Three Friends from Canmore Ski the 2009 Arctic Circle Race
First published in Faster Skier, May 2009
On March 27th, 2009, the toughest cross-country ski race in the world was scheduled to start. Three masters skiers from Canmore, Alberta were about to finally do what they had talked about for the previous ten years – compete in the Arctic Circle Race in Greenland.
In ski racing, as in life, things don’t always turn out they way you expect them to. Here is the three part story of how Norbert Meier, Neil Robinson, and Eric McAvity came to enjoy, survive and experience the 2009 edition of the Toughest Ski Race on the planet.
Norbert’s story
Coming to Sisimiut, my goal was to be the best 50+ year old skier in the race. At the end of it all, I was proud to have hung in there, finish the race and actually have enjoyed most of it. How I placed quickly became secondary to how I skied it and how much I was able to simply “just do it!”
Very few of my preconceptions of Greenland turned out to be true. It’s a land of stark beauty, an unforgiving environment that demands your everything just to survive an event like this.
The first 2 hours of the Day 1 race were like lots of other races : going for it, working for position, pacing, looking for opportunities and working really hard. The remaining 5 hours turned out to be all about survival, getting to the finish and trying to remember why I love skiing. Surrounded by the majesty of this amazing place, on the trail with other skiers from all over Europe and going places I had no idea about became the theme of the day. Coming to a pass after a massive climb and looking down the other side – seeing those little black specks below and realizing those were other skiers – all of my notions of big climbs, scary-ass downhills and long rolling hills went out the window. This was off the scale!
After just over 7 hours of “racing”, Day 1 was over at last. Exhausted, knowing I had had a bad day and wondering if tomorrow was even possible, trying to find my tent, drinking recovery drink as my first “real meal” since 6:00am and just simply wanting a dry shirt and warm spot were the priorities. No grip wax left on the skis after 62km, glider still looking good, toes hurting and hoping for no spots of frostbite on my face.
Day 2 dawned early and cold (snow temperature was -24 C), but absolutely stunning vistas in every direction. Race start was at 9:00am, wind blowing and temps have not climbed an inch. A quick change into the warm-ups as racing suit, pin the numbers on the outside of everything and make sure my rucksack weighed the required 5kg. Off we go! A bit of self-talk : it’s Sunday and yesterday sucked — what am I going to do about it today? Decided to try to enjoy this amazing race, this beautiful place and hope that I can finish today.
More climbing – unbelievable climbing, steeper than anything ever on x-c skis. Ditto for the downhills. More self-talk : no broken skis – must finish! The volunteers are amazing, standing literally in the middle of nowhere calling our names and singing us a song in Greenlandic.
Finally I’m at the top of the last massive climb and am told it’s only 12km to the finish line. Rolling hills up ahead. Hey, I actually feel like ski racing! And still more self-talk : keep tempo and no bonking, count steps between flags on the uphills, go for maximum glide on the down and work the technique. Boy, was I thankful for all those crazy 4hr double-poling workouts – who knew!
Then, I’m crossing the finish line all choked up about having done it. The announcer makes a big deal about me being from Canmore, Alberta, Canada. The crowd cheers and claps. I applaud back to thank them for giving me this experience. I can’t believe it’s over. It’s going to take a long time to absorb all the feelings, thoughts, impressions and what this whole thing has felt like.
After I cross the finish line, my body doesn’t hurt any more, my shoulders don’t ache with the weight of the rucksack. I feel fulfilled, thankful and happy to be alive. I wait for Neil and Eric to arrive so that we can share this moment together. Stumbling around the finish area, I don’t want to leave.
Neil’s story
The idea to do the Arctic Circle Race all started about ten years ago. Eric had read about it in the Globe and Mail and he shared this information with Norbert and myself one evening, while having a few cleansing ales.
Immediately we thought that this was a great idea, but other races, events and life in general seemed to get in the way. Over the past several years, each of us individually realized that the other two were getting older so finally we made concrete plans to do it in 2009.
Our race fees included airfare from Copenhagen to Greenland and back, race registration, our accommodation and all our meals, but this wasn’t your typical all-inclusive island getaway. The race is billed as the world’s toughest ski race and while I tried to visualize what was about to happen, I wasn’t even close, as in terms of difficulty they have really raised the bar here. The race turned out to be 122+ km. over 2 days with an elevation gain of 8000+ ft. and an equal elevation loss, with some additional curves thrown at you.
On Day One, I quickly realized that maybe in Greenland they haven’t heard of switchbacks or contouring of ski trails to take the easiest ski line. When we had to drop 1,500 feet down to a fjord it was a fall-line run of perhaps 2 piston bully widths, with the grade that was similar to an aggressive blue downhill run or a milder black diamond run. Constant turning was the only half-safe way to ski down this hill called “the Bonecrusher”. After dodging around a dogsled team near the bottom of this hill, Trond, a skier from Norway blew past me with a big smile on his face. As I yelled out to him “Trond, slow down” , I had the feeling I’d see him again soon. About a minute later Trond was in a crumpled heap, digging himself out of a snow bank but still smiling from the thrilling ride down.
Skiing along a fjord, with pressure ridges and gaps, added another new curve to this race. At 40 km, we reached what was to be our eventual camping spot for the night (beautifully laid out tent city), but now it was a feed station as we had to do another 20 km loop complete with another similar huge downhill and a 40 minute herring bone uphill. I overheard one skier (who had completed the downhill and uphill) make a comment about the 20 km loop to another skier who was about to do the loop. With a clipped British accent and in a voice of resignation, fatigue and pessimism he said “ I’d like to tell you something good about this loop, but I just can’t.”
Finally, I reached camp and while I was tired to be sure, it was time to take stock of how I was doing. A queasy stomach from eating too much chocolate at the last food station was noted, as well as realizing that eating a gel per hour just wasn’t going to cut it in this race. Minor frostbite in several places was also noted as a recovery drink was downed.
The camp was setup on a lake and the food tent had a constant supply of fresh water drawn from a hole in the ice. Trangia stoves flamed away as the skiers tried to refuel their bodies for another big day tomorrow. Body management was of absolute importance in this race and while I tried to choke down a meal, I filled up quickly. The three of us seemed to be okay, but we heard of other skiers with frozen hands down to the second knuckles and others that were too knackered to go on. The race had ended here for them. A drying tent was absolutely packed with every kind of ski clothing you could imagine and the waxing tent was busy with binders being heated in and final waxes applied. Bedtime was 10:30 for me, still with woozy stomach, but thankful I wasn’t some guy who was throwing up outside the tent.
Day Two started after a short (very short) sleep and with solid breakfast and the excitement of the day, we got ready for the very cold 9:00 start. While I was more aware of the type of course they might throw at us, it was still surprising with the elevation gain/loss, the expansive views of the mountains/ fjords and not a tree in sight. It would have been breathtaking if I’d had the breath.
After two major climbs there was one more major climb up the Bonecrusher. Finally on top after what seemed like an hour of herringbone, another feed station helped immensely. With 45 km behind me and twelve to go, I didn’t stay long. My mid-race food intake was much smarter today and I held off dipping into their chocolate supply until 5 km to go. Rounding a corner, you could see the city of Sisimiut with its rock-hugging colourful houses and the ocean behind it. The finish line loomed ahead and as I crossed it a great sense of satisfaction filled me as this long term goal was finally fulfilled. Out of the 122 skiers that started the race the three of us were amongst the 71 that had finished.
After a day of relaxing and eating, the organizers hosted a great gathering complete with great food (muskox , reindeer, seafood, etc.), a fashion show featuring sealskin (of course) and a rock band. This race will be an important lifetime memory for me for many reasons and I would recommend it to anyone.
Eric’s story
The idea of actually getting to Greenland to ski in a race, billed as the toughest cross country ski race in the world, didn’t come about accidentally: somewhere in the back of our minds we always knew we had to do this race and put the idea to rest. And, I confess, we really weren’t paying attention to the small print promotional material put out by the race organizers (toughest race in the world, bla bla bla). After all, we were from Canmore and we could (in our own minds at least) ski anything!
Well, March 2009 has come and gone and three friends (Neil, Norbert and myself) have had the great pleasure of putting words into action and completing the 2009 Arctic Circle Race (ACR) unscathed, but certainly not unmoved. Want to know more? Consider the ACR in 2010 or if you’re like us, say in 2020. But, I’d suggest you don’t wait. From my perspective as a 60+ master skier (there were actually three of us in this “unofficial” category this year…) you owe it to yourself to give it a go while you can.
So, two days after arriving in Sisimiut, skiing for fun, getting waxes sorted out, testing skis, pinching yourself when you figured out just where you were in the world (that would be Greenland’s west coast above the arctic circle), eating scrumptious meals (musk ox, salmon, halibut, shrimp, caribou) with new friends from around the nordic ski world, I happened to bump into Anders: or was he bumping into me? Nothing like a direct question from a 60+ Swede with 34 Vasa loppets under his belt demanding to know who the 60+ Canadian was amongst us. I guess that’s when the race started for me: the field was not composed of the 125 people rumored to have entered the 2009 ACR: it had suddenly been reduced to Anders, myself and one other still unidentified 60+ master skier.
Race day, once it arrived was incredibly serene: blue skies, a slight “in your face” breeze, cool temperatures at-17C and fresh tracks, thanks to the previous day’s 30 cm of new snow. Things couldn’t have looked better. And for the first couple of hours of racing, they were. The skis, while squeaky slow, were fast by comparison. The first significant climb went well, followed by a wicked attention grabbing descent. And so it was that at this point I had my first premonition of the infamous “bonebreaker” still to come. I tried to suppress notions of the rumored “toughest race in the world”… “it was just another race, right?” Apparently talking to yourself in the wilderness is a sign of something, isn’t it?
Getting to the summit of the next pass was not entirely without its challenges, but once crested, a welcome feed station awaited, with boisterous, helpful volunteer Greenlanders offering hot drink and chocolate. Feeling relieved, on I went, cresting a magnificent view of far off mountains and a beautiful fiord lying far below. I was in Greenland and life was good. Good that is until I noticed tiny ant like specks on the frozen fjord about 1500 feet below my skis and realized that in order to get there the descent would require some as of yet never used survival skills. It was also the moment when any thought of being in a race, (where was that old Swede anyway) evaporated and thoughts of survival began to surface. My new mantra… no equipment breakage, no broken bones, and no self inflicted injuries: my goal for the day was to finish in one piece, still attached to my skis, give myself the chance to race the following day and, finish.
And so it went, down the Bonecrusher, across the fiord, through the fjord’s pressure ridges, past Trond, a new 30+ something buddy from Trondheim, onward past our camp for the night, and toward the last of two significant (read bordering on brutal) climbs (and descents) to finish off a 62 km day in seven hours +, and happy to do so.
Camp: home sweet home. After fumbling around to get into dry clothes, I am sitting in the food tent and staring opposite at my toque. Am I hallucinating or what? My toque is on my head and also on the head of my dinner companion, from Estonia: we were both at the American Birkie two years ago and brought home the same souvenir toques and here we are, never having met, now in Greenland staring at the same toques and wondering how stuff like this happens. And there is Mark, from the UK: his winter has involved skiing in all of this years world loppets in Europe: he never trains, he just skis the races. The ACR was his 19th race of the winter. Go figure. Then there is Per, a Dane, with frozen hands, cooking a meal with bacon!! No freeze dried shloop for him. Per who had already skied across the Greenland ice cap and was now planning to do a longer winter crossing (800 km) in 2011. I am intrigued but recognize I am not firing on all cylinders. Also present is Simon, from Switzerland. Simon had placed third last year and is back to improve on that. Simon would finish second. And Mark, from Australia, off the world cup circuit in biathlon and cross country, his home and many others in Australia destroyed by the bush fires of a month earlier. From the bush fires to a vast arctic expanse seems mind boggling. Or Evjend, another Dane and a serious diabetic and my seat partner on the flight to Greenland just to do this event, with his daughter Anna, who would eventually place third in the women’s overall event. I sense the Danes have a special connection to this place which for them is very real. And Trond and Torsten and the others all from somewhere, for their own reasons, and now all of us in camp in the wilds of Greenland marveling at what we are attempting to call our dinner. And all the Greenlanders; great skiers and volunteers: infectiously good natured and having some fun. Oh yeah, and Anders too. Ah, life! So beautifully peculiar.
Day two, after a chilly night in camp, started with blue skies, great skis, new tracks and a cool -24C. I had no idea where Anders was but, I am not sure I really cared. I’d deal with him later, maybe over a cleansing ale or two. Neil, Norbert and I started together on Day Two, and skied the first 10 km of the day in close proximity to one another. What a treat: skiing racing with pals in (where are we anyway) Greenland??
Day two had its own immediate challenges: two big ascents and descents (to yet another frozen fiord) and then, the ominous return to the bonecrusher to do the ascent. I don’t know when you last had the opportunity to bite off a 50-60 minute continuous herring bone ascent for 1,500 ft., but after having covered well over 100 km of racing to that point, this ascent was more surreal that I could have imagined. Topping out finally meant that we were about 15 km from Sisimiut. I not sure I felt encouraged or depressed by that news but I had a clear vision of the first sighting of Sisimiut in my mind, set against the back drop of the Davis Straight and surely, would that be Baffin Island in the far off distance? That view would eventually materialize, but not before a long gradual soon to become, seriously steep and narrow descent followed (again with thoughts of equipment and or bodily breakage) by then another gradual climb back to the last feed station just 5.5 km from the finish.
Then a funny thing happened on the way to Sisimiut: quite innocently I thought. With five of us refueling, someone asked: “how far to the end?” I‘m not sure what happened next but the 5 five of us took off and it soon became clear that this was not going to be a “lick your wounds” pedestrian sort of pace. Even with no Anders in sight, this was now a race again and, being from Canmore, it just would not have been okay to let these youngsters beat up on an old fella. So, up tempo it was (what was I thinking!!) for longer than I thought that distance should have taken, with only two of us left as we approached the finishing arena. And yes, did I say my skis were great? They were, and with me attached and intact and spent, this whole 60+ package nosed across the finish line seconds ahead of the rest of the 5. My Greenlandic victory. I’ll never forget it.
Nor will I forget meeting Neil and Norbert at the finish: big smiles, frozen body parts, a tear of two: we had done it. More particularly, we had shared one of those wonderful, “once in a life time” opportunities that rarely come about unless you make them. Nor will I forget the support of my wife who encouraged me to do this event, or Mike and Judy Mappin for their technical support, waxing advice and encouragement over the preceding 12 months.
As for Anders, we did share that beer (and a few others).
*******
The facts :
The 2009 Arctic Circle Race was shortened due to weather. Originally planned to be a three day race with about 50+km each day, a blizzard on Day 1 caused the cancellation of racing that day. The organizers revised the race course so that it became a two day race with around 60km each day. In re-configuring the race course, the organizers seemed to keep the maximum number of climbs and descents from the entire course and eliminated some easier sections.
Technical details are unclear, but we were told that Day 1 had somewhere between 1,500m and 2,000m of total elevation gain, Day 2 between 1,000m and 1,500m of total climbing. Every major uphill had an opposite and equal downhill. Some of the steeper downhill sections had a “take your skis off” warning. 125 skiers entered to compete in the long distance (160km) 2009 Arctic Circle Race; another 25 skiers competed in the “short” version (100km). Both original distances were shortened due to the blizzard.
Our sincere thanks go to our families and partners for their limitless support and commitment to our efforts. We also wish to thank Mike and Judy Mappin of Canmore Nordic Sport Services (www.SOLDACanada.com) for their support. We used Solda waxes for glide (the S-30,straight up, was awesome) and various combinations of Guru and Magnar waxes for grip which, by the way, were incredibly good on those monster uphills.