Happy Finishers at 2008 Calgary City Chase ©City Chase Inc

Escaping the mega-city — that was my purpose when I moved west to Calgary in 1997. That and getting close to the mountains. I arrived with an allergy to downtown, usually only venturing there to see the judge about my nagging Ontario leadfoot problems. I was a wilderness snob, and the city was a necessary evil to pay for my lifestyle.

Somewhere along the way, I lost this snobbery, and became a city booster! I began to appreciate the architecture, the culture, and yes even the infrastructure. Right here in our city was a plenitude of recreational and nature enjoyment opportunities. Then, in 2004, I stumbled upon the City Chase, an event some would say has defined me for the past five years …so much so that last season’s televised episode dubbed me “The Godfather of City Chase.”

City Chase is part scavenger hunt, part urban obstacle course. Teams of two spend six hours searching for 20 to 30 ChasePoints scattered over the city, using only their feet and public transit. The first team to return to the finish line with 10 ChasePoints — testing physical and mental personal limits — earns a trip to the Canadian Championships, hosted in a secret locale. There they’ll face a 1 in 8 chance of winning a lease on a Mitsubishi Lancer and the honour of representing Canada at the World Championships.

Sure, the race involves fascinating problem solving and route planning. Sure, the ChasePoint challenges are as varied as they are fun. But the real thrill of the Chase is having to deal with the unexpected. This is when your next decision just might decide your team’s fate. This is what keeps you up at night thinking, what if … and yet I love it!

No team ever runs a perfect race. It’s how well you deal with setbacks that determines your final placing. Last year’s Calgary race was a perfect example. I had a new, unproven race partner, and teams were obviously gunning for us. Rivalries were amped up for the TV cameras, and we were feeling the pressure. Our strategy was to let our HQ make almost all of the decisions for us. They came through big time. A slow team, we missed some key transit connections. On post-race analysis, the 2nd through 4th placing teams should easily have beaten us, if not for a single critical mistake that each team made.

I don’t expect everyone is going to embrace the City Chase as earnestly as I have, but no matter what your commitment level, I can guarantee you’ll have an unforgettable experience! My good friend, fellow Calgarian, and current Canadian Champion Nicki Rehn summed it up perfectly after her recent experience at the World Championships in Morocco:

“City Chase has something to teach us all. It throws our everyday world upside down, challenges us to connect … to connect to ourselves, to our fellow humans, to other cultures … to become more adaptable, resilient, flexible, easy-going, and problem solving. […] It represents an intense snapshot of the way life should be lived, and that’s why I love City Chase.”

I can’t wait for the next Calgary event, coming up, significantly, on D-Day … the sixth of June, 2009. I won’t be competing this year, as l am a co-organizer. In fact, knowing the course we have planned, any team can win … especially since none of the past champion teams will be returning this year.

Bill Jarvis

Note: this article appeared in Out There Magazine, Spring 2009 — for the full-colour version complete with photos, pick up your own copy at the Out There store on Stephen Ave & 1 St SW in Calgary.

Mandalay Beach ©Nicki Rehn

I was the only witness to my unforgettable experience, my thoughts and pain and joy the only companions for days on end; and silence, my closest friend. So, it is hard to convey a real and true picture of my journey. It took me 20 days to run 963 km from Perth to Albany along the Bibbulmun Track. I was able to do it alone and unsupported by carrying a 30lb pack, sending food drops ahead, sleeping in the track shelters, and doing without luxuries such as clean clothes, real food and a hair brush. And as it turns out, complete exhaustion is a sufficient substitute for a pillow and mattress. I ran (which was more like an ultra-marathon shuffle) between 50 and 60 km each day, moving slowly with the heavy pack, across the difficult terrain and in unseasonal scorching heat. It would take every morsel of daylight to complete my distance, as well as the first hour by headlamp. I actually wasn’t chasing a speed record, but was hoping to find space … not just wide open physical space that characterizes the Australia outdoors, but the mental and emotional space that comes from lengthy solitude, continuous days of motion, and time defined only by the sun rising and setting.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, both physically and mentally. Taken in isolation, a 55 km run is, for me, tough but not totally insane. Sure, it’s an ultra marathon but I’m well conditioned for long days on the trail. And my adventure racing background means that perhaps I was even conditioned for a string of two or three days of 55 km in a row. The mystery, that was to be unveiled as my trip ran its course, was how my body would cope with 19 continuous days of this kind of punishment. Could I adapt to a lifestyle of constant running, with inadequate calorie replenishment, no showers, and no massages? In the end, I decided to take a day of rest halfway along — a last minute decision that sprung from a rare moment of wisdom. And so, I discovered that it took over two weeks for my body to adjust, thus allowing me to relish just four relatively easier days at the end. Up until then, every day was tough. No blisters, but definitely sore feet, sore shoulders, sore back, sore ankles, exhaustion, and sometimes an overwhelming sense of impossibility. I lost 14 lbs and I actually recall the moment my body ran out of itself as a fuel supply on about day 15. I learned the beautiful art of breaking apart my long days into small pieces of approx 12 km that were easier to swallow. A lesson learned, I guess, about how to achieve dreams that extend past your field of view.

In order to keep this somewhat pithy, I’ll summarize my most favourite parts of the journey:

• The Bibbulmun Track crosses eight 1:50000 topographic maps and as an obsessed navigator, I completed the entire trek with a map in my hand. That equated to 200+ hours of navigation practice. I now see contours as visual reality in a subconscious instant.
• There were some exceptionally outstanding moments, the enjoyment of which was probably exaggerated under the circumstances. One day I met a lovely older couple, the track volunteers for that particular section (the whole 963km trail is maintained by volunteers). They were inspired by my plight and gave me an apple and a hot cross bun. I have never tasted finer food in all my life. And one evening I arrived at my hut in the forest and discovered a beautiful, crystal clear natural pool formed in the river that provided the most amazing cold bath at the end of a long day. Water is very scarce in Australia, especially along the Bib. Track in April so this was like a surprise oasis in the desert, the sweetest treat imaginable. And the five times I stayed in towns I was able to end my day with local fish and chips and a cold beer … utter bliss at the end of a string of days of no civilization.
• I saw the sunrise and the sunset every day. There is no better nourishment and my soul remained full.
• I began each day at 5.30 am, the first hour of running by headlamp. It was my favourite part of the day. Occasionally I’d turn my light off and stand still and listen to the complete silence of predawn — a sound that few get the chance or have the courage to hear. And the stars that blanket the Australian wilderness are breathtaking, especially in the early hours after the moon has set.
• Surprisingly, there were very few other people on the track. I would meet someone about once a day, except for the days when I saw no one! On four occasions I shared a hut with like-minded hikers, most of whom are doing the track in the recommended 6–8 weeks. On the other nights, I enjoyed solitude, quiet, and the odd bush-rat or possum as company. I loved the unknown of how my evening would end — alone, or with roommates (strangers who became friends).
• The weather was incredible. A bit too incredible actually. I was prepared for warm days on the northern half and cold, rainy days that characterize the south. Most of the days ended up being over 30 degrees, with some up in the 35–36 range, which is not super conducive to trail running unless one is training for the Death Valley Marathon or Marathon de Sables. I finally got cooler weather on my 4th last day — a big coastal front that brought high winds, cloud cover and sideways rain. I was glad to be able to use my rain jacket that I’d been carrying, but even so, it remained shorts and T-shirt weather. The storm was awesome. It hit land as I was walking along a 7 km stretch of beach at 6.30 am, completely alone. The waves crashed violently and the wind was strong enough to blow me over a number of times and I got to listen to the deafening noise of nature in all its fury.
• The terrain and landscape was exceptionally varied, the changes of which were magnified by the speed I was moving. From dry, gravelly hills, to open swamp, to farmland, to ancient towering Karri forest, to coastal scrub, to inlet crossings and beach … it was always interesting. Most of the track is single track through the bush, but there are plenty of sections of sand-dune, abandoned cart tracks, forestry access roads and granite rock. The most spectacular though, was the south coast (cliffs, dunes and beach), but then again, I have a very romantic connection to the ocean.
• I saw tonnes of wildlife: hundreds of kangaroos who’d bound all around me in the early hours of the morning and in the late afternoon, rich bird life, wild emus, unusual and rare marsupials, and snakes … 20 in fact. I had a healthy fear of the slithering little fellas, some of whom weren’t so little. The Tiger Snake, 2nd deadliest in the world and most common in the south of WA, is particularly obstinate and likes to lay his 2 meter body across sandy trails to sunbath. He doesn’t like to move for anything and a couple of times I had to resign myself to just waiting for up to 2–3 minutes while he considered whether he would let me pass. A snake bite would have ended my trip, and probably my life, so it was my only real threat. I remained vigilant the entire time.

But most enjoyable was just the extended amount of time spent in nature. My perception for line and form and colour and shape in the natural world has been heightened and I can quite easily pass hours just sitting and enjoying the world around me with all my senses. And the overwhelming feelings of self-sufficiency and simplicity will stay with me forever.

So what’s next?

On May 18–22 I’ll be riding the 700 km Gibb River Road in the far north of Australia, across a desert land whose beauty and essence is indescribable. I can’t wait.

I work casual at MEC. Besides the awesome employee discounts, this has several side benefits, such as working with great people who have tons of outdoors experience, but also the opportunity to go on deeply discounted (often free) field courses! I was lucky enough to be selected for an Intro to Ice Climbing course with local legend Rob Owens.

Four of us met Rob at a coffee house in Canmore, and then drove about 45 minutes to Haffner Creek in Kootenay National Park, just over the BC border toward Radium. This is a wonderful theatre for Ice Climbing – there is lots of ice of various levels to choose from, and the canyon opens toward the south, providing warming sunshine for most of the day.

Haffner Creek looking North.

Many people think that ice climbing is dangerous. I think they say this because they have never climbed before and have only heard stories of the handful of mishaps that have occured over the years …mostly due to avalanche or carelessnes, or both. Rob told us that the rule of Ice Climbing is that “You Don’t Fall”! He fell once and broke his ankle. This is the reason you don’t fall – the crampons and tools are sharp and will jamb into the ice (or into you), and the result is predictable.

I have to admit that hearing this was a little intimidating, but then I realized that he wasn’t really talking about the ice climbing that we were doing this day …at least when it comes to danger. The only risk was for the lead climber …on Rob Owens, the guy who had to climb up to the top and install the belay anchor on a sturdy tree. He placed his own protection on the way up, but he could still hurt himself if he fell the 2-3 meters between emplaced ice screws.

But, after our expert had installed the anchor, all of our climbing was top-roped …that is a rope, attached to our personal climbing harness, ran up to the anchor at the top of the ice pitch, and then back down to an experienced belayer, who kept it tight the entire time. If we fell, it would only be a couple of inches and the risk of injury (except maybe a knee bang or face scratch) was negligible.

I really enjoyed my first ice climbing experience, despite being the only one in the group not to make it to the top of the ice wall. It is easier than rock climbing I think, because those toe and hand picks really hold well, …most of the time. I wish, though, that I had been in better shape. Especially my forearms. With poor technique and weak arms, it doesn’t take long before your muscles are really burning. I will try ice climbing again …this time with a bit more preparation on the pull-up bar beforehand

Bill part way up a frozen waterfall.