#geoquest

5.30am alarm calls are unnecessary if your sleep has consisted of a series of fitful naps. Despite our hope that finally knowing the course might lead to a deep slumber before our 48 or so hours of continual exercise, it seems instead all four of us experienced the same playlist of running through the start of this race. As such, we were approaching day one not quite as rested as we’d all hoped.

The night before, having finally been presented with the race course through a series of maps, we’d spent a few hours measuring distances, highlighting routes, writing directions and waterproofing said maps. This after formally registering, receiving a briefing, signing our death waivers and completing competency checks that included navigation, first aid, swimming and exiting and re-entering our kayaks. We finally pulled up stumps at around 9.30pm after a carb-loading lasagne and some final gear checks and tucked into our beds for that last longed for sleep.

On race morning, having checked the clock for the nth time throughout the night, I turned out of bed ten minutes before the alarm was due, changed into my wetsuit and crept downstairs for my last pre-race meal to find Rod already down there, snuggled for warmth in the cocoon of his sleeping bag. The remaining members of Desert Mob, Tim and Anissa, shortly followed along with our support crew of Bessi, Jannah and Brian and we polished off the last of our cereal bowls in silence, each contemplating what the weekend would have in store for us. Soon enough, we piled into the vehicles and were off to the race start to unload our kayaks onto the beach and await the formal briefing that would precede the 7.30am commencement of GeoQuest 2015 – Australia’s premier adventure race.

“Due to adverse weather conditions, you will no longer be required to kayak around Cabbage Tree Island. Instead make your way around the headland before crossing the bay to the first transition.” It was at this point that Rod received the first of my high-fives. Having never ocean kayaked before, I was somewhat nervous about the swell so was pleased to learn that not only would the ocean kayak leg be a few kilometres shorter than the twelve on the map, but in theory somewhat calmer than Rod had theorised and the organisers confirmed with the late change. Shortly after this news, we wandered down to our kayaks on the golden sands of Bennett’s Beach watching the rollers crash into shore, waiting for the countdown to the start to begin. There was at first a five minute warning before eventually, the “Three. Two. One. Go…” As per our game plan, we stood still allowing the top teams and those less competitive for line honours but overflowing with adrenaline to race away. Once the surf was immediately clear of other boats we entered the water and as we jumped in and secured the skirts, an upturned kayak whooshed past to my left with its two occupants gone and some 30 feet apart from each other. “Paddle hard” was my instruction and Rod and I gunned it through the surf in as straight a line as we could manage before hitting the calmer waters some 30-40 yards off shore. Looking over my shoulder, Anissa and Tim were close behind and the realisation that we had survived the very first challenge of hitting the open sea steadied my nerves, that we were now well and truly underway.

Following Rod’s lead, we settled into a comfortable rhythm and made a beeline for the headland, ensuring we stayed the mandatory 100m from its rocky baseline. As we neared, the swell increased considerably and it became apparent why we were no longer rounding the island. To my eternal good fortune, through a combination of not wearing my glasses and concentrating on paddling in time, I did not notice boats being upturned by the swell, nor was I aware of any of the official boat rescues or the fella that had to swim to get back to his partner in his kayak. Instead, I just tried to time my paddle’s entry into the water with that of Rod’s and remind myself that the swell would settle once we hit the bay. This it finally did, though to call it calm would be a disservice to the word. There was still plenty of opportunity for us to upend the boat so it was with huge relief that we finally beached at the first transition point. Only then, with Rod and Tim’s relief as the men in charge of the rudders, did I understand how truly tricky this leg had been. Congratulations on staying upright were offered all round and the rudder men shared stories of how hard it was not to get broadsided since every time the waves lifted the back end of the boat clear of the water they effectively lost the option to steer. My ignorance the bliss that kept me focused and blind to the dangers we faced. An unsupported transition had us leave all our wet gear on the beach for the support crew to collect later as we changed into our trekking kit that had been stowed in dry bags and headed off along the sands.

It’ll be too much to break this down into an absolute blow-by-blow, stage-by-stage commentary and since trekking is way less fretful than an ocean kayak, this next leg can be surmised as a pleasant coastal stroll of seven kilometres collecting checkpoints along the way, before meeting up with our support crew for the first time and jumping onto our mountain bikes. Four of six checkpoints were required for this leg (18kms) and like most teams at our end of the race, we opted for the nearest four. Unfortunately, the organisers are a lot smarter than us and these proved to be down some very slow going sandy trails for which walking was often a necessity as opposed to those at the far end of town that turned out to be reachable by bitumen. Having collected our four, we were off to the snorkeling section of the leg. Three underwater checkpoints were required and since we’d bought a change of gear, as well as a mask and snorkel, were obtained with the minimum of fuss and discomfort. Changing once again, we were back on the bikes riding off to our next transition. Returning to foot, this time we navigated a coastline (14kms) scrambling for checkpoints on the walls of rock pools before making our way to Stockton Beach, home of some mighty sand dunes and referred to as Little Sahara. It was now mid-afternoon and time to take stock of the sheer natural beauty we were surrounded by. Whilst we were still of sound mind, we wanted to make a conscious effort to enjoy so much of the experience and as we cleared the dunes, an official photographer captured us walking four abreast as we desperately tried not to smile since, as per the race briefing, “happy, smiling faces do not make for great adventure racing photos”. Once we hit the roads again, the sand was shaken out of our shoes and we continued to a drop-off point at which our inflatable kayaks and a pump had been left.

Along with snorkeling, this was another mystery discipline and we’d been made aware that inflatable somethings (of our preference but corresponding with race guidelines) would be required just one week out from the race (body-boarding was originally planned however safety concerns led to this late change). Fortunately we were in the Blue Mountains at the time and Tim had a friend who was able to lend us two inflatable kayaks that would just comfortably enough sit two people and their packs, if we sat on our packs. Compared to some other teams that struggled to paddle in a straight line, our choices were pretty good going and the kilometre or so of paddling required was relatively straightforward and a good warm-up in anticipation of the next stage; the first river kayak (13kms).

The sun was now setting and we hit the water with the last dregs of daylight bouncing off the shore as we headed out to perform the majority of paddling in darkness. This early in the race there were several teams in the water, especially since much of the Half-GeoQuest (the 24hr+ event) was at this point mimicking the full event’s course. This led to a slight procession along and across the bay as we collected the handful of checkpoints required, Rod turning down the offer of a bourbon along the way from a waterside group of revelers as he exited the kayak for one of the checkpoints. Almost twelve hours after starting, we reached our transition crew who had cooked up some mighty fine ravioli, brewed a coffee and set us up for our first night; a 22kms trek and rogaine leg which included a 50m river crossing relatively early on. Our understanding that there would be kayaks at the river that we could use to ferry ourselves across, as per the course notes, were quashed by the officials at the transition who gleefully informed us that they were unable to get the kayaks in, so we’d have to swim across.

All up, the leg consisted of collecting eight checkpoints, in any order. However, three were placed close to the river and could therefore be collected during the next stage, a paddle back downstream. This is the option we chose so had just five to collect on our way to the kayak transition, albeit in the dark. First though, we had to cross a river. Arriving as we did at around 10.30pm, we had no hesitation in stripping down to the buff, packing all our gear into a dry bag and jumping in. On reflection, some hesitation would not have been without reason however, it’s surprising the head space that GeoQuest puts you into. You have to cross a river. You can either do so and get clothes wet which does not bode well for the next twenty odd kilometres on foot, or you can strip down and be warm again on the far bank. The only unforeseen obstacle the crossing did provide was to badly cut Anissa’s foot as she exited the water, slicing it on an oyster. However, once dried and warmed we carried on to the first of the checkpoints and our first real test of navigation.

The entire course is unmarked, each stage just a series of maps with checkpoints and transitions ringed upon them. Getting between them is entirely at the discretion of each team. Furthermore, as we discovered, not all paths are marked and not all marked paths can be considered usable or even having existed within the last half dozen years. Consequently, moving through New South Wales State forest to a checkpoint can, and more often did, involve crawling through thick scrub whether it be tea tree, cane grass, ferns or the ferocious lawyer vine. A kilometre of such can take an hour. Although we found our first checkpoint with the minimum of fuss, the second would not prove so easy. Having failed to find one overgrown path that we hoped to use as a bearing, we were therefore already doubling back on ourselves as we looked for alternate features to use before we descended down into a gully. Ultimately, we were looking for a creek junction so decided upon hitting the creek further up and following its path until the second creek met it. A long, slow descent had us arriving at a flat area which we presumed to be the region where the second creek would meet, though after 30 minutes of searching, we were yet to source it. Suddenly, the headlights of a second team coming from the opposite direction approached as the time neared 2am. They had followed the second creek line down and now too found themselves at the supposed junction. After a brief discussion, we were all agreed a checkpoint should be near. With members of both teams trawling the nearby scrub, one of the other team’s members near me pointed across the creek into a tree and in a beautifully dead pan voice asked “why don’t we just use that one there?” as he pointed to the white and orange flag hanging from a branch we had spent so long searching for. Both teams clicked their cards and off we both went, in opposite directions. Their arrival truly, a piece of good fortune. The last few checkpoints were much easier to find and we continued on to the kayak transition, rolling in during the wee small hours of Sunday morning.

The organisers would hate for complacency to set in, so having the transition area at a Bushfires HQ meant a carry of our kayaks some 100m downhill to the water’s entry in a gap in the mangroves, the weight literally weighing heavy on our shoulders. However, once seated and with the skirts on, it felt warm and relaxed and it was nice to give the feet a bit of a rest. Of course, there were still three checkpoints to obtain, so some night river kayaking navigation was now required (12kms). We had a rough idea of our average paddling speed so could make time estimates as to when we’d hit river bends or see hill summits and this allowed for us to safely land at the location for which we’d be able to collect two of the three checkpoints, though it necessitated about one kilometre of muddy, wet trekking to do so. Then, it was back into the kayaks, another few kilometres downstream, during which dawn broke, and another trek to collect the last of the eight checkpoints. We beached in the mud flats to reach shore which had us thus trudging through shin deep silt, each schloop, schloop as you pulled your foot out of the dark brown sludge another slow drain of energy resources. By this time though, the morning was well and truly among us, the start of a new day revitalising all our wearisome limbs and with an early morning mist settling over the glassy river waters, it was another opportunity to take stock of the stunning natural environment we were amongst.

It was around 9am that we paddled up to the boat ramp to be met once again by our wonderful support crew. The next three legs would be unsupported, so this would be the last time we’d see them for twelve hours or more (the organisers anticipated between eight and sixteen hours). As with every other transition they were there for, they did not disappoint with Bessi, Jannah and Brian having cooked us up bacon and egg rolls and once again brewed up a cuppa. They had made sandwiches for us to pack to keep us going until they’d next see us and grabbed all our wet gear ready to have it dried for the next time we’d need it. It will be impossible to overestimate the role of the support crew and to have three individuals committed to the comfort and well-being of the four of us, despite their own fatigue and discomfort, makes the statement “we couldn’t have done it without them” an absolute truism. They had to load and unload kayaks and bikes, keep us hydrated and fed, warm and motivated and did so despite this being as much an endurance event for them as it was for us. So, it was with a tinge of sadness that we were waved off us as we jumped onto our mountain bikes for just the second time and started the first of the three-in-a-row legs, a 56 kilometre ride. 

35kms in and it was all looking rather serene. It was a beautiful morning, the route so far was open country roads and fire trails and we were making great time. I was making calculations in my head and was bringing our race finish time ever closer to a Sunday night denouement. Ah, the naiveté of four first timers. As if the organisers would ever allow you such tranquility. The fire trails turned into some challenging, rocky and wet single track although with mountain biking being a relative strength of ours, we caught up with, and overtook, a couple of teams that were walking their bikes at that point. Those that weren’t walking would be soon enough, however. Despite the tracks opening up again in theory, recent heavy rainfalls had caused massive washouts and with the steep climbs presented there was no other option than to drag your bike up the hills. The chains and pedals were quickly filling with mud and so even the moments you could jump back on the saddle meant gear changes weren’t clicking and cleats would often not lock back into the pedals. The last 15kms of this leg a slow, slow slog which ultimately bettered at least one of the other teams. We finally arrived in the early afternoon at the next transition. Leaving the bikes with officials, we had a short rogaining leg of ten kilometres. Anissa’s foot from the oyster cut was now swelling badly and this was the first real physical test we had faced. Fortunately, Anissa is mentally tougher than all three of us fellas and following some strapping and a couple of Panadol, she carried on and was shortly back to normal walking pace once the painkillers had taken effect. There were only four checkpoints required here but unfortunately, this leg was to be our undoing.

Tim had mapped out a route that would leave the easiest point until last to maximise our chances of finding the first two in daylight hours. We found the first atop a hill relatively straightforwardly and then descended to search for the second at our least favourite two-worded phrase; ‘creek junction’. Dusk fell as we made our way down and with my good torch being recharged by the support crew, we were down a good light; my actual trekking head torch it turns out woefully inadequate for such an event. Consequently, once we reached where we thought we should be some 90 minutes of thorough searching had us unable to find the checkpoint. On this occasion, there was no second team to help in the quest and as the 36 hour point of racing was approached, we made the team decision to abandon our hunt and carry on, accepting that a time penalty would now be inevitable and added to our eventual race time. I’d also run out of water on this leg, was stumbling on rocks, tripping up on every second vine and getting pretty antsy, so getting back to transition and re-hydrating became a priority. We spent six and a half hours on this leg alone, despite the short distance traveled and it was again a reminder of what can be in store. Small choices made throughout the previous hours had us arriving just twenty minutes after nightfall and we wonder whether we would have found the flag with ease had we arrived with daylight to spare. Checking our GPS positioning after the race, we had been within some ten to fifteen metres. Though this was not the time for what ifs, instead we collected the last checkpoints and downed some water back at transition before another mountain bike leg (25kms) after which we would once again meet up with our support crew.

From here on in, our tiredness would start to show. Tim had already had a moment struggling with the compass and his bearings and I’d managed to lose the map for the last stage during my dehydration funk. This time it was Rod’s error as he assured us that the left turn we needed on the bikes was an obvious junction. It wasn’t and we missed it, realising we did as we rolled up to within two kilometres of the stage finish aware that that was about fifteen kilometres too soon. We doubled back and found a road that cut through to the route we should have taken to pick up the only checkpoint on this leg. Finally, after the readjustment, we met up with our support again for the penultimate time. Another beautiful feed and another coffee before an 18kms paddle down the Myall River and a 6kms paddle across the expanse of the Bombah Broadwater.

We launched onto the river at 11.50pm and after calling Tim and Anissa back since we needed to go right and not left, we set off downstream. Exhaustion was well and truly part of us now and all four of us were experiencing hallucinations. I saw Swiss cottages, the ocean, bright lights and the other kayak dance as if it were a ballerina. If I looked at the paddles I was convinced we were moving backwards. Anissa was certain that Rod and I kept switching places and all of us kept micro-napping. For our own safety we decided to paddle alongside one another and we’d occasionally put in a count of 100 strong, fast strokes to get our heart rates up. All this was sufficient to get us down river before a couple of deep breaths, some slapping of the cheeks and a concerted effort to power across the cold open waters of the 6kms lake crossing. Looking back at our GPS tracking, we hit the perfect line across though we knew not what we were aiming for. We’d focused in on white lights that would appear and disappear presuming, rightly as it turns out, that they were support vehicles coming and going. With the effort we exerted on this leg, we arrived some 40 minutes ahead of schedule surprising our crew and the officials. There was now just one more leg remaining, 21kms back on the bikes to the finish line. We opted for a fast transition, grabbing our bacon and egg rolls on the go and rode off. Except we didn’t have the map thanks to my carelessness on the ninth leg. Rod seemed to have the best memory of where the solitary checkpoint was located although on his recollection we abandoned one search early on, on what turned out to be the correct path. A team that started the leg behind us were about to go past as we dilly dallied by the side of the road discussing options. Swallowing our pride, we stopped them and confessed to our losing of our map and they were kind enough to provide us with directions. We turned around, found the checkpoint and carried on to the finish line having lost perhaps half an hour.

Finally, 45 hours and 36 minutes after beginning and at 5.06am on Monday morning, we arrived back at the start at the Hawk’s Nest Surf Life Saving Club perhaps after around 260kms of travel. Surprisingly happy, fit and alert we posed for pictures, resplendent in our Akubra hats (and Rod in his tutu) for which we’d made synonymous with our team name of Desert Mob (our Alice Springs representation making us the only non-coastal based team). The bikes were loaded into one of the utes, we clambered into the other and were driven back to the house smiling all the way for an accomplishment we dreamed of and hoped for but never truly knew we’d achieve until we crossed the line.

Our missed checkpoint was worthy of a four hour time penalty (the harder they are, the greater the consequence), that cost us three placings with our official race time clocking out at 49hrs 36mins, sufficient for 20th place out of the 31 starters. Four teams were forced to retire and two more finished but were unranked. As such the race bettered six of the teams and considering we were the only team to consist of four debutants, we can be immensely proud of the result. They say leave it six weeks before you make a decision as to whether you race again. I’m enjoying the post-race satisfaction of a job very well done and for that reason alone, those six weeks can’t come slow enough!

POSTSCRIPT – Found this little nugget at myallcoastnews.com.au in its account of the race; “According to organisers, there was even a crew from Alice Springs who had never seen the Ocean before but was out in it paddling away like seasoned veterans”. A shame we were not interviewed for the piece. My amazement at how wet it was will now never be known to the paper’s readers…

A few years ago, when living in Tennant Creek, a friend proposed the idea of competing in a team event called GeoQuest, an endurance event over 48 hours consisting of river and sea kayaking, mountain biking and trekking, along with mystery disciplines that are at the mercy of the event organisers. With four needed to make up a team and Tennant Creek short of willing participants, it was easy to maintain my interest without actually committing. Until, that was, I moved to Alice Springs followed shortly after by that same friend. Unfortunately, with Alice being about ten times larger than Tennant, the other team members had been identified and my nonchalant interest in competing had suddenly become very real.

We’re now ten days out from the race start, at a location still unknown. The organisers do provide you with the finish line so that one can book accommodation and this year’s end will be at the Surf and Life Saving Club of Hawk’s Nest on the northern edge of Nelson Bay, NSW. In two days the road trip out there will begin with a ute fully laden with our bikes and gear, though still with ocean kayaks to collect along the way. Altogether, the race will likely comprise of some dozen or more legs totalling somewhere around 250 kilometres. We’ll receive the course details the evening before the race start but until then, all we can do is look at a map and hazard guesses as to the nature of the course. We can’t help but notice that, in addition to the ocean and bay, there are freshwater lakes, rivers, towns, forests and dunes of which I’m sure most, if not all, will factor. We’ve been told that body boarding and snorkeling (for underwater checkpoints) will make up at least two of the mystery disciplines, which sounded quite nice until you consider that one or both may yet be performed in the cold and dark of 4am. Interestingly, Nelson Bay is where I performed my first two shark dives some nine years ago, so it’s fair to say spending a lot of time in the water at night is not high on my wish list. Either way, it’s locked into the secret course route now so I’ll place my trust in the organisers and hope that the ambulance cover that is a pre-requisite of competing is not required. Of course, with so many water disciplines likely, living in the red centre, the Outback or quite simply, the desert is not overly conducive to training.

We’re very fortunate in that living in Alice Springs, you’re never very far away from the great outdoors. Three of the four houses we reside in literally back straight on to the bush. Training treks and rides can be begun from the comfort of our homes. In addition, one of Australia’s premier multiday walks, the Larapinta Trail starts north of town. There are world class mountain biking tracks utilised for events that bring some of the best riders over from all four corners of the globe. Training for the trekking and mountain biking legs has not presented much of a problem. Practicing for sea kayaking has not been quite so simple. Despite Alice Springs’ claim that it is the closest town to every beach in Australia, it is of course a heck of a long way from any one of them. The Todd River may have flowed earlier this year (see it three times and you’re a local) but it ran dry once more within a week or so. We’ve had to make do with a waterhole called ‘Two Mile’ on the Finke River (as with all central Australian rivers, only ever occasionally running) just 130 kilometres west of town. Admittedly the back drop of Mount Sonder makes it a beautiful place to train however, the 250m stretch of water (some 3000 metres shy of two miles) does make the act of paddling a somewhat tedious affair as we traverse up and down it for a few hours at a time, though it’s helped hone our turning techniques. I’m not sure quite how much the sunshine, warmth and calm will translate over to the surf and waves of an unpredictable NSW coastline but, like with most of this race, it’s the unknown that is proving part of the thrill. Once we’d learned that snorkeling was to be part of the race (from an event e-mail not even two weeks ago), the pool was added to our training locations. The four of us would rock up on our bikes carrying all our gear upon our backs and jump into the 25m pool with our snorkels, masks and flippers on and punch out lengths for an hour or more. I’m sure more than one wag would’ve remarked to the lifeguards on duty that we were pushing our luck if we were looking for fish. Then, it was back onto the bikes without a shower or even a toweling off to experience the joys of wet transitioning from one discipline to another.

We’ve practiced navigation both during the day and at night, we’ve ridden a twelve hour mountain bike race that ran from 7pm until 7am, we’ve kayaked, trekked, biked and kayaked again and given up our Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays for a number of months now. We’ve even quibbled and quarreled as we established our team dynamics, which may yet prove to be one of the most productive elements of our entire training regime as we iron out those differences of opinion. However, training is now all but over. Once we’ve collected the ocean kayaks, we’ll have a couple of days to hopefully get used to them on the NSW coast but other than that, there’s no more Two Mile, swimming pools or the tracks and trails of the region. Instead, a 3000 kilometre road trip, a dash for last minute kit and supplies, hopefully a rest and then the race itself. Some 48 hours later (or less!), we’ll hopefully be reflecting on one of the more challenging and rewarding experiences of our lives.

There’s a live tracker so that our race progress can be monitored at geoquest.com.au and we will be competing under the apt name of ‘Desert Mob’. Hopefully, I’ll be in a fit state to write the second part of this blog when all this is over. Until then, wish us luck…