Entering the Final Stretch

After being sequestered away at an old abandoned estancia (ranch) in the middle of the Darwin Strait for much of the race last year, photographer Michael Clark (www.michaelclarkphoto.com –-to see some photos from last year’s event, click on Portfolio-PER) and I decide that this time around we would go super-light and join the racers on a trekking section. I’m not missing out on most of the action again this year, so I join some friends training for a few months prior to my departure so keeping up can be a possibility. Day Five of the WPER has most of the press (from the U.S., Italy, France, Chile, Great Britain, and Germany) sitting on a cruise boat in the Magellan Strait, drinking coffee, eating the ever-present Amor cookies, and watching movies on laptops in the dining room, waiting for a glimpse of the remaining kayakers. The Brits and the French are almost a day into the final trekking beginning at Cape Fortescue in the Brunswick Peninsula and culminating in a climb up a mountainside to the Southern Cross at Cape Froward (the southernmost point of the South American mainland), Team Spirit Canada will soon be approaching the shore, and American Team Calleva are paddling through a pod of humpback whales while sea lions lounge on nearby small islands. When all of the racers were first given their satellite maps, they were told the final stretch would not only be the most difficult, but also the one from which there would be the least possibility of rescue. Satellite phones are not guaranteed to work, even from mountaintops on clear days.

Team Spirit Canada neglect to put an essential load of cargo into their kayaks due to a misunderstanding, and are forced to wait out the night camped on the shore until the cruise boat can bring them their left-behind gear in the morning. Late that night Michael and I are told that tonight will be our last night of luxury for awhile, and that at dawn we will be jumping on a Zodiac dinghy and zipped to the start of the trekking. The Canadians will get their gear at this point and we will stick with them until we can’t anymore, and will do the full trek, awaiting Team Calleva at some picturesque point along the way and hopefully reaching the finish line ourselves around our fifth day out. Up until this point we weren’t even sure how much of the trek that Ann Meidinger and Stjepan Pavicic, the primary race organizers, would allow us to do, so we are pretty excited, if a bit apprehensive, about the coming adventure. Of course, as some smart person must have once said, “It’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.”

[The race website has a satellite tracking system in place, using Spot tracking to allow the world to see the racers’ progress—see the approximate race course here: http://www.patagonianexpeditionrace.com/tracking/ —the reason for the straight rather than meandering lines is that the tracking devices were updated in the morning, and sometimes not for a couple of days—and gallery photos here: http://www.patagonianexpeditionrace.com/flash_gallery/photo_gallery.php .]

Australian photographer Mark Watson (www.inciteimages.com), after his own insane experience in another section of last year’s race, resolved to be better-prepared this year and go light and fast as well, so he decides to join us. In the Expedición dining room that night Stjepan pulls out the four pages of satellite maps we will be taking along and meticulously traces a red line from memory through its contour lines, telling us to stick as close as humanly possible to the route or risk some severe setbacks, be they at the top of a cliff, on the wrong side of a raging waterfall, or staring down forest of thorns and downed trees so thick as to be virtually impenetrable. He and Ann and a few others spent twelve days earlier in the season working out the most doable path (not that those exist here) through these mountain passes. We do have a GPS we can turn on from time to time if we need to see how we are doing, and a satellite phone in case of an emergency. That last night on the boat Michael gives up his bed to a forest-battered French journalist and winds up on a hallway floor, freezing his tail off and sleeping little. We wake up later than intended after our long night of cramming the essentials and nothing more (maybe less . . .) into our packs, and jump on the Zodiac dinghy at 8am, which zooms us to shore just as humpbacks spray small geysers into the air a hundred meters in the other direction. The other journalists who arrived the night before from two days trekking in another section gave me worried looks and squeezes on the shoulder as I left the boat a few minutes before—“Please take good care of yourself out there.” I kind of want to giggle a little at their grave faces. I know there will be some difficult terrain, but they are looking at me like I could easily die in the next few days. Our farewell is quickly forgotten, though, as the Fitzroy Expedición turns as swiftly as a cruise boat can in order to follow the whales. Chao.

Team Spirit Canada good-naturedly call us cheaters as we are dropped off on the other side of a river they have to cross to start. Hey, we’re not the masochists here, right? There’s going to be no keeping dry for the next several days, but we can at least postpone the inevitable by a few minutes. They cross the river and we follow them into the bush that directly abuts it. Next river crossing fifteen meters, and no more dry feet for the duration. Solid ground does not exist here, and the next half hour is spent sliding over huge logs carpeted in thick moss only to slip into deep holes where only my crotch and a trekking pole keep me from going neck-deep or disappearing altogether. Luckily the landings are mostly soft, and there are even vegetated chutes to slide down in some places. Every step forward nonetheless forces in me a persistent silent appeal to whatever luck might be attending to our party, since a full quarter of my progress is made with my arms covering my face lest the next branch poke an eye out.

When the forest finally lets up, turba (the springy, spongy peat moss that covers much of Southern Patagonia and has been commercially harvested in Chile for over 150 years) stretches out in front of us for acres over rolling hills that lead up to steep mountains. The Canadians—Chris Koch, Dave Hitchon, Jim Mandelli, and Lucy Eykamp—decide they will begin by traveling as high as possible to the ridge on our left, thereby avoiding forests like the one we have just gone through in which it could easily take two to three hours to go one kilometer. We won’t argue with that, and they are, after all, in third place in a race which many teams fail to finish at all. The turba turns to thorny calafate and chaura bushes (both of which produce edible berries, only two of many different edible types of Patagonian wild fruit), and the seven of us use these plants to grasp and weave our way up the now 70-degree incline. If we were to let go here, there would be no stopping a long tumble down. This was becoming more climbing than trekking, easy enough if there were not thorns tearing at us and packs and cameras on, but a bit breathless right now. A look over our shoulders shows us rising rapidly above the ocean behind, though, with land-locked glaciers cresting the mountains in the Alacalufes Reserve on the other side of the Strait of Magellan.

We reach the top of the ridge about two and a half hours after beginning our trek. To our right is a valley snaking its way through the mountain pass, and behind us lies the Strait. In front of us are miles of forest, broken by patches of yellowy-orange turba and white cascading waterfalls. We let the Team Spirit Canada go here, thinking that we will get to another scenic point and wait for the Americans later today or sometime tomorrow. It’s not even noon yet, and it won’t be dark until after 10pm, but we know we should average at least twenty-five kilometers a day to make it to the end in the requested five days. Doesn’t sound too difficult, and maybe if we’re lucky the weather will behave, the terrain won’t be too unforgiving, and we can get ahead of schedule. Maybe.

From Bike to Kayak to Bushwhack--Days Four and Five

A small amount of confusion and a lot of frustration ensue at Point of Control Four on the Island of Sutivan. First team in is Helly Hansen-Prunesco, followed over four hours later by Team Easy Implant, and both teams are raring to head straight into the next kayaking portion, but are told the clock will be stopped until morning, at which point the cruise boat Fitzroy Expedicion will escort them as much of the way as possible. While the Helly-Hansen Brits are told to put up a tent and wait until morning, the French are allowed to sleep in the barn when they arrive, saving what could be valuable time. So many people and several different languages is making communication a bit faulty.

When Team Spirit Canada arrive the next morning it is just after both teams have departed, and they are told that they cannot leave until they have an escort as well. This turns into a following morning departure, which they appear to find intensely frustrating. No doubt knowing the leading teams are more than a day ahead of you is discouraging, even when the clock has been set to account for incidental discrepancies.

Meanwhile, though the weather seemed good, on the water it was windy and wet for the first two teams, who had to battle vicious headwinds and more than meter-high waves to the next checkpoint. The departing teams the next day had the worst weather, however, and Team Buff considered pulling out at this point but were dissuaded by the organizers. Team Medilast Sport (with members from Spain, Chile, and Argentina) pull out of the race after arrival at Sutivan because team member Antonia Garcia, a last-minute addition to the team, is having an extremely difficult time keeping up. When she rolls into the estancia at Sutivan she cries with relief, hugs me hard, and immediately downs my full cup of hot tea. Team Calleva of the U.S., whose captain Mark Lattanzi has been fighting a severe cold for much of the race, are sticking to fourth place in spite of repeated necessary stops to allow him to recover from respiratory issues and fatigue. He remains optimistic and positive, though, with no obvious intentions of giving up.

The mandatory arrive-by time at PC3 has eliminated Team Almas Patagonicas of Chile, and Brazilian Team QuasarLontra Master, having taken a long time on the first trek and been ill-prepared in regards to food, also pull out of the race here. Team Trespass are the last to go out on the water from PC4. During a mandatory fifteen kilometer kayak portage a member of Team Buff (winners of the PER 2006) is attacked by mosquitoes so severely he requires two injections, and the team is ultimately advised by a doctor to leave the race, against their own wishes, as another team member, Javier Lopez, has been suffering from an older broken wrist injury as well. They are picked up by the same tiny navy boat that much of the press and organizers are on.



Four teams dive into the final trekking section, a 128-kilometer pile drive through some of the densest and thorniest thicket known to man, down steep gullies which could as easily lead to the edge of cliffs as to a glacial stream, across gushing rivers flowing over waterfall after waterfall. This trek will terminate at the Southern Cross at the southern tip of the world, and will be the final proving ground. Because the divide between the first two teams is only a matter of a few hours, a navigation mistake could cost either team first place.

Water, water everywhere . . .

As should have been expected, this race became a test not only for its competitors but for its followers, so internet access was slim to none during the rest of the race depending on one's position along the way.

The main reason I have come to cover this race for two years in a row now is exactly that, though--Patagonia is a place of monstrously mythical proportions, not only for its beauty but for its obscurity. The race organizers are committed to placing the journalists along even the more obscure sections of the race course, and by doing so are accomplishing their original mission--that of showing the world that Patagonia is a place that needs protecting, that it is infinitely valuable not only as a place of breathtaking beauty but as one of the last great untouched wildernesses. The Wenger Patagonia Expedition Race wouldn’t be one of the most difficult and beautiful races on the planet if the outside world were consistently available, and racers and journalists alike wouldn’t beg for their own place in it, either.

The biking section during the first day is 100km long, and much of it is spent fighting icy rain throughout the moonlit night. There is a pass through tourist-friendly Puerto Natales (which is the last stop for travelers on their way to Torres del Paine National Park) and the first team, the British Helly Hansen-Prunesco, arrives at the next checkpoint, Lago Anibal Pinto, around 1am, having increased their lead on the next team, Easy Implant of France, by almost an hour. Here they disassemble their bikes and hurriedly re-box them, next jumping onto the 60-meter rope to jumar up a sheer cliff face which they have to ascend to continue the race. Though this is but a tiny portion of the race, it demands some of the greatest attention on behalf of the racers, and many seem quite shaky in their ascending technique, inspiring more than a few heart-pounding moments for both the competitors and the onlookers. Following an incident-free ascent the racers press on into the next fifty-five kilometer trekking section, primarily composed of peat bog and dense forest, seeming more a collection of downed trees and spongy turba to battle across without any actual solid ground to be seen the majority of the time.

During this section twenty-eight year old Bruce Duncan, the youngest member of Team Helly-Hansen-Prunesco, begins to suffer hypothermia and considers pulling out of the race then and there. Point of Control Three at Rio Perales is a mere bend dug in the side of an steep logging road, and is now turned to ankle-deep muck by the passage of the four-wheel drive trucks carrying the press and organizers, who sat in anxious anticipation of the first racers arrival, delayed in great part by the non-stop driving rain and cold temperatures. Helly Hansen finally arrives at 7am, in shock at their first place position, having taken thirty hours instead of the anticipated fifteen. Having seen headlamps not far off in the dark during the last hours of their trek they were fully expecting to be beaten by at least one other team, if not more. Team Easy Implant arrived around six hours later looking extraordinarily haggard. Team captain Bruno Reyes (whose team placed first in 2008) says though he doesn’t have diarrhea as rumored, that “there is no way we can continue if conditions stay this wet and cold. We cannot go on like this.” Navigation issues seem to plague most of the racers here, with some teams even winding up on the wrong side of a wide river. Team Spirit Canada, arriving third into PC3, inadvertently wound up swimming when the river floor dropped out from beneath them while crossing. All teams are virtually crushed by the endless walking in ankle-high and deeper water for almost the entire trek, and there is now a dramatic spread of more than a day and a half between the leaders and those in last place.

There is a cutoff time at noon the following day (Day Four) for the teams to arrive at PC3. If they fail to finish the trekking and check in at that point, they are out of the race. The next great decider will be the ferry ride to the Island of Sutivan and PC4, halfway through the second biking section, stops at 7pm each night. If Helly Hansen makes the ferry and Easy Implant does not, it could make the gap between the two teams insurmountable.

Patagonia Expedition Race--Day One

Day One of the Wenger Patagonia Expedition Race dawns sunny, but cut with a light rain flying sideways off the Gray Glacier in a perfect example of Patagonian weather. Nine international teams of elite athletes have converged upon Torres del Paine to launch a 600 km race against time, the harsh terrain, and each other in one of the most extreme tests of physical limitations on the planet in the Race at the End of the World. What better place to begin than the end? Though there are particular teams present who are the ones to beat, there are no guarantees of success in an environment as extreme as Patagonia, where the utmost in strength and endurance do not necessarily walk hand in hand with racing dominance. Many of the participants this year have been crowned winners around the world, so there is no doubt that the next ten days will be a fascinating display of human athleticism.

A rainbow frames the shore, littered with banana-colored two-person kayaks and swarming with racers, organizers, and press. Dry bags are forcibly shoved into the kayak holds and helmets and PFDs are hurriedly strapped over bodies squeezed into neoprene wetsuits. The wind is whipping so forcefully that at one point a paddle is jerked upwards, smacking into the nose of professional U.S. racer Jari Kirkland, who is teamed with the French winners of PER 2008. Not a great start, but after blinking hard a few times she shakes it off.

Finally the starting whistle is blown and the racers bow their bodies into the driving wind, digging hard to pull their boats away from the rocky shore. Driving straight is proving difficult as they are steadily pushed backward, battered with icy waves. The French team is the first to break free and surge forward, paddling hard until they hit the river, which will help propel them and the rest of the racers two-thirds of the way through the first 90km kayaking section. The Brits are not far behind, and both teams have members who are world champion kayakers--Gilles Lelievre for the French and Nicola Macleod for the British.

Following the kayaking will be a 100km bike through the hills trailing away from Estancia Perales and a jug up sixty meters of sheer rock face. Unfortunately, the rain worsens and the waves grow to three meters high, so there is a forced stop forty-five kilometers into the kayaking portion. The racers are ferried to where they will rapidly reassemble their awaiting bikes, which are stacked next to a barn filled with hundreds of sheepskins with hooves still attached, thrown in stacks and draped over railings. A dozen cats run around nosing into packs for dropped beef jerky crumbs.

The bikes are off to a fitful start, with most of the teams having to stop and dismount to tighten or re-wrench. The French and British teams are way ahead in time from the kayaking section and are two of the first out of the gate here as well, with the press bouncing in the back of trucks for up-close shots of the grimacing faces of the competitors.