Verdon Trail Adventure

Article on Verdon Trail Adventure 2006

By Luke Cunliffe

Staggering and tripping my way up and down hills in the pine forest in the dark I began thinking what a ridiculously tough race this was already shaping up to be…and there was absolutely no excuse for me being there. It wasn’t like I’d been conned into doing this one for the first time or anything. I’d done it before. I knew it was horrible. I remembered how painful I found it the first time several years ago. And now I realised I’d sworn off this race about as convincingly as a cheating chocoholic who swears off Yorkie Bars forever.

This was the Verdon Trail Adventure, a 120 km trail run over 4 days through the mountainous French region of Haute-Provence around the magnificent Verdon Gorge. Well, I suppose it would be magnificent if you didn’t have to kill yourself dragging your battered and aching body up and down it day in day out for four days. Many climbers and paragliders know the Gorge well owing to its challenging vertical walls and stunning views.

If you’re a paraglider descending the Gorge then you have the luxury of a giant canopy which gently transports you down silently as you survey the natural beauty of your surroundings. And if you’re a climber then you have an assortment of funky harnesses, bolts, multi-coloured ropes, karabiners, silly pointy shoes, bags of chalk and funny little crash helmets to help you up. Well, I’m guessing they more than help you, in fact, I’m no climber but let’s face it, they probably do most of the work for you, right?

But runners are a tough bunch, matched only in our ruggedness by our total stupidity. With runners you’ve got your shoes and your legs. That’s it. Yep, that’s your lot, matey. And it won’t be pretty on the ups or the downs either. In fact, if you’re lucky it’ll hurt like hell. If not… well let’s not go there.

This was the first stage, a “warm-up” if you like. It started in the evening and began with a 5 kilometre descent along a road and some rough tracks down the side of a steep mountainside to a lake. And then, as the sun set and darkness fell we began the steady climb back to the finish in Aiguines, the small hillside town which was the start and the finish of all the stages. This half of the stage was less-well marked than the first half despite promises to the contrary by the Race Director, Jean Giacosa, who I deeply suspected of having sadistic tendencies. There were supposed to be glow sticks attached to the trees as markers; instead red and white tape strips had been torn off and tied to overhanging branches of trees every so often. They looked like the kind of “crime-scene” style tapes you see on cop films. I kept looking for bodies.

In the pitch darkness they were almost impossible to see from a distance, even with a head torch… the tape strips I mean, not the bodies. As I fought my way up the hillside, I saw other runners’ torches way off to the left but there were also some more over to the right. This could mean only one thing. Some of the other more competitive and speedy runners were lost. I laughed. I’m mean like that. You see, I’m not that quick, so if I overtake others “Tortoise and Hare” style in adventure races I can’t help feeling just a little bit smug about it… until the same thing happens to me as it inevitably does later on.

I found a path with the customary barely noticeable markers and as I did so I heard a group of runners crashing through the undergrowth to my left. This was one of the groups I had spotted - they’d cocked up and had to re-trace their steps to where I was before setting off through the trees ahead of me. Wow, what a bummer for them. They had definitely been on the wrong trail so I made a mental note not to follow them – they were bound to do it again. Although they seemed confident, they were already making mistakes and not looking for markers carefully. It was tempting to blindly follow because they were in a group, but after a few minutes I was glad I hadn’t – no sooner had they disappeared from view I heard them charging through the trees again trying to find the route.

I kept telling myself to keep steady and get there in one piece. It would be useful for the next few stages if my ankles could survive this evening attached and intact. It was only the first hour of the first stage – and there were still three more to go. In hindsight I wasn’t nearly grateful enough for the temperature – it wasn’t too hot or too cold. The remaining stages would be incredibly hot and humid.

As I approached the end of the first stage I was relieved to see the lights of Aiguines. In the darkness there was something reassuring about seeing the buildings lit up in the village. Sensing I was somewhere different in the village I nearly took a wrong turn as I approached but was rescued by an observant and friendly local who pointed me in the direction of the Finish.

I later found out that several runners had got lost and one had managed to sprain his ankle – all that in a relatively short 10 km stage. Luckily there were only another 110 km to go.

Next morning the stage began at a suspiciously civilised time - 9.00 am. The pre-race information suggested that runners should multiply their usual running times by three to give them an estimate of how long it would take them to complete each stage. This one proved to be hard even for some of the experienced runners.

Even quite early into the stage several competitors fell and slipped over on the steep descents and ascents, twisting and spraining knees and ankles. The Gorge du Verdon may be one of the most visually stunning races in the world, but the terrain is as brutal as any. Narrow, rough paths zig zag their way up and down some of the most perilously steep ascents and descents I’ve come across. Some of the paths are so steep that steel cables have been permanently bolted on to the rocks to act as a handrail for the legions of hikers who flock to this area each year. Most of the trails are covered in loose earth, rocks, gravel and scree. If you’re ever planning on doing this race make sure you don’t suffer from vertigo or a fear of rough trails.

Again following the red and white marker tapes I scrambled along the course trying to stay upright. Thorns, gorse and small bushes scratched and tore at my bare legs and clothing. It wasn’t long before I was covered in cuts, scratches and grazes. It was baking hot on the mountains overlooking the Gorge and the Lac St Croix nearby and I was racing as fast as I sensibly could. No point in going too hard. Even so, at one point I had such bad cramps I had to stop running and drink the remaining water in my camelback just so I could get myself going again. With another 45 km predicted for the day after and 35 km the day after that, this stage was going to be better spent familiarising myself and my legs with the terrain rather than sprinting along the course. By the end of the day my strategy was justified when I heard that the leading Brit had sprained his ankle and was struggling painfully along the course.

The next day’s 45 km stage was by far the toughest. Although the distance may well only be just a little more than a marathon on the flat, this was incredibly steep up and down and the trail again seemed relentless, especially as my legs were still shot from the previous day’s slog. My muscles ached and my feet were bashed beyond reason and I even had a few blisters, which is very unusual for me. After the previous day’s cramps, my legs felt knackered before I had even started running. And now this was the longest stage on the hottest day so far. 37 degrees and high humidity and I was drenched in sweat all day. I needed to drink gallons of water and stuff down as many electrolytes as possible at each checkpoint just to prevent myself from getting too de-hydrated. Even then it was a close thing. Although the trail was fairly easy to navigate, I still needed to keep my eyes peeled in order to avoid getting lost and running loads of senseless kilometres. One of the Brits took a wrong turn and went over 10 km out of his way before discovering his mistake. Not surprisingly, faced with having to re-trace his steps for 10 km before re-joining the route at the right place he retired.

With the absence of a decent map I was left trying to recall this part of the route from memory. We’d passed along part of this course the day before for a few kilometres. Luckily I hadn’t completely lost it just yet. I was hoping the markers would be good. The last 13 km were up and along a high ridge of hills with a long steep descent into Aiguines to finish.

On the top of the ridge section I came across one of the other Brits who had collapsed injured and exhausted under a tree. He told me he was fine even though he looked rough. But as I knew he was an experienced mountain marathon runner I left him. No room on my horse for two, sorry pal. I left him to make his own way down, maybe encountering wolves and other wild forest animals. Like I said, I’m mean and anyhow, we’re tough in this sport. I promised him I would let the organisers know he was ok. In the event, he finished the stage only about 15 to 20 minutes behind me, having made a quite amazing recovery. I knew he was tough, but hell, that was an astounding testament to his stamina and courage.

Our last day began the way the day before ended – back up onto that stupid ridge after a long steep climb. Within the first few minutes I was puffing and panting and pouring with sweat again. I even threw up half my breakfast. Mentally I was really fighting on this ascent until I could get my pace sorted out. The only way I managed to do this was by tail-gating one of the quicker veteran French runners.

We ran on together through two checkpoints before his already-twisted ankle forced him to ease down on his pace. I continued alone and pushed on through the last 3 stages. The course took me right down into the depths of the Gorge by the river at the bottom – I kept thinking about how refreshing it would be to veer off the route and skinny dip in the cool sparkling river for half an hour. I had to remind myself that this was supposed to be a race before heading back up the steep sides. This ascent was a real killer, as bad as any I had experienced throughout the race so far.

Climbing ropes and event marshals assisted runners up the rocky cliff-face of the Gorge. It was steep, dangerous and a very long vertical drop down into the Gorge – one slip and it would have been fatal. If you like the adrenalin rush of that sort of thing then fine, if not, you might want to think again before filling in your entry form for next year’s event. But hey, I’m not a huge fan of heights and even I thought it was exciting! Knowing this was the last stage and I was not that far from the Finish, my pace quickened. I just wanted to get it over with now.

After I finally got to the top edge of the Gorge I started the 5 km run down into a valley along excellent trails through gorse, bushes and trees. Excellent because they were scenic and near the Finish, two crucial ingredients of a great trail. At the bottom, there was still one last monstrous and brutal climb up the steep mountainside where I found the last checkpoint. The checkpoint crew promised me it was only 3 km downhill – they thought it would be easy, but with my legs as shattered as they were I knew that I’d struggle to put on the brakes and stop myself from hurtling down the mountainside far too fast.

I was in a forest and skidded and stumbled down a steep, winding, gravel path until I arrived at the bottom of the trail. As I left the wood I found myself on a tarmac road which I recognised as being on the outskirts of Aiguines near the Finish. I followed the road through the pretty back-streets of Aiguines all the way to the Finish line. It’s one of those Finish lines that never comes soon enough and as you do so you punch the air with a mixture of relief and delight, shortly followed by a sense that you’ve survived some dreadful experience.

Out of 16 Brits, just two of us finished the Verdon Trail Ultra in 2006, me and the legend who goes by the name of Sharon Gayter. Recovering from previous injuries, she skedaddled past me every day on the course, and usually quite early on. How she can run so incredibly fast on the most treacherous of trails beats me. I’m not sure whether to be really impressed or just very annoyed! Actually, it’s an honour to watch someone of her brilliance run so well on such a difficult course.

The other Brits retired for a variety of reasons including injuries, being beaten by the cut-off times (which are harsh, be warned) or in a couple of cases sheer laziness… Following the successful extortion of bribes I’m mentioning no names.

For the next few weeks after the Verdon Trail Adventure while I learned to walk normally again I swore I’d never do it again. And I won’t. Ever. No really, I mean it this time.

3 good things about this race:

It’s a knockout location – one of the most stunning races I’ve had the pleasure of seeing.

The course is very challenging and will give you a huge sense of satisfaction if you complete it ok.

The spirit and camaraderie among the runners was excellent. Most of us Brits ate together in a local restaurant every evening after the stages, making for one of the most social of races I know.

3 things you may not like about the race:

The weather is very hot and humid – combine this with the incredible ascents and descents every day and you have an extremely hard race.

The organisation of checkpoints and routes is not always clear and it’s hard to work out where you’re going on the maps at the start.

The cut-offs are tough to beat for runners who go more for the scenery than for the race. The speed required to finish the race within the cut-off times may prove too much for the less athletic competitors.