Standing on the startline at Mt Zero, I was ready to fulfil my dreams. Nerves dropped away and all that remained was excitement to get going. There was plenty of chatter and banter. Ziggy debated an audacious starting strategy then we met Caleb Olson and asked to stroke his cooling shirt. Although we all knew much hardship was to come, I don’t think any of us could foresee the true extent of adversity that lay ahead. We all went on to have heroic journeys, some of us succeeding but many failing, in this post I will tell my race story filled with euphoric highs and nauseating lows.

Early Miles: Finding Flow (0-50km)

The gun went off and so did Ziggy. He decided in the spur of the moment to sprint up flat rock and lead the charge. At the top he stopped breathless and many of us ran past. While Ziggy got his white line fever out of the way I was still riding the waves of excitement all the way to the turn off to Staplyton summit. The pack had spread out and I was on my own. This gave me time to consider my pacing, look at my heart rate and decide it was time to settle in. I backed off the pace and searched for my all day effort.

The waves of gratitude were washing over me. I’d made it to the start line fit, healthy and ready. My movements were fluid and flowy. The running was bringing me so much joy, as was the thought of a big adventure ahead.

It wasn’t long till I was caught by a patrol of blokes being lead by Chris McAuliffe. We intermittently chatted and flew along. The group of 6 behind definitely nudged the pace but it still felt comfortable and easy. The humidity and slippery rocks were our greatest challenge. It was overcast and drizzly but warm and humid. Our bodies pumped out sweat with little evaporation to cool us.

These early miles were heaven. We rolled into Gar aid station way ahead of schedule. The place was bedlam, people everywhere with our big group all arriving at once. I found my crew hiding out the back setup on a table. They loaded me up with all of the essentials to get me through the next tough section and got me back out on track.

I emerged from the aid station on my own. In the flurry of the aid station I didn’t know if I was slower or faster than the group I’d arrived with. The trail meanders past some beautiful waterfalls before traversing a large rock slab. On the rock slab just before the Mt Difficult climb I heard music. Searching for the source I saw Sange Sherpa playing the flute. This was a first for me, never have I ever seen someone carting a musical instrument with them during an ultra.

Looking behind I saw that Nick Montgomery had caught up to me. We joined forces all the way through to the Mt Difficult aid station. This middle section can be quite hard and arduous and I was glad to get it through it with company. I rook 3l of water and I drank all of it long before reaching Mt Difficult road. This made me worried about my hydration status. I drank lots of pure water without much electrolyte and I was concerned that my electrolytes were imbalanced.

I was in and out of the Mount Difficult air station quite quickly. Nick took it a little bit longer but he soon caught me up. We chatted briefly but I was starting to feel what I think was the electrolyte imbalance causing me some grief. I slowed down and let him run ahead. I was back on my own and I could feel my condition deteriorating. Eventually I decided that I should stop take some Panadol and salt tablets.

While I was stopped rummaging around in my bag, Justin and Jez ran past. It was nice to see a few more familiar faces. I got back up and running and kept them in sight. Eventually I caught up to Justin but Jez was going for it and put a large gap on us. It was fun to run with Justin and gave me flash backs to 2023 when we both entered Hall’s gap running together.

We chatted and lamented our conditions. I was feeling nausea from salt imbalance whilst Justin ‘s knees were giving him grief. We decided we would run all the way through to halls gap (50k) together and recreate our 2023 race. As we reached the top of Chautauqua peak, we saw Dave, a friend waiting for us. Dave ran with us down the switchbacks and into town.

Running down into halls gap

The First Low Patch (50-60km)

Justin and I entered the aid station holding hands. I was swamped by a gaggle of supporters but unsure of what I needed. Eventually I decided new shoes, potatoes, additional fluids, ice bandana amongst other things. While I sat I received shoulder massage from Joe Dorph, such a high calibre event that includes massages from the race director. After what felt like a fairly long break, I was back out on the trail leaving alongside Ryan Lowe. This was the beginning of a long battle for both of us.

Ryan and I slowed to a snail’s pace as we climbed the Pinnacle. We occasionally exchanged words mostly discussing how we were both struggling immensely. We stopped at every small body of water to dip our hats and even found a water waterfall to stand under. I was determined to drag myself back from this rough patch. Nausea is my nemesis. It strikes me down from great running to a crawling pace.

My best bet at combating it was to slow down the effort, drink fluids, and still keep calories coming in. We soldiered on and I went through waves of improvement and then waves of devolvement. Thankfully this was a short stage and I was soon heading down the hill towards the Rosea carpark Running down I felt the nausea come on exceptionally strong again and I arrived at the aid station looking pale and feeling green.

My support crew jumped to action trying the best they could to revitalise me. Ginger beer, noodles, crystallised ginger and every other possible nausea aid was thrown at me. I took a seat for what felt like an eternity, other runners passed through and I felt the pressure of losing my position. It was so early in the race and I was feeling quite dejected about my state of affairs. But in the end I started feeling better and was able to get myself off the seat and back out of the aid station. I’d spent 15 minutes sitting there.

Redemption and Ascension to God Mode (60-87km)

Back out on the trail. I still didn’t feel amazing, but I pushed on. I took the climb up Rosea at a conservative pace and chipped away at it. I love this section! It’s so much fun and I was keen to enjoy it. Surprisingly, despite my unfavourable temperament, I started overtaking other runners on the climb. My condition improved as I climbed, an unusual turn of events, but I wasn’t complaining.

At the top while clambering through the boulders I spotted another runner out ahead. I gradually made up ground to find it was Bridie Temple. When I reached her we exchanged a few words and it sounded as though she was going through her own rough patch. I went past and soon reached the rolling descent down to Burrough huts. Thankfully I was feeling good again and was able to make the most of the rare runnable section.

Soon I caught another runner and we chatted as we ran. Turns out it was Ryan MacPherson. A person I’d never met in real life, but we were both following each other on Instagram. We had a great chat and it made the kilometres disappear. In what felt like no time we arrived at Burrough huts. I got to the aid station looking for my support crew but they hadn’t arrived. I was slightly worried about whether I would get to see them or have to leave without them. I really wanted to see them before heading up Mt William. Thankfully, I looked over to the car park and saw Lauren waving at me. They had just arrived and were getting out of the car.

They were pleasantly surprised to see that I’d recovered from my rough patch. I felt like I’d been to hell and back and I was ready to absolutely send it up Mt William and right the wrongs of my 2023 experience. Supposedly I was singing and dancing and just loving life. Frothing on the experience of coming back from the brink. I spent some time ensuring that I had enough supplies to get me through the long section climbing into the mountains. Then I was back out onto the trails ready to ascend to greatness.

I departed Burrough huts in high spirits. Ready to take on the monster (Borough huts to Jimmy creek). It was still sunny and clear and the rain had stopped. The afternoon was idyllic. It was hard to imagine that the forecast inclement weather could eventuate. Picking away at the rocks with my trekking poles. I made good time climbing up the back of Redmans Bluff. Endorphins from surviving my rough patch and being in such an inspiring place had me feeling euphoric. I was ascending to god mode.

With my newfound strength, I pushed. I wasn’t going too silly but I did lean into the climbs. I started to encounter other runners. They would appear in the distance then they would get closer then I would reach them. say g’day and go past. In all, I managed to take over five other runners during this leg.

I found myself running along chatting to a bloke called Okie. He was extremely enthusiastic and couldn’t believe how fast I was moving. He said he thought I was a relay runner and asked where I’d been all race. Okie and I were chatting when we came across Jez, not in a good way. He said he was going to pull out at Mt William. Oakie told me to go ahead. He had work to do. He was going to try to do his best to talk Jez down from the DNF.

As I approached Mt William road darkness descended. The sun set and dark ominous clouds enveloped the mountains. The bad weather was arriving on schedule. I donned my headtorch and smoothly skipped across the technical terrain. I was caught off guard when someone from Mt William road called out my name and cheered me on. I have no idea how they knew it was me in the darkness but the words helped propel me on to the aid station.

From Heaven to Hell (87-106km)

At Mt William aid station I found Justin. It was nice to see a familiar face. I was in exceptionally good spirits. The aid station volunteers were so helpful. They got me noodles and assisted me to tape up a hotspot on my foot. I was starting to feel the cold from the inactivity. Everyone was saying to throw on thermals before heading up. Foolishly, I just donned my rain jacket not wanting to overheat on the climb, this decision would come back to bite me and is one of my greatest regrets of the whole race.

Justin and I at Mt William aid station

My morale was sky high. I had made it through the section that broke me in 2023 and was feeling stronger than ever. While hiking up the road I called my parents to tell them I was ahead of schedule. They were planning on being at Jimmy Creek at 2am, I told them I was now an hour ahead of schedule. I was on top of the world and also approaching the high point of the whole course.

While I ascended the conditions did the opposite. The wind gusts intensified and rain squalls started to spray. The trail conditions were extremely technical and take a high degree of concentration to move well. I caught up to Justin and joined forces for much of this section. He and I ran together with Ryan Lowe and Oakie nearby. The weather kept getting worse and my way to deal with it was to push harder to maintain body warmth. Supposedly the wind chill got down to -10 and gusts up to 90km/hr and I would believe it.

This is where my Tasmanian temperament convinced me that I would be fine in the cold since I am used to it. But now looking back the conditions were similar to those I experienced while running the Overland track last winter . On that mission I was wearing full wet weathers, thermals, gloves and hand warmers. Yet in this instance I was just wearing a rain jacket and no other warm gear.

The conditions were truly wild and borderline scary. I was feeling a fight or flight urge to get down from the high elevation as fast as possible. This was my solution to the cold. But eventually after much deliberation and after seeing Ryan Lowe stop to add layers I decided it was time. I stopped in the torrential rain, took off my rain jacket which made me even colder. And put on a thermal top, gloves and a buff. In hindsight this was too little too late. Ryan stopped to check in on me and suggested the wet weather pants saying they were a game changer for him. Foolishly I said I would be right with my new extra layers.

Footage filmed by Phil Gijsbers of Pat in the wild weather, turn the sound on for full effect

With my extra clothing on I started warming up and caught back up to Justin. He said that he wouldn’t be surprised if they pulled the pin. The mere mention of an early end finish got me fantasising about curling up in a warm bed. After more time passed and this thought took hold and I said to Justin, ‘I’ve started thinking about the acronym’. He replied, ‘what like ADAPT?’, which is an acronym from Training Essentials for Ultrarunning. I said ‘no the forbidden three letter one that starts with D’. In such a short period of time I had fallen from a king of the mountains to a cold quitter, such a fall from grace should have been warning sign that things were going majorly astray.

Jimmy Creek Fall from Grace

Justin ran ahead of me and I stumbled upon Ryan MacPherson running with a terrible spare headtorch as his only light. His good torch had stopped working. We chatted and ran into Jimmy Creek together. He was thankful for the extra light I could provide to guide him back into the aid station. This reminded me of the importance of carrying a decent spare torch.

My support crew had last heard from me in an ecstatic phone call. When I arrived at Jimmy creek I was a broken man. They most certainly were surprised at my rapid demise. All I could think of was getting warm. I asked to hop in the car and have the heater turned on and beyond that I struggled to articulate what it was that I needed. Tim, my pacer was there at the ready but I was not ready to emerge back into the cold.

I confided in Mum that I had been considering DNFing, she being the good support that she is, counselled me, asking ‘now why are you having those kind of thoughts?’. I didn’t really know why but it was just a feeling, a strong desire to stop. The cause of this was most likely the hypothermia that I had unknowingly developed. After a shoe change, some noodles, warming myself up a little, adding extra layers and a portaloo visit I was ready to head back out into the wild. Mum tried to get me to put on a polar fleece but I was too scared of overheating, I should have put that fleece on. Before leaving we found that my headtorch had died too. Thankfully Miranda lent me her torch which was better than my sub-par spare.

Yarram Gap Suffering (106-117km)

Tim and I left Jimmy Creek in earnest hoping that my warmed body might return to its former glory. I started out at a brisk pace, hoping to warm up and make up time. Initially I was moving well while trying to sip water and eat. My main issue now was nausea rather than the cold. The climb was making me feel warm but the heat was making me feel sick. It didn’t take long for my pace to slow and for me to start requesting little trail side sits to pull myself together. This was the beginning of a very long death march.

I’d featured in a GTR podcast episode about this section, so I knew the features quite well. But in the night and my delirious state I kept expecting to come across the big boulder field before the campsite, but we reached the campsite and I had no recollection of the boulder field. I hadn’t realised we’d already gone across the whole boulder field. Tim was hearing all sorts of grunts and groans out of me. The nausea was incessant and it wouldn’t temper. There used to be a nice runnable section down to Yarram gap road but after the fires and rain it had turned into a mud slide.

When I stumbled into Yaram Gap aid station I was completely ready to pull the pin but the aid station volunteers wouldn’t have any of it. As soon as I arrived I beelined for the gas heater to try and warm myself then the nausea overtook me and I stepped outside of the gazebo and vomited all over the ground. This highlighted the terrible state that I was in and they all jumped into action stations trying to revive me and get me back out onto the trail again. This side station was staffed by a few familiar faces one that I’ve met earlier in the weekend Michael Constable and medic Hannah, it was nice to see friendly faces trying to help me claw back from rock bottom.

Initially they were asking me what I needed but I was useless at providing any answers. I was cold and incredibly nauseous and that’s all I could really convey to them. They found a sleeping bag and chucked it on me and then decided to go nuclear mode and put me in a car with heated seats and see if that would defrost me. I was bundled into the car with a timer set for 15 minutes to allow me to nap and warm up. I laid there feeling so cosy and comfortable and the thought of going back out onto the trail was my worst nightmare.

After the 15 minute timer they tried to rouse me but I was not going to budge, they allowed me longer to stay in the car. After a solid pep talk from Michael, they somehow convinced me to get back out there and try to get to the next aid station. I have no idea how they did it. I put extra layers on before embarking and was even donated a puffer vest by one of the volunteers. These people really wanted to see me succeed and I was willing to at least try to honour the effort they put into caring for me.

Before I could leave, the medic at the aid station wanted to check my temperature. He tried multiple times but the thermometer kept bringing back a very low number, under 35 degrees from my vague memory. He said ‘oh I think the thermometer is broken’. We later learnt that thermometer wasn’t broken it was me that was broken. In total I spent 1h 35m at Yarram gap aid station and no other runners passed through in that whole time. I was not the only casualty. The mountains of Gariwerd were showing no remorse.

Death March to Griffin Fireline (117-129km)

Begrudgingly, I left the comfort of the aid station to face more demons. The ever optimistic Tim by my side guiding me on my quest for survival. The nausea never truly settled and it continued to get worse as we pushed on. Every now and then there were glimmers of hope that I might be able to prevail but these moments were fleeting and usually followed by a violent bout of dry retching.

There was 12km to the next aid station. I don’t think there was a single step of running over this whole section. With every step I moaned and groaned involuntarily. Up till this point I thought I was feeling nauseous due to a nutrition and hydration bonk. But this rough patch was enduring longer than usual, even after resting, taking it easy and doing everything possible to fix myself. I started having suspicions that there was something more sinister at play wreaking havoc on my body.

Tim was being a diligent pacer, reminding me to sip water and eat regularly. I would do my best to follow these orders but often my sips and bites were so small or non-existent. The experience I was enduring was reminiscent to the suffering of running the Western Arthurs with Covid. Tim heard constant complaints of how much I hate nausea, it felt like I was sea sick on solid land. We thought my hydration was trending well because I was stopping to wee regularly. But after a while I noticed I was weeing a lot more than I was drinking which seemed out of whack. Turns out this is a symptom of mild hypothermia.

Tim and I heard voices behind us while I hobbled across the beautiful grassy plains just before the Grampians road crossing. I was pleasantly surprised to see Pat Drum and another bloke with him cruising along well. I told Pat of my plight, he told us of the plight of Ziggy. He had stumbled upon him on all fours vomiting on Major Mitchell plateau and allowed him to join his cohort. This news made me worried that Ziggy was suffering a similar demise to me. Pat and his mate went on ahead and Tim and I hobbled on to Griffin fireline.

All through this section I had been rationalising my DNF story. I had been death marching for nearly 8 hours and I just wanted to end the suffering. My motivations for running the race were to enjoy the experience and that was no longer happening. Having already finished the race once before, I had nothing to prove. The finish didn’t mean anything to me anymore.

The End of My Race

Lauren and Miranda were waiting and cheering as I came into the Griffin. I could hardly respond. I was pale as a ghost. Mum and Dad asked me what I wanted, all I wanted was to stop the suffering. They saw how bad I was and got me onto a stretcher and covered me in blankets. The medics came and assessed me. My temperature was still 35degrees. They diagnosed me with mild hypothermia and recommended I didn’t proceed. I was elated to hear this, they gave me validation for ending the race early.

They gave me anti-nausea drugs and slowly warmed me up. Over the course of a few hours I improved a lot, but still in no state to keep racing. The strict rules I had gave the support crew were I can only DNF if my health is a risk and if I spend at least 2 hours at an aid station. It was over 2 hours after I arrived that we officially handed over my tracker. I met these rules and for the first time in my running career I DNFed a race.

Ziggy arrived while I was on the stretcher and poked his head in to check on me. He had miraculously bounced back from his own hypothermia battle with lots of help from Miranda. The silver lining of my withdrawal is that Ziggy picked up my two pacers Tim and Dave and they helped him through to the finish. His story is a whole other blog post in itself and I might try to get him to do one, along with Miranda his support crew, she also had a crazy night. We all had our own uniquely wild experiences over this event.

Reflections

I expected to feel immense disappointment after not finishing the race I’d dedicated so much preparation to. But in the end, I mostly felt relief. I’ve long understood that a DNF is inevitable if I stay in this sport. I almost believed I needed one to be a “real” ultrarunner, so I was mentally prepared for it to happen eventually. And as I mentioned in my previous post, I’m far more concerned with experiences than outcomes. The experience I had will stay with me far longer than a clean, uneventful finish ever would. This race is going to go down in history as one of the true epics.

When you care more about the journey than the destination, the destination becomes less important. Over the past week I’ve felt pretty flat, partly from the fatigue of running 130km, but also, I think, from quietly grieving the race I so badly wanted to succeed in. Still, I’m genuinely stoked with the weekend and everything I learned. I was an arrogant Tasmanian who thought he didn’t feel the cold; turns out hypothermia is a very real, very scary equaliser. I now know how crucial layering is, and the importance of being proactive with it.

The rest of the Tasmanian squad did incredibly well. Ziggy got the race done despite immense hardship. Justin reached the finish in a solid time too, even if he might have hoped for quicker. And then there’s George, who’s definitely Tasmanian these days, who got on the podium for us. Zac Stuart from Launie also got it done. I’m proud of everyone who toed the line on that fateful day.

I was beginning to think Gariwerd doesn’t actually want us running across its peaks, the conditions it throws at us each year are extreme. But my perspective has shifted: maybe Gariwerd makes it hard because overcoming its challenges is what makes this event, and our connection to Country, so meaningful.