It doesn't pay to be highly-skilled in Croatia

Croatia has a thriving tourist and service sector orientated economy, with the service/tertiary sector accounting for 73,6% percent of GDP. Croatia is a Mecca for tourists, with approximately 11 million visits per year (I think I saw half of them on the one mile strip of beach in Makarska). With a relatively weak currency, Croatia enjoys being within close range of many European countries with a strong economies, wealth, and a stronger currency (the euro) to spend.

According to one seemingly well educated historian and author whom I spoke to (Adriana - our landlord in Dubrovnik), highly skilled Croats are faced with a dilemma whereby they are able to command a higher wage by either (a) electing to work in the tourism sector rather than (or in addition to) utilising their skill set and qualifications or (b) pursuing their chosen professions outside of Croatia. Specifically, despite supporting her own sons in their academic endeavours (one of whom is a medicinal scientist, and the other is a industrial engineer), Adriana suggested in dismay that as long as they remain in Croatia, they would be better off forgoing their chosen professions and buying an apartment to lease in Dubrovnik, or at least let an apartment as a means of contributing to their incomes.

Low wages in the highly-skilled employment sector would presumably lead to a ‘brain drain’ from the Croatian economy, and a diversion of local resources in the economy towards the lucrative tourism sector. While this may represent an efficient outcome for the economy, the social and cultural impacts within Croatia are less clear.

Is this such a bad thing? It is normal to see specialization across geographical areas within an economy. For example, Queenstown in NZ or Killarney in Ireland are tourism hotbeds within which the majority of land, labour and capital are diverted towards the tourism sector. Most would agree that building an industrial complex or computer software manufacturer on the main street of either town would not be a good way to use the space, nor the resources. Similarly, we would not expect significant investment in leisure hotels and tourist infrastructure in Dublin’s industrial areas. We might view Queenstown or Killarney as a localised microcosm (within NZ and Ireland respectively) of what Croatia has become in the European context.

Geographic specialisation has big impacts across the globe: you only need to look at the volumes of Kiwis and Irish who grow up in a rural setting (primary sector domains) and then want to pursue professional careers, and so move to urban centres. This is why Dublin is full of country folk who weren’t interested in taking over the family farm, but instead move to Dublin, pick up a degree in IT at UCD then start new life in Dundrum commuting to Sandyford for work every day.

Maybe the social impacts of this geographic specialisation can be best measured by visiting Rody Bolands on a Saturday night and asking the folks who have made the move. Or maybe the impacts would be better measured by visiting any one of the multitudes of rural pubs across Island and speaking to the families that were left behind.

Mountain run in Croatia

The first thing one notices when approaching the Dalmatian coast of Croatia by boat is the stunning mountain range that casts a backdrop for the beach-town of Makarska. One peak in particular - Sveti Jure at 1762m - towers above the rest.



I scanned the side of the looming rock faces from the boat for any sign of trails that may allow a runner access to the delirious heights of the summit. No visible scars from this angle, which I supposed meant that access would be limited to rock climbers, or from the other side. Still, i figured that It was worth investigating at the info centre anyway. Either way though, a mountain run of this proportion seemed unmanageable in the prevailing heat (32 degrees plus).

Initial investigations revealed that there was a track, which sneakily twisted and turned it's way up the mountain between rock faces and eventually connected with a road that ran to the summit from the other side of the range. The route was 24km return with over 2000 metres of vertical ascent. My only chance was to start early and beat the sun.



After seeing Alison off on her own epic adventure (a 1400m climb to a viewing point) I set off just after 5.30am in temperatures already reaching into the high twenties. The route was demanding right from the gate of our apartment, offering a daunting preview of what was to come. The first 6km of trail climbed 1430 metres from Makarska up to the Vosec viewing point. Even my rough gradient calculations had not prepared me for the actual shock of trying to ascend the trail at this ungodly hour of the morning.



Progress was slow, and on parts of the route my run was reduced to an off-balanced power walk on the unstable rocky ground (flashbacks of Carrauntoohil ascent). Nevertheless, before I knew it, the time was nearing on 7am and had reached the viewing point 1430m above our apartment. I was rewarded with brilliant views of the town and of the islands that lie off the coast (apparently on a very clear day you can see Italy!).



Perhaps more importantly, I could see the summit of Sveti Jure, which still looked disturbingly distant, considering how tired my legs were already.



If this were NZ, you would never see a road in remote and beautiful landscape like this. But unbelievably, some poor bastard had actually built a road up to the summit, and I was now running on it. This was finally something that my running coach might approve of, probably not though.

The view from the top was staggering, but as usual I didn't have time to enjoy it. I was in a race against the sun, and i was losing. No trouble though because I had a lot of descending ahead of me, so expected to make good time on the way down. This was confirmed when the ears started popping and the temperature started rising dramatically with the decreasing altitude. By the time I reached the apartment after approximately 3h10min running time, the temperature had climbed well into the 30s - siesta and beach time!



Sustenance

Three oat biscuits, 800ml water.

Ascent/descent: 2000 metres
Distance: 24km

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biokovo?wasRedirected=true

Location:Biokovo mountains, Croatia

Yosemite Valley Glacier Point Half Dome run

Finally I made it to the U.S! In mid September i flew to the states with Ciaran and Kieran, friends from Dublin. FOr Ciaran and I it was the beginning of a three week road trip around a selection of Western States of the U.S. FOr Kieran it was the start of an epic American adventure that will eventually end at the bottom of the continent.

Picture: view of half dome, from Glacier point (10km point). That's where i'm heading, though not in a straight line! Half dome rises 1600 metres above the valley floor, at a total height of 3000 metres.

First stop San Francisco for some sightseeing and culture. Then we picked up our Toyota Camry and hit the road. On to Yosemite for camping and running adventures. Upon arrival in Yosemite, we headed straight to the supply store to pick up maps for the national park, with a mind to plotting out a route on the elaborate network of trails around the National Park.

Yosemite is an incredible place, with stark cliffs plummeting from massive peaks and ridges into deep valleys and canyons. We started our Yosemite adventure in the valley, where nature lovers flock from the Western sea board to seek out a taste of adventure. By the time we arrived in September, the summer peak period had died down and we enjoyed relative calm on the trails. The dominating feature in Yosemite valley is a peak 3000m peak called Half Dome, which looms over 1500m above the valley. Hardy hill walkers wake at dawn and spend up to 12 hours summiting Half Dome from the valley. In short, this place is like natures theme park.

The first morning we woke up to perfect conditions, so took the opportunity to nail a decent training run. THe plan was to climb 1000 metres to Glacier point, a peak that offered a great view of Half Dome. Then circumnavigate two deep valleys and climb onto a ridge that climbs to the peak of the dome.

Picture: View from half dome back down into Yosemite Valley. Glacier point in the background.


















I left camp at 10am and started the climb. That was to be the theme of the day. I clocked up 3,600m of vertical climbing over 5 hours and 40km of rough and steep terrain. THe last 400 metres of climbing to the summit is so steep that climbers climb fixed ropes using specially designed gripped gloves. From the top of the dome, you can look down to the tiny Yosemite Village almost directly below you, at the base of the cliff. It was worth the pain.

From the summit, i descended back down to the village. Parched like a beached whale in 43 degree heat and longing for a good meal. Feet covered in blisters after grinding in the dirt filled Salomons trail runners all day.

Here is the route I took mapped out on a terrain map (select terrain or satellite option), and the run stats recorded by my GPS running watch:

Garmin Connect - Activity Details for Yosemite Valley Glacier Point Half Dome run

Picture: View looking down the steep slope while climbing to the summit of half dome, exhausted and gasping for air at 3000m.

The Wicklow-go-Round

Picture: the lads lined up on the starting line ready to go at 2.34am, blissfully unaware that the first aid kit would be coming out 5 minutes later.

It was a mild morning at half past the second hour, when three enthusiastic and adrenaline-charged runners departed Military Road and took off into the darkness of the Wicklow Mountains. After months of training, amateur weather forecasting, monitoring lunar calendars and transition planning, the day had finally arrived to take on the Wicklow Round.

My accomplices were Paul Mahon, adventure racer/hill runner extraordinaire, who would bring a lot of adventure racing experience, charisma, and the endurance of an energiser battery to the party. Paul Nolan, an accomplished hill runner (with an intimidating track record)/orienteer with a killer descent and a knack for seeing through mist. And Isabelle Lemee, our trusty, dedicated and highly efficient support-team leader. My hope in signing up to the challenge was to enjoy the scenery and the company of the lads, learn as much as I could (particularly in the discipline of navigation), and then finally to tackle the Wicklow Round when the time was right.

The preparation was far from ideal (as is typically the case with these things). After unfavorable weather conditions had initially delayed the attempt, various injuries and ‘non-round’ commitments came into play for all of us in the weeks leading up to that Friday morning. Most notably for me personally was that I had left the top of my knee on the cairn at the summit of Prince William’s Seat (somewhat ironically) the previous week and then succumbed to a nasty infection in the days leading up to the attempt. The weather gods were not sympathetic to my plight, and the impending foreclosure of the high pressure front that we had all been enjoying for in the two weeks leading up to Friday meant that it was time to go regardless. After consulting with my doctor and pharmacist and receiving the expected reaction, I joined the lads in making the final preparations for the attempt.

In a scene reminiscent of a certain biblical episode, the three of us set off along the glowing rocky granite path under a starry sky towards the twinkling lights of the Kippure radio antennae (the first peak on the Wicklow Round). Unfortunately I was so distracted by the pretty lights that I face planted on the rocky path, and in doing so managed to carve up my ‘good knee’ as well as both hands. We cleaned up the damage as best we could and ploughed on, hoping that it would stop bleeding at some point during the day.

In the Mist

Unsurprisingly given the location, we spent the first few hours navigating our way down the North-western flank of the Wicklow range in thick mist. Having reccied the route several times before, I am still yet to see anything of the route between Carrigavore and Table Mountain.

All three of us were crossing our fingers as we climbed through the pine forest towards the Oakwood summit, hoping that the mist would miraculously lift and allow us an un-obscured passage through the potential enigma that is the WR route between Oakwood and Table Mountain (our navigational kryptonite). But Alas, it wasn’t to be so instead we wandered blindly and tentatively across the undulating and completely non-descript landscape to eventually find ourselves heading up-hill, hopefully ascending Table Mountain.

Picture: Paul Mahon and I skipping across stones on the Glenmacness River in the early afternoon





A Ridge With a View

Typically, the mist lifted as soon as we arrived at Table Track, which is relatively easy to stick to and follows a long undulating and broad ridge towards Lugnacoille. The skies would remain a mix of sunny and overcast but good visibility for the remainder of the day.

The spectacular views of the northern precipice of Lug made a nice change from claustrophobic and mood-dampening fog. During the ascent of Wicklow’s highest peak, Mahon couldn’t help but warn the nearby sheep to watch out for the Kiwi whom was passing through the area.

Picture: Spot the three tiny runners in the bottom right corner of the photo, heading up Tonelagee, which looms high above.





The Transitions


Despite the good company that we enjoyed at each transition, our intention was to spend as little amount of time there as possible (preferably less than 3 minutes per transition). Over the course of day we would cross road junctions 8 times, and at each point we replenish our supplies and prepare ourselves for the next leg. The transition was not considered ‘rest-time’, but rather tended to be one of the most intense parts of the round.

The gear requirements for each leg would depend on its length, the weather, and your condition at the time of transition (i.e. if you’re feeling thirsty then take more drink, if cold then take another layer of clothing). All of this needed to be considered and accounted for in advance of the transition so that you would spend the least amount of time at the van as possible.

Picture: Jase and Paul industriously replenish their drink, food, medicine supplies before heading up Scarr.

Despite the extra first aid work required on Friday, the transitions went like clock-work. This was thanks to the help of a number of friends of the team whom helped out. Thanks to Izzy (our support team leader) and also Brendan Doherty, John Shiels, and Alan Ayling for your invaluable support. And particularly, thanks to the team for driving around Wicklow in search of steri-strips and bravely applying first aid at the back of the van as I hurriedly re-stocked my backpack.

The Business End

Having reached the most southern point of the round at Carrawaystick, and started on our return leg back to Kippure, team spirits were high and we all took comfort in knowing that we were closer to the finish than we were to the start (although the start was so long ago that I could barely remember it). This comforting thought was countered by the knowlege that the biggest and toughest climbs all lay ahead, at a time when the going gets tough.

Nevertheless the banter continued as we pushed on at a constant and even pace. Meanwhile I was enjoying being educated by the lads with tales of mountain running legends of past and present.


By the time we began our descent from the cliffs above Lough Tay (15 hours into the Round) with a foreboding view of Djouce across the valley, my attention was turning from the general enjoyment of being up in the mountains with friends, almost entirely to the challenge of covering the terrain that lay ahead. At this point, the typically pleasant and distracting niceties such as the beauty of the landscape begin to seem trivial and largely unhelpful in the context of the formidable task at hand (i.e. climbing the next peak).

Picture: Paul Nolan making use of clearing in the scrub as he paces it towards the cold pizza that awaits him!

Paul Mahon apparently does not share this experience with me. At this point in the Round, Mahon seemed to draw on a source of energy specifically dedicated to cheerful banter and group encouragement, which is obviously a valuable trait in a Wicklow Round companion. While Nolan and I skipped quietly yet confidently around the cliff-top track, Mr Mahon was as chirpy and chatty as ever, and didn’t seem particularly phased by the 5000m + of vertical climb we had put behind so far that day.

As we descended into the valley and began our short climb through thick scrub up to the road, it dawned on me that we were getting close now. I took comfort in the fact that Djouce was the only tough climb between us and the finish line.

The summit of Djouce signaled that we were on the home straight. From there we had a clear run across to Tonduff via War hill, and then a smooth descent down to military road for the road section to Glencree. To complicate matters though, at this point Nolan had been showing admirable resolve in battling pain in his knee, and Mahon and I had niggles of our own. It occurred to us at one point that between the three of us we had one good knee remaining out of six. Nevertheless there was only one thing to do in the face of such obstacles, keep going.


Once again we were in the shadow of Kippure, from where we had set off into the night 17 hours earlier. As we jogged down the road towards Glencree, we were joined by some enthusiastic friends whom had turned up in perfect time to spur us on as we passed the Glencree Hostel before heading up towards Prince William’s Seat. Thanks to Ciaran Aylward, Dave O’Connell, Dermot Nolan, and Kieran Coleman for the encouragement, which was just what we needed at the time.

Pictured: This man has been running for 13 hours - can you believe it!?











The Finish line

After a brief but seemingly epic excursion up to the Prince William’s Seat and Knocknagun summits, we rejoined Military Road for the final mile-long climb to the finish point. Happily and relieved, we finished the Wicklow Round in a time of 19 hours and 39 minutes. So it's onto the next challenge then!

Picture: Crossing the line just after 10pm on Friday night
















The Aftermath

In my experience it’s quite normal to totally crash out after putting your body through the grinder like that. While the other lads chatted away with the surviving crew members, I had some time out in the back of the van to rest the legs and contemplated the day that had been. It's strange how the body starts to shut down as soon as it knows that you've finished, the cold bites, the eyelids get heavy, the cuts start to hurt all of a sudden.

After thankfully finding a lift home with Alan (to whom i must owe several pints), I left Paul Mahon to join some IMRA friends for pints at the local (no doubt the lads were preparing for the WW Relay the next morning) and instead went home to clean the wounds and prepare to face the 12 hours of uncomfortably and exhausted tossing and turning that inevitably follows a ridiculous undertaking like this.

By 9am I decided that lying down was just too painful (every movement hurts) so i stepped out into the heavy rain, grinning with satisfaction about the good timing of our attempt and the success of our mission. And walked down to the pub, via the friendly and bewildered pharmacist, to check out some Southern Hemisphere Rugby.

Jase

Sleep monsters of Ballyhoura

Two days later I was back in Ireland, heading towards the small town of Castletownroche in County Cork for the start of an epic adventure race called 'The Beast of Ballyhoura'.

The Beast is a 30 hour non stop adventure race in which teams of four competitors traverse the lush green and rugged landscapes of counties Tipperary, Cork and Limerick in Southern Ireland. The race involves mountain run, bike, kayak, abseil, shooting, orienteering and navigating the best route to win. The Beast started on Friday night August 1st and finish on Sunday August 3rd.

After a late night briefing on the Friday night, myself and my team mates - Melanie (UK), Greg (Ireland) and Andreas (Germany) - stole a couple of hours sleep before jumping in a bus at 3am and travelling to a 'mystery location', where the race would begin. As you can imagine, climbing out of the warm bus at 3.30 am into the brisk night air was not the ideal situation, especially knowing what lay ahead! 'How do i get myself involved in this sht' came to mind.

After seven hours of hill running and bike riding, several wrong turns and a stint of orienteering, we found our way to...

The Galty mountains - 11am on Saturday 2 August

This photo was taken at the base of a valley that lead up to the first peak of our Galty traverse, approximately 600 m above the pictured position. Unfortunately there was no smooth path to follow up to the peak. Instead we would follow the path of the stream, and clamber up boggy sheep trails up to the summit. The climb wasn't so bad in itself, what was more difficult was trying not to blow up your legs with 25 hours still to go in the race! It's not normal to have to think that far ahead.

This photo is a picture of the same peak as is pictured above, but looking down from a neighbouring peak.

Spirits were still high on the team as we made our way across the roof of Cork. It was amazing to look out across the ground that we'd covered, and the ground that we were yet to cover. After a couple of hours traversing the undulating ridge of the Galtys, Andreas began to feel the pinch of a past injury. Indeed, the rough and uneven terrain was hard going on the legs.

2pm: As we approached the western end of the Galty range, we dropped down off the ridge into a deep valley and followed a stream bed through the valley to a waterfall. From this point, we abseiled down the waterfall into the valley below.

Abseiling down a waterfall is just as precarious and unnerving as you might imagine. After easing into the initial section, it seemed that the only option from then on was to go straight down the middle, which involved going straight under the falling water into the over-hang and getting drenched. The rocks were slippery and hazardous, which made the experience even more dodgy. I was LOVING IT!

In the picture above you can see a gortex clad team peering over the edge, awaiting their turn to drop over the edge and get soaked.

Once at the bottom of the abseil, we bush bashed our way through thorns and thick forest down to the road and ran 5km to the transition. Time for the next bike section.

Clay Pigeon Shooting 7pm (15 hours into the race)

After riding around for what must have been several hours on trails and country roads, we arrived at a clay pigeon shooting range and were handed shotguns. Cool. After nailing our fair share of pigeons, we couldn't help but take the opportunity to put on our meanest faces and pose for a photo. Clearly Mel and Andreas need to work on their mean faces.

At this point Andreas was suffering from too much pain in his knee, and was forced to withdraw from the race. The rest of the team decided to continue anyway.


A long night in Ballyhoura 10pm (18 hours into the race)

As darkness descended upon us, we arrived at the Ballyhoura range of hills in County Cork. In particular, to the Ballyhoura multiple transition point at the Information office (teams would return to this transition twice during the night between stages). Throughout the night we trekked, ran, and mountain biked our way around 60km of trails and open countryside (read: scrub and bog). As we made our way along the trails and bashed our way across scrubby hill tops, we could see tiny lights blinking on the surrounding hills - the headlamps of our competitors. Next thing we were flying through the forest on mountain bikes looking for 'glow in the dark' numbers attached to trees. The narrow forest trails were magic in the still of night. Occasionally the trails would turn into perilous board walks, requiring more skill and coordination to negotiate than i probably had at this point in the race. Still, i couldn't help but give it a shot, and i was lucky on the night.

At this point in the race i was feeling better than i had done throughout the first day, i think because i felt the end drawing closer (it was now only 14 hours away!). It was interesting to see the way people struggle at different parts of the race. For me the hardest part was the first 3 hours of the race. For others, the real struggle came later.

Good morning Vietnam 4.30 am (24 hours into the race)

When we arrived back at the Ballyhoura transition for the third time, the place looked like a makeshift military hospital out of a Vietnam action picture. THere were pale and exhausted looking people crashed out on the floor all around. Some were wrapped in survival blankets, waiting for the support vehicles to take them back to the camp site. Indeed, the long night had taken many victims, and a number of teams had pulled out of the contest (We had already forfitted from rankings since the entire team must finish in order to rank).

After more than 24 hours on the go, and a long dark night in the forest, Mel uncharacteristically succumbed to fatigue. The epic mountain bike section had taken its toll on many. Mel decided to leave Greg and myself to finish off the course, and opted for the relative comfort and warmth of a friend (Rachel's) car.

Sleep monsters 8am (28 hours into the race)

Finally there was light, which revealed a glimpse of the surrounding Ballyhoura mountains as we sped away on our now filthy bikes. After flying down a lengthy fire break at ridiculous speeds, brakes squeeking and gears refusing to shift, Greg and I found our way to the next orienteering section. Anyone who has spent 15 hours on a mountain bike probably appreciates how sore my arse was by this stage. I have never been happier to get off my bike.

The orienteering section should have been relatively straight forward, except that things were starting to get a little... well... wierd at this stage. One minute i'm walking through the forest looking for a bright orange orienteering control. The next minute i'm walking around a strange forest aimlessly, wondering what i'm doing here and 'is this a dream?' I'm not sure how Greg was doing, but neither of us seemed to be finding the controls very easily, and they were supposed to be fairly obvious. After i declared with a wild grin that i was totally tripping out, Greg suggested that we head back to the transition and miss the last few controls, instead moving on to the 20km kayak section. I didn't really know what he was on about, but i figured that kayaking sounded like fun, so I enthusiastically agreed.

On the way to the kayaks i saw a small statue of an elephant lying in the forest. It was amazingly detailed, i figured that it was a gift from a visiting Buddhist monk or something. 'Check it out!' I wailed at greg excitedly, like a drunk teenager whom had spotted an open kebab shop on the walk home at 2am. Greg didn't agree though, he thought it was just a log.

The boat ride home 9 am (29 hours into the race)

The last leg of the race involved a 20km kayak down a swollen river, followed by a 4km run to the finish line. The boat ride proved to be quite exciting. The river was strewn with plantation and blocked with massive fallen trees all over the place. THe water was fast flowing, and negotiating a path through the maze of plant life was difficult.

Fortunately, Greg is an accomplished kayaker, and showed great skill in steering us through the wreckage. My job at this point was merely to provide man power, following Greg's orders to 'PADDLE' or 'BACKPADDLE' etc. I was more than happy to assume this role, given that i my kayak control skills are poor at the best of times.

After 2.5 hours on the kayak, and a 20 minute jog, we crossed the finish line at lunch time Sunday. Just in time for a a late pub lunch and a pint of Guinness at the local before bed.

Climbing to the Eagles nest in Bertchesgarten, Austria

Run Summary

22 km, 1200m ascent/descent, 2 hours 45min

Four days after the SwissAlpine challenge, I decided to take a day trip from Munich (where I was staying with a friend) to Salzburg. However, during the 90 minute train journey to Salzburg i decided instead to head to the Austrian alps, 40km south of Salzburg. After all, mountains are more fun than cities right?

A friend in Ireland had mentioned that there is a wicked spot near Salzburg where Hitler had a chalet on top of a mountain, surrounded by the glorious alps. The complex was built by the Nazis in the Alps as a 50th birthday present for HItler, and was meant to be a retreat for Hitler to entertain visiting dignitaries.

It is situated on a ridge at the top of the Kehlstein mountain (1834 m altitude), which towers above the Austrian town of Bertchesgarten (600m altitude) on the border with Germany, but is itself dwarfed by the surrounding Alps. On the map above, Kehlstein is on the summit of the smaller peak in the foreground, with the impressive peak Hoher Goll looming over it in the background.

As the public bus headed south from Salzburg towards the Alps, i knew i had made the right call. Pulling into the bus stop in Bertchesgarten, I spotted Kehlstein to the left, and thought i could make out a tiny structure perched on the summit. The photo below is taken from half way up, you can see how tiny the building looks, although it's actually not that small at all.

As the tourists on my bus headed off towards the gondola, I checked out the tourist office to find out just how big the ascent was. After all, i had to get back to Munich that day! After sourcing a map, and ensuring that the climb was within my limits, I slammed an overpriced sandwich and a powerade, and started running. Unfortunately i had not come prepared for the mission. I was wearing casual baggy shorts and a cotton T-shirt, which weren't the best, but would have to do.

The first 8km was up a fairly steep road that wound up through a forest, with an overhanging canopy that conveniently protected me from the hot sun. Eventually a dirt track turned off the road (unfortunately the road now continues most of the way to the top), so i followed the mountain bike trail up what appeared to be a more direct route to the summit. The trail climbed up through a pine forest before zig zagging its way up a steep rock face towards the summit, steep enough to cause pain but still runable (just).

The northern rock face of Kehlstein appeared intermittantly through breaks in the canopy, dwarfing the Chalet that sits akwardly on its summit (you can see it in the photo if you look closely enough). It looked so far away! After almost 1.5 hours of relentless climbing, I arrived at the Chalet, feeling satisfied and fatigued. I was met by hoards of tourists whom had opted for more leisurely transport alternatives. What was once Hitler's mountain lair was now an overpriced restaurant packed with American tourists eating ice cream.

After stopping to check out the views and rehydrate, I began the descent. After an hour and 1/4 of bone shaking descent, I arrived back where i started in Bertchesgarten. Thankful for the classic turquoise coloured river that ran through the village. I found my way to the nearest swimming spot and dived in.

Photos: Looking westward down over the eagles nest with Bertchesgarten visible far below in the background. From the same point, checking out the impressive Hoher Goll peak to the east.

After a bus ride and a brief foot tour around Salzburg, i jumped back on a train to Munich. The end of a rewarding day out.

Swiss Alpine Race report 26 July 2008

At 7.45am on 26 July, high up in the Swiss Alpine village of Davos, I lined up alongside 900 men and 400 women from around the globe to compete in a 78km Swiss Alpine Mountain Ultra Marathon. After months of training and preparation, it was finally D-day. I felt somewhat vindicated, standing amongst massive mountains and a huge crowd of people who were, as it turns out, just as crazy as I am. Who would have thought that there so many of us!


The idea was to complete the 78km alpine course in the shortest amount of time possible. At 7.55am I was thinking that next time i set myself a goal, I might choose something that is a little less intimidating. By 7.56am I had brushed off those unhelpful thoughts and turned my focus back to the task at hand.

The course would take me through riverside forests and deep alpine valleys, across two mountain passes (at 2,600m altititude), before finally descending through a lush valley back down to the town of Davos in the Swiss Alps. My ambitious goal was to complete the run in under 8 hours, and finish within the top 10% of competitors.

I figured the best way to work through the race was to break it down into parts, which on their own each seem manageable. The way i saw it, this race could be broken into three distinct sections.

Section 1 - The 31km gradual descent



The first part of the course was the fairly manageable 31km section of mostly easy trail that descended from 1500m altitude at the starting point down to an altitude of 1000m at the 31km mark. This section was all about settling into the race, and finding a rhythm. People were chattering away in German, wrongly assuming that I understood what they were talking about.


One Austrian man asked me in a thick accent what 'Have you GOAT what it takes?' means, since it was written on the back of my running shirt (a relic from the Ruapehu GOAT mountain race in 2006). Explaining the concept of a 'play on words' whilst simultaneously side-stepping tree roots proved to be a challenge.


Most of the trail was through forest, with astonishing peaks rising up on either side of the valley beyond the canopy of the forest. The trail crossed a couple of bridges that spanned deep canyons, which was quite a buzz, although not as treacherous as some of my Himilayan experiences.

The legs felt strong, spirits were high. Although having studied the course profile at length, i was haunted with the thought of what was to come.

http://www.swissalpine.ch/cms/map-and-details-events.phtml


Section 2 - Nature's never ending staircase


The second section was the 30km killer climb. This section involved almost 2300 metres of verticle climb, most of which was in one go (by comparison, Mount Victoria in Wellington is 200 metres high). The track climbed from an altitude of 1000m up to the first mountain pass at 2600, before descending slightly into an alpine valley on a rough rocky track (snow in parts), and climbing to a second pass at 2600m.



The ascent started on a road, and wound up a large valley, passing through a couple of small and quaint Swiss towns, each one bustling with supporters (not mine of course, but you wouldn't know it because they were so vocal). As i passed through the towns, I was each time traumatised to hear an announcement over the public address system that JASON REID from DUBLIN, IRELAND is passing through the checkpoint. On a number of occasions I considered taking this up with the man behind the microphone, before deciding that there were more important things to think about, like surviving the first pass.

After climbing 500 metres up to an altitude of 1500m, the road thinned out into a track, and became somewhat steeper. At this point, the track was still very runnable, which meant the pace was still fairly quick. The 42 km mark went passed after 3 hours and 32 minutes.


After about 1 and 1/2 hours of steady climbing, things started to get pretty tough. The surface of the track became more rugged and loose, but more worryingly the air also began to thin out rapidly as I climbed. By the time my altimetre read 1900 metres, my lungs were beginning to scream for air. I was gasping for breath, and could hear my heart beating in my pressurised/blocked ears. Of course, this was to be expected, but i wasn't sure to what extent and at what altitude it would kick in. I have experienced the effects of altitude before, but i found that racing at altitude is a very different story to trekking at altitude.

I pushed the final part of the climb as hard as i could, teetering on the brink between exhaustion and manageable pain (I've become quite accomplished at striking this balance). It was such a fine balance, that by the time i reached the pass at 2600m the marshall distributing bananas caringly placed her hand on my back and with a concerned look on her face, asked me if i was ok. Obviously i looked like hell. I smiled like a looney, scoffed the banana and some fruit loaf, mumbled thanks, and stumbled on a rock as i launched down into the alpine valley. I had now been running for 5 hours, and was feeling the effects of the climb and the thin air.


The trail then traversed the left flank of the pictured valley, dropping a few hundred metres (offering a chance to catch my breath) before climbing back up to the final pass (oh dear). The alpine trail was a technical run on an exposed trail that involved leaping over boulders and negotiation of streams, and in some places snow. At this point in the race the legs are starting to tire and drag, leaving the runner vulnerable to tripping or ankle rolling. So i was concentrating intently on staying on my feet. Watching my footing carefully to avoid injury. I knew the toughest part was over, and couldn't bear the thought of succumbing to injury after surviving the climb i had just endured.

The highlight of the race came as I bounded up the final ascent to the second pass, crossing a patch of snow left by a recent storm, being tracked by two helicopters alongside the trail whom were taking video footage of me and the runner in front as traversed the terrace. The euphoria of having nearly finished the final big climb, combined with the intensity of the choppers on my right shoulder and the snowy footing was quite overwhelming. You can see one of the helicopters hanging off to the right in this photo, there was another one sitting ten metres directly to my right. It was difficult trying to run on a snowy cambered trail whilst taking a photo, attempting to catch up with the guy in front of me, all the while trying to look cool on video camera.

Section 3 - Descent from the clouds


Finally, the last 17km section of the course was a descent from the Scaletta pass at 2600 metres altitude down a pristine valley (pictured from a neighbouring mountain) to the Start/finish line in Davos. After 61 km of running, this descent was quite tough on the legs and the stomach. The legs are hurting badly from the constant battering. The stomach is churning from the jarring (combined with the bananas and ice tea) as i wound down the steep rocky zig zag track. The entire body was aching, and the sun was still beating down on my dry forehead as i demolished yet another two cups of water and electrolites.


However, i managed to maintain a reasonable pace on the descent, conscious the whole time that i was looking to be in a good position to achieve my target time of 8 hours if i could just hold on.


When I finally reached the last support station with 3km to go, I downed a cup of flat coke, which would deliver a hit of sugar directly into my bloodstream, and would carry me across the line. It worked a treat, and i crossed the line after 7 hours and 42 minutes in 39th place with a spring in my stride. Relieved that hours of lonely training in the Wicklow mountains had paid off!


Naturally the Irish contingent, consisting of three undercover Kiwis, later made a bee-line to the nearest pub for well deserved pints. It was great to be joined by friends on the finish line. Pictured from left to right are Sinead (NZ), Kieran (County Cork, Ireland), Gavin (NZ), myself, and Dave (Wexford, Ireland). Photo taken by Ciaran, another Irish national.

Here are some of my race stats:

Food consumed: Food and drinks were supplied approximately every 5 km. By my estimates, i consumed about 3 bananas (in bite size pieces), 6 muesli bars (in bite size pieces), 1 small Loaf of fruit bread (in small pieces)

Drink consumed: 14 plastic cups of water (2.8 litres), 7 cups or 1.4 litres of Ice tea (basically water with sugar in it), 7 cups or 1.4 litres of LOng drink (sugar and electrolites), 1/2 cup of flat coke

Average speed: 10.1 km/hr

Starting weight: 69 kg

FInishing weight: 67 kg