River Beds & Rosé
By Stefani Jackenthal
As I powered through thick sand in the searing hot riverbed, swarms of tiny buzzing gnats stuck to my sweaty face and sunglasses, clouding my search for the red and white ribbon marking the route. I followed the leaders’ tracks, turning and twisting through narrow paths lined with thorny shrubs. My eighteen-pound pack sunk me deep in the sand and my shallow breath matched the “tuh, tuh, tuh” of my shuffling feet. I caught the runners, but they were stopped huddled over the map. We were lost.
It was day three of the sixth annual Kalahari Augrabies Extreme Marathon, a seven day (6-stage), 247-K (153-miles) running race across the Kalahari Desert in South Africa. I was one of 23 international marathoners, ultrarunners and adventurers lured by the splendor, harshness and primitive format. The race provided water and tents. Competitors carried all food and provisions in backpacks, while traipsing rocky outcrops, sandy furrows and dusty trails past ostrich farms, vineyards, windmills and high mountains.
Race Director Estienne Ardnt, who runs with a prosthetic foot from a motorcycle accident 18-years ago, created Extreme Marathon after finishing the infamous Marathon de Sables in 1999. Partnering with wife Nadia and friend Simon Kelly, they aimed to showcase the beauty and beasty terrain of the great Kalahari with daytime temperatures reaching triple digits and evenings chilling to 40-degrees.
At 9:00 a.m. on Saturday, October 15, we staggered off the start line at Khamkirri Private Game Reserve like drunken sailors disembarking a ship. Our heavy packs swayed as we trudged through thick red sand, over pointy rocks and prickly shrubs for the 25-K warm up day. I ran near women’s champion Lynne Simpson – one of the two other women racing. Local gazelle, Bruce Arnett and Dominique Charton, from France, pushed pace. Three of his French buddies chased and I tagged on, feeling the load with each step. I’ve done triathlons, adventure races and one ultra, but this was my first pack-race. I was nervous my back would strain hauling 17-percent of my body weight.
Approaching the first checkpoint at 8.5-K, Bruce and Dominique disappeared up a steep rocky hill. I settled into a speedy power walk in the escalating heat. Later, we ambled along river gorges and a gravel road where a brown and white Oryx, an antelopes with sharp horns, leaped across. I finish excited and relieved and a volunteer handed me three 1.5 litre bottles of water – my booty for the night. Dominique and Bruce, who arrived 15-minutes earlier, were getting massages.
At 6:00 p.m. a fire was lit to heat water for our dehydrated meals. I chomped rice, chicken and vegetables with my titanium spork and admired the Milky Way and constellations I had only seen in a planetarium, painted across the sprawling star-filled sky, while Afrikaanus and French chattering filled our meager campsite.
On day two’s 35-K, the mercury rocked to 105-degrees causing a meltdown for many frontrunners. I reached the final check point with Frenchman Joel Bouchet, but left alone. He was cooked. Twenty minutes later, I passed last year’s second place finisher Aaron Ngwenya walking and then Dominique 3-K from the finish. Bruce, who easily won the stage, hugged me upon arriving at camp, announcing I was second. I collapsed in a canvas chair with an elephant-sized smile.
The next day’s 44-K started fast and furious under cloudy skies. My legs shrieked leaping rocks and shrubs and I lost the leaders. I followed foot steps remiss as a sheep trailing its flock – unknowingly missing a turn. So did other runners. We briefly searched for candy cane ribbon, then I retraced my steps to the last marker. Joel came along, while the others pressed on. Despite our detour, we finished second and third – pushing me to second overall and Joel third. I was ecstatic! Our lost compadres arrived hours later.
The slowest runners started day four’s 78-K at 5:30 a.m., while the fastest began at 1:00 p.m. My feet were battered. That morning, I drained and patched a blister the size of a breakfast sausage on the bottom of my foot. An undiscovered one on my heel popped while hoofing a steep hill at mile two. I yelped with an audible “Ahhh!” As we descended a gravely hill from the first of nine checkpoints, a big, black baboon scurried across the road. At 7:30 p.m. the glistening sun set behind jagged rock silhouettes as the full moon filled the horizon. We stopped to take pictures and don headlamps and then navigated via glow strips. Spacey, heavy-legged and hungry, we finished 10:30 hours after beginning. My stomach lurched pulling off my sock and seeing the thick flap of translucent skin flopping over a silver dollar-size hole in my heel that was as raw and pink as salmon sashimi. Thankfully, the next day was a rest day.
I was anxious starting day six’s 35-K. Medics mended my blisters, but I could barely get on my shoe. Joel trailed me by only 40-minutes. With our packs noticeably lighter, the group scampered up a grey river gorge, past vibrant green vineyards and tiny pastel flowers. Pain shot through my heel until it went numb. A steep scree climb up Spieelkop Mountain rewarded us with a stunning view of the river valley and a fast descent. I shadowed Joel until the last climb, losing three minutes.
The next day, my heart pounded with anticipation as we hopped rocks and scuttled sandy dunes. By the final four miles on asphalt, my legs felt unfamiliarly light. I sprinted to the cheering finish at Augrabies Falls Lodge where I won the women’s division and secured second place overall, in 31:23. Bruce Arnett, the overall winner finished in 28:56. We ditched our dirty packs, ate chicken sandwiches and toasted the twenty-two finishers with chilled rose’.
Condensed version appears in Runner’s World magazine: February 2006
