Conness, conquered

My first mountain adventure adventure in a while, and a story worth telling, was the recent Labor Day weekend in the high East Sierras. The weather forecast was clear and stable, our crew nothing short of distinguished - Jeff Miller, a true Pacific Northwest man of the mountains, and Jim Sinai, who has racked up many a thousand vertical feet carrying a whole spice rack on his back. I tagged along and was looking forward to a fun and relaxing weekend in the hills. As it turns out, we did get 'fun' and 'relaxing', but there was a little 'freezing', and 'lucky' mixed in there as well. From the top...

An early morning departure from SF saw us hit Denny's Oakdale for breakfast, with blue skies beckoning east and a perfect forecast. As predicted, 120 was busy heading into the park, but thinned out over Tioga. First stop: emergency rock shoes for one of our crew. Turns out there is a gas station in Tuolomne Meadows with a gear store attached... how convenient. We stopped for rock shoes, and left with about $500 worth of t-shirts, hiking shirts, shoes, DEET, and other 'essentials'. It's fair to say they guy behind the desk had seen our type before, and was happy to oblige us our shopping fun. We rationalized it as the equivalent of a high street shopping trip, of the 'Sex and the City' flavor, for mountain folks.

Moving right along, we entered through the Lundy Valley with the intent of reaching the '20 lakes' area, out back of Saddlebag Lake. About 3pm Friday we struck out from the car, and after an hour or so, the consequences of our trailhead choice were apparent; we had added a couple thousand feet of vertical to our first day ascent. This was a good tune up for the legs, especially when we tackled a 500ft chute of mobile, small-rock talus. It was totally worth it once we attained the plateau; so many lakes to choose from, and plenty of great campsites. Note that many of the peninsulas and islands are off-limits as they're too small, and don't offer sufficient distance from the water. We bedded down ready for a 'fun day climb' on Saturday.

The morning dawns bluebird, and we leave camp around 8am, drenched in morning sun and

cooled by a classic mountain breeze. Spirits are high and we rock up to the ridge, roping up at the first tower around 10.30am. The summit seems close; the day seems young. Our confidence is buoyed by a group of three, average age late 50s, who merrily claim to have climbed Conness 'several times' and 'never bothering to take any pro'. Next, we encounter a man climbing barefoot, having hiked around North Peak that day sans-footwear. Takes all kinds, we figure. In any case, we're all looking forward to a late lunch on the summit, followed by a triumphant downclimb and relaxed hike to camp by headlamp.

It's about now that we shift into a time warp. For some reason, everything starts to take a long, long time. We're taking precautions, but nothing outrageous - pro here and there, belays on the steep face, but we're trying to be efficient and we don't stop. It's just slow going. The rappel takes ages, largely due to a serious sideways component - tough for Jeff to set the rope across, and tough for me to follow... I've only rappelled down before, across is a new trick. Before we can start the summit pitches after the rappel, we have an awkward side-climb, which runs the clock down further. And despite our older friends scampering up without ropes or cams, we can't help looking down 2000 ft of bare granite and thinking we're too young to die. More pro, and we're on belay. You get the idea...

...and, a few hours later, we end up one pitch from the summit, watching the sunset. On the plus side, it's truly beautiful; California sun through Yosemite forest fire smoke is hard to beat. On the downside, it means we have about 15 minutes of climbing light, after which it will be all headlamps. Not a prospect we're relishing with this exposure. And it turns out that our final platform is separated from the summit by a few hundred horizontal yards, starting with a lie back downclimb, followed by the hardest move of the climb (a crack hold / smear thing), and all the time contemplating a nice 30ft pendulum fall. Climbing second, I was the least rock-xperienced, and suspected I would be the weakest link. This notion was reinforced as Jim narrated Jeff's progress across the face (I couldn't see Jeff): 'whoa, nice move Jeff! ah, Luke, you're gonna need to be ready for this'. Hmmm.

Well, I got across. Having never climbed down a lie back in an awkwardly narrow chimney, it was all bent knees and willpower. At 'the move', I learned the true value of commitment. Yes, you have a pack on, yes it's your first day out in your own rock shoes, and yes, you have zero technique; but you have to get up the rock. I improvized some hand jamming in the cracks and muscled up and over, doing all the wrong stuff and using about 5x the energy I should have. But I was up, and ready for a simple walk across. Off belay, a scramble to the summit, and we had conquered Conness.

Suddenly, it's dark. We had been climbing in the fading light, where your eyes work harder and harder until... it's dark. Fortunately we had caught a glimpse of the first part of the downclimb, which resembled some sort of rock bridge to some mou ntain lair; Lord of the Rings style. The cold breeze continued, so we had the good sense to take stock, make a plan, and gear up with warm clothes. Main issues were a shortage of water, after an unplanned 4 hours extra on the hill, and having eaten very little

through the course of the day. An oatmeal sachet

for breakfast, a bar, and a few shot blocks, left

us with a definite glycogen shortage. We resolved to downclimb and pause at water.

After a bit of routefinding madness on the summit plateau (when the SuperTopo says 'northeast corner', they are exactly right! Take a compass, or even better, a GPS with maps), we found the path down past Alpine Lake. It's now 11pm, and prospects for reaching any kind of camp are slim. We also know that the trail from here is tricky. For better or worse, it's time to hunker down - a first for all of us, despite many cumulative nights in the mountains amongst our crew.

All I can say is: thanks for the reminder. A timely reminder that sleeping bags and Thermarests really make a difference. And that the gear you take to rescue one injured person (which we had; a bivy sack, foil blanket, several down jackets) ain't enough if you're all overnighting. It was a 'warm' night, but we shivered pretty bad, as we alternated between the two-man-squished bivy sack, and the crack in the rock where man #3 huddled (I adopted a style which involved legs in pack, foil blanket around top half, and pack insulating torso from ground... which was good for 2 hours sleep). Brrrr.

With that setup, a pre-dawn departure was a no-brainer. Marching at 5am, we experienced a glorious sunrise and some fun routefinding as the black sky turned gray and finally blue. By 7.00 we were rolling along the glorious green valley floor, with the classic Sierra dappled sun and backdrop of crags. The fuel tanks were low, though, and we were in need of calories in whatever form they might take. Fortunately, we had a clear milestone in mind: the Saddlebag Lake diner, and a super-hospitable woman named Marge.

Breakfast was a riot of sugar, protein, carbs, butter, caffeine... you name it. I ordered a cookie as a side. We drank 3 cups of coffee (at least) as Marge kept it coming. All said, we spent about 2 hours eating, drinking, relaxing in the sun, and waiting for the water taxi. Call us soft, but after 24 hours away from camp (of which 18 were travelling), we needed some R&R. We'd all done endurance events before, but the added factor here was food and water deprivation. Running 8 hours on a trail makes you sore, but at least your muscles can fire. This was a really tough state of fatigue, truly bonking, where another few hours on the trail may simple not have been possible. Yes, lesson learned. But it was almost worth it to savor the simple pleasures of Marge's pancakes and sitting in the sun at Saddlebag.

The rest is standard stuff. Afternoon chilling by the lake, naps, books, a little fly fishing for Jim. We agreed that future holidays should include this, even if we don't pull a stunt like Conness. Monday morning we hiked out - a surprisingly hairy descent into Lundy reminding us that down is often harder than up, especially on slippery stuff - and reached the car by midday.

All in all, a classic high-country adventure. Plenty of lessons, plenty of bonding, and an excellent few days scenery around the majestic granite of the high Sierra. Mt Conness is thoroughly recommended. Those among you more confident will scamper up without

Full set of full res pics are here, email me for the password: http://lukebaxter.zenfolio.com/p798320041

Happy trails.

PS this one's going on Supertopo.com

A whole quarter later...

Strange how starting work again coincided with three months of downtime on the blog. The easy conclusion to draw is that work and blogging are mutually exclusive. I'm never one for easy answers, so I'm going to fight... watch this space.

Meanwhile, just finished my first project after starting back in the consulting game. A slight shock to the system but I'm re-acclimatised now.

And tomorrow: I'm On A Boat. Just like the one in the video but with two hulls ... better than one!

Lookalikes

OK, I'll admit this is cheap fun.

But in this case I'm pretty darn sure that Rahm Emanuel is just Robert Downey Jr's latest, most extreme method acting exercise.









Now we just need Rahm to make his part worthy of casting RDJ in the inevitable Obama flick ...

Enough about me

As I flagged a few weeks (months? I lose track these days) ago, I've always been concerned about the ego-casting aspect of blogs. So this post is all about 'the others', and in true blogosphere style it was inspired by a post by a friend (Brett, I hope you're OK with that level of familiarity) referencing a mutual friend (who will remain un-named for now).

1. To all the peeps in the Bay, I miss you - especially those who, against all sound advice, read my blog. Can't wait to get back up there in '09...

2. To 'LWB', my most avid commenter and supporter during my earnest efforts to train for, and complete, the recent mountain race. I realize that thousands of people have run longer races, faster, and I'm not doing it for the pride, but a little affirmation is always a nice thing!

3. To Brett Keintz and Jonathan Bolden, who single-handedly keep the 'user-generated content' sector alive and humming. Twitter would be nothing without you guys.

4. To Dave Haase. I know it's probably Ashley posting on your blog, even when she's faking your barely-concealed lust for both members of the Keintz-Smaby household (I'm not judging you there, to be clear, we all feel it), but let me say this: man who posts on blog but does not respond to emails = off my Christmas card list. Plus I am intensely jealous that you'll be in Colorado soon...

5. To Nivi, who is a stealth commenting machine.

6. To Annie, who actually reads my 'serious' blog and pretends to admire my analysis.

And now I realize the problem with this game: endless list, disenfranchised peeps who are excluded. So rest assured, this was just a random sample to illustrate that I am intensely interested in all you good people. If you're not on the list, I probably think more of you than the poor schmucks I've outed. Except for Annie. D'oh!

As further proof, you'll note that the sidebar links have been cleaned up. Let me know if you want in - it's good for at least 1 click a year from some random Kiwi (if you're American) / American (if you're Kiwi) who you probably don't know.

Kepler Challenge, done

Well, there it is. My project for the past 6 months, and go-to topic when people ask what I'm doing instead of work, is all over. I'm no longer 'training for the Kepler Challenge', I'm officially just 'hanging out for the summer' (which is not a bad thing, by the way).

After a race like this, it seems several things happen. First, there is dealing with the "Great Big Empty feeling", with no training plan to crunch out any more, and no race planning in the back of my mind at all waking hours. Second, there is the reflection and post-race analysis, trying to figure out: did I do well? Did I run a good / smart / strong race? Finally, there's the deep, dark question: will I do it again?

So leaving me to deal with the GBE feeling, I'll start with a race report before getting into the performance analysis. The star of this show is definitely the track (or trail for those in the US): a 60km circuit with about 1800 m (6000 ft) of vertical ascent / descent, winding through some of New Zealand's best wilderness. (If you are more into the pictures than the story, the full photo reel is here.)

The first few miles were a nice flat warm-up through lowland beech forest, the calm before the track heads for the sky. Nice and easy, a chance to check everything is working. But during that first steep climb, I began to get nervous about my race plan: a lot of people (who didn't look like mountain running heroes) were puffing their way hard up the hill alongside me, while I was trying to conserve my legs and keep my heart rate in check (which was the plan). I stuck to my guns, cruised up the hill, and reached Luxmore Hut a shade after 1:40 - pretty much in line with my race pace, and feeling relatively strong. Later I passed a bunch of the hill-puffers, which made me feel better about the self-control I mustered there! At Luxmore we had the gear check (rules require runners to carry a pack with full mountain clothing) and a chance to enjoy some gels, and the view.

The next stage was where the surprises began. Turns out my memory of the track from 2 years ago was a little, ah, optimistic. Instead of a rolling, smooth blast across the mountain tops, the trail was a brutal up-and-down, with lots of scrambling and balancing on rocks, and no chance of finding a rhythm. It was near freezing, with a strong head wind; my energy bars had to be hand-warmed just to make them chewable. I debated adding an extra layer, but decided to just keep on moving. Despite all this, there was no better place in the world to spend Saturday morning - amazing views over Lake Te Anau and the tops.

The descent from the tops redefined the term 'steep downhill'. Too steep to run, and with switchbacks every few metres, this stretch was an hour of making every footstep count - don't twist anything, don't burn out the quads, while using gravity to make up as much time as possible. Towards the half way point, the downhill eased, the track smoothed again, and it was possible to stretch out. About time after slogging through the rocks and peaks for over three hours.

At Iris Burn (28.4km) I took stock, stretched out, put my iPod on. The rest of the trail was well-made, mostly flat, and a chance to get rolling - in my race plan, this was the time to settle into a strong pace and drive home the negative split. On the flip side, I'd just been up and down over 1500m vertically, and there was still 31.6km to go. My longest distance previously was a marathon, so I was soon going to be in uncharted territory. In the back of my mind, I remembered the last 3 miles of the Big Sur marathon: pure agony, with cramping calves and burning hip flexors. If that happened this time at 40km, the last 20km weren't going to be fast...

So I played it smart, and kept my overall race goal in mind: be running strong at the finish. Ticking off the checkpoints, disaster was duly avoided, and I didn't cramp up, break down, or tear anything. I was able to enjoy the scenery... if you haven't walked the track, the Iris Burn Valley is a truly spiritual place. The field had spread out, so much of this half was run with nobody in sight, cruising through the rainforest on a leaf-litter path. I passed many hikers, who all clapped and cheered me on (even though I sure they thought we were all mad) - I even saw the Canadian guy who I hiked the Routeburn track a week previously, who was wearing a "Go Luke Go!" sign on his pack... thanks to Keith for giving me an extra burst of energy there.

After 50km, it's all a bit of a haze. The legs didn't really want to go, I cracked the whip and skipped songs until I found inspiration, and at last I saw the Control Gates around the bend in the river. With about 500m to go, I had enough for a 'sprint' (or at least what felt like a sprint) and claimed one more place (I had reeled a few people in on the back half) before crossing in 7:22:44, good enough for 105th out of a field of 400.

Which brings me to the next part - how did I do? After all the training, did I play it right? In terms of pace, you can do the numbers: over 7 hours for 60km is pretty slow. I was hoping for something the 7:00, but in hindsight my pace calculations weren't well figured. Consider that the winning time of 4:56 equates to 5 minute k's, or 8 minute miles - pretty slow for a winning time in an elite race. And this guy (Martin Lukes) recently placed 6th in the world ultramarathon champs, doing 100km at a pace of 4 minute k's, or 6.5 minute miles. So it's a tough course!

At the very least, I achieved three things: a negative split (about 4 hours for the first half, 3:20 for the second), running strong at the finish, and no disasters (cramps / hitting walls / etc) along the way.

I then got to wondering about the folks who finished around me, as a way of benchmarking. A little web-stalking revealed some interesting stuff. The girl who I sprinted past at the finish (with the possibly illegal help of Jay-Z's 'Encore' on the iPod) turned out to be a fairly serious triathlete from the US, highlights being: 2nd in the Big Sur trail half marathon, 1st in her age group for the ITY World Triathlon Champs (she's in the background of my 'sprint' photo). Behind her was a guy who recently clocked a 1:24 half marathon - certainly better than me, he's clearly no slouch. A few minutes ahead (7:20) was a guy who did the Badwater 15o miler Death Valley this year... so there's some inspiration.

When it's all said and done, though, this is called a "Challenge", not a "Race" for a reason. For me, it was simply unlike anything I've ever done, and everyone out there has their own story. The race has been run 21 times, and there was a guy running his 20th - at 72. There was also a young gun going for the big win, but who hit the wall with 10km to go, and came in second to the self-proclaimed 'wily' and experienced Martin Lukes.

Now for the big question: will I go back? Talk to me in a couple of weeks...

Here we go...

One last day of contemplation and carbo-loading in Queenstown... on a glorious December day, no less. Time to run!

League vs Union... one Kiwi fan's story

On Saturday night, I watched New Zealand win its first Rugby League World Cup with a 34-20 victory over Australia in the final. There's no sweeter victory for New Zealand than beating Australia. For me, the strange thing was, I was more excited about that game than the All Blacks v. Wales rugby union test match this morning. I began to reflect on the long-running battle for hearts and minds between the two rugby codes that we follow here in Kiwiland...

Every part of the world has it's 'football'. In most countries, it's the game we call 'soccer'. In the US, of course, it's their proprietary game with the helmets and the big hits. In New Zealand and Australia, it's any one of three games played with the oval ball: rugby union, rugby league, and Australian Rules (AFL). Needless to say, as a Kiwi, my interest in Aussie Rules is negligible, so for me (and most of my family), the salient question is: do I follow the 'league' or the 'rugby' (shorthand for 'rugby union').

Now, some of you might wonder if this is a serious question. After all, rugby has the All Blacks, famous around the world, and is the team sport in which New Zealand is most consistently competitive on the global stage (for a while, we had America's Cup yachting, but that's a whole different story...). What's with this 'league' thing, anyway?

Well, my experiences begin in the glorious 80's. At that time, rugby was the main (only) mass market winter sport in New Zealand. Unfortunately, it was an amateur game with rules which delivered a lot of kicking, waiting, and set plays - not much running, try scoring, or general excitement. And while the amateur aspect gave the sport an 'everyman' chic, the rugby boys couldn't really keep up with other professional sportsmen. Switching from the Soccer World Cup to the rugby was like switching on slow motion.

Then came the Winfield Cup. Australia's national rugby league competition, the Winfield Cup was like Rio's Carneval compared with the NZ rugby union. They had bright uniforms, a "Grand Final" day featuring Tina Turner, and most importantly, they ran with the ball. It was the razzle-dazzle - fancy flick passes, nifty side steps, big hits - compared with the strategy and kicking of the union. It also brought the drama of professionalism. Big salaries, big personalities, and off-field drama... the players and their girlfriends were in all the magazines, the scandals were on the tabloid front pages.

There was one thing missing: a New Zealand team. Amazingly, this didn't stop Kiwis from becoming converts to the league. As a 10 year old, I met the legendary Canberra Raiders and Queensland star Mal Meninga, and it was the biggest buzz of my life (at that time, to be clear), even though I was a Manly fan (and had a Manly jersey signed by their star fullback Matthew Ridge). We would all get together for the Grand Final and listen to Tina Turner belt out "Simply the Best". And it was the Best show in town.

Unsurprisingly, the players figured this out as well. Matthew Ridge, for example, was a rugby convert. Countless others traded in their grim, low paid rugby passions for the glitz and glory of the Winfield Cup. Soon, if you knew how to run and pass, you were heading across the Tasman. And rugby was suffering. in 1995, the first New Zealand team entered the competition - 'the Warriors' became the country's new sporting heroes overnight.

So, the empire struck back, and rugby went pro. The Super 12, a competition spanning NZ, Australia, and South Africa, was launched in 1996. The crowd went wild: this was as exciting as the league (new rules lead to faster play), and had all the fun and fanfare of the Winfield Cup (which had by now been renamed, as cigarette sponsorship was out of fashion). Rugby grabs the lead... for the next few years, it was all about the Super 12. I was certainly a convert, and my team, the Auckland Blues, dominated the tournament for its inaugural years.

Now, I'm not sure where I stand. Rugby has lost its lustre in recent years: the Super 12 has expanded, they've messed around with the rules, and on the international stage, the All Blacks haven't won a World Cup since 1987. Many great Kiwi players have followed the money to European rugby union clubs (unlike the drain to league in the 80's and 90's, the audience can't and won't follow them there). After watching the action-packed league game last night, this morning's game against the Welsh was a tedious affair, full of scrums being re-set, muddled linouts, and penalties.

There's also the big 'P' - 'personality'. League seems to have a different tone; it has always been the working class game, and exudes the blue collar values of hard work, pride, and commitment. The 'league boys' can be a bit rough around the edges, but they all some like good guys who love their sport and look out for their teammates. That was once true with rugby (union) as well, but these days, there is a faint prima donna feel about the New Zealand players. There's an assumed merenary streak, with every All Black assumed to be doing their numbers on whether to move to Europe, and the NZRFU grooming has turned them into slick and safe pros, on and off the field. Think Andre Agassi versus Pete Sampras... Pete has the record, but Agassi evokes passion.

Which begs the question, how do entire sports compete with each other for audience hearts and minds? It's certainly a complex equation, and other sports such as cricket are grappling with it at the moment. Something to explore on my 'serious' blog over the next few days.

In the meantime, GO KIWIS! A spectacular win, by a perfect bunch of 'good bloke' underdogs... and of course, my condolences to the Aussies.