Training Log Archive: Mounty

A little write up of the 'Kokoda Challenge' 2012, PNG.

Preamble
Climbing Imita Ridge towards the end of the Kokoda Track, alone at 2am, seemed like as good a time as any to reflect on what has been the hardest event I’ve ever done. As my feet searched for yet another tree root, it occurred to me that ‘hard’ is a tricky word. In some ways, it is difficult to top the sheer lung bursting intensity of a 1500m track race. Although it’s over before you have time to think ‘this sucks’.

At the other end of the spectrum is the expedition adventure race, where it is difficult to explain to those that haven’t been there the sleep-deprived feeling of being unable to remember your own name. Though the hallucinations are pretty cool.

Mountain biking makes a play with the sudden and unambiguous sensation of hitting a eucalyptus tree as one sails over the handlebars. And getting hit in the gut on my Thailand kick-boxing camp was an unpleasantness from the same genre.

Yes, it was difficult to compare. And I hadn’t quite yet worked out quite how to describe the sensation of traversing the Kokoda track in a day. All I had was a jumble of words in my head – humid, steep, muddy, steep, really humid, technical, really steep, roots, dark, leech, steep, hungry - unrelenting. Yes, unrelenting seemed to be the best word. I gave up trying to find an answer, but with a feeling somewhere inside that this time I’d definitely crossed the fine line from challenging to stupid. I imagined myself climbing a ladder in a sauna, and continued up in to the darkness.

However, that was all in the future as I sat at work 3 days before wondering what we were getting ourselves in to. A hint that racing PNG style might be a bit ‘different’ arrived in the form of an email from the race organiser - the lovely Gail of Kokoda Trekking.

“I know its short notice, but if any of you are near a shop that has 30 reasonably priced head torches it would be appreciated, as I can just see all the local boys turning up with hand held torches on Saturday morning and this might be a nice gesture on my part. Just keep your receipts and I will reimburse.

With regards to PNG competitors, like always happens, at the last minute they are asking to be allowed to enter. Horace Yauga was not planning on running but just this morning phoned and said he had changed his mind. Apparently he ran over to Kokoda and back to Port Moresby (200km) last weekend to see if he was fit enough (and to hand in a university assignment) and feels he can do it justice so his name is now on the list.”

Umm OK. So training for the locals is to run across the track – and back – the week before the race to see if they are fit enough to run across the track. I couldn’t wait to meet Horace.

Thursday PreRace
The trip to PNG was uneventful. I arrived at the “uncomfortably luxurious compared to the surroundings” hotel in Port Moresby on Thursday afternoon together with Damon Goerke, Chris Wight, Chris Turnbull and Jono O’Loughlin.

After a lazy afternoon and being humbled by the hotel’s metre diameter ‘jumbo’ pizzas, we enjoyed a most entertaining pre-race briefing from Gail, with some of the local boys passing on tips about what we could expect. This included such gems as

Gail: “Most of the track is not too difficult to follow, but there are a few tricky spots. Boys, do you think the internationals will find their way through Ula-Ule creek at night OK?”
Local lads: “No”

Umm OK.

There was also a throwaway warning to be careful when working around some rock on some hill (whose name I missed) to the effect that if you slipped you were a “goner”. Hmm. A few tips on where to get water (everywhere), lots of friendly banter and a generally pleasant evening all round.

Friday
Come Friday and there was still plenty of adventure left getting to the start line before we would have to negotiate the rock of death. Travelling PNG style began at the airport early on Friday morning with a flight over to Popendetta. As Chris Turnbull (Bull) was a very last minute addition to the field, Gail gave him a ticket in her name with instructions that he may need to be a bit ‘flexible’ on check-in.

Check-in counter guy (looking at ticket): “Gail?”
Bull (straight face): “Yes”
Check-in counter guy: “Miss?”
Bull (straight face): “Yes”

After this I was mildly surprised to see Bull take his seat on the plane. Jono also arrived with a boarding pass named “Ben”. One of the two Japanese runners didn’t get on to the plane at all and the other Japanese runner did get on the plane but due to limited English had managed to leave his running shoes on the truck heading to the finish.

All this entertainment was followed by a very spectacular flight over the mountain range in a little plane to a tiny airport at god-knows-where. We then transferred to the back of a truck for a 4 hour drive on bumpy roads and through rivers without bridges up to Kokoda.

After the long drive past many immaculate little villages we pulled up next to a grass airfield in Kokoda - only to be met by the smiling Japanese runner who had missed the plane in Moresby. He had somehow got himself on to a direct charter to Kokoda, complete with his mate’s shoes. So all present and accounted for, and a memorable evening spent in Kokoda was all that remained before we were to set off on our little run at first light next morning.

Kokoda itself is impressive but difficult to describe. The picturesque village, beautiful lawns, grass huts, laughing children and performing pig provide a stark contrast to the sense of wartime history centered on the modest museum in village centre. It is here you begin to get a sense that the track is so much more than a path across a mountain. Saturday was going to be quite a day.

Saturday
Up before dawn. Running gear on. Sledge the others about how heavy their packs look. Just like a normal trail race….until we wandered down to the start line to be met by the entire village in festive mode, and quite the sense of occasion.

We spent half an hour chatting with the local runners, and admiring their sea of Dunlop KT-26 running shoes, before someone said something that sounded important and fired a starting gun and off we went….until another gun went signaling a false start – no matter it was 100km to go – someone had started a second early.

Finally away, and we trotted out of town down a grassy firetrail as a clutch of locals disappeared ahead at roughly 3min/km (I’m not exaggerating).

We were off….




Saturday Morning – The Hot Bit
The first few km were the only ‘free’ km of the day. Although even the free ones weren’t completely flat, with a slight gradient. We headed along a fire-tail towards the mountains. The first few minutes of a run tend to give you an idea of how you are going to feel for the day, and I was a bit bummed to not be feeling all that sprightly. Heat, weight, etc not sure, but I was careful to settle in to a very conservative pace and watched Damon, Chris & Jono drift slowly ahead.

Before I knew it we hit the first climb of the day up to the village of Hoi. Holy crap! After 5 minutes I was stuffed - the heat from the direct sunlight, the humidity and ridiculous gradients removed any thoughts of ‘racing’, and the mindset switched firmly to survival mode.

This was hard. I started to feel a bit better passing through Hoi – perhaps as a result of the smiling crowds – but was careful to grab a bottle of water at each stream as we climbed and dump it over my head to keep cool. By the time I reached Isurava (1400m) I started to feel a bit better – partly because we started to get some tree cover – and enjoyed running for a bit with some local lads – including Horace – who came past singing loudly (with a rather impressive voice). He seemed to be enjoying himself, and working through the field after a very sensible early pace.

After about 20km I crossed a creek and met Jono stopped on the other side. He looked completely stuffed and was suffering from cramps. I know this because he said “Im completely stuffed and am suffering from cramps”. Having seen him run 80km on a torn ankle before, I figured this wouldn’t stop him but it looked like it was going to be a long day for him.

The climb up the range continued, interrupted only by a friendly aussie trekking group at Eora Creek who informed me that ‘the tall aussie guys’ were 10 minutes ahead but ‘looking knackered’. And then a wrong turn at Templeton’s Crossing. The track came to an impressively rickety bridge, which I crossed carefully, only to be met by a dead-end and an old man. I said “Owens Corner”, to which he laughed pointed behind me and said “long way”. Hmm. Back across the rickety bridge, and was glad to see that I hadn’t travelled too far off the track and continued climbing.

Saturday Lunch time – The Muddy Bit
The heat may have eased a fraction as we climbed, but it was soon replaced by mud. Lots of mud. I’m talking over the ankles mud. All mixed in with roots and rocks, and often off-camber. There really were going to be no free km today.

As the mud got deeper, the temperature started to drop and started to rain. I almost started to get cold at one point as I squelched along through the slop and mist to the top of the range at Mt Bellamy (2190m). According to the course profile it looks like you are over the worst of the climbing here. Ha! Fortunately, I didn’t know what was still in store else it wouldn’t have been quite so easy to trot along and start enjoying myself.

As we started to finally get some downhill, I enjoyed running with a couple of the local lads. They have great descending technique with short quick steps through the roots and I was happy to be able to keep up.

For the most part the track is very narrow, often with a steep drop off the side. I wondered what would happen if you went off the side – until a downhill section when I slipped and went off the side. I rolled 5-10m and ended upside down tangled in scrub – sheepishly looking up to see a fuzzy wuzzy head peeking over the side of the track to see if I was OK. Pretty sure I heard a laugh.

As we started to come off the top of the range the mud started to dry up – only to be replaced by heat again – just couldn’t win out here – as we ran down the hill towards Kagi.

The surprise of the day came here when Jono suddenly turned up. Given the state he was in back at Alola I wasn’t expecting to see him again, but some salt tablets and a dose of ‘harden the f*ck up’ seemed to have sorted him out and I enjoyed some company as we trotted in to the village of Kagi full of kids chanting ‘aussie aussie’ and a checkpoint to refuel with some local goodies.

Saturday Afternoon – Halfway
From Kagi, it wasn’t all that far to half-way at Efogi. The catch being that there was a ridiculously steep gully between the two villages. I got away from Jono going down, but we met up again for the trudge up the hill. Funny how irritable you can get on a hill. As Jono climbed close behind I had to resist the temptation to tell him to bugger off as his breathing was making me feel tired.

Cresting the hill, we dropped back down and arrived in Efogi – the biggest village on the track and the halfway point, at around 4pm. This meant 9 hours running so far, and all things considered I was feeling OK. Wandering in to the checkpoint we came across Chris Wight. We exchanged pleasantries, grabbed a few bananas and headed off for the 2nd half as the afternoon began to turn in to evening. I didn’t know it at the time, but the adventure was just beginning.

Saturday Evening – Lights on
Jono & I ran in to Efogi at halfway together at around 4pm. A busy village with a big ‘town square’ of dirt surrounded by picturesque grass huts on stilts. Chris Wight was just getting up to leave the CP as we arrived, and Jono took off after him while I stopped for a moment to do a food audit. The stomach was getting a bit grumpy, so I swapped bars for gels in the hip pockets and grabbed some local bananas for the run up over Brigade hill and descent down to Menari.

The course profile for the Kokoda Track is a bit deceptive. From Kokoda the track climbs gradually to the top of the range (2200m) for the first half and then drops back down to Owens Corner. One could be mistaken for thinking that the hard part is the first bit. Ha. Looking a bit more closely, the second half has a series of saw-tooth shaped hills which were going to make the rest of the day interesting.

The first section out of Efogi was really nice, partly because there was a bit of downhill finally, but also because sunset is the best time of day for these sorts of adventures. I trotted along by myself, taking it a bit easier to try and get the stomach going again, and rolled in to Menari on dusk – jogging up a beautiful grass airfield to the next checkpoint.

Just after leaving Menari I stopped briefly to get some mud out of my shoe – it gets easier to find excuses for stopping when you are tired. As I sat on the ground a couple of locals ran past (in their KT 26’s), and asked if I was OK. On replying I was just getting mud out, they laughed and said something along the lines of ‘soft’ and trotted off giggling. We grouped up again on the next steep climb and plodded on up as night took hold.

I dug out the map on this climb to get a feel for what was left. Hmm. 4 big climbs, and the dodgy creek we’d been warned about in the briefing. The ‘rock of death’ may have been in here too somewhere, but I couldn’t remember any more.

After a crazy steep descent, there was actually a flat bit for a little while. Still no free km though as the flat bit was a windy track through tight trees in a marshy area. I was glad to have local company to find my way through. Flat never lasts long here though, and soon enough it was plod time again up a massive, steep climb over the Maguli range.

The climb up to the top of Maguli range sucked – I can’t think of a better word. Dark, steep and long. The only respite was a Checkpoint at Nauro halfway up. As I nibbled on some local rice, I saw a run sheet that showed Jonno was 20min ahead, Chris 25 and Damon 10min ahead of Chris. I was getting a bit worried about my stomach now, as it was getting hard for food to stick. Even the gels were unappealing, and you can’t get far without petrol. At the time I figured it was the usual case of exertion, but almost a month of stomach trouble post race-suggests there were some micro jungle friends on board down there too. Campylobacter or some such giardia-like bug was the doctor’s subsequent verdict.

Grinding out the climb was eventually rewarded with a long descent and another saw tooth hill before the last checkpoint at Iriobaiwa village. I hit the sleeping village around midnight, and stopped for 10minutes because a) I hadn’t eaten successfully for a couple of hours and b) I was smashed. I sat slowly nibbling on rice, wondering if Ua-Ule creek was going to be tricky without local guidance.

Half an hour later and my question was answered – yes, it was going to be bloody hard to follow track up the creek at night without local knowledge. The track crosses a rocky creek bed about 20 times, with only small gaps betraying where it heads back in to the jungle each time. After a few of these I met Jono – heading in the opposite direction.

Jono: “G’day. Why are you going the wrong way?”
Me: “Well given that you were recently 20 minutes ahead of me, I reckon it is more likely that you’re going the wrong way”.
Jono: “Naah, I’m good. You must have found a shortcut”.
It is funny what you can rationalize when knackered.

I dug out the compass to settle the debate, and off we went together up the creek looking for bits of track. In hindsight this was quite fun as when the track disappeared I was able to stand there for a rest pretending to look at the map, while Jono headed off like a Labrador looking for signs of where to go. During one of these pauses I tried the old trick of forcing a puke to clear the gut (which normally works a treat). I was surprised to find however it was completely empty – no food, no liquid, not even tummy acid and attempts to eat a gel did not go very well. Hmm, it was going to be a long night.

After a couple of chest-deep swims we finally made it out of the creek maze to be confronted by the last big challenge – Imita Ridge – which marked the furthest point of the Japanese advance. And I understand why. Talk about steep. It was a long, hot, plod up in to the darkness here – and I enjoyed the fact that I wasn’t getting shot at, nor carrying 30kg of equipment. Massive respect to the lads from the war generation.

At around 2am I finally reached the top, and co-incidentally met up with Jono again. We both stopped for a little break at the top. Or more accurately, he needed to spew and I would take any excuse for a break. We sat for a few minutes reflecting on where we were, what a crazy day it had been, and (bizarrely) whether child birth would be harder than the last climb – not sure where that came from, but it made sense at the time.

It was a steep descent off the other side, and I rolled off ahead with the smell of the finish in the air. After a few minutes I came to a track junction, umm’ed and ahhe’d, and gambled on right. A bit more descending down a very rooty track and I noticed there was no one behind me. Sure enough, a yell confirmed my suspicion that Jono had gone down the other (wrong) path. Buggered if I was going to climb back up, so we played a fairly amusing game of jungle ‘hotter/colder’ yelled through the trees until I was sure he was back on track.

I ran solo for the rest of the last descent - very steep, muddy and rooty – reflecting on the day that was. I was knackered. I’d done last few hours on no food and a tummy bug. Legs were tired, making the root dance tricky. A toenail had drilled itself back through my toe. It was 2am and still hot and humid. And strangely, I was having the time of my life.

More running until I reached Goldie Creek for a chest deep crossing, and the last climb of the day up to Owen’s Corner. I trudged on up the hill and arrived at the finish some time before 5am to be met by Gail and her crew, Damon and Chris, some local boys – and most importantly an Esky with cold Coke. The medical lads must have been bored, as they had a great time removing a massive leech from my ankle and then watched on with interest as I finished the days proceedings with a big dry retching session. Urgh

Jono turned up not too long after, teary eyed to have made it, and the 4 of us lay on the grass watching the sun come up, listening to local tunes and reflecting on the day that was.….

The wrap-up
Memories of Sunday are a bit hazy. I recall driving back to a nearby hotel where we drank SP lager and told stories to scare the girls who were about to head out on their hike across the track, and Jono ate a beetlenut.

The memory kicks back in again on Sunday night. At the finish we heard that our other Chris (Bull) had a tough day, and was only somewhere near Efogi on Sunday morning. Knowing how tough he is, I figured he would show up eventually but still no sign when we went to bed on Sunday night. At about 3am on Monday morning I got out of bed to go to the bathroom, just as Bull walked in to the hotel foyer looking somewhat the worse for wear. Ashamed to admit that I briefly considered ‘not noticing’ so I could go back to bed, thoughts soon turned to concern as it was clear he was in rather bad shape.

The last few races I’ve done have ended with a team-mate in hospital. Damon with his iron spike infection at Geoquest. Hugh with broken shoulder in NZ. Detached ankle ligaments at Oxfam, grass seed infections in Cairns, etc. etc. Somewhat of a concern, but I was worried this time ‘cause Bull looked completely smashed. He was pale to the point of green, had a dry raspy voice and was carrying a doggy bag of stomach acid in to which he wretched regularly.

As we waited to sort transport to hospital I got an update of his day. Food and drink stopped going in on the first morning, and got worse from there. Won’t go in to detail, but suffice to say that Bull is one tough bastard. At one point in the story telling, I thought I heard him say ‘And then Andy wrestled a 5m snake’. I dismissed it as the ramblings of a very tired lad. Wasn’t I surprised then the next day to be shown a photo of Andy (another aussie runner) wrestling with a 5m snake. I look forward to reading his race report.

As always, a sunrise fixes most things (combined with a trip to hospital for a drip in Bull’s case), and come Monday we were all back at Gail’s place in Port Moresby for a presentation to celebrate the local lads showing us how it is done, for Chris Wight cracking Damon’s ‘fastest white man’ time, and to pass on a huge thanks to Gail for the effort and passion that went in to organizing a run of a life time.

Sunday morning sailing - both kids out there now on MJs. Tom crewing for his mate, and Annika steering with Hugh Stodart's lad as crew.

Pre-season training day, so followed Annika around on the ski for some tips. Lovely day on the water.

Classic sledge of the day. On arrival...
Tom (excited): "So, you're Hugh Stodart?"
Hugh (proudly): "Yes"
Tom: "So you're the guy who crashed the 18 footer in to Georges Head!"

Ran from Narrabeen lake while Tom was at gymnastics. Up the hill first to Red Hill to turn on the climbing muscles, then finished with a lap of the lake to open up the stride (and hips) a bit. Slow start, building to a decent clip around the lake. Enjoyable.

Mid morning killarney loop. Cracker of a day. Easy cruise, but tired going uphill (which is a bit of a worry).

Early morning trot in Melbourne. I aimed for the green bit on the tram map outside the hotel and stumbled across the Tan. Spun a lap starting with slow, tight hotel legs, and gradually stretched out to some vague semblance of running by the end. The big clock (nice touch) said it took 15:25.

Smashed the breakfast buffet to finish.

Tempo effort at melbourne airport to retrieve the ipad i had left on the plane.

Delegated physical activity to the kids today. I froze my butt off watching softball all day in St Ives, while Katrin wen to Newcastle with Tom for a gymnastics comp.

Saturday arfternoon run with Bull & Jono from Belrose. The lads were keen to check out some new trails, so I took 'em on a tour around to Terrey Hills via Quarry Hill. Struggled on the first climb with fatigued legs, and took a while to get going.

Lost track of time a bit, and were suprised to see it was 4:15pm when we got to the bottom of the big hill at Cowan Creek. As it was freezing (and blowing a gale) the plan had been to turn around there for an out an back. Given the time though, we weren't going to make it back before dark leaving the choice of swimming across the river again (in the cold this time) or a long run on the road back to the car. Opted for the swim, and then ran back on the Warrimoo track to Snives and then down Acron hill to scrape home just before dark.

Quick drive home to crack open the bottle of Chimay hiding downstairs. Yum.

C • PNG 7

Trying to make this a semi-regular commuting option. Ran down to Manly and hopped the Jet Cat in to work. Quads need a good roller bashing after the recent km - feeling a bit tight.

Bouncy ride on the harbour with a big southerly blowing. The rythmic gymanst showing on the TV did an excellent job keeping control of her ball despite all the bouncing.

Rode home, arriving just in time to catch the boys in the K4 do their thing. Kind of cool that most of them are ski paddlers.

A fleet of K4's in full flight looks impressive.

Riding feels nice and soft on the legs after all the running. However, I was tricked by the spring looking weather at home and froze my butt off with optimistic clothing.

Have had the great privilege of being able to watch the Olympics without Channel 9 this time. However, I flicked across this morning to try and catch a recap of Pearson's hurdle efforts over breakfast. Channel 9 did indeed have a recap - but it consisted of interviewing Australian swimmers who were in the crowd on what they thought. Never thought I would be so thankful for Foxtel.

Olympic viewing highlight of the week. Sat down with Tom to watch the men's gymnastics. With a look of genuine surprise after the first routine he said "Wow, I suck".

A bank holiday conventiently presented itself as an opportunity to make up for Saturday's no-run, and a last long hitout before PNG. Absolutely glorious day for a trot.

To keep things interesting for a long solo run, I decided to try and link the Terrey Hills tracks with the Bobbin Head area to create a big loop and pick off some hills along the way. Down thru' the Cascades and the up Quarry Track to Mona Vale road for starters, and then a fun little MTB single track wiggle parallel to Mona Vale Rd from Snives showground to Ryland Ridge.

Big descent and climb over to Terrey Hills, and then went searching for the old trail shown on some maps that headed someway down the hill to the water. Great little section of overgrown rockiness to start and then a long descent all the way down to Cowan Creek - maintained firebreak for the first 2/3rds then a fun little old 'track' to the bottom.

Hit the river at high tide and swam across - impressed how much colder the water was compared to the harbour on the weekend. Having said that, the legs felt great after a nice cold dunking. Up the Sphinx stairs and along the fire trail back down to Bobbin Head. Through the picnic area and then back up Gibberagong track (and another climb) to the Sphinx, then uppy-downy Warimoo track and Kitchener St to Mona Vale Rd.

Continued all the way through to the Pipeline, and then had the pleasure of facing my nemises (the Belrose pipeline hill of death) with 46km in the legs. Most pleased to make it all the way up without walking (just under 5min - interval split normally low 4's), then back to the car at Stone Parade for 50k & 1250m climb.

Good hitout.

C • Bank? 2

Aborted planned long run with Jonno as I woke to a bit of soreness in the left plantar fascia.

Went for an arvo paddle instead from Clontarf. Cruised around to Manly then 10*2min on 1min return. With a westerly blowing, I didn't really pay attention to waves coming in from the Heads while I paddled along Dobroyd wall - and nearly got cleaned up by a big roller thru the Bombora.

Slow lunch jog after a hectic day. 'Lunch' late enough that people had started post-work drinks already as a I ran past King St Wharf.

20 reps on the Woolloo stairs. Respectably hard work.

Early morning run from Cromer while Annika was at gym (not worth driving home). Headed over to the beach with plans to run up Narrabeen, but changed direction when I saw how big the surf was. With a massive southerly swell I deduced (correctly) that Dee Why would be pumping. Sure enough, absolutely spectacular sets coming through with a couple of nutters out surfing it. Stopped to watch for a bit then ran around Dee Why headland. singletrack.

Special mention also to the bikini model who was making the most of the dramatic conditions and early morning light to do a photo shoot. Given that it was 8 degrees, she was certainly putting in the hard yards.

Finised with 6 * 2min reps. 4 on the beach, 1 up the hill to Long Reef Headland and one on the flat.