Paragliding: Oludeniz, Turkey

I have too many hobbies.  I know this.  But each one of them is so much fun, I can't help it.  Paragliding might just be the best one of all.  My poor paragliding wing has sat mostly unused for the year I've been living in the UK.  Not because there aren't flying sites here, but because I really hate driving to a launch just to sit and wait.  Parawaiting is a national sport in the UK, as the the wind and weather just don't work out too often here.

Cue a trip down to Oludeniz, Turkey.  It might just be the best place for paragliding I've ever seen.  The weather is hot and dry and sunny, the seas are warm and clear and blue, and the winds are consistently calm.  Best of all, within a 45 minute drive of the beach is a 6500 ft mountain ridge called Babadag, which has multiple launch sites for all wind directions, and a clear view of the landing area (the beach).  I flew almost everyday, several times a day, and even got to fly next to my friend Hande during her tandem with Mahoney.  As he seems to be the only tandem pilot in Oludeniz to do Helicopters, Hande got quite a ride!   Check out the video embedded below or here!

The trip up the mountain now costs about $10 per trip for the shuttle, and another $10 (per flight) for a launch fee.  Given that I only flew once or twice a day over a week, overall it was pretty affordable compared to most paragliding tours.   Plus I got to hang out on the beach, enjoy the perfect weather, do some scuba diving, and dine on the oceanfront while watching paragliders constantly landing.  Can't be beat!

Paragliding, Oludeniz, Turkey July 2011 from Dawn Westrum on Vimeo.

Hiking Babadag Mountain, Turkey

 On our last day of holiday in Turkey, after a week of awesome paragliding off of Babadag mountain, I determined that I needed to hike up to the launch under my own steam at least once.   I arranged for my wing to be driven up to the top, as I couldn't fathom carrying it up a vertical mile of trails, and crossed my fingers that it would actually arrive at the top before I did. 

Rob and I started out at 6 a.m. in order to stay out of the burning sun for as much as possible. On the road we found a small turtle, had a good look at it, and then moved it into the bushes where it might stay out of danger of traffic.  Less than a mile from our hotel in Oludeniz, at the east end of the beach on the road, we found the stairs marked with a Babadag sign.  From there the ascent started in earnest.  The route was marked haphazardly with green dots spraypainted on rocks, and with both of us keeping our eyes peeled for the green, we managed to stay on trail most of the time.  It was an unkempt trail for the first bit, and the sharp needles on the bushes wreaked havoc on my poor sunburned legs! 

After the section of bushwacking, we came out onto a driveable rocky trail, that led up to the Lycian Way.  This was a much wider, well-maintained trail, and not nearly as steep.  We made good time here, climbing slowly above the beach and lagoon at Oludeniz, grateful that the sun hadn't reached above the mountain yet.   We passed two stagnant cisterns but didn't need water as I had loaded myself down with quite a few litres.  We would end up needing every drop in the end, as it was hot and dry. 

About halfway up on a plateau jutting out from Babadag mountain, we crossed through a tiny village, and promptly got lost.   I had only a vague idea of how the trail carved its way up the mountain, but we could see the paragliding takeoff at 1700 meters and knew we had to eventually get there.  After a few random fields crossings we got lucky enough to see a green dot, and once we figured out which way to follow it, we were quite relieved. 

Moved a turtle off the road and back into the bushes

The trail by this point had broken off from the Lycian way, and disintigrated back into merely a trail of green dots through unbroken scrub bushes.  We carefully and slowly picked our way up the sharp granite rocks, and lost the trail again, getting distracted by a faint goat trail.   Since the trail wasn't much better than anything else, we didn't sweat it too much, and started angling over to where we thought the trail had to go.   It took quite a while to find it, and in the meantime we were scratching ourselves quite a bit in the low scrub trees and loose rocks. 

Once back on the trail, again, it seemed to get even steeper and less maintained, and the last mile was just a sweaty scramble up loose dirt and rocks.  Luckily the trees were finally tall enough here to give some shade, but by then we were hot, tired, and running out of water.
It ended up taking 5 1/2 hours to go 7 miles to the paragliding takeoff, and we were quite grateful to rehydrate with soda from the shop overlooking the launch area.   The 7 miles included a vertical mile of climbing, from sea level all the way up to 5600 feet! 
I must say this is the worst trail I've ever been on.  It was diffiult to follow, steep and tricky footing, and seemed to be neverending.  The scrub was so thick at the top that views were obscured, definitely really tough. 
Since my wing was waiting for me at launch, we didn't continue up to do the last mile to the actual summit at 6500 feet.   I think if I decide to hike up again someday, I think I will go via the road, as at least it's a nice hike up through pine forests rather than cactus scrub.  Either way, the views from the top are definitely worth it, and it was much more fun to paraglide back down over the mountain rather climb up it. 

A map and description of this torturous route can be found here.

The launch area and Babadag peak

The blue lagoon of Oludeniz

The spine of Babadag as seen from Fethiye

Mike's BG Round - Leg 5, 15/16 July



Enough cake to feed an army!

 Well, I did a little of everything this weekend, including some kayaking, fell running, and a mountain biking session at the Gisburn Forest bike trails.  On each and every one of them, I got soaking wet from the drenching rain that seemed to fall all weekend long.  Squelching shoes and wringable rainjackets might be a novelty to desert dwellers, but splashing through puddles and singing in the rain gets old after a while.

So Mike sure picked a cruddy weekend to attempt his BG round, that's for sure.   As I was scheduled to join him on his final leg, I waited anxiously for text updates to see how the weather was affecting his round.  He had assured me beforehand that he wouldn't "throw in the towel", although on such a wet weekend a few extra ones might have been handy!?! 



Descent off Robinson with Keswick in view!

 Sure enough, he was (almost) on time and going strong through the first 4 legs, despite getting lost in the fog and wind and rain in the middle of the night atop a few peaks.   The rain made for deep bogs and waterfalls and generally miserable conditions for Mike and his supporters (including Martin on Leg 3).

I arrived at Honister Pass a bit early, in time to sample a couple of Helen's cakes and watch the slopes for the incoming runners.   Mike arrived only a few minutes behind schedule, soaking wet of course like he had been almost the whole round, and we set off quickly back up into the clouds on Leg 5.  Actually, he set off quickly, and I struggled to keep up with his quick pace up to the top of Dale Head.   I must have eaten too much cake after seeing how much was in Helen's car!  Luckily Mike had 9 other folks to keep him company until I caught up with him on the downhill.  Finally.  How embarrassing to be left behind by a guy with 55 miles and 25,000 feet of climbing already in his legs! 



Robinson  #42!

 But it was a credit to Mike's climbing ability that his round went off successfully, as the steep downhills were obviously torturing him at the end.  Remembering how much I had limped by the end of the Housman just six weeks ago, I was wincing in sympathy.   Well, Hindscarth summit passed uneventfully (with sideways rain and obscuring fog), and without further ado, we reached Robinson, the last of the 42 tops.   I seemed to have the only camera among the group, so we posed for a quick photo before making the very steep descent down to the road. 

Once at the bottom, there was a quick change into dry shoes and socks for Mike, and he donned his Dalham club vest for the final push into Keswick.  Amazingly enough, the sun came out for a few minutes, and a few intrepid runners stripped down to just their Dalham vests, although I was still happy to keep my long sleeves and raincoat on.   I felt justified when it rained a further 4 times before we finished.  :(

A big crowd was waiting at the finish, and Mike took the time to shake everyone's hand and pose for photos, although I'm sure he was only dreaming of a chair to sit down in, perhaps some dry warm clothes, and mostly his bed.  Back at the car still stuffed with cakes, we shared round a bottle of bubbly (this about did Mike in), and we all nobly tried to clean up a few containers of baked goods. 


Congrats Mike, for finishing in those awful conditions, with a time of 23:37!!!

100 miler: The aftermath

Today, a full 30 days after the Housman Hundred, I took my first running steps.  After a slow, thoughtful, grumpy, steady recovery, I am finally able to run pain free and ready to get back in the groove of training.  My next race is the Open Adventure 24 hour Adventure Race.  While that still seems like a long race for most people, the bonus of having multiple disciplines means a lot less repetetive stress on my poor muscles.  We may be kayaking, running, biking, walking, climbing, swimming, or anything else the race director can come up with! Plus there is always a bit of down time while we switch disciplines, read maps, etc.   In other words, I hope it won't be nearly as hard as the 100.  The Open 24 will be my longest AR so far, and will hopefully be a good lead up to the Coast to Coast race at the end of August. 

 But in regards to my recovery from the Housman, I spent the first week barely able to hobble around, with a sprained ligament in my right knee making a limp quite obvious.  Virtually no suprise was that I spent most of that time as horizontal as possible, icing my legs and eating the house bare a lot.  After 35 hours non-stop on my feet I didn't feel guilty in the slightest.

The second week, if I stayed on my feet more than a few minutes, my feet and legs would quickly start to ache mightily, and I would have to sit down for a while.  I wondered how long this would last, but I was seeing steady improvements in my knee joint and my limp was getting less.  I may have attempted to lift weights that week, but I sure didn't do any cardio.  In fact, I felt so lazy at that point I didn't even want to exercise, and wondered if my motivation would come back again.

By the third week, I was relieved to feel a lot better, the limp was gone, the aches were gone, but still couldn't run more than a few steps without feeling tension still behind my knee.   Luckily the steady progress gave me hope, and I started biking, kayaking, walking, climbing, and lifting weights again, with no issues. 

Now I am ready to go running again, finally, it's amazing to feel healthy and I thank God my injury was minor.  Motivation has returned as well, and the other day on an absurdly warm day in England, I went out for a 66 mile bike ride and then a 3 hour paddle on the Leeds-Liverpool Canal in my new (used) kayak.  It's been a long time since I've been able to disappear out onto the fells, so I am looking forward to enjoying the warm summer weather and getting back into some long runs!

Housman Hundred, 101 mi, 28-29 May 2011

Smiling before the start, with the halfway bags still piled behind me

Well.  100 miles.  After months of anticipation, my legs have carried me the entire distance, and I have finished my first hundred mile run in 34:54.   

The whole event sort of split into thirds, not of distance or time, but in terms of mental capacity.   I have to admit now, it was the toughest thing I have ever done.  To be completely honest, the distance broke me, and turned me into a blubbering, painfully hobbling wreck somewhere in the middle.  But I digress, and will start at the beginning.    

First a few statistics: 

422 Male and 128 Female starters
154 First timers and 25 have completed 20 or more LDWA hundreds
Entries from Spain, Italy, Holland, Canada, and USA
Average age of entries 54
Youngest 18 and oldest 81
Only 23 entrants less than 35 years old and 202 over 60 years old

The 12 o'clock start

Comments are already circulating about how this may have been the toughest 100 in the last few years for sure.  Out of 524 starters, 158 retired before the finish, with a few taking up to the full 48 hours to navigate the course. 

The LDWA hundred mile event is held in a different location every year.  This year was in Shropshire, and named after the poet A.E. Housman.   Hence the Housman 100, and I will include a few short poems, just because.

Into my heart an air that kills 

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

  What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

  I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

  And cannot come again.

  

The first mental third was the easy one (duh).

I arrived in Ludlow via a long drive from home, just in time to see the majority of the 500 starters head out at 10 a.m.   I had chosen to start later at 12, just to get a full night’s sleep after working the day before (seemed like a good idea considering it would be another night or two until my head would hit a pillow).   A much smaller crowd of 49 runners started off with me, and although it rained on us on the short walk TO the start, once the clock started, I at least never saw another drop of rain.  Considering the forecast was predicting lots of wet stuff, it was an unexpected pleasure.

The first 25 miles were beautiful forest trails following the Mortimer Trail.   It was sunny at times, the trees blocked the wind, and the vistas were amazing.   It was neither warm nor cold, and I drank lots of liquids to try to stay ahead of dehydration.   I really enjoyed the pine forests as there aren’t many of them near my home in Yorkshire.   But the trail also started a disturbing trend, namely of checkpoints located in the valleys, and the trail in between leading up and over some very steep hilltops. 

By checkpoint #2, I had started to catch up to the 10 a.m. starters and the hall looked like a tornado had swept through it, leaving only crumbs and empty dishes!   I pushed onwards and navigation was easy as a steady stream of walkers were there to show me the upcoming trail junctions.

After leaving the Mortimer Trail, we picked up Offa’s Dyke Path and crossed over into Wales.   The third checkpoint was a welcome sight, and for the first time I stopped for a meal, and so began the parade of the strangest things I have ever eaten during a race.   At this stop it was potato salad and hot quiche, which I must say tasted great and was easy to eat.   Later checkpoint stops offered ravioli on toast, pasta, soups, a full English breakfast (skipped that one, sausages seemed like a bad idea!), and baked potatoes, plus a selection of tea, coffee, cake and other snacks.   It seemed like I was constantly eating and drinking, which I had been looking forward to, really (who doesn’t want to pig out once in a while!), but in the moment, just seemed like a necessary chore to keep my body fueled. 

With daylight failing, I was quickly out the door again, up and over another big hill (or two) to reach checkpoint #4 and the 35 mile mark.   That made 1/3 of the race complete in just over 8.5 hours, and I was really happy with that time as it boded well for my goal of under 30 hours (ha!).   Even better, I immediately saw a few friendly faces from the West Yorkshire LDWA club, so I had people to walk with for the start of the dreaded night section.  They had recce’d the whole route over a long weekend a month before, so as dark fell and the headlamps came out, I was confident in their route choices and making good progress.

The pace slowed dramatically, however, as every step at night required more care on the steep climbs to not slip, slide, or fall down a hillside. Crossing hundreds of gates and stiles slowed us down further, as tired legs made the huge steps over even harder.  The lights of other head torches strung out ahead of us along the black ridge, as the route description promised great views (ha!) over the Welsh hills.  I had been using a brand new pair of Leki Traveller trekking poles, and found them to be absolutely brilliant, in that I could unclip my wrist straps from the poles to get my hands free for digging in my pack, yet not have to finger grip the poles at all to get traction while walking.  The poles made me much faster on the uphills, and helped push me along at a good clip on the flat parts as well (not that there were many flats).   I slowly pulled away from my friends, and pushed on into the dark, focusing on catching the headlamps bobbing ahead of me. 

A downhill stretch to checkpoint #5 was where I first noticed that my knee hurt quite badly on steep downhill sections and I could no longer run downhill for fear it would buckle under me.   I was now using my trekking poles to help me limp down the steep stuff; although on more reasonable terrain I could walk or run without pain.   I set out alone again, pushing through several groups of torchlit walkers to help speed me over the trail.   Another lone walker caught up to me, one of the very few people to pass me over the entire event.  We struck up a conversation and carried on.  It turned out that Al, who had the distinction of being the only person on the event to carry his pack over just one shoulder, had recce’d the night section and knew it like the back of his hand.  Walking at 4 miles an hour, he navigated with no hesitation and I desperately tried to keep up with him.  At times I had to run to catch up, but the miles ticked by and we were at the 55 mile breakfast stop by 5 a.m.   The English breakfast didn’t sound good, but my halfway bag was waiting for me, so I took the time to change my shoes and socks, massage my feet, and stock up on snacks again. 

Al was ready to head out about when I was, so we set off together again, with him navigating and me trying desperately to hang on.  The next ten miles passed quickly with the strong winds at our back and a fine mist coming down.  The trail around the rocky peaks of Stipperstones was beautiful, but this was no time to stop and dig in my pack for the camera.  And so we reached checkpoint #8 and the 66 mile mark in just over 20 hours. 

White in the moon the long road lies,
  The moon stands blank above;
White in the moon the long road lies
  That leads me from my love.

Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
  Still, still the shadows stay:
My feet upon the moonlit dust
  Pursue the ceaseless way.

The world is round, so travellers tell,
 And straight though reach the track,
Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well,
  The way will guide one back.

But ere the circle homeward hies
  Far, far must it remove:
White in the moon the long road lies
  That leads me from my love.

The middle mental third was a nightmare.

I bid farewell to Al, as I knew I could no longer keep up his pace, and set off alone to finish the final 1/3 of the distance.  The trail, as always, left the checkpoint and headed straight up the next hillside.  At the crest, the trail was now heading roughly south back to the start, so we were now facing directly into the howling wind.  It immediately started to get to me.    I hobbled on, following a figure ahead of me, but by now the trail was nearly empty of other walkers, having passed almost everyone that I would catch up with for the whole race.  Everyone else would stay ahead of me now.   After a few miles, we turned down a steep hill directly into the wind, and I focused on just putting on foot in front of the other.  After some never-ending torturous forest trail along a creek at the bottom (I would have thought it beautiful on any other day), finally checkpoint #8 appeared.  

Sitting down in the shelter of the tent brought tears to my eyes, and the nice ladies manning the checkpoint bustled about getting my water bottle filled and asking what I would like to eat.   I didn’t feel very hungry, but focused on getting my emotions under control, which lasted until I took a few steps out the other side and realized that my other knee now was stiff and hurting, this time when I attempted to straighten my leg to take a long stride.  Really hobbling now, and sniffling at times, I started a long lonely climb up to a ridge top open to the penetrating winds.   At the top, it was another 7 miles along the ridge, with the winds in my face and pain in my feet and legs. 

 

One of countless stiles to climb over

Here, the distance really started to get to me.  I tried to tell myself that I only had a marathon left, yet a marathon suddenly seemed an enormous distance.  I tried distracting myself with food, drink, and music, but nothing was enough to take my mind off the pain.   For a moment I would feel under control, but just a few seconds later the tears would roll down and I would blubber for a while (luckily no one was around me to see it).   At the same time, somewhere deep inside me, I was strangely content to feel so broken, as it had never happened to me before.   My athletic exploits have been getting longer and harder in an attempt to find my limits, and finally, I had.   Wow.

Needless to say, those hours on the ridge passed about as slowly a root canal without Novocain.  I never had a thought of stopping or quitting, but my finish time, which I was constantly recalculating, started creeping possibly late into the second night.   Finally the ridge ended, with just a steep downhill and another small hill left to checkpoint #10.    Ouch, but the downhill was almost too much for me.  I sat down for a minute, practically sobbing with pain, as another walker caught up to me, hobbling equally badly.  Brian and I managed to distract each other from the pain for a while with conversation, and so got into the checkpoint with 18 miles left to go.   More nice volunteers bustled around us, obviously caring and concerned, filling water bottles, reciting their food choices from memory, and bringing me hot chocolate and a baked potato with cheese.   A few faces started to appear familiar as well, as the event photographer seemed to be always waiting as I came into checkpoints, along with a couple of other friendly marshals to show the way.

It was hard to leave again, and my legs had stiffened up from sitting for just a few minutes.  An immediate downhill cracked my fragile pain threshold still within sight of the checkpoint, and I sat down unable to conceive of walking farther.  Brian soon came up to me, and although I never take pain medication, I begged him for a dose of the anti-inflammatory pain medicine that he had offered a few minutes before at the checkpoint.  

In my own shire, if I was sad,
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
And standing hills, long to remain,
Shared their short-lived comrade's pain.
And bound for the same bourn as I,
On every road I wandered by,
Trod beside me, close and dear,
The beautiful and death-struck year:
Whether in the woodland brown
I heard the beechnut rustle down,
And saw the purple crocus pale
Flower about the autumn dale;
Or littering far the fields of May
Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay,
And like a skylit water stood
The bluebells in the azured wood.

The last mental third was…a breeze (really)!

After the drugs started to kick in, walking was still painful, but in a distant sort of way.  I kept up with my drug-lending savior and his friends, and the conversation soothed me as evening fell and the wind dropped dramatically.  Our pace was quite slow now, but in a rather pleasant way.   Although I felt a bit guilty that Rob had been waiting for me at the final checkpoint for hours (and we were still hours away from it!), I finally gave up all pretense of a fast finishing time, and just walked along enjoying the sunshine and forests and the company.

 

All 4 of us appear to be grimacing, about mile 94

Just before checkpoint #11, I was amazed to see Rob walking up the trail toward us!  Turns out he had gotten bored of waiting and followed the trail “upstream” to find me.  I was happy to have his company, and after a short stop for snacks we were off again.   Perhaps the drugs were making me a bit loopy, but after seeing Rob, I almost felt that we were close to finishing, but we still had 10 miles left to go.  At our hobbling pace, that would take us into the second night for sure. 

The section between #11 and #12 was the only flat section on the entire course, and it was a welcome relief to stay in the valleys along flat roads and trails.  Soon we were getting into the final food stop, refilled our water bottles one more time, and downed some snacks.   Our little group of five set off with the hope that we wouldn’t have much time in the dark before the finish, but between us and the end was a very 

Finished!

large hill.  Rob didn’t feel like tackling it, and took the road back to the school instead, and I wished that I could have done the same, but nothing was going to stop me from finishing the route now.

Darkness fell as we entered the forest on the final climb, and extra signs and marshals helped us find our way through the thick, dark, deep trees.   There suddenly seemed to be a lot of people around, with a few lost ones searched out by volunteers, and close to 20 people finished within a few minutes of me.  I was convinced that everyone had taken wrong turn somewhere, as the final few miles took forever, but that was just fatigue and darkness making me confused.  The lights of the school were a vision from heaven, and I walked into the hall to the sound of clapping, with everyone looking at me.  I couldn’t help smiling.   

Oh whence, I asked, and whither?
  He smiled and would not say.
And looked at me and beckoned,
  And laughed and led the way.

And with kind looks and laughter
  And nought to say beside,
We two went on together,
  I and my happy guide.

Across the glittering pastures
  And empty upland still
And solitude of shepherds
  High in the folded hill,
By hanging woods and hamlets
  That gaze through orchards down
On many a windmill turning
  And far-discovered town,
With gay regards of promise
  And sure unslackened stride
And smiles and nothing spoken
  Led on my merry guide.

By blowing realms of woodland
  With sunstruck vanes afield
And cloud-led shadows sailing
  About the windy weald,
By valley-guarded granges
  And silver waters wide,
Content at heart I followed
  With my delightful guide.

(All poems by A. E. Housman)
 

Running though a flock of sheep being herded to the same gate we want to reach!

No, I'm not "leaning"...just avoiding a tree branch!

Open Adventure 5+ delivers a BIG "+" in North Wales

After completing two previous Open5 Adventure Races, I already knew to expect a mix of running and biking during the 5 hours of racing.  However, the kit requirements on the website listed climbing harness and helmet as well as spare clothing.  Spare clothing?  Uh-oh, I’ve already heard stories of race director James’ penchant for adding water events (he calls them “trouser fillers”) to nearly every race, so I am mentally prepared for…something.


Photos on Flickr here.





Teammates Tim, Sarah, and Jon showed up just before the registration window opened with staggering news.  What, KAYAKING?   Then we got our maps, with more confusion.  A BONUS SWIM?  Abseil with sea-cave exit?  THREE possible transition areas? This is only a 5 hour race! A frantic shuffling of gear ensues among the four of us.  "Have you got a bigger pack, my shoes won't fit?"  "Do we need to carry everything on the swim, it will get soaked!"   Tim and I study the map, conclude that our bike section would be the smallest portion of the day, and decide to bike with just running shoes to avoid changing shoes a minimum of 4 times.  Unfortunately we only had tiny clip pedals, so we wouldn’t be speedy on the paved roads while riding our mountain bikes!
 

(Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)

 Of course, the event was for pairs, so with staggered start times, our two teams saw each other only in passing.  Tim and I set off first, stuffing our control descriptions into our pockets without even glancing at them, and heading straight for the kayaking portion.  In the face of gusty Welsh winds and heavy surf, the sit-on-top kayak section had been shortened from what would have been suicidal, to a meandering short course in the bay.    And so I found myself fully dressed, with water splashing over me at every stroke, and getting passed by teams who evidently had been practicing paddling much more often than we had.  Grabbing the buoys to punch our dibblers was a bit wild as well, while maneuvering around other teams with the same intent and trying mostly to avoid falling overboard at all costs.   It was luckily over in less than 30 minutes, and then we finally had time to look at our maps and point counts and start plotting the rest of our race.  It figured that the bike points would worth more on one side of the island, while the large run points were to be found on the south side. 



 The cliff abseil (Photo courtesy of Sarah)

 In my recce the evening before, Holyhead Island (off the coast of Anglesey) in Wales didn’t seem very large.  But our race would take us to almost all four corners of it and many points in between.  We plotted a course that would skip some of the bike points (as we could always come back for them later), and sped off to the 50 meter Abseil portion, nabbing huge bike points enroute off a ride out to the end of the windy pier.

There were a few run points on the way up to the abseil at the North Stack, and then I found myself wearing harness (and PDF!) and roping into a sheer cliff over the sea.  Literally.  After lowering myself about 30 feet, the cliff became overhanging and I found myself dangling in midair far over the crashing surf.  A volunteer holding the rope below guided me into the beach, but I still landed about waist-deep in crashing surf, tumbling about a bit until I could stumble into shore and get my rope unhooked.   After dibbling in, I followed a small sign into cave blackness.  Luckily a team had gone through just before me, and I followed them down

 (Photo courtesy of Sarah)

 towards the exit, which was unfortunately was filled with water!  Soon enough I was swimming (SWIMMING! while wearing shoes, gloves, long-sleeve shirt and waterproof jacket!) for my life, trying to get around the corner to where I could climb out again.  After a frightened gasp at the absurdity of it, I had time to think, “Hey, the water isn’t very cold”, before losing sight of everyone and frantically climbing up onto sharp rocks, happy to be wearing gloves.  The waves were quite gentle considering the winds speeds, and I worked my way around to where spray-soaked volunteers helped me find my way back up the cliffs.   
 

 Cave swim exit (Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)

The experiences of such an abseil (and swim!) were not to be missed, and I was glad that I had gone for it, soaking wet or not (My teammate, with a fear of heights, had taken a pass, but we later were awarded half points, as there were quite a few teams with only one member completing the abseil).   Only two hours had elapsed at that point, which gave us plenty of time to continue bagging run points.  I put on my long tights again, wrung the salt water out of my gloves, and set off with water squelching out of my shoes and waterproof socks, which now seemed absurdly pointless.  I still felt quite warm even in the face of drenched shirt and jacket, plus high winds and only 10C/50F temps.  

The highest points on the run controls were down at the south stack and over the tallest point on the island, small at just 220 meters.  With time in hand, we set about clearing the run points, skipping just a few that seemed like a waste of time.  With the winds blowing us sideways off the tops, my drenched thick socks finally came into their own, as a deterrent for the spiky gorse bushes poking through our clothing.  We still were both muttering “ouch!” at various points on cross-country forays, but at least I couldn’t feel the spikes through my shoes like Tim did. 

An hour later we were dibbing in at the windy bridge bottom over South Stack, and climbing back up the steep stairs with the realization that we had to get all the way back to the other side of the island to find our bikes again.  We pushed on a bit faster, but on a lower route the winds weren’t so bad, and we had time in hand once back on two wheels.  Too much time, in fact, as we found a couple more bike controls, but didn’t have enough time to go back for the distant ones anymore, and finished 15 minutes early with 60 points left out on the course.  We were quite pleased, though, to have done so much in just 5 hours!

A HUGE THANKS to all the volunteers (and qualified safety personnel) who were manning the kayaking, abseil, transitions, registration, start and finish.  It takes dedication to stand around in mist and cold and wind and waves for hours waiting for us to run through and head on out again.  We couldn't race without you all!
  

Trying to formulate a strategy for the race



Frantic last-minute planning by everyone involved



Sarah and I rolling with new 29 inch wheels!



Pre-race briefing

 

(Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)

(Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)

 

Old meets new:  checkpoint in a burial chamber

 

 (Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)



 (Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)



 (Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)

 (Photo courtesy of Sarah)

Abseil cave exit via a swim!  (Photo courtesy of Sarah)

Sarah climbing up from the abseil and cave swim (Photo courtesy of Sarah)

 

North Stack (Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)

The pier (Photo courtesy of Open Adventure)

If it had been sunny, the run course would have looked like this...

Finished!