surviving fiji: the world’s toughest  race

A Race Report by Roy Malone

In the inky blackness of the moonless sky, the storm had finally arrived and the wind now whipped away nearly all other sound. Waves thrashed at our boat. The whap, whap, whap of the outrigger’s ama slapped at the angry seas. We couldn’t see the waves that threatened to capsize our boat, but we certainly felt them as they bucked under and over the hull. Mari was riding up front- catching air every few minutes. Jen and I were manning the middle seats trying our best to provide power and weight on the windward ama to keep us from flipping. Charles was steering from the rear- the sound of his cursing evidenced the effort it took to keep the boat in a proper line. As nerves and muscles strained to their limits, a little voice whispered one question over and over “After 180 hours of racing, will we fail this close to the finish line?”.

Prelude

When it was announced in late 2018 that Eco-Challenge would be finally returning after a 17-year hiatus, the adventure racing community went nuts. While the succeeding years have been filled with quality, tough, and varied opportunities to compete, the nostalgia and prestige of the Eco brand instantly made it the must-do race of 2019. It was, after all, the event that introduced our sport to the public and inspired a generation of athlete adventurers.

Putting together the right team for Bones Adventure was the first challenge. It would require a huge commitment from each athlete- being out of the country for three weeks in September, countless hours of training, planning, budgeting, and organization. Ultimately, I secured a commitment from Mari Chandler, Jen Segger, and Charles Triponez. This was the same team that finished second at Primal Quest in British Columbia in 2018, so I was confident that each member would contribute and do whatever was necessary to finish the race. We rounded out our team with David Egbert, a friend and physical therapist, as our transition assistant crew (TAC) member.

Our application to compete was submitted in December and approved in early February after a lengthy video and written application. Schedules were set and commitments made. When the race location was announced as Fiji, there was a sense of both excitement and dread. I had been part of Team Subaru USA who had finished 9th out of 81 teams in Eco-Challenge Fiji 2002. Only ten teams finished that whole course. It had taken us 9.5 days and was by far the toughest race I had competed in since.

The serenity and beauty of Fiji’s resort towns, beaches, and people belie the dangers of its jungle terrors. Fiji animal life is benign enough, with no poisonous snakes and very few tropical varmints to worry about, but the microscopic predators are even more fierce and much harder to escape. I wasn’t sure whether my previous experience in Fiji was an advantage because I knew what to expect, or a disadvantage because I feared the suffering I knew would occur.

All we had to do now was get to Fiji on September 5th healthy, conditioned, and with all of our gear. A few new disciplines would require additional lessons and sport-specific training: sailing, stand up paddleboarding, and outrigger canoeing were unique disciplines to this edition, so in addition to our “standard” training, we became adept with a new set of water skills.

Arrival day finally came, and except for Charles’ gear (which got stuck in Seattle), we settled in for the obligatory skills testing, gear checks, photos, and interviews. All gear eventually arrived in time, and on September 9th, each team took their support vehicle on a 6-hour  drive to the south side of the island to Draubuta Village and the start of Eco-Challenge Fiji 2019.

OCEAN LEG

After a quick pep talk from Bear Grylls about what we were about to embark upon and a bit more pomp, we headed out to the Wainibokasi River where our camakaus were docked. Camakaus are traditional Fijian boats similar to catamarans, but smaller. We had previously drawn numbered coins to determine what boat position we would be assigned along the narrow river. We picked 24 (out of 66) and thus started near the top third of the pack.

We received our first set of maps for the Ocean Leg five minutes before the start of the race and learned that we would be required to retrieve five medallions – one for each stage, to officially finish the whole course. Each medallion would be located somewhere along that stage’s route at a pre-determined spot.

The first medallion would be located off an island on the bottom of the South Pacific Ocean.

With the buzz of helicopters and media infusing the start line with nervous energy, the gun finally went off and boats exploded off the bank in an attempt to push to the front. Almost immediately, several boats capsized and the rest made a mess of the river, requiring a deft steer to maneuver through without getting hit, speared, or otherwise incapacitated. Charles worked the steering blade, and we were able to get out into the wider part of the river and toward the Pacific Ocean around 5th place.

Once at the ocean, we were allowed to hoist our mast and our sail and use our newly learned sailing and shunting skills to have the winds help drive our boat out to Leleuvia Island (CP 1), and then on to Ovalau Island (CP 2), one of the largest off the eastern coast of the mainland. Excited to leverage mother nature’s power, we rigged the sail and... nothing. No wind. Maybe a puff, but certainly not enough to fill a sail. Many of our competitors optimistically followed and were met with the same disappointment. Dejectedly, we dropped the sail and resumed padding the unwieldy boat.

Roughly eight hours later we reached Ovalau Island in roughly 20th place to begin a trek to the inland village of Lovoni and then return to our boats via the island mountain range. The mid-afternoon heat and humidity were oppressive, but we started passing teams after our unimpressive paddle leg. On the hike up and over the ridge, we passed three more teams who were seriously suffering in the heat, including Bend Racing where Daniel was in a ditch on all fours, shirtless and looking green. Fijian heat is merciless.

When we returned to our camakaus, it had turned dark, and still, there was no wind. Our next objective was a return to Leleuvia Island where we would freedive to the ocean floor to pick up the first of our five medallions. Charles made quick work of the dive and soon we were pointed West, drawn like a moth to the bright blue light on the coast of the main island which served as the transition to stand-up paddleboards. We docked around 2:00 AM and were amazed to see local villagers in lawn chairs cheering us on at this late hour.

We blew up our paddleboards and headed up the Waidalici River, fighting the ebb current. Jen, our resident SUP expert led the charge with Charles and Mari right behind. I was a bit slower and brought up the rear. However, as a team, we made good pace. After a while, the tidal influences diminished, and the river’s downstream current became our resistance. We still made progress, but at an agonizingly slow pace. Hours passed and daylight broke. After roughly eight hours on the board, we finally arrived at Sote Village and CP 8. At this point, we had been racing for over 24 hours and almost all of it had been paddling. We were quite anxious to be on two wheels.

Biking the roads in Fiji is a bit like a riding a roller coaster. There are NO flat parts in Fiji. You are either grinding in granny gear or smoking the brakes. Our objective over the next 55 kms on mountain bikes was Naivucini Village and Camp 1. Up and down we rode until we crossed the Rewa River. Then the rain began. Rain is a bit of a pedestrian word for what actually occurred, however. Someone had cranked the dial on high in the heavens, and we were instantly soaked- and cold. The deluge continued all the way to Camp 1, which was on the bank of the Naivucini River- now a raging chocolate torrent.

We rolled into Camp 1 around 4:50 PM. It was chaotic. Tarps, tents, and makeshift shelters were trying to keep racers, TACs, and the media dry, but it was impossible. The river was almost breaching the bridge. Rumor was that the course would be closed due to the danger in the next section’s canyons. We piled in the tent, grabbed some food, and awaited word. The course did get closed until the next morning. Six teams had already made it through the canyon before the stoppage, and they were instructed to stop where they were. The eight teams (including us) who had arrived at Camp 1 by dark were allowed to leave for the canyon at 6:30 AM the next morning. The rest would be allowed to leave at 8:30 AM. While we enjoyed the extra sleep, many of the trailing teams behind us were able to catch us at camp, as they had been allowed to proceed - 12 hours of dead time...

JUNGLE LEG

This section of the course was a bit familiar to me as it was the start of the 2002 version of Eco-Challenge Fiji. With fresh legs and banked sleep, the eight teams that were in the first wave from Camp 1 took off. We found the mouth of the canyon and boulder hopped for a few kms until the walls narrowed and the water deepened. We were forced to swim against the swift current, often requiring a hand-over-hand crawl along the steep canyon walls to make progress in the swift canyon river. A few more kms later we retrieved our second Medallion Our next objective was a trek up and over a ridge to Navuniyasi Village where we would build a billi billi boat. The trail to the village was hard to find, and we missed a path out of the creek and proceeded to head north. After about a kilometer, the path started heading West- the wrong direction, and we backtracked down, locating the correct trail which had previously been marked, but whose marker was now knocked over.

Once we arrived at Navuniyasi Village we found our pile of bamboo and built two billi billi boats with the assistance of the local villagers and hopped on the slow-moving Wainimala River. To move the boats, we each had a bamboo stick approximately 14’ long. Locals use these sticks to pole down the river by standing on their rafts and pushing against the bottom of the river. We tried several different techniques to improve our speed and ultimately settled on the “kayak” technique- essentially using our bamboo stick as a kayak blade. It was agonizingly slow work with the river flow at a trickle. Two of our bamboo “kayak blades” were a bit dysfunctional and we cut one down to size with our machete and Charles found a local villager to replace the one that weighed as much as a small timber. Throughout the rest of the day and into the night we paddled. It was a slow work... but it was progress.

At last, we made it to Viria Village where we transitioned back to bikes for a 45 km bike ride. More up and downs through the night and around midnight we cruised into Irish Crossing and Camp 2 right when the rain started coming down again...

Team Strategy-

Before the race, we had a brief chat with race director Kevin Hodder, who had also structured the Eco Fiji 2002 course. I asked him whether he thought version 2002 or version 2019 would be tougher. He considered for a moment and then remarked that 2019 should be harder, as it was longer. Eco 2002 took our team 9.5 days to finish and we were one of only 10 teams out of 81 to finish the whole course. If this one was going to be harder than 2002, it was going to be a crusher, requiring a strategy of patience and care. Our team’s strategy was to not worry about our position for the first five-six days, knowing that as long as we were healthy and had good feet, that racing strong for the final 3+ days would be the key to a top 10 finish in what we expected to be at least a nine-day race.

River Leg

At Camp 2 we decided to take one of our five mandatory sleep stops. Each team was required to use five 3-hour sleep stops during the race at whatever control they decided worked best. Since the rain had just started, and we were relatively dry, we opted to get some quality sleep and leave at 5:00 AM which should give us plenty of time to bike the next 65 kms and make the whitewater dark zone cutoff.

Out of Waivaka Village and up the Waidina River canyon we rode as the sun rose. Like a scene straight out of Jurassic Park, massive fern and moss-covered cliffs dwarfed us. Mist shrouded the tallest peaks and the scene became surreal, mesmerizing. We made great time on the gravel roads and quickly arrived at the river crossing at Namuamua Village.

The following 20 kms of biking was much of the same as what we had become accustomed to (steep up, down, repeat) as we made our way through the Galoa Forest Plantation. The roads turned from gravel to dirt and became less traveled and more narrow. Rain once again had started falling. At about 50 kms, we turned off the main track into the Naboutini Forest Plantation and things got sour. Quickly.

It started slippery, turned snotty, and ultimately tacky. Slippery was okay-- slide the downhills and crawl the uphills. Snotty became tougher as missiles of mud shot off the front tire and into our faces and eyes. For several kms, the routine became ride, fall, walk, ride, fall. By this point, we were covered head to toe in mud. Caked everywhere. It got so frustrating that all we could do was laugh at the absurdity of it. Time slowed and we started getting nervous about making the dark zone cutoff.

Then came the tacky. Holy shit. As the sun broke through, the mud coalesced into a clay, peanut butter. Like a chocolate snowball, our tires collected the muck with each rotation. Cassette, derailleur, brakes--  nothing was safe. Bike became a sled as clogged seat stays locked the wheels in place. Forward progress became an option of either spending every few minutes de-clogging the components with stick and finger long enough to proceed another 200 meters or picking up and carrying what was now a 35-40 pound turd of slippery steel. Meanwhile, the hours ticked by...

When we finally emerged, it was 3:00 PM. We had a seven-kilometer run to the whitewater rafting put in, and we needed to be on the river by 4:00 PM in order to proceed. Our bikes were a mess and the transition was a mad scramble to clean and care for them before we packed them away, knowing that we would need them again later in the race, and that any shortcuts on care would cost us dearly on the next ride. But we also needed to make that dark zone cutoff to at least get part of the way down the river before it was closed. The sweat of stress and heat streaked our faces. Between short bursts of sprinting and power trekking along the rolling road, we made it with 10 minutes to spare which enabled us to get on the river and raft for two hours until the 6:00 PM requirement to be off the water. Not clearing the river by 6:00 PM would ultimately be a big problem for us as we were forced to camp on the river bank for 12 hours until 6:00 AM - allowing all of the teams ahead of us to proceed while we were marooned on the river overnight.

The Navua River is a wondrous stretch of deep-canyon rafting. Class II and III rapids come often enough to keep you sharp, while the current carries you through the jungle canopy rife with waterfalls, etched cliffs, and wildlife noises. At dusk, as we beached our raft, a colony of bats dotted the sky in shadow. Sublime.

At 6:00 the next morning we launched back into the river and paddled the remaining two hours to Namuamua Village, disappointed that we had lost so much time in the dark zone but knowing that we could make it up over such a long race if we kept pushing. At the village, we picked up our River Medallion at the Turaga-ni-Koro house.

From here, teams were allowed to hire guides and/or porters to trek the 52 kms to Camp 3. A series of negotiations took place as we moved from village to village. Our first stage was between Namuemua and Navunikabi villages. We hired a guide named Nem, a healthy rugby player in gumboots who led us through the maze of trails. Solid.

Once we got to Navunikabi, we asked about a horse to carry our packs for the next 10 km road section to Wainimakutu Village. We were told it would take 20 minutes to coordinate, so we opted to proceed without. Ten minutes after leaving the village however, we ran across a family who had a small horse and a willingness to help. After a brief negotiation, our packs were loaded, and we headed north with the whole family.

Now numbering a team of 11 including kids ranging from ages 5-13, our entourage led us up the gravel road. Each member of the family, most of whom were barefoot, took a piece of gear. A baggie of food for the five-year-old, the map case for the eight-year-old, a water bottle for the seven-year-old. Everyone had a job. We learned that kids were required to speak English in school- not Fijian, and they demonstrated their English prowess with a full-throated “Humpty Dumpty” and other nursery rhymes. Tired of the English nonsense, the eldest broke into song: a Fijian story about love. Her brothers and sisters joined in and we walked as their harmony echoed through the valley-stirred with emotion. We became lost in a different narrative – no longer racing, we were part of an extraordinary experience of culture and family. The unconditional joy and pride of their voices gave the race texture, meaning.

An hour later, we arrived at Nakavika Village and reluctantly bid farewell to our adopted family who would now turn around and head back the 10 km to their village- still barefoot over vicious gravel roads. The third leg of this trek would take us up and over a ridge- nearly 25 kms of creek walking and a maze of local trails. Once again, we were allowed to hire a guide for this stretch.

After 15-20 minutes of negotiating on price (we were now low on funds and this final trip would wipe us out), a guide was located for us. A man, his horse, and his three dogs led us along a rough and steep and hazardous trail through the Navunikabi area. Two things struck us as we made remarkably good time.

First, our guide’s ability to travel barefoot along the jungle and through the rivers was simply mind-boggling. Hazards be damned, our man was set on getting us there as quickly as possible. Second, and just as impressive was the capability of his horse, who was laden with four packs and navigated tight 45+ degree pitches, both up and down with chasms that had us scrambling on all fours. It was dusk as we reached Nasava Village and said our goodbyes to our guide of the past three hours.

The final stretch of the trek was unguided took us along a faint path that was tough to find in the dark. It weaved in and out of a creek and we lost it a couple of times, but eventually found our way to Lutu Village and Camp 3.

HIGHLAND LEG

After feasting on David’s black bean, scrambled egg, potato, and mac ‘n cheese concoction and then plotting the next set of maps, we hunkered down for a three-hour sleep. Then off into the darkness, we left for the trek to Vuwa and Gaganaura Falls. A bit of tricky navigation would take us to the proper canyon, and for the most part, we were able to locate it without incident. There was a brief moment of confusion where we were traveling along the trail and crossed a creek flowing West to East and then 200 meters later crossed another one flowing East to West. What? How? Water travels downhill, so how could it travel in opposite directions in so short a distance? In the fog of darkness, it took us a bit to figure out that it was the same creek that doubled back on itself. On a 1:50,000 map, there’s no micro-navigation and a lot of intuition is required, which is tough in the dark and with tired brains.

Once we entered in the canyon, daylight helped us boulder hop up a never-ending creek filled with snot-slippery rocks. There was usually a fall by one of us every few minutes and patience was strained as our progress was so slow. At one point we got cliffed-out and needed to break out the machete to cut through the jungle curtain and get up and over a 25-meter cliff. We reached Vawa Falls and were awed by its spectacle. Foam and mist masked the network of ropes that we’d need to reach the top. It was hard and slow work and the pounding of the waterfall punished us with each meter we gained. Between Vawa and Gaganaura Falls we retrieved our Highland Medallion while we moved through the aqua pools and more shin-crushing torture. By the time we hit Gaganaura Falls, we were right behind Team Uruguay, who seemed to be having some trouble ascending the 400-meter series of pitches that wove between and through the massive waterfall. The climb was an exhausting effort. Battered and beaten up from the approach, we were running on fumes as we hauled our carcasses up the sheer wall. We caught Uruguay at the top and headed out, gassed. Within a few hundred meters we hit a small lake, surrounded on either side by dense, impenetrable jungle. Our only option was to swim... Or was it?

Mari, always one to avoid cold swimming at almost any cost, had read my race report from 2002 about gnarly frigid swims with eels and had suggested we bring some small inflatable dingeys for any potential similar swims. It was a risk- hauling around an extra three pounds in the off-chance that we would encounter a long enough swim to utilize the boats meant extra energy spent. However, as the sun started setting, we inflated the glamorous pool toys, clicked in place the three-piece mini paddles, and set sail. Rarely do these strategies end up working out, but as night settled in, and the swim sections became longer and longer, we were downright giddy that we weren’t chin-deep in the stagnant water, swimming and wading our way upstream. Instead, we were making good time and thankful for Mari’s tactical brilliance.

Doing this stretch of the course at night became a fight against hypothermia. It was cold, drizzling, and we were completely soaked, even though we had been using our boats. After a few hours, we reached the base of a small dam that served as our exit point. After a short trek we reached a medical tent intended to provide assistance to hypothermic teams and other health emergencies. After a brief checkup, we were informed that each team would be transported by vehicle to the next section of the race due to a tribal dispute that made it impossible to continue on foot. A 40-minute ride in a Toyota pickup WITH A HEATER was helpful in rekindling our bodies before we were dropped off at the south end of Monasavu Lake. We transitioned fairly quickly and dropped down to the reservoir, blew up our SUPs, and got on the water. This next section appeared straight forward on the map. We would paddle across the lake to the NW corner and then carry our boards a short distance to the next transition area. However, I was mentally trashed from the days of navigation and while I knew we needed to head NW, in the darkness and with my brain on hiatus, I couldn’t figure out which way to point the front of our boards. I relinquished the maps to Charles as the rain started falling again.

At normal water levels, the paddle would have been a relatively easy one. Unfortunately, the lake was probably only half-full and so tentacles stretched out from the lake into the hills in every direction. Once we got to the north end of the lake, there was a multitude of “outlets” – all steep banked and narrow, often only the width of our boards. The trick was to find the right one that would wind around the correct direction and take us toward the transition. Hours ticked by as we tried and re-tried the various fingers. Finally, we gave up trying to paddle and dragged our boats up and out- heading generally in the direction we wanted to go. Half marsh and half jungle, we carried and dragged our SUPs through the night, often knee-deep in mud and cow shit. When we finally arrived at the transition, we were filthy. We hosed off in the backyard of a villager’s hut and hit the trail for the long trek to Camp 4 and Navala Village. As the darkness faded to dawn, we ran into Bend Racing and Mike Kloser’s Team Out There. We traveled together a bit down a 1000m ridge and then back up the other side to the Nabuabue Settlement. All three teams missed a critical juncture halfway through the trek and while Bend and Out There continued on and eventually circled around, we retraced our steps, found the right path, and started back down the next valley into a creek where we took a 45-minute nap while trying to stay in the shade, as the sun became merciless.

A couple of teams passed us as we slept, but with renewed vigor, we jumped on the path and resolved to reel them in. After a long, exposed ridge trek we found our way down to the Ba River where Bend Racing was in the process of crossing. It was about 7kms to the village and we thought that it might be faster to travel with the river current by blowing up the dinghies we had used the night before. Unfortunately, the river was too low and too slow. After 20 minutes, we deflated the boats and hustled on by foot. Within a couple of kilometers of the village, we were met by a handful of young boys who shadowed us all the way to the village. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and we picked up our pace. As we reached the transition area, chants of U.S.A, U.S.A tore through the entire village who had gathered for the spectacle. Tiki torches lit the path as daylight faded into another night. We had arrived at Navala Village and Camp 4.

ISLAND LEG

We took our last mandatory sleep at Camp 4 and reviewed the maps. We were dismayed to find out that the finish line was only about 24 hours of racing away. Our expectation of a 9.5-day finish looked closer to 7.5 days, which meant we needed to push hard this final stage to finish in the top-10.

We departed Camp around 10:00 PM on mountain bikes. With renewed purpose, we pushed hard and strong on the long route toward the West Coast. We passed Bend Racing, who had left Camp 4 an hour earlier and hurried on to the “Oalivuda Circuit” knowing that they were going to be chasing us down the rest of the race.

The circuit was a trekking loop that was sketched out on a canvas map.

Mid-way through the trek was a night rappel down a 300-foot waterfall into a frigid pool. This is where the final medallion was located. Hidden part-way up the cliff we had just rappelled down, one team member was required to jump back in the pool, swim to the cliff, and locate the Island Medallion. Charles once again sacrificed himself and “volunteered”.

With the circuit complete, we jumped back onto the bikes toward Natalau Village. Through the rest of the night and into the morning, we rode the ceaseless, steep climbs and descents that came to define riding in Fiji. By mid-morning, the sun and humidity started cooking us from the inside. The roads toward the village were completely exposed, and there was no relief. Pushing so hard on bike for the past 12 hours, we rolled onto the rugby field at CP 29 spent and melting...

CP29 served as the transition from bikes to a relatively short SUP along the Sabeto River to the mouth of Fiji’s North Coast. Still baking, despite being on the water, we traded places with Team Uruguay, whose teammate was suffering from significant heat exhaustion. The tide was low, which made the channel to the ocean and CP 30 unpassable and required us to paddle further south, down the spit, into the ocean, and then back up the coast to Lomolomo Beach.

Lomolomo Beach served as the launch point for the last leg of the race- an outrigger push to Tavua Island and then to the finish at Mana Island. Before we left the beach, we were warned that a fast-moving storm was bearing down from the north and that we would be required to stop at Beachcomber Island if we couldn’t make it to Tavua Island before dark or Tauva Island if we weren’t able to make it to the finish before it got dark, as it was too unsafe to paddle a stormy sea at night. With hardly a cloud in the sky, we pushed off into a stiff north wind, ferrying NW to make sure we would stay north of Beachcomber if we needed to stop there since there was no way we could have paddled due north directly into the wind if we wound up south of the island. This proved slow as we fought against the crosswind.

As we approached Beachcomber, we knew it would be tight to make it to Tauva before dark. We pulled out the satellite phone to attempt calling to find out what the penalty was if we pushed on and didn’t make it there by dark. The sat phone was not connecting, so we landed on Beachcomber hoping to make a call from the resort. Fortunately, an Eco support boat pulled close and after 45 minutes of some back/forth with communications, we were told that the storm was delayed and that the section was now open with no restrictions. Those teams that left after us didn’t need to pass by Beachcomber and were now headed directly to Tavua. Arg... We launched from Beachcomber in a hurry toward Tavua.

It’s hard to understand the true scope of the ocean’s power until you feel its fury. Leaving Beachcomber, the wind continued to blow- now a little harder. What was once clear turquoise waters turned a darker, somehow more menacing hue. Off to our right, a black curtain of cloud formed on the horizon. It was still a fair distance away, but we could see it was gaining on us. An hour later, as the sun started setting, darkness enveloped the boat. With the cloud canopy now on top of us, the darkness was complete- the kind of night where there are no silhouettes, no gradient. Just black.

We entered the cove on Tavua Island to collect CP 31 right as the storm started screaming. The wind took the front of our outrigger at whim as Charles tried to steer due south. It required several tries to turn the boat in the direction of Mana Island and the finish.

The thing about Eco-Challenge is that just when you think you have it licked, it reaches up and punches you in the face. What should have been a routine 6.5 km cruise to the finish, required a wringing of every last ounce of strength and resolve. Mari rode the bow doing everything she could to stay in the boat as it bucked through the troughs. Jen and I tried to generate power while leaning hard to our left to keep the outrigger’s ama from flipping us over. Charles fought to keep the boat in line, shredding the steering paddle with the effort and cursing coming in both English and French. We had to shout to be heard. It was if the whole world had gone black and crazy. Mocking us in the distance was the light of the finish line, slowly blinking and never getting any closer.

When we finally broke past the reef, the sea was suddenly calm, and we cruised onto the beach- the sandy paradise of Mana Island. The last stage, which should have taken less than an hour had taken us almost three. We ascended the final steps of the podium which were ablaze with Tiki torches and warm smiles of congratulations.

Postscript

We entered Eco-Challenge with the goal of a top-10 finish and of being the first US team. We had missed the whitewater dark zone by 90 minutes earlier in the race, which cost us 12 hours of dead time on the side of the river while the teams ahead of us who had made the dark zone (including the two US teams that we were chasing), were able to advance. While we were able to later catch both US teams and then take the lead heading into the final outrigger section, Bend Racing got past us during the final paddle and finished right before us.

Final placing: 15th overall, 2nd US.

Ultimately, our shared experiences with friends in an exotic and beautiful part of the world, where we get to push ourselves to our physical and mental limits is the real victory. Snippets of pivotal points in the race become memory keepsakes that last a lifetime. I firmly believe that these experiences and the lessons we take from them make us better people. More compassionate, more empathetic, more... human.

Watching the original Eco-Challenge was the inspiration to start adventure racing. Distant locations, daring feats of endurance, drama, long odds. All of these years later, I’m thrilled that a new generation will be able to watch and be motivated to experience the thrill of adventure, discovery, and the addiction of pushing one’s boundaries. While we may suffer on the course, we absolutely cannot even get to the start without the support of our family, our friends, and our partners who also sacrifice their time and their capital. Often, what drives us during the darkest hours is the knowledge that someone back home is rooting for us. And that’s all we need to swallow the self-pity, dig deep, and put one foot in front of the other.