Category: Fitness

Racing Dusk – December 16, 2023

(Moose Mountain from Merlin View Trail)

Summer did not go as planned. We had it all figured out. Meet the Minotaur at the end of June, Rockwall end of July, Brazeau Loop (50 miles) towards the end of August. But I went into the Minotaur not healthy, didn’t rest properly afterwards, hurt an achilles tendon doing some ill-advised speedwork (sorry again Del, I would have loved pacing you during the Divide 200), and nothing ever came of another ultra this year. After a few months of tendon rehab, and a busy season with Finn chasing birds all over, things finally started to feel a little better.

Enter the Iron Legs Mountain Races Chasing Dusk “20-miler”, to be held in West-Bragg Creek, in December. Somehow this race appealed, and I figured I’d try some of its loops, to see how the legs felt. After all, I’d not ran more than 10K or so in a long time. The trial runs went OK, I survived the twenty kilometers of two of the loops combined, so a quick click had me signed up. Whatever made me think I should try to run the entire 34K at the pace of the single 14K loop that I tried is beyond me. But that thought just buried itself deep in my brain, and I couldn’t shake it. A sub-five-hour goal would leave me a little wiggle room. I’d just start fast and see where things would blow up. “There is but one pace, and that is suicide pace, and today feels like a good day to die!” Words to live by. If you are trained up and healthy.

(Apparent chaos at the start – runners could depart in both directions)

Conditions were pretty comfortable, with ice-packed trails, a light frost and some sunshine at the start, and after 5-4-3-2-1 we were off. I’d chosen to do the longest loop first, and stuck myself behind a few racers that had a pace that felt good. When we got overtaken by a couple, I hitched myself onto their wagon, more or less, since they dropped me right around the turn-around point. I made good time around the first 14K, just 7 minutes behind the pace of the trial run, which had taken place on mostly dry trails. The climb up Ranger Summit (in the second loop) felt a little harder than I expected, but the descent was great, going at reckless speed. Suicide pace. Back at the start/finish/aid station area in 3h15min, well inside the schedule for a five-hour finish. Only 10K to go!

Though quite tired, I was still harboring some delusional feelings of pushing the pace and seeing how close I could get to 4h30m. However, roughly two kilometers into the last loop the wheels came off. My knee started hurting in that fashion that tells you “OK, we can keep going, but if you push it, you’ll regret it”. The run slowed down to a jog initially, but a few minutes later it deteriorated into a walk/shuffle/hobble forward motion. Any time I tried a genuine jog the pain crept up to that breaking point quickly. The fact that this trail was more snow-covered and softer than the other two didn’t help.

For the rest of the race, I hobbled and shuffled and occasionally jogged for thirty seconds, doing math in my head. A ten minute per kilometer pace should get me to the finish in under five hours, with five minutes to spare. I recalled similar discomfort during the Minotaur, and how the poles had done wonders buffering some of the impact on the joints on the final descent. I had briefly thought about carrying poles, but in a bout of misguided confidence decided that I wouldn’t need them. I regretted that now.

Somehow, I managed to stay under that 10min pace for the last five kilometers and finished under my goal time. It is likely that no coach would ever recommend tackling a race in this fashion. Generally, the idea is to start conservatively, and finish strong. But sometimes you just have to try something different. Given my deplorable training record, blowing up after a fast start was very likely, and it happened. But not until I had kept up the pace long enough to reach the goal. Unconventional perhaps, but loads of fun!

(Looking sharp for the finish photo / empty tank)

Meet the Minotaur 2023

Four years in the making. Two COVID cancellations and one stupid back injury, sustained while changing winter tires, kept me from toeing the line in Blairmore, Alberta to tackle what since has become an official Skyrace, part of an international circuit of races where the young and extremely fit battle it out on predominantly vertical and technical terrain. But now I’m here, the night before the race, doing a shake-out walk around Sparwood. Not a run, a walk. Another nagging injury kept me from running for the last ten days. The mood is gloomy, the legs feel heavy, and motivation is at an all time low.

The advantage of my despondent attitude is that I’m not nervous. I fill my running vest with food and gear without much emotion, and I even sleep moderately well. We leave the hotel a few minutes late, and pull into Tim Hortons for a bathroom break with 7 minutes to go till the start of the mandatory pre-race meeting. Turns out we’re not the only ones slightly behind schedule, as we see racers walk and jog towards the starting area while the safety talk is already sounding from the speakers.

I meet a few people I know from the weekly training runs put on by Joanna. As much as there is wrong with social media, it still is a great, low-threshold way to meet people; good for a socially awkward introvert like me. Then it’s “ten – nine – eight” and we’re off. The ab injury nags, I sulk, and the fast crowd zips by towards the first pinch point in the race, going under the highway bridge. There will be many more pinch points on the narrow single track up Bluff Mountain. I look back and figure perhaps fifty racers are behind me. Probably two hundred ahead of me therefore.

The climb is steep and direct, slowly the conga line starts to break, and I allow myself to commiserate a little longer as I contemplate the pace. As the terrain gets rockier, some racers start to take their time negotiating perceived difficulties, creating a harmonica wave of people: bunch up behind the slowest, stretch out when the terrain is easier. Despite my best efforts to take things in stride, it gets to me. With a few mumbled “sorry, do you mind if I pass” comments, I manage to create some breathing space, and I connect with a loose group of racers whose pace is just challenging enough to leave no room for griping. It’s go time.

A quick high-five marks the rounded summit of Bluff Mountain and before there is time to celebrate we’re on the steep soft downhill through the trees, trying to moderate the pace. An hour and half to the top, ahead of any conceived schedule. Briefly Prefontaine’s quote floats up from the pool of possible emotions: “There is only one pace, that’s suicide pace, and today feels like a good day to die.” Cockiness that will come to harm me.

I meet my daughter and overly excited dog near the first aid station. It’s a claustrophobic affair, with trees and ground vegetation, and too many people. A few pieces of bananas, cup of electrolyte and a water refill, and I leave it all behind, my dog barking in frustration that he is disallowed to join me. If next year there is a rule that dogs cannot be present in the aid station area, it’s probably our fault.

Not long into the second climb, the leg cramps start. Perhaps I am paying for the fast descent, even though it hadn’t felt too hard. Brief visions of DNF flash before me. Salt, water, food, shaking out the legs, trying to move differently, it helps a bit. I pass a few people. The false summits are disheartening, and the cramps return. More salt, keep drinking, and finally we crest and turn towards the infamous Shoe Shredder descent. It turns out to be not more difficult than what we have done in preparation.

Not much longer I stumble into the second aid station. My daughter is there again with Finn, who has become even more agitated. Luckily nobody appears to be too annoyed with him, or they are just being polite. I down a few cups of electrolyte, eat some salty chips, break out the poles, and head out for the dreaded third climb.

Cramps continue to reoccur early in the ascent, and I try to focus on keeping my heels down, engaging the glutes. The cramps disappear, but the damage is done. Muscles stay sore. The trail up the avalanche chute is steep, endless, and I love it. Head down, find a rhythm, grind, just don’t stop. Soon the terrain changes, gets technical, a few no-trip ridges. The diversity of the terrain helps take my mind of the quads, it’s gorgeous up here. The third peak comes into view, way the hell out there. Left at the purple rock, down, around up, down, balance, jog a little, climb some more, enjoy the views. Even a sprinkle of rain.

The long way down hurts. The trail becomes lonely, nobody is catching up, and I’m not catching anyone. Legs are empty. Focus wanders, and I trip. On a soft trail, very lucky. Checking the watch, I realize that a sub-nine hour finish is in reach, much better than the pre-race doom had allowed for. The descent seems never-ending, I’m glad for the poles that take some pressure of the legs. A few people pass me, I’m having trouble keeping a good pace on anything steep downhill.

Aid station number three is an airy affair, lots of space, even for a dog that by now has had so much stimulation that he needs nothing to set him off. Poor guy, it’s been a long day for him too. More electrolytes, more chips, and a fill of water for a flask in which I put a Nuun tablet. According to the watch there is four and a half kilometers to go, and fifty seven minutes to do them to get sub nine. Easy.

With thirty three and a half kilometers on the watch I come across a small trailside sign reading “2km to finish”. This race was supposed to be over. I don’t want to walk it in, it’s still a race, so the tired jog continues. The trail runs alongside the highway for a bit, and then through the outskirts of Blairmore. A family is sitting outside their back gate, cheering me on. I pass three more racers on the last stretch. Finish in 8h54 and change, in the anonymity of the back of the middle of the pack. A metaphor for life perhaps.

It is done. The beast has been slain. We get some smoothies at the Cafe Stones Throw right at closing time. Eat some tacos at the food truck. We need to get home, take care of the ailing old dog. A quick stop outside of town for a parking lot shower – my daughter pouring water over my head from a jug, a break at Chain Lakes for ice cream, mango-chocolate; at home nachos and a beer drank from the glass with the Minotaur logo.

Till we meet again, Minotaur… perhaps.

FD

Why? Ultra-running drivers explained in three quotes

Preamble

If you have to ask the question, you probably won’t understand the answer. The “why” question. Why run that far? If you ask me the question, I may not have an answer; but if I do answer, chances are my words will not resonate.

It’s a bit of a cop-out really, that first sentence. It effortlessly excuses the originator from exploring his or her inner turmoil that leads to spending hours and sometimes days on rocky, windswept, winding trails. Worse yet, it suggests the existence of some elite, secretive society, whose motivations are so nebulous that they are beyond the grasp of the average guy on the street. So don’t bother asking. We’re special.

I’ve stood on high passes, legs aching from a long and steep ascent, but only a fraction of the day behind me, overlooking a narrow ribbon of trail cutting its way through rocks and shrub and trees, following creeks and valleys, and up the next mountain; wondering how on earth I will make it to the other side, or around the loop. A little overwhelmed perhaps, with ominous dark clouds climbing up the far side of a barren ridge, as yet still dispersing when whipped by a violent wind at the crest, but for how long? Still a marathon to go. Three passes, three climbs and four descents. No short cuts, no quick exit to the highway, no lodges, no support. I could still turn around. I search the crevasses of my brain for excuses, but find none. And I go, one step downhill, and another, and before I know it the trail sucks me in, and I run. If I’m fast enough, I might beat the building storm to the next pass.

Why run that far? Why do I run that far, when I vow to never do it again, during the last miles, when every step hurts, and I have to alternate between a painful fast hobble, and a slower and only slightly more bearable walk to get some relief from the agony, but a few days later find myself planning the next trip? Why even start the life that leads to these runs that bring glory nor fame? You don’t just lace up and run fifty kilometers, or 50 miles, or more. It takes a bit of doing, will suck up weekend days, and week-day evenings, draw ire from your spouse who thinks you’ve gone mad, makes you miss TV series that everybody raves about. Alright, the latter is perhaps not necessarily a bad thing.

Start with the ugly

So why? Here are some of my reasons, starting with the ugliest. Running long distances gives me a feeling of superiority. Not a very likable reason, but I can’t help it. Every time I encounter someone struggling under the weight of a backpack, destined to take five days for a trip I intend to complete before sundown, I feel like I am better. It’s not a fair comparison, the other person is not even trying to do what I do, and I am not even very good at what I’m trying to accomplish, mediocre might not even describe my skills, yet infallibly this feeling pops up. As quickly as it emerges, I dismiss this childish emotion of a bottom-tier trailrunner, and I hope that over time I become a better person.

Similar, but not the same, since it doesn’t include any comparative notions, is the sensation of ability I get when starting a long run. Ability to tackle big distance, big mountains, big days, with minimal gear, just enough to not starve or freeze, a small kit to deal with eventualities, and the mindset that I can deal with whatever the trail will throw at me. This sense may disappear temporarily as the day progresses, and initial confidence erodes as legs becomes tired and then tiredness is chased off by pain. But it resurfaces as soon as the end becomes palpable, and I can think: “I did that!” I may not be able to walk straight for a few days, but I did it! Pride. Another questionable driver.

Clearly, these first two reasons could apply to any athletic endeavour, or even aspects of life that have nothing to do with sports. Feelings of superiority and pride can become part of an individual that earns a lot of money, or achieves some scientific or engineering feat, or keeps an organized sock drawer. So not very helpful in understanding why an increasing number of runners choose to go far. They are not even reasons or drivers, but more like consequences. So what got me started on the road to running ultras, when sock organizing would have been so much more accessible and instantly gratifying? I think it was curiosity.

“Beyond lies a new valley, a valley you have never seen”            R.M. Patterson – The Buffalo Head

So this doesn’t evolve into an epistle of insufferable length, I will jump right into the moment of awakening. I had fallen in with the biathlon crowd in Canmore, the hub of the Canadian Biathlon Teams. Our team of aging athlete-pretenders shared the ski trails and shooting range with the up and comers, the next members of the Canadian national team. One summer day, a Facebook post showed two of them on top of Ha Ling, the fourth mountain of a thing called the Canmore Quad, an astonishing, an at the time rather unimaginable effort to climb the four mountains that frame the town, running from base to base, within a 24-hour period. Fifty-five kilometers and way too much climbing, on this day casually done by two aspiring national athletes, with whom I’ve skied, talked, joked; normal people. It blew me away. It also opened my eyes and triggered a desire. What if one day I could do this? What would it take? A door had been opened and showed a world I knew nothing about. I wanted to learn.

“…because while you think you could maybe face dying, you can’t deal with the idea of one day becoming too old and weak to ramble among these summits any longer.”
D.H. Chadwick – The Wolverine Way

You cannot get away with spending the time required to train up to running past marathon distances, without having a love for the terrain in which you choose to do it. You won’t find me running some big city marathon, simply because I hate running on the tarmac, amongst traffic, with views blocked by buildings. But I sure love being out in the mountains, and did well before I started running. I moved across an ocean and the length of a continent to live near to them. So there’s a driver: I love mountains.

Out in the mountains, attention and purpose become singular. No distractions from screens or phones or people; freedom to do what I want, and go where I want, and freedom from responsibilities. It is refreshing, I come back a better person. That may not last, but at least for a little while I am gentler, more patient, and happier. In a way mountain running replaces therapy.

“Do not go gentle into that good night. […] Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” – Poem by Dylan Thomas

Finally, as I creep towards the ripe age of sixty, and the body is starting to show signs of wear, I feel an urge to disprove the inevitable; that I’m getting old. I still have decades left, I’m fitter than many twenty years my junior, I will die on a high ridge, and not in an old-folks home. Delusional? Probably. Health is fleeting.

Epilogue

“There you have it, sports fans” (a bonus quote). Curiosity, love of mountains, therapy, delusionality. The drivers that keep me going. I am still intrigued by the notion that people can run these distances. I’ve only scratched the surface, having completed three runs of over fifty kilometers. People run a hundred miles in less than a day; two hundred and forty miles in less than a handful.

The big six-oh is coming up. I cannot see myself running a hundred miles. Fifty maybe. The Brazeau Loop in Jasper National Park is a convenient 50.7 miles, covers some of the best mountain scenery available in these parts, cuts through what is presumed to be one of the last strongholds of caribou in Alberta’s National Parks, sees a very limited number of visitors due to a restrictive camping policy, and has no easy outs. Once you are in, you are in. Go back or continue are the only two options. I may just have to try it.

I can’t wait to see the faces of the hikers, when they hear the answer to the inevitable question:

“You are running? How far are you going today?”

“All the way around the loop!”

Without feeling superior of course.

Rockwall Trail – Kootenay National Park

After the Elk Valley Ultra was completed, inside my personal time goal, and therefore could be considered a success, I could not wait to do it again, and prove to myself that it wasn’t a fluke, that I really was an “ultrarunner”. One could argue that doing a little over 50K doesn’t look all that “ultra” given that a regular marathon is 42K, but generally those don’t climb over 9,000 feet in the process. So it felt pretty ultra to me.

I had my eye on a loop in Banff National Park, which appeared to be a little over 60K at first glance, but studying a paper map instead of the tiny screen of an iPhone app, it came out closer to 75K. Perhaps a little too ambitious. I decided on the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, a 55+K trail that crosses over 3 or 4 mountain passes, rivaling in elevation gain the Elk Valley Ultra.

Four weeks after the Elk Valley experience we drove into BC with two cars. Rockwall trail is not a loop, you end up about 13km from where you started, so you either hitch hike, or arrange a drop. My daughter was shanghaied into coming out early. She would do a part of the trail, taking the dogs, and drive home when done.

We started at the Floe Lake trailhead around 8:20AM. Right off the parking lot we dropped down to a bridge across the Kootenay River. A small group of runners was getting ready, but we were gone before they got organized. After crossing, I said goodbye to my daughter and the mutts and started a slow jog up a meandering trail that ran through a giant burn. Walking the steeper bits, jogging where I could, I made decent time, passing a few hikers, meeting some backpackers on their way out, and hearing for the first time about a group of runners ahead of me.

The last few kilometers up to Floe Lake were steep! No running here for me, just grind uphill. Weather was good, legs still felt OK, scenery was great. Floe Lake was rather bleak-looking, bordered by towering grey rock, jutting into a now overcast sky, a stark contrast from the lush, green, sun-filled valley below.

From Floe Lake it is less than 3K to the first pass of the day: Numa Pass. A short section of alpine meadows takes you to the scree-filled pass, after which you drop down quickly back into the trees. It had taken me about 2 hours and 40 minutes to reach Numa Pass; hard to imagine that there was still a marathon left to do.

After bottoming out, the next climb loomed: 5K up to Tumbling Pass. A large part of this trail run through willows and alder bush, at least 10 feet tall, restricting any kind of view other than a few glimpses. It’s just grind-grind-grind, until the terrain finally opens up, and you reach the pass, which is a little friendlier than Numa, with stunted trees and grassy patches. Good spot for lunch, if you are the lunch-having kind. Roughly 26K done, and 5 hours in, there still was about 30K to go. The view of the trail ahead was part exhilarating and part daunting.

The descent to Tumbling Creek took me through a larch forest, from which there were glimpses of the next obstacle: Rockwall Pass. Just before the Tumbling Creek campground I chatted briefly with a guy who was curious if we were “all” training for an upcoming race, and he mentioned the other group of runners, still ahead of me.

A much shorter climb brought on the Rockwall Pass area. Hugely open, alpine meadows, marmots, views, wide trail, a fellow could feel mighty good about himself having made it up here, and I did.

Rockwall Pass was glorious. After the high point the trail dropped down to a small lake, and a great view of the rock that gave the pass its name. About 35K in, 7 hours after leaving the trailhead, it started to drizzle. A short climb through flowery meadows took me up to the last view point of any significance of the day. Looking back to the Rockwall area certainly was a sight to remember.

After a brief chat with two backpackers, I started the long descent to the Paint Pots trailhead, where I had left the truck. The steady rain quickly turned the trail into mud, the larch forest that I crossed looked gloomy. Hard to fathom there were still over 18K to go. I was starting to feel worn out, and my feet were hurting. Where four weeks ago I found a second wind, there was no wind to be found in the body this time.

The next seven or eight kilometers I went too fast for the way I was feeling. I glanced at Helmet Falls, but couldn’t find the strength to take a side trip for a closer look. Somewhere past the campground I caught a glimpse of something moving up ahead on the trail, and with still about 10K to go I came up behind a young couple, who had started before me. They asked for a ride back to the Floe Lake trailhead, should we arrive at Paint Pots together.

For the next two hours we kept exchanging the lead. I tried to create some distance, but I was pretty much spent. With the rain now relentless, it became a mud slug, alternating between walking and running, with hardly a view to lift the spirit. The green, gloomy tunnel went on forever it seemed, but just as it all seemed to become a little too much, the ground turned a dark orange. I made it to the Paint Pots, and so had my on-and-off running partners.

The Coros watch app reminds me I took 10 hours, 42 minutes and 19 seconds to cover the 55.4K, climbing some 8,700 feet in the process. The other guys took 12 hours. Like for me, it was only their second time covering a distance longer than 50K. They were very happy with the ride back to their vehicle, I was happy to be able to help them. I always thought heated seats were for sissies, but I think I kept the heat cranked high all the way home, to sooth the aching muscles.

If I were to do this trail again, I’d start at Paint Pots, and get the less-inspiring bit in the trees done first.

FD

Chasing Ultra – Part II

The official course stats:

LEG 1: 20.5KM // 1,480M VERT

LEG 2: 16.5KM // 720M VERT

LEG 3A: 6KM // 125M VERT

LEG 3B: 7KM // 475M VERT

TOTAL: 50KM // 2800M VERT

I think these numbers are to be taken as indicative rather than absolute. My GPS watch logged 51.7KM and a little under 2800M.
Elk Valley Ultra
Three forty five in the morning came way too soon. Sleep had come surprisingly easy. I drank a tall glass of electrolyte mix, put the coffee on, and hopped in the shower. Breakfast consisted of a couple of home-made muffins, and a small yoghurt. Taping up various body parts, filling water bottles, double checking the race vest and lacing up the runners took up the rest of the time till five.
I found a parking spot not too far from the starting area, placed the drop bags into the vehicles that would take them to the aid stations, and waited for my wife and daughter to arrive. It was a chilly morning, and not many of the racers had arrived yet.
As I jogged towards the outhouse at the other side of the parking lot, I felt the adductor muscles in my left leg tighten up. That was one of the nags that I had not been able to get rid of since the last long run, and now it was giving me a painful reminder. Apart from that, I was feeling vaguely confident. Confidence stemming from ignorance probably. “Start slowly” I kept repeating to myself. With more areas in my legs hurting than I have fingers on one hand, this might be easier to accomplish than I had imagined.
The start signal was a very unassuming “3-2-1-off you go”. Some two hundred runners crossed the line and turned right onto the gravel path along the Elk River. Two and half kilometers later a good number of them had passed me. I was sticking to a leisurely pace, worried about my ever tightening groin muscle. If I could make it to where the climb started I might be OK. Some 7 or 8 km or non-runnable climbing awaited, lots of time for the body to warm up and get ready for a faster pace later.
As soon as we turned up the single track mountain trail, the pace was determined by whomever was leading the conga line up. Somewhere up ahead would be the fast starters, not burdened by the mass of runners behind them. We weren’t going up very rapidly, but I tried to embrace it as the slow start I told myself I needed. From time to time someone would step out of the line to take a breather. Not many were behind me. One rather heavy-set individual was breathing with an intensity not fitting the climb. I have to doubt he made it through the whole run.
About 2/3 up the climb the terrain got a little technical and people ahead of me in the conga line started having trouble. Now I was getting concerned about the delays and the slow pace, especially since we were in terrain where I was most at home. I couldn’t take it any longer, and with a few “Would you mind if I pass?” and some quick scrambles, I moved passed the bottle necks and fell into a quicker pace.
It still was a decent grind until the trail topped out, but the trees had all but vanished, the air was clear, it wasn’t too hot yet, and the grade didn’t phase me. Around 2 1/2 hours in I stood at Windy Pass, cheered on by a small crowd. Well, only four people really, but given that they probably also had to hike 2 1/2 hours or more to get there, I was impressed. In the weeks leading up to the event I had been telling everybody that wanted to hear that I would want to take three hours to do the initial climb, and that two and a half would be too fast. But I felt good, and started the long descent.
It felt long indeed, going down seemingly endless single track. Towards the bottom the pine trees gave way to beautiful old growth forest, and then just like that a cow bell sounded, and cheers erupted, and I found myself greeted by my daughter at the first aid station. She made sure I found the drop bag, filled up the hydration pack, and took some pictures. Right around four and a half hours I jumped back on the trail, a half hour ahead of my self-imposed schedule, in good spirits. And the groin pain had gone!
The first section of the second leg ran in between the creek and the road. Nice grass, flat dirt trail, easy to make good progress. Once the trail crossed back across the road, where my daughter cheered some more and took more pictures, the climbing started again. It would continue for quite some time, relentlessly going up on mountain bike trails and washed-out cutlines. I felt strong, and managed to overtake a few runners, without getting passed myself. In retrospect I figure I was at the tail end of the middle-of-the-pack.
The downhill was again a grind, and by now things started to hurt. I had to walk regularly now to let some knee pain subside before continuing the push. The second aid station was a welcome sight. Both my daughter and wife were there for moral support.
I ate a banana, by now the bacon-peanut butter wraps had become very unappealing, and drank the ginger ale, My daughter again refilled the bladder and added ice cubes, which was wonderfully cool on my back during the next section. I changed out of the Altra Lone Peaks and into the Hoka Speedgoats. My feet were feeling really flat and tired, and I hoped that the extra cushioning of the Hoka’s was going to help me keep a decent pace.
I don’t really remember leg 3a, only the friendly lady cheering my up the small hill back to the aid station, and meeting back up with my crew. I really didn’t need anything, other than some encouraging words. I looked better than some of the people that came through before me, who were cursing out loud the climb they had just done, so I was told.
A glance at my watch showed that I was eight hours and some forty five minutes in. Seven and a half-ish kilometer to go, and almost 500 meters of climbing. Suddenly I realized that the sub-ten hour goal was still achievable. Sent off with some stern words from my wife to not overdo it, I hobbled back across a parking lot and onto the mountain bike trails. The climb was steady, but not steep. I still felt strong going uphill, so I managed to jog some good sections. When I’m hurting I like to fall into a pattern. Count 60 double-steps running followed by 30 walking; back to sixty running, etcetera. The kilometers ticked off swiftly, and the time looked good. But there was still a lot of downhill to get through.
The downhill was painful. I had passed a runner on the uphill, who came barrelling by me not too long before I finally made it back to the river. The final few kilometers I exchanged places with a female runner that I had ran behind for a while on the first descent. We were both struggling to maintain a good pace, but once across the bridge and in the home stretch we managed to encourage each other that a sub-ten finish was still possible. I watched the kilometer counter go past 51km, and the time creep towards the ten hour mark. How long was this race anyway? No more walking breaks now, just grind grind grind along the river-side gravel path. Finally my daughter appeared from around the bend. The finish had to be really close!
With five minutes to go till the 10-hour mark I could relax. I chatted a bit with my daughter during the final few hundred meters, and managed to cross the finish line in a blistering 9 hours 57 minutes and 53 seconds!
I collected my medal, my free beer (Fernie Brewing Company Brown Ale), and a meal of pulled pork, beans and a salad, which mostly my daughter ate. One thing I had looked forward to was a dunk in the Elk River, but the water level was high, the current strong, and my feet too much in pain to move to a shallower spot across the rocky river bottom. I opted for a quick dash to the room for a shower, a snack and more fluids.
We were back at the finish area in time to witness the last two finishers come in minutes before the 13 hour cut-off and later one final runner about 30 minutes or so after. It was a great atmosphere, despite the thunderstorms and rain showers.
All in all this was a fantastic event, which I fear has unleashed the beast. I can’t wait to do it again.

Chasing Ultra – Part I

“With your knees you should probably not be running”
The memory of the last time I ran a foot race has sunk so deep into the recesses of my brain, that the synapses connecting to it have long died off. I suspect it was in high school. Some Phys Ed teacher probably staged a running contest, or had us run around the soccer field, keeping track of who did the most loops. I’m sure it wasn’t me.
I ran a bit, on and off, here and there, but never liked it. It was hard, and it was hard on the knees. Too many squats during my university days, when six times a week I started off the day with a two to three hour gym session, before hitting the books. I ran on the beach, during lunch breaks at my first job, but not frequently. I didn’t run for a decade and a half after that. I tried again a few years ago, and worked up to a 10K, before the knees started acting up again. “With your knees you should probably not be running”, said the physiotherapist.
How I became aware that there was such a thing as an ultra-marathon, I don’t remember; and how I came to believe that I really needed to run one is a mystery. Being close to some amazing athletes during my biathlon days had changed my perspective on training. It only took a few decades for me to finally realize that there is a whole world of training out there beyond the 20 min mark. One of my former team mates, and later two up and comers in the Canadian biathlon world ran the Canmore Quad, a 50+ km, 15,500 feet underground ultrarunning challenge involving four mountains. I was beyond intrigued.
Then last year I just started running. And reading. Soon I found “Born to Run”. I devoured that book, barely able to put it down. I believed everything, because I wanted it to be true. Anybody can run dozens of kilometers through the mountains. Just proper technique and training. I got religious about toe striking, and started adding the miles. Eleven miles was the first mountain “run”, still in hiking boots. Bought runners, and shredded their soles on Grotto Mountain. Also duly blackened a toe nail on that descent. Soon I did a 19 mile run, including crossing the Elbow river. Running with wet feet is what ultrarunners do; I saw that on Youtube.
Rae Creek Hills – July 8, 2018. All is still well here.
One unhappy Saturday in July things took a turn. I had a big run: 22 miles and 7,000 feet of elevation gain, with some serious off-trail terrain (shredded the warranty-replacement runners’ soles on that trip). At some point if felt a sting in my back, but it went away. I forgot to mention that two years earlier I had received cortisone injections in my back to treat some joint issues. I finished the day, and felt OK. Until the next morning. Something was wrong. I could barely get out of bed, couldn’t stand, sit or walk. More injections, pills, and two weeks of agony ensued. I was done running.
 
Charlie – who could outrun the wind – having a cool down on a hot day in the mountains. I still miss him dearly.
A month later I bought a mountain bike, and before the fall weather hit I rode my first 100K. But mountain biking isn’t running. It doesn’t have the same freedom. And I still had a pair of barely used new runners, as the second warranty-replacement pair, a different brand this time. By Christmas I was doing short jogs again.
The back hurt, there was no denying. I was doing short 5K “runs”, and whatever was wrong with my bones made me pay every time. I have an extra tailbone, one rogue joint that refused to fuse with his buddies as he was supposed to, and some extra lateral bone growth coming off of it that joined up with the hip bone. That discovery explained the decades of stiffness on that side. But now that contact area is showing some “pseudo-arthritis” – I think it is called that anyway – and that was causing the pain.
Over Christmas I tested myself by running Prairie Mountain, or its equivalent on the hill behind the house) for twelve days in a row. I managed better than expected. (Twelve days of Prairie Mountain)
Then one day I bumped into a friend on the hill. We chatted a bit, and he mentioned a 50km race his wife had done the year before. Not just any 50km, but 50km including 2800m of elevation gain (and loss) in a big loop around Mount Fernie, and adjacent lower hills: the Elk Valley Ultra (Elk Valley Ultra) That sounded like me! Less running on flat terrain, more hiking and climbing, technical terrain, all things that I figured would work in my favour.
But my back still hurt during every run. I consulted with my chiropractor, who had discovered my back problem initially, and asked him if by running I would do more harm. He said no.
I signed up. And I started running. I made a schedule, I had time. Ten percent distance increase per week in for the long run; building in two rest weeks to give the aging body time to catch up to an ambitious mind.
The miracle was happening. As the weeks progressed, the moment that my back would start to protest would come later and later. My schedule had me do a long run of 40K two weeks from the race, and then taper down. A smart gradual increase in mileage, so the body had time to adjust. But I lost faith. I just had to prove to myself sooner that I could a distance like that. I started pushing the long runs, and ended up doing my first run past the marathon distance about 8 weeks before race day.
My body protested. I developed a nagging pain in my left foot. I had no choice but to tone it down a notch or two. As a result I did not do a long run over 12K in a month. The pain decreased but did not go away. With four weeks to go, it was time to gamble. I did a 21K run the one week, and a pretty gnarly 36K run with 1800m of climbing across an exposed ridge the week after.
After three more shorter runs suggested by a taper schedule I found on the net, and struggling through those, I pulled the emergency break. The long run had taken too much out of me, and too many body parts were aching. I needed rest bad, and probably more than I had time left. It wasn’t until Thursday before the race that I started feeling a little better; still too many nagging aches and tight muscles to be confident about a good outcome. But time was up. Time to leave for Fernie.

Circumambulate

cir·cum·am·bu·late
/ˌsərkəmˈambyəlāt/
verb
walk all the way around (something)
Every year, thousands of pilgrims of several religions circumambulate Mount Kailash in Tibet, as a holy ritual believed to bring good fortune.

We did our own version of circumambulation by circling around Yamnuska, a popular climbing, hiking and scrambling destination West of Calgary.

The rising sun catches the South face of Yamnuska
The East face of the mountain resembles a solid block
More features become visible as you keep climbing towards the East
Yamnuska North face – Once we dropped into the shadow side of the mountain, it became apparent how cold it really was
A glimpse of the West face, we needed to keep going South-West to reach the col in between Yamnuska and Old Goat Mountain
Climbing towards the col on the West side, craving to reach the sun
Finally at the col, and in the sun! We dove into the trees, out of the wind, and had some lunch (everything bagels with bacon, salami, prosciutto, spinach and Gouda cheese)
Looking North-East, along the flat face of the mountain
Coming down the giant scree field underneath the South face
Gentle trail through the aspens to conclude the circumambulation
If circumambulation appeases the spirits that live on the mountain, perhaps we have earned some good fortune today. If not, we still had a great day, and came home a little less encumbered by our daily worries.

Twelve Days of “Prairie Mountain”

Could I do it? Climb a mountain twelve days in a row? The thought came to me when I saw the ultra-runners do repeats on Prairie Mountain. I did three in one morning in the spring, but certainly wasn’t feeling up to that now. I figured it was time to do something reflecting the signature line in some of my emails (from a Dylan Thomas poem): “Do not go gentle into that good night – Rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Just because; an ego-booster mostly, I think.

The original plan was to climb Prairie Mountain (2189m/7182ft), located West of Bragg Creek AB, once a day, for twelve days, leading up to Christmas. I started on a Sunday morning. On Monday morning, one of our vehicles had to be in the shop, and I found myself without wheels. End of plan, before it even started.

Luckily I have a hill behind my house that I can access. The climb up Prairie Mountain is 3.5km/2.2miles, and covers 700m/2297ft, give or take a few feet or meters, depending on the source. I mapped out a 100m/328ft climb on the hill stretching over just about half a kilometer. Go up and down 7 times and I’d have the same distance as the climb up and descent from PM. This would also save me the 90 min of driving required to get to PM and back. Not quite the same, but close enough.

Here are the notes I jot down every day after the “run”.

Day 1: Prairie Mountain

Weight: 61.2 kg / 134.8 lbs
Podcast: None
Average pace (uphill only): 15min 10 sec per km (24.2 min/mile)

Ran up Prairie Mountain in 53 minutes, forgot to record the descent. Pretty good time, about nine minutes longer than my personal best, but I was fitter then. Trail was icy, which probably will be the case every time. I wore hiking boots and crampons, hardly speed-record attire. The trail seems to attract more and more people that do repeats, climbing it several times in a row. There are a lot of fit people out there. I try to look the part whenever I see one coming, giving a knowing nod: “You and me, bud (or girl), we’re the fast ones on this hill, #ultrarunning”, only to get back to gasping for air once they have passed.

Day 2: Big Hill

Weight: 61.0 kg / 134.4 lbs
Podcast: Meateater Ep. 146: Bigfoot
Average pace: 11min 41sec per km  (18.7 min/mile)

Felt good, legs a tad sore. Clearly I’m no speed demon. Going up this hill seven times is a bit boring, especially since I know it so well. No surprises, just grind. I jogged the downhills, need to be careful not to aggravate the back. The dog is getting slightly confused by all the back-and-forth.

Day 3: Big Hill

Weight: 61.0 kg / 134.4 lbs
Podcast: The Hunting Collective Ep. 39: Dusan Smetana
Average pace: 11min 30sec (18.4 min/mile)

Thank goodness for podcasts. Ben O’Brian of The Hunting Collective was talking to a former Czechoslovakian photographer who trains homing pigeons (and has a small farm with sheep, chickens, pigs, etc. with a taste for slivovitz and Argentinian asado).   Leg 6 and 7 were starting to feel like work.

Day 4: Big Hill

Weight: 60.8 kg / 132.9 lbs
Podcast: Humans of Ultrarunning Ep. 1: Courtney Dauwalter
Average pace: 11min 47sec per km (18.9 min/mile)

I needed to go early today, so it would have less impact on the workday; still dark when I started. Legs were sore, so was the brain. Coutney Dauwalter is a beast, I am not. Or if we are both beasts, she is a wolverine, running high and low and never slowing down, and I am more of a lumbering bear past his prime, looking for a place to take a nap. If you don’t get the wolverine reference, you need to read Douglas Chadwick’s book “The Wolverine Way” and marvel about the relentless energy of this animal that inhabits the remote mountain ranges of the Rockies. Eleven deer on the hill. Managed to end strong, but it took a while to get the kinks out of the muscles; one third of the way there.

Day 5: Prairie Mountain

Weight: 60.8 kg / 132.9 lbs
Podcast: The Stickbow Chronicles Oct 14: Bowhunting Moose with Traditional Archery Gear Part 1
Average pace: 12min 46sec per km (20.4 min/mile)

The real thing today! Started work at 7am so I could leave early, and make the top of Prairie Mountain shortly after sundown. There were only five people on the mountain, including me. The first two (hikers) I overtook on the uphill, so I looked good, and the other two (real runners) I met on the way down, so it was easy to play the part. Although if I really want to look like a runner, I will have to ditch the hunting pants.

Three minutes faster to the top than on Day 1! Must be the difference between wearing heavy hiking boots with spikes and wearing runners. Ran out of steam near the top. Had to lean left into the wind in order to maintain a straight line. Gusts up to 130km/h the weather people said.

The folks of the Stickbow Chronicles Podcast had Monty Browning on. Monty is a character who has been hunting Alaska for moose with traditional archery gear for years, successfully too. I love it when they find the oldtimers that have quietly been doing for decades what I am now trying to achieve. It teaches me to be humble and not brag too much about a few good shots at a target. Monty wrote a book about his exploits, available here: http://www.montybrowningbook.com/book. I haven’t read it, but if it is anything like the podcast it should be a good read.

I feel like the girl from the movie “Julie and Julia”. Is anybody actually reading this?

Day 6: Big Hill

Weight: 60.8 kg / 132.9 lbs
Podcast: TradQuest Ep. 21: Dick Robertson
Average pace: 10min 44sec per km (17.2 min/mile)

Dragging my butt out to the hill was not easy this morning. I decided to not look at my watch for at least half the distance, thinking I’d be slow. Surprise, surprise, kilometer 4 went in 10min 44sec, which also turned out to be average pace for the morning; fastest so far. I had expected a slow-down by now. Back to the real Prairie Mountain tomorrow.

My Fitbit claims I climbed 746m/2447ft, which I feel is overestimating it. Maybe I need a fancier watch, Santa? I like this one: https://www.coros.com/pace.php

On the earbuds today were the guys from the TradQuest podcast, interviewing Dick Robertson of Robertson Stykbow (www.robertsonstykbow.com). Another one of these guys that you won’t see chest pounding on IG, yet has taken several Dall sheep with his traditional bow. Dall sheep! Several! Wow.

Day 7: Prairie Mountain

Weight: 60.4 kg / 133.0 lbs
Podcast: Joe Rogan Experience Ep. 1212 David Goggins
Average pace: 13min 2sec per km (20.8 min/mile)

Saturday! Time to do the real thing! I opted for late afternoon, to give the crowds a chance to dissipate. The first two kilometers went OK, the last 1.5km of the climbs felt like I had ran the tank empty. Still bested my Day 1 time by about a minute.

Some agony in the left knee, medial front, likely the result of too enthusiastic downhills, so took my time coming off the mountain. Tomorrow morning will be interesting, I expect a slow one.

Podcast of the day (in the truck, I don’t like tunes in my ear when I am on a trail): Joe Rogan interviewing David Goggins. Goggins has done some unbelievable things, athletically, which he does, he says, to strengthen his mind. I’m not doing it justice, so listen to the podcast if you want, or look at his book (“Can’t  hurt me: Master your Mind and Defy the Odds”), also available as an audio book, read out by someone else, with per-chapter comments by Goggins.

Honestly, I find it very hard to listen to Goggins. I’ll say no more, whatever he does works for him in a big way.

Day 8: Prairie Mountain

Weight: 60.6 kg / 133.5 lbs
Podcast: Fred Bear’s Field Notes Oct 28 and Nov 11: Yukon Northwest Territory Part 1 & 2
Average pace: 12min 53sec per km (20.6 min/mile)

Tried to be smart about things (not an easy accomplishment) and started out just a hair slower. Still managed to be only 2 min slower than yesterday!

Eventful run. One of the six people that were on the mountain before me to see the sunrise failed to take the time for an outhouse break before heading up. He or she figured that 100 feet off the trail was good enough. My dog found the fresh ‘droppings’ adorned with TP. Yeah that happened. First I rubbed him down with handfuls of pine needles, to get most of the solids out, and later tried to clean him up a bit more with snow. The river was a welcome sight, and I managed to get him presentable enough to ride in the truck.

Halfway down a misstep and a fall; cut a flap of skin (little flap) off my hand, causing a decent bleed, so some field emergency patching was in order (the other people on the trail might have gotten a bit screamish seeing me come jog down with hand dripping with blood and dog stinking up a storm.

Bear Archery has started a podcast where a fellow reads out chapters from Fred  Bear’s book “Field Notes”, which are the daily thoughts Fred put to paper during his many hunts in Africa, Yukon, NWT, BC, etc. Fairly dry, but, to me anyway, interesting. To have so much time (and resources) to travel and hunt; unthinkable these days, for most of us.

Day 8 in the books, 2/3s of the way there. Happy that I am still managing a fair pace. Going to try to fit the real mountain in two more times, and two more on the hill behind the house.

Day 9: Big Hill

Weight: 60.4 kg / 133.0 lbs
Podcast: Randy Newberg’s Hunt Talk Radio Ep. 95 Henry Mountain Free Range Bison Hunting
Average pace: 12min 25sec per km (19.9 min/mile)

Pre-dawn start today, as the workday is full and will go past dinner. Legs had no go today; couldn’t push uphill, and couldn’t trust myself to jog on the downhill. Hopefully I will recover a bit before going back to the mountain tomorrow.

Randy Newberg chattered in my ears, along with a bunch of merry men. They recorded the podcast on the tail end of their archery bison hunt in Utah’s Henry Mountains. A day-by-day of this hunt is available on his Youtube channel. In the podcast they talk about bison, how they were rescued from extinction at the very last moment, and the fight it took to create Yellowstone NP and enable enforcement of the park status. This story is featured in the book “Last Stand”, detailing the life of George Bird Grinnell. Go read it, it is a good one.

Day 10: Prairie Mountain

Weight: 60.6 kg / 133.4 lbs
Podcast: Ginger Runner LIVE: Ep. 198 Sally McRae: The comeback at Tarawera 100
Average pace: 12min 1sec per km (19.2 min/mile)

So stoked about today’s run! Managed to stay a hair under 50 minutes. After yesterday’s crawl on the Big Hill, I couldn’t be happier. The fastest time yet up the real mountain of this 12-day endeavour. Not bad for Day 10.

Ethan Newberry and his wife Kim run the Ginger Runner LIVE podcast (you can also watch them weekly on Youtube). Sally McRae (@yellowrunner on IG) was their guest, after she won the Tarawera 100. Sally is such a positive person, it almost hurts. Impossible to stay grumpy, listening to her talk.

Two more days, one boring hill-repeat session tomorrow, finishing Thursday afternoon. Hope the weather holds, today the winds were howling on the ridge.

Day 11: Big Hill

Weight: ? kg / ? lbs
Podcast: Kifarucast Ep 76: Hunting Partners with David Hoff
Average pace: 10min 33sec per km (16.9 min/mile)

Started with some anxiety, feeling a bit worn after yesterday’s fast climb, but with the first three kilometers sub-11 min/km I got a bit more excited, and ended with the fastest time on the hill to date! I have to say, this is not at all going as I expected (much better!). Off to the real mountain tomorrow, for a final hike, accompanied by my daughter, who came home for Christmas. May even take a selfie!

On the podcast today, Aron Snyder and Frank ‘the Tank’ Peralta from Kifarucast. Aron doesn’t need much of an introduction. “I was shivering like a cat shitting razor blades”, is just one of the colourful expressions that lace Aron’s vocabulary. But more than an entertaining choice of words, Aron has transformed into a fantastic recurve hunter, in a relatively short period of time. Lots of practice and good coaching pays off apparently; go figure. Today they were talking with David Hoff, ultrarunner and longbow hunter. Best of both worlds! Don’t listen if you cannot stomach strong language.

One more day! One more climb!

Day 12: Prairie Mountain

Weight: 61.2 kg / 134.8 lbs
Podcast: none – chatting with my daughter
Average pace: did not record

Last day. Big winds right out of the truck, and it didn’t let up much as light faded. Flurries coming in from the West, and clouds muting the rising moon in the East. We hiked out in the dark.

As often the case, after a challenge is completed, it doesn’t feel like all that important anymore. Twelve days of “Prairie Mountain”; six times a surrogate, six times the real thing. It is done.

BC Goat Hunt – Gear Review and Physical Prep

The goat hunt is more than a week behind us and the ragged edge of disappointment has dulled a little. Time to provide some perspective on gear and the physical preparation.

Gear

None of our personal gear let us down, nothing really failed (not counting the cheap rubbery rain gear I bought to use during the boat and quad rides; I considered it disposable, and disposed of it got, it lasted the four days that I needed it).

Though we got a daily soaking fighting through the wet alders, we didn’t get rained on incessantly, as we had feared. It was a little colder than expected so most precipitation fell in the form of snow. The day I shot the billy was a day of constant drizzle. I used an older set of KUIU Chugach rain gear with a good soaking of a spray-on DWR just before departure, and it performed fine.

For base layers I used Icebreaker merino. 200-weight shirt and long johns and a 260-weight shirt over top of that. On days that were wet and close to freezing, a rain jacket to keep the wet and wind off was sufficient while climbing. A neck gaiter (KUIU) and a hooded jacket (Sitka Jetstream) kept the cold from creeping in from above when glassing. For prolonged periods of glassing I would put on Sitka Kelvin puffy pants and jacket.

I would definitely recommend hunting pants with knee pads. I used Sitka’s Mountain Pants. I slipped in the rocks one day, and fell onto my knee hard. The knee pad made this an event without consequence. Just for that reason, I’d wear a garment like that. But the knee pads also help when crawling over downed trees, up rocks, and other obstacles that are just too high to get a foot on them.

I used insulated boots, Lowa’s Tibet GTX Superwarm. Despite the fact that the leather got thoroughly soaked, my feet stayed mostly dry, and fairly comfortable. Some swear by more rigid boots for this type of country, but I found these to be a good middle-ground, being suitable both for the long approaches and the climbing in the rocks.

Gloves are always a big concern, since my hands get cold easily. I purchased Columbia Powder Keg skiing gloves. Guaranteed waterproof. Not sure if that was the case, the gloves got pretty wet on the inside. Could have been sweat, and ingress from the top. The good thing was that they stayed warm even when wet. However, they were hard to dry by the stove, by morning they were still damp.

After long deliberations, I left my 5 1/2 foot aspen hiking pole at home, and brought a 100cm SMC Gear Capra Ice Axe. A disadvantage is that it is loud when banged on rocks, but a big advantage is that it becomes an extended arm during climbs, and of course it might save your life if you start sliding, in a way that no trekking pole can accomplish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Carrying the longbow through the alders was a major nuisance. I couldn’t strap it to the pack or it would get me stuck every second step, so I had to carry it by hand and feed it through the shintangle. Whenever the terrain got rocky I’d rather have the bow strapped, so I could maintain a balance using two hands. Crossing smaller rock slides I felt unstable, and of course managed to slip and bang up my shins. I really missed my long pole, but I would not have been able to carry it up some of the stuff we climbed.

I fabricated a sling from a piece of nylon rope, which, in lesser terrain, would have worked perfectly. The system I came up with to protect the tips while still having quick access to the bow needs some work. The “prototype” consisted of two baby mitts connected by bungie cord. The tip that would lead the way when fighting the alders was well-protected,, but the rear mitt got pulled off constantly. The next model would have to incorporate a non-stretchy connection between the two tip protectors, or something using snap caps. Maybe there are tip protectors commercially available, I must admit that I never looked. In the end, the bow only sustained minor scratches, though I did manage to ruin a string when I fell and it caught on a sharp rock.

In this country and this weather you will need something to protect the feathers on your arrows. I found a small dry bag that just fit over them, which kept most of the moisture off and kept damage during bushwhacking to a minimum. Similar to the mitt though, branches will want to rip it off, so make sure it is attached well.

Physical Preparation

It is hard to give advice on this, as everybody’s physique is different, and everybody’s starting point and opportunities to train are different.

Sitting behind a desk all day is not the best preparation for a multi-day hunt in goat country, or any kind of hunt really that doesn’t involve a tree stand or ground blind, but it is what I do for a living.  Despite that, I try to stay fit year-round, just to have some sort of base level. I live in the happy circumstance that I live near a hill, and a fairly steep creek canyon, so I can get some base-training in just walking the dogs.

A few months before the hunt I started focusing on prolonged periods of daily work-outs, without getting too extreme on any individual day. The body is aging, and I found that extremes of anything increase the chances of injury. For me, and you will have to figure out if that also applies to you, daily work-outs, with very few exceptions, are the key. Focus on cardio, with added weights if you can.

If you can run (meaning you don’t have any injuries that prevent it), hill running is an excellent way to train legs and cardio, provided you have hills (or stairs). Hiking up and down hill (or stairs) with a weighted pack is very useful too (I would call it essential), just be careful with the knees. Add some push-ups, pull-ups and core, and you’ll have a good start. Mix things up, run or hike on uneven ground if you can, do side-hills, pick up and put down heavier, awkward things, and so on. There are many online resources to help you pick the exercises that feel right for you.

The last week or two before the hunt I picked out the steepest slope I could find close to home and went up and down, and up and down, with light or no weight. On the weekends I added in longer hikes, which would give me a few hours of continuous climbing, again with limited weight. A shoulder problem prevented me from doing any kind of serious upper body weight work, even the amount of bow shooting had to be moderated. It was not ideal, but it was what I could do.

I could definitely have been in better shape, but I feel I was adequately prepared, nobody had to wait for me. By day 6 I was feeling the strain, but this was likely partially caused by the deception of losing the billy. For the next hunt I wouldn’t change much. Focus on daily climbing for a long period of time (I probably didn’t skip a day for two months), and add in whatever keep things fun. I will work on upper-body strength though, and core, so I might actually be able to pick up and carry a moose quarter next fall. Who am I kidding, I’ll settle for being able to stumble back to camp with a quarter in my pack, I’m going to need help to get it in my pack and get to my feet.

One last comment on shooting: as much as you can, get away from formal-stance shooting across flat ground. I don’t think I saw any piece of ground where a nice standing horizontal shot would have been possible. Shoot from the knees, from two knees, shoot up, shoot down, from behind cover, standing on a slippery sloped surface, and so forth. Even though I never got to draw the bow during the hunt, trust me on this one. You won’t regret it.

Questions

I just picked a few topics to comment on that I thought would be of interest. If you have any specific question regarding gear or training, just email me. If you have any tips or tricks for mountain hunting with a trad bow that are worth sharing, please comment below.

FD

 

 

 

 

The Long Road Back

“If you are 50 or older, and you get up in the morning without anything hurting, check your pulse; you might be dead”
Anonymous

Warning:
This is mostly an old guy complaining, but hopefully this story can convince an archer or two to take care of their shoulders before they become a problem.

The situation:
About to order my first traditional bow, wondering about draw weight, I figured that some extra strength exercising couldn’t hurt. I had been shooting a low-40s self-made longbow for a while without ill effect. Just the odd soreness in the bow shoulder joint, which I tried to manage by not overusing it.

What happened:
I increased the frequency and intensity of the pull-up work-outs, resulting in a good old case of inflammation of the bicep tendon (in the shoulder), and more soreness in the top of the joint.

How it got better:
It didn’t at first. Two courses of anti-inflammatory drugs and resting the shoulder did absolutely nothing. An ultra-sound and X-ray investigation with contrast fluid in the joint showed fluid in the bursa, but no damage to the rotator cuff. So good news, no real damage, but unfortunately also no clear path forward. Doc kinda shrugged and mumbled something about age. I dropped my expectations and instead of ordering 55# I ordered 47# limbs, and prayed that I hadn’t just purchased a very expensive walking stick. I googled “shoulder exercises”, picked some that seemed to make sense, and exercised for a few weeks, with no effect.

In December I started physiotherapy. Their assessment was swift. Very bad posture, combined with a desk job, made that the tendon in the shoulder was subject to constant rubbing, and the extra exercising just sent it on a downward course. Their suggestion was regular visits for ultrasound, some manual stimulation of the tendon, use of suction cups, needles, etc. combined with posture-improving and shoulder-strengthening exercises. This was going to take 2-3 months, they figured.

Very slowly the tendon started responding to the treatments. It was an up-and-down roller coaster with good days and bad days. One unhappy afternoon I was feeling strong, and added 3 and 4 lbs weight to a certain exercise, figuring that I needed to get stronger quickly to be able to shoot my new bow that was to arrive shortly. Unfortunately this caused my shoulder to hurt like never before, and a miserable week followed until my next physiotherapy visit.

My new bow just sat there while I went back through a daily series of exercises to strengthen the upper back and shoulders, and some lightweight stretchy band exercises to keep stimulating the tendon. I started shooting my old bow once or twice a week, and managed maybe half a dozen arrows at a time before the shoulder started hurting. Of course I overdid it a time or two, and punishment was swift and painful. It was a constant balancing act between common sense telling me to take it slow, and my desire to shoot the new bow.

Things gradually started turning around towards the end of April. I managed more arrows per session, and the result was more a nagging feeling of tiredness instead of the sharper pain of tendonitis. The soreness in the joint remained however. The physiotherapist mentioned the A-word (arthritis).

We threw in a few more treatments for good measure and kept increasing the workload of exercises, including some involving weights. It seemed to work! Mid-May we parted ways, with the strong recommendations ringing in my ears of continuing the exercising and increasing the workload SLOWLY.

Depending on the exercise, I grab weights between 7 and 12 lbs now, where I was using 30lbs weights before. I haven’t done a pull-up since October. A dozen arrows from the 47# bow is all it takes for the bow arm to start shaking during practice. But the good news is, that the tendonitis is all but gone, and the last week or two the soreness in the joint seems to be diminishing. There is hope.

What is the lesson:
Don’t let it come this far! If you have a mostly sedentary occupation, and you are hunched over your keyboard for most of the day, take stock. What is your posture like? How flexible are you in the shoulders? What are you doing to keep your back and shoulder muscles strong, and keep full range of motion? The sports physiotherapist told me that our ability to recover from injuries drops sharply after age 30. It is a lot easier to maintain your strength and flexibility than it is to get back after you lost it. Add an injury, and things get worse.

It took me from October till the end of May to get back to the point where I can shoot the bow on consecutive days. Don’t let it to that point. Google “shoulder exercises for archery” and “full range of motion exercises shoulder”. Focus on getting full range of motion first, before strengthening. If you can’t find anything that strikes a cord, contact me, and I will try to explain the exercises that the therapist had me do.

Stay healthy!

FD