Baked Alaska - An Iditasport Diary by Martin Like

“Cowards won’t show and the Weak will Die”

Having completed 150 miles across the searing Sahara Desert in the renowned Marathon des Sables in year 2000, I wanted to set my sights on the complete reverse. So within 4 weeks of my return, my entry was posted for the Iditasport 130 – 130 miles non-stop unsupported race across the frozen Alaskan wilderness in February, when the climatic conditions are at their worst. My participation was postponed for a year due to the arrival of Barnaby (my third child) on race day – so in February 2002 I travelled half way around the world to freeze my @~#* off in the ultimate and toughest Winter Ultra Marathon.

MORE...

WHAT IS THE IDITASPORT 130

The Iditasport 130 – is a human powered ultra marathon of 130 miles across the Alaskan wilderness in February with average temperatures below –25°C degrees and anticipated low temperatures as low as –40°C degrees. Competitors have right up until the start of the race to decide on their mode of transport – the choices being bike – ski – or run. My choice was running. Additionally – all competitors have to be self-sufficient and carry ALL their required kit – approx 35lbs.

Leaving Home – Anchorage

Having spent months training, packing, unpacking, repacking, testing, weighing, cutting and altering the various kit I proposed to use in Alaska, on February 12, 2002, I was finally packed and ready to leave home for my next big race. As is my norm, I had spent much of the day running around like a headless chicken finishing off last minute work, which in reality should not have been last minute work, had I knuckled down and completed it in the weeks and months leading up to this date. I very much wanted to see the children before I left so I waited until early evening to travel down to the Forest of Dean where I met up with my running mate and fellow competitor in this madness, Andrew Barnett. From here it was a relatively short blast down to Heathrow to our overnight accommodation at the Holiday Inn just outside the airport. Our flight was next morning – but having spent months preparing for this race neither Andrew or myself were prepared to travel down the next morning for the inane paranoid fear of breakdown, crash or any other 1000 risks that could prevent us reaching the airport on time.

The next morning we caught the early shuttle to the airport where our luggage was checked in – again I was paranoid that my kit would get lost or damaged – so I carried as much of the smaller costlier equipment as I could manage as hand luggage. We flew out of Heathrow at 12.00 noon with 19 hours of travelling to look forward to, which included stop-overs in Washington and Seattle before reaching our final destination of Anchorage in Sunny Alaska. The trip albeit very long and tiresome was trouble free and included a poor, but distinct view of the Northern lights as we flew between Seattle and Anchorage. A by-product of travelling such a long way in a controlled environment is that the constant air-conditioning blasting into my lungs caused me to have a vicious sore throat which didn’t clear until race day. My concerns regarding the loss of my luggage were predictable unfounded and at 12.30 at night, Alaskan time, we finally hit the fresh air outside Anchorage airport to await the arrival of the shuttle bus to our Hotel.

Anchorage

The shuttle bus duly arrived and transported Andrew and myself to the Millennium Hotel where the organiser of the race had booked us in for the period prior to and after the race – OR SO WE THOUGHT!! The receptionist had no record of our booking and at 1.00 in the morning they had no space in the Hotel for us. Kindly they organised alternative accommodation for us in a neighbouring Hotel and transported us to it.

The next morning a quick phone call to Dan Bull, the race organiser, sorted out the accommodation clanger and we were duly returned to the Millennium Hotel. A good start !!

The next few days leading up to race start were spent adjusting to the time difference, purchasing last minute items of kit and meeting up with fellow Brits who were likewise in Alaska for the race. This time was also spent making up our sleds and testing them on the snowy roads outside the hotel and testing our stoves in the early hours of the morning – gauging how long it takes to defrost 1 litre of water from snow. This testing proved essential. It became quickly apparent that the loading of my sled with upwards of 35lbs of gear was an art itself – my first attempts were too top heavy resulting in quick sled capsizing. Major adjustments to the packing resulted in having a sled with a centre of gravity as low to the ground as possible. These few days flew by and race day was upon us.

The night prior to the race there was a race briefing where for the first time we had the opportunity to meet all the fellow racers from about 8 nations. The meeting was enlightening in that up until this time we had been cocooned in the luxury of Anchorage and now we were getting real reports of conditions out on the trail. This enlightenment was not very pleasant or comforting. 3 foot of fresh snow had dumped itself on the trail in the last 24 hours and for the runners snowshoes were considered essential. This was, to say the least, a real blow. Myself, Andrew and fellow runner Cathy had considered the use of snowshoes during the previous few days and had predictably concluded that we didn’t need them. Now with 17 hours to race start, the contrary was being advised. There was no chance of obtaining snowshoes now – so we just had to go with the cards we were dealt.

Sunday 17th February was race day. With our sleds loaded onto a lorry at 8.00am we duly followed at 9.15am in a minibus for the 1Ѕ hour journey to the start at Knik. Arriving at the start just before 11.00am, with just over an hour until the start, it was again a relief to see the sleds lined up in the car park. (It is amazing how paranoid you become when you have concentrated on a race for months on end – you imagine everything can and will go wrong – but thankfully in a majority of cases your fears are unfounded). The time spent before the start was used to make the final adjustments to the sled set-up, fixing ice chains to our shoes and having a final civilized coffee in the cafй that sits alongside the start. At 12.00pm the racers all lined up and the gun went off.

Knik Lake to Flathorn Lake – 30 miles

Before flying out to Alaska I was slightly concerned about my fitness for this race (paranoia again). Now with 130 miles in front of me of soft snow, a few hills, overflow, moose etc my concern was amplified. I could see the first Ѕ mile across the lake but after that, when the trail goes into the woods, I had no idea where the route went. It is the organiser’s perverse belief that rookies should earn their dues and this obviously included finding your way across 130 of absolute wilderness in extreme cold with out maps or GPS references. (Barking Mad !!!). But equally perverse – that’s what I found attractive about this race.

With my fitness concerns buzzing around my head on the start line I made the very conscious decision to cross the start line dead last. There was method in my madness – if I was last to start – no one could overtake me. I had also come to terms with the idea that if the race took me over the allotted 72 hours (which I anticipated) – then so be it – I would wobble onto the finish line in whatever time it took me. Andrew, who was doing this type of race for the first time, but is a far more able athlete than myself, was keen that we should race together for the first 90 miles and then if he felt good and I was wilting he would bash on to the finish line. I had expressed my concerns to Andrew that we should do the race from the start at ones own speed – but to a degree this had fallen on deaf ears. So another conscious decision made at the start and over the first Ѕ mile was to go stupidly slow which I knew would bug Andrew and hopefully he would disappear into the distance and would do his own race. This would be to the benefit of us both. The cunning plan worked – and by the time we entered the woods at the end of the lake Andrew was 100yds ahead and was obviously into his stride – now I could concentrate on hauling my own little butt across Alaska.

The first 30 miles to the first checkpoint was a mixture of small hills through forests and woodland interspersed with numerous crossings of small frozen lakes. Nearly all the bikers and skiers had disappeared into the distance from the start and it was with a handful of other runners that I happily propped up the rear of the field. During the first few miles it was necessary to stop to make further adjustments to the sled. I had used about 8” of bungee cord to attach the sled to the ropes that travelled through 5’ of plumbing pipe that ultimately attached itself to the bum bag around my waist (which I wore back to front). The bungee cord was intended to take the shock out of starts from standstills and to this end was very effective. However it soon became apparent that 8” was far too much as it extended to over 2’ before catapulting back against my body. About 5 stops and adjustments later, enough slack had been taken up to hopefully last me until the end of the race. (Fat chance!!).

I had estimated that it would take about 10 hours to cover the first 30 miles, so when darkness fell at about 6.00pm (Sunday), with the benefit of simple arithmetic, I hoped that I had covered about 18 miles. It was as darkness fell that I started to meet, coming in the opposite direction, entrants in the Susitna 100 race, a similarly stupid race of 100 miles that had started 24 hours earlier. They were about 75-80 miles into their race and they all, without exception, looked absolutely knackered. This did no good to my confidence – what would I look like in 24 hours time ?? – and I had 30 more miles to do than them. Head down and grunt on.

I made a policy to stop for a quick break every 4 hours and to force some power bar or similar high energy food into my body. At this early stage my body was not very receptive to such forced feeding but I knew that in the course of the race such force feeding could and would prove vital. It was during these breaks and similar breaks by fellow competitors that we jostled for position at the back.

10 hours into the race, it was apparent that I was nearing the first checkpoint at the end of Flathorn Lake. It was apparent because in the darkness I was in a vast open flat area that could only be a frozen lake. Out of the darkness, at high speed, came a snowmachine heading straight towards me. On reaching me, the rider of this contraption dismounted and approached me with TV camera in hand and in the middle of nowhere started interviewing me – was this a bizarre hallucination ? The interviewer turned out to be a reporter from Transworld sport who was covering the race and in particular a team of 4 racers from Britain. It transpired, much to my amazement, that the team he was concentrating on, whom I had last seen at the start as they blasted out ahead of me, I had somehow passed. I found this hard to believe and treated this news with some scepticism. Kindly, he informed me that the first checkpoint was only Ѕ mile away, so with no further delay I ploughed on in the general direction. At 10.08 pm (Sunday) I arrived at Checkpoint 1 to met by Dan Bull and a few resting competitors. My plan was initially to stop for an hour or so before going on – but with some dismay, I noticed that Andrew was 2 hours ahead of me at this point. Whilst I was not really racing him (or anyone in particular), I was buggered if he was going to beat me 10+ hours at the end of the race, which at this rate he was going to do. My stop lasted just short of Ѕ hour having refilled my camelbak hydration system and drunk 3 cups of hot coffee. At 10.35pm (Sunday) I left the tented checkpoint with fellow Brit Mark Cadogan and my German buddy Robert Polhammer.

Flathorn Lake to Yentna Lodge – 25 miles

The next leg of the race amounted to 25 miles, much of which would be along the frozen Yentna River. My mind was again buzzing, trying to fathom out how I could make some indent into Andrew’s lead. Leaving Flathorn with 2 other racers was pleasant and comforting. It was nice to be chatting to someone and it lessened the concern of getting lost going through the darkness in the middle of nowhere. It was during this first mile or so out of Flathorn that Mark casually asked what I was going to do about Andrew’s lead. Andrew, I knew would be strong – so a cunning plan was called for. Having given the matter a bit of thought – I said to myself “right boyo – lets get on with it” and with out any further thought I went up 2 gears on my speed (part 1 of cunning plan). Slowly and surely I left Mark and Robert in my wake and continued to the drop onto the Yentna River, approximately 3 miles from Flathorn. On hitting the river the course turned right up the river. I was once again alone in the darkness (something that I was just going to have to get used to). Occasionally I would look behind and initially, at least, I would see in the distance the head torches of, I assume Robert and Mark, but after about an hour on my own these lights disappeared as I raced on.

My estimation of the time it should take me to cover this leg was in the region of 9 hours. So panic struck in when after about 2 hours I sucked on my camelbak hydration unit and the thing had frozen. The camelbak is a tough insulated plastic bag that holds about 1Ѕ litres of fluid and which for the purpose of preventing it freezing is carried next to the body. A tube extends out of the bottom of the bag up over my shoulder from where I can suck on it. It was the tube that had frozen – so I had the prospect of approx 7 hours without any electrolyte fluid. The only consolation was that on my sled was a half vacuum flask of hot coffee (approx Ѕ litre). Whilst this was comforting in one way – it was also a major problem. Firstly, to access the flask meant stopping in temperatures approaching –35°C degrees and to undo my sled harness – undo my sled cover – undo the ties holding my kit on the sled – pouring the coffee into a cup - drinking the drink as quick as possible – and then reverse the whole procedure before proceeding on the trail. No problem you may think – but at –35°C it takes less than 1 minute for the body to start freezing and in that cold the above easy actions become very hard indeed. Secondly, coffee is a diuretic, which effectively means it is dehydrating you rather than hydrating the body. But I had no choice and looking on the positive side at least the caffeine would help keep me awake. I made a plan to stop every 2 hours to have my precious cup of coffee and with my estimation of time to cover this leg, I would hopefully have enough coffee to see me through 3 stops to Yentna.

About 6Ѕ hours into this leg, having been alone in the dark for the best part of 6 hours, I was comforted by the sight of a dim light ahead of me in the distance. Because of the openness of the landscape and additionally the darkness, it was difficult to estimate how far away the light was – but it must be the Yentna Lodge – what else could it be??. I proceeded towards the light, which frustratingly kept going off and on for irregular times. My assumption was that the light was dropping below an unseen horizon and that hopefully soon I would be at an elevation that would enable me to see the light constantly. This cat and mouse of me chasing the light continued for over an hour and still the light kept going on and off for periods at a time and I seemed to be making no grounds towards it. I ploughed on. After a further Ѕ hour it became apparent that light was moving and was in fact one of the bike racers in front of me. I was comforted by the fact that I was still on planet earth and that life still existed – but was totally gutted that this light wasn’t Yentna Lodge and the end of the leg. I eventually caught up with this bobbing light and found it to be 3 bikers, one of whom was the sole British entry in the Bike section. A quick conversation with the three other racers proved they were equally anxious to reach the checkpoint, but like me they hadn’t got a clue how much further it was to go.

Head down – look at my feet and off we go again.
Eventually, at 7.15am (Monday) after 8 hours and 50 mins, I reached Yentna Lodge – WOW – what a relief! Here all racers had an opportunity of a bed to sleep on and one hot meal – but all the while the race clock keeps ticking. Rest was essential, so having inspected the race times and found that I had made up 20 mins on Andrew – part 2 of my cunning plan was about to come into play. My plan was to sleep for 2 hours, be up just after 9.00 am and enjoy a hot breakfast and leave. Andrew was similarly at the Lodge, sleeping somewhere – my hope was that he would not leave before me. My plan partly worked with the exception that I didn’t sleep. I got out of bed 1Ѕ hour after entering it, quickly put my wet kit out to dry, which stupidly I should have done when I arrived at the lodge, ordered scrambled eggs and waffles from the Happiest (not) man I have ever come across and sorted out my hydration pack. A wonderful lady at the lodge kindly also filled my 2 flasks with boiling water which were going to be my life savers should my hydration system freeze again. ѕ hour later my kit was dried; I had eaten my fill; I was changed; I was packed and at 9.47am (Monday) I left Yentna Lodge. Andrew was still sleeping. My next checkpoint was 35 miles away at Skwentna.

Yentna Lodge to Skwentna Lodge – 35 miles

Leaving Yentna was magical. It was a bright clear day and where the landscape permitted, you could see for miles. I was alone again, but quite reasonable anticipated that during the course of the day I would pass or be passed by other racers whether on bike skis or foot. The course for the whole day was to follow the Yentna River – so little worries about getting lost. I plodded on, anticipating and hoping that this section of the race to checkpoint 3 would take about 12 hours. Hour after hour I plodded on and no sight of any racers either in front or behind – Was I on the right course? After about 3 hours and having only myself as company to talk to I was relieved to come across some snowmachiners who had stopped for a lunchtime snack. The sight of someone traipsing up the trail with a sled attached to their back obviously intrigued them and as I approached them they greeted me. I responded and it was immediately obvious to them that I wasn’t from Alaska. They inquired “Are you from Austria?” which was curious because they were the third people to say a similar thing – (2 previous inquiries whilst in Anchorage albeit one said Switzerland and the other Austria). Naturally I told them I was far luckier than that and that I was from Wales. To my amazement, it turned out that this man’s surname was Jones and without doubt he was a descendant from Welsh blood.

It was my turn now to ask questions and my immediate desire now was to know how far it was to Skwentna Lodge. The man was a gem and produced a GPS, which informed him it was about 15 miles distant. This was contrary to my believe as by my estimations I had over 20 miles to go – in fact I was pretty certain it would be nearer 25 miles. I questioned this information and he had it confirmed by his mate. Wonderful news – I would reach Skwentna before dark.

With no more time to waste we parted company and I progressed up the trail with my mate Sledgy. The time alone was having an odd effect on me – I had started talking to my sled and out of courtesy had named her Sledgy. Without sight of another human being for 2 hours I eventually arrived at a small hamlet comprising no more than 5 timber lodges spread out alongside the river over a mile distant from first to last. A snowmachiner was riding around a track just off the trail and as I approached he stopped to chat. My one and only question to him was “How far is Skwentna Lodge?” Without hesitation or any doubt he replied 20 miles. Was I going backwards? This information backed up my estimation before meeting Mr Jones, but was a real downer having been under the illusion for the last 2 hours that my refuge was only 15 miles away. Nothing I could do about it – whatever the distance I had to wobble on.

My awe at the surrounding scenery at the commencement of this leg when I left Yentna was now receding fast – I was beginning to get bored of this blasted non stop never ending trail with only Sledgy to talk to – and that was predominately a one way conversation. But soon there was an answer to my prayers. Prior to arriving in Alaska there were two things I hoped I would see during my stay in this wonderful state of America. Firstly, I wanted to see the Northern Lights and whilst they were not that illuminating I did see them on the flight into Anchorage. The second thing I wanted to see was a moose. Now, just as darkness was descending, the sight of one of these magnificent beast light up my day. As I approached a right hand bend in the river, there stood before me, about 50-70 yards away, was an immense moose stood alongside the trail with its head to the ground. I stopped in my tracks, mostly out of curiosity but partly out of fear to watch this wonderful creature. My stop lasted about 2 minutes while I continually watched him, but the chill on my body standing still and the fact that I was in a race prompted me to proceed. The moose has a fairly fearsome reputation, so cautiously I dropped down into the middle of the river in order to give the animal as wide a berth as possible. As I passed parallel to it, I glanced up again at this tremendous beast only to find that I had been staring at a log the whole time. This was my first ever hallucination and it was so real. Minutes later as I continued on the trail, I was staring at the tracks left by a snowmachine. These regular tracks were punctuated by an irregular pattern every 3 feet or so which, I assume, were made by a broken paddle on the machine. As I looked at this irregular pattern they turned into small white elephants – If I looked away and then back again they were still small elephants. I knew I was seeing things – but there they were as clear as day – the mind is obviously a powerful tool. I chuckled to myself and surely enough after a few minutes these elephants once again returned to their original chopped irregular pattern. These were not the only hallucinations I saw that day.

One of the fears drummed into you before the race is the risk of overflow, which is when flowing water breaches the ice covering the river. Up until now I had not seen any overflow and was happy to consider it an urban myth. My complacency was about to be shattered. Approaching another bend in the river, an area of about 40 feet wide was totally unfrozen and I was amazed to see how fast the river was running beneath my feet. The trail sensibly took a wide loop around this open water. I noticed, however, that cutting the loop and passing close to the open water’s edge was an uneven single-track path that was obviously the faster line. My racing head was on and I decided that by cutting the corner I could save perhaps 10 seconds in a 72 hour race – big deal! I cut the corner. Half way along this 40 yard or so of track my left leg broke through the snow and ice. I pushed up on my right leg, only for that to similarly break through the ice. Both legs were now in the ice-cold water of the river. With a certain amount of panic streaming through me I scrambled back onto firmer (but not firm) ground. Slowly but surely I pushed my sled back and gently turned around to retreat along this wonderful shortcut. My legs were cold, but thankfully the air temperature was high enough for me to continue without having to resort to changing my footwear.

With night drawing in I hoped that my estimation of finishing this section of the race would be somewhere near right and that I would finish before 10.00pm. I was, for the first time in this race, absolutely knackered. My reward to myself for pushing so hard was an occasional stop for 30 seconds or so when I went bent over and rest on my knees and take 10 really deep breaths. The cooling air entering my lungs felt wonderful (if only I had known the later consequences of this action). Just before 8.00pm (Monday) in complete darkness the markers on the trail indicated a turn up a small tributary, which I rightly assumed was the turning onto the Skwentna River. My belief was that from this turn it would be about 4 miles to go. After a couple of hundred yards the river opened up and there was a rustic sign indicating Skwentna Lodge 2 miles. The distance was shortening but in my completely fatigued state I wasn’t complaining. Nearly half an hour later I was still on the river, but in the light of my head torch I could see a further sign indicating Skwentna Lodge off the river. Following the sign I headed off the river and along a narrow snow trail through woodland. My mind started playing tricks again – first I saw a monkey in the trees on my left and then turning my head away from this in disbelieve I saw a turkey standing on the side of the trail on my right. The trail through the wood seemed endless, but shortly after 8.30pm I approached the lodge – probably the most wonderful sight I have ever seen. I stumbled into the lodge at 8.35 pm (Monday) and to the best of my knowledge no one had passed me on the trail. So at the 90 mile mark I was still first Brit and fourth overall in the running category of the 130 race. I was soon joined by Andrew, who arrived in Skwentna 5 minutes after me. He had left Yentna nearly 2 hours behind me having overslept and whilst I hadn’t seen him during the whole day he had been pursuing me and had had the luxury of seeing me in the distance for the past few hours.

I had been surviving on sweet energy drink and bars all day, so the sight of thick slices of beef on bread with loads of gravy, green beans and mash potatoes was a sight to behold. 3 mouthfuls later I could eat no more. My immediate thought was that because of my physical effort my stomach had shrunk. Andrew seemed to be having no such problem as he soon devoured his food followed by finishing off the 9 tenth of the food I had left.

In the warm environment of the Lodge I was soon literally gasping for breathe. I had a similar problem at Yentna, but this time the problem was much much worse. Added to this, I was coughing up a tremendous amount of mucus. Andrew and myself decided we both needed a few hours rest, so by 9.30pm we had retired to one of the bunkrooms. At first I found it very difficult to go to sleep because of the lack of breathe and my coughing – but my exhaustion soon took over and I slept for the first time in 38 hours having covered 90 miles in the last 32Ѕ hours. I had set the alarm on my watch for 1.00am but both Andrew and myself slept right through it. Thankfully Andrew woke just before 3.00am and raised the alarm. After a quick breakfast – again all I could manage was half a slice of toast – we were packed and heading out on the trail in the cold darkness by 3.00am (Tuesday).

Skwentna Lodge to Shell Lake – 18 miles

As at the start of the race, I was conscious of the fact that Andrew was a faster runner than me and with this in mind I was a little concerned about leaving Skwentna with him. Whilst we “only” had another 40 miles to go, which we both intended covering before the end of this day, it was not too late to blow my race by pushing the pace to hard. My body made the decision for me. Within 1 mile of the Skwentna Lodge, as a result of my hoarse throat, I was bent over double projectile vomiting every bit of fluid in my body. Within 200 yards and three stops later, Andrew had moved 20 yards ahead of me. A mile or two later, and a few sled capsizes, Andrew had disappeared into the darkness. I was again alone in the dark crossing what I believed to be open ground. My sight was limited by the arc of my head torch.

In the week prior to our race along the Iditarod trail, a major snowmachine race (Iron Dog) had passed along the trail. A by-product of the snowmachine race is the never-ending moguls left as a result of acceleration and deceleration of the machines. These moguls can go on for miles. They measure about 8’ between crests and at worst drop down to a trough of about 3’. Any mode of transport over these moguls is going to be difficult, but trying to run pulling a sled with about 35lbs of kit on it is neigh on impossible. Add to this the increasing discomfort caused by the sled as it continuously catapults into your back as it accelerates down the face of the mogul. The trail between Skwentna and Shell Lake over the Shell Hills was the worst section so far for moguls and I would estimate that of the 18 miles a good 8 to 10 miles were moguls.

As daylight broke, I was nearing the top of the Shell Hills and only had a few miles to go to the unofficial stop at Shell Lake. I had now entered a sporadic wooded area and still the moguls persisted, but I was setting, what I thought was, a comparatively blistering pace. At 9.15am I could see Shell Lake through the woods and a few moments later I could see the lodge on the far side of the lake. What looked like a 5 minute stroll took nearly 25 minutes and I finally arrived at Shell Lake Lodge at 9.40am (Tuesday).

Andrew had arrived at the lodge 25 minutes before me and was about to dive into a large plate of Pancakes and fried eggs. Also in the lodge, sleeping on the couches, were 3 bikers from the race (the ones I had met on the first night of the race), together with a husband and wife team of bikers who had entered the 350 race, but were now about to pull out due, I believe, to the annoyance of having to push their bikes over the never ending moguls. The warmth of the lodge once again brought on my coughing and gasping, but it was still a wonderful relief to be sat down resting. After an hour or so Andrew was ready to leave. I had ordered some food, so while Andrew disappeared out of the door, I sat back and enjoyed my third cup of coffee. 5 minutes later Andrew came back into the lodge having left in the wrong direction. Zoл, the lodge owner, kindly went outside with him and pointed him along the right trail. My food duly arrived, but as at Skwentna, after a few mouthfuls I could eat no more. It was now just after 11.00am and if I wanted to finish before dark it was time to get going.

Shell Lake to Finger Lake (Finish) – 22 miles

I pulled out of Shell Lake at 11.15am (Tuesday) after having spent a few minutes packing and sorting my sled. In my haste to leave I had left my gloves in the sled and rather than undo all my kit to retrieve them I decided that my hands would shortly warm up so I proceeded without them. Within 100 yards of the lodge I was again bent over double. My vomiting threw up all the liquid I had taken but this time included all the food I had eaten at Shell Lake and what little food I had had at Skwentna. I had no doubt that after this little but severe episode, I had literally no food or liquid in my body to rely on for energy. But I felt remarkably good and convinced myself that at least I was lighter and I could now rely on my fat reserves (which, for those that don’t know me – are considerable for a so called ultra runner). Minor problem number two arose 5 minutes later. My hands did not warm up and in fact got decidedly cold and I was forced to stop to retrieve my gloves. Writing up this diary nearly 3 weeks after the event my right thumb is still numb with frost nip – I won’t make this mistake again.

With these two short forced stops out of the way, I now progressed with some speed up and out of Shell Lake towards the finish line, which was about 22 miles distant. The day was quite wonderful, clear blue skies, which allowed magnificent views in all direction, but if you stopped, it didn’t take long for the gently wind to remind you that you were in a very cold climate. This was truly a wonderful way to finish the race. Whilst I had no doubt that I was on the right trail, the infrequent wooden markers that had previously indicated the trail became non existent, and I continued for hour after hour without any sign of a marker nor any sign of human existence, except for the continuous bike and sled trails left by racers in front of me.

As the day progressed, the wind picked up a bit and in places the sugary snow was starting to drift and fill in the trail. This did not particularly concern me at first, as the trail was so well established and by my estimations I wasn’t too far from the finish line.

How wrong I could be, the proverbial s#~t was about to hit the fan. As the light started to fade, the wind had picked up considerably and the trail was disappearing fast. I was heading into the wind and when it gusted it totally took my breath away. The sugary snow that was blown in the wind would both temporarily blind me and would sting any exposed flesh, in particular my face. Had this storm started earlier in the day, the prudent thing to do would be to bivvy out and wait for it to pass, but by my estimations I was within a mile or two of the finish. I had thought that I would have finished before dark and had therefore left my head torch in my sled. Now in this manic weather, I was too scared to stop in the dwindling light – not wanting to waste any time undoing the sled, finding my head torch - all of which would take no more than a minute or two. But in that minute or two I was probably covering a few hundred yards as I was running faster now than at any other time in the race. To say I was scared stiff is a total underestimation. The night drew in gradually and I was eventually forced to stop to get my torch. By now the trail had all but disappeared. I was alone – there was little or no trail – I had no map or compass bearing to go on – I had no GPS reference for the finish – I was basically up s#~t creek without a paddle. Whilst the trail was invisible, if you did manage to walk along it, it was reasonably firm under foot – but one step off you were immediately up to your waist in soft snow and this was now happening very frequently.

With adrenalin pumping, I literally ploughed on through the snow. Surely the finish would soon be in sight – I could only be a mile from it. The landscape of this stretch of the race was to the greatest extent very open, but was punctuated by small wooded areas, which allowed some relief from the wind and the driving snow. As I proceeded through one such wooded area, I was relieved to see another racer who was bivvied on the side of the trail. I was even more relieved, but not surprised, to see that it was Andrew’s sled and backpack alongside the bivy bag. Being in company, immediately my fear disappeared, albeit the situation I/we were in had not changed. I shouted at the bivy to stir Andrew from his slumber. Andrew had stopped ѕ hour earlier. Having inspected the next open part of the trail he had decided it was too dangerous to continue in the conditions – absolutely no sign of the trail whatsoever. I, on the other hand, thought that we were too close to want to stop. It was now pitch black and when I went a to see the conditions Andrew was talking about, I could see a reflective marker on a tree with my head torch about 50 yards away, showing the line of the Sled Dog route (and therefore I assumed the right route for us). Andrew had stopped in the twilight when this reflector would not have been visible. I returned back to Andrew and told him that I was definitely going on, on the basis that I was going to go from reflector to reflector. I had only seen the one reflector, I just hoped that I would continue to see reflectors beyond this one – if I didn’t I could be in serious trouble. Andrew quickly packed his kit whilst I went ahead to find and follow the invisible trail.

After a couple of scrambles through open countryside where every step was taken gingerly and numerous times I ended up floundering in waist high snow, I arrived in another sheltered woodland area. Since leaving Andrews bivy site I had covered about Ѕ mile in about 1 hour. Rising up a narrow high banked path through this wood, I was relieved to see some moving lights just on the horizon about 10 feet above my head. My immediate thought was that this must be the lodge. I then realized at the last moment that it was in fact a snow machine coming down the trail. I had no way to avoid him if he came over the lip of the hill I was climbing and I only prayed that he saw me before descending over the lip. Thankfully he did, and he waited for me to haul my sorry butt up the final few feet of the hill. On passing level with him, I asked him how far Finger Lake was, thinking it must be only a few hundred yards at most, I was beyond gutted to be told it was a good 2 to 3 miles. In total disbelief I waited for Andrew to catch up. I felt very guilty for moving Andrew from his bivy and I was now starting to think he was right to have stopped. I was also absolutely shattered and the news from the snow machiner did nothing to boost my enthusiasm or energy. I half-heartedly suggested to Andrew, when he drew alongside me, that perhaps we should stop for the night. Thankfully he declined this suggestion, so after a quick top up on clothing we proceeded on through the drifts. I was starting to be able to read the slightest signs in the snow that would indicate the line of the trail.

This helped tremendously, but still on occasions I got it horribly wrong and ended up waist deep in snow. Two hours later we rounded a small hillock and sighted a light in the distance. It was impossible to accurately gauge the distance to it, but at best guess it was probably about 1000 yards away. Steadily we moved towards it. After about 10 minutes and about 200 yards suddenly the light came into focus and was in fact only a further 50 yards away. The final steps to the finish were well indicated with the wooden markers that were conspicuous by their absence over the last 22 miles. As I approached the finish line I turned to chat to Andrew only to see he was 100 yards behind. He was stationery and I thought he had stopped to rest thinking it was a lot further to go and the light was not in focus to him. I shouted at him to hurry up, but in the wind there was no way he was going to hear me. I wanted to cross the finish line with him so I waited 2 yards short of the line. Eventually his light started moving again and a few minutes later he arrived at the finish line. His sled had collapsed completely just short of the finish hence his unscheduled stop. We crossed the line together at 10.19pm (Tuesday) in 2 days 10 hours and 19 minutes. (Official time was 4 minutes slower which was the time it took to get up to the lodge, partially undress and sign in). We were the first Europeans runners home in the 130 mile race, being beaten by 2 Alaskans and a fellow American, all of whom arrived at the finish 3 hours before us and within 4 minutes of each other. The next European Home came in over 9 hours behind us. I always race just to finish and have never raced for a result – too fat and too slow – but now I had a result. WOW!!!!!!!

Finger Lake

We had arrived too late in the evening to enjoy the much talked about Gourmet meal and the checkers at the lodge had not anticipated anyone coming in, during these conditions – instead we had a gourmet Breakfast to look forward to.

After a quick TV interview, with the man from Eurosport, during which both my mind and body were numb, we were escorted to a back room where there was hot tea on tap. The warm environment of the lodge immediately brought back my lack of breathe and non stop coughing – only this time 10x worse than before. I now was told the reason for this “illness”!! As stated earlier, I had treated myself to occasional stops to take 10 deep breaths. This, I was told, had frozen my lungs and was not uncommon – but should obviously be avoided if at all possible. Wearing a facemask in the extreme cold would have helped. I had lost my neoprene facemask at Skwentna – only to find it in my hat when I took it off at Finger Lake – well at least it kept my head warm.

I found a corner in the lodge to have a rest, but was shocked to find my sleeping bag, thermo rest and bivy were encased in ice. 2 hours earlier when I had stopped to chat to the snow machiner I had subsequently opened my thermos flask. I then replaced the thermos flask in the dry bag where my duvet coat had been removed. The thermos flask top had broken in the cold and had leaked the remainder of the water into the bag. This could have been disastrous in other circumstances – but in the warmth of the lodge was mildly amusing.

After a restless night, we were flown by bush plane out of Finger Lake to a small settlement called Willow. The Gourmet breakfast never materialised but at Willow, whilst waiting for our shuttle back to Anchorage we did enjoy the best and cheapest meal I have ever had - $5 a head – 3 courses – with the Old Age pensioners society in Willow Community Centre.

Anchorage

We finally arrived back at the Millennium Hotel in Anchorage at 5.00pm. That night we went to Downtown Anchorage for a celebration meal with the fellow Brits. All were in good spirits even the unfortunate 2 who had had to pull out at Yentna due to injuries.

We had 48 hours to kill before our departure flight back to the UK. Thursday was spent taking a flight over the Knik Glaciers and that evening we met up again with a few of the racers and the organiser of the race Dan Bull. On entering the restaurant Dan approached me and said “Gee Man – you kicked Ass”. In running terms this is the greatest compliment anyone has ever paid me. I only repeat it in this diary for 2 reasons – Firstly, being a little fat Welsh Man no one has ever said to me that I have “Kicked Ass” - and Secondly, being a little fat Welsh Man, no one is ever likely to say that I “Kicked Ass” again.

Back Home

Now back in Blighty, hardly an hour goes by without my mind wandering back to Sunny Alaska. Both Andrew and myself have decided that we are going to return to Alaska to compete in the more awesome 350 mile race, which is a 220 mile continuance of the 130 race but entering the wilder and even more remote (if it is possible) region of Alaska to the small settlement of McGrath. Funds and time available could see us back there in 2003.

Additional Info

I managed to come 4th out of the 24 runners who started in the 130 mile race – whilst my best pre race expectations was just to finish – I was naturally well chuffed with this result. Not bad for a little fat Welsh Man!!

From Britain and Europe I was 1st out of the 12 starters who flew the Atlantic to compete.

Because of the trail condition, the 2002 race is regarded as one of the toughest year yet – 8 of the 24 runners who started did not make it to the finish line.

During the race I lost in the region 12 lbs in weight – most of this I assume was when my body discharged most of my food and drink in the latter stages of the race and I had to rely on fat reserves for my energy. One of the unsung advantages of carrying a few extra pounds.

My completion of this race is a result of a lot of support from a number of people – Hopefully I have left no one out – but thanks are due to: -
A My wife Karen and wonderfully supportive children Emily, Jack and Barnaby.
A Brecon Round Table for supporting my entry and for whom I am raising funds.
A My Company Clee, Tompkinson and Francis
A Joy, Chris, Ben and Sarah who I bored to tears about the race before and after, and who covered for me when I was not particularly focused on work. A Up and Under, Cardiff for their wonderful advice and service with regards to equipment and clothing, which was invaluable. If you are ever planning something in the wild outdoors, go and see them – they truly know what they are talking about
A Nigel Matthews of Matthews Jewellers who provided me with a GPS watch – a fantastic piece of kit – if only GPS references had been easy to come by – particularly in the last section of the race.
A Casio for supplying above mentioned watch. Bit worrying to read in the accompanying manual that it won’t work in below zero temperatures – it worked flawlessly.
A Pugh’s of Hay for providing numerous batteries and for raising sponsorship in the shop and to Tim for his artwork that adorns this publication
A F.W.Golesworthy and Sons of Hay, for their wonderful support and for also helping me raise money for charity.
A Steve Ratcliffe my running partner.
Charity

When I completed the Marathon des Sables I managed to help Round Table raise in the region of Ј9,000 for Testicular Cancer. This time I again have been raising money for Round Table Charities. All money raised will be given to local charities, but this time my participation has been much lower key, so realistically we will raise, hopefully, in the region of Ј1,000. Donations are still very welcome.

Martin Like
Tryweryn
Hay-on-Wye
Hereford
HR3 5EN
(01497) 821514 HOME
(01497) 820045 WORK
EMAIL mrl@ygelli.freeserve.co.uk

Back to Main News
There are no comments yet!  Be the first to leave one!    

Notify me when someone replies to this post?