About last week...

Astute readers will have noticed my usual offering wasn’t filed last week. For a variety of mundane reasons, the drafts never made it to final. Time, as it is want to do, got the better of me and by Sunday evening, the usual time for production, I was wiped out. Here is the less mundane part of the story.

A week ago Friday found me in the truck headed to Prince William Forest Park for the 2023 Devil Dog Ultra. This was my second time as crew chief for a friend running a 100-mile race.

Someone running 100 miles needs support. The support in this case means have fuel and supplies like spare gear available for the runner to keep running. Because this race is five 20-mile loops, the runner support station or base camp is fixed. Each loop, the runner come through the base camp, refuels, rests a bit, and changes any part of their running gear if need be.

The loop takes about five and a half hours to run, so there is a bunch of downtime. I had planned to use that time to bang out some thoughts, clean up some earlier drafts and prep it all for publication Sunday evening. Clearly, that didn’t happen.

A 3:30 a.m. wake up Saturday morning lead to a 5 a.m. drop off at the starting area. From there, I drove to a parking area and set up our base camp.

In the run up to the race, we had been watching the weather because it makes a difference for both the runner and crew. With 100 miles to run, time and weather are part of the planning equation. The goal was to complete the race in 27-30 hours, with a much of the race in the dark. The trail is mostly single-track through the woods at varying elevations. In wet conditions, those ups and downs can get sporty. The forecast had varied, but by Friday had started to deteriorate from earlier, more favorable conditions. Not a lot you can do about the weather.

As the crew, it meant being tethered to the truck for the weekend. As my friend came through our camp, I was there to provide the replenishment of the essential fuels to keep him going on the trail, some quick, hot energy, and whatever words of support I could offer. In between, I hoped to read and write. At least, that was the plan. I had visions of sitting in the fresh air enjoying a book, pondering great thoughts about fly-fishing and life, then composing eloquent insights to share. The reality was the weather didn’t improve from the cold foggy morning turning to steady rain into the night.

I wiled away my time reading and succumb to the arms of Morpheus more often than expected. I took a stab at writing but never got going. The unchanging vision through the windshield was thin gruel for inspiration.

As my friend came into camp at 3:30 a.m. he waved the white flag. Conditions had become dangerous and for him to press on another eight or so hours would be foolhardy. We packed up and headed to a local motel for more comfortable accommodations, including a shower, a bit of sleep, and some food. As I said at the top, I was wiped out by the time I got home. Cogent thought and motivation to write had eluded me.

Experiences like this invariably provide a lesson or two. As I reflect on the weekend, I here are a couple of take aways.

Making the decision to stop is gut wrenching. A lot of planning and preparation goes into an ultra race. My friend trains hard and with a rock-solid commitment to the race. To not finish is a tough choice to make. The decision hinges on a mixture of experience and judgement. In this case, his experience and judgement lead him to the correct course of action.

I treat my fishing trips to mountain streams in a similar fashion. I prepare in advance, make a plan, factor in weather and time, and have fuel and gear for the trip. Once I get started, it’s hard to say enough, even when the going gets tough.

On the other hand, to press on in increasingly hostile conditions is unreasonable, risky and can lead to disaster. I’ve become increasingly aware of my limitations and that factors into my decisions when I’m out in woods and water. I can find no fault in the decision to put safety first. Needlessly endangering yourself can lead to endangering others. Never a good decision.

I was talking with a friend about the mental aspect of long-distance running. He told me he treats it like an adventure, as opposed to focusing on the time and distance. That felt right with respect to fishing trips. When I plan, I know the time and distance I want to cover, but I rarely think about the trip in those terms. Sure, I have mental waypoints to check off, this pool or riffle by a certain point, to keep me in time and distance parameters I set for the trip. The focus is on the adventure of fishing. That is why I do it. And it’s not the time spent, distance covered, or fish caught that keeps me doing it. It’s the ongoing expectation that each trip will show me something new about myself, and I’ll learn from the experience.

Anyway, that’s the story.