Godzone 2018 Fiordland

Mumblings of a Trundler.

The weeks leading up to the race were filled with anxiety. Its at these times in the final two weeks leading up to the race that I begin to question my preparation and skills. Am I good enough? How will I cope when we’re lost, cold, wet and hungry? Do I have the skills required to navigate through a remote Fiordland Wilderness? I’m 40, married with kids, WTF am I doing, this is stupid.
 
Fast forward three weeks and I am sitting at my desk reminiscing. After the initial relief of finishing and as the resulting high of the following week fades with the last of the endorphins I am left empty. Colleagues at work greeted us with a ‘welcome back to reality’, except this doesn’t feel like reality. I long for the Godzone, that connection with the simple act of moving, eating, surviving. The real world lies beyond our 9-5 glass office block existence….why does no one else in the office see this! I sit staring at my screen conscious of the hole left and the approaching empty place that lies in wait after an epic race.
 
My antidote is to read race reports, analyse our route choices, reminisce and to look at the event calendar for the rest of the year. I look at the Northburn, watch Western States documentaries and ponder my next goals. But the body needs time to rest and recover and I don’t have the energy to commit to another epic adventure just yet. As autumn roles in to winter the most I can muster is to purchase a season pass to Mt Hutt and focus on the ski season ahead.
 
So back to the race. Anxious and uncertain but committed. As we stand at the start line we are silent, silent except for Coxy, who chats nonchalantly with Richie about their old rugby days. I have a thousand mile stare. What am I doing? I’m excited by the route, in particular the packraft stages as after reading multiple trip reports the Waiau and Wairaurahiri rivers have been on my to do list, but Warren’s words at briefing are on replay in my mind ‘If any of you make it out of Leg 3…epic is an understatement.’
 
We start with a gentle jog down Te Anau’s main street, the only run of the race, and begin to inflate the packrafts. I’m grateful for all the training missions and within 3 minutes they are inflated and ready to go. We opt to load the central spine of the raft and use our dry bags which in hindsight, while great for rapids, is overkill on this first stage. A simple backpack and carabiner would have sufficed and been much quicker during the two short portages. As we jump into the lake the surreal landscape is dominated by coloured packrafts as 100 teams paddle south towards the Waiau. The first paddle across Lake Te Anau feels tough, I read with envy Nathan’s report which noted their strategy of taking it easy, staying in the comfortable zone. Paddling is not my strength and I remember sweating, working hard near my maximum to stay with Simon and Bee as they slowly stretched away…this is not sustainable I thought and shouted out to slow down. A short interlude CP around the control gates and we are on moving water floating down the Waiau…although I was hoping for more flow and less paddling I’m relieved to be able to focus on the changing landscape as we float along next to the Kepler track. The first sting of the course reveals itself as the mass of teams ahead queue on the river, trying to exit river left through thick bush and up a steep bank, a procession queue through the forest follows and overtaking teams who chose to leave their rafts fully inflated is futile on such a narrow trail – I wish we were a lead team!
 
Simon and Bee note their boat sitting lower in the water after the re-inflation and I’m pleased to be able to settle in to a slower putter, paddle rhythm as we cross Lake Manapouri where the first of many Didymo foot wash stations awaits before we embark on the Mt Titiroa trek. It feels good to be on my feet, my strength, and while we stride along the track we catch up to Ian, Wendy, Tony and Dev of Team Morrison Cars and a pattern is set for the next 5 days. Last year we jostled for 30th position with Morrison Cars for the duration of the race, exchanging tips, taking different routes, but always regrouping at regular points along the course. This is one of the simple pleasures of AR, the miniscule tustle and feedback that you get on route choice, sleep strategy and navigation decisions through a race, even at the back of the pack.
 
We follow a conservative line parallel to the lake to Richters Rock while Ian takes a more direct line to the clearing. As the navigation cobwebs disappear and we slowly knock off CP5 and CP6 we catch up with Debbie from Wolfskin Girls and natter about Cairns 2010, pleased to be in a less adversarial animal and bush kingdom this time. We make good time through here and up and over into Garnock Burn.

At Garnock Burn another Didymo wash foot bath and the first route choice of the race. Up and over the shoulder to pt 1274 and down a steep spur with potential for bluffs or straight up to Mt Titiroa and along the eastern tarns, crossing back over at pt 1521 and down directly to North Borland hut. We opt for the latter and as we climb steadily out of the bush line the other worldly moon landscape of Mt Titiroa reveals itself on dusk. Fog and rain close in and darkness falls which makes for slow navigation from tarn to tarn and back over the saddle. Dropping off the spur into the tree line we encounter thick bush and we slow to a crawl. The traverse was spectacular but as we look back up the valley only a few lights can be seen and we realise we lost time. The hut is full so we pitch the tent on the track and get a few hours sleep. Sleep doesn't come and as I pack away the wet tent in the cold dark hour before dawn the mind games begin...just get it done and get moving. We opt for breakfast on the move. As we zone out and follow the track into the forest down valley we tiptoe around tent after tent, pitched randomly on the track.

We reach the cool rock bivvy and after a steep climb complete the free hanging 150m abseil in daylight. It's a bloody long way down and I struggle with the weight of my pack pulling me backwards. A straightforward bash to the track and the march to the Monowai begins. We're grateful to be able to zone out and retire the maps for a few hours. Simon has been fighting a virus and after a short check in with the doctor we are relieved to transition to packrafts and float the Monowai which is flowing swiftly for a few free km's. The creek is narrow and constricted, at times with multiple sieves, and keeps our mind occupied. A short portage and we enter the Waiau and settle into a paddle rhythm with team Charging Moose... It’s afternoon on Day 2 and my body is starting to settle, or resign itself (I never know which) into a comfortable rhythm. The tension of the first paddle is gone, the only complaint the occasional bum to kneeling reshuffle in the front of the Gnu. We have been daydreaming our way through day 2 and realise time is getting away on us and the dark zone is closing...the last two hours is spent with a heightened focus and tempo as we inch out an extra k an hour. We round corner after corner, and eventually clamber up the river bank with 2 minutes to spare!

Darkness brings tiredness. We clumsily carry the boats to transition. We are the last team off the river that night and decide to bank 3 hours sleep in the transition tent, sleep comes easy despite the activity around us. Another pre dawn alarm that I don’t hear….and before long, I don’t know how long, at the early hours its amazing how much time can be wasted walking around a bike box looking for ‘something’, we start on the bikes and follow well formed roads to the caves. I’m not a fan of small spaces, I recall with horror reading about the squeeze cave from teams competing the XPD Shoalhaven course and am anxious about what lies in wait. I’m in luck, and subconsciously thank the course planner. The caves are a highlight, they are spacious (for my slight sinous frame anyway), easy to navigate and largely dry. We make quick work and I enjoy the scrambly bridgy nature of the tunnels, Craig volunteers, did you??!, for the swim and as we turn around to exit the cave my digestion catches up...sneaking an invisible but potent sulphurous odour for the next team and, oops, my teamate Bee and Craig who were still in the evacuation zone! If there had been a canary I’m sure it would have died. Sorry guys.

We exit the cave in good time and dry our feet and gear by the warm TA flood lights. A fast descent and some forestry roads follow. We are pleased to see Team Morrison Cars appear, seemingly out of nowhere. They took a more direct route over pt 1274 so we are pleased to have regained some time. In daylight the maze of forestry roads is relatively straightforward and as we exit onto the main road towards Lake Harouko Bee’s cycle fitness becomes apparent as we three guys draft behind her to the TA, the occasional murmur of ‘slow up’ from the back. A pattern that would be repeated on Leg 4.

It’s great to have familiar faces as Janet and Tim greet us at the TA. The next leg, Leg 3, had been talked up at the briefing and we nervously pack, faff and repack food and gear. In hindsight had we realised how close we would get to sneaking by the dark zone on the Wairaurahiri we would have been a little more focused. With shoes frothing from the didymo foot bath we shuffle out of TA. With heavy packs containing three days food, wetsuits and packrafts we trudge along the boring well graded dirt road. It’s at times like these that I realise how much of a mental game Adventure racing is. I find this easy hike some of the hardest where there is nothing to occupy the mind except the nagging pain in the shoulders. For the remaining 107 hours we were to spend navigating our way through this leg, these two hours trudging the road is my lingering memory of hurt. I can’t recall a moment in the bush where my back and shoulders complained, probably because we had bigger issues to keep us occupied. Alex Socci, the Brazilian photographer, is a welcome interlude. He shouts and wakes us from our slumpering trudge….’walk side by side’.....’don’t smile’....’look awesome’....I recall thinking how do you look awesome? The photo speaks for itself.

The weather gods are smiling. We inflate our rafts and begin the paddle across Lake Hauroko, an occasional rain shower coats us, the droplets momentarily float on the mirror calm lake. I set my paddle cadence according to heating demand, faster in the cooler rain shower, slower when it passes. A brief food stop at Teal Bay and it’s on with the wetsuits before the adrenaline highlight of the race, paddling the Wairaurahiri river. We will get dark zoned but choose to carry on and finish the day on a high. We chase the daylight and woop with joy as the first gentle bends turn into some rollercoaster wave trains. The river is high and as we turn a corner a solid rapid appears, Mandoza 50/50 rings in my head bringing back memories of the Zambezi, but we make it through and stop in the eddie and wait for Simon and Bee. We pull over and set up camp beside the river, Morrison Cars join us and it’s like Queenstown Chapter 6 all over again, except without the hut. We are getting better at this life and the tent set up and dinner routine is efficient. Four people in a three man MSR Mutha Hubba tent is relatively luxurious compared to the tiny tent we used last year but four people put out a lot of heat and we find that sleeping bags are not really needed, bizarre and not something any of us were prepared for. We are on the river for 6.45am when the dark zone lifts. It’s a surreal moment, eight of us standing on the river bank with the roar of the water looking at each other. It’s still bloody dark I’m not going down there yet! We all think it but nobody says a word. It’s 7.15am before there is enough daylight to make out the banks and trees. We follow Morrison Cars into the water and 5 little packrafts make their way down the last hour of whitewater to Waitutu Lodge.

The Lodge is amazing, well from the outside and from the friendliness of the support staff and Peter and Rose who run the lodge, we weren’t allowed inside, must have been the smell or something. The front lawn is strewn with gear, more didymo baths and teams everywhere. A bedraggled team of four stumble in from the South Coast track, they don’t look happy. Words are had and Ian Huntsman goes over to talk to their chief nav man….it’s not good news. They report being out there for 8 hours hunting for CP17, they have come back and decided to short course themselves….holy crap. Simon, Ian and I look at each other. This nav thing is going to be tough! It feels like we are leaving on a big expedition. The next two sections take us into remote off track areas of Fiordland and we’re not sure about our chances of navigating through this kind of terrain.

CP17. Well what to say….what a bitch of a checkpoint. We end up crossing into the creek system and pick up a well defined contour but as we drop into the river we lose all points of reference. The river is an infinity loop of S bends. Hours go by and the checkpoint should only have been 2km as the crow flies from the track. After recharging at a beach we set off again following the river upstream. 15 minutes later we arrive back at the same beach. We are dumbfounded…..well dumb at least. WTF! I later found out that some teams even did this loop twice. Completely disorientated with no comprehension of time and distance we retreat back and decide to reattack the CP from the well defined contours above. No mistakes this time and as we huddle by the CP with team Tail End Charlies, the wheels look like they are coming off our wagon. Our first foray into the Fiordland backcountry and my confidence is shattered and I’m unsure if we can nav through this terrain accurately enough. It’s super hard to walk any straight bearing, our distance estimations are completely off and there are features not shown on the maps. We hear that Ian Huntsman and team have turned tail and decide to walk around the South Coast track and up a trapline into the Slaughterburn. We sit, somewhat broken….well me anyway.

We head on, planning to maximise the daylight and camp just before the dreaded clearing / swamp of doom. We’re unsure which it is but the rumour mill at the Waitutu Lodge was working overtime and the words of one team ring through my head ‘we heard that Team Merrell got up to the edge of the clearing and turned around the terrain was so insanely dense and slow going’. Holy crap, these are top teams with some serious experience and navigation fire power, WTF are we doing. Mere weekend warriors cage fighting our way through 5ft high ferns holding a bearing and hoping that the terrain approximates what I have visualised in my head. Fortunately the next two kms match up and after a UFC round with the ferns clambering on all fours up a steep spur we arrive at the high point for the night and set up camp just short of the clearing, or so we hope, ready to do battle in the morning.

It’s the best campsite of the adventure so far. It seems silly to call it a race at times like this where we intend to sleep for 7 hours and wait untill first light despite there being no dark zone. The camp is flat and dry, we are efficient and I sleep like a log, a noisy log apparently. With the new day and new terrain comes a new found confidence. I’m beginning to enjoy this. We push on at first light on a hopeful bearing up the spur, open forest turns to dense forest which turns to dense shorter forest which turns to dense poles and scrub. By dense poles I mean little trees at 500mm centres….annoying for my slight frame but must be a nightmare for the bigger guys. Its very slow going, 500m an hour territory but it appears to be opening out into some sort of clearing….or swamp? A sign of relief as we break through and stand on firm ground, a subtle line of trampled grass awaits, a highway….TFFT!

Simon and I are both navigating and I sense our confidence improve as we pick good lines through the clearing, take good bearings from handlebar contour to handlebar spur and down into the Angus Burn. A small hiccup up to the saddle, more unmapped features and a short tree climb to verify the high point and then we are descending through thick ferns, again and again and again, I never want to see a fern again, to Lake Poteriteri. We reach the lake bang on the CP inflate the rafts and paddle for joy. One tough part down, one to go, then home dry once we hit the South Coast track.

We pass Morrison Cars inflating their boats at the southern edge of the lake. They had walked up from the South Coast track. Our direct route with thankfully minimal mistakes had been the quicker of the two. Onwards to Slaughterburn hut where Marcel and Simone greated us with hot water, an awesome campfire and more didymo wash baths. We left in good spirits and felt upbeat. Up up up we went, along the ridge, more unmapped hummocks, I believe they call it inferred detail, but its bloody confusing in the night, then down down down to a crap campsite on a slope. I got a bit grumpy here, I was stumbling and falling all over the place and lost my thumb compass, its around 359677 if anyone wants to go looking for it, it’s a Silva! We lay in the tent for three hours sliding downhill, well us guys did anyhow. Bee claimed to have got a good three hours sleep. We woke to solid, somewhat torrential, I don’t think it was Fiordland torrential but it was definitely Christchurch torrential, rain. A quick recce of the river showed it was up, brown but crossable. The lake CP19 was tricky and we were glad we were there in the day, a climb up a big saddle, which looked tiny on the map and more fern bashing cemented the decision to drop to and paddle the tiny Lake Innes to avoid a 1km fern bash sidle. The lake was sublime, calm and the change of scenery, fern free, was a welcome relief, if a little short. A steep scramble and a gentle sidle around a swamp and more unmapped hummocks led us, without major incident, to the last backcountry checkpoint CP20. I would later fondly reminisce about how easy the travel was through here compared to the South Coast track. As we inflate the boats on Lake Hakapoua swarms of sandflies attacked, the first bad ambush of the trip, and our headnets come out. We were jubilant, our feet were in good shape, we’d looked after ourselves and made good time through the toughest section of Leg 3, it felt like a home run (not that I’ve ever hit one, but how I imagine it would feel to hit one and have the crowd cheering). We paddle along the lake, stopping at a small hut for complementary cordial and a feed. A brief chat with support staff went along these lines.

‘How you guys doing? Do you need a helicopter ride out?’

‘We're good thanks. Hell no’

‘Oh ok, some teams are opting to take a helicopter at their own cost’

‘Oh ok...no thanks we’re fine. No feet issues, looking forward to an easy walk out along a well maintained DOC track’

‘Smile…..’

‘Confused look….’

Ok I made the bit about a well maintained DOC track up. But we felt good, we felt like we’d broken the back of Leg 3 and now all we had to do was mindlessly walk a track out to the TA. Easy right. What we failed to appreciate as we paddled down the lake and river outlet towards the south coast was that the DOC route from Big River was a four day tramp, that over 200mm of rain had recently fallen and that over 200 people had just walked, walked seems the wrong word, lets use slithered, slided and sucked, their way along the track. Track doesn’t really adequately describe the condition of the trail as we deflated our packraft and began the steep climb out of Big River. It was a stunning spot and the aerial photo from the helicopter captures it brilliantly, it was a truly wild spot.

Our darkest hour on a DOC track

We each had one change of dry socks and decided to wait a while before switching. The DOC markers were clear but the trail was unrelentingly steep, very muddy and very slippery and we quickly realised that the going was easier off track. Descending slides of mud there were no good foot placements except on virgin ground in the ferns. Hours went by but distance ticked over in the metre increments. After three hours on the ‘track’ we were demoralised to discover we had covered 6 kms. While this was standard fare in the backcountry my mental, and food, reserves were dwindling as I’d planned on an autopilot hike out at 4-5km per hour. Darkness fell and with it came easier terrain but more mud. Talking helped and Bee kept us occupied in these, our (by our I mean the three guys, Bee was as strong as ever) darkest hours, with various games and stories. I kept myself amused by shouting at the mud and playing a game called ankle deep. Thankfully by the time we got to the waist deep crossing Bee had wised up and we found a log to cross. The food situation was getting dire but once again Marcel delivered handing out a Vinnies pie and Red Bull at Waitutu hut. After a three hour noisy rest we were off again. Refueled at 4am and dry socks (for 100 metres) the team were back in action. Unfortunately our spot tracker had not got the ‘bag of cement memo’ and was dwindling at 3% so while our fans and family thought we were getting a full nights sleep we began reeling in teams. The race at the back of the pack had begun. First up a funny acronym team (I can’t recall their name)….next a team with an American, then another….the blood was going to the muscles not the brain so apologies for the fuzzy details. Arriving back at Waitutu Lodge... aaah now I get why I was so confused, one hut is called Waitutu Hut one is called Waitutu Lodge…..WTF! How is a sleep deprived guy meant to get his head round that. It’s taken me two weeks…

Ok where was I. Oh yes we walked into Waitutu Lodge, three days after leaving, triumphant in our conquest of the Fiordland wilderness. The support staff and volunteers initial look of concern passed as we reassured them we were in good shape, our feet were good with no signs of trench foot. We were supplied with some white bread and fruit cake, and Craig promptly invented a new sandwich. It tasted bloody brilliant. Loading up our packs with our gear stash, wet wetsuits and helmets, our packs overflowed and every carabiner was used to secure every bit of kit imaginable. Total pack weight unknown but it was very heavy. We broke down the march into 1 hour chunks, had a 45 minute power nap at Port Craig, and checked on the leaders on a passing hikers phone….they’d finished! Always demoralising to hear that, and carried on into the darkness of day dot? It matters not. We walked all night to get to a field in the middle of nowhere. Noozle, Bee’s mum Fizz, and Richard had walked the beach to great us and I mistakenly believed we were closer to the TA than we actually were. Still 8km to go!

The TA was uneventful but on arriving we were pleased to see the familiar faces of Team Morrison Cars. Unfortunately they had short coursed themselves from the Slaughterburn hut after struggling on the ridge in the night. It was good to see them heading off but we were buggered so decided to sleep in TA and attack the bike ride in the morning. Rumours had already filtered down about the sections of forest, unmarked tracks, no tracks and bush bashing. Oh joy. A breakfast of Redbull ensured a long toilet stop then onto the bike with a renewed sense of purpose and a recharged spot tracker. We’d made it. We’d knocked Leg 3 off and it felt like the end of the race, anticlimatic to be riding off. We were now officially short coursed which doesn’t help with morale but the change of discipline felt good and the legs were happy spinning away, for the moment anyway. The forest quickly deteriorated into overgrown trails, paper roads and a maze of unmarked tracks. Fresh and in daylight Simon and I made quick work of this, with only one 200m overshoot. It was confusing keeping track of teams as many had further short coursed missing 23a and 23b but we rode on with purpose. Tiredness gradually crept in though and before long I needed a 20 minute power nap to deal to the drifting and the start of the sleepmonsters. We charged down the final hill to the tarseal and it was great to be greated by Fizz and the gang. 

We’d made it through the forest in good time and now just a 70km road ride to Supply Bay, a hike and paddle to the finish. A mere 20 hours to go and it felt like the home straight. How weird that 20 hours can feel like the home straight. We took turns drafting the road sitting at a good 25km/hr. This lasted about an hour before my guts objected...the sausage sandwich and Sprite was not happy and I was broken. Bee nursed us into another road stop put on by Richard and we overate again. But it was so good. Mutton sandwiches, Coke, a chair, wine, the photos say it all, such great hospitality, it was hard to leave. As we rode on Craig and I struggled intermittently as sleep came for each of us in turn. We batted it away with coffee beans, shouting, and singing of the really bad out of tune kind. Think the Lion King tune while flying downhill at 30km/hr in the darkness. It worked for me.

‘In the jungle, the mighty jungle the lion sleeps tonight’

‘In the jungle the mighty jungle the lion sleeps tonight’

‘A-weema-weh’

‘A-weema-weh’

Bee was a legend and kept us honest as we eeked out the last 20km as broken men. We’d overtaken many tents along the road and decided to bank a short 2hr sleep and get it done. It was the deepest two hour sleep I’d had in a long time and I woke not knowing where I was. A pre dawn start, a hike along a trail and a bush bash up a hill...it looked easy enough but 2hrs was not enough and as we walked along the trail in the early hours we stumbled along unable to walk a straight line. Another sleep came the call. ‘No its bloody cold and we'e not putting up the tent, lets just get up the hill a little.’ Came the response.

As the incline steepened the sleep monsters were banished and we made sharp navigation and route choices to sneak past team after team asleep on the ridge. Luckily the sun came up and with it the spirits of the team. The final sting in the tail was one last fern bash. All that was left was a short paddle across the bay to finish. With everything hurting and sleep knocking at the door it was all I could do to stay awake and stroke the water with the paddle. We crossed the line after 8 days and 5hours in 30th place. I felt relieved. Broken. The hardest most epic thing I’ve done...probably.

I’m amazed at what is possible with perseverance and a willing mind. After returning I’m always asked what was it like….it's hard to describe. Go out and try I say. It’s hard, you suffer at times, but its so rewarding. It strips away the crap, the barriers, the ego, the IPhone, and takes me back to a simple existence. I’ll be back for more, it’s a bit like a drug and after a while I need another hit of reality to give perspective to my life. To give perspective to the arbitrary deadlines at work, the routine of scheduled time, school, work, sleep, repeat. In the words of Faithless:

‘this is my church’

‘this is where I heal my hurts’

‘It’s in natural grace’

…