October 1, 2022
Before last weekend’s Chiggy Ultra, I never would have considered myself a trail runner. And now? Well, I tried.
I’ve been a content road runner for the past decade, mostly training for and running marathons, satisfied that the 42K distance was enough punishment for my average body. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the occasional trail jaunt with friends, but I had never taken the head first jump into the trail scene that I did with most other activities I take part in. I had never even signed up for a trail race before.
But Chiggy is special.
Cape Chignecto Provincial Park – nicknamed “Chiggy” by her friends - is a beautiful, rugged jewel in Nova Scotia’s northwest corner, dominated by a 50K-ish hiking trail mostly along the coast and its towering cliffs, where the Minas Channel leads to the entrance of Chignecto Bay. It’s located only a half hour from my front door, and I have been in love with the place from the start.
In my former career as a newspaperman, I covered the beginnings of the park, from its conceptual stage through its construction, and its additions in the years to follow. I was pretty soft and out of shape in those days, and never expected I would ever see the entire trail myself, but my cousin Ryan and I took three days and hiked it in September of 2007. I suffered physically, but we had a great time, and I loved it.
I had visited the day-use areas many times since, but never thought about doing the full loop again until years later, with the creation of the Capes 100 event. I was one of the volunteers that day in August of 2019, serving refreshments at the Big Bald Rock aid station, and enjoyed the excitement of the many runners coming through. Trail running is much more of a social thing than
road running is, and there’s a kinship among this crowd that is a bit infectious.
In the weeks following Capes, I decided I wanted to run the full 160k route of that event - in pieces and with friends – just to experience what I could. Joining me for these adventures were folks such as Laurie Currie (and Willie), John Colicott, Anthony Fromm, Victor Wright, Elita Rahn and
Woody Thompson, and my cousin Mike Field and his wife Dara.
I knew I wanted to participate in Capes the following year.
However, that particular event moved on to Cape Breton, and the pandemic also threw a wrench into things. When John and Deb Colicott decided to put on their own Chiggy ultra event, I knew I wanted in. Supporting a great local couple like John and Deb made it a no-brainer.
The event offered a couple shorter distances, but it was the full trail loop – the Jackhammer – that I wanted. For the extra crazy among us, it also offered a double loop and even a triple a loop (gulp) option.
I had big plans to get ready for this. First, I was going to buy some trail shoes (all my previous
trail running had been on my regular old road
shoes). Then, I was going to train in different sections of the park in the months leading up to the event. The park was so close to me, I would be stupid to not take advantage of this.
Best laid plans, blah blah. You know the story. I didn’t end up setting one foot in the park to train. Weeks went by and turned into months. Since running the Fredericton Marathon in May, I hadn’t run anything longer than 21K, and I hadn’t “raced” anything other than Leg 4 at the Cabot Trail Relay. I didn’t even end up buying trail shoes.
So, there I was at the start line on Oct. 1 in my road runners, feeling totally unprepared for what was about to unfold. I had a set of running poles that Laurie had given me a few years ago, which hopefully made me look a little more like I belonged. By my side were Mike and Dara and about 100 others, and I couldn’t help sharing in the excitement despite my lack of confidence. John read us the “Trail Runner’s Screed” before we headed out. I thought it was great, although probably too long to fit on my tombstone if things went extra poorly.
Off we went into the beautiful October morning. Most of the runners around me I did not recognize. There were many Maritimers who could not make it due to the after effects of Hurricane Fiona, which still saw many without electricity a week later. I put my head down and tried to settle into an easy rhythm.
Early on we turned onto the 5K McGahey Brook Canyon Trail, a section I was unfamiliar with. I assumed it was inserted into the route to make it a more even 50K distance. Or maybe it was to give more time to stretch out the pack before we hit the more technical sections. In any case, it was a nice sojourn to start things off, although I admit I felt a little disoriented when we finished it and were still on the Minas Channel side of the trail. At that point I was running with a pack of about 7 or 8 people who weren’t familiar with Chiggy, and one of them commented to me that we were probably getting close to the first aid station at the Bunkhouse. I didn’t say anything, but as I looked across the water towards Cape d’Or, I thought “not quite.”
At this point, the trail was in pretty good shape, albeit with some wet spots. There were also plenty of roots and rocks, and I instantly regretted not wearing contact lenses, because I was having some trouble picking out the hazards in the early morning twilight. I tripped several times, and had four full face plants in the first 10K, reinjuring a sprained finger that I had hurt the previous winter.
I’ve always been clumsy, and now accept that I am too damn clumsy to be a trail runner. My feet have always been proportionately too big for the rest of my body – I’m 5’9” and wear size 12 shoes – mainly due to the long “Barron toes” that I inherited from my mom’s side of the family. Good for climbing trees maybe, but I've been tripping over those things all my life, and they were a bit of a hindrance on this day.
Despite my falls, I managed to keep to a decent rhythm. At one point I went slightly off course and started running down a dry stream bed before turning back to correct myself. It was here that the pack I had been with left me behind. I thought Mike and Dara were both still behind me, but apparently Mike had passed me at around 2K when I pulled aside for a drink.
The Chiggy course moved in a counter clockwise direction, and pretty much the first quarter was on the inland “back trail,” which I liked because it protected us from what I expected would be cold coastal breezes early in the morning. As it turned out, the day was perfect weather-wise, and the sun was peeking through the trees as I made my way to Eatonville.
I was still feeling good when I hit the first aid station at the Bunkhouse. The first volunteer to greet me was Eric Sparling, a former co-worker of mine at the Amherst News, and it was great to see him. Also on hand was Anthony Fromm, a recurring character from many of my running adventures, who was all business on this day with clipboard in hand. After a quick chat with those guys and some chips and Coke, I was on my way.
I really enjoyed the section after the Bunkhouse because I hadn’t treaded on this ground since Ryan and I hiked the trail 15 years before. We were on the 3rd day of our hike at that point, too hungry and tired to notice how pretty it was. Babbling brooks, big old trees, and glimpses of the Chignecto coastline. As I passed through Seal Cove, I remembered us struggling to set up camp there on our second day in 2007. The Capes 100 route had left out this section of the trail from Eatonville to Big Bald Rock.
While I was enjoying my surroundings, my body was starting to protest. As I mentioned earlier, I hadn’t run farther than 21K since May, and it was becoming pretty obvious. As soon as I got to around 25K on this day, I started to noticeably slow down. Part of this was due to the terrain – there was a lot of boggy areas and not a lot of “runnable” areas in this section – but I was starting to pay the price for my lack of preparation. I was carrying some Honey Stinger chews and some Rekarb gels, but my belly was not into it. I got the chews into me but left the gels for another day. The boost would have been nice, but I know when enough is enough.
I had been alone for several kilometres, but as I started to slow down, I started getting passed. Somewhere between 10-20 people overtook me in the 15K section between the aid stations at the Bunkhouse and Big Bald Rock.
The aid station at the Big Bald Rock cabin is actually located a bit off the trail, requiring you to walk up a hill to get there. As I was coming in, I met Joel Taylor and Jody Mattie on their way out, and it cheered me up to see them. They were doing two loops on this day, and had started an hour earlier than the rest of us. At the aid station I had more Coke and whatever salty snacks I could find – chips and pretzels as I recall. I’m a salty sweater, and resolved to make salt tabs a part of my distance running diet for future escapades.
As I was leaving Big Bald Rock, Dara was coming in, and she looked strong as ever. Dara is small but mighty, and is an unflinching competitor. It wasn’t long before she caught up with me, and we got to run together for a bit before she joined the ever-growing list of runners who had passed me by. Neither of us had seen Mike, so I assumed he must have gotten ahead of me at some point.
I was now more than 30K in, and the struggle was real. Some of the steep descents were taking their toll on my knees, and I had some sore fingers and toes from my earlier falls, but no serious injuries. It was just my plain and simple lack of training. I had no one to blame but myself. One kind girl came along and we chatted for a bit, and she generously gave me an ibuprofen for my pain and a salt capsule for my dropping sodium. Both helped me a lot, and I wished I had got her name so I could thank her again afterward.
I felt like I had been passed by so many people that I was starting to wonder if I would finish in last place. Not that it matters in the long run. We all get paid the same amount.
The trail continued to have a lot of boggy areas pretty much until the descent into Refugee Cove. As I passed by Refugee it was early afternoon, and I had already met a few hikers out for the day. Early fall is the best time of year to experience Cape Chignecto, in my opinion, especially if you get lucky like we did on this day. Warm but not stinking hot, and no bugs. As I readied myself for the climb out of Refugee I was a bit jealous of those who were camping there for the night, because it was beautiful there.
The climb out of Refugee was just as unforgiving as I remembered it, and I just put my head down and put one foot in front of the other. For those unfamiliar, it’s basically a 200m ascent for 2 km on what feels like a very old road. It took me about a half hour, then it was on to Arch Gulch.
After the Refugee climb I started to feel a bit of a second wind. The ground was drier but still very up and down. The ibuprofen had kicked in and my knees were not bothering me as much. With only 10K to go, I was also starting to taste the finish, although I knew I still had some tough ground to cover.
I caught up to Jody and Joel at the Arch Gulch aid station, and they were still in good spirits. I couldn’t conceive what it must have felt like knowing they still had another full loop ahead of them, but they seemed undaunted. I grabbed a few drinks and snacks that I thought my belly could handle, including some nearly-boiling ginger ale. The only thing I avoided was the sweet stuff, as my last bag of Honey Stingers had left a sickly sweet aftertaste that hadn’t sat well. So, no candy or cookies for me. I forged on, knowing I still had one major climb coming up soon.
That climb was Mill Brook, another steep ascent that is even steeper than Refugee, although not quite as long, and a bit of a narrower path. The trail builders had a little more mercy at Mill Brook, placing two or three log benches along the way. I vowed to not give in to that temptation, but did waver and make use of the last one for a slight break. At this point, there was a friendly guy who walked by me, and we appeared to be in about the same condition. He joked about the lack of a gondola, and I watched him disappear up the hill.
After deciding the log wasn’t quite comfortable enough to stretch out and nap on, I got back on my feet and finished the climb.
Although completely exhausted, I started to regain life the closer I got to the finish. I even managed to pass a few folks, which I hadn’t done in the previous 20K or so. The downside of “racing” Cape Chignecto is that you can’t really take time to stop and enjoy the many scenic look-off spots. I committed to come back someday soon and do just that.
I passed the McGahey Brook Canyon Trail turnoff – it seemed like a lifetime ago since I had been there – and I tried to gather more steam, once again running more than hiking. I reached 50K but knew from the distance markers on the trail that I still had 3K to go. My Garmin died somewhere around here.
Also around here I managed to get by the friendly guy who had joked about the Mill Brook gondola, and then managed to catch up to a woman who was ahead of him. She had no poles to lean on, and would put her hands on her hips to rest. I was glad I took my poles. I passed her with less than a kilometre to go and ran through Christy Field, knowing Mike and Dara would be patiently waiting for me at the finish.
I came across the finish line to some cheers from the crowd gathered, with a smiling John out front. I had no idea what my finish time was, and didn’t care to know. I knew it wasn’t pretty. I was just happy to be done. I thanked John for putting on the event, and offered my services as a volunteer if they decided to do it again next year. If you’ve never volunteered at a race, you really should try it. It’s almost as fun as running them, and in some ways it’s even more fun, because you get to meet ALL the participants.
After a short chat with John, I got back to my feet and found Mike and Dara waiting in their vehicle.
Dara had crushed it, and seemed unaffected by the day, while Mike was disappointed and not feeling well. He had cruised through the morning and was among the top 10 until he reached Big Bald Rock, when he was attacked by stomach problems. He struggled on, walking all the way to Arch Gulch to try and fight through it, but had to bail out there. A tough day for a guy like Mike, who has a warrior spirit like few I know.
As much as I’d like to beat myself up for not being as prepared as I should have been, I’m so glad I did this one. Cape Chignecto on my worst day is still Cape Chignecto, beautiful and unmerciful, and always ready to kick my ass.
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Loved your recap, it’s like reliving it each time I read the recounts of everyone. I think suffering through with limited training is very valuable. (Joel T.)