Adventure She magazine October 2022

Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

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Empower Educate Entertain

Featuring Swimming in Antarctica

Crossing Svalbard Paddling the Nile

Plus Bog Snorkelling

Summiting Colorado’s 14ers Ultra Running in the Simpson Desert & Lots more

1 Issue 18, October 2022 www.adventureshe.com

Price £5.00 for 1 issue or £12 for all 4 of 2022’s issues

Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

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Welcome From Our Editor Welcome to the 18th issue of Adventure She magazine which is a bumper issue and the theme for which is ‘selfkindness.’

how to stop driving ourselves into the ground? Isn’t by being kind to ourselves a good place to start? I think so. What about you?

Hiking the Colorado Trail was, in a way, me being kind to myself. You see, every now and then I had this urge to know whether I could do a long self-supported hike? True I’d hiked loads before, but could I step it up a notch? All I knew for sure was that if I didn’t try, I would never know. We’re all getting older and at 55 and the veteran of multiple operations including hip and shoulder surgeries, for how much longer would my body be willing to carry a backpack? The kind thing for me to do, was to try, in that way I could stop wondering and instead know for sure.

Yikes where did the last few months go?

How on earth is it already time for another issue? I know, the truth is I escaped for a while and headed off to see family and friends in the USA. On top of that I went and hiked the Colorado Trail. What with taking the longer option in the Collegiates (I did the visually more stunning but longer Collegiate West over the original Collegiate East route) and extra miles hiked on a few awkward hitch hikes, I figure I hiked 500 miles. More hopefully from the Colorado Trail – and not just my experiences – in the December issue. In this issue though you will get introduced to some of Colorado’s marvels, namely four of its fourteeners.

You’ve probably worked out by now, that the theme this time around is kindness to oneself.

Cath Pendleton, who some of you may know as the Merthyr Mermaid and who’s our cover person this quarter, was kind to herself by pursuing her dream of swimming in Antarctica, not a dream that is easy to achieve financially or logistically.

Semi regular contributor Lucja Leonard is back with more from her amazing adventurous life. This time she takes us mountain climbing in Colorado. Lucja is one person who knows how to be kind to her herself and also to others. Of course, here at Adventure She kindness is a value that is appreciated, applauded and encouraged. Kindness is a value I maintain which we need to be apply not just to others, but to ourselves too. For how can we help others, if we have driven ourselves into the ground? So

How many of us remember when we last had a laugh out loud moment that came because of our actually doing something?

Arry Cain knows? The experts says that laughing is good for us. So how about following Arry’s lead and doing stuff that 2

Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

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makes us laugh, as a means to our being kind to ourself. How does Arry go about having fun? By bog snorkling!

some very rough and tough times, including domestic violence. I was in shock when I learned that. I couldn’t believe it. The article which she had submitted and which demonstrated resilience, fortitude and determination, suddenly took on a whole different level.

Chelsea is now in a new phase of her life.

Like all change, times can be tough, but she is most certainly being kind to herself now she has embarked on this new path in life.

Like Cath Pendleton, Megan Knoyle Lewis had a dream. It took Megan even longer to achieve hers though, for Megan was in her 60’s when she set off to ride a horse around the world. I think that is one epic challenge. Megan wasn’t just kind to herself by pursuing her dream, she was also kind to herself in how she approached the challenge, splitting it up into distinct sections. That way she could focus on a section at a time rather than overburdening herself by thinking too far ahead, plus, she was kind to herself and her steads, by avoiding the worst of the weather. Megan is actually this issue’s recipient of Adventure She’s ‘What A Woman Award’.

During tough times how do we react? Do we give up, or do we keep going? It can at times be easier to give up than to keep going. But, which one is kinder? Ellen Piercy was faced with this choice when her dream of crossing country skiing across Svalbard was delayed because of Covid 19. What to do? To keep training – which involved tyre pulling - in case the trip would be rescheduled, or to give up.

You guessed it, given her story is in this issue, Ellen chose the tough option, but the option where she would be kind to herself.

I hope you’ve been enjoying Jessica Mullins’ series of articles on rowing the Atlantic Ocean. This time around Jessica shares what it was actually like out there on the Atlantic. Can you imagine being on a small boat with three other people for weeks on end? I can’t. With heat, rogue waves and malfunctioning equipment, how to keep going without losing hope, or without falling out, could become a real challenge. Kindness is implicit throughout Jessica’s article, whether it be kindness to herself by knowing she needed to row nude at times, or kindness to the team through knowing when to stay silence. A true leader.

Whilst many of us choose adventures organised by others, adventures that might be extreme in the utmost like Cath’s Antarctic swim, others choose to create their own adventure. Sarah Davis is one of the later. Sarah, who was already a veteran of extreme holidays, decided to go for a ‘first’, her first being to navigate the entire length of the Nile by raft and kayak. Her book is one of the one’s reviewed in this issue. But Sarah has kindly also shared some of her story with Adventure She’s readers. By the way, one key take away I took from reading her book, is that being kind to yourself, entails having a means of

I couldn’t believe it on reading what Chelsea Holton sent me when I asked her for some words for the ‘about Chelsea’ section. For Chelsea has been through

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communicating with the outside world when things go wrong. That’s I tip I plan on taking with me on future remote adventures.

She magazine is all about empowering people, particularly women, to get out there and do stuff. But, I’m also aware that sometimes the kindest thing to do, is to take a step back and say ‘no’, or to say ‘next time’, or to say ‘I want to but I can’t because ….’ After all, life can sometimes intervene and no matter how prepared, motivated or committed we are, the kindest thing to do is to put our goal on a temporary hold. When that happens, there’s no use berating ourselves, rather let’s praise ourselves for prioritising something that is more important to us.

In my case I needed to heal properly from broken ribs and be during a family illness. To me at those moments in life, they were far more important than any race. But, self kindness is also about knowing when it’s time to pick up the baton and to recommence pursuit of our goals.

I know I’m lucky to live in a time and a place where I can travel. I suspect most if not all of the authors in this would agree with that. However, most people in the world simply don’t have the means to travel for pleasure. Multi-award winning photographer, Maria Tomas Rodriguez, is an exception to the ‘self kindness’ theme in this magazine. She spent much of the Covid-19 pandemic in her native Canary Islands where she decided to document migration from Africa by focusing on the boats used by the migrants. Her story certainly opened my eyes in a different way, and that was Maria’s point in choosing to focus on the boats.

On top of all those articles there’s the usual book reviews, some empowering poetry which is definitely worth reading and rereading, plus the regular UNESCO feature, this time written by Sarah Davis who during her paddle down the Nile was taken to visit Sudan’s Meroë Pyramids. As for her photographs, wow!

At least that’s what I think.

I very much hope that you will enjoy this issue of Adventure She and that you’ll find it to be empowering, educating and entertaining.

Finally and as always, if you have a story to share, definitely please do get in touch, for I really want Adventure She magazine to share as many of your stories as possible.

There’s one more story, one from my own personal archives about my attempt at doing a half IRONMAN, or to give the race it’s official names, an IRONMAN 70.3. Why am I sharing it? Adventure

Jane

Adventure She is published by TNA Consulting Services Ltd, the address of the registered of which can be obtained from Companies House. The entire contents are protected by copyright and all rights are reserved. Reproduction without prior permission is forbidden. Every care is taken in compiling the contents of the magazine, but the publishers assume no responsibility in the effect arising therefrom, Readers are advised to seek professional advice before acting on any information which is contained in the magazine. Neither TNA Consulting Services Ltd nor Adventure She magazine accept any liability for views expressed, pictures used, or claims made. Copyright © 2022 TNA Consulting Services Ltd. All Rights Reserved.

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Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

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Photography Front cover Cath Pendleton, aka the Merthyr Mermaid in Antarctica. Photograph courtesy of James Pontin of the BBC. Photographs accompanying the editorial: Previous pages - the Sahara Desert. This page spread - near the Meroë Pyramids, Sudan. Both pages spreads courtesy of Sarah Davis.

Back cover – Chelsea Holton. Image courtesy of Tempus Media All other photos courtesy of the article’s author / interviewee, unless otherwise stated

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Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

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Topics In This Issue Of Adventure She Magazine Page 18: Bog Snorkeling in Wales

Page 8 The Big Interview – Cath Pendleton

Page 22: What A Woman – Megan Knoyle Lewis

Page 28: Rowing The Atlantic

Page 60: Crossing Svalbard

Page 48: Ultra Running in the Simpson Desert

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Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

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Page 80: Paddling Rwanda to Egypt

Page 78: Book Reviews

Page 94: Summitting Colorado’s 14ers

Page 88: UNESCO Feature – The Pyramids of Sudan

Page 112: Slow Road to the Worlds

Page 100: Migrants and the Canary Islands

Page 122: Coming Up

Page 120: - Inspirational poetry

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The Big Interview Cath Pendleton Photographs courtesy of James Pontin (BBC)

Four years after taking part in her first chill swim gala in Lake Windermere, Cath Pendleton became the first person to swim a mile inside the Antarctic circle. Earlier this year, Cath very kindly told her story to our editor Jane Harries.

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met Ger Kennedy (the organiser of the Antarctic 2020 Swim Expedition) in Poland, which was the first time the Dippy Dragons (what four or us cold water swimming friends called ourselves)

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went on tour in 2017. It was the first place we ever went to where the pool was cut out of ice.

The water was one and a half degrees and we had an absolute ball. I didn't really speak to Ger there though. But then we 9

started to speak through social media. He said about this trip to Antarctica and I was like, “I need to go on that.”

He’s like “have you got money?”

And I was like, “no.”

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He used to text me every now and again and go, “have you had a look at where the treasure is in the attic?”

I had this little fund going, my Antarctica dream fund and then I don't know, the kids had a trip and it was gone again. Then I managed to get sponsorship from Source Insurance. Whilst having a meeting with Joanna, their marketing manager, she told me she was married to James who worked at BBC Sport Wales and she couldn’t wait to tell him about my swim in Antarctica. She told him about me and

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my story and then we met and well to cut a long story short, he persuaded the BBC to make a film (The Merthyr Mermaid), about me going to Antarctica to swim a mile in the Antarctic circle.

a hotel that had like a private beach as well, but that was about 9 or 10 degrees so it wasn’t actually what we needed.

At least it meant I could still remember how to swim.

Argentina

That was the frightening thing for me because I had been swimming four or five times a week in really cold water and I was worried, how was I going to manage as I wasn’t getting the cold water practice.

We flew from Heathrow to Buenos Aires and then Buenos Aires down to Ushuaia. We were a couple of days down there to get some test swims in and each time we had to get special permission, so we got to swim in the Beagle Channel, which was nice.

We had another swim at 10

En route to Antarctica As soon as we got on the boat, when we went to our first evening meal,

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they start giving us seasickness tablets. I didn't get seasick at all.

We were about maybe three days in when we hit the Drake Passage. For that day and a half, it was horrendous. I was sharing a room with two other ladies. There were bars on the beds, like children's bars, to stop you falling out of your bunk. At one point the boat was like on its side and one of my room mates actually got launched out of her bed and almost landed on mine. Luckily it wasn't as bad on the way back, just really rough.

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The thing they kept warning us about the whole time was the doors, because they were really heavy doors and they slammed shut really quickly. On the very last night of the trip a door slammed on one of my fingers. It was horrendous, disgusting, gross. I had to see the ship’s doctor who gave me antibiotics. I had this dent in my finger for months after. It was crazy. Lucky it happened after and not before the swim.

Final preparations I was so nervous before the swim because they’d

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“Never give up on your dreams and do more of what makes you happy”.

Cath Pendleton

put quite a lot of pressure on me about time. They kept saying “if you don't finish in 30 minutes, you're gonna be out.”

Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

I can't swim a mile in 30 minutes. The fastest I've got down to is 31 minutes in the pond, and I'm not as good in the sea as I am in freshwater. I was like “why are you putting pressure on me? I understand if I'm in difficulty, I don't want to die, please pull me out by all means.”

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The person who’d been put in charge of us was lovely and I said to her “Monica, I'm not going to do it in 30 minutes”.

She’s like “okay, but can you do it in as close to 30 minutes as possible?”

And I was like “well hopefully.”

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And she goes “well ok”.

On the morning of the swim, I had to get a blood pressure test. Everyone’s blood pressure goes up with the stress and anxiety of the swim. I couldn’t take any extra risk so I didn’t have a coffee until after I’d passed the blood

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pressure test. Then I was drinking my coffee and getting ready to swim, when there was lots of shouting on the boat “orcas”.

Before I went to Antarctica everyone was talking about leopard seals and I was convinced I was going to get eaten

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by a leopard seal. No one had mentioned orcas, so orcas hadn’t really entered my brain.

One of the swimmers called to me and said, “they're just big fish, are you coming to look?”

I was like, “I'm fine thanks, I will just have my coffee and wait here.”

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Later someone showed me a video of the orcas, the waters absolutely bubbling with them teaching their little ones how to hunt. Chatting to James afterward I told him “if I'd seen the orcas before the swim, I don’t think I could have done it.

I don’t think I could have have got in the water, I

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think my brain would have registered what I was gonna do and said no.”

His reply to me was “oh you were so focused, you’d have probably kissed them on the nose and carried on!”

The Swim There were three boats, inflatable ribs, one on continuous wildlife watch, one with James and his camera and there was the one I was in that was going to be next to me during the swim. They would continually be counting my stroke and that way, if my stroke rate dropped significantly, they would know, ‘Oh, she's in trouble’ and pull me out of the water.

On the way out to the start I wasn't cold at all, I think I was already fired up with adrenaline.

When we got to this massive iceberg, I started taking off my clothes and they were like “Cath, what are you doing, we’re only halfway.” And one of the guys on the boat goes, “you do know how far a mile is?”

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I replied with a nervous giggle “yes of course, a long way.”

So, then somebody else jokes, “well, at least when you get to this iceberg, you'll know you're halfway.”

Normally, when you get into cold water, it's like “arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

When we got to the start, I was ready to go.

I plopped over the side and as I hit the water thought ‘oh that feels a bit nippy’ but I don't remember it being cold at all. It was crazy.

Normally the water would feel freezing and my hands would hurt, but it just felt magic, it just felt gorgeous, it just felt lovely.

They needed to turn the boat around before I could begin and I was thinking ‘just get the show on the road so I can get started.’

When they said “go” I remember keeping my head down and just thinking ‘do not give them any reason to pull you’.

And then I was swimming and swimming. And it was quite choppy and, and I was trying to 14

breathe both sides, which I can't do very well and I took on some water. I was thinking I can't stop to cough because they're just gonna go, ‘she’s out because she's struggling, she’s taking on water.’

So, I was like, ‘you've swum the channel and you've been sick under water, just cough under the water and settle your breathing.’

My mind started to drift a little bit then and I was like ‘this water is gorgeous.’ It was so clear.

It didn't taste salty or anything. I could see so much and I was just like, ‘wow’. A little bit of green fleck started floating up. It was almost like a bit of fern, but I didn't know what it was and then I thought, ‘oh my gosh, if it’s that clear, you’re going to see if something's coming, so think of something else.’

So I did and I kept swimming.

Then I started thinking ‘where's this flippin iceberg?’ By the time I got to the iceberg, my shoulders were really tight and sore. And I was thinking, ‘I wish I'd gone to the pool to train long distances’, because I had only been swimming in

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open water and mainly only 1km to about 1400m because of the water temperature. And only once a week, I was doing a full mile.

So, there I was swimming along just thinking ‘you're an idiot, for not training longer distances in the pool’. I told myself ‘Come on Cath you’ve blinking swam the English Channel and that took 16hrs 45 mins, just get a grip and keep swimming’.

Just then I could see the ship. For a while it was like the ship seemed to be getting further and further away. But then I

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was getting closer and I was wondering if they'd stop me at the front of the ship, the middle or the back. I got to the front of the ship and kept swimming, then the middle and kept swimming and then the back of the ship and that’s when from the rib they shouted, “you just got to do another 100 meters, just to make sure that you've done the mile.” So I kept swimming and then they called out “you're done.”

Recovery I’d been really worried about after the swim. I 15

had to get up this tiny little ladder back into the rib. I was thinking, what if I'm not coordinated enough to get up this ladder? So, I had said to them before the swim, “Please, if I can't get up, just pull me in.” But as it was, I was able to get in and then I was in the rib and I had done the swim and I was ecstatic.

The other thing I wanted, was to be able to walk up the stairs on the ship, I didn't want to be collapsed in a heap at the bottom and have to ask for someone to carry me up. So, I was thinking ‘I

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got to get up the steps, whatever happens, I got to get up the steps.’

When I got to the top, I think all the adrenaline had just gone, because my hands all of a sudden just felt the pain that I should have got when I jumped in the water.

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I only had my little room to get changed it. I was dreading the recovery, but actually, I had a really good recovery.

Afterwards they said, my stroke rate didn't change at all and that I looked like I could have carried on. I was like, I was loving it.

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Final Musings I’m not a fast swimmer, I’m not the fastest to have swam in Antarctica, but I was the first person, not woman, but person, to swim an ice mile inside the Antarctic Polar Circle, for which I have a Guinness World Record for “The most southerly

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Ice Swim (1 km+) by a female”. The record by a male was for 1KM. My swim in Antarctica was not planned to set a record but on the day of the swim the expedition leader Ger had to rule himself out of the swim as he had not been feeling well. My blood

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pressure came down low enough to pass the medical first, which meant I then had to swim first. A male swimmer swam an ice mile following my swim.

I absolutely loved the swim and if I could have,

I’d have gone again the next day.

I'd really like to win the lottery and go back and do it all again, wearing a bobble hat and just swimming with my head up, with my friends and looking around and taking it all in.

About Cath Pendleton As well as swimming in Antarctic, Cath has now completed 9 Official Ice miles and has also swum the English Channel in a 4 person relay team and solo. She also represented Team GB at the World Ice Swimming Championships in Russia and won bronze in her age group. “The Merthyr Mermaid” is still available to watch on BBC iPlayer BBC iPlayer - The Merthyr Mermaid Cath would like to thank James Pontin who after hearing about Cath from his wife, persuaded the BBC to make a film about her and her Antarctic journey. She would also like to thank Source Insurance and Young’s Seafood, for without their support, Antarctica probably wouldn’t have happened for her. We too would like to thank James, Source Insurance and Young’s Seafood, for your efforts have introduced the world to Cath, a really inspiring lady, who we are sure has helped motivate a lot of people to get out there and pursue their own goals. Cath, you really are a wonder woman.

You can follow Cath on the following social media channels: Website:

http://www.merthyrmermaid.co.uk/

Instagram: www.instagram.com/swimcathswim Twitter:

www.twitter.com/swimcathswim

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Bog Snorkeling By Arry Cain 18

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We all need to let our hair down and have a laugh every now and then. In hard times, be it because of energy prices, inflation, or war, having a laugh becomes even more important than ever.

According to the Mayo Clinic laughter can “stimulate the organs…Activate and relieve your stress response and soothe tension.” Those are just the short term benefits the clinic mentions, they go on to discuss the longer term benefits too. You can read about it at https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthylifestyle/stress-management/in-depth/stress-relief/art-20044456 So in a way, by laughing, we’re being kind to ourselves. One person who really knows about having a laugh and in the most unusual of circumstances is bog snorkeler Arry Cain.

be the arse end of the World’s first Bog Snorkelling pantomime horse (and Unicorn, and Bog Ness Monster!).

I’m no stranger to adventure, and I even have an endurance world first under my belt, but it could be argued that some of my most significant achievements in life, involve a bog.

‘What on earth is bog snorkelling?’ I hear you cry! Well, this highly competitive and athletically demanding sport, requires competitors to flipper their way through 2 consecutive lengths of a 60 metre trench through a bog in the shortest time possible. Recognised swimming strokes are banned, so you can only use flipper power. It’s cold, it’s muddy and it’s exhausting, but you finish with the sense of achievement that only World class athleticism can give you, and skin as soft as a babies backside.

All the best ideas start as a conversation in a pub apparently, and the evidence of this surely has to be the existence of Bog Snorkelling World Championships. For the past 35 years, competitors from around the world have flocked to Llanwrtyd Wells, a tiny town (smallest in Britain apparently) in rural Mid Wales, with the sole intention of snorkelling in a bog. For 5 of those years, following my own pub based conversations, I have joined them, and I am proud to

My first venture into the boggy world was in the very early 2000’s. Bog snorkelling came up in conversation 19

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with a friend who was staying for the weekend. We looked up the event and found that it was being held that weekend, so on a whim, we dug out some snorkels from my loft and took a little trip up to the home of the bog.

decided to enter that year, and what’s more, we had got ourself a sponsor! Charlie had never snorkelled before, and wasn’t much of a swimmer so he trained by lying on the riverbank and sticking his face in the water. A week later, adorning T-shirts emblazened with the logo of Saffron Indian Restaurant we found ourselves at the start line. I went first, to show Charlie how it’s done and then it was his turn. Charlie set off to the cheering crowd and then there was suddenly silence followed by murmers of ‘is he ok?’ Charlie had a snorkel malfunction and sadly had to abandon his effort, clambering up the bank whilst spluttering up bog contents. Me, being the little sister, did not let him live this down, and was far less sympathetic than the rest of the spectators. Inside though, I was so proud that Charlie literally just dived in and had a go! We removed the wildlife from our ears and headed off for a well earned curry (I think I ranked 79th in the world at that attempt.)

My general approach to things like this is not to think too much before giving them a go, and before I knew it, I was in a freezing cold and muddy soup, kicking my legs like my life depended on it. For the first 10 meters or so, the cheers and yelling from the crowd drowned out the sound of my own breathing, but the further I kicked, the more the further from the cheering I got and soon all I could hear was a sound resembling Darth Vadar in a fish tank. The return of the crowd noise on the return lap signified the finish line being in sight and on exiting the bog I found myself thrust in front of TV cameras and photographers, dazed, and stinking in my soggy t-shirt that used to be white. Little did I know that I had just achieved a claim to fame and a week later I appeared in FHM magazine in a wet T-Shirt (Imagine a toad wearing a muddy bit of cloth, and that’s the image!)

I have competed twice as an individual, but my true bog snorkeller status was achieved when I teamed up with an old friend, Eva, and we created a method of snorkelling as a pair whilst dressed in specially “bogified” costumes. We’d meet in the parking field on the day, where we would try on our home made costume for the first time, test any added extras - the unicorn costume farted

Several years later I returned to the bog with my big brother, Charlie, in tow. Whilst out for dinner and chatting to the owners of our local Indian restaurant we got onto the topic of the bog. Before we knew it, we had

About Arry Cain You can follow Arry on the following social media channels: Website:

www.arrycainillustration.com

Instagram: @arrycain Facebook:

ArryCainIllustration 20

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bubbles - and work out our chances of finishing without drowning (nothing like adding a game of chance into this!) once we’re 80% certain we’re both going to be able to both breath and kick, it was time for a walk across the fields to the start to join our fellow competitors from around the world.

We’ve entered 3 times in the fancy dress category over the past 12 years and we have been honoured to have won all three. Each time we became more ambitious and I got better at flippering whilst being kicked in the stomach!

There is now a whole calendar of alternative sports events held in Llanwrtyd Wells including Man.vs. Horse, The Welsh Open Stone Skimming Championship and Mountain Bike Chariot Racing. I think it’s time for me to branch out and try a few outside of the bog!

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What A Woman Award Feature

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t was a normal Monday evening at the Royal Geographical Society in London. An interesting talk for members, fellows and guests, with some choosing to stay for dinner.

before returning to the UK. On visits to the wider family in Wales, Megan rode a pony, using a jute sack instead of a saddle.

Later she took to exploring the Welsh countryside on horseback, even riding from the family farm to a youth hostel in the remote Welsh hills, where she stayed overnight.

At the time, this magazine wasn’t even a figment in our editor’s imagination.

Occasionally, as on this occasion, she joined the dinner. Knowing no one else particularly well, she waited until everyone else was sat and then helped herself to the last remaining chair. Now it was the time she dreaded, small talk, connecting with strangers.

Whilst she harboured a dream of riding around the world, life intervened. After moving to Wales permanently with her husband and three children, Megan did however manage to indulge her love of horses and took up both competitive endurance riding and pony breeding. She was clearly talented at both, representing Wales at Endurance riding and breeding two overall Welsh Pony Section B championships at the Royal Welsh Show (the show in the world, for Welsh ponies and cobs) one of which also went on to win the supreme champion for the best horse or pony in the show.

On one side of her sat a slightly older lady.

Our editor asked her, “what’s been your favourite adventure?” Others stirred whilst the lady seemed a tad shy to explain. So our editor urged her on.

Her name was Megan Knoyle-Lewis and she was on a break from horse riding around the world!

Whilst some women might think a long distance horse ride to be too arduous for a pensioner in her 60’s, Megan thought otherwise. It was time to implement the dream she had put on hold.

What! Our horse mad editor was gobsmacked.

Of Welsh parentage, Megan had been substantially raised in what is now Malaysia, where her father was a teacher,

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Her planning was as meticulous as it could be and included taking Mandarin lessons at her local university. She also went on two horse riding holidays, so she could learn how others looked after horses during multiday trips.

journey involved riding across China, and then through Kazakhstan, Russia, Ukraine, Hungary, Austria, Germany, France, the United Kingdom, Ireland, Canada and the USA. Due to a myriad of regulations regarding transporting horses across borders, several different ones were needed. One, who she rode from Hungary to Wales, now lives at Megan’s farm. Another, Lady, who she rode across North America, lives with friends she made along the way.

Megan thought her chances of riding across China would be at their best around 2008, when she suspected a feeling of goodwill attached to the Beijing Olympics, might be extended to her. She also wanted to carry a message of good will from Beijing to London, where the following Olympics would be held.

Megan didn’t just try to look after her horses during and after the ride, she even saved one horse’s life, by buying it from a slaughterhouse.

However, Megan extended her ride and ultimately rode from the east coast of China to the west coast of the USA. Her

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During her ride Megan had to deal with bureaucracy, multiple languages, and at times vile weather, though Megan’s love for horses meant rather than risk riding them through extreme heat or frozen wastelands, she broke her trip into chunks, enabling her to ride during the months which, overall, would be climatically kinder to both horses and rider.

Ironically, the worst weather she encountered was on a small mountain range close to her home in Wales!

Megan also encountered physical challenges, not just the challenge of keeping the horses in good health, but also challenges to her own health.

Unfortunately, she suffered two particularly nasty accidents along the way, both of which necessitated surgery. Her fall in China led to a broken collar bone, six broken ribs and a punctured lung. Then just weeks from completing her ride on the USA’s west coast, she tripped in the dark and suffered a dislocated and fractured wrist.

Both accidents necessitated lengthy delays so Megan’s body could heal, but neither put a stop to her journey.

Due to bureaucracy, the lack of maps, and logistical reasons particularly the need to feed and water the horses, in China Megan had a guide and a local back up team. Her cousin Rowena also joined her for the

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first stage. But she completed much of the journey alone.

Talking to Megan on several occasions, even visiting her at home, leaves a hole in our editor’s heart. That hole is a desperate desire to be as brave and courageous as Megan.

Now in her 70’s Megan hasn’t necessarily retired from adventures on horseback, though she does say that in future, she’d want a sensible horse, as she doesn’t want to break any more bones.

You can read more about Megan in her book In the Shadow of the Great Wall which is available at Amazon and of course in multiple book shops.

Megan is also working on another book which she hopes will be published before too long. You can also follow her on Facebook and YouTube.

How to follow Megan Knoyle Lewis on social media Facebook: TheLongHorseRide YouTube: megancwrtycadno

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Adventure She Magazine’s October 2022 What A Woman Award

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Rowing the Atlantic Ocean By Jessica Mullins 28

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How do we face challenges? Do we panic, or do we remain calm and work together to think logically to find a resolution.

One thing for sure, panicking and a culture of blaming others, isn’t conducive to success, especially when you’re one of four people on a rowing boat somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. So how would Jessica Mullins and her teammates react to challenges thrown upon them by the Atlantic Ocean?

Final preparation With only two months to go before the race start, I had moved back to Penarth in South Wales to prepare Crusader for shipping.

There I took on a full-time locum (I’m an occupational therapist) role that was split between two hospitals with long commutes. Plus, I

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was still working my Vancouver position virtually part-time in the evenings and then running the campaign, which goes up a gear towards the end. It was busy!

On top of this, sadly my family were hit with a sudden death and that emotional element made things overwhelming, but like I always do, I got my head down and just cracked on. What other choice did I have?

On the upside, we had fantastic support from my local community and luckily bagged ourselves a mooring spot at Penarth Marina. Packing up Crusader, was quite the effort. We went through our equipment list with a fine-tooth comb, but it never felt like enough time and we were losing out on sleep. I guess we always had that niggling fear in the back of our minds wondering if we were forgetting something. I honestly have no idea how we managed to squish it all in, but we did! Little did we know that we would end up spending the first two weeks of the crossing sleeping amongst it all. It was … cosy!

We had also secured some sponsors including from the 29

wonderful Grant Zehetmayr of Signs Express Cardiff which printed our wrap design. Finalizing and fitting that wrap design onto the body of the boat, was a huge moment of pride.

Mind you, seeing the logos of all our incredible sponsors and partners including Adidas Terrex, Velux, Surf Forecast and Earth Hero, to name a few, was also a sobering reality that the time was almost upon us.

We drove Crusader down to Essex to get picked up for shipping to the race start at La Gomera in the Canary Islands and there said a temporary farewell to our boat, which would soon be our home on water.

La Gomera Five weeks later and after an emotional airport send off from our families, Joe, Lauren, Godds and I were reunited with Crusader in La Gomera – the race start.

It was surreal to see her sitting there next to the other 30 odd boats.

We had two weeks to official race day, just two weeks to finalise three years of hard work. Despite everyone telling us this two-week period would be calm and slow, I found it to be the opposite. Perhaps

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this was due to me being both skipper and project manager - I was certainly feeling the pressure - for I wanted our ‘ordinary’ team to be taken as seriously as the military teams. I am also just that sort of character. So, we went about our final compliance checks, did odd jobs and mentally prepared ourselves for the experience ahead.

Looking back, I think the pressure was a good thing, as we never allowed ourselves to do half a job and were determined to get things right first time.

The race’s safety officers

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noticed this and were left with little concern about our team’s preparations.

Every team is required to attend a Final Inspection, where you display all your equipment and provisions, and give explanation on how to use each item and your procedures in place to manage crisis situations such as a power outage. It’s your final opportunity to evidence that you are capable. It is meticulous and bloody nerve wracking.

Thankfully we passed that inspection and were assigned a ‘Race Ready’ confirmation as opposed to some other teams that still 30

had some last-minute work to do. If you watch Episode 2 of ‘Through Hell and High Water’ the story of Ben Fogle and James Cracknell (apparently you can find it on YouTube), you’ll see how seriously the safety officers take their responsibility. No team leaves until the safety officers are full confidence in your capabilities. Until then, you are at risk of being pulled from the race.

The pressure leading up to the race had also brought on old symptoms of Vertigo. Albeit troubling, I insisted to the race doctor

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that it was not an issue.

Looking back, I recall my blasé delivery being "I just want to let you know that I’m experiencing vertigo.

Just so that if I call you mid Atlantic, you know what I’m referring to”. In my mind, there was absolutely nothing stopping me from going. The day before we set off, he handed me some back up medication in case shit hit the fan and sent me on my way. Legend. Luckily, they were never needed and my symptoms of vertigo melted away on race day.

The atmosphere on the morning of the race’s start, was electric, although I did feel pretty sick with silent nerves. Amongst all the teams, you could feel this deep sense of camaraderie and respect for each other, as we were about to head off into the Atlantic Ocean.

This was it, final goodbye texts to family, last satellite phone and automatic identification system (AIS) checks, and it was show time! With a cannon ball triggering our race start, we climbed onto Crusader, pushed off the dock and took our first stroke of our oars. The start of what is estimated to be over a million strokes over the course of the crossing. We were off!

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Early Challenges The last place you would expect stillness is the Atlantic, right?

Wrong. For a few days it was crystal flat. No wind.

No waves. Sounds great, right? Also, wrong, for at the start of the race every boat is jam packed with essentials and our boat was weighing a couple tonnes on departure. Have you ever rowed a two tonne boat with zero wave or wind assistance? Trust me, it’s tough and I don’t recommend it! It also gets as hot as hell! But in all honesty, we still saw this subtle weather as a blessing, and often described it as the ocean’s way of kindly introducing itself to us. Low seas albeit hard on your lower back! - is less risky.

That first week was also for us a time of adaptation, as our bodies tried to adjust to the two hours on and two hours off rowing shifts, with all our chores as well as any sleep, having to fit into the two hours off.

Although looking back, I don’t think your body ever truly adjusts to that unnatural sleep cycle. Mine didn’t anyway.

As kind as the ocean was being, and despite the adrenaline and anticipation 33

which drove our motivation during those first few days, it wasn’t all good news.

Acute seasickness waved over some of us, with poor Lauren enduring frequent episodes. Despite this, she never missed a shift, and after she finished vomiting, she’d be back onto the oars in no time at all – quite the legend.

Then my biggest fear almost came true. That fear wasn’t about rogue waves or hurricane force winds, but what if a piece of essential equipment broke and we couldn’t fix it, meaning we couldn’t keep going and forcing us to call for a rescue? I had put so much into pursing this goal of mine to row across the Atlantic Ocean, for it to be potentially lost in such a way, was hard to stomach.

Yet that almost became our reality in just the first week, when two of our three autopilots broke (the devise that automatically keeps you on your chosen bearing, without the need for hand steering).

We were only a couple of hours into our crossing when our first autopilot failed us, but we didn’t feel too concerned about this, we had just changed it for one of our two spares.

Seven days in we then experienced another

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autopilot failure. It firstly sounded its alarm notifying us that it was not happy and upon attempting to refit it, we found that it would rotate our boat in circles while it tried to find our bearing. After countless attempts to recalibrate it, which involved us rowing in circles while it reconfigured its baring, we just couldn’t find that quick fix. Imagine it, you are in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and rowing in circles for an hour. It was very frustrating, but you just have to get on with it.

We were now down to one valuable autopilot, which was a huge blow to us as we realized that to preserve the final autopilot, we needed to introduce hand steering into our

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rotation. We had been on a two hour shift pattern, with two people rowing and two people doing chores or power napping. The autopilot issue changed this. Now after a two hour rowing shift, the nonrowers had to take turns in hand steering the boat. So chores and power napping were condensed into just one hour! Let me tell you, it was brutal, we had no other option. We could complain and let our spirits fall, we could give up, or we could adapt and try to find the funny side. We chose to adapt.

With Joe being an engineer, it made sense for Joe to be the one who focused on trying to fix one of the autopilots. Joe spent much of his spare time

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dismantling the autopilot, cleaning its interior and reconstructing it. The rest of us tried to help by covering some of his rowing shifts, to give him more time to focus on what was the top priority. After all, another 5 weeks hand steering was a hard concept to wrap our heads around. I didn’t express it outload as negativity is infectious, but I dreaded the concept. Working with our wider onshore support networks via satellite phone – and a big shout out here to Angus Collins (our weather router) for helping us navigate this problem.

After 3 days, Joe incredibly managed to get one working! A combination of perseverance, an engineer’s intuition and a

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spot of luck perhaps!

Whatever the reason, all four of us felt uplifted and keen to get a bit more sleep! I remember just thinking ‘hell f..king YES!’.

This meant that we now had two functioning autopilots, which was a huge relief to us all. From that point on, Lauren and I were in charge of 2 - 4 hourly autopilot swaps, to ensure neither overheated and each one had a break from its duties. It was a total pain at times to constantly swap it over, but the effort was worth it as it worked like a charm and we had no major autopilot issues for the rest of the crossing!

Wildlife One of the chores we had to do was to keep the hull of the boat clean, as when marine life like barnacles attach themselves to the hull, it causes drag and slows the boat down. Our crossing was long enough without the extra drag. You really feel the difference from even just a light dusting of barnacles. It’s like you are dragging lead behind you.

Although it was necessary, we also hated stopping the boat, losing momentum, and in turn - delaying our arrival. But the hull cleans 36

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were essential and, a perfect opportunity to refresh the soul with a quick ocean dip!

With the Atlantic seabed sometimes delving as far as 8,000m below, it’s understandable that some of us didn’t feel comfortable getting in, after all, what was lurking in those depths? Others though were itching to jump into the water. First though the swimmer secured a swimming rope to their lifeline and check the knot a few times before stepping off!

I surprised myself by the slight apprehension I felt when I hit that water the first time. Automatically my body went into a tuck mode - I suppose in some unrealistic attempt to stop a shark from getting one of my legs, like that was really going to help!! This apprehension eased with every submersion and like everything else with ocean rowing, I’d learnt to accept the risk and get comfortable with being uncomfortable and to have faith that those teammates spotting for hungry sharks don’t get too distracted.

That’s no joke. On week three, Joe and Godd’s got into the water to do another hull clean. Within 10 minutes of them

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dragging themselves back on board the boat (it’s a real struggle), we all spotted a shark fin flapping about in the water only a couple metres from us! We were all that little bit more anxious to dip our toes after that.

The weird and wonderful wildlife we encountered was actually one of the biggest highs of the expedition. From countless Portuguese Man O’ War sightings, turtles, dolphins, and white-tailed tropicbirds, we were always on the lookout.

Our most cherished moment was the third time we saw a minke whale. As the sun set and the sky performed another magical display, we spotted this gigantic whale a mere few meters from the boat. She was significantly bigger than our boat! We named her Slinke, because she repeatedly showed her body off in the moonlight and I guess at that stage we were all mentally shattered, deeming us a little less creative. I can’t begin to explain the feeling I had rowing for hours that night alongside a curious Minke Whale, lit up by the spotlight beam of a glorious full moon. It was magical, a real honour and a privilege.

Though I did comically and 37

Looking back, I think the pressure was a good thing, as we never allowed ourselves to do half a job and were determined to get things right first time.

kindly say to her “play anywhere you want, but please don’t snap our rudder!”. The rudder is a flat piece hinged vertically near the stern of our boat that enables steering through the water. In short it was essential and we didn’t have a spare. Luckily, she never did, but if she had, then that would have meant we would have had no control over the steering of our boat, with no certainty to rectify it.

At around week four, Gods and I decided to inject some extra motivation into our day. We got out the war paint, smothered our faces with it, turned up the volume to some obscure rock track and began battling the waves together in sync.

When rowing, your head is often fixed to the left to keep an eye out for rouge

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starboard beam waves.

Godds and I were on the oars and looking to our left when we saw a curved sword around 1m long sticking out from the water.

I yelled “MARLIN” at the top of my lungs.

Crusader had already crossed the Atlantic once.

That was in the 2020 Race, when it was struck by a marlin. The marlin’s sword penetrated the hull of the boat and pierced its way into the cabin, where a crew mate was soundly sleeping. The sword missed him by only a few inches and went right between his legs. Luckily for them the sword which had snapped off the Marlin was still plugging up the hole. They shaved the sword down

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and patched up the cracks with epoxy.

So understandably a marlin ‘encounter’ was something we feared, a fear which escalated after our land support team told us a marlin had ‘attacked’ one of the other boats in our race. The fear was real and that at yell of mine was instinctive and purposeful, designed to wake up Joe and Lauren, so they could sprint out the cabin and avoid potentially being speared to death through the boat.

Alert raised, Godd’s and I studied this strange creature of the deep, trying to identify it for sure. It’s spear never changed depth in the water and instead swam across our starboard 38

side, around our boat and over to our port, only to then vanish. We were certain it was a marlin, but at the same time we were confused by its behaviour, and it really did resemble a curved samurai sword – I guess we will never truly know.

Nude Rowing Perhaps the animal instinct took over in us too. Out there I experienced a real sense of raw vulnerability. I couldn’t but help feel more deeply connected to my body than ever before.

Godds and I became regular nude rowers, with my nude v clothed ratio definitely disproportionate to everyone else. Turns out I’m quite the naturist… much to the team’s

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amusement! Nudity certainly provided an added bonding experience.

There is something quite beautiful about stripping off, feeling the wind flow off your body as you ride the waves in perfect sync, whilst listening to the sounds of the ocean breaking around you… trust me, its euphoric.

For me it was also practical.

With all the salt water, the texture of my clothing became a sort of salty sandpaper. I also found the more clothes I wore, the more items I had to dry and the wetter the cabin

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became. So, stripping off the moment I spotted tropical rain racing towards us, was a practical thing, a way to keep my clothes dry.

Instead of having wet clothes hanging in my cabin, I got a free shower from the rain. I just had to hope the raindrops weren’t so powerful that they felt like bullets ricocheting off my skin.

There was also the comfort factor, as out there on the ocean chaffing, particularly when combined with bottom sores, can be a real problem! I found a bare bottom and donut shaped

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cushions to be the only option in the final few weeks.

Lastly, I just felt a need to peel back the layers and step away from the norm.

This was an opportunity to strip myself back spiritually, to get back to basics and to allow myself to value my body and its ability to row across an ocean. Our bodies truly do allow us to do incredible things.

The Heat It’s a funny topic, because running up to the crossing, telling someone for the first time what we were trying

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to achieve, there would always be the same reoccurring questions.

“Why are you leaving in December? Isn’t that a bad time? Won’t you be cold?”

I’ve long since lost count how many times I replied, “maybe a little in the first week, but in fact, I think we will struggle with the heat”.

Now I don’t think, I KNOW, for as the weeks went by and we got ever closer to Antigua, the hotter it became.

Despite the weather reports forecasting what sounded like glorious

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temperatures in the mid 20’s (mid to high 70’s if you prefer Fahrenheit), it was anything but glorious.

Ensconced on our rowing seats on our 8mx2m boat, with ocean all around us and no shade to be seen, it seemed like the sun focused all its ray onto our backs, our necks and our right legs. At times I felt like we were pigs roasting over a spit with our skin turning into pieces of crackling.

As well as sunburn, the blistering heat also brought extreme lethargy and dehydration. It made every daily task 100x harder and

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rowing… well some days we felt so lethargic the rowing output was pathetic. Of course, we wore hats and sunglasses, drank water filled with electrolytes and smothered ourselves in sunscreen in an attempt not to actually turn into a roasted pig, but there wasn’t much we could do.

Still, I tried to create some shade by carefully positioning the washing on the stern port side. When the angle of the sun was right, that washing threw a tiny ball of shade. I would curl myself into that small bit of shade – that was a delight. But my depleting

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bony body could never find a comfortable position to sleep, for inside the cabins it sweltered, despite the fans we’d brought. I always climbed out of that oven like stuffy cabin hoping for some respite from the heat, only to step out into a wall of hot humid air.

I never got used to that heat and found it be one of the hardest elements.

Night Rowing I found myself looking forward to sunset and the accompanying relief from the sun’s burning rays.

We quickly became very in sync with star constellations, motion of the stars and moon phases.

It was important to forecast the moon phases and predicted weather to plan for the night ahead. This was a skill I didn’t expect to learn, but you are looking at the stars all night long and so its difficult not to make this connection.

Some nights brought the most incredible crystalclear views of the Milky Way, which was always utterly breath taking.

Godds once counted 60 shooting stars over a couple of shifts and I even saw a fireball.

Whether a cloudy moonless night or a star lit crystal

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night, 1am to 6am, what we called the ‘Graveyard Shifts’ brought with them delirium, extreme fatigue and hallucinations. At one point during the crossing, we all saw an old creepy woman next to us. Each of us also woke up at times panicking that we had missed our shift and so forced one of the others to keep rowing beyond their scheduled two hours. In reality though, no one missed a single shift the entire crossing.

We could complain and let our spirits fall, we could give up, or we could adapt and try to find the funny side.

We chose to adapt.

Every now and then I figured my body clock had adapted to this new lifestyle of two hours on, two hours off. But just as I started to think that my next shift proved I hadn’t, and the ocean reminded me of who was really in charge.

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Cloudy nights with their dark moonless and star less nights, were though a cause of concern and something I silently feared.

Why? Well imagine rowing in the pitch-black, uncertain what the next wave hitting the starboard beam would bring, uncertain if a rogue wave was coming your way, uncertain if the next wave would be the one to finally flip your boat upside down.

But there was nothing any of us could do about the sea, whether it was a beautiful clear calm night or a cloudy dark stormy night, we had to accept the conditions and get on with the process of rowing, doing chores and sleeping.

How bad did the winds and those rogue waves get?

One night we fought against 22 knots of wind and rogue waves on our beam. At the time we kept going, but looking back I see it as a terrifying scene.

The thrashing waves, that often felt like they were swallowing us up whole, even activated our on-deck Emergency PositionIndicating Radio Beacon (EPIRB). Now the Maritime & Coastguard Agency (for the area we were in) would think we needed an immediate rescue! We called Ian, the race’s safety

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officer at 2am (sorry about that!) about the miss-fire.

The situation didn’t stop there though, as we soon realised, we couldn’t deactivate our EPIRB! We tried wrapping it up in a couple thermal protective aids (foil basically) from our ‘grab bag’ and placed it deep in a hatch, but the signal kept transmitting.

We needed a functioning EPIRB, not one that was emitting unnecessarily. In the end we had no choice and had to rip out the faulty EPIRB’s battery to shut it up. Then we replaced it with our spare EPIRB, which was also in the ‘grab bag’. The ‘grab bag’ is a carefully constructed survival bag to

be ‘grabbed’ in the event of an emergency evacuation into our life-raft. Little by little our grab bag was dwindling. I quietly thought to myself “F..k - I hope we aren’t going to need it…”

The same night a rogue wave caused one of the oars to twist and warp its oar lock, rendering that rowing position useless.

Fortunately, Crusader was set up with a range of rowing positions (that meant in choppier weather the rowers could sit further apart to prevent oar clashes). Whilst we could still have two rowers on each shift, now we had less flexibility to set the rowing positions to match the conditions. It also meant 43

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we couldn’t set up the boat for all of us to have an active role as we crossed the finish line, something we really wanted. We felt so disappointed, we had spent years visualizing that moment, me at the helm navigating us and Lauren, Joe and Godds rowing. To have something so meaningful to us ripped away, it hurt.

We attempted to push the lock back into position but ended up snapping the eye of our hammer right off! At that point we just accepted it and agreed to row as it was for the final couple of weeks of the crossing.

Then the day before we arrived in Antigua, with sheer force and leverage,

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Joe managed to mould that oar lock into a position that was rowable for the last few hours to the finish. I am so grateful for that. The scene we had all visualised, with all four of us rowing across the finish line, it wasn’t just meant for our thoughts after all, it was a scene we could actually live.

The End, or is it?

Crossing that finish line was like a whirlwind of emotions. I think all of us felt this deep sense of relief and pride. For me, three years of dedication had resulted in that moment, a moment that I had visualized for so long.

Going from a sometimes silent and sometimes boisterous ocean, approaching the harbour brought with it as sensation of being bombarded, as

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family, friends and strangers screamed their congratulations and let off sirens and horns to welcome us. Then after setting foot on land, having so many people all wanting to greet us, was well, almost disorienting. First though, before we were let loose into the hustle and bustle of well-wishers, we were presented with a burger, chips and beer – the meal of champions for champions, for that’s what we felt like and that’s what we were.

My plan had been to show that ordinary people can achieve extraordinary things. That ordinary people can with enough planning and commitment seek out and live their dreams. That epic challenges aren’t the preserve of current and former members of the

military and professional athletes, but for the everyday man or woman.

We had faced challenges along our way, yet we had triumphed. We had also achieved our goal to beat the previous world record for a mixed team and in the process achieved a World First for our team dynamic (3 women and 1 man) to row any ocean. We are deeply proud of that. Us ladies of team In Deep Ship are also particularly proud to be only three of 218 women to have ever rowed across the Atlantic since Carol Maystone paved the way in 1974.

I very much hope that if you have any doubts about pursuing your dreams, that my story has inspired you to take the leap and pursue your own goals, no matter how big or small.

About Jessica Mullins In January 2022 Jessica Mullins and her three teammates Lauren Hunt, Edward Lewis aka Joe (it’s a long story) and Jessica Goddard (aka Godds) arrived in Antigua and Barbuda, after spending 42 days, 4 hours, and 54 minutes rowing across the Atlantic Ocean.

You can follow Jessica on the following social media channels: Instagram: www.instagram.com/jessicamullins Instagram: www.instagram.com/indeepship2021 Website:

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Ultra Running in the Australian Outback

By Chelsea Holton

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How do we choose to react after failing to attain a goal?

Do we follow that old maxim “if at first you don’t succeed try try again”? After all the word fail, when written as FAIL, is an acronym for First Attempt In Learning. So why not try again after first implementing changes, that should hopefully increase our chance of success.

Of course there’s another school of thought, that of knowing when it’s time to quit.

So what would Chelsea Holton choose to do after not finishing the 2021 Simpson Desert Ultra. Should she quit at her goal of finishing this 100 km ultra in the remote Australian outback? Or, should she regard 2021 as a first attempt in learning? What would be the kindest approach for her to take?

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ou know you’ve had quite the adventure when completing over 100km in the Simpson Desert is only part of the tale. the disappointment of recording a did not finish (DNF) in the 100km Simpson Desert Ultra in 2021, I was determined to make amends and tick this item off the bucket list.

Knowing more about the course and the terrain, I trained more consistently than I had last year. And when a girls road trip from Canberra to

Birdsville (about 1800km each way) was suggested as our means of transport, I was fully committed.

The trip started out fairly low key – Canberra (our hometown) to the sleepy village of Tullamore NSW where a pub feed and bed awaited.

Day two of our travels saw us enter Queensland, stopping for a camel burger in Cunnamulla, before checking in at Quilpie for the night. Day three was when things started to get interesting!

The whole region had

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experienced significant rainfall in the previous weeks, and we encountered a showery day. After stopping at Windorah and checking the road reports, we set off for the final stretch to Birdsville, about 400km.

As we hit gravel road it became greasier and greasier, and we were incredibly thankful for Erica’s four wheel driving prowess, which kept us ticking along at a nice pace, considering the conditions. After seemingly never-ending water crossings and slippery roads, we arrived

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Prado (a 4WD, bigger than an SUV but certainly not kitted out for four people to sleep in), with little to no food, no camping equipment and then still be able to compete in an ultramarathon the next day?

The author during the 2021 event

at the outskirts of Birdsville population 110 (according to the 2021 census) and gateway to the Simpson Desert.

The Crossing To reach Birdsville proper, we needed to cross the Diamantina.

Often dry, it was in flood.

Assessing the river, we agreed it was unsafe to attempt a to cross it in the vehicle we were driving. We sought advice from the race director who advised us to leave our vehicles at the iconic racecourse, pack a bag and be ready for pick up by a larger and heavier vehicle.

glorious desert sunset we were told that the Unimog, which had been transporting people across the flooded river, had stopped for the day and we should bunk in for the evening in our vehicle.

I struggled to process this news. How were we supposed to fit four weary travellers in a

Crossing the river

We quickly condensed our belongings and race gear into one small duffel bag each. Then after an hour of watching a

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Now we talked amongst ourselves about our predicament. We knew vehicles had crossed it that morning and had video footage of those crossings, so we knew the deepest section was at the start. When we had been there, one of us had checked out the river. It was slow flowing and had only come up to her knees. We all had a reasonable amount of experience crossing rivers (particularly rivers and estuaries that were much deeper and challenging).

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Back at the river we could see the river hadn’t risen, as we could compare the river’s level with water height marker posts that ran through the river.

Erica, Mel and I stripped down, popped our shoes on, linked arms for safety and set off across the flood waters.

Crossing the river

Ten minutes later we had waded through the deepest section, one that had lasted for several hundred metres. Then we had another two sections to cross, each of which was much longer.

In the midst of this unexpected adventure, we felt incredibly blessed to be walking toward the most stunning Birdsville sunset – an image which will be burned into my memory forever.

After completing about two kilometres of water crossing, we finally arrived in Birdsville.

After some discussion, three of us decided we’d like to attempt to cross the river on foot and walk into Birdsville. Given our significant previous experience with water crossings we felt this was

a safe decision. I’m not saying it was the right decision for others to make, and in fact one of the group did choose a night in the Prado over attempting the crossing, but it felt right for us.

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Whether it was because of the adrenalin still flowing through us, or the genuinely warm evening, none of us felt compelled to change into warmer clothes, and so we set off down the main street of Birdsville dressed just as we had been whilst crossing the

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river – with our bottom half dressed only in our undies! We drew many bemused stares from onlookers, and from patrons at the only pub. I certainly didn’t think I’d ever walk down the main street of Birdsville in my underpants!

Sand dunes - photo courtesy of Tempus Media

Soon after we arrived at the camp kitchen of our accommodation. There more of our teammates were preparing a lovely carb-laden meal to share.

Our arrival shocked them all initially (not sure if it was our arrival after they were told we had to stay on the other side of the water, or the fact we arrived in our undies, or maybe a bit of both), but they were glad to see us and that we had arrived safely. Our dinner of pasta and bolognaise sauce was very well received, as was the prospect of a hot shower and warm bed for the evening.

The Ultra We tried to sleep in as long as possible, but the combination of nerves and sleeping in workers dongas (made of corrugated iron) and which are not soundproof in the

slightest - meant that sleeping in was mission impossible.

After registering and collecting my race gear, we headed to the bakery for some sustenance and chats with several other

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runners. From there it was time to get my gear on and head out to the race hub.

My 2pm race time rolled around quickly, and before I had time to think too deeply or become

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Photo courtesy of Tempus Media

too nervous, we were off.

It was hot again this year.

I knew that I needed to conserve energy and not let the heat affect me too much, so I fast hiked and occasionally jogged, with Taryn keeping me company over those first 25km.

It was after 7pm when we arrived back at the hub, and again, from last year’s experience, I knew I needed to minimise my time in transition

between loops if I was going to make it. A quick refill of water and electrolytes and a bit of food, and I was off again.

It was now completely dark, and I was tackling this loop on my own. I was very grateful to have an excellent head torch, and to have repurposed some bike lights to create a waist light – I was lit up like a Christmas tree and the markers were easy to locate. The biggest challenge was navigating

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the slippery clay pans, and the gibber plains. It started to get cool around midnight but this was a welcome relief for me. I was slightly behind in terms of timing but I didn’t panic. I knew I had Erica waiting at the hub, ready to start her 50km ultra, and to accompany me over the final 50. As I descended the sand dune toward the hub I checked the time and was happy to see I was going to make it in before 2am.

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Erica was brilliant in helping me to refill and allow my brain a little bit of respite from needing to think about what I needed to do. We set off for my second 50, and her first loop. What a difference it makes having someone out there to distract you from the hurt and the voices in your head urging you to quit! We walked and chatted and walked and chatted some more, and paused on occasion to soak up the unspoilt night sky. Desert skies are truly stunning, whether during the dark or during the day, and this night was no exception.

The pre-dawn hour

Sunrise

Before long we hit the predawn hour, and wow – what a stunning dawn and sunrise. It took the edge off my aches and pains and distracted me nicely for a good half hour or so. It was a good reminder of how beautiful nature truly is.

The never ending gibber plain

Soon we were back into the hub, 75km down for me, 25 for Erica. Again, Erica took the lead on organising a few moments of respite. I looked around the tent and saw a few of our other team members and

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“One foot in front of the other”

offered some words of encouragement. We set off again, knowing we only needed to make the midway checkpoint by 1.15pm in order to be able to keep going and complete the race. We made the first checkpoint in what seemed like

pretty good time, and kept making our way along through the sand, the gibbers and the clay pans – which were slowly starting to dry out a little.

We finally hit the midway checkpoint with an hour to spare (thank goodness) and we knew

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from there we ‘only’ had another 10km to finish.

The sun was well and truly risen by now, and the relentless heat started to chip away at me. Looking at my Garmin for an indication of how far we had left, it truly felt like we might

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have been going backwards. As I ascended the second last sand dune, I looked across the seemingly never-ending gibber plain ahead. I started to doubt myself. I was about 2km from the finish and I wasn’t sure I could get there. Everything was hurting. I had felt blisters burst, my ankle was aching, my hips were hurting and I was really feeling the heat. I knew I had to dig deep and so I just kept repeating ‘one foot in front of the other’. As we started to climb the final sand hill, we saw the friendly face of another of our teamies. I can’t remember what she said – but she was urging us on to the finish. As we descended that sand dune, I started to realise we were nearly there. I had nearly completed the SDU 100.

We trekked across the clay pan and joked about doing another lap – and I told Erica I was really struggling with the heat and that I’d need some help as soon as we finished.

It was about 200m out from the finish, as one of our teamies came out to

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Success

capture the moment for us, when the enormity of what I had achieved hit me. And so, I started to sob. Not little delicate sobs, but huge sobs. It deteriorated from there into full blown bawling and ugly crying. As I crossed the finish line the relief was palpable. Erica and I hugged and congratulated each other, and I thanked her for getting me through it.

After cooling down and some nursing of my blisters, we made our way back into town, and into mobile phone range and calls and messages from afar.

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Rescue Monday dawned and many sore bits of my tired body revealed themselves. We were still awaiting information about how we were going to leave Birdsville itself, and this uncertainty was very unnerving for many of us.

All of the competitors with vehicles at the racecourse were asked to attend a meeting that morning to discuss the situation. During that meeting the race director and police advised that the river was continuing to rise, and that they were working on the

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‘Rescued’ by the amazing SES

The convoy in the desert

Great Outback hospitality

State Emergency Services (SES) boat as a means of transporting us across the flood waters. By 1pm we were told to pack our things and be at the river edge, as the SES were only doing one run.

We grabbed our things and made our way down, where the boat was still undergoing some lastminute repairs and checks. We loaded our gear and ourselves into the boat, and then waited. We didn’t have to wait too long to know what the holdup was – the local police officer arrived with coffees for the SES crew, and apparently the coffee line was longer than usual!

And so, we set off in a boat, across the flooded river, which was now quite a bit higher than when we had traversed it on Friday.

Never did I think I would leave the desert in a boat!

Even then, we still weren’t in the clear. We knew there was significant flooding across the road about 15km east of Birdsville. We had four cars in a convoy and armed with pictures taken from the race

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director’s dad’s plane over Birdsville that morning, we were encouraged to pick our way around the edge of the desert, rather than attempting to cross the flood water. So we set off – engaging the full four wheel drive capabilities of our vehicles as we drove off road for about 15 minutes until it was safe to re-join the main road.

After that little side tour, we realised that driving to Windorah was not a safe idea at that hour, as we would have been driving for several hours in the dark, dodging wildlife. We opted to stay at the legendary

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Betoota Hotel. The hotel is the only thing in Betoota, which has a population of 0. We were told that dinner was $30 per head and it was all you can eat. After enjoying a couple of drinks and the stunning sunset, along with Kieran and Sarah’s (the hosts at the Betoota), we sat down to all you can eat spaghetti bolognaise. It was the stuff that dreams are made of – simple, delicious and filling.

After dinner we retired to our room (all five of us) and settled in for the evening. Thankfully the rest of the journey was far less eventful (but no less pretty) from there.

Thank you so much to Erica Collins for her commitment in supporting me to achieve this goal, and for her calm under pressure when the driving got a little sketchy. Thank you to Cath Wallis for her support and for bringing such a wonderfully supportive group of women together for the adventure of a lifetime.

You really inspire me.

And finally, thank you to the people of Birdsville you were all amazing, banding together as you did for the event and for helping all of us affected by the floodwaters. Your hospitality and help really reinforced in me just how kind people can be.

About Chelsea Holton Chelsea is a relative newbie to ultra marathons. After surviving a serious domestic violence incident in 2019 she decided to reclaim her life and adopted a ‘just say yes’ mantra. This mantra has seen her try all sorts of adventure activities including rock climbing, abseiling, canyoning, rogaining, orienteering as well as training for the Simpson Desert Ultra. Her next Ultra is the 50km Ultra trail Australia in the Blue Mountains at the end of October.

You can follow Chelsea on the following social media channel: Instagram:

www.instagram.com/chelseaholts

A big thank you also goes to Tempus Media for allowing us to include some photographs they took of Chelsea during the 2021 event.

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Skiing Svalbard

By Ellen Piercy

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61 Crossing Svalbard 2022, photograph courtesy of John Mitcalf

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Q

ueuing for hot cider at a festival in October 2017, I bumped into a guy I’d met at the festival in a previous year. I’d recently returned from cycling in northern Spain along a section of the Camino de Santiago. We swapped stories and then he asked if I had plans for another adventure.

When I said I wasn’t sure as there was just so many options, he looked at the felted toy penguin I’d stuffed in the pocket of my bag pack and said, “well it has to be a cold adventure or the penguin

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can’t go”. And that was it.

Cold is high up, far north, or far south. South is expensive so it had to be high, or north. I was 40, and as a huge Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fan, 42 felt like a pretty cool target age to do whatever it was that I was going to do. Now I had direction and a date; something tough, somewhere cold and sometime before my 43rd birthday in the summer 2020.

During 2018 I researched Arctic and Antarctic adventures, reading as many articles as I could

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find and avidly absorbing podcasts. Then I committed, my choice being a ski crossing of Svalbard in April 2020.

Svalbard is part of Norway, but it’s situated so far north of Norway, it’s almost equidistant between Norway and the North Pole. Together with Canada’s Ellesmere Island and Greenland, its islands are amongst the most northern islands in the world.

Crossing Svalbard’s main island from east to west was going to be way beyond anything I had ever done before. I would have to pull a pulk

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containing everything I needed to camp and survive for 10 days. Yet I had never skied before, I had never been that remote before, I had never been anywhere that cold before and I certainly hadn’t camped in minus twenty degrees centigrade in deep snow before. It was so beyond my comfort zone, it felt unreal.

I had slowly been building up my fitness throughout 2018, but still

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the remaining eighteen months I had to prepare for my April 2020 crossing, seemed ridiculously short. I had no idea how I was going to do this but I was excited to find out. I dragged tyres around the forest where I live and became known as ‘the woman with the tyre’.

Work colleagues made references to polar bears at every opportunity.

Christmas and birthday presents were all cold weather gear. I

Polar Training Course, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

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proactively postponed decisions around my career until I got back: my life split into preSvalbard and postSvalbard.

One big decision I made was to take the time as unpaid sabbatical. I was certain that the thing I absolutely would need when I got back was time to absorb and process what I had done. Landing back in the UK on a Sunday and going straight into project meetings on

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Polar training course with Helen Turton, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

the Monday morning, was the last thing I wanted. I booked a month off, with the expedition in the first half of the month. I’ll be honest, I was looking forward to the second two weeks with absolutely no plans or things to do (other than a lot of laundry) almost as much as the expedition itself!

Svalbard is a serious undertaking and the technical skills needed for

an expedition beyond a day trip require training.

I had booked the expedition with Newland as recommended by a friend, and they required anyone who didn’t have sufficient experience who wanted to go on the Svalbard expedition to complete a week’s polar training in Kvitåvatn, Norway. February 2020 I was in Norway for the first time, and I fell in love with the place.

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Based at a ski training centre, we learnt to ski on the specialist crosscountry skis designed for pulling pulks. The pulks were orange plastic ‘paris’ pulks with which I was to develop a love/hate relationship.

Skiing with a pulk is tough, it’s akin to skiing with a large boisterous dog or belligerent Shetland pony. I spent a lot of time on my back swearing in frustration as the pulk wiped out my skis yet again whilst I

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Andrea Fawell and Ellen Piercy, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

negotiated the mildest of slopes. We also learnt to pack the pulks efficiently, how to light the petrol stoves and pitch the solid Hilleberg tents. Once we had grasped the basics, we set of for two nights on Hardangervidda. I had multiple niggles with kit, I faffed and took too long to do tasks, but from the moment we set off to the moment we finished, I knew this was what I wanted to do. I loved every second and was bursting with excitement

that in eight weeks, I’d be in Svalbard.

Except… Covid. Back in the office concern was rising, people travelling back from ski trips in the Alps or work trips to China were asked to work from home. The office in Italy shut down. Then Norway put all nonNordics on fourteen day quarantine. Re-reading my journal of the time I swung from trying to maintain positivity and forming plan Bs, anger

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that once again I was ‘almost, but not quite’ and total flatness. Then finally, on the 17th of March, the expedition was officially cancelled.

Looking at the bigger picture, I was very fortunate during the covid lockdowns. I could do my job fully remotely, although family members were seriously ill, they recovered, I don’t have children and live in a house with a garden and surrounded by outdoor

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spaces I could walk in.

For me it was mostly ‘inconveniences’: I know for others the time was deeply traumatic and the impact was severe. But I did need to grieve for the loss of my adventure.

Before I started my journey to Svalbard, I had begun to feel I had lost who I was but I gained focus and drive which spilled over into my career. And now, what?

I think if lockdowns had happened before the polar training, I would

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have seen it as a sign that it was never meant to be and probably would have extinguished the spark.

But I could cling on to the dream and after crying a lot of snotty tears, I looked at what I could do.

A whole second article could be written about the Cheshire Challenge; it was a crazy idea that I would never have contemplated before I announced at Yestival in 2018 that I was going to

Refresher training course 2022, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

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Svalbard. In short, in looking for local longdistance paths I found that there are 25 that start or finish in Cheshire where I live. Totting up the distance, its 1,500km plus many extra kilometres to connect sections of named paths into circular walks. This kept me going throughout 2020 and 2021, and it will probably take me years to finish it.

I found I was quite capable of walking long distances, from a goal to

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Helen Gomm at the end of the Svalbard expedition, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

Refresher training course 2022, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

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Refresher training course 2022, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

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walk 20km, then 20 miles, then how far I could walk in 12 hours, then the whole 55km Sandstone Trail in a day and finishing 2021 by walking St Cuthbert’s Way in Northumbria. I also signed up for a mindset coach as I had a terrible habit of irrationally beating myself up if things were not going well. It was worth it for whilst walking St Cuthbert’s Way, I suddenly realised the negative voice had been silenced.

Having worked on my mindset and my fitness, when Newland were able to release dates for expeditions again, I was as ready as I could be. I rebooked the Svalbard crossing for 2022. Before flying off to Svalbaard, with my one polar training course having been two years earlier, I decided on a refresher.

Rather than repeating the training, Newland suggested a six day mini expedition on the Norwegian plateau of Hardangervidda Nord.

Hardangervidda is Norway’s largest national park and the scenery didn’t disappoint. It was

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glorious with incredibly stunning scenery. I’d worked on my kit and perfected the sockcombination that kept my feet snug in the oversized arctic boots, I had researched the snacks that worked best for me and magically the pulk behaved far better than it had two years before. Combine that with having two wonderful tent buddies, one of whom had been on the same polar training as me in 2020 and my polar excitement tank was fully topped up.

I was ready for Svalbard.

I have so many ways I could write about Svalbard and the expedition. I could delve into the facts and day-today life on the ice. I could go into minuscule detail of the kit that we took, how we set up camp or the flora, fauna and geology of the valleys we traversed. But here, I will write about how I experienced it and how it felt.

After we arrived, met our guide and covered some basic logistics, we packed for a night’s camp up in the moraine of the glacier above the small town of Longyearbyen,

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population around 2,400 people. Longyearbyen is the main town and the administrative centre for Svalbard. It’s also the northernmost place with a population greater than 1,000 people.

With some of us feeling a little rustier than others, camping above Longyearbyen gave us one more opportunity to practice with our kit, discard what we didn’t need and purchase missing items the next day in town. Although for me it had only been six weeks since my mini six day expedition on the Hardangervidda plateau, that night also gave me the opportunity to truly focus on the expedition, as it had been an intense period at work. It allowed me to truly switch my brain to expedition mode.

From Longyearbyen it took three hours of riding on the back of snowmobiles to reach our drop off point, on the eastern side of Sptizbergen in Agardhdalen. Pulk harnesses tightened, and with a mixture of trepidation and excitement we started

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skiing. We watched the snowmobiles disappear and were completely alone in the deep silence of the arctic. This first day was short, our guide needed to give us a fuller briefing on polar bears, and we needed the extra time to set up camp and start to find our routine.

There were three of us in our tent and we quickly became a team; the friendship we formed over the expedition is deep and permanent.

And so began ten days of a fixed routine. We’d wake, one would start the stove while the other two pulled on their outer gear and pack down their bedding. Drinks and breakfast ready, we’d eat then switch roles, so we were all packed down with hot water in our flasks for the day. Once packed and pulks ready, our guide would brief us for the day and we’d set off, stopping after ten minutes to tweak kit for the day before starting the first leg. The days were structured into hour long legs, fifty minutes with a ten minute break, or forty five minutes with a fifteen minute break on steeper or technical

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Crossing Svalbard 2022, photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

The group leader, Morten, checking the thickness of the ice Photograph courtesy of Ellen Piercy

Break time, photograph courtesy of John Metcalf

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sections, or, if we were progressing well, an extra five minutes lounging on the pulks in the sun. A longer break for lunch, but no more than thirty minutes or the cold would start to bite too hard. If there was a point of interest, we’d break the routine, unclip our pulks and go for an explore. The end of the

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day became equally routine, once our guide had found a suitable site we sprang into action: levelling and tamping down snow, pitching the tent, building a snow wall if the winds were high, digging out the kitchen area, getting the stove lit and starting the hours of melting snow while we ate, repaired kit and

The ice cave, photograph courtesy of John Metcalf

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chatted before snuggling down in our sleeping bags hugging Nalgene bottles full of hot water.

I relished the routine and the simplicity of the day.

The focus was completely on the basic needs for life: warmth, water, food and reaching our destination. Everything else was secondary.

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During the fifty or forty five minute legs we travelled in a line, our guide breaking the trail and the rest of us following in his tracks.

During this time I was alone with my thoughts.

Indeed, this was probably the longest ‘thinking time’ I have had since, well, probably never. I’d set myself a question or

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subject to think about, something that I had not resolved in my mind and focus on it for the whole leg, if, at the end of the leg it was still unresolved, I’d give it another leg. Of course, when the leg was more technical or tough, I’d focus on my movement, but there was something so special about being in such a

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deeply beautiful and dramatic place alone with my thoughts. And it was deeply beautiful.

On day four, shortly after we set off our guide paused to look for a glacial arch, he had passed in 2019. It was gone, but the grin on his face told of something better: a pristine ice cave.

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The ice cave, photograph courtesy of John Metcalf

It was completely undiscovered until we arrived, there had been no talk amongst the guides in town and there were no snowmobile tracks for miles. There are not enough words to describe that cave, and

the photos do not do the space justice. There was every shade of blue in the ice, the glacial stream running deep in the gully at the back, the pristine snow and view looking back out to the mountains was magical. I

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have no idea how long we lingered there, but eventually we had to continue. We didn’t stop smiling all day.

As we progressed, we started to see signs of people again, at first just

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old tracks dusted by spindrift and then we’d see a distant dog sled or group like ourselves. The valley we were in, Reindalen, was wide and long surrounded by steep unclimbed mountains, but with no trees or

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buildings it was hard to judge distances. We’d ski a leg and it would seem we had hardly moved, other times it felt like we had leapt much further down the valley. We began to see wildlife again, ptarmigan and

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reindeer. Both are native but live hard lives; the reindeer are stockier and smaller than the deer found on the mainland: they live in small herds and rarely run to preserve energy. There were signs of foxes but

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apart from a small black speck moving quickly in the far distance, we didn’t see any. The harshness of their lives put our expedition into perspective, we had been fortunate with the weather but the few days where the north had shown a hint of what it could do made us appreciate more our sturdy red tents and robust clothing.

And soon we had fewer days ahead of us than behind. Our tent routine had become slick, we had slipped into roles and were able to spend more time swapping stories and modifying our equipment. It had been the toughest thing I had ever done, but I felt strong. I felt stronger and

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more capable every day, the mindset coaching had worked to keep my mind in a positive state for the whole expedition, I felt that if things got tough, I’d respond constructively, I felt different.

The last day came far too soon. All that remained was a short, sharp ascent and decent of the glacier which we had slept below on our practice night. Svalbard though threw us one last challenge, for the wind picked up and spindrift blasted our goggles as we hauled the mercifully lighter pulks up and up.

Then Longyearbyen came into view. We skied and trudged down the slope into town and civilisation.

The expedition was over.

I’ve never really understood when someone says an expedition was life changing, but this really was for me. I now have a different energy, and though at times my resolve is tested, I have a deeper conviction about who I am and what I am capable of. Svalbard changed me for the better, and in hindsight having to wait two more years probably made me hungrier and more determined to get there.

So what now? I am booked for a ski improver course back in Kvitåvatn early in 2023 and I am forming a long term plan for bigger colder adventures. There is a post-Svalbard version of me, and I like her a lot.

A camp site during the Svalbard expedition, photograph courtesy of John Metcalf

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Ellen Piercy, photograph courtesy of Andrea Fawell

About Ellen Piercy Rather than talking about herself, modest Ellen wants to sing the praises of her tent mates from the training trips and the expedition itself, namely Andrea Fawell and Helen Gomm who are pictured in this article, and also Vedangi Kulkarni and Genevieve Brown. She also wishes to thank the expedition organiser Helen Turton. Both Ellen and ourselves extend our thanks to expedition member John Metcalf for allowing us to share some of his phenomenally stunning photographs.

You can follow Ellen Piercy on the following social media channels Website:

RandoGirls.com

Instagram:

@randogirl42

Facebook:

Ellen Rando Girl

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Book Reviews Wild Wanderer

By Laura M Clark How many of us have felt unfairly attacked on social media?

How many of us have struggled with work and family responsibilities?

How many of us have put ourselves down or not given ourselves credence for what we have achieved?

Alas, probably more of us than what any of us would like.

So how do we deal with these sort of challenges and hurdles? How can we still be the ‘real us’ when it almost feels like we have no time to spare for ourselves?

Laura M Clark is a divorced single mother.

Undoubtedly she is physically exceedingly strong. But through mountaineering and training for mountaineering, she hasn’t just developed physically, but mentally too.

Like many of us, Laura has endured personal attacks on social media, attacks which can hurt people deeply, regardless of that saying ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me.’

But Laura has risen above those attacks.

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That what we find to be so inspirational about this book. It’s not just her drive, her enthusiasm, her love for family, her volunteering with youngsters, her success in the mountains, it’s her resilience, persistence and development in the face of adversity.

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Paddle the Nile

By Sarah Davis

Wow, wow, wow, this is an epic. Where do we start?

genocide report and the reaction of certain Western parties.

This is a truly powerful book, a book for anyone interested in Africa and its people, history and culture, a book for anyone interested in kayak touring, a book for anyone interested in expedition planning and implementation.

The time Sarah needed to spend in Sudan organising one of her legs and obtaining various permissions, is extremely inciteful, as so few people manage to get to meet and know the Sudanese in the way Sarah did.

For wannabee or existing adventurers, the book is worth reading if only for the discussion of risk management. Who knows how long Sarah and her team would have spent in a prison in Burundi, if it weren’t for her pre expedition planning?

Finally, the book also digs deep into Sarah’s mindset, her concerns, her thoughts, her highs, her lows and her personal development as she transforms from a city professional with a love of extreme holidays, to a truly extreme adventurer. What a woman!

Whilst some books may report on the adventure itself and nothing else, this book digs far deeper, with historical facts including references to source documents, including disturbing revelations about a pre Rwandan

For us, this book was a real page turner, so much so, we asked Sarah Davis if she wouldn’t mind writing an article for us where she could share more about her trip than what we can possibly include in a mere book review.

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Paddle The Nile Rwanda to Egypt

By Sarah Davis Photographs courtesy of Sarah Davis 80

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Watching the sun come up on New

Year’s Day 2016 I had a nagging feeling this wasn’t ‘it’. That there had to be more to my life. Staring down the barrel of twenty-odd years of corporate life, each consisting of 48 weeks of work interspersed with four weeks’ leave, filled me with horror. It made me feel trapped and claustrophobic.

What do we do on discovering our life isn’t what we want it to be?

Do we complain about our position? Or, do we strive towards changing our situation with the goal of ultimately living the life that we want to lead?

I felt like a square peg being pushed into a round hole and I resolved it was time for a change. That was the easy part, working out what that looked like was a little harder. But then I came across some people who had achieved ‘firsts’. They weren’t your classic explorers or adventurers. You know, those ex-military Bear Grylls-types, or people who’d been scaling mountains since they could walk.

Change can be hard, incredibly hard. For some, old age or personal ill health may restrict what they can do. For others family circumstances might mean a radical change is currently impossible, though making small changes like starting to build up new skills, could still be achievable.

They were ordinary, everyday people with big, audacious dreams. Seeing them and what they’d achieved triggered something in me — that’s what I wanted to do! To go on an expedition not done before. Suddenly I could see it; I could see what I wanted to do and be. I’d always read books by explorers and adventures, but it never occurred to me that I could be the ‘explorer’. It felt like I was finally paying attention to a voice that had been whispering to me all along.

For others, radical change is doable, the question is, whether or not to implement that change. That is the question Sarah Davis faced. Would she go for that radical change, or would continue to exist in her current mode.

After exploring various options, I hit upon an idea – I was going to paddle the Nile.

The Nile is Africa’s longest river and disputed to be the longest river in the world at 6,693 kilometres in length. This mighty river has two tributaries: the White Nile and the Blue Nile. The longer White Nile rises in central Africa, with its most distant source being in either Rwanda or Burundi — the jury is still out on which it is. For my expedition, I chose 81

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The source in Rwanda

what many consider to be the Rwandan source.

Mediterranean Sea, marking the end of this incredible river.

In a tributary of the Rukarara River, deep in the Nyungwe Forest, the Nile begins to make its way through Rwanda, Tanzania and Uganda, via Lake Victoria. It continues north to South Sudan and then up through Sudan.

My plan was to complete a source-to-sea human-powered descent of the Nile from Rwanda to Egypt, except for a section through South Sudan that was deemed too risky from a security and political standpoint.

That still left me with approximately 5,300 kilometres to cover.

In Khartoum, the capital of Sudan, it is joined by the Blue Nile, which starts some 1,400 kilometres earlier in Lake Tana in the Ethiopian highlands before making its way to this confluence. The joined rivers head up to Egypt. North of Cairo, it becomes two branches, which empty into the

Anyone who’s been on an expedition or big adventure will have an idea of just what’s involved in organising something like this, let alone executing it. It took two years to get to the starting point and not surprisingly was a 82

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very steep learning curve. There were courses to go, like swift water rescue technician and wilderness survival, and much to work out. This included when to go, what equipment was needed, how to get approvals and trying to find people to join me.

years of work, reconnaissance trips, slow progress, the problems and obstacles, were behind me and I couldn’t stop smiling. It was the escape from my corporate life I was seeking, and it transformed into the most incredible life-changing adventure I could ever have imagined.

Even when I left for Africa, I still didn’t have the team to begin or all the approvals required. However, the leap of faith paid off and a few weeks after arriving in Uganda I was on my way to the source of the Nile with three Ugandan rafting guides, rafting gear, barrels filled with food, all the camping gear and much more.

In the military, there is the well-known adage which says that ‘no plan survives first contact with the enemy’. Expeditions are no different – no plan survives contact with – well, pretty much anything. It was certainly the case in my expedition. And it wasn’t long before the first drama hit in the form of a 1,500kg angry hippo, who bit into the back of the raft. This was on our first day in hippo territory and set me up for long stressful days trying to avoid a similar encounter or worse.

Finally, on 27th October 2018 paddles finally hit the water and that moment when was amazing. Suddenly, all the stress, the two

Day 1

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Photos, clockwise from top left: Landing site on Lake Kyoga. Village in North of Uganda.. The end in Uganda.

Ropes to keep hippos out at night

There were so many challenges to deal with.

Every day there was something, some more problematic than others, some more terrifying than others!

their paddling family and provided endless kindness and generosity, something that was a theme for this trip.

Despite the stress, a human-powered descent of this river proved to be a unique way to see the countries I travelled through.

It was like watching a story unfold in front of me. It was also a way to see the cultures of the countries I travelled through up close.

I had Sudanese paddlers with me through Sudan. Paddling through the Sahara was an almost surreal experience, with the soft yellow sand dunes coming down to the river’s edge. Watching the sun setting over the river and desert is something I’ll never forget and is something I miss.

After rafting through Rwanda, Tanzania and Uganda I flew to Sudan and switched to kayaking. The Rowing and Canoe Club in Khartoum went out of their way to help me.

They also made me feel very much part of

The final stretch was through Egypt. I was joined by Nadim, a local paddler. While it was the home stretch, it wasn’t without its challenges. The police were very keen to make sure nothing happened to me, and I 84

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Photos, clockwise from top left: Reaching Khartoum Sarah Busati Fahed. Paddling through the Sahara. Locks in Egypt. Nadim in Egypt

appreciated that. But it meant they dictated where we paddled to and where we stayed.

Poor Nadim spent a lot of time fielding calls from them and trying to manage their expectations. He did a stellar job and I am very grateful to him, and everyone who, like him went out of their way to help make my dream a reality.

Doing this expedition was a gamble and it took me so far out of my comfort zone, I couldn’t even see it. It would have been easy to let the fears and self-doubts stop me, but I’m so glad I didn’t. That I didn’t settle for the comfortable life I had.

I walked away with increased confidence and courage and my world felt like a bigger place.

It’s like my comfort zone had expanded from a back garden to a national park. Eight months after reaching the end of the Nile, I completed a 2,500-kilometre expedition down the Murray River in Australia. Having completed the Nile, this felt like a comparative ‘walk in the park’. Then in 2021, I cycled 4,700 kilometres across Australia.

After nearly six months since paddles hit the water, I reached my destination. While I was happy to reach the end, there was sadness too that it was over. It had been filled with countless extraordinary experiences. This expedition had made me feel so alive, in a way I never had before. It’s a feeling I will be forever chasing I think!

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There are many lessons I learned on this trip.

One of the big ones was the value and power of having a purpose. I knew real ‘purpose’ was missing from my life, but I underestimated the value it would bring. I’ve always had goals to work towards, like the races I train for, but this was next level.

short not to. It wasn’t about the destination; the whole journey, the experience and the struggle was the purpose. It gave me meaning, feeling like I was moving towards something, creating my life and living intentionally.

From the moment I committed to this expedition, I had a future that excited me and a purpose that fired me to my very core.

The expedition was tough, yet despite the challenges and the physical pain, dropping out never once crossed my mind. The suffering and challenge were buffered by the meaning I assigned to the expedition.

Paddling the Nile definitely isn’t for everyone! But finding what your equivalent is, I think is so important. I encourage everyone to find what that is for them. We tend to regret the things we don’t do. If you can dream it, you can do it. There’ll never be the perfect time, the planets won’t line up just as you need — only you can make it happen.

This trip was a reminder to me to never settle, and to live with purpose – and to keep finding things that light me up. Life is too

If you commit, take action every day and persevere you can achieve anything. Dream.

Believe. Succeed.

Sarah at the finish.

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About Sarah Davis Sarah is a professional risk and project manager turned adventurer. She is now a speaker, writer and coach, helping and encouraging women to 'explore their possible'. Beyond that, she is a volunteer surf lifesaver at North Bondi and South Maroubra Surf Lifesaving Clubs, a competitive surf ski paddler and a self-confessed ice cream addict. You can find out more about Sarah on her website www.sarahjdavis.com and follow her on Instagram @sarahpaddles and Twitter @sarah_paddles.

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Adventure She magazine, Issue 18, October 2022

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UNESCO Feature The Pyramids of Meroë, Sudan

By Sarah Davis

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It is a stunning site – with the rich ochre-coloured sand and pyramids contrasting beautifully with the almost year-round blue sky.

Beyond the pyramids, the rolling dunes of the Sahara stretch further than the eye can see.

It turns out that Egypt doesn’t have exclusivity when it comes to pyramids.

There are some 200 pyramids in Sudan, with approximately 100 in Meroë, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

These pyramids were erected by the Kushites over 2,000 years ago.

The Kush Kingdom covered Nubia, an ancient region that covered most of Sudan and southern Egypt.

Meroë became the capital of this kingdom around 590 BCE.

They are found about a three-hour drive north of Sudan’s capital, Khartoum. You could drive past and miss these sand-coloured buildings, that are almost camouflaged by the surrounding desert.

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These pyramids are much smaller than their Egyptian cousins. They stand up to about 30 metres in height, rising from a narrow footprint resulting in steep sides.

These magnificent edifices, made of granite and sandstone, are slowly being eroded by the wind and sand. They also took a beating in the 1830s, when Italian, Guiseppe Ferline made his way through Sudan, blowing the tops off them in search of reported gold

and silver. What he found he took home and sold with much of it now on display in German museums.

The pyramids were built as tombs for the kings and queens. The occupants would design and build their pyramids prior to their death to avoid delaying their journey to the afterlife.

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Unlike the Egyptian pyramids, the burial chamber is below rather than within the pyramid itself. The temple-like entrance leads to an offering chapel – a small room with hieroglyphics on the walls depicting the occupant's life.

Offerings such as bows, wooden boxes, horse harnesses and pottery were placed in these chapels.

The burial chamber was buried below the pyramid in a tomb reached by a now-buried staircase.

Here there is an antechamber with more hieroglyphics on the walls, which led to the burial chamber.

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Some modern replicas have been built to show what they would have looked like in their heyday and a small nearby museum shares their history.

It’s a stunning location and for anyone visiting Sudan this site is worth seeing. There are few tourists and if you can, head to watch the sunrise or set across this magnificent site and allow yourself to be transported back in time.

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Climbing 14ers in Colorado

By Lucja Leonard 94

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What do you do when you find yourself in Colorado? Hit the great outdoors, that’s what. It’s one of those few places in the world where, ok, it’s not compulsory to be fit, but it sure helps. For Colorado is the home to so many outdoor opportunities, that the outdoors can’t but be a part of living there.

One person who recently found herself in Colorado and was eager to make the most of her time there, was frequent contributor and awesome supporter of Adventure She, Lucja Leonard.

others it’s the realization of an enduring dream to ‘tick’ them all off. Whatever your reason to tackle one or more 14ers, one thing is certain, it will be epic!

‘Yes, let’s do it!’ I found myself agreeing to an amazing adventure in Colorado with friend, fellow adventurer & ultra-runner, Rachel Sklar.

Rachel and I had decided upon not just one 14er but a loop of 4 of them. Known as the Decalibron loop consisting of Mt Democrat, Mt Cameron, Mt Lincoln and Mt Bross, with the first letters of each making up the name De-Ca-Li-Br-on, cute right? To make it a little different we decided to do the route in reverse, with a little method in our madness as we had read that the route down from Mt Bross was super steep with loose scree, in our opinion that sounded easier to go up than down, a decision we ended up being very happy with.

We both happened to be in Colorado, within an hour’s drive of each other, at the same time and we hadn’t seen each other since first meeting on the sandy shores of Fuerteventura (Spanish Canary Islands) 6 years ago for the inaugural half Marathon des Sables. We were going to tackle a 14er!

What is a 14er you might ask? The term is really only known to Americans; a 14er is a mountain peak that exceeds 14,000 feet (4267.2 meters) elevation, there are 96 of them in total and Colorado has 58 of them!

To qualify, a peak must rise at least 300 feet above the saddle that connects it to the nearest 14er peak (if another exists nearby).

You can make up your own mind on whether that rule truly applies.

Heading up the ascent of Mt Bross we came across other hikers literally sliding their way down on the loose scree! They were quite surprised to see us taking this direction, and some were a little worried that we started so late in the day, just before midday, I think there was a little bit of mansplaining but little did they know that these two lovely ladies were actually bad ass mountain ultra runners.

But what’s the fascination with them? The allure of a 14er summit appeals & calls to a whole range of different people. To some it’s simply a thing to do during summer break, to 95

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The air is thin making my lungs burn and sends my heart pounding into my head.

Acclimatisation is slow but we use the excuse to stop and enjoy the views and of course take a load of photos and videos and then light headedness subsides and you take energy from the never-ending views and the varying rock colours and formations.

loomed in front of us, the carpark below. Do we take the easy way out straight back to the carpark? We’d done 3 peaks already and the legs and lungs were certainly feeling it, or do we pull up our big girl pants and finish the 4th?

Up we went, a rocky and technical route that required hands and feet contact at times with its steep ruggedness, losing the route at times before finding it again with a mixture of cairns to mark the way and double checking on our Gaia GPS app! We had done it! 4 x 14ers! 8 miles with 4,300ft reaching a maximum elevation of 14,304 feet in 5h30min.

Reaching the top of Mt Bross felt like a small celebration. It is awe inspiring. It makes you feel so small to be so high up there. These big mountains are so special, alive with a fierce energy that engulfs your spirit. I start to see why hikers decide to ‘tick’ them all off, it’s quite an empowering feeling to be up so high, have climbed the mountain under your own steam and be out at the mercy of Mother Nature, so exposed and vulnerable.

We gingerly made our way back down to the saddle and now took the junction to the carpark which was much more sedate and we skipped our way back down, big smiles spread across our faces.

Mt Bross was a brutally tough climb, but from there it got a little easier for the next two; Mt Lincoln and Cameron as you followed along the ridgeline with a few ups and downs to make the next peaks.

Extremely lucky with the weather, the sun shone brightly with a sharp wind that at times felt it could blow you right off the top!

My first, but certainly not my last 14er, was an absolute blast. Adventures are always fun, shared adventures are doubly so!

A sharp descent from Mt Cameron brought us down to the saddle via a pretty technical route and then we looked up! Mt Democrat

About Lucja Leonard Lucja Leonard has transformed herself from an extremely unfit person, to a hard core ultra runner who also loves to help other people take charge of their body, so they can do more with their own body.

You can follow Lucja Leonard on the following social media channels: Instagram: www.instagram.com/runningdutchie Website:

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The Canary Islands’ Secret Words and Photographs

Maria Tomas Rodriguez

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Migrants’ boats, Gran Canaria island, March 2021

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Maria Tomas Rodriguez is a multi award winning photographer who found herself living back home in her native Tenerife during the initial phase of the Covid 19 pandemic.

Through her photography Maria has previously documented what she describes as “social inequalities and injustices.” She says “in many cases, these lead to migration. I have friends in the islands who arrived by boat, so this is an issue I am familiar with.”

Rather than be just another photographer capturing images of the people on their arrival in the Canary Island, something which she points out has already been extensively documented by the media, Maria decided to record what she calls “the migration humanitarian crisis” from a different perspective. Maria hopes her photographs of the migrants’ boats and the items they brought with them, will both help the rest of us to better understand the crisis and give visibility to the hazards of these deadly trips.

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hen in 2020 the Covid pandemic broke into our lives, whilst many of us were locked down in the comfort of our homes, there was a spike in migrations by sea from West Africa to the Canary Islands. Political instabilities, poverty, lack of opportunities and the sudden stop of economic influx from tourism, forced many people from western African countries to migrate to the Canary Islands to try to make a living somewhere else. Due to their strategic location near the African coastline and Spanish territory -

these islands are the entry point to Europe for many people who, for political and economic reasons, cannot do so legally.

Since 2020 up to this day, more than 50.000 people have reached the Canary Islands navigating in fishing boats departed from western African ports.

During pandemic times

Mauritanian cayuco and pateras, Gran Canaria island, March 2021

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Pateras, Gran Canaria island, March 2021

these boats have been piled up for months or years along the islands’ coastline and ports. Due to the lack of tourism in the islands during the pandemic years the

abandoned boats did not threaten the good image of the islands and the Spanish authorities did not attempt to remove these boats.

Once the travelling restrictions were eventually

Las Canteras migrants camp, Tenerife 2021

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softened towards the end of 2021, most of these boats were stored in secluded depots and hidden from the public sight.

The boats attempting the Canary Islands route usually depart from ports in the west of Morocco, Western Sahara, Mauritania, Gambia or Senegal. The characteristics of these boats differ depending on the origin country, but all of them have one thing in common, they are traditional fishing boats.

Boats departing from Morocco and the Western Sahara are known as

Senegalese cayuco, Las Galletas Tenerife, Adventure She magazine, Issue beach, 18, October 2022 2020

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“pateras”. These are boats of smaller dimension, they can transport up to 40-50 people on board and usually are painted in solid colours such as blue, green, black or white.

Mauritanian and Senegalese’s boats are known as “cayucos”.

Mauritanian cayucos are of medium size and made out of glass fibre, they are less deep than the “pateras” and usually are white on the outside and light blue inside.

Senegalese cayucos are the largest of all of them. They are made of solid wood and

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their skulls are decorated with very characteristic bright colours. There have been arrivals of Senegalese cayucos carrying nearly 200 people.

The engines used onboard are usually second-hand low powered engines.

Sometimes the boat has more than one engine on board. These are mounted inside the boats; the propeller reaches the water through a hole in the boat’s bottom.

Frequently the engines fail or fuel runs out during the crossing. When this happens, survival becomes

Engine and fuel container, Los Cristianos port, 2021.

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a challenge. In the best of cases the boat may be sighted by a merchant ship or a nearby private vessel that notifies the authorities and the boat can be rescued.

On many other occasions, the lost boat is not sighted, the passengers end up dying of dehydration and the boat drifts without steering or ends up sinking.

Due to the ocean currents in the area, several boats with human remains on board appear weeks or months later in remote places such as Cape Verde, the Caribbean islands, or as

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Rudders and navigation aid systems are precarious and manual. Tenerife, August 2021.

Handmade oars with crossbars from the boat and plastic from fuel containers. It is possible this boat might have encountered problems and its passengers then built these in an attempt to survive. Found in Gran Canaria, 2021.

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these boats get lost during the voyage.

Rudders can break, engines do fail and some boats run out of fuel. In these cases, the damaged boat can be adrift for days or weeks. If food and water supplies start running out, the priority is to maintain the boat skipper alive. Food is distributed in a rigorous order, first the boat skipper and after, children and women are fed, if there is any food left.

Photographs this page. The food brought in these boats is usually cous-cous or rice that is cooked on small stoves in the central part of the boat. Sometimes biscuits are also found inside the boats.

more recently reported, the Brazilian coastline. These poorly equipped boats are subject to large waves, severe currents, strong trade winds, all these under an unforgiving sun or storms.

Access to enough drinking water is also a problem. Drinking water is carried in yellow plastic containers. But on many of these trips

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the boats run out of water, so passengers drink sea water, causing them severe dehydration.

a free trip in exchange. Local mafias organize the departures with the promise to reach Spain in a few days.

On arrival to the Canary Islands, the main health issues experienced by the migrants are dehydration, hypothermia and severe skin burns caused by the combination of fuel with #salty water.

Due to imposed Covid travelling restrictions and lack of legal identification, a large majority of the migrants remained trapped in the islands for several months - sometimes more than a year - without being able to

These deadly trips cost an average of 1000 EU per person. Sometimes, the skipper is a local fisherman who undertakes the responsibility of navigating the boat and gets

Photographs this page. Cooking items found on board. Canary Islands, 2021/22

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continue their trip through mainland Spain into the European Union, or without a repatriation trip in place.

accommodation, daily meals and legal advice services.

In spite of the Spanish government’s agreements with the countries of origin, people continue to arrival. But with the boats and navigation systems getting worse, the number of deaths is also on the rise. It is estimated that 1 out of 20 people attempting this route disappears or dies before reaching the islands.

Since 2020, more than 50,000 people have arrived on the islands by irregular boat crossings. The islands do not have enough infrastructure to absorb the numerous arrivals, leading to several migrants’ camps being built in record time on disused military bases. The camps provide very basic

The journey length depends on the departure point. Morocco and Western Sahara are

Photographs this page - Self care items found in various boats, Canary Island 2021/22

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closer to the islands and a “good trip” can take about 4 to 5 days. Further departure points like Mauritania or Senegal can take 10 to 15 days in the best of cases. Of course, many of these boats get lost or face problems. Very often these trips take 3 to 4 weeks, if they are lucky enough to reach their destination. Just a few days ago [October 2022], a boat was found near Gran Canaria island with only one person alive and three dead people on board. The boat had departed 9 days before from Western Sahara with other 34 people on board who died on the crossing and their bodies were thrown into the ocean.

Las Raices migrants camp, Tenerife 2021

With 1 out of 5 deaths during migrations happening on the Canarian route, the Canarian route is currently considered the most dangerous of all the migration routes

About Maria Tomas Rodriguez Maria is a multi award winning Spanish born photographer who now works in London as an University Senior Lecturer.

Her photography usually investigates and documents social inequalities.

During the Covid pandemic she volunteered in the Spanish Red Cross providing emergency and humanitarian support to the migrants on arrival to the ports and beaches.

Through this work on the migrants’ boats, she hopes to give visibility to migrations across the sea and help to dignify the death of the thousands of people who undertook the journey and never reached their destination.

Maria has previously written for Adventure She with her article in our June 2020 issue, highlighting the plight of those children in Senegal that are ‘enslaved’ and forced to beg for their keep.

You can follow Maria on the following social media channel: Instagram: www.instagram.com/@photomtr

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Sofa to the Worlds

By Jane Harries

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www.adventureshe.com Pula Croatia - the scene of Jane’s second attempt at starting a half IRONMAN.

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In our most recent issues our editor Jane Harries, has been sharing some of her hiking mistakes. We think its great to share mistakes, for we all make them.

But we also think it’s important to celebrate our successes, for we all have successes in some way shape of form, be they passing a driver’s test, managing to leave the house during a tough period, completing a couch to 5km plan, running a marathon, climbing at altitude, or even cycling around the world.

So let’s be kind to ourselves and whatever our successes, however big or small, let’s celebrate them. It doesn’t need a big, or an expensive, or even a public celebration. It can be a small as giving ourselves a pat on the back.

After all, those of us with dogs give them a pat on the back when they’ve had a success like retrieving a ball, so why not give ourselves a pat on the back when we’ve achieved one of our goals.

Our founder and editor, Jane had a goal of doing an IRONMAN 70.3 triathlon, also known as a half IRONMAN or a middle distance triathlon. It turned out to be quite some journey for her. A journey she still can’t believe actually happened. Anyways, for sticking to her goal of actually finishing a half IRONMAN, here’s a pat on the back Jane. Here’s her story.

But before reading Jane’s story, have a think about something you’ve achieved this week, be it as mundane as making your bed, as phenomenal as going on an adventure of a lifetime, or as huge as passing your exams and go on, give yourself a pat on the back.

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ho’s had enough of watching wars, murder mysteries and politics on the TV? Who’s had enough of newspapers, books and magazines? Who’s had enough of scrolling on their phone?

ready for more and we can use it to propel ourselves forward.

That’s how I found myself entering a half IRONMAN, also called an IRONMAN 70.3 So how did that race go?

Rather than having ‘had enough’ might it actually be sofa fatigue instead?

It didn’t, as a few weeks before the race I fell off my mountain bike and broke some ribs.

On the upside, now I had a dog, I couldn’t spend all my spare time on the sofa, because she needed walking.

Welcome to my world circa 2014, when whist recovering from general anesthetic number 15 (yes you read that right, fifteen), I had a bad dose of sofa fatigue,.

More upside, I managed to transfer my entry to a race later in the season. So there I was

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Weymouth, UK - the day before the race

in sunny Croatia all ready for my second attempt at starting a half IRONMAN.

blocks. But this time though, for some reason, the taste didn’t appeal. Never mind I thought.

Then two nights before race day I got a late night phone call. Instead of racing around a half IRONMAN course, I had a more important race, a race to hospital where my father had been admitted in a very bad way.

I’m glad to say 5 weeks later, he was discharged.

It was another full year, some two years after that life changing day on the sofa, that finally at my third attempt, I was walking to the start line of my first half IRONMAN, Weymouth.

First though, I pumped up the tyres on my bike, then, I popped an energy gel and a few jelly blocks. Now I normally love those jelly

Weymouth, UK –minutes before the race start

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sun, surely I thought, with no more glare to contend with the worst must now be over. How wrong was I.

Weymouth, UK –the rolling bike course

When disorientated I must have swallowed some salt water. That taste, combined with breakfast, gel and jelly was not good. Then it happened, I vomited.

And I vomited. I swam on and vomited some more.

A safety kayaker approached. Did I want to hold on? Seeing the fear in my eyes he jumped in “it’s ok, you won’ be disqualified” But I wouldn’t do that to myself, I wouldn’t accept any help. Nor would I quit for as John Greenleaf Whitter’s poem says “rest if you must but don’t you quit”.

The vomiting kept coming. It was horrible.

Again and again, the gel, the jelly and my breakfast hit the sea. I felt so sorry for those swimming behind me.

Within minutes of the sky turning from black to navy blue and purple, we were off, swimming on the mill pond flat sea, under a cloudless sky and towards the rising sun which blazed like a bright orange fireball.

Another safety kayaker approached me, only he misjudged his speed, or the water, or perhaps how slow I was moving and the front of his kayak bumped me on the head!

Perhaps that was the best thing for me, for after that the kayakers left me alone. I have no doubt they were watching me, wondering at what point would they need to pull me from the water. But I swam on. For I told

Ouch. Swimming towards that glistening fireball disorientated me.

Then I felt strange. I had to drop my pace.

What was wrong with me?

Finally after turning around the far buoy I was rid of that fiery blinding furnace of a 116

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myself to pretend I was in a swimming pool, a 25 metre pool and that all I needed to do was to swim 25 metres at a time. I counted my strokes, once I estimated I’d swam 25 metres, I stopped for a moment, then swam another. Swim, rest, repeat with an occasional vomit thrown in.

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Weymouth, UK – playing it up for the camera on the run leg

Those ‘lengths’ seemed never ending, but by now the beach was approaching.

The question was, could I continue? I had no idea.

Would I collapse onto the beach, or would having my feet on dry land save me?

Oh how happy was I when I hit that beach. I started stripping off my wet suit as I ran, yes ran, I could run after all, to the transition tent. It was the first time I’d ever done a triathlon with a transition tent and it was exactly the first time I needed one. For in my transition bag was food. I stuffed pitted dates, apricots and bars into the back pockets of my triathlon top, and headed off in search of my bike.

where I indulged in some serious calorie loading.

Now in Weymouth I started to feel hungry.

Not surprising given all that vomiting. Hitting the wall on that training ride had taught me a lesson. It was because of that training ride I’d stuffed the pockets of my tri top with easily eaten food. I wasn’t in a rush, I wasn’t going to be winning or doing anything other than hopefully making the cut offs and the finish line in the time allowed. So as I cycled on, that bike leg, I indulged in a mini picnic

A few weeks before this race I’d had flu.

Once recovered I went out on a training ride.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone on that ride, for after only 25 miles I hit the wall. I was totally done in. I ended up sat in a hedge for several minutes, as I had zero capacity to move forward.

Luckily there was a café a mile further on which I eventually staggered towards and 117

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from my back pocket and very tasty it was too. I hadn’t needed to give up in the water, I didn’t need to collapse in a hedge, I was no longer hungry, I was in fact happy.

kilometres found I had to walk for a while.

From then on, it was a case of walking some and jogging some. No matter, I could still enjoy the view, including the view of all those ice cream stands. On the second lap I made a shortlist of which ice cream stands looked the best. Then on the third lap I decided which one I would be raiding as soon as possible after finishing the run.

I was slow, very slow, but so what, that bout of flu had been so bad, I knew I wasn’t in shape. To be honest, if the weather forecast for race day hadn’t been so perfect , if I hadn’t had 2 failed attempts at starting a half IRONMAN behind me, if I hadn’t already paid for my hotel, I’d have stayed at home.

Race over, big, huge waffle cone ice cream devoured, bike and wet suit collected from transition, all showered and changed, I pondered what to do. High on post-race adrenalin, but alone with no one to play with, I figured I may as well go and cheer on the winners at the prize ceremony. Then I thought why not stay and watch the allocation of slots for the world championships? So I did. And that’s when it happened. There were two slots for my category. The winner in my category 45 – 49

Having made the bike cut off it was on to the run. Weymouth is one of those traditional seaside towns. Georgian hotels on one side of the road face the beach, whilst on the beach side of that road, there’s a path for people to stroll and ice cream stands aplenty.

Three loops lay ahead of me, three loops along the path and through the town. I headed off at a good jog, but after a few

Weymouth, UK – being presented with her world championship qualifying coin

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didn’t want her slot. The second did want a slot. A slot was offered to the third place getter, silence. 4th, more silence. 5th, still silence. On and on until 15th. Then the announcer turned to the hall, asked if there was any woman from that age category in the room and wanting the slot. My arm was up in a flash ME. They called out again. Anyone else? More silence. They motioned me up onto the stage. There they checked my race details and checked to see if I’d made the transitions cut offs and the finish line in time. Yes I had, just.

Chattanooga, the host city for the 2017 race, an event Jane never expected to participate in.

Then they double checked.

And that’s when they turned to me and gave me the coin, the World Championships Qualifier Coin. I was 26th in my age group, yet I was going to the Worlds!!!

allocated the slots to the world championships, for that’s part of their process, you have to be in the room at that moment.

That’s how I made it to the IRONMAN 70.3 World Championships in Chattanooga Tennessee in 2017. It wasn’t through speed or talent. It was because I chose to enter a race whilst bored when recovering from an operation. It was because I said yes to pursuing my goal even when it took me three attempts to actually start a half IRONMAN. It was because I said yes to resting rather than quitting when I started vomiting. It was because I was in the room when they

It's because of all of those and ok, yes, the training I did, that I had that amazing, incredible and joyful experience of running down the finishing shoot and subsequently got presented with one of my most favourite medals, the finisher medal for the 2017 IRONMAN 70.3 World Championships.

If you ever get the chance remember, seize and the moment and say YES.

About Jane Harries Jane is the founder and now editor of Adventure She. She can’t remember when she first sat on a pony, but remembers going for her first riding lesson age 4 and knows she could swim of a sort (or should we say not sink) by 5 and a half. She wasn’t sporty though as a child, and never played hockey or netball for her secondary / high school, though she did represent the school at cross country running, albeit having to walk jog the course. Jane did however enjoy cycling with her friends and age 15 and 16 went youth hostelling by bicycle with those friends.

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Don't Quit When things go wrong as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all up hill, When the funds are low and the debts are high And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is strange with its twists and turns As every one of us sometimes learns And many a failure comes about When he might have won had he stuck it out; Don't give up though the pace seems slow— You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out— The silver tint of the clouds of doubt, And you never can tell just how close you are, It may be near when it seems so far; So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit— It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

John Greenleaf Whittier 1807-1892

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The Moral Song Tis a lesson you should heed– Try again; If at first you don’t succeed, Try again.

Then your courage should appear; For if you will persevere, You will conquer, never fear, Try again.

Once or twice though you should fail, If you would at last prevail, Try again.

If we strive, 'tis no disgrace Though we did not win the race– What should you do in that case?

Try again.

If you find your task is hard.

Try again; Time will bring you your reward, Try again; All that other folk can do, Why with patience should not you?

Only keep this rule in view, Try again.

Edward Hickson 1803 -1870 121

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Coming Up We hope you’ve enjoyed this issue and have found it to be empowering, educating, and entertaining. Here are some ideas we have for future articles, but please do let us know what you’d like to read about and please do keep sending us your stories. We love publishing them.

Getting Into Sea Kayaking

Exploring Mongolia

Exploring Sri Lanka

Getting Your Film Into A Film Festival

Urban Adventures - Bouldering

Swimming To France

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Swimming Scotland’s Loch Awe

Adventures and Breast Cancer

New Zealand’s Coast To Coast Race Cycling Victoria’s Rail Trails

Getting Into Adventure Racing

Nepal After Travels in Iran

Hiking in Romania

The Big Interview

Adventures On The Colorado Trail

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124 Adventure She is a brand of TNA Consulting Services Ltd, Pembrokeshire, UK

Photo courtesy of Tempus Media