Oct/090
Getting into Adventure Racing
By Gordon Wright • Photos by Doug Nurock/Nurock Photography
One of the most common questions people ask adventure racers is, “How do I get into adventure racing?”
The short answer is: Keep hanging out with adventure racers. They’ll suck you into the sport eventually. The even-shorter answer is, “If you’re reading this, you can probably do it.” Todd Jackson, who runs 7th Wave Productions, the biggest local event organizer in adventure racing, says that anyone who has ever done an off-road triathlon has what it takes — athletically – to get into the sport.
“Any reasonably fit recreational athlete can get into adventure racing,” says Jackson, who also promotes off-road tri’s and trail runs. “But there is a learning curve. You should start with a sprint race, and as you develop proficiency you can move up to longer races.”
No matter if you’re considering a three-hour race – considered a “sprint” distance in adventure racing – or a multi-day epic, certain essential elements are paramount to consider:
Teammates
At its core, adventure racing is a team sport. Many races accept solo racers, but the real reason to sign up for a race is to have fun and suffer with friends. Choosing teammates wisely is perhaps the most important strategic decision you’ll make, because the heat of competition and the emotions brought to bear with sustained suffering can bring out the weirdness in people. I once raced with a woman I didn’t know well, a great athlete who held herself out to be a crack navigator. She wasn’t (and wouldn’t admit it even in the face of painfully obvious reality), so we spent 41 straight hours hiking in circles in the woods of western Maine before withdrawing from a race ignominiously. We’ve never spoken since.
Mark Richardson, a top regional racer and one of the organizers of Team Karma’s Gold Rush races, maintains that the biggest negative characteristic a teammate can have is “a big ego.”
“Anyone who is too proud to allow another teammate to help them should stick to triathlons,” notes Richardson. “I have had too many teammates whose pride didn’t allow them to accept help, and this has proved especially true of racers with less experience. Nothing frustrates me more. Individual pride and ego have no business in the sport, because it is a team endeavor and teamwork is the single most crucial aspect in adventure racing.”
Mountain Biking
Mountain bike skills are an absolute requirement in adventure racing. Even sprint races can present up to 25-plus miles of rigorous off-road riding. You need to know basic bike repair, you need to enjoy climbing, and you need to be able to descend tricky terrain
with confidence.
And have you ever tried to eat during a mountain bike ride? You should probably figure it out before you enter a race, because maintaining your energy levels on the fly is a crucial element to even the shortest race.
Hiking and Running
With the exception of sprint races, you won’t be doing much high-aerobic running work in adventure racing. A common tactic of most races longer than six hours is to run at moderate speeds on flat land and downhill. As for the many uphill pulls you’ll see at any race, a moderate-to-vigorous hiking gait will keep you near the top of any competition. Your training should include at least half as much strenuous trail hiking as flat-land running. And always, always wear a backpack in training. This habituates your core muscles to deal with the load you’ll be bearing during a race, and gets you familiar with accessing your food and equipment on the fly.
The most essential thing to remember for foot sections is to maintain a relentless forward motion. A team that sustains consistent forward movement usually will beat a team that surges forward only to stop repeatedly to eat, futz with gear, decide on directions or tend to minor physical ailments. And yes, peeing without breaking stride is not only possible but a highly-prized ability.
Paddling
Paddling of some sort – be it flat-water canoeing, ocean kayaking, or downriver running – is a central feature of almost every race. Much like the swim leg in any triathlon, being a poor paddler won’t necessarily lose you the race, but you’ll have a difficult time being competitive.
Like swimming, paddling is relatively easy to gain adequacy, but difficult to gain mastery. The more time in the water you spend, the more comfortable and competitive you’ll be. That being said, even completing a one-day paddling course from a local outfitter is enough to see you through an entry-level race. Paddle shops and outfitters that offer classes include California Canoe & Kayak (Oakland and Sacramento), Outback Adventures (San Jose and Marin), Aquan Sports (Peninsula), Sea Trek (Sausalito), Current Adventures (Sacramento), REI’s Outdoor School (Bay Area and Sacramento), Kayak Connection (Santa Cruz), and Monterey Bay Kayaks.
Navigation
Hiking, mountain biking, even paddling: these are the core sports of ASJ readers. But navigation can be the great stumbling block, the great barrier to entry for many aspiring adventure racers.
The good news is – it isn’t as hard as it looks. The bad news is – you can’t fake it. You have to know how to use a compass, and you have to know how to plot Universal Transverse Mercator (UTM) points on a map. Those are the two basic skills, and attaining them should take you about 10 hours, a bit of practice and a good book or two.
Keep in mind that the difference between a good race experience and a bad one is all about navigation. The better you are, the faster you go. Being able to read terrain features and translate those onto your map is critical. Having a good sense of direction and a healthy dose of common sense are pretty key as well. And remember – you’ll be navigating at night for any race billed as a 24-hour event, and that is a true navigation challenge.
Gear
Doug Giles, a beginner racer whose first attempt at the sport was in last fall’s Tahoe Big Blue 24 Hour, failed to finish his inaugural effort. It wasn’t his fitness level, or his lack of proficiency in the basic skills. Rather, it was his unfamiliarity with apportioning his gear and food to account for the race’s dramatic length and disparity of conditions.
It is the simple things that will undo you. The lack of a dry, warm layer for cold nighttime sections. The bonk you get when you forget to eat on the run. The unattended hot spot that develops into a debilitating blister. The dehydration that sneaks up on you in the heat of battle.
Thankfully, every race organizer posts or distributes a gear list prior to your event. You need to assemble that list, and test it during your training to dial in your equipment, food, and hydration needs, or you’ll be pulling out of the parking lot long before the winners cross the finish line.
Attitude
A good attitude is one shared by all team members. However, that attitude can be different for every team. I would fare poorly on a team like DART-NUUN, a fantastically fast team based in Seattle. They are relentlessly competitive, speed-oriented and wholly intense. My teams tend to resemble auditions for the Improv. We like to laugh, solve marital woes and tease each other about how bad we look.
Whatever attitude you carry into competition must be the attitude carried by all of your team members, or else you’re bound for team discord and dysfunction.
In short, adventure racing is a real, but attainable, challenge. It is a glorious chance to hang out with friends. But perhaps what is most appealing about the sport is its transformative potential. It may not change your life, but finishing your first race may recalibrate your knowledge of what you are capable of.
Resources
- www.BAOC.org (navigation basics)
- www.BAARBD.com (online community)
- http://sports.groups.yahoo.com/group/baar/ (online community)
- www.Adventureracereports.com (race calendar and race reports/research)
- www.Teamkarma.com (race organizer)
- www.Bigblueadventure.com (race organizer)
Oct/090
Waterhouse: South
Lake Tahoe’s Powder Playland
Photos and Story By Doug Nurock
Standing on the ridge, the Tahoe Basin is framed between the tips of my skis. Rolling for 1,500 vertical feet down into the trees below me is a glistening expanse of untracked fresh powder. The horizon is a merge of azure lake and cobalt sky. Rugged Mt. Tallac, to my left, and the gentle dome of Freel Peak, on my right, compose the classic Lake Tahoe portrait. It’s two in the afternoon on a brilliant, clear, 20-degree Saturday in December. A few miles away, the holiday masses swarm the resorts of Heavenly Valley, Sierra-at-Tahoe and Kirkwood. Here, except for the distant bark of a local dog, the crisp pine-scented air around me is silent, the crowds non-existent, and the terrain and conditions ski-brochure perfect.
Welcome to Waterhouse, South Lake Tahoe’s powder playland.
For years the hidden playground of a determined group of South Shore locals, Waterhouse Peak has rested quietly right under the noses of many locals and visitors alike. Lying within seconds of a major thoroughfare, most people
speed by Waterhouse never realizing that one of Tahoe’s most perfect winter powder pockets lies just outside their vehicle’s door.
With a direct north facing slope to shield the snow from the damage of the California sun, Waterhouse’s aspect could not have been planned better by a team of ski area designers. The pitch of the mountain, with an angle just shy of 40 degrees at its steepest, is an excellent mix of intermediate grade to advanced — but not life-threatening — steeps. The density of the trees serve both to catch and hold the snow and to break the winds that can often pulverize choice Tahoe “feathers” into un-skiable wind packed crud. Secret stashes of powder may be found here weeks after a storm. But the trees here are larger and more widely spaced than other areas, which keeps the bark-dodging intimidation factor well within reasonable limits for most skiers and boarders.
Modern equipment and a bit of sweat equity provides complimentary season passes to this backcountry paradise to all manner of snow enthusiasts. The price of admission to this powdered Eden is simply desire and a willingness to earn your turns. Whether you’re on randonee or telemark skis, snowshoes or snowboards, splitboards or skinny 20-year-old backcountry sticks, the mountain is open and available to all.
Powder mornings at ski area parking lots can be chaotic. Despite its lack of any facilities, Waterhouse is no different. Cars disgorge gear and occupants, packs are stuffed, car stereos crank and dogs frolic in the snow ecstatic to be out. But at Waterhouse, once you step off the road and up onto the snow the chaos condenses to calm. Head for the trees and in less than a minute, traffic and road noise are left behind. From the roadside parking lot, the single, usually well-packed track up the mountain heads south. The route changes slightly after every storm, a gift to those that follow from those that lead.
After an hour or so, you’ve climbed 1,500 vertical feet to the ridge. If the day is clear and calm, you may choose to stay and soak in your well-earned view. From your ridge-top perch at almost 9,500 feet, you have a panorama of the Tahoe Basin and beyond: Slightly below and to the west is Echo Summit; to the east is another great backcountry ski mountain, Freel Peak; to the south, spread the meadows of Hope Valley, hemmed in by Stevens Peak, Elephants Back, Round Top and Kirkwood; and to the north, sparkling blue Lake Tahoe never fails to impress.
If the snow is flying or the wind is up, you may be on top just long enough to switch your mind and gear into descent mode: Clothing is quickly layered back on, climbing skins peeled off, split-boards locked together, snowshoes stowed and randonee heels locked into place. On a cold, windy day, nimble fingers can be transformed to frozen sausages in a matter of minutes, and the sweat from the climb can chill you to your core, so time is of the essence.
The reward for being out on those frostbite days is that the snow crystals lay together in gentle downy interlace. As you push off the top, a weightless sea foam of powder crystals billow over your ski tips. With no predetermined trails cut through the forest, every run down Waterhouse is a new and unique experiencea personal game to find the best line, shoot through tighter trees or drop off of bigger boulders. Savoring the uncut fluff and every sweet turn, the goal becomes to squeeze as many drops possible out of each and every Waterhouse run.
But the run down rarely quenches one’s thirst for Waterhouse’s nectar, for it’s always over much too quickly. Work or home responsibilities pull you back toward the parking lot. But if the snow is good and the sun is high, it’s easy to ignore the world beyond as you skin back up for just one more run.
The yearly increase in Waterhouse’s skier/boarder traffic is testimonial to what a unique and accessible area this is. But although the number of users has grown, the experience has not yet begun to degrade, perhaps because there are so many other great backcountry places nearby to explore as well.
Waterhouse is still a quiet and friendly playground where anyone willing to earn their own turns and be respectful of other users is welcome. Just as a playground should be.
LOGISTICS
Waterhouse Peak is at the top of Luther Pass on Highway 89 south of Lake Tahoe.
From Sacramento, take Highway 50 east to Meyers and turn south on Highway 89 toward Hope Valley. It’s seven miles from here to the parking area.
Coming up Highway 88 from Jackson, turn north onto Highway 89 at Pickett’s Junction in Hope Valley and go 4.3 miles to the turn-out on the left.
Currently, there is no requirement for a SnoPark permit on this section of Highway 89. However, when snow removal conditions exist, be sure to park as far to the side of the road as possible so as not to block traffic and snow
removal equipment.
The nearest services for Waterhouse are in Meyers at the junction of Highways 50 and 89.
Waterhouse is a backcountry area and is not patrolled by any professional ski rescue service. The nearest medical facility is Barton Hospital in South Lake Tahoe.
