May 16, 1997. On the way to Nova Scotia on the eve of the Maxi Moose down we actually saw a big moose, browsing on some sodden matter in the flooded country near Jemseg,...was this ominous, or a sign of great fortune? We were optimistic.
We located the event centre at dusk, passing the first navigation test (no signs had been put out!). Actually, that's not true. One tiny pink sign was out, courtesy of one of our fellow NB orienteers, who, having navigated most of the featureless dirt backroads of the Cobequid mountains in the gathering darkness, finally drove past the event centre. Said member then posted a sign to assist other oncoming rogainers. Thanks, mate!
The centre was overloomed by hills. It was apparent, even to rogaine virgins such as ourselves, and even in the dark, that these hills were rich in climb. It was cold, and the fleece gloves, which it had seemed so stupid packing, were well appreciated.
In the morning we pulled out our breakfast supplies in the capacious hall and started stuffing down cereal, fruit, bread and other filling things, as the organizers bustled about loading tables with more and more food for later. Other people arrived. Packs and other gear began accumulating. The acreage of fleece, nylon, Spandex and Goretex in the room rose exponentially. The master maps were suddenly slapped on the wall and the real countdown began, the strategizing, last-minute engulfing of calories, re-jigging of packs, glugging down of athletic rocket fuels, and even juice and water. This phase lasted about three hours for most people. I made some map corrections, read the course-setter's notes, and conferred with my partner Dave Cameron, fellow Fredericton Foxes O-club member. The rest of the Hughes clan had formed their own team, and were busy studying form at another table.
We stared in a sort of early morning stupefaction at the spaghetti of contours on the map and decided that detailed route planning and time targets were a waste of time. We just planned a basic loop, with many options for pulling out or continuing, depending on how it went, and left it at that, since we had no real idea what sort of time we would make through this terrain. It looked thick and rugged, both on the map and out the window. The fact that a whole group of controls were not even hung due to this ruggedness, impressed itself on our minds. So did the announcements that there was still a lot of snow and ice out there, the streams were in spate, etc. Nevertheless, everyone seemed full of optimism and energy.
The start took place punctually at noon. The 30-odd teams (the double-entendre is appropriate) dispersed in almost all directions. Some had full hiking gear and major packs. Others carried virtually nothing, wore shorts, and left at a run. This was definitely thought-provoking, as Dave and I started off at a steady hiking speed towards our first control. Running such a course seemed all but impossible! We had decided upon an anti-clockwise loop to start, which would cover the hilliest bits first. We were equipped to spend the night on the course, as conditions seemed reasonable for this. We would keep going as far as we felt willing or able, catch some sleep, then continue. This avoided the long trek back to base, which offered relatively few opportunities for picking up extra points. We had modest packs with our gear, food, first aid etc. Over time their modesty waned.
Others, we knew, had planned to go back to base overnight. The extra comfort and hot food of this option had definite appeal. But who goes on a rogaine for comfort? We thought we would camp down at dark and move on at first light. We didn't rule out a bit of night navigating; we had headlamps. We would wait to see how we felt.
We headed for control 38 first, a stream intersection. The closer 39 we left for the end of the loop on day 2, if we had time. This was a fortuitous choice, as it happened. An irate blueberry farmer had removed number 39 before anyone got there. The milling rogainers, trying to locate it like ants at the site of some hoisted delicacy, criss-crossed the fields looking for the vanished flag, to the further vexation of the owner. So we were lucky to have avoided that.
Upon finding 38, we encountered two other teams. At times thereafter we would meet again, miles away, on hilltops or in swamps, and in differing states of morale and exhaustion. Our next target was 36, not too far away. Arriving at the indicated feature (a knoll) we tramped back and forth without satisfaction. Up and down, round and round, relocating and comparing opinions. After too much time had passed, we convinced ourselves to abandon the effort. With controls so few and far apart, this was a tough decision. We thought maybe the control was either hung in the wrong place, or had been stolen. To ensure positive relocation for the next target (control 35), we had to lose a good deal of altitude. We later learned that other teams had failed to find 36, despite being confident of having found the right spot. We never did find out "the truth".
Number 35 was found without mishap. The sun was shining, it was not too hot, a light breeze blew, the air was perfect. The ground wasn't, though. Many trails and tracks were sluggish or even quite brisk waterways. They featured yielding mud and ooze of all varieties. Anyway, at 35 we had a drink and snack break and sat for a bit to enjoy the day. It was an idyllic spot, with craggy ravines, gushing clear water, and the early spring growth just starting to appear.
But soon the packs had to be hefted again. We headed for controls 32 and 34. Cutting across on a compass bearing to the stream upon which they were both located, we had a bit of bother....we also ran into several other teams who were also temporarily disoriented. We were having problems with the map scale and had come across a stream sure enough, only it was not the right one. We had to go on another kilometre. Arriving at the right one, it was a deep, scenic valley. The stream margins were rugged walking indeed, many large boulders to scramble over and around. My pack began to gain in mass.
Control 31 was the next target, reached without incident, good going through open hardwoods, although there were many contours to cross before reaching the summit. Here we encountered one of our "rival" teams again. We took different routes to control 29, arriving shortly apart: Dave and I had contoured around via the gravel pit...the others had made a bee line through the ravine. They were sweating more. We then ran into two other teams who were looking for it as well. We found the required spur..no control. There was a stupendous view to the north off the escarpment, which was some consolation, although a control flag would have been nicer. The group conclusion was that this control was misplaced or stolen. Off we went again.
Our route took us around the side of yet another hill, open hardwoods again, with enormous sugar maples. Some of these were interconnected with tubing, miles of which disappeared off down the hill to an unseen sugar shack. Number 28 was found without problems at the confluence of several major trails. Here we fell in with another two man team, a military duo who were planning to forge along all night (Claude Montreuil and Maurice Robert, from CFB Greenwood). We didn't have the energy to tackle controls 27 or 26; the sun was now low in the sky and we weren't quite as perky as we had been six or seven hours and 4,600 contour crossings earlier. So we headed southeastwards towards control 30. This trail turned out to be a virtual superhighway, broad and clear with an even gravel surface. We made good time, finding 30 just as the light faded. It involved a swampy traverse at the end, during which our lower legs disappeared into cold, black ooze. It seemed unlikely that a control would actually be in this swamp, but in the end, there it was, looking much more freshly ironed than we.
We decided against any night-o. Tiredness won out. We were also mindful of landforms such as a sheer drop of about 80 feet, which we had suddenly found in front of us when leaving control 29. There was no indication of this cliff on the map. It would have been decidedly nasty in the dark. We found a nice dry spot just off the trail on high ground, slung our tarp, rolled out our sleeping mats and bags, and sacked down. One or two teams passed us by in the wee hours, or late in the night (it was hard to tell) and peered under the tarp to see what was there. I think we groaned and grunted at them. The frogs were shrieking continuously, but we slept like sandbags. It was fairly cold, but dry and clear. First light was very different. A dull, low cloud base, and light rain falling. Others were apparently visited by heavy rain elsewhere on the course. We later learned that Claude and Maurice had abandoned their all-night attempt and had spent the night with just their light emergency bivvy bags. They got cold! For Dave and I, after cramming down some calories, there was nothing much else to do but pack up and continue. I savoured a ziploc bag full of cereal. The powdered milk and water didn't mix at all well in the bag, with the result that some parts were bone dry, others engulfed in a frankly sickening slurry of yellow stuff. I gave up half way through. I had some bananas, but they were thoroughly mashed and had metamorphosed into a black goop. Dave enjoyed a stale dry bagel. Off we went to get control 23. No problems finding this one. Nevertheless we were impressed that someone had punched in at this control at 2 am, according to the log sheet. We later learned that Stig Skarborn and Alex Whaley had been driven half mad trying to find it, but they had approached from a different side. This was a common experience-easy from one direction, diabolical from another. We were shortly to have our frustrations on control 16. It looked pretty easy, at the south end of a big lake. How could we miss that?
The problem was difficulty in keeping track of distance. We thought we were approaching the lake shore, when in fact we were entering a hideous zone of uncrossable beaver ponds and swamps. There was a lot of snow still about, and some ground was still frozen. Eventually we realized what we were doing, and cut south to cross the corridor trail 104. "Cut south" sounds nice and decisive, straightforward...in fact it involved forcing a passage through primaeval fight, and squanging through lots of freezing water and sphagnum. Eventually we found the main 104 trail. Having relocated, we fancied going back northwards for another stab at 16. We left our packs just off the main trail and started in. After too much criss-crossing of an adjacent clear cut, we finally sighted the flag. The snow at the control was a good three feet deep! This was the most rugged control of all for us, and it was satisfying to at last sink the teeth of the punch savagely into the punch card.
We picked up our packs again, then on to number 14. From here it was a straight run, more or less, back to base. We debated having a try at 12, which was not far off the trail, but we were mindful of the marsh symbols surrounding the lake, and aware that we did not have much time to spare, having used so much in getting 16. So we marched on. Even this main trail was under water in several places and definitely not smooth going. But we made good time. With about 5 km to go, we began catching up with several more teams who were also pushing hard to get in for 11:30 and pick up the bonus points. Our rival team from Tatamagouche joined in the convoy. Towards the end, the speed increased to a very brisk walk indeed. We passed some teams who definitely looked as though they had been going all night. Finally the event centre was in view...we cruised up the final hill, squashed through the final mud...and were finished, with the bonus points and time to spare.
Dave and I were pleased enough with our performance and result, coming in 9th equal in seniors. Best of all, we finished in good shape, no blisters or injuries. We were tired, but we still felt good. Perhaps we could have pushed harder, or gone on longer in the night period, but then the enjoyment factor would have gone down and the mistake factor up. We were well-prepared, but I think maybe we carried too much. If we had travelled lighter, we could probably have covered more ground. Pushing harder would also have meant more pre-event training than we had time for.
After the finish we ate-nay, devoured- bowls of chili, salad, bread, soup, fruit, and whatever else was available, chased down with many hot drinks. Whole tureens of food were disappearing almost as fast as they could be dished up. We sat and ate and swapped experiences with our rivals on the course, and others. There was a general air of euphoria and satisfaction. Everyone was back in by noon, the results calculated and the announcements made, prizes awarded...before long, everyone was scattering again for home.