Stories

Campsites have re-opened following lockdown and unprecedented demand due to the "staycation" movement has meant new pop-up sites are opening everywhere. Whether you are on a site or if it's (leave-no-trace) wild-camping that interests you, Expedition Foods meals are perfect for camping. 

Five days were spent exploring parts of a natural reserve in the Eastern Alps. According to the rhythm of nature, time flowed through day and night. Light and dark. Sun and stars. Adi, Tulku, Indi, Ciuk and I moved around with a sled (a toboggan), each day finding a different place for overnight camping. I owe my dogs a lot, maybe I owe them everything: the bond we share is strong and it becomes even stronger during these kind[s] of experiences.

Humans have an inborn desire for knowledge and discovery, a deep attraction to what is hidden beyond the horizon. Nowadays, “old-style” explorations have been in some way overcome by the speed of social networks that allow [us] to see and visit places in no time. However, exploring a new place with the desire for self-growth is still possible. Being immersed in Nature, in an unfamiliar place, is the first step to reconnecting human souls to the spirit of the Earth. A place can be protected and valued only by living and experiencing it with profound respect. This is the spirit that brought my dogs and me to the mountains and their hidden valleys and trails. The sled was stowed with the bare essentials: food supply, clothes, sleeping bag, tent, stove, water, spare dog-lines. Nothing more is needed in [the] wilderness. It’s like a game: trying to leave useless loads behind, including lots of the things we consider fundamental in everyday life. Are these things really important? I feel rich and peaceful when I have a shelter, the starry sky above and the ancient mountains around. Mundane thoughts vanish: nothing is more important than the present moment. When I’m alone with Nature and her forces, I just feel in the right place.

Humans are going through a sort of atrophy: cities are cages for their bodies and souls. This was an environmental exploration, as our ecosystems are facing a very delicate situation. We lived through [the] experience with the sled, sliding up and down the valleys leaving nothing but soft traces in the snow. It felt like home: isn’t the Earth our only home? It was a climate exploration, in full harmony with the Adventure Natural Project. I was at 2,000 metres (6,600 ft) when I noticed that the Cold was the “great absent”: we barely hit -12°C in a place where -20°C should be easily reached. Good snow could be found only over 1,800 meters. Daytime temperatures rose constantly a few degrees above zero. I definitely noticed the effects of climate change: warmer temperatures, snow-scarce winters. I keep wondering: will there still be winter here in a few years?

A small detail caught my attention: the higher the altitude the greater the respect for the mountains. I met people trekking, snowshoeing, mountain skiing. Some of them paused along the way just to gaze at the mountains. I will never forget a young couple with two children: they were enjoying the view all together, quietly. They stopped to truly experience a natural place, they lived the present moment in harmony with Nature. I reckon that the future for us will be going back to the natural rhythm of Time. This is the way to live an authentic existence.

My Siberian Huskies pulled the sled with no hesitation. My spirit ran with theirs along the same track. They were mentally prepared and they never gave up, not even during the most challenging passages in which I totally relied on their instinct. I trust my dogs and I can feel they trust me too. This exploration was also an inner voyage: even if lots of questions will still remain unanswered, I am grateful for the vast meaning derived along the way to find the answers. I thank my sled dogs for being part of this journey.

Fra Indi
Jaranga Siberian Husky Team

Website: www.fraindi.com
Instagram: @jaranga_siberian_husky_team

Words and Photography by Will Copestake

This article first appeared in BASE magazine issue 02. For the latest from BASE including the latest digital issue in full direct to your inbox, be sure to subscribe for free.

Once on the tide, you can’t turn back, whispered a voice in my head. It was frighteningly persistent, and I felt sick.

Eighty days into a solo sea kayaking expedition around Scotland, I had reached Cape Wrath - the most northwesterly point on mainland Britain on the north coast of Scotland. ‘The turning point’ as the Vikings named it and the gateway to an infamously rough and committing stretch of paddling. I had safely landed in a small cove and settled into a bothy to spend the night. Wandering to the top of a nearby cliff I had hoped to inspect what lay ahead and build confidence for what I might experience over the coming days.

Looking east along a line of headlands, I felt my stomach churn as I watched huge waves breaking over tidal races. The flow was faster than I could paddle against. I knew it would be different at slack tide, but I couldn’t shake the thought of being tossed amongst the conditions I saw. A voice in my head had started to whisper fear, and fear quickly turned to self doubt. Over the last 800 kilometres, I had grown used to tidal planning and executing each day to make best use of their flow or lack thereof. I had ready advice available from friends just a quick phone call away, but out here, on this remote cliff, I felt so very much alone. Once on the water it would be just me, my kayak, and an ocean moving swiftly east. There was something frightening about the total commitment of the north coast; the fierce reputation of this place had built up in my head over the last few months, which made it seem worse than what I had paddled so far.

Below my feet, the cracks and booms of waves against rock thundered through a chatter of seabirds nesting on their precipitous perches below. Like those birds, I felt I was teetering on a thin ledge between safe land and dangerous sea. In reality my success or failure lay squarely in my planning for the tides and winds which I had already become so well accustomed to doing. But the voice whispered again in my ear, once on the tide you can’t turn back.

There is a delicate balance between a sense of fear and willingness to commit in any walk of life, be it a businessman investing in his stocks, an arachnophobe picking up a spider from the kitchen floor, or a sea kayaker navigating a tidal headland. In every case there is that little voice in our heads that cries hesitation. But therein lies the allure of adventure which is to overcome that thought just to see what happens. You might arrive around a headland triumphant or you might throw that spider across the room with a childish scream, if you don’t try you will never know.

In a paddling sense, I had experienced this voice of doubt before Cape Wrath, mostly on offshore open passages. I found the call starts in the back of my mind after an hour or two paddling away from land, from where it grows louder and louder. In such times, the temptation to listen was always alluring even when I was experiencing calm and manageable seas. If I turned back for the weather then that was a choice well made, but retreat for no good reason other than a beckoning doubt brought instant regret once home. To push past the voice with observation and rational reasoning always led to a tremendous sense of reward at overcoming it.  This was how I would treat the north coast, headland by headland, with good preparation and by managing the difference between irrational fear and rational awareness.

Looking down, I could see the eastward stream pulling full bore through a narrow gap. Between mighty cliff and rocky island, the sea curled over in a chaotic spray as the flow broke into white horses. I felt sick just looking at it. The thought of entering that chop churned my stomach in flips and leaps just as tumultuous as what I was looking at. It kept me awake most of the night. As the next day arrived and the tides were slack, I checked conditions were good - which they were - sucked up my nerves and pushed out to sea. Anxiously rounding the corner, I entered the waves that had stirred up so much fear and doubt from the shore. Indeed it was rough, and required hard paddling to execute success, but to my surprise the reality of the race wasn’t fear but fun. I passed the cliffs with a smile on my face, and with all self doubt removed in the process.

Over the next week I slowly pushed across the north coast one headland at a time with the same repeating routine of primal fear ashore and paddling enjoyment on the sea. On land, safe and dry, my mind was burdened with nerves each night, but on the water the next day they were washed away with the immediate purpose of the journey at hand.

The voice whispered again in my ear: once on the tide you can’t turn back

After several successful headlands rounded, I started to ignore the voices of fear. Complacently letting my planning slip this led to my most epic and challenging experience during my entire circumnavigation of Scotland as I rounded Holbourne Head. My second last headland in the north, it was the one day of my trip where the conditions became what I had feared, and that fear became a reality. This was the day on which I should have listened more carefully to the whispers of doubt.

A huge double-overhead swell had risen against the tide and a high wind forecast rose the waves steep enough to easily take my entire kayak bow to stern on their face. The new confidence of having aced the last few days without issue now turned to desperation, as I found myself fighting for survival for several hours. I remember the moment a wave actually barrelled over me, surfing me sideways as I braced hard, white knuckles piled into the breaking foam. I remember too the crack of waves erupting against the cliffs of an inescapable shore. I remember a horrible sense of being totally stationary as each crucial paddle placement wallowed in the waves. Every minute felt an hour and every stroke an effort to stay upright; my kayak was sinking and I was running out of energy. When I finally reached safe harbour, I was so exhausted that I needed help from a stranger to lift my kayak from the slipway. My cockpit was twelve inches deep in water from a leaking deck and I was shivering hard from the cold water and sheer adrenaline. I was physically and emotionally spent. 

My mistake was reversing the routine; I had ignored the whispers of fear which had led to a lack of proper precautionary planning. Whilst, perhaps surprisingly, the fear during the event had been shelved in an effort to escape, afterwards it utterly consumed me.

In reflection, the experience had been terrifying. It was the closest I have come, before or since, to having a serious beatdown on the sea and for days after it affected me deeply with a reluctance to return to the water. A valuable lesson perhaps, experience as always came just after I needed it.

Those voices can sometimes turn from a hinderance to a useful tool. I have long said that the safest paddlers are the timid ones, but it is perhaps better to consider that a safe paddler recognises risk and listens to it by matching their planning to their ability. By acknowledging ‘the whispers’, rather than fear them, a greater picture of the journey ahead and its possible outcomes can be made, knowing when it is appropriate to listen or ignore them is then down to experience.

Since completing my solo circumnavigation of Scotland I have been privileged to turn adventure into a career as a kayak guide. Like my adventure, which began with relatively little experience in sea kayaking, I learnt to guide in a rather unconventional way. I was hired on the merit of that Scotland trip to an expedition guiding outfit in Chilean Patagonia where I was regularly sent into seriously remote locations in 45 knot headwinds with large groups of novice paddlers. Needless to say that first season was ‘educational’ and took swift and effective decision making to an extreme with lots of dynamic choices involved. At the time I had no formal training ( which I have now progressed through in subsequent years ) on how to kayak guide, and I only had the qualification of strong personal experience. I quickly learnt that guiding and strong personal paddling were two very different skills, although there were some overlapping elements.

I could see the eastward stream pulling full bore through a narrow gap. The sea curled over in a chaotic spray of white horses: I felt sick just looking at it.

The technical skills of Patagonian guiding involved a lot more towing and instruction than I was perhaps used to. In order to achieve a ‘safety first - safety second’ decision process, my most useful tool was the one I had learnt through expeditions, which I translated into my guiding format. I had to constantly listen to the ‘whispers’ as I’d discovered along the north coast of Scotland. By asking ‘what if’ at every turn or decision, incidents could be avoided proactively with enjoyment. To ignore the instincts meant picking up capsizes and reactively rescuing people.

Whether I’m leading trips in Scotland through my company Kayak Summer Isles, or on a major expedition in deepest Patagonia, I now maintain that listening ear to the whispers in my head. This approach, I think, might just make sense to a safe and experienced paddler. Rather than being the first sign of madness from too long on the sea, staying in tune with the inner voice of your consciousness is a sound practice for any major adventure.

This article first appeared in BASE magazine issue 02. For the latest from BASE including the latest digital issue in full direct to your inbox, be sure to subscribe for free.

On the 1st of July 2019, Shona left the comfort and safety of her UK life to fly to Seattle and hike the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).

The PCT is a 2650-mile long-distance walking trail in the USA that runs from Mexico to Canada, through California, Oregon, and Washington. Shona hiked South-bound, starting at the Canadian border.

She carried all of her kit and camping gear (5.6kg without food and water), passing through towns about once a week to pick up food resupply, shower, charge her phone, etc.

It took just under 5 months.

Meet Shona:

Why hike the PCT?

Four years ago, as I approached a significant birthday, I admitted to myself that I wasn’t living the life and adventures I’d dreamed off.

I’d been waiting for my circumstances to change but changing they were not.

I decided it was time to stop putting my life on hold. And I tentatively started having adventures on my own. Each year I’ve got a bit bolder and braver:

I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail because the idea of spending 5 months walking in nature – in dramatic beauty – felt like a dream. I knew it would be hard. So hard that I’d want to quit many times. But I also knew that I’d love it and be changed by it.

What did you eat?

Excerpts from Shona’s Blog

Day 5:  

“I left the beautiful forest that sheltered me last night, again feeling strong.

It feels too good to be true, but my body doesn’t hurt. I feel as well as I’ve ever felt. As alive as I’ve ever felt.

Some of the passes I climbed today were nearly 7000 feet high. They make Scottish mountains seem tiny. Yet so far, I’m finding the walking okay. The switch backs mean I’m never gasping for breath in the way I am on brutal Scottish mountain assents.

And navigation is pretty straight forward as I’m following a path.

As I was walking along the crest of Methow Pass looking out on the mountain ranges encircling me I felt a surge of emotion move through me. I wanted to cry. It all felt too beautiful to be true. Could I really be here? What have I done to deserve this?”

Day 22 

“I climbed through a forest for a few hours. By midday, it was burning hot as I dragged myself up a scree track into a wild flowered meadow. The scarlet Indian Paintbrush popped out against the lush grass.

Eventually, the epic rocky mountainous landscape came fully into view. The Goat Rock Wilderness with clear views of in front the three live volcanos of Mount Rainer, Adams and St. Catherine. I could see 360 views for what felt like 100s of miles. Beauty in every direction.”

Day 23 

“Another early start; I unzip my tent door to be reminded that I’m camped in this glorious meadow… Indian Paintbrush and Lupins frame sunrise over Mount Adams.

I’m happy to meet Therese when I stop to fill my water bottle at the river. She sows the seed that’s she’s going for a 30 miler…and I wonder if today’s the day for me to try the same... the most I’ve done is 26.

I’m feeling strong and there’s not a lot of elevation.

I pass by the 400-mile mark early afternoon. These are the rare moments that I wish I didn’t hike alone. It would have been nice to have shared this. To have high 5’d someone. But I mentally high 5 myself, smile and keep walking.” 

To read more of Shona's journey on the PCT, go to http://www.shonafitness.co.uk/pacific-crest-trail/

Expedition Foods (EF): Tell me about your background, have you always been a runner? How did you get started?

Jo Meek (JM): I was not a runner, or even remotely athletic, as a youngster but by late teens/early 20s I had started. I wanted to lose weight initially but soon got hooked.

I have now been a runner for 20+ years so it’s very much part of my life. I started off road running but then joined a club and soon found my love of competition which I still have.

EF: When did you get into trail running?

JM: Although I raced cross country early on and sometimes trained off road, I did not actively seek out trail runs until much more recently. I did the odd local trail race but that was about it. Since moving up to the ultra-distance I have embraced trail running and love runnable trails.

EF: When did you decide to compete in the MDS?

JM: The idea had been bubbling away in the background for a few years but in 2013 it came to fruition. I always felt I should not move up to the ultra-distance until I had finished road running and trying to pursue a fast marathon time.

In hindsight, this is not the case and I feel that what I have learnt trail and ultra-running may have helped, although I probably would not have gone back to road marathons!

So, my husband and I saved up and entered a race we both wanted to experience - the MDS!

EF: When did you start training for the MDS? Can you tell us how you trained each week for it? Realistically, how long do you think it takes to train for a multi-day race?

JM: The race is in April and I started training in January. We did not find out we had got into the race until November the previous year and then I had my gall bladder removed, so could not train much earlier really.

I don’t think you need a build up bigger than 16 weeks really unless you’re coming from a very sedentary background. I trained by essentially following a marathon programme – keeping in some key sessions and a long run at the weekend.

However, we did add in some back-to-back days of long runs, the biggest one being three days of 20-miles with kit. Training with kit is key so you can find out what’s comfortable and get used to the gait changes you naturally make carrying weight.

EF: How did you prepare your nutrition for the race? Do you have a list of what you ate each day? What worked and what didn't work for you?

JM: I wanted to carry as little as possible because of the weight, so this influenced my packing list – even the food. You have to take a certain number of calories, which I did, but not much more.

I ate oats for breakfast; I would add some energy drink powder added to the oats. To drink, I had coffee. The warmth from this food was as beneficial as the calories as the mornings were chilly.

Whilst running throughout the day I ate gels, energy bars and dried fruit (apricots and dates). I tried to aim to eat something every hour. I remember buying some Bounce Balls with nuts which were tasty. I saw other people with bags of nuts and even lumps of parmesan cheese which I thought was a good idea. I did get sick of the gels in the heat and now I don’t rely on them so much in long races.

For snacks, I tend to opt for real foods if I can - I think flapjacks (savoury or sweet) are ideal. When I stopped running I made up and drank a protein powder drink before eating my main Expedition Foods meal in the evening.

EF: How did you manage to stay hydrated each day? Did you just drink water or did you add electrolytes to your drink? Did you re-hydrate with anything special when you returned to camp each day?

I drank all the water, took the salt tablets and added electrolytes into some of my drinks. I continually sipped fluid all day so I never felt thirsty and had to gulp it down. I took a protein recovery drink for after running, which was great because often it wasn’t really possible to eat immediately.

EF: Tell us about the gear you brought - what was your best piece of gear and your worst piece of gear? What did your backpack weigh at check-in?

My backpack was the minimum weight. In fact, on weigh-in they made me add more to it because they thought it was too light. I bought an Inov-8 pack for the race and it was great.

My worst choice of kit was the head torch. I took an ultra-light head torch which was absolutely rubbish for highlighting the route ahead at night. It wasn’t powerful enough at all. I had to run with it in my hand in the end.

I took nothing of real comfort except a warm jacket for at night. My sleeping mat was cut to A4 size, just to protect my hips!

EF: I know you finished second, the fastest British female finisher ever at the MDS. What was your goal entering the race? Top 10 or just finish?

I entered to be as competitive as possible. I had saved up the money and invested a lot of time into training. I used a heat chamber for the last two weeks of training, so I tried not to leave anything to chance.

EF: There are all types of people who compete in the MDS. Do you think anyone can complete the race with the right mental attitude?

You share a tent with 8 others and so you get to meet all types of runners who all want to get something different out of their entry. The race is challenging because of the heat, the terrain and the self-sufficiency, but everyone can over-meet their goals if they focus on it.

Embrace the challenge and know everyone goes through tough patches and a good patch is waiting on the other side!

EF: What races do you have planned for 2020? If money or time was no object, what are the three races in the world you would like to do?

I am going to do a race in Sri Lanka in March 2020. I am currently planning the rest of the year.

3 races to do… that’s tough….

I love stages – the jungle one appeals to me and the RacingThePlanet race through Georgia, The Caucasus. Other races would be the Western States 100 but so far, I have not been successful in the lottery.

There are so many now, but I try to seek out exploring a new place if I get the opportunity.

EF: Any tips for those aspiring to do a multi-day race?

Train appropriately, get used to running on consecutive days.

Try your kit out before you take it.

Expect the unexpected, something will always go wrong so be adaptable.

If you think you’re getting a blister, address it immediately.

Have fun! Enjoy the escapism.