged me to go and I had to take off. I sprinted across the line and barely heard them announce my name as I cut through the transition area and straight onto Leg 3*.


Grande Cache and the Smoky River

* Cut off times are based on start time for each stage - i.e. the time you leave the transition area, not when you complete the leg.

Leg 1: Downtown Jaunt (18km)

Ready to start

We had looked at the course overview but didn’t know the details, especially the early KMs to get out of town, so we tucked in near the back and went with the flow.

The first km runs through the town and the energy was great with lots of people out cheering and supporting.

Start line nerves melted away as we got going and set off on the adventure. We were quickly on the road out of town and able to admire the surrounding mountains. Not having my bearings, I tried to guess which three would be the main peaks of the course. Ignorance is bliss!

Start line crowds (Photo: Tony M)

The weather was cool and damp, the atmosphere was chatty and everyone seemed upbeat and relaxed. It helped that the rain had ended overnight with only some light showers forecast later. Then we turned onto the trail and got our first taste of the mud.

© Raven Eye Photography 

I wanted to keep my feet as dry as possible on the first stage, knowing it was going to be a long day and trying to avoid shoe/sock changes that would cost time at the transition area. Most people had the same idea, and being near the back we were able to see how other runners navigated the course. This was mainly single track without much room to pass, and lots of ankle to knee deep puddles that hid shoe-stealing mud.

Sticky mud (Photo: Tony M) 

We had hoped to finish the first leg in 2 hours, but it was closer to 2h30 by the time we left the transition area. We had stayed relatively dry and still had plenty of energy. The warm up was over.

Pre-Race

We arrived in Grande Cache on Friday after a 5 hour drive from Edmonton.

Temperatures were 10-15c lower in the mountains and we were treated to a heavy rain shower almost immediately.
 

After the heat and humidity of Ottawa and Edmonton, I started wondering if I had brought the right race kit. The racers brief confirmed that the course was as wet as it had ever been in 20 years of holding the event.

With the wet weather and cold temperatures expected overnight the biggest danger was likely hypothermia. Apart from the terrain and the weather we were warned about potential wildlife encounters - especially bears and cougars - the message was clear: this is wilderness running and things can go wrong.

Drop Bags

We had drop bags to stock spare kit and food.

Race planning included trying to predict where dry layers and other supplies might be needed; poles for the mountains, headlamp for overnight etc.

In the preceding weeks we had been debating shoe strategy: if and where to change into dry shoes and socks to reduce blisters and swelling.

1. Poles, PB&J sandwiches, electrolytes (sodium Clif Bloks), and sunscreen;
2. Fresh socks, clean buff, trail mix, PB&J;
3. Waterproof/ wind proof jacket, headlamp + spare batteries, hat, gloves, more PB&J, Redbull, Clif Bloks (sodium + caffeine), Endurance Tap (maple syrup gel);
4. Fresh t-shirt and long-sleeved top, spare shoes & socks, Redbull, and more PB&J!

The Race

The Canadian Death Race was established in Grande Cache (Alberta) in 2000.

 

The full ultra-marathon is around 120km, broken down into 5 stages of various lengths and difficulty, including 3 mountains over 6000ft (approx 2000m), and a river crossing in the final leg:

In Greek mythology, Charon is the ferryman of Hades who carries souls of the newly deceased across the river Styx that divides the world of the living from the world of the dead. A coin is used to pay Charon for passage. This coin must be carried at all times by soloists and the runner for each leg and given to the grim reaper at the river for access to the boat. Runners who lose their coin will not be permitted access to the boat resulting in a Did Not Finish (DNF).

 

Soloists have 24 hours to complete the 5 stages.

 

Team entries are also available with 2 to 5 runners sharing the stages.

 

For the 'near-death' marathon, runners start at the same time and run all of Leg 1 and most of Leg 2.

 

There are various checkpoints and aid stations along the course, stocked with water and sometimes other goodies - but the supplies were uncertain (they have run out of water in the past) and we had to assume to be self sufficient on each stage.

 

Between the 5 stages there were four full ‘Transition Areas’ stocked with refreshments, and where support teams (crew) could meet and assist their runners.

 

Official race photos: Raven Eye Photography https://www.raveneyephotography.com/2019cdr