The Swamp Fox

Months ago, I determined it necessary to start racing early this season; normally, the first adventure race of the spring falls toward the end of April, whether it be the 6 hour GOALS sprint or the 12 hour AAS Yough Extreme (there’s some pressure to do both this year, back to back…not sure how I feel about that). This year, however, I wanted to race in March, not because I had worked hard over the winter (a vicious sprained ankle right before Thanksgiving is still giving me trouble and historic snowfall limited me to stationary biking with episodes of Dexter, Rome and Heroes…in short, I ran four or five times back in January and I rode my bike outside one time since Nationals in October) but because I wanted to take advantage of the perks offered me as a teacher: two weeks of spring break. So, I began researching, and after much back and forth over two races in particular, I settled on KanDo Adventures’ 12-hour Palmetto Swamp Fox just north of Charleston, SC.

Abby was on board to join me for this spring tune-up and adventure, and after injury slowed Keith down, Chris signed on, a surprise to say the least since South Carolina is a long way from home for a 12-hour race. The warmth, however, lured him in, not to mention the chance to race something new, and who can pass up the opportunity to spend twelve hours in the woods and swamps once roamed by rebels committed to fierce campaigns of guerilla warfare against the Redcoats? Francis Marion, the original Swamp Fox, is long gone now, but gators and snakes still lurk in the depths of the Francis Marion National Forest, and that added some mystique to the race as well. On top of all these draws was the simple fact that the race and RD, Steve Morrone, seemed to get great reviews across the board.

So it was set, we’d all be travelling our own ways (I spent 3 days driving through along the coast of the Carolinas, Chris and Debby bombed all the way down from Wilmington in one long shot on Friday, and Abby flew in late from Philly on Friday night), and we converged on the small town of McClellanville, a sleepy forested village along the intracoastal waterway; the oaks and other spectacular, moss-laden trees draped low, and the swamps beckoned from tall stands of coniferous trees and palmetto. After dealing with check-in, we knew little more than when the race would commence and that we had an early morning bike-drop to hit before we could head for the start and our UTM coordinates for the actual race. We had been warned that the course was “huge” but fast, and as we plotted the points, it was evident that there would be some serious distance to cover. The points were clearly divided between the northeast and southwest quadrant of the map, with the bike drop roughly in the middle and ten miles from the start. The question then, while we stood huddled in the cold morning darkness around our now-plotted map? What would happen at 7 AM, race-time!? We had no idea, though a final meeting at 6:45 was going to shed some light on what exactly we were to do.

At first, this seemed an odd way to start a race; we didn’t know if we were embarking by foot, by boat, from the “start”/finish at the McClellanville boat-ramp or at some other location. We knew we could basically travel however we wanted except for the paddle section, though it wasn’t entirely clear where the paddle would end (the put in was obvious, the take-out, not so much). Not a word had been mentioned about a bus start, but sure enough, as we had begun to suspect, buses rolled in, and after some clarifying comments were made, we boarded the buses for our mystery start. When the vehicles finally came to a stop, we were roughly two miles from the bike drop, and where we had been literally and metaphorically in the dark half an hour before, all was as clear as it could be. We had gone over numerous options beforehand, and the real question was whether to hit some controls by foot as we jumped off the bus, as some were in striking distance of the bus-drop, or whether we should head straight for the bikes. We quickly huddled and elected to head for the bikes. It seemed that a majority of the 60+ teams (an impressive number for a local 12-hour adventure race) elected to start on foot, hitting two or three of these controls before racing to the bike drop. We set off for the two mile run at a steady and easy pace, running along the dirt road in the quiet morning forest. Once at the bike drop, we transitioned quickly and raced off, as many of the teams that had bee-lined for the bikes turned back for the southern-most quadrant first.

We went the other way, working our way through the northeast section of the course, picking off the controls efficiently and smoothly; being absolutely flat, compass work proved to be critical, and we found the day revolved around identifying attack points, some clear, others more subtle, and taking accurate and careful bearings before heading off into the woods or swamps around the network of dirt roads and paths that crisscrossed the course. Indeed, the one navigation slip I made was going after what seemed like an easy control, just off a bend in the road without using my compass. We fanned out, and while I’m pretty sure I must have brushed up against the bush that concealed the control, I missed it upon first pass, and we spent eight to ten minutes wandering in small circles, before retracing to the bikes and starting over. Chris and Abby quickly found it, but a compass bearing would have nailed it from the start…Alas…Other than this slip, we had a clean day in the woods, so I can’t complain!

Back to the first bike…A highlight of the race came an hour after the bus-drop. After bagging a control on the western edge of the swamp, we had a decision to make. About a kilometer east of the control sat another checkpoint. We had three options to get it:
One: hit it by bike later. Problem: this would entail miles upon miles of extra biking for one
control.
Two: hit it by foot later after we finished the paddle. Problem: an added five or six miles of
running in addition to the six we had to do to get back to our bikes after the paddle.
Three: go for the control right then, by foot, round trip of 1+ miles. Problem: a lengthy stretch
of swamp lay between the controls, and the second control sat just on the other side of a
creek. We had no idea if we’d even be able to distinguish the creek, though we decided we
probably would.
So we plunged off into the woods and swamps, much to the confusion of a solo racer that was turning around to head back out on bike as we went deeper into the woods. We made quick work of the swampless woods, and when we reached the swamp itself, we found the passing more tolerable than expected. We made our way into its depths and before long, we did find the creek. There was no way we could have missed it, as rain water had swelled its waters, and the twenty foot wide creek was clearly deep and rushing by at a decent clip. Onward we plunged along the bank, and when we neared the control, I handed my gear off to Chris and Abby, stripped down to my tights and shoes and plunged into the freezing water. I found the water even stronger than expected, and for the one time in the race, my mind turned to possible reptilian dangers that could lie beneath. I flailed my way across the creek, hauled myself out on the distant shore, stunned to find I could not stand even along the bank, and set off along the opposite bank for the control, which Abby and Chris guided me to from the opposite side.

A less frantic swim back and we retraced our trail through the swamp to retrieve our bikes and head for the boats, picking up a few more controls on the way. For the paddle, we had the luxury of a tandem and solo kayak. The paddle proved a beautiful one, starting along a fast river. We navigated along its currents for several miles before entering a waterway diverging from the primary river. A control was placed just inside the waterway and guided us into a narrow passage of jungle-like foliage that allowed us to cut off several horseshoes on the larger river. After a couple of added miles, we rejoined the river, along which we paddled a short distance before heading up a tributary to the take-out. And there it was: after numerous comments and jokes about gators, in the grassy shallows along the tributary’s bank, a four-five foot gator, basking in the warm spring sun. Instead of panic, Abby huzzahed, and we all cheered before deciding that we’d name out gator Garp. Irving might not write about gators, but he is fascinated by bears, and we thought gators were in similar taste. Buoyed by our sighting, we picked off a couple of teams (though at this point everyone had done things entirely different due to the rogaine format, so we had no idea where these teams had come from or where they were going), transitioned quickly at the TA and found our way to a nearby CP we elected to hit by foot.

Here we found a narrow rope ladder dangling from a tree branch, the control hanging at the top. A few teams stood in line, but people moved relatively quickly. Chris held the bottom of the ladder, and I scampered to the top, punched the passport and descended. From there we set off on our six mile run back to the boat put in and our bikes. We had made good time by this point and had plenty of time remaining, but it was here that I quickly found how out of shape I am. Running is usually my strongest discipline, but having only run once or twice in the past two months showed as I labored behind Abby (preparing for a 50k this weekend) and Chris, who is always fast and light on his feet. I, however, struggled. I took three or four 30-60 second breaks, but otherwise, I forced myself to the bikes, knowing that I’d feel better once back in the saddle. And 50 or so minutes later, we were on the ground, eating, changing and prepping to set off for the long bike ride ahead. Eleven of twenty-two controls remained, but they would all be bike points, or accessed by bikes, and after biking a ways to the first control in the southwest, we’d be working our way south and eventually east, all in the direction of the finish. We knew many other teams were doing the opposite, so we hoped this would give us a shot at not just clearing the course but also to finish well overall.

The second half of the course was highlighted by more beautiful woodlands and trees, small ponds and a few patches of more technical riding. Our second significant wildlife encounter of the day had us riding alongside a beautiful, bounding fox, which ran through the underbrush beside us before bolting across the road and vanishing in the dense foliage beside the road. We smiled and cheered again as we saw the swamp fox himself, or the ghost of him, and onward we raced. It was on this section that I blundered the above-mentioned control, but otherwise, we pushed hard, nailing the controls (including one that necessitated a legitimate tree-climb) and keeping a steady pace, working in draft lines and bearing down harder the closer we got to the end. Our final control punched, we set off for the finish and the mystery challenge that awaited; we had been told one “strong” teammate would have to complete the challenge before our finish time would be official, and Chris was preparing for a final Herculean task as we raced through the streets of McClellanville.

We rolled into the finish, the boat-ramp nearly silent; it was just after 5 PM, two hours before the race cut-off. One solo racer, Matthew from Charlotte, was already there; we had crossed paths with him halfway through, going in opposite directions, and he rolled into the finish 3 minutes before we had. Steve greeted us warmly and informed us and Matthew that the finish-line task hadn’t yet arrived! When it did, we learned one of us would have to punch a time card, run to a portable rock wall, put on a harness, climb to the top, hit the buzzer, descend, and run back to punch the card again. This time would be added to our finish time for our final official time. Having climbed a fair bit over the past several years at Go Vertical in Philly, Chris passed the task to me. Matthew and I lined up once the wall arrived, and the race started anew. I knew I wouldn’t make three minutes up, so it was just for the fun of it. I quickly donned my harness and hit the wall climbing, making quick work of it, before hitting the ground and momentarily forgetting I had to take the gear off and go back to punch the time card before we were officially done. I stood laughing, asking if Chris and Abby wanted a go as Abby, Chris and all the volunteers yelled at me to get moving, and after a hasty “Oh, yeah!” I stripped off the harness and ran to the finish. I managed to cut a minute + off the official time, but Matthew followed me in in short time with a much deserved first-place-overall finish.

All said, it was a terrific time. The scenery was incredible, the race well organized and run, and the people as hospitable as one could want, including the folks from Team GLR, the second place co-ed team, whom we met after the race. All told, we estimate approximately 75 miles of racing over roughly 9 ½ hours. It was a great escape from the northeast, a great intro to the season and above all, a fun day out in the wilds of South Carolina. A huge thanks to all the volunteers and folks from KanDo Adventures, and a congratulations to all the teams out there competing and shaking off the winter rust!