Vietnam Adventure with RTP Part Two: Camp Squalor

The first part of the trek to CP 2 was easy. We were in a jeep. But then we came to a river that had no bridge. It would be on foot from there, which was something over ten miles. But first we had to get across the river. That was accomplished on a small steel "boat" that was pulled back and forth across the river using ropes stretched across the channel for that purpose. It was about 70m to the otherside, with a pretty stiff current. David, Emma, Larry and I crossed first, followed by our Hmong porters, who were carrying the water, tarps, and other equipment for the checkpoint. So far, so good. But not for long.

The trail we were following was mostly ankle-deep gooey mud with an occasional stretch of fairly firm footing. And mostly uphill. The going was very slow. We passed through or by a few small villages in the first few miles, but after that, nothing. As dusk approached it became obvious that we were not going to get to our CP location before dark, so out came the headlamps.

We trudged on in the muck, which was getting worse because of the drizzle and fog that had settled upon us. Miserable conditions by any normal standards, but experienced "RacingthePlaneteers" such those of us engaged in this operation did not measure misery by any normal standards. We simply endured.

It was well after dark when we started getting close to where the checkpoint needed to be located. We were on a slick, muddy, trail on the side of a mountain, in the dark, in the rain and in the fog. The fog was so thick that we had to hold our headlamps down below waist level just to see the ground. We had just about decided to to stop where we were, lay down a ground cloth and sleep under our tarp (less than optimal conditions but our options were limited), when David said that he had seen a light go off and on somewhere ahead. We decided to check it out. We trudged on for maybe 200m when we passed by a big truck. We guessed that it must have been the headlights that David had seen. But who turned the lights on and off? A bit further on we came to what can only be described as a tarp-covered shanty on the side of the trail. Our guide yelled something and was apparently invited inside to chat with whoever was inside. A few minutes later he came out and said that we had come acrosss a work camp for a crew that was doing repair work on the trail and that there was room inside for Larry, Emma and I to sleep. That would work, because our porters were going to leave the gear they were hauling and head for Pha Long. David was also planning to go straight through to Pha Long, which was another ten miles up the trail. So, rather than sleeping on a ground cloth laid out across gooey mud and using a tarp for shelter from the fog and drizzle, Larry, Emma and I slept on a raised platform in a shack that sheltered us from the fog and drizzle with several tarps.

I woke up very early the next morning to make coffee. I had been wise enough to pack my camp stove and fuel along with plenty of coffee, tea and food. I had just gotten the first kettle of water to a boil when one of the workers came over and, using gestures, invited us to have breakfast with them. Larry and I, both being the adventurous types, thought that would be really fun. Emma, who had yet to crawl out of her sleeping bag, decided that more sleep was in order. So, Larry and I headed for the "mess tent". The mess tent was another tarp shack with a wooden floor and small, low table in the middle. We were truly honored guests, being given the best seats in the house and some pieces of old carpet to sit on. We had very low expectations about what we would be having for breakfast and could not have been more surprised. It was an absolute feast! Hot coffee, fried eggs, grilled strips of meat we assumed to be pork (but which could have been cat or dog), boiled greens, bread, cheese, sauces of all kinds and, best of all: HAPPY WATER! Everything else is self-explanatory, but perhaps not happy water. It was locally distilled "rice wine", which was much closer to being vodka than any type of wine. It would have been rude of us to decline our hosts' hospitality, so Larry and I joined them in several rounds. The crew wasn't going to be working that day (too wet to work on the trail), so they were in a partying mood. After a few rounds of happy water, the local guys challenged Larry and I to a "pick up the peanut with chopsticks" contest. It was hilarious, with peanuts flying everywhere as Larry and I tried to clamp down on them with our chopsticks. We would get an apparently good grip only to have the peanut slip out and go zinging through space.

After breakfast, and with a couple of good buzzes going, Larry and I found Emma up and dressed back at our shack. It was only then that we realized that our shack was cantilevered out over the edge of the trail and that the platform we had slept upon was literally hundreds of feet above the nearest ledge below. It's a good thing none of us stepped "out back" to take a leak.

 We got the checkpoint set up long before the first competitor arrived, which gave us plenty of time to do some exploring. The fog and drizzle had finally abated, giving us our first good look at the trail that had brought us to "Camp Squalor". That we had made our way on that trail in the dark, wet fog was nothing less than incredible.

The original plan was for Emma, Larry and I to pack up after the last competitor came through the checkpoint and head to the location of the next checkpoint at the village of Pha Long, about ten miles down the trail. But Emma was called upon to accompany a distressed competitor back to the river, leaving only Larry and I to make our way to Pha Long. It was late afternoon when we set out on that journey and we both knew that we would not be arriving in Pha Long until well after dark. So, another ten miles on a wet, muddy mountain trail. But when we got there, a jeep would be waiting to take us to real tents and dry, warm clothes at Camp Two at Ben Den. Or so we thought. More about that in Part Three: So long, Pha Long.

Vietnam Adventure with RTP Part One: Hanoi, Lao Cai and Si Ma Cai

In 2008 I was invited to participate in RacingthePlanet's 4 Deserts Beyond: Vietnam race as a volunteer. It was one of many "adventures of a lifetime" that I have experienced as a result of Mary Gadams' incredible vision and hard work in creating and sustaining Racing the Planet.

I arrived in Hanoi a few days before the race to be of whatever assistance I could with pre-race logistics. One of those activities involved going to the airport with Mary and Eric Marxmiller to claim the cargo that had been air-freighted in for the race. It was a classic case of hurry-up and wait, over and over again. Our local "expediter", who did all the translating and negotiating (and, perhaps, bribing) was finally able to obtain the proper permits, etc. All the gear was loaded on our trucks and off we went.

I found out that night that I would be part of an "advance team" that would be leaving Hanoi a day early (Friday) to take all the camp equipment on the overnight train to Lao Cai so that Camp One could be set up well in advance. Everyone else would be leaving on the overnight train Saturday. Eric, Don Kelliher (one of most interesting people I have ever met) and I were the advance team. We would meet our local guides in Lao Cai.

I loved the train trip to Lao Cai. We had plenty of snacks, more than plent of malt-based adult beverages and all night to tell stories. And so we did.

We arrived in Lao Cai very eary, before sunrise. It was dark, cold and wet. We had all of our stuff onloaded and stacked as we waited for our local guide and crew to arrive. Fortunately, one small coffee shop just across the square was open. We got a table, ordered coffee (Vietnamese coffee will spoil you rotten) and some pastries. After a bit, our local guide arrived. He advised that the local crew and trucks would not arrive for an hour or so. That gave us time to do a bit of sight-seeing. Our guide took us up the road just a few miles to the Vietnam/China border (defined by a river at that point). There was a huge bridge across the river, with a huge border security building on the Chinese side.

When we arrived back at the train station the local crew and trucks had arrived. They got to work loading everything on the trucks. It was at that point that I learned that was going to be the lone "advance team" that would accompany the locals to our the site of Camp One at a small village in even farther north Vietnam called Si Ma Cai. So, off we went. Two large trucks, two jeeps, about a dozen local crew member, one bi-lingual guide and me. It rained or drizzled on us the entire four-hour trip.

Si Ma Cai may have some redeeming qualities, but none of them were apparent to me. The designated site for Camp One was a soccer field. It would have been perfect if not for the fact that about 90 percent of it was under water. Not much water, but any amount of "under water" is too much in a camp site. So, rather than have a nice, spread-out camp, we had to cram everything onto the small island of land that was not under water. Notice that I did not say "dry land". There was no such thing. Our island wasn't under water, but it was water-logged.

I could write pages about the experience of setting up Camp One. But I won't. It was both a hellish and hugely rewarding experience. Hellish in that it took three time longer (at least) than it would have if I had been working with people with whom I could communicate. Oh, did I forget to mention that soon after our arrival in Si Ma Cai the local guide took off? Rewarding in that the local crew were fun to work with despite our communications problems. The little bit of Vietnamese I had learned for the adventure was worthless because the local crew all spoke a Hmong dialect and not one word of Vietnamese. e

Across the street from our camp site was a regional prison. I think the Vietnamese called it a re-education camp (or something like that) but it was a prison. All day long there was a non-stop lecture being blasted from huge loudspeakers on the walls of the prison. I couldn't understand any of it, but it was like listening to "All Things Considered" on NPR all day. Pure torture. Surely, I thought, they will turn that crap off at night.

I was wrong. Not only did the monologue go on all night, but just when it started to get dark, the huge lighting system came on. It was like camping inside an NFL stadium. But, in spite of all the distractions, I did sleep some that night in one of the big Marmot dome tents we set up.

It rained or drizzled on us all night. Consequently, our island of non-underwater land was cut in half. After having breakfast with the local crew in their tent (that experience alone is worth a few pages), we compacted the camp onto our even smaller island. It was a horrible campsite but we had made the best of a bad situation.

By about noon we had everything done except the starting line banner and putting up some of the flags and other decorations. The competitors and staff were not due to arrive for several more hours, so there was plenty of time to get things finished. That was a good thing, because I was soon to find out that I was going to be part of another "advance team".

Sometime before noon on Saturday there arrived in camp another jeep carrying David Annadale (Course Director), Dr. Emma Dawber (Medical Staff) and Larry Gartner (fellow volunteer and very experienced trekker). I learned from David that my next assignment was to accompany him, Emma and Larry to the location of checkpoint two, which was about twenty miles away and located on a very remote mountainside trail. We could get part way there by jeep, but most of it would be on foot on very muddy, very slick mountain trails. We would leave ASAP, spend the night at the site of the checkpoint, staff the checkpoint and then sweep from that checkpoint to the next one near a school in the small village of Pha Long.

I packed my kit, jumped in the jeep and headed off to parts unknown. It was to be more of an adventure than I could have imagined, as you will read in Part Two: Camp Squalor

Rim-to-Rim at the Grand Canyon

The typical "rim-to-rim" run at the Grand Canyon is from either the South Rim to the North Rim, or vice-versa. A few weeks ago I did a South Rim to South Rim run, starting at the South Kaibab Trailhead at Yaki Point, going all the way to Phantom Ranch and then back up to the South Rim via River Trail and Bright Angel Trail. About 19 miles altogether, with about 9000' of total elevation change. I made it all the way up to Indian Gardens (at about 14 miles) in great shape, but then really "hit the wall". It took me over two hours to cover the last 4.5 miles, with stomach problems and leg cramps causing me to stop quite frequently. Did I say that it was hot? Yeah, well over 90 at the river and 90 on the nose at the 3-mile resthouse on the way up Bright Angel. However, I made it to the top in less than 8 hours and was in pretty good shape when I got there. I re-hydrated with a few malt-based adult beverages, took a nap, ate an Angus burger and fries, watched some TV and then had a good night's sleep. I wasn't too sore the next day (Sunday), but Monday was bad. Very sore quads and calves. Took a few days to work them out. Good to go now.

FYI: The typical "tourist" hike of the same route is a 3-day, 2-night camping expedition. One day to get to the river and two days to get from the river back to the South Rim. Maybe someday I will do that and get a better look at where I have been.

Tentmates - Gobi March '07

Why?

"Perhaps the genius of ultrarunning is its supreme lack
of utility. It makes no sense in a world of space ships
and supercomputers to run vast distances on foot. There
is no money in it and no fame, frequently not even the
approval of peers. But as poets, apostles and philosophers
have insisted from the dawn of time, there is more to
life than logic and common sense. The ultra runners know
this instinctively. And they know something else that is
lost on the sedentary. They understand, perhaps better
than anyone, thatthe doors to the spirit will swing open
with physical effort. In running such long and taxing
distances they answer a call from the deepest realms of
their being -- a call that asks who they are ..."
- David Blaikie

Derek Kwik took this picture of me at about the half-way point of the 50 mile stage of the Sahara Race in 2005. We were on the edge of an escarpment, getting ready to follow the trail down to an oasis.