Ultra Fiord 2017 100km Review: What They Didn’t Tell Me.

Some claimed to have been stalked by mountain lions at night. This is a myth. Patagonian foxes? Yes. Mountain lions, no. The foxes are very beautiful, small and rather slender with bushy tails as long as their bodies. You will see their eyes first in the beam from your night light and if you are lucky they will move to the side and inquisitively watch you pass, especially if you are moving as slowly as I was.

Source: Google Images

I had come to Puerto Natales in Patagonia, Chile, to run the third staging of the Ultra Fiord event. My distance was 100km while the event also offers a 50km, 70km and a 100 miler. What a splendid small town Puerto Natales is. Quaint and true to the adventure spirit, it attracts straight-talking unaffected people from around the world to explore and connect with the Patagonia wildscapes. On arrival I headed straight to Estancia Nandu a coffee, restaurant, clothing and memorabilia shop. Looking for a good coffee (and the coffee in Chile is consistently excellent) and some food, I shared a table with JF from Germany. It took a few seconds for us to realise that we were both entered into the same event and despite the language barrier we exchanged stories that had brought us to this place. He shared details of some of his previous exploits including a multi-day run across the Atacama Desert and a few Paris-Dakar motorcycle races under the belt. He had also visited my home country, South Africa, where he had completed the Roof of Africa rally. I was immediately at a loss for words.

The Ultra Fiord makes use of several locations in Puerto Natales for runners to complete all the pre-race processing. It took a short while for me to work out the exact location but once done I set about doing the kit check, getting race drop-bags and t-shirts (which were really cool), attending race briefing and then handing in my one drop bag for relocation to the 40km checkpoint on the route. This process unfolded over a two day period and I was very happy to have arrived a couple of days early and not have any pressure to figure out the “system”. Although English is not that common in Puerto Natales the race officials included several people who were proficient and there were no issues at all. On top of this, and including the local people, everyone without exception was extremely friendly and amiable meaning that any language barrier was never more than a minor hindrance.

The weather preceding the event was cold and at times rainy yet the forecast for race day/s was consistently optimistic. At the start, on Friday, the sun would shine on an exceptional windless day in Patagonia. During the briefing we were warned that we should “take lots of warm clothing” and in heed of this advice I had bought a new thermal vest to add to my kit. In hindsight this was prudent. During the pre-race briefing we were also alerted to the fact that the route had been altered and significantly we would no longer be bussed but shipped to the start. Yes, a boat ride was in store for us. “Why do you change the start at this late stage?” someone asked accusatorily at the briefing. “Ahh!” the reply, “we have a saying in Patagonia. It is ‘That’s Patagonia!’”.

Race briefings were conducted in a few languages including English. This was the English session.

On race morning we headed up a fiord in a powerful catamaran with a large enclosed deck area with tea and coffee provided. Our boat trip was shared with a group of tourists out for a day trip. The voyage lasted a couple of hours and when we were dropped off at a remote spot the tourists remaining on-board cheered and waved, wishing us runners well. What a superb way to start a trail run.

The drop-off point and start was at the head of the fiord above

The start location was at Balmaceda, a cottage used by hikers and other adventurers passing through the area. Alongside Balmaceda is a huge massif of rock and ice that had been clearly visible from Puerto Natales beforehand. It was impressive in scale and now arriving at the base of this mountain the scale of our adventure became clear.

We each had a race “passport” which required signatures from those manning all checkpoints. This included the start and when all passports were signed, we were ready to go albeit a little behind schedule at 11H30. In Patagonia the sun rises at 8am and sets at 8pm. Thus while an 11H30 start seems late it is more akin to 9H30.

Having climbed up to this ridge from the left we moved right to the first encounter of snow.

We were off and almost immediately started climbing. At first a fair amount of scrub, then shorter grass and hardy weathered bushes and finally rock and snow. This took a couple of hours and I was impressed by the fact that most runners were moving deliberately and not too quickly. What struck me was the number of runners using trekking poles and I wondered whether I should have prepared differently. We soon reached the edge of a ridge which we moved across to gain access to a huge snow and ice filled valley. Scrubby, steep climbing was now behind us as we entered the real mountains. The ground underfoot changed from firm course gravel to loose shale type scree. It was at this point while descending a little, as we moved sideways from the crest of the ridge, I stepped down on to some loose stones which gave way and crashed downwards faster than I anticipated. First I teetered and then I fell. Rather than falling backwards I toppled forwards, head first down the steep rocky scree. Valiantly putting out my arms to arrest my fall, gravity dominated and my head crashed into the rocks. I lay still for a moment instantly realising that this was not clever. The runners a little way behind called out to check if I was OK. I pulled myself up and signalled “yes” all is fine. Moving upwards and onwards I looked at my hand which was bleeding and then tasted blood in my mouth too. It was my lip – a minor cut. Using my buff I mopped my face until the bleeding stopped. A medical checkpoint was coming up and I needed to look good for the inspection. But I thought how quickly things can go wrong and in a remote spot such as this, things going wrong can escalate rapidly. I needed to focus.

We worked our way up the rocky valley encountering more and more snow, soon arriving at a point where it was impossible to continue (as runners) on the contour. A steep descent to get to the base of the ice and snow in the couloir was needed. And so we had a 50m hand-over-hand rope descent. It was not a true abseil but it was pretty close. If you elected to let go of the rope your problems would have cascaded rapidly. 

Slowly we moved to the foot of the snow field. The Frenchman near me said “you do not need spikes, your shoes are good”. What do I know, having never done this before? So I walked up the snow field in my Hokas. But pretty soon the snow turned to ice and pretty soon the gradient increased to the extent that I felt a little precarious and a small misstep could be a long slide down. At this point I knew I needed my spikes packed at the bottom of my bag. There was nowhere to sit and nothing to hold on to. Trying inelegantly to mimic the precise balance of a ballerina, I removed my bag, extracted the ice-spikes, put my bag on again (there was nowhere else to put it) and then managed to pull the highly tensioned ice spikes over my shoes, one at a time, flamingo style, perched vertiginously on the ice incline. Desperate inelegance at its most profound. I am South African and the words ‘snow’, ‘ice’ and ‘skill’ should not be used in any combination near my name.

Moving up the ice we hit another roped section exiting the couloir onto a wide neck, only to immediately descend a larger better formed glacier. By this I mean a field of ice with proper crevasses as I had seen in picture books. We jumped over some and others we were guided around by experts cautioning us to avoid dark ominous bottomless holes in the icy surface. After moving off this glacial funpark I turned back capturing the picture below showing the extent of our adventure. This was truly remarkable in every respect for a bloke that not a month earlier was running the Addo Elephant trail in temperatures above 40 degrees Celsius.

We descended this glacier from the top right and exited bottom left.

Capping it all was an azure sky and beautiful warm sunshine on a windless day. We had the best weather Patagonia could offer and I pondered how different things could be if the weather was inclement. We were blessed in this vast dramatically beautiful lansdscape

Leaving the glacier we moved up a steep and long rocky section which entailed some very exposed clambering both traversing and moving upwards. My spikes were still attached and I wondered how secure they were, noticing that the Italian ahead had spikes that were flailing uselessly around his right heel. The sharp rocks must have severed part of the rubber straps. I hoped mine would last because they really worked supremely well even on the rock. We soon reached the top of the rock work and yet another steep decline of ice and snow faced us. My legs were weakening and time was moving slowly. This ancient frozen landscape moved like slow poison and I was its quarry.

Finally we exited the snow zone dropping through long tricky scree fields. And then all of a sudden we hit the mud. The peat. The bog. Treacherously draining and capriciously unforgiving the mud lasted a few Patagonian hours as time slowed to a crawl. It was getting dark and my plan to be at Estancia Perales, the drop-bag point at 40kms, before sunset, receded from hopeful possibility. It was simply taking forever. Our modern urgent pulse of time had slowed to a prehistoric grind. The light in the wooded trail sections disappeared. It was supposed to get dark at 8pm but by 6pm I was donning my headlights for the boggy groves. A forlorn despair set in as I realised Ultra Fiord was my master, I the wretched peon.

Source: Ultrafiord.com

Estancia Perales beckoned like an oasis, an invisible beacon finally materialising in the darkness a solid 2 hours behind my expected schedule. But what the heck. I opened the door to the large warm populated room and instantaneously there was a raucous outburst of cheers and clapping. I looked around, those inside were welcoming me? The cheering was for me? What a surprise, what a delight! My spirits lifted instantly and a reciprocal smile spread on my face. Quickly learning the rules of the game I too joined the joyous applause when a runner staggered in from the dark. Simply superb.

After a refreshing change of clothing, eating and replenishing my supplies I headed out into the darkness for the next 60 or 70 kilometres (the total route distance was said to be 112km). Instantly I was hit with bone-numbing cold and I immediately retraced my steps to the refuge. I needed more clothing. The temperature would drop to a few degrees above zero and this in itself was a perverse blessing as the nights before the run the temperatures had been sharply lower. We had been warned that cold is the enemy and pre-emptive adornment is best. I re-emerged from the warm room with 5 layers including a microfibre jacket. For the rest of the night I was actually comfortably warm.

The second last checkpoint: Sierra Dorotea. Source: Ubertino Alberto.

The long night began with a gravel road. There is not much to report. I missed a key turn-off, I spent nearly an hour retracing my steps. I climbed over a fence to regain the route and followed the lights of other runners. I kept track of the slow hours but not the distance. I struggled at several points to follow the reflective-pole route markers which at times had fallen over or were simply too far apart for my faint headlight. I changed headlights. I changed batteries. I saw foxes and eventually I arrived at Sierra Dorotea – a shack and a checkpoint. Hooray, another signature in my race passport. And sunrise. The sky was cloudy and the threatening rain still failed to materialise. Conditions … perfect. Me …. less so.

Only 16 kilometres to go. Being able to see the countryside was a welcome change and we went through very beautiful zones including a lake at the top of a hill and long green meandering pathways downwards to Puerto Natales. My pace had been reduced to an alternate jog walk routine. It worked imperfectly and was deeply frustrating. My brain said run, my legs rebelled. Is this what the purists call “self-transcendence”, for me it was more aptly described as self-rejection. My body was giving up on me. No glory.

They told me I was the second master in. No reflection on my time! Source: Corredor Promedio

I reached the finish accompanied by a local non-competitive runner. She insisted on encouraging and cajoling me to maintain a fair pace over the last few hundred meters. What a surprise! What a delight. That’s Patagonia.

Other notes:

Ultra Fiord is a serious undertaking and technically exceeds anything I have encountered within the “trail run” genre. This was expected.

The 2017 weather was exceptionally good. Amongst those that I chatted to afterwards the feeling was that poor weather conditions, which are in fact common, could significantly alter the nature of the undertaking (as is true for most running events).

The temperatures are very cold at night and can be much lower than that experienced on the 2017 event. We were suitably alerted to be appropriately kitted but more importantly to maintain body temperature by dressing pre-emptively.

Thanks to Alberto for dinner on Sunday night and for sharing banter and pics.

Almost all my running is in sandals and some barefoot. I chose to wear Hokas for this run and found them amply capable of the task (other than where spikes were required).